“They’re irrelevant,” answered Darwen automatically. “I think they’re getting into our world by accident.”
Mr. Peregrine stared at him for a long moment, then put his cup down and got to his feet.
“Oh, and I opened a portal,” said Alex. “By myself. Not much of an upside, I’ll grant you, but still. Kind of cool.”
“You did what?” said Mr. Peregrine, staring at her.
“Opened a portal,” said Alex. “Without touching Darwen or anything. Fell right through it into this weird-looking jungle where about twenty pouncels were hanging out. Got the heck out of there faster than green grass through a goose.”
“But how?” asked Mr. Peregrine.
“Don’t ask me,” said Alex. “Guess the world now has two mirroculists. Count ’em, see?”
She pointed first at Darwen and then at herself.
“Maybe it’s like an upgrade,” she said. “If you spend a lot of time nearly getting killed over there, they let you in and out all by your lonesome.”
More than anything else they had told him, more even than Rich’s capture, this seemed to arrest Mr. Peregrine’s attention.
Darwen was annoyed. “I’m telling you all this so you can help me when I go back,” he said.
“I need to . . .” Mr. Peregrine began, but he still seemed preoccupied and was regarding Alex with a peculiar intensity. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said, walking briskly off the platform and up toward the dining shelter.
“Okay . . .” said Alex as she watched him go. “You ever get the feeling someone’s not telling us everything?”
“How about anything?” said Darwen.
“I can smell smoke,” said Alex. “Why can I smell smoke?”
Darwen turned toward the dining shelter and saw an unwelcome figure in crisp khakis and a safari shirt on the path.
“There you are, Arkwright,” said Mr. Sumners. “Lessons have begun. I suggest you bring your notebooks and pens.”
Darwen stared at him. “Lessons?” he said. “Now?”
“Life at Hillside goes on,” said the math teacher.
“We’re not at Hillside,” said Alex. “We’re in the jungle, and one of our friends is missing.”
“Hillside Academy,” said Mr. Sumners, drawing himself up, “is a state of mind. We, ahhh, take it wherever we go. It is our guide, our compass, and our mode of being, all of which makes this”—he gestured at the trees around them—“a school, not a holiday resort. As for Mr. Haggerty, I am confident the locals will find him. It’s not that large an island. Now, time for class.”
He walked away, and Darwen, suddenly flooded with rage, took a step after him.
“Whoa there, tiger,” said Alex, staying him with a hand. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry. Sumners is an insufferable loser, but the chances of him strapping us into a machine that drains our life force to power his microwave are slim. Let’s stay focused, yeah?”
Darwen couldn’t argue with that. “We need to get ready,” he said, pulling himself together. “We need a plan and a weapon.”
“I’m thinking bows and arrows plus a vat of coffee creamer aren’t gonna cut it,” said Alex.
“Agreed,” said Darwen. “But if Mr. P has a Silbrican rocket launcher in his tent, he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“Judging by the smell, I’d say he’s more likely to be hoarding some very old cheese,” said Alex. “And even if he has a weapon, I’m not convinced he’d give it to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s not exactly helped out a lot so far, has he?”
“He’s the one who brought us here in the first place,” said Darwen, looking away. “His mirror showed me Luis being abducted.”
“That was handy, wasn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Darwen faltered. There was something in Alex’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before, some terrible thought that she couldn’t put into words. “What?”
“Don’t freak out on me, okay?” she said, her voice lowering. “But have you considered the possibility that Mr. Peregrine isn’t being honest with us?”
“He’s made some mistakes,” admitted Darwen.
“What if they weren’t mistakes?” Alex said.
Darwen stared at her, and for a moment everything around them, the cries of birds and monkeys, the wash of the ocean, the distant chatter of students, went away. “What are you saying?” he said.
He couldn’t explain it, but something cold and terrible was welling up inside him, something worse than fear, and it brought tears to his eyes.
“We came here,” said Alex, staring at the ground, “because Mr. P brought us. Then his portable portal took us to the very worst place possible, and we were lucky to get back alive.”
“He said it malfunctioned.”
“And you didn’t believe him,” she interrupted. “You thought it had been tampered with, that it was a trap to get us killed. What if it was? What if it was him who set it?”
Darwen turned away, his eyes swimming. “I know he’s been skeptical,” he said, unsure of why he was trying to defend Mr. Peregrine. Alex was saying no more than he had begun to think himself. She was just pushing it further. “But he sent the oven door that took me to Weazen.”
“You don’t even know that for sure,” she said. “It was mailed to you. The one useful thing you’ve been given might not have come from him. Darwen, from day one you’ve told him that the kids were being taken by the Insidious Bleck, and from day one he said that it didn’t exist. We’ve seen it. You say Scarlett is controlling the Bleck, and he says she’s not. Turns out, she is. You say she’s working for Greyling, he says she’s not. I think you’re right. So either he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or he’s lying.”
Darwen stared straight ahead, refusing to believe it.
Alex continued, her voice softer this time though no less commanding. “We escaped the Bleck. If we had relied on him, we’d be dead. Again.”
