The comment piqued Brendan’s temper. “Don’t talk to me about the Battle for the Plinth!” he roared. “I don’t recall seeing you there, staining the ground with your bird blood.”
“Calm yourself, Bandit King,” replied Maude. “I mean no disrespect.” She cleared her throat and continued, “The Elder Mystic has called for representatives from each of the four provinces. Since no one technically ‘rules’ Wildwood, it was assumed that an envoy from the Wildwood Bandits would suffice.”
Ahead, a snow-dappled peak distinguished itself from a chain of surrounding hills, its tip lost in a haze of clouds. “Cathedral Peak,” said Maude, disarming the tension. “Not far now.” A lazy road carved its way in switchbacks through this range of high hills, leading down the lee side, where the mountainous landscape gave way to a gentle valley. The forest below the flyers began to thin, and intermittent meadows and fields supplanted Wildwood’s thick fabric of trees. After a time, Curtis began to see small cottages on the margins of these clearings, their squat stone chimneys blowing white smoke into the misty air. A man and a woman, stepping out onto the porch of one of these hovels, shielded the dim sun from their eyes with their hands and watched, curiously, the two birds and their riders.
The farms, however, seemed desiccated and gray. No crops grew; great farm fields lay fallow amid the dun of winter that lay over the land. The heron swooped low, and Curtis could see a gang of children, shoeless in the road. He caught a glimpse of their faces; they looked hollow-eyed, tired.
Maude guessed at Curtis’s observation. “All is not well in the North Wood,” said the bird. “We are more affected by the distresses of our populous ally to the south than we expected. There is no call for our exports; what’s more, the winter has been very harsh. Even our well-kept stores had not prepared us for this dark season.”
“I had no idea,” said Curtis over the whipping wind.
“And should you?” asked the bird. “Since when did Wildwood Bandits keep tabs on the welfare of North Wooders?”
Curtis thought for a moment. “I mean, I’ve heard people talking about fewer shipments—we’ve all been stretched a little thin. The elder bandits called it a dry spell.”
The heron laughed coldly. “That, bandit Curtis, is an understatement. Many children will go hungry tonight. Many parents’ cupboards remain empty.”
“But why?”
“All will be revealed. In time. In time.” The bird ascended, saying, “We are growing closer. Look: the Council Tree.”
At the bird’s invocation, the canopy of a great, gnarled tree could suddenly be seen in the distance, towering above this patchwork of fields and thickets. Curtis gasped; a constellation of small birds created a kind of halo over the tree’s array of leafless branches, wheeling and diving in play. A crowd of animals and humans milled around the fat trunk, as minuscule as ants compared to the grandeur of the incredible tree. Beyond this scene, Curtis could see a high, barren hill, topped by a wooden fire tower. Farther, past a stand of gray maples and tucked into a narrow defile created by the meeting of two small hills, sat a long wooden building. Seeing this, Maude stretched her long neck and shifted her wings. She began to descend.
As they came closer, Curtis studied the building they were approaching. Its long roof, white with snow, supported a large central chimney, and the dark wood of its slatted siding appeared stained and weathered by age. The tip of a massive beam jutted from beneath the framework of the roof, just above a set of wide wooden doors that were hatch-marked with iron struts.
Maude swooped down in a graceful figure eight to land on the snowy clearing that stretched away from the hall’s entrance. A robed badger, sweeping snow from a slate-stone path, paused from his labors and watched as Curtis and Brendan dismounted. Curtis’s feet met the ground unsteadily; his legs wobbled and the earth seemed to undulate as his equilibrium reset itself from the long flight. The badger returned to his sweeping.
“Inside,” said Maude, panting a little from the exertion. “The meeting is just now being called to order.” She gestured with a wing to the great doors of the hall.
Uneasy, Brendan surveyed the surroundings. His hand rested reflexively on the saber hilt at his side. Maude saw this and said, “You’ll not be needing that, Bandit King. You’re in peaceable country now.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” responded Brendan tersely.
Curtis felt a squirming in the canvas knapsack on his back. Pushing open the top flap, Septimus nudged his snout into the fresh air.
