Fire World

  “Where is this?” said Penny. “What are we looking at?”

  “Another world,” David muttered, thinking about the time rift and his father’s words about other dimensions and a force too powerful for David to control. Then, as if a conduit had somehow opened, the image of the black firebird entered his mind and he felt a tremendous pressure in his head. He fell sideways, holding his hands to his temples. The book slid off his lap and clattered to the floor. His body began to shake as if it were no longer his to control.

  In that instant, Penny screamed.

  Alicia and the rabbit had both turned around and were peering back down the tunnel. Even though the light was poor, something could be seen flying at tremendous speed toward them. Bare teeth. Fearsome talons. A savage eye, perhaps. There was no real time for detail. The thing was coming with an awful screech and clearly intended to do them harm.

  “David, stop it!” Penny wailed. She was backing up against her headboard as Alicia was backing up against the mirror.

  Then, in a scene that truly was something from a land of wonder, the white horned creature tilted its head and a bolt of violet light passed through the mirror. It struck not the beast, but the shuddering rabbit. Right away, the rabbit fell down and turned himself into something new. A strapping white animal with thickset paws and a body so burly that it almost filled the width of the tunnel. He reared up and flashed his paws at the attacker, which hovered to a halt in front of this creation, spitting and hissing and fearful and dark. And there the chapter ended and the pictures went away. For the door to Penny’s room had suddenly burst open and David had been pulled off the bed onto the floor, with a pair of strong hands cradled around his head.

  “Let it go. Let it go,” the intruder was saying.

  And Penny was squealing, “Who are you? Who are you?”

  And then Eliza Merriman was there as well, with calming gestures and reassuring words. “Penny, it’s all right. He won’t harm David. He’s a friend.”

  And the man held doggedly on to her brother until the convulsions had ceased and he was still. Only then did the stranger speak to the girl. “Forgive me, Penny. I had no time to introduce myself.”

  “Who are you?” she said again, drawing up her blanket.

  “I’m a counselor — and an outlaw,” he said with great charm. “My name is Thorren Strømberg.”

  9.

  As a result of the incident in Penny’s room, David once again fell into a deep, slow sleep, which this time lasted for approximately two days. He awoke, peacefully, in his bedroom, with his anxious mother in a chair at his side and Boon purring softly on the bed, at his feet.

  Eliza was over him at once, feeling his forehead and gripping his hands. “Oh, thank goodness. Are you all right? How do you feel? I’ve been so worried.”

  “I feel fine,” he said, though he looked a little bleary. He pushed himself upright against a stack of pillows. His mother immediately imagineered another.

  “How long have I been …?”

  “Two days.” She poured a glass of water. He drank it down in one swallow.

  “Where’s Penny?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “She OK?”

  “She’s fine. Just a little shaken by what she saw. How much do you remember?”

  David frowned and shook his head. “I was reading. That’s it. Everything else is … a blur.”

  “Well, Penny remembers,” his mother said. “But she refuses to talk about it to anyone but you. Were you aware that Counselor Strømberg was here?”

  “Strømberg? How?”

  “He’d been tracking the movements of the firebird you saw.”

  “The black one?”

  “Yes. He burst in when he heard Penny screaming. It was he who calmed your auma and carried you to bed. He helped Penny, too, before he left.”

  “Is he coming back?”

  “No. Not here. He says it’s too dangerous for him to stay in one place for too long. He wants you to meet him on Bushley Common.”

  “When?”

  “Any evening. Just turn up. He’ll find you, he says.”

  David glanced at the sky. Still light, but the dusk was closing in. He threw off his covers and swept out of bed.

  “David, wait.”

  He paused, one sock half on.

  “Please think about this. They might be watching you.”

  “The Aunts?”

  “Them or their agents. If you go to meet Strømberg, you’ll be aiding a fugitive. That might be all they’re waiting for — enough reason to send you the way of your father.”

  David continued to dress. “If I don’t go, I’ll never know what this is all about.”

  Eliza gripped his arm and made him look at her. “It’s about them keeping control. That’s the way it’s always been. The Higher. The Aunts. The Grand Design. Your ec:centricity frightens them.”

  “Then that’s how I’ll defend myself from them,” he said. And he pulled on his other sock.

  Ten minits later he was in the kitchen when Penny came in and leaned back against the door frame. She was wearing a pair of new red boots.

  “Like them?” she asked, stretching out a foot. “Mom imagineered them while you were asleep.”

  “They suit you,” he said. Laces untied, just like Rosa’s. His heart pinged.

  Penny held his gaze a moment and waited. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “Remember what?”

  She marched across the floor and dropped Alicia in the Land of Wonder on the table.

  He blinked a couple of times and picked it up. Oh, yes. The book. Alicia wore boots.

  Penny pulled out a chair. She sat down with one foot tucked beneath her. “You were reading this to me and showing me the characters having an adventure. Alicia and the rabbit went down a tunnel and looked through a mirror at another world.”

  “There were dragons,” David muttered, beginning to remember.

