“Why do they call it the Purple Marsh?” Jane asked. “It’s not purple.” “It was purple a long time ago,” Gaius said.
Finn went to the edge of the embankment and sighed. “I hate this part. Well? Everybody ready?” When they were secure on Finn’s back, he slid into the water. It rose to his belly, just below the sleeping bags. When Finn waded deeper, the red surface rippled, and Jane could see that the brown water below was full of the shadows of fish. Finn swam between mud-islands, ugly trees, and moldering logs. Bird-voices cawed overhead, and there was the constant drone of insect voices, rhythmic and indistinct. Jane couldn’t make out the words.
Finn stopped at a bank of reddish muck. “Here we are,” he said.
“Stay here, Jane,” Gaius said, and Finn helped Gaius to the muddy shore. The ground squished and oozed when Gaius walked with his cane. “Sandra?” he called. “Sandra, darling?” The insects and birds quieted.
Gaius rapped his cane on a tree. “Sandra? Come out, please—we are in a hurry, darling.” Jane whispered, “Who’s Sandra?”
“Guardian of the marsh,” Finn said. “This is her land. She only lets Gaius live here because she has a crush on him.” Gaius frowned back, and Finn said, “What? It’s true.” “Why does he need to find her?”
“Unless Sandra gives permission, there is no way through. We’d get lost in here. And wouldn’t that be inconvenient?” “There you are!” a woman’s voice said. “My dear Gaius Saebius, you look thin. How are you?” Jane squinted at the mud where Gaius was smiling, but there was no one there.
“Busy as always, darling,” Gaius said. “And you?”
“The Raven King’s magic crossed the Old Wall this morning.”
Gaius stopped smiling. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, dear.”
Now Jane saw it: a red frog squatted in the mud, camouflaged perfectly except for her lips, which were painted just a bit too pink. She seemed to be wearing eyeliner.
“I’m so sorry, Gaius,” the frog—Sandra—said. “You are almost out of time. You know, we’re all counting on you to find the one. I know you will.” “Thank you,” Gaius said. “How is the family?”
“Don’t ask,” Sandra said. “Honestly.” She croaked a laugh. “You get those children sorted out. But first, give me a kiss.” “Of course,” Gaius said. He knelt and planted a kiss on Sandra’s lips. When he stood, there was frog-lipstick all over his whiskers.
“And here you go,” Sandra said. “Candles to light your way.” Glowing red orbs appeared in the marsh ahead. They were decorated with black strips and Chinese characters.
“Thanks again, darling,” Gaius said as he returned to Finn.
“Not at all,” Sandra said. “You just be careful! Something is coming.” “I will,” Gaius called, and he blew another kiss.
When they passed the first light, Jane smiled. “Sandra likes you, Gaius.” Gaius’s fur prickled, like a cat blushing. “Sandra is very old and wise.” “You two—”
Finn cleared his throat, interrupting her.
They were quiet until they stopped at the last light. Behind them, the swamp was dark again: the orbs were gone. We couldn’t leave now even if we wanted to, Jane thought. As they climbed onto the mud, she thought, There’s nothing here.
Gaius pointed at the swamp and said, “Reveal.”
The castle revealed itself.
It didn’t pop out of the swamp, and it certainly did not magically appear. Instead the air shifted and slouched, as if Jane were watching invisible curtains being drawn aside. First she saw the middle, then the sides. It was a castle, certainly; but it was also a tree. The castle rose to three towers that she could see—two at the corners and the largest in the center—although Jane imagined there might be third and fourth corner towers at the rear (and she was right). The tops of the walls were ridged—for lookouts, she assumed—and irregular windows of stained glass dotted the sides above a heavy iron door.
Leaves grew from the walls, and bizarre branches sprouted from the tops of the towers. At first glance, it was a traditional castle—with unorthodox windows and branches but still a castle—but the longer Jane examined it, the more tree features she found. The base was stumped with roots, and the surface was rough bark, not stone; this was not a tree that had been chopped down. No, this giant tree had grown a door-hole, windows, towers—even the serrated lookout points—and, Jane assumed (again rightly), a hollow interior so people, or bobbins, could live inside.
