The Unadoptables

by Hana Tooke

  “Why would you do this to us?” Milou stared at Edda. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  Both of Edda’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t—”

  “You knew all along, didn’t you? It was you at the window that first night, wasn’t it?”

  Edda nodded. “I knew, but—”

  Gassbeek’s voice reached a crescendo. “They are charlatans!”

  “I don’t believe it,” Speelman said. She was holding Puppet Papa’s head and frowning. “How can five little orphans manage all this?”

  “These five are nothing but trouble,” Gassbeek shrieked. “Trust me, I’ve had the unpleasant misfortune of knowing them all their pathetic little lives. You have no idea how pleased I was when I heard the doctors talking about the show. Bram Poppenmaker indeed. The very name on that stupid little doll of yours, Milou. It seems that was enough to pull me from my stupor.”

  Milou swallowed, casting a guilty glance at Edda, who was glowering at Gassbeek and clasping her locket.

  “I just . . .” Speelman said. “I’m not sure what I should do about this. I’ll have to consider the legalities—”

  “There’s nothing to consider.” Gassbeek cut her off. “These children lied. They are still my property and need to be brought back to the Little Tulip immediately. Meneer Rotman here has already agreed to purchase them.”

  “We are not property!” Milou said. “And we are not coming back with you.”

  “Girl, be quiet and let the grown-ups talk,” Gassbeek said with a wave of her gnarled hand. “Now, Meneer Rotman and I will take them back to Amsterdam. You need not bother yourself with these delinquents, Mevrouw Speelman. I will make sure to it that they are suitably punished.”

  “We have the money to buy our adoption,” Milou said, nodding toward the basket of coins by Rotman’s feet. “Take it and leave us be. We don’t need Rotman to adopt us, we are fine as we are.”

  “That is my money,” Gassbeek said. “They stole it from me.”

  “No,” Fenna croaked.

  Gassbeek shot Fenna a dangerous look; one that promised repercussions. Milou watched in amazement as Fenna—shy, timid Fenna—stared right back at the matron, unblinking and fierce.

  “You can’t do this!” Sem cried. “We earned this money.”

  “They are lying,” Gassbeek snapped. “It’s mine, and I shall be taking it back right this instant.”

  “She made a deal with Rotman,” Lotta cut in. “She was going to sell us and keep the money for herself. And Rotman is nothing more than a charlatan. He plans to work us until we break. We had to rescue Egg from his ship, where he was chained belowdecks.”

  “Oh my.” Rotman chuckled. “These five little darlings have such delightfully dramatic imaginations. Dolly and I cannot wait for them to join our seafaring family.”

  “You tried to kill us,” Egg cried. “You nearly did, in fact.”

  Rotman’s eyes glimmered with mirth. Gassbeek’s smile was—as ever—all teeth, but no soul.

  “And Gassbeek,” said Lotta, “is not only a miserable witch. She takes money that should be spent on the orphans—”

  Gassbeek grabbed Lotta’s pigtail. “Liar!”

  “Mevrouw Gassbeek,” Speelman said. “The Kinderbureau does not abide the manhandling of children—”

  “Nonsense,” Gassbeek said. “I was manhandled plenty when I was an orph—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head and let go of Lotta’s hair. “Fine,” she spat out. “But you will be silent, Lotta, if you do not want to earn more of my wrath.”

  “It’s true,” Milou said. “What Lotta’s saying. I heard them strike a deal. He even laughed when he said he could bury our bodies at sea. And this Dolly he claims will be our mother is a dog.”

  “Don’t be so rude!” Speelman cried. “I will not abide any name calling.”

  “It’s true!” Milou yelled back. “She’s a real dog, not a woman.”

  Rose Speelman pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. Milou glanced at Edda, whose expression had hardened.

  “This is ridiculous,” Gassbeek squawked. “These children are proven liars. They are simply trying to weasel themselves out of the trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.”

  “That’s not true!” Lotta cried.