  “There were lots of things,” Penny said. “Were you the rabbit?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I was being Alicia. Were you being the rabbit?”

  “Probably,” he said, not sure where this was going.

  “In that case, you were this as well.” From her (pinafore) pocket, she unfolded a piece of paper and smoothed it out on her knee. She put it on the table for him to see. “That’s what the rabbit turned into.”

  David picked it up and carried it around the kitchen. “You drew this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you shown it to Mom?”

  “Of course not, silly. What is that creature? I’ve looked, but it’s not in the book.”

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly, folding the paper. Even though the drawing was childish and sketchy, there was enough basic detail to convince him that this was what he’d almost morphed into in the therapy center. “Can I keep this, Penny?”

  She nodded. “If I can keep the book.”

  “Are you sure you want to?”

  “Mom says you’re going away. She says she’ll finish the story with me. I don’t think her version will be quite as scary as yours.”

  “No, it won’t,” he said, and tousled her hair. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Look after Mom for me. I have to go.”

  But as he turned toward the door she suddenly said, “I don’t want this anymore.”

  He stopped and looked back. She had put her black feather down on the table and was slowly pushing it toward him. “In the tunnel, you were fighting something.”

  “The firebird you saw?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “It was like a firebird, but ugly. Horrible.”

  David picked up the feather and drew it through his fingers, feeling its sleekness against his skin. “I’ll look out for it,” he said. “And so will Boon.” The katt had just jumped onto Penny’s lap.

  David looked at her, waiting for an explanation. “That’s two things protecting us, then,” she said.

  “Mom’s going to make us a d
ragon.”

  Bushley Common was one of only three places in the district surrounding the Merrimans’ home that was still considered “real” (sometimes called “natural”). It was a long, sprawling piece of grassland, broken up by walkways and clusters of trees. Although it was a beautiful, undisturbed place, most citizens of Co:pern:ica Central avoided it. It was generally believed that to be seen walking in the “undeveloped” countryside was indicative of a desire to think introspectively. And that could attract the attentions of an Aunt. Or worse, a Re:mover.

  So it seemed an odd place for a rendezvous, at first. But a plentiful amount of open space meant that conversations would not be overheard. And there was time enough to see any agents approaching. With those thoughts in mind, David chose a bench in the center of the common, shaded by one small tree. It was raining lightly and a mist was descending in grubby gray patches, but visibility was still good. He sat down and waited.

  The first thing to approach him though was not Thorren Strømberg, but a rather bedraggled black-and-white katt. Herein lay a peculiar irony. It was illegal to imagineer any structure upon the common, yet it was home to many stray katts. They survived by procuring the attention of passersby. One kind sweep of the hand could keep a katt constructed for several days, though many perished due to the sheer lack of visitors. This one was bold enough to find its way onto David’s lap and soak up enough fuss to keep it maintained for another spin at least. David was idly tuning in to its grateful purr when footsteps along the path to his right announced the arrival of Thorren Strømberg. The counselor sat down without looking at him. “How are you?” he asked.

  “Wide awake,” said David, glancing over both shoulders. No sign of anyone behind them.

  Strømberg noticed the katt and smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” He uncapped a bottle of water and drank. For a man on the run, he looked in good shape.

  “Do you have any news about my father?”

  The shock of blond hair moved freely in denial. “Once you’re in the Dead Lands, you’re pretty much cut off.”

  “Will he survive there?”

  Strømberg gave a confident nod. “Knowing your father, he’ll probably thrive. It’s only the clever ones, those who question the way we live, who are sent into the wilderness. Some say it’s a better, more natural way of life, though few are brought back to tell the tale. You hear rumors now and then that an uprising might spring from there, but the real unease is developing here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a failing society, David. I could talk all day about the negative aspects of imagineering, how it’s left our minds lazy and stripped us of all sense of pride and ambition — but that’s not the real issue. There’s a whisper spreading among those who know that the Aunts are plotting to overthrow the Higher.”

  David narrowed his gaze. “But no one really knows what the Higher are, do they? I was always taught that their fain is so powerful that they can cloak themselves and still maintain the Design. How can you conquer what you can’t find?”

  Strømberg ran his thumb down the katt’s right ear. “Listen to me carefully, and don’t repeat this to anyone else: Mr. Henry believed that the Higher are based in the Bushley librarium. He thought they might operate through the firebirds.”

  “What?” David leaned so far forward that the katt was almost squashed against his knees. It hissed (rather loudly) but didn’t jump off.

  “I know it sounds odd,” Strømberg said, looking off into the middle distance. “But I’ve seen enough in that building to convince me it’s plausible. It’s a place of great mystery, that no one on Co:pern:ica has managed to resolve — until now.”

  David threw him a quizzical look.

  “I saw the storybook you were reading to Penny. That could only have come from the upper floors. Mr. Henry and I have been trying to get up there for twenty spins or more. You managed it in a matter of weeks. How?”

  David steepled his fingers just below his nose. There were katt hairs on them. He blew them aside. “There was a code in a dragon book Rosa showed me.”