As he followed Gaius, Finn said, “There’s bird poop on the twelfth king.”
Jane followed Finn’s gaze to bobbin statues built—no, grown—into the castle wall, each as tall as a house. The bobbins wore robes and armor, and their faces were grim, like the expressions of television soldiers or tennis players…if they let giant cat-people play tennis. Finn was right: the closest bobbin relief had a white smear on his cat nose and eyes.
“Thanks, girls,” Finn called to the trees, and Jane saw segmented legs move in the branches. She glimpsed a face with eight black eyes above a pincer mouth.
“Welcome home,” the spider murmured, followed by a cacophony of “—elcome home.” “—home.”
The air behind them changed. Jane couldn’t describe what happened: she smelled something move. A spider web, she thought. It was hiding the castle when we first approached. It opened to let us through, and now it has shut again. It made her uneasy. No one out there can see us, Jane realized. We’re invisible.
“It’s so hidden,” Jane said.
“That’s right,” Finn said. “The only people who can find the castle are people who have been here before.”
Although it had looked impressive from the distance, as they neared the iron entry door, Jane felt uneasy. How could a tree grow into this shape, she wondered, with windows and bobbin statues in its bark? It didn’t seem natural.
Someone laughed from the top of the wall, and when Jane looked up, she saw a flash of red, like a hat or a coat. “Are there other kids here?” she asked.
“Yes,” Gaius said.
“Why?”
When Gaius reached the front door, he said, “You’ll find out shortly.” He rapped, a lock clicked, and the door opened. “Welcome to Castle Alsod, my home.”
Inside, the tree wasn’t a tree. Instead of the roots and tree rings and sap smell Jane had expected, they entered a great hall of gears. Beneath the floor and in the walls—all the way up to the giant ceiling—round gears clicked and clacked, tapped and tocked, as if they had stepped into the dream of a giant clock. There were silver gears and red gears, wooden gears and dark granite gears, all crammed into a complicated network of moving, murmuring parts. It’s glass, Jane realized. The floor, the walls, and the ceiling were all transparent glass with the gears on the other side.
Jane said, “Why does it look like a tree from the outside?”
Finn ducked and squeezed. Jane was certain he wouldn’t fit through the entryway, until the doorway yawned around Finn and the dragon slipped inside. The doorway shrank again.
“A tree is never just a tree,” Gaius said. “This is not a tree. This is Castle Alsod. And we’re late.”
Something the size of a big bumblebee zipped from the far end of the hall to Gaius. It had a long skinny nose, and its wings whirred too quickly to see. Its segmented body clicked each time it jerked from one side of Gaius’s face to the other. A hummingbird, Jane thought, and she tried to get a better look. Finn was picking his nose. It seemed to be a wooden hummingbird with a click-clack body like a toy and bright blue eyes. It was wearing a pointy maroon hat and matching sweater.
The hummingbird chirped, “Lord of the manor, last of your noble race and guardian—”
“Just Gaius,” Gaius said.
“Oh, noble Just-Gaius—”
“Mallory, you can call me Gaius, remember?” Gaius said. “Nothing else.”
“Yes, lord,” Mallory the wooden hummingbird said. “They are assembled in the dining hall.”
<
br /> “All of them?”
Mallory fluttered neurotically and said, “Um, yes, I believe we have collected—”
“All of them?” Gaius asked again.
“Sire, there is one unaccounted for—it wasn’t my fault! He must have heard the meal bell, but we’ve looked everywhere! My lord, if anyone is to be punished, I beg that you take my life and spare the kitchen staff! Surely, I am to—”
“He is on the roof,” Gaius said, and they walked toward a set of brass doors at the end of the hall.
“Of course!” Mallory said. “Your magical powers are stronger than anything your humble servants might—”
“I heard him when we came up the front walk,” Gaius said. “Please go tell him it’s time to eat.” Mallory left, and Gaius said, “Jane, I hope you’re hungry.”