“So he made a mistake.”
“What if he didn’t? What if he’s working for—”
“NO!” shouted Darwen again, his hands coming up to his ears as if he could blot out her challenge, stop it from giving fire to all his own smoldering doubts. “He wouldn’t. He’s my friend. . . . My . . .”
Darwen’s blood roared in his ears, but he kept his fists clenched to his sides.
“He’s not,” said Alex. “I know you want him to be, but he’s not. And you are going to have to think real hard about how much he’s helping, because if you just trust him blindly . . . I don’t know. I see badness ahead.”
“Why would he send us into a trap?” said Darwen quietly, as if his own voice was afraid of admitting the possibility. All of a sudden he remembered the blood he had seen on the note attached to the oven door.
“You’re the mirroculist, Darwen, remember? You are what Greyling fears most: a person who can see right into what he’s doing and can come in to stop him. You are the target. Rich and I are just . . . bystanders.”
“Not if you’re a mirroculist too,” he replied.
“Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me,” she said.
“And they already have Rich,” said Darwen, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s my fault. I have to . . .”
He started to walk.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Mr. Peregrine,” said Darwen, not looking back.
“And do what?”
“I’m going to ask him which side he’s on,” said Darwen, still pressing forward.
“Oh, that’s genius,” said Alex, running up behind him. “Masterful spy work there. Ask him which side he’s on, because if he wants us dead he’s really gonna just tell you the truth.”
“You have a better plan?
”
“That’s not a plan.”
“A better idea, then,” he said, turning to glower at her.
“Well, for one thing,” she said, “I’m coming with you.”
Darwen shrugged, and together they marched up the path toward the dining shelter. They were almost there when they realized something was going on. The quiet of the lesson had been broken by the sounds of voices and shifting benches. By the time Darwen and Alex could see properly, the students were streaming up past the washrooms and onto the trail into the jungle. There were teachers and camp workers with them, several of them running.
Darwen and Alex gave chase, conscious that the tang of wood smoke in the air was getting stronger. The group moved on through the trees, all the way up to where the end of the zip line was fixed to the final tower. It was immediately clear what had attracted the attention, and Darwen could only stare in amazement.
A huge circle at least fifty yards across had been cleared out of the jungle. Monumental trees had been pushed over, torched in pyres around the rim, and the underbrush had been scraped clean right down to the dirt. In the center was a ring of stone spheres and a shallow pool. Around the edge were bright yellow bulldozers marked with the logo of Sunbelt Vacation Properties.
The babble of excitement died as soon as the students saw what had happened. The forest, which had breathed and called and pulsed with life, was dead, ravaged, and smoking. The silence was deafening, and Darwen saw that even the teachers looked stunned and uncertain. Miss Martinez was sobbing quietly.
“Three cheers for progress!” shouted Nathan Cloten. “Hip, hip, hooray!”
Barry Fails joined in, but no one else did, and Naia Petrakis turned such a fierce look on them that they stopped, smirking.
Standing beside one of the yellow bulldozers, Mr. Peregrine and Jorge were talking earnestly. Darwen looked into the water at the edge of the circle and saw only his reflection, but there was no question that this was a portal. All that was needed was for the sun to come down, and then it would come online.
He left Alex, pushing his way through the crowd, but Jorge saw him coming.
“Stay back,” Jorge ordered. “It is very dangerous here. Everyone needs to go back to the camp. Señor Delgado!” he called, and the man from the village pushed his way through the crowd. He was carrying a rifle, and there were other villagers with him, all armed. They stood around the circle of observers like guards, their backs to the devastation in the center. “No one is to come in this area.”
Jorge turned and started walking out of the blasted clearing, Mr. Peregrine at his side. Darwen was about to head them off when a hand caught at his elbow. It was Alex.
“What?” he said.
“It’s not just this,” said Alex, and her eyes were shiny. “It’s worse.”
“What do you mean?” Darwen asked. “What’s happened?”
“Two more kids have been taken,” she said. “Gabriel and Chip.”
Darwen stared at her.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Gabriel? But he was working with Jorge! And Chip Whittley?”
She nodded.
Darwen marched toward Mr. Peregrine and Jorge so forcefully that both men stopped.
“What are you going to do?” he demanded. “To get them back. Rich and Gabriel. And Chip. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jorge began.
“Yes, you do,” said Darwen. “You know all about it. So do you,” he added to Mr. Peregrine, “and so does Gabriel, who marooned us on the island for the Insidious Bleck.”
Jorge opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. Instead he looked at Mr. Peregrine, who sighed. “We should probably talk,” he said.
“In the office then,” said Jorge, who looked irritated. “Now get these people away from here.”
As the students were corralled and led, complaining, back to the dining shelter, Darwen and Alex slipped into the office by the kitchen and waited. Barry Fails saw them, but he just assumed they were in trouble and made faces. Mr. Sumners saw them, but his protests were cut off by Mr. Peregrine. Mr. Iverson saw them, and his eyes tightened with puzzlement and suspicion.
Darwen and Alex ignored them all, waiting.
