Pillage

  The soil was soft and splashed up around me like thick water. I rolled to my feet, holding to the dangling ends of the ivy for support.

  I looked around in awe. The inside of the conservatory

  felt huge. Scattered around the grounds were eight small,

  large-leafed plants that stuck straight up out of the soil in a systematic pattern. In the center of the conservatory stood a small shed with a tiny, windowed door and thatched roof. A narrow brick path cut across the soil to the shed and then led to some wide metal bins on the far side.

  It was eerily quiet.

  Kate stepped down off the ivy, arriving in a far more dignified manner than I had. She looked around, taking in each detail.

  We both looked at the shack.

  “Come on,” I whispered.

  We followed the brick path to the small shed. Kate knocked as though we were neighbors stopping by to borrow some sugar.

  Nobody answered.

  I tried the knob and the door opened, the hinges groaning in protest. The room was small, maybe eight feet by eight feet, and was thick with dust and at least a hundred cobwebs. The floor was wood except for in the center of the room where a circular pit was covered with a metal grate. Sitting on the metal grate was a burlap sack that looked to be filled with something heavy and lumpy. It was also covered in spiderwebs.

  “Cozy,” Kate whispered.

  “What’s in the sack?”

  “Look and see,” Kate prompted me.

  “I hate spiderwebs,” I admitted.

  “You’re not impressing me,” she said dryly.

  “I’m not trying to impress you,” I said, bothered that she would even think that.

  “Well, whether you’re trying to or not, you’re failing.”

  I hated girls.

  I pushed through the cobwebs, blowing the few that stuck to my face out of my way. The burlap sack was covered with actual spiders, but as I reached down, they scurried off, disappearing into the shadows.

  I grabbed the bag by the bunched-up neck and tried to heft it. There was no way; it must have weighed at least two hundred pounds.

  “If you can’t lift it, just open it,” Kate said, still standing at the door.

  “Thanks,” I snapped.

  I pulled the top of the sack back and untied a band of material that was twisted around it. The neck of the bag opened about a foot wide. Light from one of the small windows poured over the sack, letting me easily see inside.

  The bag was filled with dull-colored stones—some were oval, some were almost square, and I could see a couple that were flat and long. I reached in and pulled one out.

  The single rock must have weighed at least thirty pounds.

  “They’re really heavy,” I said.

  “I can see that. Bring one out.”

  I awkwardly carried the stone to the shed’s door where we could both look at it in the gray air. Kate wanted to hold it, but the weight of it made her change her mind.

  “I’ve never felt anything so heavy,” Kate said, giving it back to me. “What is it?”

  I remembered the illustrations I had seen in my book last night. “I think it’s an egg stone.”

  “An egg stone?” Kate laughed. “What in the world is an egg stone?”

  “For a dragon,” I said seriously.

  Kate laughed again. “You’re serious?”

  “I don’t know. That book we found had pictures of them.”

  “Oh,” she mocked, “pictures? That settles it. So these rocks are dragon eggs?”

  I wished I had never said anything about dragons.

  “I can make plants grow and lettuce fight people,” I pointed out. “What’s so crazy about dragon eggs?”

  “Plants are real.”

  “Good point,” I said, embarrassed. “I’m being stupid.”

  Kate patted me on the back as if I were some sad, defeated little kid.

  “We should probably go,” I said. “Scott will be home soon, and I don’t want him dragging me back to the house by my ear again.”

  I put the stone back in the bag and we walked across the dirt toward the ivy. Kate was saying something about how all guys wanted dragons to be real when she tripped and fell to the ground. I helped her up, happy for the chance to hold her hand.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Kate looked at the ground where she had tripped. There was a six-inch hole and something black and metal showing. I got down on my knees and stuck my finger into the hole.

  Kate made a hissing noise and I pulled my hand back quickly.

  “Seriously,” I said. “You’re hilarious.”

  I stood up and kicked at the hole with my shoe. More ground broke loose, falling down a long, straight hole. I could see that the black metal was actually a bar.

  “It looks like a cage,” I said.

  Kate started to kick at the dirt while I jumped up and down. The dirt resisted at first, but then it broke apart like moist cake and slid down into darkness. Kate screamed as a ten-foot section dropped from beneath her feet.

  “It is a cage,” I said excitedly.

  She moved back while I continued to push dirt through the bars. In a short while, we had the entire top cleared off. The cage was probably twenty by ten feet and ran lengthwise along the wall with the arch. Uncovered, it looked like a large cattle guard.

  “Maybe it was to stop animals from coming in here when the arch was open,” I said.

  “Or to keep something from getting out.”

  A loud thump sounded from behind. I jumped about two inches higher than Kate did. Turning around, I saw that a large metal horseshoe had landed in the dirt. A long length of rope was tied to the horseshoe. It began to move, dragging through the dirt as it was pulled up and ultimately back over the wall.

  “What’s that?” Kate asked.

  “I think it’s Milo’s idea of a grappling hook.”

