“She’s all better!” Suzy cried, breaking Tim’s focus. He blinked a few times at the doll.
“Hey, you’re right. Here.” He handed the doll—now in one piece—back to Suzy.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Suzy fluttered all around him.
Tim grinned. It felt good to make the little flower girl so happy, when only moments before she’d been in tears. And it felt good to use his magic successfully—without dire consequences, without anything going wrong as a result. Maybe he’d be able to figure out this whole magic thing someday after all.
“Well, now that you have your doll back, it’s time for me to go.” He took a few steps away from Suzy.
“Can I come with you?” Suzy asked.
Tim turned around. He gave the girl an amused smirk. “I really don’t think we’re heading in the same direction. I mean, I’m from London and it’s pretty safe to assume you’re not. And I’m not really in the mood to visit any strange botanical kingdom. So good luck, and I hope everything works out for you.”
He turned around and started walking. Maybe if he found a place that was more citylike or at least had pavement, he could try that hopscotch thing again.
He thought about Suzy. What an odd little creature. He felt bad about leaving her behind, but what could he do? Trying to help Marya got him into this mess. Who knows what would happen if he tried to help a plant girl? Besides, he didn’t want to be distracted from his mission to get home.
But something was distracting him now. A shadow of a small girl with wild grassy hair was visible on the ground in front of him.
“You’re following me, aren’t you,” Tim stated.
“No,” Suzy replied.
“Well, go away. You’re not coming with me, all right?”
“Fine.”
Tim walked a few more yards. He turned around, put his hands on his hips, and glared at Suzy.
“I’m not following you!” she insisted.
“Now look—” Tim began, exasperation rising.
“But you’re my boyfriend!” Suzy exclaimed. “We go everywhere together. You can’t stand to be without me, not even for a second.”
Tim was so startled by this that he stared at her, openmouthed. There was really no way to respond. He turned around and went back to walking.
“Suzy! Please don’t follow me,” he called over his shoulder.
“Okay.”
Now he didn’t even bother looking at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead. “You have to turn back,” he insisted.
“All right.”
“And I’m not your boyfriend,” he added for good measure.
“I know.”
This was becoming absurd. Becoming? No, it was already flat-out ridiculous. How can I fight a girl who agrees with everything I say, then does what she wants anyway?
“You’re still there, aren’t you?” he said.
“Maybe.”
Tim sighed. I give up. I’m stuck with her. I just hope it doesn’t become a horrible disaster to have her tagging along.
“So what kind of flowers are asphodels, anyway?” he asked.
“Daffodils.”
Hm. I wonder why daffodils are for the dead. “So how does the language of the flowers—”
A scream from Suzy cut him off. He whirled around.
“What’s wrong?”
“Stop him!” she cried. “Oh, please. We have to stop him!”
She darted past Tim, heading down a hill to the lagoon. Now it was Tim who was following her. He had to run fast to keep up.
“What’s wrong?” he called. “Who do we have to stop?” He really hoped it wasn’t some dark practitioner, wizard, or ogre. He’d be really bummed if those types were also allowed into Free Country. What would be the point of a refuge if it didn’t keep you safe?
“A flower is hurting!” Suzy shouted back.
“A what is what?” Tim slowed his pace. This rescue mission is to save a flower?
Suzy flew back to Tim and tugged on his arm. “Come on! He is pulling the petals off. They’re screaming at him to stop. He can’t hear.”
“Whoa,” Tim murmured, staring at the lagoon.
Mermaids frolicked with dolphins, while kids played on an old pirate ship. Everyone was splashing and happy.
Everyone except for the chubby little boy sitting on shore. He sat, frowning, doing exactly what Suzy described. The kid had a pile of daisies, and he was plucking the petals from each of them.
Probably pulls the wings off flies, too, Tim thought.
“Okay, I’ll stop him,” Tim assured Suzy.
“Of course you will! Because you’re my boyfriend hero!”
“Whatever.”
“Hurry,” she urged. “Do you hear the flowers? They’re saying, ‘Oliver, stop! Please! Stop!’”