The doors opened on a marble banquet hall of long tables full of a hundred laughing, shouting children. Jane’s stomach clenched. It was just like the cafeteria at school; everyone had a seat except her. It’s all right, she thought. I’ll slip around the back wall and look for an empty place where no one will notice me. I can blend in and pretend that I’ve been here all along…
Finn shot a fireball over the center of the hall, and Gaius shouted, “Attention!” The room went quiet, and hundreds of eyes were watching Jane, waiting. Her mouth was dry. She felt sick. “All of you are here because you have potential,” Gaius said, “but this is Jane!” Jane felt heat in her cheeks, and Gaius continued, “Her family was saving the world before you or your parents or your great-great-great grandparents were in diapers! She is the first, best hope in this room!”
A tall boy slipped through a side door with Mallory buzzing at his ear. The boy was tan with a shock of short dark hair. He crossed his arms when he saw Jane, unimpressed. He wore a red jacket.
“Jane is the one we have been waiting for, and tomorrow, the tests will begin! But now,” Gaius said, “let’s eat!”
Everyone started talking and shouting and laughing again. “Dinner today is roast monkey liver,” Gaius said, “in a white wine garlic sauce.”
Jane paled. “Oh.”
“I’m only joking,” Gaius said. “Go sit down. When we’re finished, Finn will show you to your room.”
Mallory flew to Gaius and said, “My lord and master, we have a message from the Great Falls…”
Gaius nodded and went with the hummingbird and Finn, leaving Jane alone.
As she walked around the edge of the tables, children stared. Most wore ordinary shirts and jeans or school uniforms or bulky jackets, but there were also groups dressed in bright robes and turbans, and even several girls wearing black, face-covering veils, like the images of people from desert countries in National Geographic. Jane heard German and French and sing-song Asian languages being spoken, but most of all, she heard English. Most of the kids seemed to speak English.
Just stay calm, she told herself. I’ll find a place to sit. I have to blend in—
Jane ran into a giant, wooden, mechanical crab carrying trays of food. The crab was as large as a trash can, and when she collided with it, plates, saucers, glasses, silverware, and napkins went flying in every direction in a tremendous clattering, crashing smash that made everyone fall silent again. The crab’s green eyes looked from one end of the mess to the other as it struggled to balance one last glass of milk atop its front claw—and the glass fell, exploding in glittery chips and milk on the floor.
“Oh, dear,” the crab said.
“Nice job, savior!” someone called, and the room erupted into laughter.
Jane murmured an apology and stumbled away, her face bright red. She went to a far table that was completely empty except for one Indian girl dressed in an I ♥ NY T-shirt reading a thick book. She blinked when Jane sat.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said in a vaguely British accent. “Would you like me to move?”
“No, it’s okay,” Jane said. “I mean, you can if you want to, but I don’t mind. You don’t have to move for me.”
“Okay,” the girl said, and she went back to reading her book.
Boys at a nearby table were looking at Jane and laughing, but Jane told herself she didn’t care—except that she wanted to crawl into a corner and cry. Why does it always have to happen like this? she thought. Why can’t I do anything right?
The tall dark-haired boy in the red jacket came to stand behind a chair across from Jane. Ignoring the Indian girl, he studied Jane as if she were a four-leaf clover or an Olympic medal—something rare that he knew he should respect but didn’t.
“So you’re here to save us from the Raven King?” the boy said.
He was a few years older than Jane, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and he was American.
“I don’t know,” Jane said. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Are you going to throw plates and spoons at him?”
Without looking up, the Indian girl said, “Give it a rest, Thomas.”
“It’s a fair question,” Thomas said. “Gaius said she’s the one, didn’t he?”
“Gaius doesn’t know,” the girl said. “No one does.” She smiled at Thomas. “Now please go away. I can’t read with you talking.”
She pronounced can’t as cahn’t.
“I don’t care who your family was,” Thomas told Jane. “You don’t belong here.”
“Says the boy who’s late to every meal,” the Indian girl said.
“Shut up, Manali.” Thomas looked like he wanted to say something else, but Jane sank low in her chair, eyes down, so he finally cleared his throat and left.
