by Tad Williams
“It’s okay, Luce. She tricked you. It would have fooled me too. In fact, she probably gave you some kind of drugs or something.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes with an angry swipe of her hand. “I hate her! How could anyone be so mean?”
“Hey, she’s a witch.” He meant it as a joke, but saying it suddenly made it real to him again. Their enemies were not bullies from school or snoopy assistant principals making sure they didn’t talk too loud at the lunch tables. No, one of them was a real witch who could do magic. Another was a super-rich guy who wanted the farm and would send crooks and spies to get it for him, people who would probably bump off a couple of nosy kids if they got in the way. Tyler suddenly felt a bit weak in the knees. “Come on,” he told Lucinda. “Let’s go get the stuff and hide it.”
They had just picked up the diary and other papers when something banged against the curtained window and they both jumped. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just Zaza.” He lifted the curtain, looking around for the squirrel, then opened the window and let the monkey in.
She hop-fluttered onto the bed, then up to Tyler’s shoulder, chattering softly. “I was wondering when you were going to drop by,” he said, digging for some pieces of dried apple he had in his pocket. Zaza patted Tyler’s hair in excitement, then grabbed for the apple. Tyler scratched her little round head. “I’m gonna miss you. I wish I could take you with me.” He laughed. “Man, everybody at school would go nuts!”
“I’d like to bring Alamu to school,” said Lucinda. “On a leash. Allison Keltner and those other snooty girls from the swimming club wouldn’t be going ‘I have one of those, but it’s bigger’ about him, would they?” She chortled. “Then I’d let him burn Allison’s hair off.”
“Whoa, sis. You’re getting pretty hardcore.” Talk about the dragons reminded him of something. “Hey, Zaza,” he said, scratching her chin, “do you know where that Continuascope thing is? Do you?” He gave her the last piece of apple. “If you know where it is, I’d sure like to know.”
Tiny pieces of chewed fruit fell from Zaza’s hands into the neck of Tyler’s T-shirt. “She doesn’t understand you,” said Lucinda indulgently.
“Oh no?” said Tyler. “Who’d have thought that the dragon could understand you? C’mon.” He started gathering up the papers. “Let’s finish hiding this. And I never told you my idea, Lucinda.”
“Oh yeah. What is it?”
“You know the ghost haunting the mirror in the library? I think it’s Grace.”
All through dinner Tyler watched the other residents of Ordinary Farm, wondering what they knew and what they might be hiding. Ragnar had told them the histories of most of the other farmhands. Haneb had come from the ancient Middle East. He had been a child when Gideon brought him back, along with the two dragons, who had also been babies. Lucinda had been very interested in Haneb’s background. Tyler figured she had a soft spot for the scarred man and was hoping there was some reason that he’d done what the dragon believed he’d done, other than to make a king-sized omelette.
The Three Amigos were Mongolian herdsmen, which was pretty much what they seemed like. The only surprise about them was that they had come from no farther back than the early part of the twentieth century-Tyler would have been equally willing to believe they had been born two thousand years or more in the past. Things hadn’t changed much in Mongolia during that time, apparently.
The only one that Ragnar had seemed reluctant to talk about was Caesar, and not because of the old man himself.
“Someone else came with him” was all Ragnar had said. “A very evil man named Kingaree. I have met many fearful men and beasts, but no other has put unease into me as he did. He is the only one of us who has left the farm, and if we never see him again that will go well with me.” If the six-and-a-half-foot Viking was afraid of someone, Tyler didn’t really want to meet the guy, either.
Sarah was from medieval Germany, Azinza some kind of disgraced princess from West Africa, Pema from ancient Tibet. Caesar and the mysterious Kingaree had both come from the American south before the Civil War. In fact, every one of the people of Ordinary Farm seemed to have some amazing story, and that was leaving out Mr. Walkwell, a creature as rare as the unicorns and dragons he took care of. It was so frustrating to find this out so soon before leaving.