  Kate and I climbed out of the conservatory and down the other side. Once we were both back on the ground, I gave the ivy a little instruction and the branches and vines crawled back down the wall until it had returned to its original size.

  We walked around the wall to find Milo trying to throw his horseshoe again.

  “Where’d you guys go?” he asked.

  “Inside,” Kate said casually.

  “How?” he asked excitedly.

  “We’ll show you tomorrow.”

  “That’s not fair,” Milo whined.

  “You guys should get home,” I said. “Your parents will be getting concerned.”

  “My parents aren’t concerned,” Milo complained. “They’re in town, shopping for a new stove because the one we have doesn’t work and all the food we eat is cold. Have you ever had cold corn? It tastes . . .”

  Milo trailed off as we stared at him.

  “Fine,” he said defensively. “But I didn’t run all the way home to get this rope just so we could give up and . . .”

  In the far distance, the sound of Scott’s hounds could be heard.

  “We’ll show you later, I promise,” I said. “But for now I’ve got to go.”

  “Then what about the basement?” Milo asked. “Let’s check out the basement.”

  “Not tonight,” I pleaded. “I don’t want Scott to catch me in the gardens. Plus it’s late and I’m tired. Tomorrow’s Friday; we can stay out later.”

  Milo argued with me for a bit before accepting my excuses. He frowned, obviously upset.

  The hounds were getting louder.

  “I’ll see you guys on the bus,” I waved. I took off running through the forest as Milo and Kate ran in the opposite direction.

  Chapter 12

  Two-Quarters of a Person

  I had barely fallen asleep when a rap on my bedroom door woke me up. I still was not completely comfortable sleeping alone on the third floor. Between the unexplained noises and the mysterious wind and my imagination running wild, sleep was a precious escape that was not always easy to achieve.

&nb
sp; Now that I had fallen asleep, someone had the nerve to knock on my door.

  “Who is it?” I asked groggily.

  “Wane,” she replied through the door.

  “Door’s open,” I mumbled.

  Wane came in and flipped on the light. She smiled at me. “Nice hair,” she joked.

  “I wasn’t planning on seeing people in the middle of the night,” I said defensively.

  “Sorry,” Wane apologized. “I’d rather be sleeping myself, but your uncle wants to see you and he has no sense of time.”

  My heart rate increased. I was suddenly wide awake.

  “Come with me,” Wane said. “And hurry.”

  I jumped out of bed and threw on my shirt. Wane was already out the door and walking down the hall. I raced to catch up to her.

  “Why now?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” Wane shrugged. “He found out you were here and demanded to see you.”

  “He didn’t know I was here?” I asked in amazement.

  Wane stopped and looked at me. I could see her thinking behind her eyes.

  “No,” she finally said. “Well, kind of.”

  “I thought he sent for me?”

  “I’m sure he would have if he had been aware of your situation. But your uncle doesn’t communicate well with others. Millie acted in your best interest.”

  We climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, crossed the hall, and moved up to the fifth.

  I looked at Wane. She was pretty even at night. “Do you like working here?” I asked, suddenly curious.

  Wane stopped climbing the stairs. “Of course.”

  “It doesn’t seem like the kind of question that can be answered with an ‘of course.’” I pointed out.

  Wane smiled.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I mean, it seems like a weird job, and unless you lost a bet and have to work here, you’d be better off doing something else.”

  “This is my home,” she said simply, beginning to climb again.

  After a few steps I spoke again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Beck.”

  We walked across an open, empty room.

  “Remember what we’ve said,” Wane insisted. “You are not to worry him. If he asks about the manor, give him only good news. Bad news makes him . . .”

  “Makes him?”

  “Just stick to the good news.”

  On the sixth floor was an archway with a large brown door. Wane took a key from her pocket and opened it. I was tempted to inform her that I had a key similar to hers, but I didn’t.

  Once through the door, Wane put her hand on my shoulder and turned me around to look at her. The room was lit softly by lion-shaped sconces.

  “He wants to see you alone,” she said.

  “Is that bad?”

  “You’ll be fine,” she said unconvincingly. “Through that door is a spiral staircase that will take you to the dome room. Knock before you enter.”

  “Can’t this wait until morning?” I asked anxiously. “Like when it’s light? Or when I’m at school?”

  “Go,” Wane said unsympathetically. “Waiting will only make him more . . .”

  Wane stopped herself again.

  “More what?” I panicked.

  “Hurry,” she said, pushing me. “He’s waiting.”

  I was no longer glad Wane was here.

  I walked toward the door slowly. I looked back at Wane and she motioned for me to keep going. I went through the door and began to climb the spiral stairs. The staircase twisted for a hundred feet before stopping at a trapdoor in the ceiling.

  I wanted to see my uncle—at least I thought I did. My whole life I had longed for my dad to show up and take me away. Now I had an uncle I hadn’t even known about and I wanted him to step into the role. I was tired of being alone and ignored. I thought Uncle Aeron could make my life better. At least those had been my thoughts before I had arrived in Kingsplot. Now I felt that maybe my life was fine with just me.

