Forest of Wonders

  “Then I’ll go with Raffa,” Trixin said. “I’ve seen the bat before, I know what he looks like, and I know the Commons.”

  Raffa scurried to the door and held it open, shooing Trixin out before she could say anything about having also heard Echo before.

  They began walking quickly. “I haven’t told them yet—about Echo talking,” Raffa said. “I still don’t want people to know.”

  “Not even your uncle?”

  “If I don’t find Echo today, I’ll tell him,” Raffa said. He wasn’t really answering Trixin’s question because he wasn’t sure of the answer himself. It would be awful if he had to put Uncle Ansel in the uncomfortable position of keeping the secret from the Chancellor—and worse still if his uncle wouldn’t or couldn’t.

  Raffa recalled Kuma’s quiet words: Animals aren’t meant to talk. Much as he hated the idea, it was starting to look as if she might be right.

  “First that bat and now the raccoons,” Trixin said, shaking her head. “And here I thought this job would be about plants, not animals! Those poor little raccoons. They’re so young. I wonder what happened to their mother.”

  On impulse, Raffa asked, “What happened to yours?” Then he bit his tongue. Maybe she wouldn’t want to talk about it.

  The furrow on Trixin’s forehead deepened. “She died last winter. When Brid was born.” She shook her head. “She’d never had trouble birthing before, not even with the twins. And Brid came just fine, but then there was all this blood. . . . Da went for the midwife, but it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry,” Raffa said.

  “So am I,” Trixin said. There was a spell of quiet, and then she looked at him with the usual snap and flash in her eyes. “She used to take in laundry and sewing, but I’m no good with a needle, so I had to find other work. Now it seems our luck has turned at last! This new job—I’ll be able to buy shoes for the little ones, and a wrapper for the baby, and firewood for the whole winter, and who knows what else. I’d never have guessed it round about this time yesterday, but it’s all thanks to you!”

  “I didn’t mean it,” Raffa said. Which was true, and they both laughed.

  “It is funny, isn’t it,” she said. “That we should meet on the street and end up working together.”

  Raffa nodded. He had known Trixin for only a day, yet he already felt at ease with her. Sheepishly, he remembered that, on first meeting her, he wished he had talked to someone else instead. Now he was glad he hadn’t.

  The apartments came into view, and Raffa trotted the rest of the way, with Trixin behind him. Courtyard, door, main room, Garith’s bedroom . . . and there was Echo, hanging from the wall peg!

  “Echo!” Raffa cried out. He rushed over, managing to restrain himself from grabbing the bat, whose claws were clenched tight in sleep. But he couldn’t resist waking Echo by blowing on him gently.

  “Echo, where have you been?” he murmured.

  Chitter click hiss. Chitter hiss hissssss. Echo blinked balefully, the purple of his eyes glowing with annoyance.

  Raffa didn’t care—even the bat’s grouchy sounds made him smile. “It’s okay—you can tell me later. I’m so glad you’re here. Go back to sleep now.” He put the bat on the perch necklace under his tunic, vowing silently never again to be separated from him.

  Trixin stood in the bedroom doorway, smiling at the reunion. “That’s one done,” she said. “Now all we have to do is find that bear for Kuma!”

  With a shake of his head, Raffa corrected her. “You mean, find that bear and Kuma.”

  Where in the Commons could a bear possibly be hidden?

  Fifth bell was ringing when Raffa and Trixin returned to the laboratory. Ansel was there with Garith.

  “We found him!” Trixin announced.

  Raffa tugged at the neckline of his tunic to let his uncle and cousin have a quick peek at the sleeping Echo. “When he’s awake, I’ll show you how well his wounds have healed,” Raffa said.

  “Let’s hope the same for our little friends here,” Ansel said, nodding toward the raccoons in their boxes on the shelf. He went on to say that while he had not found Kuma, a message was being sent to the guards and gatekeepers.

  “I hope she returns of her own accord,” Ansel said soberly. “If the guards have to bring her in, she could be regarded as having broken the terms of her service, which would almost certainly mean time in the Garrison.”