  “The one that was dropped on your chest while you slept?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Yes. From Rosa. Tell me about the code.”

  “When you flicked through the corners of the book it formed a sign. When I saw it, I could read it — in dragontongue. Ow!” David glared at the katt. For some reason, it had just dug its claws into his thigh. He unhooked the offending paw and said, “We only got as far as Floor Forty-Three before the firebird that flamed me chased us out. I took the storybook as proof for Mr. Henry. The rest you probably know.”

  Strømberg rocked forward on the bench a little. When he spoke again his voice was bristling with urgency. “I want you to go back to the librarium as soon as you can and ask Rosa to show you The Book of Agawin. It’s hidden. But she’ll know where to find it.”

  “Agawin? What’s that?”

  “There’s no time to explain. The book is full of symbols. Read them if you can, then send for me. And, David, be careful. That book is the oldest thing in the building. We think it might tell the whole history of Co:pern:ica — and of dragons.”

  It was growing cold now and the mist was thickening. David thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and found Penny’s “gifts” in them. He took out the drawing. “What do you make of that?”

  Strømberg ran his fingers over the paper. “Where did you get this?”

  “From Penny. She drew it. I was imagineering story characters for her and my adopted character turned into that creature. It was fighting a grotesque version of whatever dropped this.” He brought out the feather.

  Strømberg turned it between his hands. “I saw a black firebird flying away from the debris of your father’s experiment. I traced it here on a hunch that it might be looking for you. You’re saying it broke into your consciousness — a firebird?”

  David nodded. “Dad left me a film of what happened in the lab. I studied it carefully on his com:puter. I think something came through the time rift. Something with powerful fain that invaded a normal-colored firebird and turned it black.”

  “Then we must be careful,” Strømberg said. “If that’s correct, we’re dealing with an unknown threat as well as the Aunts. There’s no time to lose. Get to the librarium — tonight, if you can. Hide there if you need to. And find that book.”

  “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be far away. When you need me, I’ll be there. Just use your fain.” The counselor stood up and offered his hand.

  David shook it firmly. “Is there any chance you can find out where they took my father?”

  “I’ll work on it,” Strømberg promised. “Go carefully, David.” And with that he pulled up his collar and walked into the mist.

  As David watched him go, he thought about calling a taxicar. But remembering he shouldn’t use his fain on the common, he stood up, placed the katt on the bench, and got ready to walk in the opposite direction.

  He had taken only two short strides when he was stopped by a tiny meow. The katt had settled in a moody huddle with its paws tucked underneath itself, staring straight ahead in that odd glazed fashion so familiar to their kind. The ends of its fur were glistening with moisture.

  “Sorry,” David said. “Can’t take you with me. You won’t be appreciated where I’m going.” He waved good-bye and set off along the path.

  With a soft thump of paws the katt jumped down and trotted up beside him.

  “No,” David said. He picked it up and carried it back to the bench. “You mustn’t follow me. You’ll frighten the birds. You have to stay here. Behave.” He plonked it down again and wagged a finger, then hurried off at twice his previous pace.

  He was swallowed up in the mist before the katt moved again. “Well, of course I’ll frighten the birds,” it said. But by then David was out of earshot. And the katt had morphed into its true shape.

  The Aunt Su:perior.


  Gwyneth.

  10.

  Around the same time that David was meeting Penny and trying to settle in again at home, Rosa was discovering the harsh reality of life in the Bushley librarium without him. Her keepers, the twin Aunts Primrose and Petunia, took not a shred of interest in her and didn’t care if she organized the books or not. What mattered to them was cleanliness. For this reason, they did want the books picked up, but only so the floors could be cleared for scrubbing. Within hours of David’s departure, Rosa found herself down on her knees with a bucket of water and a dirty brush, preparing a room that the Aunts could sleep in. She was made to go over it three times at least, until Aunt Primrose was satisfied. As if that wasn’t enough, she complained endlessly about the cold. There were shutters on some of the windows, of course, but Mr. Henry had never wanted them closed, and neither David nor Rosa had ever experienced what the curator affectionately called “goose bumps” on their skin. (Strangely, they never did question the etymology of this word.) But Aunt Primrose was different. On the first day, she imagineered a thick gray coat and a scarf that wrapped three times around her neck and overflowed down her starchy back. Maroon gloves came next, to match her crooked bow tie. Then a hat with button-down flaps for the ears. And she insisted that the window of the room be blocked. Not closed. Blocked. To Rosa’s annoyance there were no shutters on the window in the room they had chosen, the one that she had so diligently cleaned. Yet when she offered to prepare the Aunts a better room, one with tight-fitting shutters and a lovely view of the daisy fields, which even had a southerly aspect to it (to pick up the heat of the sun in the mornings), they refused and said they would stay where they were, near the ground floor, well away from “those irritating birds.” And when Rosa rather rashly stamped her foot and asked, “What, pray, should I block the window with?” the twins exchanged a wicked smile. “The books,” they said in chilling unison. “The books.”