Oliver? So maybe this unpleasant-looking kid was Avril’s missing brother. He even sort of resembled her.
I might as well do my good deed for the day, Tim thought as he approached Oliver. This kills two birds with one stone. I can make Suzy happy by getting Oliver to quit destroying her flower friends, and then if I manage to find a way home, I’ll get Oliver back to his family.
Well, that’s a pretty big if, Hunter, Tim told himself.
Tim strode over to Oliver. “Hey, Oliver. Please put down the flowers.”
“Won’t.” Oliver gripped the stems in his thick fingers and scowled.
“I’m not asking you, Oliver. I’m telling you.” There was something about this kid that brought out the irritated parent in Tim. He reached down and pried Oliver’s fat fingers apart.
“Ow!” Tim yelped. He stared down at Oliver who was now grinning. “You brat! You bit me!”
The boy stuck out his tongue. “You taste bad!”
Tim rubbed his hand. At least the kid hadn’t drawn blood. Tim handed the flowers to Suzy. “Here you go.”
“Thank you!” She hugged the flowers close and cooed over them like long-lost friends.
Tim faced Oliver again. “Okay, kid, like it or not, you’re coming with me.”
“Won’t. You’re horrid.”
“That’s right. I am. But you’re still coming with me.”
“You’re a big pile of doggie doo.”
“Actually, Oliver, I’m Tim Hunter. And I know your sister, Avril. She’s very worried about you.”
“Avril is doggie doo, too.”
Tim rolled his eyes. Why am I even bothering?
“Timothy Hunter’s my boyfriend,” Suzy informed Oliver. “He’s a master magician. He fixed my doll. So you better do what he says or he’ll turn you into a toad.”
“Ooooooh!” Oliver’s piggy little eyes widened. “I know something you don’t know,” he chanted in a singsong voice. “I know something you don’t know.”
“And what’s that?” Tim demanded.
“I know something you don’t know! I know something you don’t know!”
“Okay, Oliver, you’re getting on my nerves.” Tim snarled. He reached for Oliver’s ears. “Shall I try to see if your ears are detachable?”
“I’ll tell!” Oliver yelped. “Don’t hurt me.”
Tim smirked. His bluff worked. Finally something was working.
“A boy said if we met a boy named Tim Hunter or a girl named Suzy who was like an orchard, we should tell somebody right away.”
Oliver’s beady eyes narrowed into slits with a nasty gleam in them. “They’re gonna catch you. You’re in big trouble now.”
Chapter Nine
“THEY’LL BE SORRY,” Junkin Buckley muttered as he crashed through the dense shrubbery of the forest. “Where do they get off? Sending me away like I was rubbish. Yesterday’s fish and chips.”
He shrugged. “No matter. Things will be different soon enough!”
Thinking about the future lifted his mood. Instead of crashing on twigs and branches with stomping feet, he practically danced through the woods.
“Hubsy-bubsy wokka wobsu hipsy-dipsy bokka
rubsy,” he chanted, picking up his feet in little jiglike steps. He stopped and looked around, searching the dark woods for the landmarks he’d memorized.
Almost at the meeting spot, he realized, hurrying along.
I know there’s need of secrecy, but did the old guv’nor have to choose such a shadowy wicked dark place for us to meet?
He stopped again. This is the place, ain’t it? He peered around. Yup! There’s the gnarled oak tree—there’s the stump scarred by lightning. “Anybody there?” Junkin called. “Hello? Yer honor?”
“Good evening, Junkin Buckley.” A man wearing heavy cloth robes emerged from the shadows. Not a boy—a man. An adult. In Free Country.
Junkin Buckley had been afraid Free Country wouldn’t allow him to bring in the geezer, but she did. After the old gent had made him the offer, Junkin knew he’d do whatever it took to help the man. Free Country’s vigilance must have grown a bit spotty, and in hopped the old gent, with no one the wiser. No one but wise Junkin Buckley, that is.