And what if they weren’t invited back? Even if Gideon didn’t know all the trouble they’d been into, he didn’t exactly seem to be in love with having them. Tyler tried not to think about what Colin had said about Mrs. Needle fixing their memories.
He watched his great-uncle, who was making one of his infrequent appearances at the dinner table. The old man was talking animatedly with Mr. Walkwell but still managing to put away a fair quantity of macaroni casserole, which seemed to be a good sign. From overheard snatches, Tyler could tell that Mr. Walkwell was discussing the intruder he had caught; and Gideon, at least for today, was invigorated by it and seemed to have more purpose to him.
If I tell him I think I found Grace he’ll have to bring us back, won’t he? And if I tell him that I found my way back out of the Fault Line he’ll want me around to help.
Tyler almost opened his mouth to say something, but a chill ran over him and he turned to catch the barest moment of Mrs. Needle’s dark, cold eyes on him before she looked away.
Maybe for once he’d hold off for a little while, Tyler decided. Play it safe. Because he was beginning to understand that more was at stake here than just an old man collecting crazy animals out of a hole in time.
Tyler knew he really should get some sleep-even if tomorrow was their last day on the farm, they still had to get up at the same horribly early hour-but his mind would not rest. He sat in bed with the same questions going through his head over and over, like birds fluttering in a cage that was too small.
Was the spirit in the mirror really Grace, Gideon’s lost wife? How serious was the threat to Gideon and the farm from that Stillman guy that Ragnar had told them about? Could dragons really talk, and could his sister understand them? And, perhaps most puzzling of all, had he really fallen into a hole in time then found his own way out again? Could he do it again? Everyone said that only the Continuascope would allow someone to navigate the Fault Line. Was he, Tyler Jenkins, special or had he just been incredibly lucky?
Something flickered at the corner of his eye, drawing his attention. He looked up to see Zaza’s wide-eyed face at the window. Tyler got out of bed and threw open the window, but she only hopped around his window frame in agitation, then threw herself backward into the air before swooping up back up again to the window.
“What’s the matter, Zaza?” he asked quietly, in case the black squirrel had returned.
She climbed onto his shoulder and chattered at him, her tail lashing. The fur on it was all puffed out, like she was spooked or something. Tyler peered past her but saw only darkness. He was about to climb back into bed when something glinted below him. Tyler leaned forward and squinted into the night, but couldn’t see anything. Then a beam of light hit him in the eyes.
Zaza let out a chirp of fear and leaped off him and out the window. Tyler rubbed his eyes, dazzled. A trio of dark shapes stood on the ground below, swinging flashlights around. For a moment he thought they were Stillman’s spies and his heart raced. Then he realized that unless they had been recruited from Munchkinland, they were too small to be grown-ups. There were three of them, and he suddenly realized they seemed more than a bit familiar.
“Tyler?” the stockiest one called up to him. “That you, man? Oh, boy, this house goes on forever. We thought we were never going to find you.”
“Steve Carrillo!” Tyler said in a loud whisper. “What are you guys doing here? No, don’t answer. Just don’t move, stay quiet, and I’ll be down in a second. And turn off those flashlights!”
Tyler pulled his clothes on right over his pajamas, then hurried across the corridor and woke up Lucinda. She followed him on tiptoes down the stairs. Outside, th
ey found all three Carrillos, Steven and his sisters, Carmen and Alma, wearing dark hooded sweatshirts and dark pants and carrying flashlights.
“You look like you’re going to the ninja convention or something,” Tyler whispered. He looked back at the house to see if anyone was obviously watching, but the only lights were at the far end, the kitchen and dining room. “Why are you here?”
“Dude, we only came to find out if you were dead or not!” said Steve.
“I told him we shouldn’t do this, but Steven thinks he’s a spy or something,” said Carmen. “He said we could find you guys’ rooms easy,” she added. “My brother, the genius.”