  “Enough!” Speelman slammed her fist on the table, making everyone jump. “You five have not only broken the law by forging official records, you have intruded on private property,” she said. “I will not listen to more of your nonsense.”

  Gassbeek grinned triumphantly. Milou balled her fingers into tight fists. From Fenna’s shoulder, Mozart let out a shrill screeeeeeeeech.

  “This ends now,” Speelman continued, picking up the record book and placing it with a thunk on the table. “These records must be put right. The five of you must have legal guardians, and the fees must be settled immediately or you must return to the orphanage.”

  “Perhaps you should leave the children in my care and investigate their claims further,” Edda said.

  Everyone turned to stare at the polder warden.

  “Absolutely not,” Speelman spluttered. “This is being settled this very instant.”

  “But—” Milou started.

  “No!” Speelman cried, her cheeks flushed. “The rules are the rules, and I will not abide them being broken any further.” She opened the record book. “From this day forward, you will be charges of Meneer Rotman. And that is my final decision.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE TEARS MILOU HAD been holding back finally began to trickle down her cheeks. Sem slumped into the chair beside her and squeezed her hand. Edda pulled Lotta and Fenna into a hug, and Egg was staring at the record book as if he might make it disintegrate with nothing but his mind.

  They had fought so hard for their freedom.

  And they had lost.

  “Hurry along and fetch your belongings then, little liefjes,” sang Rotman. “Dolly will be keen to get you settled in for the night, and it’s terribly late already.”

  Reluctantly, Milou got to her feet and looked at where Puppet Papa’s limp body lay crumpled and broken.

  “I need a quill,” Speelman was saying, patting down her cloak. “And an ink pot.”

  “Wait,” interrupted Egg. “I can prove they’re lying.”

  He was still staring at the record book. Then his eyes flicked to Milou’s.

  “She never recorded the Fortuyns’ adoption,” Egg said. “Do you remember? There was nothing in the book when we wrote our own adoption record.”

  Milou frowned, the memory tickling at the edges of her mind.

  “That’s how she did it,” Egg said, more loudly this time. “She removed all records of those orphans whose adoption fees she kept for herself.”

  The kitchen fell so silent, they could have heard an eyelash drop.

  “My records are, and always have been, utterly flawless,” Gassbeek crowed. “Each orphan in that book is accounted for. There is no evidence whatsoever to back such a ridiculous claim.”

  “There is always evidence,” Edda said coldly. “You just need to—”

  “Look closely enough,” Lotta finished. “Mevrouw Speelman, may I please see that record book?”

  “No, girl,” screeched Gassbeek. “You may not.”

  A charge of invisible energy seemed to pass between Lotta and Gassbeek; Milou could almost feel it. They both stood, shoulders stiffened and backs straight, glaring between each other and then at the record book that lay open on the table.

  Gassbeek sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t you dare—”

  Lotta sprang toward the table, but Gassbeek was closer. The matron scooped up the book and clutched it tightly to her chest as Lotta clawed at it.

  “Give it to me!” Lotta yelled.

  With her free hand, Gassbeek struck Lotta hard a
cross the face. Redness blooming on her cheek, Lotta dived again at the matron. They both fell to the floor. It had happened within mere seconds, before Milou could remember how to move her limbs. In the corner, by Mozart’s wardrobe, she noticed Rotman grinning wildly at the display.

  Sem staggered toward the fight but stopped when Edda let out a yell of anger. The clock maker had a broom handle in her hands, which she held over her head as she strode purposefully toward the fighting duo. A carefully aimed kick sent Gassbeek sprawling onto her back. This was followed by swift jab of the broom handle that dislodged the record book from the matron’s grasp. Milou gawped with astonishment.

  It was over within a few heartbeats. Edda held the matron in a headlock, and Gassbeek cawed and squawked incoherently, her face growing redder and redder. Still lying on the floor, Lotta clutched the record book to her heaving chest with her twelve fingers.

  “I’ll find the evidence!” Lotta yelled, her lip bloodied and her eyes ablaze. “And you can’t stop me from revealing it, you spiteful old crow!”