  I knocked on the trapdoor and a muffled voice answered.

  “Come.”

  I pushed the heavy door up and open. It fell back against the floor with a loud knock.

  “Come, come,” my uncle insisted. “Close the door behind you.”

  I climbed up into the dome room and closed the trapdoor behind me. The room was warm and the floor was covered with thick furs. There were windows open all around the circular room. A small bed rested off to one side and there was a pot near the foot of the bed. Next to one of the windows stood an antique telescope with books and blankets scattered around the base of it.

  And sitting on a chair next to a burning candle and looking directly at me was my Uncle Aeron.

  He looked a bit like my mother, though with a long beard and wild, gray hair. He had deep brown eyes, and his tattered bathrobe made him look like a homeless actor in a community production of Lord of the Rings. In his right hand he held a long black staff covered with markings. I didn’t recognize any of them. The inside of the dome was painted with a map of the world.

  “You guys must like maps,” I said.

  “Beck?” Uncle Aeron whispered reverently.

  I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

  “Come here,” he insisted. “Come.”

  I walked up to him. He held me at arm’s length and looked me in the eyes as if searching for something deep within me. He looked like a person who would have given just about anything to smile, but didn’t because of pride.

  “Francine,” he whispered sadly. “Your mother?”

  I nodded.

  “She would never have let you come.”

  “What?” I asked, bewildered. “I thought—”

  “Where is she?” he interrupted.

  I didn’t like this at all. I wasn’t supposed to give him bad news and what could be worse news than telling him what happened to his sister?

  “Where is she?” he asked, agitated.

  I had no choice. “She’s dead.”

  My uncle let go of me and stood. He gazed out the window, looking at the stars as clouds moved over and above them as though he could see her spirit in the sky. He kneaded his toes in the furry pelt on the floor.

  “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I kinda had no choice,” I pointed out.

  “It’s far too dangerous here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You came by train?” he asked frantically.

  I nodded.

  Aeron began to pick up books, madly flipping through the pages.

  “What’s the condition of my estate?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The manor?”

  “It’s really nice,” I tried.

  “I should wander down, but I must watch the skies,” he said sadly. “The staff? How are they?”

  “You mean Millie, Thomas, and Wane? Oh, and Scott?”

  “That’s only four.”

  “That’s all there is.”

  “Ridiculous,” Aeron said. “There are hundreds; you’ll meet them later. And the gardens?”

  “Can’t you see them from here?” I asked in confusion.

  “Don’t be smart,” he said, banging his staff. “I must watch the heavens.”

  “But you looked at me,” I pointed out. “And you look at your books.”

  Aeron turned. I wished he wasn’t looking at me at the moment.

  “You don’t understand,” he whispered slowly. “You’re a child, faced with an equation you can’t possibly figure out.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said, hating the way grown-ups insisted on talking.

  “You sleep in the manor?” he asked quickly.

  “I do,” I answered. “On the third floor.”

  “Good. You play where you should?”

  “I think so.”

  “There are poachers in the woods—stay clear of them.”

  “Poachers?” I asked, thinking of someone cooking eggs.
>
  “Hunters going after my game. Stay clear of them,” he ordered again. “Francine . . . your mother was a strong person. She was wise to leave here.”

  “Why did she?” I asked.

  “It was our plan.”

  Aeron saw something flutter in the sky. He ran to his telescope and looked up. With his right eye still to the lens, he continued. “She hated so many things about our family. When she left, she vowed never to step foot in Kingsplot again.”

  “Why?”

  “She was trying to run away from what she knew would happen.”

  “What was going to happen?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said sadly. “It’s only just beginning.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “What’s up with this family?” I complained as sincerely as I could. “No one says anything straight.”

  “Our father, Morgan, was a harsh man.”

  “See?” I argued.

  He wasn’t listening to me.

  “Not only did he disapprove of whom Francine loved, he had not wanted to wake up our mistake,” Aeron explained. “What of your father?”

  “I have no idea,” I answered, summing up my feelings about our entire conversation. “My dad left my mother when I was just a kid.”

  Aeron adjusted the telescope. “No Phillips stays married for long.”

  He was a crystal-clear communicator; no wonder he lived alone.

  Silence fell as a soft wind blew through the room. I was pretty confused. I was also worried that if I didn’t ask now I might never know the answers to some of the things that were bothering me.

  “It seems weird here,” I said.

  “Eh?”

  “Here in Kingsplot. There’s lots of things . . . growing,” I said awkwardly.

  Aeron took his eye from the lens and looked at me with confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen bushes grow really rapidly and—”

  He looked for a moment like he might be proud of me, but then he swore and grabbed my shoulders. “Stop it!” he said. “Stop it right now.”

  “What?” I said, shaking loose from his grip.

  “It’s a curse, a perversion,” he insisted, pointing at me with short, skinny fingers. “The land we own trusts you because of who you are. The plants are not looking to do good—they’re looking to use you. Not a single Phillips has ever benefited from our control of the foliage.”