Steve said, “Actually, yeah, we were about to give up when we saw you hanging out the window. How come you two never called us back?”
“What do you mean, called you back?” asked Lucinda.
“We left, like, twenty messages,” Steven said. “She always said you were out somewhere, doing chores.”
“She?” asked Lucinda. “You mean Mrs. Needle?”
Tyler was getting nervous now. “Lucinda, we have get them out of here before someone hears us.”
“We didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” said Alma. “But Steven kept saying maybe they murdered you or something.”
“No, we’re fine, but we’ve got to get you away from the house or we’re all definitely in a lot of trouble.” Tyler couldn’t even guess what Uncle Gideon would do if he knew the Carrillo kids were on the property-go crazy, just for starters.
He was about to lead them around the back of the house toward the Sick Barn when he saw a movement at the corner of his eye, something slinking by above their heads. He looked up, and with a sinking heart saw a dark shape hunkering down along the roofline-the squirrel, that rotten, nasty squirrel.
And it’s probably not really happy with me, either, after last time, he thought. Wonder how long it was stuck in the fruit picker?
How did the thing communicate with Mrs. Needle? Could it be telling her right now that there were strangers on the property? Was it too late already-was she fetching Gideon?
It didn’t matter, Tyler realized. They had to assume she didn’t know. He leaned close to Lucinda. “Take ’em to the library-but give me about five minutes first.”
“I don’t want to go there, Tyler.”
“We have to. It’s the only place that’s far enough from the house that no one’s going to know they’re here.”
“We could just send them back the way they ca-”
“No! They must have been incredibly lucky to get here without Mr. Walkwell or Ragnar spotting them-they wouldn’t be that lucky twice.”
“Mr. Walkwell wouldn’t hurt us,” said Alma confidently. “He likes us.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Tyler told her. “Look, Luce, just do it. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you there.” And without waiting for any more conversation, he took off at a trot in the opposite direction from the library, across the farm toward the pastures and animal barns.
Tyler had only put a few hundred feet between himself and the house when something ran up his leg from behind and bit him on the back between his shirt and pants. He let out a muffled shriek and tripped, crashing to the ground and rolling, the scratching, nipping thing still trapped against his body by his own clothing.
As he struggled to get away, it was all Tyler could manage not to scream at the top of his lungs, but he knew that if he did that there would be no turning back-the Carrillos would be found, Uncle Gideon would go thermonuclear, and he and Lucinda would be sent away never to return. He managed to pull his shirt up enough to get his hands around the scratching, struggling thing and throw it away from him. It hit the ground and rolled, and by the single dull light above the door of a nearby barn he saw the black squirrel spring back onto its feet, its tail held high behind its back, its yellow eyes almost glowing with malice. It was by far the biggest squirrel he’d ever seen, big as a large house cat. It took a few skittering steps toward him and hissed like a snake.
Tyler turned and ran.
At first he thought the squirrel would only follow him a little ways, then go back to the trees and rooftops where it felt comfortable, but when he looked back the thing was digging along the ground after him like a mad black rabbit. Tyler swore under his breath. He didn’t think the creature could actually kill him-could it?-but it could sure rip him up with those vicious claws and teeth, and it already had him bleeding in a half dozen places, wounds that were now beginning to sting with every step.
Tyler was headed toward the big stretch of open land where the unicorns lived, trying frantically to think of ways he could escape the creature but not coming up with any. He scrambled over a fence, but had gone only a few more steps before the squirrel caught up and leaped onto him again, scrabbling its way up his side and back and shoulder, straight onto his head.
Now Tyler did scream and threw up his arms, managing by pure luck to dislodge the creature before it got its claws sunk into his scalp. It hissed again as it fell, and when it hit the ground it turned and came after him. He could almost swear its chatter was a language, and the words were not friendly ones.