  “This is absurd!” Speelman cried. “Never in all my life have I seen such appalling behavior!”

  “I told you they were brats!” Gassbeek choked out.

  “I’m talking about your vile actions, Matron!” Speelman said. “You should know better than anyone that striking children is against the rules!”

  “She struck me too!” Gassbeek squawked, six thin red lines dribbling blood down her cheeks where Lotta had clawed her.

  “You struck her first!” Edda said, her tone so furious that Milou barely recognized it. “And it is perfectly within my power to arrest you for such an action. Now.” She glared at Speelman. “Sit yourself down and let Lotta speak freely.”

  Speelman opened her mouth to protest again, but Edda cut her off.

  “You will hear these children out, or so help me I will put in a complaint about your conduct. I have contacts in high enough places.”

  Speelman slumped into a chair with a groan and waved a hand at Lotta. “You have two minutes.”

  Rotman’s mirthful smile had turned forced. Standing beside him, Fenna clutched a startled Mozart in her arms.

  “Egg,” Lotta said. “Show me what you noticed.”

  “The little boy that the Fortuyns adopted, Jan,” said Egg, kneeling beside her. “When Milou and I were forging our own document, we saw that the matron hadn’t recorded the adoption at all.”

  “Nonsense!” Gassbeek crowed. “There was no boy called Jan. They are trying to cover up the fact they tried to kill me—”

  “Continue, please,” Speelman said, raising a hand to silence Gassbeek.

  Lotta was staring at the matron, and Milou could almost hear the cogs of her mind clunking away, working out the puzzle.

  “There was a little boy called Jan. He was even at our show tonight,” Lotta said, narrowing her eyes. Then she smiled. “He arrived at the Little Tulip in October, didn’t he? Which means he’ll be listed in the abandonment records.”

  She rifled through the pages, paused, rifled some more, and frowned.

  “He’s not in there because he never existed,” Gassbeek squawked, smiling cruelly. “Now unhand me.”

  “No,” Lotta said. “This doesn’t make sense.” She ran her finger along the inside crease of the book and then pulled it quickly away. “Ow!”

  Her fingertip was bleeding.

  “She’s cut a page out,” Egg gasped.

  Speelman leaned over the book, scanned the page, then shot Gassbeek a furious glare. “They’re right. You’ve sliced a page out.”

  “And if you look closely,” Lotta said, pressing her nose right to the page, “you can see the imprint of Jan’s name . . . here.”

  Gassbeek paled, and she began squirming again, but Edda held her tight. Rotman, meanwhile, was leaning against the sink next to Fenna, tapping his chin.

  “I bet there’s more,” Lotta said. Sucking her finger, she flicked through more pages. “Here’s another page missing. And another one.”

  “I’ve been set up!” Gassbeek cried.

  “I wonder how long she’s been doing this,” Egg said, taking the book from Lotta. “I bet she—”

  He stopped, his eyes widening on the page he had just opened.

  “What is it?” Milou asked.

  Egg looked at the matron. “An abandonment record,” he said quietly. “For an Elinora, abandoned in a shoebox on the bottom step, June twentieth, 1838. Never adopted.”

  The matron screamed, her pointed boots clacking furiously on the kitchen floor as she kicked and stomped.

  “I was owed that money!” she cried. “I spent my entire life in that miserable place.”

  “Matron Gassbeek,” Speelman said sternly, slamming the record book closed. “Fraud on this scale is punishable by imprisonment. That money was meant to go to the Kinderbureau, to be shared out amongst all our orphanages.”

  Gassbeek opened her mouth, but then snapped it closed again.

  “I have to say,” Rotman said. “I am very shocked that the matron has been so duplicitous. Mevrouw Speelman, I think I shall just take these orphans and go. I have a ship to repair!”

  “Duplicitous?” Gassbeek squawked. “You’re a fine one to talk!”