At last Mr. Peregrine and Jorge entered the wooden structure together and closed the door behind them. Jorge’s eyes flicked to Mr. Peregrine, who just nodded.
“I am an emissary from the Guardian Council of Silbrica,” said Jorge. “I was assigned to this territory a year ago and am the ranking official in matters concerning this region.”
Darwen looked at Mr. Peregrine, but the old man was silent, his eyes downcast, his face somber. Whatever they were about to be told was not good news.
“You were brought here to find tears in the fabric of the barriers between worlds,” Jorge continued. “You have failed in that task, and your mission is at an end. I suggest you rejoin your classmates—”
“What?” sputtered Darwen. “We did find them, and they’re not tears, they’re portals. People make them! There’s one back there behind the camp!”
“That is all I am at liberty to say,” said Jorge.
Mr. Peregrine coughed quietly and, when Jorge looked at him, nodded slowly once more.
“Very well,” said Jorge. “The creature who calls herself Scarlett Oppertune has made an offer to the council through me. We, the camp and the villagers, are to leave this place for her development. The council has agreed to her terms.”
Darwen’s jaw dropped open. “You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed.
“If we stay,” Jorge said, “more children will be taken. The Oppertune creature has plans.”
“Greyling,” said Darwen. “She works for Greyling.”
“Greyling?” Jorge repeated, eyebrows raised. “No,” he continued, shaking his head. “The situation is bad, but there is no reason to think—”
“Scarlett is Miss Murray,” said Darwen. “I’m almost sure of it. I saw her transform, and inside she looks exactly like the eel thing that came out of Miss Murray. Let’s not forget that she worked for Greyling last year. That’s why she has a scrobbler army and generators.”
“No,” said Jorge. The half smile was gone now, and the look he shot Mr. Peregrine was impatient. “You should not encourage such fantasies, Octavius,” he said. “I have told you this before. We already have two real problems. Let’s not invent a third.”
“Two problems?” asked Alex.
“I mean that things are bad enough with this Bleck creature loose and Miss Oppertune’s demands without imagining that Greyling himself is somehow involved.”
Darwen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You don’t have two problems,” he said. “You don’t even have three. You have one. Scarlett and the Bleck and Greyling are working together! The Bleck creature isn’t loose at all: it’s in a cage, and it’s sent out specifically to take kids and bring them back for Greyling’s generators.”
“Nonsense,” Jorge riposted. “Miss Oppertune intends to establish a place for herself here. We have decided that we cannot fight her without considerable loss, and the council feels that if a portion of the world has to be given over to her, it is better that it is a place like this rather than—”
“Somewhere closer to home,” Alex cut in. “Somewhere with richer people in it.”
“It is not an ideal situation,” said Jorge. “We have to make the best of a bad predicament. You will all be going back to Hillside tomorrow anyway.”
“And you get what in return?” Darwen demanded.
“Scarlett will sign a treaty promising not to expand from this area,” said Jorge.
Alex gave a caustic bark of laughter. “And you buy that?” she said. “Boy, you are cute, but you’re dumb. This is just wrong.”
Jor
ge began, “We have no reason to think—”
“She’s right,” Darwen cut him off, his voice as cold and hard as steel. “You’re dumb. Scarlett wants this area because it’s dotted with those stone spheres that she can use to open up portals anywhere she likes. All she has to do is collect them, put them wherever she wants, in whatever country she wants, add water, and invade. She’s going to build a base here for her master, and then he’s going to go wherever he feels like going, and you won’t be able to stop him.”
“Miss Oppertune is a businesswoman,” said Jorge. “We will be able to make a fair deal with her.”
“She puts children in Greyling’s machines!” Darwen exclaimed. “She takes them from their families and drains them, and you think you can deal with her?”
“You are confusing separate problems,” said Jorge, “and imagining others. The council knows nothing of these generators you speak of.”
“We’ve seen them,” Darwen insisted.
“We have only your word for that,” said Jorge. He seemed slightly embarrassed to have to call Darwen a liar to his face, but clearly he thought they could dance around it no longer.
There was a moment’s silence.
“Mr. P?” Alex demanded. “You go along with this?”
“I serve the council, of course,” observed Mr. Peregrine. “But . . .”
“Hold it,” said Jorge. “You don’t want to say anything else.”
“Let him speak,” said Darwen. “It’s time he told us the truth.”
Mr. Peregrine considered him, and Darwen thought he saw a flash of something in his eyes that was almost a smile. A fat, black fly had settled on his cheek just below his left eye, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Truth,” he said, musing. “Very well. I think that you, Darwen Arkwright, do not need the Guardian Council. I think they know that and are afraid. I think that you should open the portal behind the campsite—”
“Now wait a minute,” sputtered Jorge.
“Open the portal,” Mr. Peregrine persisted, “and see for yourself.”
The old man’s manner was quite different. His eyes were full of a strange intensity, and the flicker of a smile was now unmistakable. Still, though, his body hadn’t moved a muscle, and the fly on his face was still there.
Darwen Arkwright and the Insidious Bleck Page 26