Junkin hopped onto the tree stump. “I was wondering when you’d show yer face. Well, my old darling, everything going according to plan?”
“Of course, Junkin Buckley. All goes quite well. They won’t be able to get all the children of Earth across, but I would expect they’ll get over a few million before this junkyard collapses and dies on them.”
“It’s sort of funny, ain’t it,” Junkin mused. “There they was, getting all uppity ’cause they didn’t want me to know their secret plan. And all the time it was I who had the secret plan.” He jerked a thumb at himself. Then he caught the smirk on his companion’s gaunt face. “Well, you and I,” Junkin added. He ducked his chin and swung his legs in embarrassment. “Well, you.”
A slow smile spread across the man’s face, revealing his yellowish teeth.
“Do you know what they will pay in the distant markets for living human children?” the old gent asked.
This is what Junkin Buckley liked to hear. He liked hearing about money.
“Lots and lots? Lots and lots and lots?”
The man licked his lips as if he’d tasted one of Free Country’s delicious fruits. “Even more than that. This will be the most remarkable and the most profitable operation ever.”
He clamped his hand on Junkin’s shoulder. “Think on it,” the man crooned. He waved his other hand in front of Junkin Buckley’s face as if he were painting the scene in front of him. “Those little fools open the great gates, convinced they’re doing the right thing, convinced that the children of Earth need rescuing. With Timothy Hunter’s help, millions of human children will tumble across to Free Country. But Free Country cannot sustain them all. It can barely sustain the lives and fantasies of the brats here now. It crumbles and dies as more of them come.”
He laughed a harsh laugh. Junkin tried not to care that the sound sent a few shivers up his spine. Not one bit. He was thinking about the money.
They’ll be sorry, Junkin thought. I could have stopped all this. But I won’t. Not now.
The man rubbed his gnarled hands together. “Then my people will come in and round up all the children from this dead world. It will no longer be able to protect them. Then I will sell them in the distant markets at great profit!”
Junkin wondered if this old gent could really carry out this whole plan. Though what did it matter, really? If only a little part of the plan worked, he’d have shown up those spoilers. And he’d be rich.
“You have played your part well, Junkin Buckley. You will be rewarded for this.”
Junkin Buckley hopped off the tree stump. “You know what I wants. I gets first choice of all the girlies. As many girlies as I wants.” Junkin paced in front of the man, imagining what else he could have. “I know! I gets a big palace house by the seaside a long way from Free Country.” He stuck his thumbs into his suspenders and puffed out his chest. “And I gets a big medal saying that Junkin Buckley’s the best bucca in all the world.”
The man smiled. “It will be arranged. Now I have to be sure that those brats don’t manage to lose Hunter, now that they’ve finally got him here. For any of this to work, it is his power that we’ll need most of all.”
The moment Tim got Oliver to admit that they were in the exact spot where he had first arrived in Free Country, Tim drew a hopscotch grid in the sand and tried to open a gate.
One big problem, Tim thought. I never did like nursery rhymes, so it’s bloody hard to remember any.
He started hopping. “Uh, ‘Old Mother Hubbard, sat in a cupboard, eating her curds and whey’?”
Oliver snorted. “That’s not how it goes. Loser.”
“Then you do the rhyme,” Tim snapped.
“Won’t!”
“Oliver, I am warning you,” Tim said, hoping to sound threatening.
“Old Mother Hubbard lives in a shoe,” Oliver chanted. “Old Mother Hubbard is a great big poo!”
Tim shook his head. How do I get into these messes?
Suzy fluttered above him. Tim didn’t think she had once set foot on the ground since they’d arrived at the lagoon. He wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t like sand or if she wanted to stay out of Oliver’s grubby reach. “So what do we do now, boyfriend?” she asked.
“Suzy, please.”
“Sorry Tim. Timbo. Timmy-wimmy.”
“Just Tim’s fine.” He sighed. “I try again, I guess.” He erased the hopscotch grid and drew another. He wanted to start fresh. He shut his eyes and tried as hard as he could to recall a nursery rhyme—any nursery rhyme.
