Woundabout Read online

  “Not at all,” he said, and left the room for a moment. The children stared down at their soup in silence, sad that they wouldn’t get a fire.

  “Tomorrow,” Aunt Marigold said, “I’ll take you to meet the Mayor.”

  “The Mayor?” Cordelia asked, playing with her soup. “Why would he want to meet us?”

  “He wants to meet everyone who comes into the town. Everyone new. He’s very hospitable.”

  Connor took one of the carrot chunks with his spoon and dropped it on the floor, where Kip gobbled it up.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Cordelia said, “but I think I’d like to just go to bed. It’s been a long journey, and if we’re meeting with the Mayor tomorrow, I’d like some rest.”

  “Of course, dear,” Aunt Marigold said, patting Cordelia’s hand. She didn’t seem to quite know how to do this properly, though, as her hand stayed rigid and flat like a wooden spoon tapping a pot. She tilted her head, aware that something wasn’t working, and withdrew her hand. She began softly patting her own hand, trying different palm shapes and rhythms, apparently hoping to discover the most comforting.

  “I’ll go, too,” Connor said.

  “All right. You know where your rooms are. I’ll have Gray wake you tomorrow morning.”

  “Should we dress very nicely?” Connor asked. “If we’re meeting the Mayor?”

  “Oh, no. Just casual dress,” Aunt Marigold said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be wearing something like this.” She posed with her arms out, her silk dress gleaming and the gemstones in her headband sparkling.

  “Um, okay,” Connor said. The children swallowed. They didn’t have anything as fancy as that.

  After the children had gone to their bedrooms and changed into their pajamas, Connor came into Cordelia’s room, where Cordelia was getting into bed.

  “Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked. Cordelia nodded. She didn’t want to be alone, either. They took the blankets from Connor’s bed and spread them on the floor of Cordelia’s room. Connor and Cordelia lay down on the floor, with Kip curled on top of them.

  “So this is where we’re going to live now?” Cordelia asked. The lights were out, but she knew her brother was looking at her, so she turned to look at him, too, but could only see darkness.

  “It’s not such a bad place,” Connor said. “It’s a well-made house.”

  “I like the flowers on the wallpaper,” Cordelia said, but she didn’t sound very happy. “But this town is weird. Why do we have to meet the Mayor? What did she mean, fire is difficult here?”

  “I don’t know,” Connor said. “But…” He thought for a moment, then went to his bag. He had a book of matches from home that he’d taken from their favorite restaurant. His parents had made him promise he wouldn’t start any fires with it. The matchbook had a picture of a chili pepper on the front with smoke coming off it. He showed it to Cordelia.

  “Maybe just the fire from the match will be enough,” he said. “To remind you of home.”

  “Or…” Cordelia got up and went to where Gray had unpacked her things—she searched the dresser and the wardrobe before she found what she was looking for in the closet. It was a scented candle. Pop and Connor and Cordelia used to make them from scratch with wax and coloring and little vials of scent. This one was a mottled orange and gold, and it smelled like Pop’s favorite things: oranges, chocolate, and wood. She brought it over to Connor, who smiled. He hadn’t thought to pack a candle when they were leaving. He was happy Cordelia had.

  He struck the match to light the candle. Nothing happened. He struck it again. Still nothing. He pulled another match out and struck that one—still nothing. He tried for what seemed like an hour, but couldn’t even get a spark.

  “I guess that’s what she meant,” Cordelia said.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Connor said. “How can a match not light?”

  “Maybe it’s the air,” Cordelia said. “It could be too damp. Maybe that’s why people say it’s so healthy, like Gray said.”

  “Maybe,” Connor said. “It’s still weird. I feel like this town is keeping things from us.”

  “Me too,” Cordelia said. “But maybe we can ask the Mayor tomorrow.”

  “Maybe,” Connor said. “We should go to sleep.”

  “Yeah,” Cordelia said. But both of them stayed awake for a long time, listening to the sound of rain on the window and Kip’s snoring.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Gray walked into Cordelia’s room to find the children asleep on the floor, wrapped around Kip. He nudged them with his foot until they awoke.

  “Let’s not tell Miss Marigold about this,” he said. “Now get into your beds and I’ll bring you breakfast.”

  The children rubbed their eyes and climbed into their beds. They left the doors to their rooms open so they could look across the hall at each other. Gray brought them trays with a breakfast of scrambled eggs and whole-wheat toast. They were very hungry, having not eaten much the night before. Kip ran between the two bedrooms, Cordelia and Connor alternating who gave him little bits to eat. The children smiled, watching him run frantically back and forth, trying to eat all the food as quickly as they offered it. They hadn’t smiled in a while, and remembering this, they suddenly felt sad again.