  Rotman’s smile widened, as his mustachio twitched in double time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

  “Matron Gassbeek,” Speelman interrupted, ignoring Rotman completely. “I will be reporting this to the police at once.”

  “You can’t do that!” Gassbeek cried. “I can’t go to prison! Please!”

  “Come now, orphans,” Rotman crooned. “Let’s get you settled in your new home, shall we? My ship is much more impressive than this rickety old windmill. You will love it, I just know you will.”

  Milou glared at him. Fenna and Sem took a step away. Egg glowered, and Lotta snorted. Gassbeek began thrashing wildly in Edda’s grip.

  “I’ll make a deal!” the matron squawked, her face as terrified as those of the orphans she had tormented. “I have information on a larger, much more sinister orphan trade—”

  “Come now!” Rotman repeated, more loudly this time, reaching out and grabbing Fenna’s arm.

  “Rotman’s entire trade is off the backs of helpless orphans!” Gassbeek cawed. “He threatened me. I had no choice—”

  “The matron is clearly still insane,” Rotman growled, pulling Fenna toward him, who immediately began to struggle in his grip. “Perhaps she needs to go back to the lunatic asylum.”

  “Let Fenna go,” Milou cried.

  “No,” Rotman growled. “I don’t think I will.”

  In a flash of metal, Rotman’s blade came out again.

  This time, it was pointed at Fenna’s throat, pressed right against her thumping pulse.

  Mozart let out a screech, claws and beak aimed at Rotman’s face, but the merchant slapped the bird away. With a flutter of ruffled feathers, Mozart spiraled up to the cupboard top. Milou picked up a candlestick from the kitchen counter. The sight of Fenna helpless in Rotman’s grip was enough to make Milou recklessly angry. She would not let him hurt her.

  “Meneer Rotman,” Speelman cried, eyeing his knife in horror. “What are you doing?”

  “I am taking what belongs to me,” Rotman said, his mustachio trembling. “Five orphans, just as Matron Gassbeek promised me.” With his free hand he picked up the basket of coins. “And the money these little brats owe me after setting fire to my ship.”

  Sem, Egg, and Lotta came to stand next to Milou. Edda wrestled to keep Gassbeek contained, as the matron wriggled and mumbled around the tea towel that now protruded from her mouth.

  “Let Fenna go,” Edda said. “These children are not going anywhere with you.”

  Rotman chuckled. “And who, exactly, is going to stop me?”

  No one
spoke. No one dared. The knifepoint was too close to Fenna’s jugular. A single twist of his wrist would kill her.

  “Well?” Rotman boomed. “Which one of you pathetic idiots is going to stop me?”

  “I am,” said a deep voice.

  It had spoken from near the stairwell, on the opposite side of the room from every single person in the kitchen. Startled gasps sounded as everyone spun to peer into the shadows under the stairs, to where Puppet Papa’s headless body was slumped over the side of the rocking chair, just as Gassbeek had left him. Slowly, his right arm raised up to grab the side of the chair. Then his left one. He pulled himself upright, his back to them, then slowly turned.

  “Let the child go,” Puppet Papa said, in a voice like grinding bones.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THERE WAS A THUD behind her and Milou spun, only to find Rose Speelman had fainted headfirst onto the table where she’d been sitting.

  “I will stop you,” Puppet Papa said in a ghoulish grumble, raspy and ominous. Milou could practically hear the hairs rising on everyone’s arms. “Let her go now, and I’ll let you live.”

  Milou caught a tiny glimpse of a white glove above the stairwell door. The same white gloves, she thought, that had handed her coins at the gate earlier that evening.

  Who was it?

  She peeked at the others.

  Rotman was gawping at the rocking chair. “How—”

  “Surely you must have heard the rumors?” Milou said, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “This windmill is haunted. Did you not read the sign at the gate?”

  Rotman blinked in disbelief. Gassbeek was now clutching Edda in terror, and the clock maker’s Eyebrow of Curiosity was halfway up her forehead. Speelman was still facedown on the table, muttering incoherently to herself as she slowly came to.