Timothy didn’t want the ratcatcher to leave without the chance to ask a few more questions, but by the time he could get out to the porch, it was too late. His father had already seen the little man to his truck.
Just as he threw the cage into the back of the pickup, the ratcatcher turned and looked directly at Timothy. Then he doffed his cap.
RAT-BITE FEVER
RKELL WATCHED from the top of the poplar. An evil had entered the house. Help had been summoned.
Nom had come. Arkell found it intolerable that this poor, slinking human might succeed where he and Andor had failed. He ruffled his feathers. Nom had trapped the rat and removed it from the house. A third eagle had been summoned now to watch over the house of the girl, Cerridwyn’s kin.
An orange cat mewled on the porch. The eagles became alert, ready to swoop down if needed … but it was nothing: A light switched on, the front door opened, and the cat sped inside.
Arkell settled his wings.
In the tree opposite, Andor also watched. Andor sent Arkell an image of small rodents, food. But Arkell returned the image of the house, rejecting the proposal that they take a little time to hunt for supper. They would not fail again.
Andor sighed. There would be no food until morning.
Jessica slept restlessly, her dreams an anxious jumble she couldn’t sort out.
There had been three messages from Timothy on her cell phone, each sounding more frantic than the last. All day, Jessica had had a sense of things being terribly wrong, but her parents had insisted that she go with them to her cousin’s wedding. Even a research paper, due Monday, couldn’t convince them otherwise.
Jessica felt heavy with a sense of dread that she couldn’t shake. Ever since the death of her great-aunt Rosemary, it seemed that her intuition had exploded. Her senses were bombarded with messages and feelings she had never experienced before. And it wasn’t just emotions. Jessica knew things now without knowing how she knew them.
What she knew now was that something bad, very bad, had happened.
Sunday morning, Timothy and Sarah met Jessica in her front yard and told her the story of the rat bite and the ratcatcher.
“Are you sure he was the same person?” Jessica asked Timothy for the second time.
“Of course I’m sure. Nom knew about Sarah’s wood from the Greenman. And when he left, he tipped his cap to me.”
“He was disgusting.” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Just like a rat himself. The worst of it is, Mom’s leg is starting to ache. The bite looks red and swollen, even though she went to the doctor.”
They sat in a cluster on the grass, letting the late-autumn sun warm their backs. Jessica had grown taller over the past months, while Timothy still measured exactly five feet two inches. He had measured himself again that morning, hoping the long-awaited growth spurt was finally about to kick in.
But Sarah, Timothy thought, had changed most of all. Her appearance was the same, but something in her demeanor was different. After spending three weeks at a dance workshop in New York, she’d returned home more … Timothy struggled for the word. He pictured Scrabble tiles and mentally sorted through the smooth letters. Complex, he decided finally, twenty points. Yes, Sarah was definitely more complex now. And he couldn’t always read her moods the way he used to. Sometimes, she seemed to be thinking about something very far away. Maybe that’s what being in high school did to people. But then there were times, like now, when she was his same old sister again.
“I think we need a plan to find the disgusting little man and find out what he knows,” Sarah said.
“We can ask Dad which agency he called when we get home,” Timothy suggested. “But I don’t think we’d ever find him that way again.” He rubbed the glass leaf in his pocket. It was cool and smooth. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.”
Jessica ran inside to get a phone book, but there proved to be at least a dozen exterminators listed in the yellow pages. “Don’t worry—I’ll call them all. I’ll just ask about a man named Nom who looks like a rat.”
By the time Timothy and Sarah got home, it was almost suppertime. But instead of finding anyone in the kitchen, the lights were off and a single sheet of paper lay in the middle of the kitchen table. Timothy recognized his father’s large, spiky writing: Took your mother back to the ER. Leftovers are in the fridge.
Timothy set out cold chicken while Sarah opened a can of tomato soup.
“She must be feeling really bad, to go back in on a Sunday,” he said.
Sarah nodded. “Mom never likes to make a fuss.”
They ate the soup and chicken in glum silence, waiting for further news.
Their parents came home well after they had finished. Timothy leapt up from the computer at the first sound of the door opening, and Sarah appeared from her bedroom, wrapped in her robe.
“Such faces! I’m going to be fine!” their mother insisted. But she limped her way over to the recliner.
“I’ll fix you some food, Liz.”
Their father sounded tired, Timothy thought as he joined him in the kitchen.
“Is she really okay?”
“Rat-bite fever—that’s what it looks like. But it can’t be. The doctor says it never shows up until weeks after a bite. Anyway, they prescribed antibiotics, and she needs to keep her leg elevated.”
Timothy said nothing. He stood at the sink, frowning deeply.
“She’ll be fine, Timothy,” his father insisted. “You and Sarah just need to let her rest for a couple of days. And try not to worry! It worries her to see you worried.”
Timothy stared out the window into the bare garden. What was Balor up to?
NOM
ESSICA WAS AS GOOD as her word. She spent much of the following afternoon, as soon as she got home from school, calling the extermination companies listed in the phone book. Most had very little patience for a girl asking about an exterminator who looked like a rat. When Timothy finally called her with the name of the company his father had contacted, she was out of patience herself. But she was willing to give it one more try.