  “Oh, why is she being such a wobbler?” Trixin exclaimed.

  Raffa had no idea what to do about Kuma. But he did know that he wanted to talk to Echo without anyone else around, and he still had to figure out how to be alone with the raccoons when they woke.

  An idea came to him.

  “Uncle Ansel, is it all right if I spend the night here, in the laboratory?” Raffa asked. “So I can keep an eye on the raccoons?”

  “Why don’t we take them to our quarters?” Garith suggested.

  “No,” Raffa said quickly. “I think they should be in the laboratory. In case anything happens in the middle of the night and they need to be treated.”

  “Should I stay with you?” Garith said—without much enthusiasm, Raffa noted. Despite their cooperation in working on the raccoons, it seemed that their disagreement was still ruffling the air.

  “There’s only the one bed,” Ansel said. “The laboratory is intended for research, not treatment of patients.”

  “I don’t mind staying on my own,” Raffa said, hoping he sounded casual.

  “That’s decided, then,” Ansel said. “Oh, and I nearly forgot—your parents sent the pigeon back today. Your mother has promised to help with the lying-in of Missum Kim. They will come for a visit after the baby is born, which should be in the next day or two.”

  Raffa was greatly relieved. It might just be possible to keep the secret of Echo’s speech—and the raccoons’ too, if that proved out—until his parents’ arrival. The ache of missing them caught him unprepared. He could hardly believe it hadn’t even been two days since he’d left home; it felt like much longer.

  Trixin left with Garith and Ansel to go to the apartment, returning a while later with a blanket and a pannikin of dinner for Raffa. After one more look at the baby raccoons, she said her good-byes and went home.

  Raffa ate his dinner, by which time it was dark outside. He washed his plate and mug, then pulled out the perch necklace.

  “Don’t talk, don’t talk.”

  “It’s okay, Echo. We’re on our own here.”

  “Okay here, okay where?”

  “We’re at the pother laboratory,” Raffa replied. He told Echo about the baby raccoons. “I’m going to wake them now.”

  He took the boxes off the shelf carefully, and uncovered the male raccoon. Bending over the box, he blew on its whiskers. The raccoon twitched, then batted its little front paws in front of its face.

  Raffa held his breath. Would it speak?

  The little beast woke with a cough and a splutter, followed by a pitiful mewl.

  “Shusss, shusss,” Raffa whispered soothingly. He was pleased to see the raccoon moving; it meant that the vine was indeed healing and curing again.

  The raccoon looked right at Raffa, who noticed that its eyes were still dark; they hadn’t yet taken on a purple sheen.

  “Twig?” the raccoon said, in a small raspy voice. “Twig? Twig? Twig?”

  Raffa didn’t know whether to shout in triumph or groan in confusion: For the second time, the vine infusion had enabled an animal to speak!

  “Twig? Twig?” the raccoon repeated, its voice now plaintive.

  Why would a raccoon ask for a twig? It wasn’t as if it needed a perch.

  Garith’s raccoon didn’t respond when Raffa blew on her whiskers. Just as he began to worry, she too pawed and sniffed at the air, then gave a loud squeak.

  The male raccoon responded immediately. “Twig!”

  “Bando?” the female said weakly.

  Each raccoon tried to move toward the other, but their injuries and th
e walls of their boxes prevented a reunion.

  Echo was hanging from the shelf, watching with great interest. “Bando Twig,” the bat said. “Bando Twig, Twig Bando.”

  “Mamma? Bando?”

  “Twig! Twig!”

  “Enough all of you! You’re driving me ziggy!” Raffa said, putting his hands over his ears. “Just give me a minute, for quake’s sake!”

  Working carefully, he transferred the raccoons back to their original box so they could be together. Their joy and relief were palpable.

  Using the dropper as Garith had shown him, he got the raccoons to take a little sweetened water. It was a temporary measure, at best. Raffa knew that no matter how well the twins healed, they would perish without their mother’s milk. He wondered if a botanical substitute could be concocted, although he had never heard of such a thing. Maybe Uncle Ansel would know.

  “Twig Bando, two pups born one,” Echo said.