“Pease porridge hot,
Pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot,
Nine days old.
My mother says to pick this one, so out goes Y-O-U!”
I got all the way through a rhyme! Don’t quit now, he told himself. Marya had had him hop the grid three times.
He repeated the rhyme, and on the third time, he jumped and slammed into something invisible. He landed hard on his backside and stared at the place that he had banged into. But there was nothing there.
“Hah-hah!” Oliver laughed. “You fell on your bottom.”
Tim stood and brushed himself off. He crossed to the invisible barrier and reached out his hand. Only there was nothing there at all now. Just air.
Hunh. That is wicked weird.
It had felt as if he had banged into a closed door. So maybe the rhyme worked, only the gate was shut. And since he stopped hopping and chanting, the doorway vanished.
“Maybe there’s another gate somewhere?” he wondered out loud.
“You’re a master magician,” Suzy said. “Can’t you do a spell?”
Tim groaned. Why are people always counting on me to do things—things that I don’t even know how to do? It was too much pressure. He had totally, thoroughly, and completely had it!
“For the last time,” Tim shouted. “I’m not a blasted master magician and I don’t know any bloody spells.”
Tim kicked the sand, obliterating the hopscotch grid. Who needs it anyway? Bloody useless.
“The biggest magic I ever did was to keep snow from falling on an old man,” Tim fumed. “Oh yeah—and I turned my yo-yo into an owl.”
“You turned a yo-yo into an owl?” Suzy asked.
“Yes,” Tim mumbled.
“Why? Was there an owl shortage or something?”
Tim sighed. He still missed his owl, Yo-yo. “It’s a long story.”
“Fibber.” Oliver sneered.
“Shut up, Oliver.”
“Liar, liar pants on fire,” Oliver taunted, “climbing up a telephone wire.”
Tim covered his face with hands. “Oh, please, won’t someone just make this kid stop? Oliver, I’m going to thump you if you don’t shut up.”
Suzy flew straight up several feet. “What’s that?” she exclaimed.
“What?” Tim asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I can smell something. And the plants think there’s something very funny going o
n.”
“The plants?” Tim repeated. He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable getting his news flashes from flowers.
His nose wrinkled. He smelled something odd, too.
“I smell a farm!” Oliver shouted. “Or poo. It’s poo!”
Tim glared down at him. “Shut up, Oliver.”
Something very serious was going on, indeed. The ground shook, and Tim could hear rumbles and animal howls. And they were getting closer.
Suzy flitted around frantically, and Oliver crept up behind Tim and gripped his blue jeans with sticky fingers.
Tim’s eyes widened and he gulped. An entire menagerie was approaching. Leading the group was an elephant—with a small, dark-haired girl riding its back.
Okay, the elephant girl was pretty impressive. But the animals with her just plain freaked Tim out. Tigers, lions, giraffes, wolves, monkeys, bears—all of them moving steadily toward Tim, Suzy, and Oliver.
“Make them go away!” Oliver wailed.
Suzy doesn’t seem afraid, Tim noted, just curious.
The girl on the elephant held up a hand, and the procession of animals halted. Tim could feel sweat running down his back. It took a lot of effort to keep himself standing still, but he figured it was a whole lot safer than trying to make a break for it.
“Are you Tim Hunter?” the girl demanded.
“Yes.” It didn’t seem worth it to lie or refuse to answer. Not with all those salivating mouths and large, pointy teeth just a few feet away from him.
“I am Maxine,” the girl said. “The high council wants to speak with you.” She turned toward Suzy. “Are you Suzy the flower girl?”
“Maybe,” Suzy replied.
“They want to talk to you, too.”
Oliver slid out from behind Tim. “I told you,” he gloated. “I told you they were going to catch you.”
Maxine stared down from her high perch. “Who are you, squirt?”
Oliver’s expression went from smug to terrified. He plopped down on the ground. “I’m Oliver Crispin Hornby Mitchell and I want my mummy.” He stuck his thumb in his mouth.
The Children's Crusade Page 9