“Are we there?” he asked.
“Yep,” said Curtis. “Enjoy the ride?”
“Yes, thanks,” said the rat. “But I was thinking we might take the ground route on the return journey. What do you say?” He pushed one of his paws out and smoothed back the fur between his ears. “Don’t freak out, but I threw up in there. Just a little.”
“What?”
“Just a little. Mostly into this pouch.” The rat’s other paw brought up a leather satchel, loosely tied at the top with leather cord. He tossed it casually to the ground. “Don’t open that.”
“Septimus! That was my lunch!”
The comment was ignored. “So where are we?” asked the rat.
Curtis grumbled under his breath before responding. “The Great Hall,” he said. “A clandestine meeting. We’ve been called.”
Just as he finished speaking, the great doors of the hall were thrown open with a clatter. Standing on the threshold was none other than Owl Rex, a massive, bespectacled great horned owl and someone Curtis hadn’t seen in many months—not since they’d parted ways at the Mansion earlier in the fall. A smile crept across his face as the owl, his wings extended, walked down the pathway toward the three new arrivals.
“My bandits!” he boomed. “My good bandits! I hope your flight was not too taxing.”
“Owl!” said Curtis, beaming. “What are you doing here? You’re a long ways from the Principality.”
Brendan’s hand fell away from his saber, and he walked proudly up to the approaching bird. “Dear Owl,” he said, giving a slight bow, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you, King,” said the Owl, inclining his head. He threw his massive wings around the two bandits’ shoulders. “I did not know when we three would be reunited.”
Septimus cleared his throat.
“We four,” corrected the owl, winking at the rat. He then frowned as he spoke again: “And to answer the question of my bandit friend Curtis, I did not relish the idea of leaving my home province so soon after my time of incarceration. The Avian Principality is quite beautiful this time of year, all the nests gilded with snow.” He sighed and continued, “But the fate of the Wood seems to be in the balance; a new threat faces us all.” He looked at Maude and the egret, who were still picking debris from the undersides of their wings. “I trust you were not followed,” he said.
Maude shook her head. “No, my prince,” she said, bowing. “We’ve come alone.”
“Very good. Now”—Owl Rex turned about and began guiding Brendan and Curtis toward the Great Hall—“the meeting must commence.”
“Mehlberg,” said Elsie’s father. “I called earlier this week?”
The light from the ancient-looking computer monitor cast a strange glow across the garish features of the woman at the cluttered desk. It made the layers-thick smear of makeup on her face appear all the more ghoulish.
“Mehlverg?” the woman drawled.
“No,” corrected David. “Mehlberg. With a B.”
The woman turned her attention from the computer screen to give Elsie’s father a withering glare. “It is what I said,” she intoned, icily, “Mehlverg.” English was clearly the woman’s second language. To Elsie, crowded against her father’s pant leg with her Intrepid Tina doll embraced closely to her chest, the woman’s voice carried the echoes of a far-off kingdom, one populated by onion-domed palaces and kick-dancing Cossacks.
David, chastened, smiled politely. “Oh,” he
said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear your accent.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Mehlberg. Lydia and David. We’re here to drop off our daughters? Elsie and Rachel?” Getting no reply, David squirmed uncomfortably in his loafers and, looking down at the name placard on the desk, attempted to pronounce the name written there. “Miss … Miss Mudrak?”
The woman still did not respond. Her composure was lazy, languid. She studied the Mehlberg family for a time before setting her long-nailed fingers against the edge of the desk and pushing her chair back. She unfurled the great length of her body and stood, suddenly towering over the family before her. David, who Elsie always thought to be incredibly tall, only came up to the woman’s collarbone. The woman wore a shimmering, slender gown, and her fingers were studded with a rainbow spectrum of gemmed rings. She reached out one hand blithely to David, those long fingers splayed in the dramatic fashion of a countess receiving a suitor.
“Please,” she said, the words issuing from her ruby-red mouth like a slurry of molasses, “call me Desdemona.” The flicker of a smile appeared on her lips.