  Raffa nodded. “Yes, I’m sure they’re twins,” he said.

  Comforted by each other’s presence, the little raccoons settled back to sleep, curled together as much as was possible with their bindings in the way.

  With the laboratory now quiet, Raffa considered how he could keep the raccoons’ speech a secret. Echo had heeded Raffa’s warning not to talk in front of other people, but the raccoons were only babies; he didn’t think he could count on them to do the same. Could he possibly hide them somewhere? But how would he explain their absence to Uncle Ansel?

  Then Raffa heard a heartrending cry—not loud, but clearly desperate. It sounded very much like a baby. He rushed to the box to find Bando thrashing about in the throes of a bad dream. Both twins woke and began babbling.

  “Bird,” Bando said.

  “Claw,” his sister responded.

  “Bird, bird!”

  “Claw, claw!”

  Now the raccoons were crying pitifully, and Echo squeaked several times in distress. The twins’ words must have reminded the bat of his own wounding. Raffa frowned, wondering why he hadn’t realized earlier how similar the raccoons’ injuries were to Echo’s. Bird . . . claw . . . Could the twins’ injuries have been caused by a raptor, too?

  “Bando Twig no good,” Echo said. He moved to a spot on the shelf just above the box and hung with his head right above the raccoons. Then he chittered soothingly.

  “No bird no claw,” Echo said. “No bird no claw.”

  The raccoons looked up at Echo, who continued to chitter at them. The gentle sound calmed the baby twins.

  Raffa stroked Echo’s head fondly. “Thank you, Echo,” he said.

  He stood quietly, enjoying a rare moment of peace as Echo lulled the babies to sleep again. Then the bat fluttered back to the perch necklace.

  “Now, tell me what happened to you,” Raffa said, “starting when I left you last night—you were going to feed.”

  “Skeeto,” Echo said. “Skeeto skeeto skeeto midge midge—”

  “That’s right. You went hunting in the courtyard.”

  “Perch sleep.”

  Raffa frowned. “So you did come in afterwards? But why weren’t you there in the morning?”

  “Friend Kuma.”

  “Kuma! What did she do, did she take you somewhere?”

  “Echo go friend Kuma. Dark.”

  Raffa tried to hold the moving parts together in his mind. Echo had come in after hunting, before Raffa and the others were back from dinner at the Chancellor’s. Then Kuma had fetched Echo away with her to go . . . where? Wherever it was, she had probably wanted Echo with her for his keen night senses.

  “Echo, do you know where Kuma is now?”

  “Kuma no good,” Echo said.

  Raffa was startled. What did that mean? Was Kuma in trouble? “What happened, Echo? Is she all right?”

  Clicks and chitters.

  “Oh, no. Echo, don’t stop talking now!” He decided on another approach. “Could you take me to the last place you saw Kuma?”

  Chitter, squeak, and then, “Echo go, Raffa come.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  IT might have been wiser to wait until morning, but Raffa was too upset by the thought that Kuma might be in trouble. And even if she wasn’t, he wanted to find her before she had a run-in with any of the guards.

  The raccoons would surely be distressed if they woke to find themselves alone; they might thrash about and reopen their wounds. So he decided to bring them along.

  After some thought, he used his leather rope and his rucksack to rig a sort of carrier that he strapped onto his front. He wrapped the raccoons in their box, which he put upright in the rucksack.

  They both woke during these doings, but they were calm now. Their little heads stuck out of the sack. Echo hung just above them on his perch. Raffa felt like the keeper of a traveling menagerie.

  They started out, Echo guiding Raffa toward the north side of the Commons. As he walked, Raffa remembered something he wanted to discuss with the bat.

  “Echo, do you like being able to talk?”

  The bat was silent for so long that Raffa wondered if he had understood the question. He was debating whether he should ask again when finally Echo let out a little squeak.

  “Echo Raffa talk good,” the bat said. “Talk Raffa, talk Echo friends.”

  “You’re a really good friend, Echo,” Raffa said earnestly. “You and Garith are the best friends I’ve ever had.” Then he checked himself—were he and Garith still friends? Surely a single argument couldn’t sunder a lifelong friendship.