“I’m trying to get in touch with a rat exterminator who came out to our house on Saturday,” she said into the phone for the umpteenth time.
“Saturday … hmm,” said the woman on the other end. “None of our regulars work on the weekends—we hire independent contractors then. But if you give me your name and address, I can see who we used.”
Jessica gave the Maxwell name and address and added, “His name is Nom, and he kind of looked like a rat himself.”
Laughter exploded from the other end of the phone. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place! Nom! Of course! No one’s ever put it that way before, but you certainly have a point!” And the lady asked if she could take a message for him.
“I’d like to speak with him directly, if you don’t mind,” Jessica replied.
“I’m sorry, dear. We don’t give out the home numbers of our contractors. But if you leave your name and number, I can get him the message.”
“Maxwell, Timothy James—” Jessica left her own cell phone number and then added as an afterthought, “And please tell Mr. Nom it’s urgent!”
By Thursday afternoon, Nom had still not returned the call. When Timothy and Sarah arrived home after school, their father was already packing a small suitcase. Their mother, he said, was feeling worse. The calf of her leg was swollen to almost twice its size, and she was running a fever and felt too nauseated to eat.
“The doctor can’t figure out what’s going on, but she thinks it’s best to put your mom in the hospital for a few days, to give her some intravenous antibiotics. Mom’ll want you two to keep up with your schoolwork and take care of things here at home.” Timothy could tell by his father’s flat voice that he was more worried than he wanted to let on.
“I thought rat-bite fever was easy to cure,” Timothy said, who had been doing his own research online.
“It usually is, but … Look, she’ll be home in no ti
me, so don’t worry.”
“Let me see your leg!” Sarah demanded, bending down to roll up her mother’s pants. She gasped when she saw that the swollen area on her mother’s calf had darkened from red to bluish-black like a spreading bruise.
“I’m going to be fine,” their mother insisted in a weak voice. “And I’ll be home by Sunday, promise.” She smiled, but the smile didn’t convince Timothy.
If only he had captured the rat before it found his mother. If only he had closed the door before it got into the house!
Sarah grabbed her sweatshirt from the hook by the door. “I’m going with you,” she declared.
“Absolutely not. I need you to stay here and get dinner ready. Dad will be back as soon as he gets me settled. You can come see me tomorrow, after school.”
Neither Sarah nor Timothy argued when she used the voice, and she was using it now, in spite of the obvious pain she was in.
When both parents were out the door, Sarah found Timothy sitting on the living room floor, head in his hands.
“Get up and help me make dinner.”
“This is all my fault!” Timothy exclaimed. “If anything happens to Mom …”
Sarah squatted down next to her brother. “If this is really something more than an ordinary rat, there will be help. There always was before.”
“What if there isn’t this time?”
“You don’t think the Greenman and Cerridwyn would leave us here without help, do you? Didn’t Nom say that we’re being watched? The eagles are still in the poplar. Besides, they know what to do in the hospital about rat bites. And when we get hold of that little ratcatcher, Nom, we’ll make him tell us what to do!”
“Oh, you will, will ya?” said a cocky voice behind them.
There, framed in the open doorway, stood the scrawny little ratcatcher. Jessica was only a few steps behind, a determined look on her face. She shrugged her shoulders. “I told him to knock first.”
The ratcatcher still wore the same flat cap, but the overalls had been replaced with a threadbare jacket and baggy pants, and on his back was a pack. His bright eyes bored right into Sarah. “No one tells me what to do, princess. I thinks for meself! But I pay me debts, too.”
“He called back,” Jessica explained quickly, “and I told him to come right away.”
Timothy jumped to his feet. Maybe there was hope after all. “You’ve got to do something,” he pleaded with the ratcatcher. “Our mother’s very sick!”
“And why wouldn’t she be? An evil rat, that one. Rat-bite fever and all. We’d best be off.” And with that, he turned and walked out the door.
“Wait a minute—where are we going? I’m supposed to be making dinner! Let me leave a note. I’ll say we’re with Jessica.” Sarah scribbled a note, stuck it on the refrigerator door, and ran after the little man, followed by Timothy and Jessica.
“If you want to help yer mother, you’d best come along. I’ll be taking you to where you need to go.” Nom moved quickly and stealthily across the yard, skirting the driveway, keeping close to the edge of the flower beds. The three children had to run to catch up, after grabbing their jackets and closing up the house.
Days were brisk now that it was November. There was frost almost every night, and the temperature dropped quickly as soon as the sun disappeared. Sarah pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, and Jessica stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans. Timothy wondered with a shiver how far they would be going.
“You need to give us some information,” Timothy said, realizing that Nom was headed toward the mountain bike trails leading into the woods. “Where are we going, and how is this going to help my mother?” What he really wanted to ask was, How can we know whether to trust you or not?
“You’re always the one asking questions. Too many questions. Got to hunt for it, see, if you want to help her. I’m taking you where you need to hunt.” Nom’s shoulders were hunched and his head thrust forward. His nose twitched as he left the street and led them into the trees.