“Sorry about that,” Manali said. She set down her book and offered Jane a hand to shake. “I’m Manali. I’m from Mumbai.”
“You’re from India?” Jane shook her hand. “Wow, it must be so interesting to live there.”
“It’s okay,” Manali said. “You’re American? My aunt is American, from New Jersey. I’ve only been there twice, and both times I got sick. Do people there really watch American football instead of ordinary football—you call it soccer, yeah?”
“Yes, that’s right. I mean, yes, we do.”
“Is it true what Gaius said—that your mother or someone saved the world?”
“I don’t know,” Jane said. “I guess she might have—not my mother but maybe my grandmother. Who was that boy?”
“Thomas? Oh, he’s older—you know how older boys are, yeah?” She smiled, as if they were sharing a private joke. “Their bodies are growing too fast for their brains.”
“I didn’t want to come here,” Jane said. “But my grandmother…” She was suddenly about to cry and stopped herself. Everything was happening so quickly, as if Jane had accidentally slipped into a marathon without a chance to catch her breath.
Manali patted Jane’s hand. “It’ll be all right. One of these kids will be strong enough to stop him—maybe you; maybe someone else. Gaius will figure out which one of us it is, and everything will be okay.”
“The Raven King? What are we supposed to do—I don’t even know who he is.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it right now. He’s a bad guy—like in a storybook, yeah?—and the bad guys always lose at the end. That’s how the world works, isn’t it?”
Manali said innit instead of isn’t it.
A mechanical crab brought two covered plates of food. The first, for Manali, was a spicy red sauce of potatoes and chicken cubes over white rice with slices of warm flatbread on the side.
“Wow,” Jane said. “What is that?”
“Chicken vindaloo,” Manali said. “My favorite.”
Well, Jane thought, I’ve never tried it, but it does smell good, and I guess I could eat it… The second plate was a row of three chicken tacos with white cheese, refried beans, Mexican rice, a basket of warm salted chips, salsa, and chili con queso.
This time Manali said, “Cool—that looks good.”
“I love chicken tacos,” Jane said, amazed.
Each child received a different meal. Wooden
crabs brought hamburgers and french fries, waffles, goat and rice skewers, soups, lobster, and plates of elaborate, colorful piles that Jane had never seen before that smelled like citrus or almonds or beef—all wonderful.
When Jane reached for a chip, Manali offered her a piece of flatbread and said, “Naan?”
“It’s called naan?”
“That’s the bread, yes,” Manali said. “I’ll give you some naan if I can try your chips.”
“Okay, but only if you’ll take a taco for some chicken vinder.”
“Vindaloo,” Manali said and smiled. “It’s a deal. But you’ll definitely need lots of water.”
Maybe—just maybe—Jane thought, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
After Jane had finished eating, she said good night to Manali. “I’ll see you for breakfast, yeah?” Manali said. “And call for me if anyone gives you a hard time again.” Then Jane wandered out one of the many, many side doors at the back of the room to look for a bathroom. It opened to a corridor of white-veined black marble. Bobbin masks—Jane thought they looked like wax casts—were mounted on either side, flickering with yellow-orange candlelight. But there were no candles behind them. No doors either, and the corridor grew dark in the distance.
Wrong way, Jane thought, but when she turned to go, some one cleared his throat. Thomas was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.
“I’m sorry,” Jane stammered. “I shouldn’t…” “Be here?” Thomas said, and he stepped closer. “Who was it in your family? Who was so special?” When Jane went for the door, he said, “Are you afraid? It’s a simple question: Who in your—?” “My grandmother,” Jane said. “And other women before her. What about you?” “Me?” Thomas shrugged, as if that didn’t matter. “Do you think I was given anything? You have an easy life, I can tell. You want to help your family—good for you. My dad is dead now because of”—he gestured at the walls and ceiling—“all of this.” “What are you talking about?” “You’re just a kid,” Thomas said, and he came closer, his hands balled to fists. “How old are you—ten, eleven?” “I’m twelve.”
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