  As they ate, Gray cleaned up their blankets and opened their windows and expertly avoided being run into by Kip.

  “Gray?” Cordelia asked. “Does Aunt Marigold have a computer? I was hoping to upload some of my photos and email them to friends back home.” Cordelia’s camera looked old, but it was actually a new camera in an old body—a present from her parents. They knew how she liked the filter the old lenses gave to her photos.

  “Oh,” Gray said, pausing, as though confused by the question. “I’m sorry, miss, but she doesn’t have a computer. And the town doesn’t have internet service.”

  “No internet?” Connor said, feeling an angry mix of shock and disappointment. “How is that possible?”

  “When the company that provides internet came around and wanted to put the wires in, the Mayor said no. He said they would make the town uglier.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Connor said. “The wires could go underground and they would increase the efficiency of the town. People would get things done faster.”

  “There’s a post office in town,” Gray said. “I can take you there to mail your letters. And if you ask your aunt Marigold, perhaps she’ll let me drive you out of town to print out some of your photos. I think there’s a place in the next town over that will do that. It’s a long drive, though. A few hours.”

  Cordelia sighed. Connor’s eyes were still wide with disbelief.

  “Thank you, Gray,” Cordelia said.

  “Of course, miss.” Gray took their breakfast trays from them as they had finished eating, and went back downstairs.

  “I bet that’s why my phone can’t get a map of the town,” Connor said. “No local networks. I’d have to use the satellite feature, and I don’t have the password.… Pop had it.”

  Connor looked down at his pajamas. Cordelia got out of bed and went over to him and sat on his bed with him, her head on his shoulder. Kip leapt up and joined them. They stayed very still for a moment, their bodies warm in the morning light that came through the windows.

  “We should get ready,” Connor said.

  They washed and dressed and went downstairs, to where Aunt Marigold was waiting. She wore a long coat and an old-fashioned hat with a feather in it. The feather was pink and as long as Kip.

  “Now remember,” she said, “when you meet the Mayor, be quiet and stand out as little as possible. We don’t want him to think you’re going to cause trouble in our little town.”

  “Do we seem like we’d cause trouble?” Cordelia asked. She looked at Connor. He had one eyebrow raised. They both thought that meeting the Mayor and being treated like troublemakers was a little strange.

  “Any new people can be trouble, if you’re important
like the Mayor,” Aunt Marigold said. Cordelia and Connor both thought this didn’t sound right, either, but they didn’t argue. They didn’t want to be trouble. “And your snappy llama can come in the car, but he probably should wait outside when we get there.”

  “Capybara,” Connor said. “And his name is Kip.”

  “Right,” Aunt Marigold said.

  They all got into the car outside and drove to the Mayor’s house. The sun was out, and Cordelia and Connor could see people in the streets. There was a man wrapping vines around a fence, and a woman walking two identical bulldogs. There was a mailman wearing a blue hat and shorts, and a woman in a fur coat raking a lawn. The people didn’t talk to one another or wave. They all looked a little dreary.

  Gray drove the car up through the town, to the very tip of it, where it ended in a sudden cliff and was so high that it was colder and the wind blew hard and fast. It was loud, too, and rang in their ears like police sirens. The children hugged their arms around themselves to keep warm when they got out of the car. The wind was so strong they felt as though they might blow away, and in fact they saw a few small rocks go sailing by. The children held on to the car and ducked when one of the flying stones got too close.

  “Is this the famous curative air?” Cordelia asked loudly over the wind.

  “Well, maybe it really forces you to breathe—whether you want to or not,” Connor said back. “Hard not to take a big breath here.” The children waited for Gray or Aunt Marigold to tell them more about the air, but they seemed not to have heard them.

  At the very top of the city was a large house, with a larger plaza in front of it. From the plaza ran a swarm of streets, all racing downhill in different directions, and in the center of it was a manhole cover.

  “Is this where all the streets start?” Connor asked loudly, to be heard over the wind. He thought it probably was, but that didn’t seem like good planning to him.

  “I don’t know,” Aunt Marigold said, holding her hat on her head so the wind wouldn’t blow it away.

  “Would the Mayor know?”

  “Maybe, but don’t ask him. Just be quiet.”

  “No trouble,” Cordelia said quietly, exchanging a look with her brother. Something very peculiar was going on.