David’s words of greeting came in a rush of sputtering, blather and nonsense. He began to reach his hand to meet Desdemona’s, but Lydia’s hand beat him to it. Glaring, Elsie’s mother shook the woman’s hand firmly.
“How do you do, Miss Mudrak,” said Lydia, loudly. “We’re here to board our children. We’ll be back for them in two weeks’ time.”
Whatever lightness had appeared on Desdemona’s face in that moment fell away as she turned her attention to Mrs. Mehlberg. She pulled her hand from Lydia’s and slowly eased herself back into her chair. “I see,” she said. “Let me find wot is on computer.” Her face was again illuminated by the screen’s glow as she slowly began tapping on one of the arrow keys of the keyboard. “Ah yes,” she said finally. “I see it here. Two girls. Elsie and Rachel.” She turned her head slightly and made sharp eye contact with Elsie, who froze.
“And you are …?” asked the woman.
“I—I’m Elsie.”
“Very nice to meet.” Without moving her head, she looked at Rachel. “And this?”
Rachel only glared at the woman from beneath her hair, saying nothing. She held her arms across her chest defiantly. The mohawked skull on her shirt was all scrunched up.
Lydia interjected. “This is Rachel,” she said, frowning at her daughter. “She can sometimes be very rude.”
Miss Mudrak smiled, and a long row of teeth appeared between her lipsticked lips. They were nearly perfect, Elsie observed, save for a single golden tooth, third from the center, which glinted in the light of the computer monitor. “This is no a problem,” said Desdemona. “We are accustomed to such things.”
Elsie swallowed loudly.
“Well, famille Mehlverg,” said Desdemona Mudrak, turning back to the computer and stabbing her fingers at the keys. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Joffrey Unthank Home for Wayward Youth.” (Here she thrust a single polished fingernail at a framed picture on the desk; a toothy man with a goatee and greasy hair smiled out from inside a loud argyle sweater—Mr. Unthank, Elsie presumed.) “Founded 1985. We are full-service orphanage and reformatory academy, boasting a population of one hundred fine children in the various unfortunate circumstances.” The woman droned this recited speech with all the enthusiasm of a veteran flight attendant talking about seat cushion flotation devices.
As Desdemona continued on about the administrative details of the business, her eyelids lazing at half-mast all the while, Elsie’s attention was drawn to the decorations on the office’s walls. She had always assumed that dust could only collect on a horizontal surface, but the Unthank Home’s drab green walls proved otherwise—a thin sheen of gray dust seemed to nearly act as a second coat of paint. The grime covered a sprawling collection of what looked like old movie posters, though Elsie couldn’t make out the titles—they were all written in what looked like an alien language. Handsome leading men in tuxedos, smoking cigarettes, lounged against white balustrades on these posters, sharing meaningful glances with tall, striking women. In one faded broadside, the lips of a man and a woman were poised inches apart, their eyes smoldering. Above the photo, in tall, eye-catching text, was written the following Martian glyph: Looking closer, Elsie was shocked to recognize the woman on the poster as none other than Miss Mudrak herself, just a little younger. Aghast, Elsie looked down at the woman behind the desk, still talking, and back to the poster. The resemblance was there, but the spirit was missing from the woman’s eyes. Elsie couldn’t help but spout out, “Is that you?”
Jolted from her monologue, Desdemona looked to where Elsie was pointing and smiled weakly. “Yes,” she said, “it is me. Old movie, A Night in Havana. Do you know it?”
No one spoke.
Desdemona frowned and dismissed the silence with a wave of her hand. “It is old movie from Ukraine. No in English. That is Sergei Goncharenko, great Ukrainian actor. He is cab driver now in San Francisco.” She blew a snort of air through her lips. “It is way it is. We come to America. It is better, no?” She pushed back the chair and stood again from the desk. “Come, I give you tour of facility.”
Sliding out from behind the desk, she gestured for the family to follow her into the hall. A long corridor stretched out before them; plaster stucco walls painted the same pale green-gray as the office. The paint flaked away in great chips near the ceiling. Several doors presented themselves on either side of the hallway. A young boy, Elsie’s age, stood mopping the checkerboard tile of the floor. He stopped to look up at them and smiled shyly.