  Or could it?

  “Friend good,” Echo said. “Raffa one, bats many.”

  With a throb in his gut, Raffa noticed that Echo did not sound happy. “You mean,” he said slowly, “that you only have one human friend but lots of bat friends. And you miss them.”

  Echo chirped softly.

  To Raffa’s surprise, his eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he now understood what it was like to be in an unfamiliar place, missing those closest to you. He had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak.

  “I’ll do my best to help you, Echo. If you decide you want to go back to living with bats again, maybe we can find an antidote to—to make you stop talking. If that’s what you want.”

  Part of him—a very large part, maybe most of him—nearly cried out in protest. It wasn’t what he wanted. If finding an antidote meant that Echo would leave him, he didn’t even want to try.

  He said none of this aloud. But it seemed that Echo sensed it anyway, for he reached up with one scarred wing and gently touched Raffa’s chin.

  Raffa checked frequently on the raccoons in the rucksack. With their wounds bound, he could not tell how well they were healing. But both were alert and apparently pain-free, and Bando had even managed to extricate one of his paws from its binding. Raffa tried to put the binding back on but couldn’t manage in the dark.

  Soon he smelled horses, and he realized that Echo had led him to the Commons stables. He followed the well-kept gravel drive, which even at this hour was illuminated by lanterns. More lanterns burned in the stable yard.

  The stables were vast. He counted five buildings that held horses, each with two rows of stalls and a central alley wide enough for coaches or wagons. There were various outbuildings for tools and feed, as well as a huge smithy and a tack room as big as a barn.

  It was quiet at this hour. Raffa heard the occasional nicker of a horse in its stall, but no one was moving about. He was puzzled: Was this their destination? Why would Kuma have gone to the stables?

  “Raffa go,” Echo said.

  So it wasn’t the stables. Keeping to the outer wall, he headed for the back of the stable yard. The pebbled drive here was not as grand or well-kept as the one leading to the front. The gate was open; Raffa crept up to it and peered around the edge.

  Ten paces ahead, he saw a guard booth at the side of the drive. It looked to be unoccupied, but then Raffa heard a loud snore. He allowed himself a small smi
le: No need for a califerium combination this time.

  “Quiet now,” he whispered to Echo, who in turn clicked at the twins. He was fairly certain that the guard’s job was to check on people entering the stable yard, not leaving it, but he was taking no chances.

  He slipped past the sleeping guard and continued down the drive, which soon became a dirt track. The slums to the north of the Commons were supposedly even worse than those on the south side; he hoped he wouldn’t have to go that far.

  On both sides of the track lay a large expanse of overgrown land that served as sort of a buffer zone between the Commons and the slums. The light from the guard booth’s lantern faded; it grew very dark, with only a clouded moon in the sky. Raffa’s pace slowed. He took out the light stick, but its phosphorescence had dimmed to uselessness.

  “Very near,” Echo said then, to Raffa’s relief. The bat directed him to turn left off the track.

  Raffa continued walking far enough to know that the track would have disappeared from sight behind him. There was no path; he had to take one tentative step at a time to keep from stumbling.

  Then Echo clicked sharply, and a large structure loomed out of the darkness in front of them.

  A fence. A solid, heavy fence built higher than a man’s head, and topped by boards studded with fierce nail points and broken glass. Its message was as clear as plain speech. Keep out. You are not welcome.

  What was this place?

  “Here, Echo? Kuma was here?” Raffa whispered.

  “Kuma friend,” Echo replied.

  Raffa cautiously followed the fence until he came to a gate. Bolted shut from the inside, of course.

  He glanced around nervously, reasoning that if the place was being guarded, sooner or later the guard would end up back here at the gate. He retraced his steps and decided to follow the fence in the other direction, to get some idea of its perimeter.

  Raffa walked better than eighty paces before he reached the far corner of the fence. The enclosure was big enough to hold several buildings. He went back to the corner opposite the guard gate, figuring that from here he would be able to see someone approaching from two directions.