The mountain bike trails cut through the woodland at the edge of town, and Sarah remembered the last time they had come this way, following Mrs. Clapper into the midst of a storm. Thinking of it now, she couldn’t help but feel hopeful and even rather excited. It seemed as if another adventure was about to begin. But even a new adventure couldn’t ease the constant worry for her mother. She had to trust that Nom knew what he was doing.
She glanced at Jessica, who was plodding along in uncharacteristic silence by her side, her brow furrowed in concentration.
There was a noise overhead like the rushing of wind in the treetops. Sarah looked up. “Look—the eagles are here. And there’s a third one. They’re following us!”
And then Nom vanished from the bike path. He had disappeared into a tangle of bushes. Sarah saw Timothy follow, bending under low-hanging branches; then he, too, disappeared, swallowed up by the foliage.
“Come on—we don’t want to lose them!” Sarah plunged into the undergrowth right where Timothy had just vanished.
The serviceberry bushes were scratchy, but Timothy hesitated only a moment before pushing ahead after Nom. He held his hands high to protect his face, but both hands and face quickly became crisscrossed with small scratches. Jessica and Sarah followed right behind him, and he tried to hold the scratchiest branches out of their way. Where did Nom think he was taking them? And what kind of name was Nom anyway?
“Do you think we can trust him?” Timothy whispered.
“I don’t know.” Jessica brushed a shower of leaves from her hair. “But he feels okay to me. I don’t have alarms going off in my head, and Cerridwyn said I would if things were terribly wrong.”
Timothy deliberately slowed his pace and let Sarah pass. “What do you mean?”
“The last time I saw her—the last time we saw her—Cerridwyn promised that I’d develop instincts, a way of knowing, just like she had. What does your leaf say?”
Timothy stuck his hand in his jacket pocket. “Nothing. It isn’t even warm.” He glanced at Jessica. He could see the gold chain of the necklace Cerridwyn had given her against her neck. She rarely took it off. Without the leaf, without Jessica’s necklace, it was tempting to think nothing extraordinary had ever happened.
Then Jessica locked her hand on his arm. “Look. It’s getting lighter.”
Sure enough, through the tangle of bushes, bright daylight was just ahead.
HUNTERS’ GATE
IMOTHY PUSHED THROUGH the bushes. He could hear traffic: horns blaring, the whir of wheels on pavement. The light grew brighter, and he stumbled onto a sidewalk. A stream of people flowed past him. Jessica still clutched his arm. It was as if they had just surfaced from being underwater and couldn’t get enough air into their lungs. Cars honked, engines revved, and taxis sped by on the street. Sarah was just ahead; bits of stray leaves and twigs stuck to her hair. “I know where we are! New York!” Sarah pointed across the busy street. “That’s the Museum of Natural History. We visited it when I was here for the dance workshop. But how did we just get here?”
Then Nom was at Timothy’s elbow. He looked less out of place here, with his rakish cap, threadbare coat, and small backpack.
“Went through the portway in yer woods,” Nom explained, as if it were the sort of thing he did every day. “Another one’s just up the street.”
They stood at the edge of a very large park. New York? This couldn’t be possible. Jessica’s fingers dug into Timothy’s arm.
“Follow me!” Nom headed toward a large cottonwood tree that spread over a stone wall. “Hurry up now, we don’t have all day.”
“Hunters’ Gate!” Sarah read the name on the opening in the low wall surrounding the park.
“Yes, princess. Twenty gates, there is. One for scholars, one for merchants, one for artists, and so on. The gates always open for them that needs them, and this one’s for you. Hunters, that’s what yer all today, and this Hunters’ Gate will take you where you needs to hunt.”
> A gate behind the stone wall led them to a gravel path that wound through a canopy of trees. The path was deserted and strangely quiet compared to the city around them.
Nom turned to them and winked. “Now, do what I do.” Before Timothy could protest, Nom hurried down the gravel path and disappeared. Timothy’s mouth fell open.
“Did you see that?”
Sarah’s eyebrows arched in amazement.
Jessica released her grip on his arm. “It is another portway!” she said. “I read about portways in the book on myth Cerridwyn gave me.” She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “They don’t all appear the same on the outside, and they don’t all work the same way, either. They can change where you are in both space and time. You have to be really careful. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can end up somewhere you don’t want to be.”
“But they’re not real! There aren’t any portals—well, maybe worm-holes, but that’s different.” Timothy glared at Jessica.
“Portway, not portal. You don’t know everything about physics. Portways have been around for ages. Most people just don’t know about them. We’d better hurry. If we lose him, I have no idea how to get home from New York!” And Jessica stepped onto the path. Her outline blurred like a mirage on a hot day, and in a few steps she was gone.
“Come on, Timothy!” Sarah pulled him by the arm. He was still trying to reconcile what he had just seen with what he knew about physics when he glimpsed a girl behind them at the stone wall. She had long white hair and wore a dress that came to her ankles.
“Sarah—it’s Electra!”
But Sarah was dragging him down the path. The trees in the distance began to reel. For a moment, he was sure he would throw up. The colors blurred, outlines shimmered, and his ears began to ring. It was far worse than the portway, or whatever it was, from their woods to New York!
Beyond the Door Page 17