At the last moment he found a fallen branch from one of the live oaks, and just as the black squirrel took a bounding leap toward him again he swung and managed to smack it hard. The squirrel fell but got up, leaping up his arm so quickly that it was halfway through the twigs and dried leaves at the end of the stick before he could throw the branch away with the squirrel in it. This time he did not bother to look back but simply ran across the pasture as fast as he could.
I’m going to be murdered-by a squirrel! He was too frightened even to be embarrassed, but it was certainly going to be the stupidest death of any student in the history of Chavez Middle School.
Tyler was out into open land now, with dry knee-high grass and only an occasional stunted tree. Just before him was the long, low trough where the unicorns came to feed, rushing in like a hurricane when Mr. Walkwell or one of the herdsmen summoned them.
And there, at last, was a gleam of an idea. As he ran through the grass he bent and picked up the first stick he passed, but it was so thin he threw it away. The second one was too heavy to be much use in defending himself from something as small and quick as the squirrel, but Tyler had a different idea.
When he reached the trough he ran around it in a tight circle, banging on it with the stick as hard as he could, over and over. A dozen yards away the dark, compact shape of the squirrel appeared from a clump of high grass and hopped toward him, little more than a shadow in the light of a partial summer moon.
Tyler put the trough between him and the squirrel and waited. It hopped closer. Now he could hear its hiss, loud as a teakettle. He held the stick up in front of him and the squirrel stopped, waiting to see what he would do. They stared at each other, and Tyler felt as if he was looking at something that was more than a mere animal-there was a nasty, cruel little intelligence behind those slotted eyes.
Then he heard the sound, that rumble like an approaching storm, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. He hadn’t known what they would do at night-if they were even close enough to hear. The rumble grew louder. The squirrel froze, looking around, and the yellow eyes bulged.
“Yeah!” Tyler screamed. “Yeah! How ya like me now?” He turned and sprinted for the nearest tree.
The squirrel hesitated a moment, and that was a moment too long. As it jumped after him the unicorns suddenly burst out of the trees at the top of the nearest rise and came crashing into the meadow like a flood from a ruptured dam, right over the spot where the squirrel was leaping through the low grass. Within moments the entire pasture around Tyler’s tree was a seething ocean of pale sides and swinging manes, of kicking hooves and needle-sharp horns.
The unicorns finally galloped off ten minutes later, clearly irritated that they had been summoned for no purpose-that they had found no food in the trough. Tyler climbed down and began limping
his way back toward the library, promising them silently that he would make it up to them someday. He owed them. Nothing else seemed to be moving, although there might have been a slow, broken squirming in the trampled grass.
“Hey, Squirrelly-kinda sucks to be you, huh?” he called over his shoulder.
As he pulled the library door open, Lucinda ran to meet him with a flashlight. “Oh, Tyler,” she moaned, “it’s terrible!”
“We’ll figure out something to do. They can probably sneak back close to dawn-I don’t think Mr. Walkwell’s going to be out there all night long, do you?”
“No, it’s not that! Steven’s… gone.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Come on.” She grabbed his arm and hustled him across the darkened library, their footsteps echoing.
Tyler suddenly knew where they were going and his heart sank.
The door to the retiring room across from Octavio’s portrait was open. Alma and Carmen were looking in every corner of the small room with their flashlights when Tyler arrived. Carmen, the older girl, shone her light at him.
“Oh, Tyler, what happened to you?”
Lucinda saw his wounds for the first time. “Oh! Are you okay?”
“Never mind me-what happened to Steve?”
“We don’t know,” Lucinda said. “We were talking, then we looked up and he wasn’t there anymore. The door to this room was open, and he
… he was just gone. He’s not anywhere else in the library. We’ve looked for him everywhere. He’s disappeared!”
Tyler stared at the mirror above the washbasin. At the moment it was as dark as a piece of volcanic glass. He reached up a finger and tentatively touched the surface.
His finger went straight through.
“Oh, this is bad-real bad.” He swallowed and turned to the three girls. They looked terrified. Tyler wasn’t too happy about things himself. “Uh… I think I know where he’s gone.”