“This is central hallway, this is door to cafeteria, and this one to common room.” She shoved each of the doors open following their description, though they swung closed too quickly to give the Mehlbergs more than a few seconds’ glimpse into the rooms they hid. “This is closet. This is to game room, this is bathroom, this is Edward.” The boy with the mop smiled again and waved. “And this is stairway to dormitories.” Here she paused and slouched against the open door, waving the family forward. She studied the Mehlbergs as they walked through the doorway and began ascending the stairs.
“Miss Mudrak,” spoke up David as they climbed, “what’s this about industrial machine parts? I saw it on the sign outside.”
“Side business,” said Desdemona.
David waited for a further description, but none came.
They arrived at the top of two flights of stairs, and Desdemona pushed open a pair of doors to reveal a gymnasium-sized room filled with cotlike beds, neatly arranged in four long rows. The beds were empty of sleepers; each was neatly made, their woolen blankets pulled taut across thin mattresses. A potbelly stove at the rear of the room provided what little heat there was. “This is where you will sleep,” said the family’s tour guide. A series of tall, dirty windows let the afternoon’s gray light into the chamber.
“Where are the other children?” asked Lydia. A concerned grimace had been developing on her face.
Desdemona smiled as she ran her finger along the edge of one of the cots. “They are out.” She turned to David. “Now, all I need is deposit and we will say good-bye.”
Rachel, breaking her silence, turned to her parents. “Please don’t do this,” she said. Elsie hadn’t seen her sister act so vulnerable before. What’s more, she’d pushed the twin veils of her hair aside and was looking them directly in the eye.
“Two weeks, darling,” consoled David, though his face betrayed his worry. “That’s all. And we’ll be back for you.”
Elsie felt the urge to step in. She knew there was nothing they could do; her parents had a flight to catch that afternoon. She turned to her sister and smiled. “Two weeks, Rach. That’s nothing, right?” In a moment of inspiration, she pushed on Intrepid Tina’s voice-box button, hoping for a pertinent slogan. “DON’T FORGET YOUR BINOCULARS! YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU’RE GONNA SEE WILDLIFE!” Doesn’t quite cut it, Elsie thought. She did, however, notice that the look of concern had left her sister’s face;
Rachel was instead glaring at Elsie with an annoyed frown. That, at least, was a small improvement.
“What is this things?” asked Desdemona, looking down her nose at the doll in Elsie’s hand. It was like she’d seen a dead mouse. “Is it always talking?”
Elsie pulled Tina to her chest protectively.
“That’s Intrepid Tina,” explained Lydia. “You know, from the TV show?” When the reference didn’t seem to register, she continued, “Elsie’s really attached to her—she’s been a sort of comfort blanket for her since she was five.”
An unmistakable look of scorn was drifting across Miss Mudrak’s face. “It is not good when one child has thing other childs will desire. We do not advise childs to come with toys from home.”
Elsie felt her father’s hand massaging her shoulder; a feeling of terror was creeping up her spine. Would they try to take Tina from her?
“Miss Mudrak,” asked David, “can we make an exception, just this once? They’ll be here for such a short amount of time; I can’t imagine it’ll be a problem.”
Silence. Desdemona ruminated. “Very well,” she said at last. Elsie let out a breath of relief. “Just this time.”
A wave of Desdemona’s lithe arm ushered the family from the dormitory and back down the stairs to the corridor on the ground floor. The boy, Edward, was still mopping. He didn’t seem to be making much progress. As the group passed him on the way to the front door, Elsie heard him clear his throat. She paused and turned to see that he was holding a small, folded-up piece of paper in his hand. “Excuse me,” he said to Elsie. “I think you dropped this.”
Elsie looked to see if anyone else had heard him; her mother and father were lost in conversation with Miss Mudrak, parsing out the finer details of the payment due. Rachel was staring at her Converses. Elsie turned back to the boy. “Me?” she asked.
The boy nodded.
Strange; she didn’t remember carrying it in. At a loss, she reached out shyly and pulled the paper from the boy’s fingers, just as she heard her mother call, “Elsie! What are you doing?”