  “This house is hundreds of years old,” Connor said, looking up at it. It was tall and wooden. On one side, there was a stone tower that was slightly bent over, and it was topped by a cone-shaped roof. The house made creaking noises in the wind, and there seemed to be music coming from inside.

  The children followed Aunt Marigold to the door, while Gray stayed behind at the car, holding Kip’s leash. Kip looked as though he wanted to run after them, but was held back by the strong wind, and as they watched, wide-eyed, he was blown into the air like a kite. They ran to try to grab him back down to earth, but thankfully Gray plucked Kip neatly from the air and held him under his arm as though nothing had happened.

  The children stared at him for a moment, then turned back to Aunt Marigold, who hadn’t seen any of this.

  Aunt Marigold adjusted her coat and hat, motioned for Connor and Cordelia to stand behind her, and rang the doorbell.

  Chapter 5

  The door was opened by a young lady in a long black dress and apron. She didn’t say anything, but just nodded and held the door open, gesturing down the hallway. She might have been keeping quiet because she knew she wouldn’t be heard over the music that came booming out of the house. Connor and Cordelia didn’t recognize the melody, but it sounded like a marching band. It had loud drums and cymbals, and felt patriotic.

  Aunt Marigold walked into the house, and the children followed. Right through the door was a wooden hallway lined with tall framed photographs. The children looked at the photos as they passed, and they all seemed to be of the same man. He had a large nose and small eyes and hair that stuck out at all angles. In each photo, he was in a new place, doing something exciting. In one, he wore a fur-lined parka and stood on what looked like the top of a very tall mountain, with snow and ice everywhere. In another, he wore a pith helmet and stood in front of mysterious ruins in the desert, a palm tree to the side. In still another, he was underwater, in scuba gear, floating in front of a sunken ship.

  As they walked farther down the hall, the music grew louder. They started to wonder if there might actually be a marching band somewhere in the house. The hallway came to an end after over a dozen portraits. There was a door here, too, and Aunt Marigold knocked very lightly on it. There was no response.

  “You think he’s been all those places?” Connor asked in a whisper, barely heard over the music. Cordelia nodded.

  “They’re real photos. And the same person took them all,” Cordelia said as Aunt Marigold knocked lightly on the door again.

  “How can you tell?”

  “The way the photos are framed. Same style, use of light,” Cordelia said. “She’s a good photographer.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?” Connor asked.

  “You can see her in the reflection of his goggles in the underwater one,” Cordelia said, pointing. “Right there.” Aunt Marigold knocked on the door a third time as they studied the photo.

  “Come in,” shouted a bossy voice from beyond the door. Connor and Cordelia jumped, the voice was so loud and sudden. Aunt Marigold carefully opened the door and walked inside. The children followed her, tearing their eyes away from the photos. This was a big room, with a giant fireplace and blue carpet on the floor. All around the room were postcards, stuck to the walls with pushpins. They seemed out of place in the otherwise very fancy study. In front of the fireplace were a table and a sofa and chairs. A record player was on a small table against the wall, but next to that were speakers larger than Connor and Cordelia, from which the marching band music issued. The children resisted the urge to cover their ears.

  There were windows that looked out on what seemed to be the very edge of the cliff, as there was nothing but ocean visible through them. The children wanted to run up to them and look outside, but they remembered what their aunt had told them and stayed where they were, just behind her.

  “Ah, Marigold,” said the bossy voice. It came from a man sitting on the sofa who had turned around when they came in. It was the same man as the one in the pictures from the hall, and the children assumed he must be the Mayor. He wore a button-down shirt, a purple tie, and tan pants, and was holding a mug of coffee. He spoke loudly, to be heard over the music, but acted as though this was normal. “Come sit down.”

  The children followed Aunt Marigold and sat in the chairs catty-corner from the sofa. Aunt Marigold kept her head down and her hands locked together, as though afraid to look the Mayor in the eye. Cordelia didn’t feel the same way, though, and stared at him. His tie was covered in a pattern of masks, as if they were polka dots. He looked over at Cordelia and Connor and tilted his head to the side.

  “Ah,” he said, and blew on the steam rising from his coffee, “the new children.” He said the word children funny, holding the l too long, as if he were skidding across ice. “I’m afraid this will have to be quick,” he said. “The…” He paused, and looked at the children. “The thing went missing yesterday.”

  “Oh, no!” Aunt Marigold covered her mouth with both her hands. She was also speaking loudly, as though it were normal, instead of turning down the music. “How?”

  “I don’t know.” The Mayor shrugged and furrowed his brow as though he wasn’t used to saying those words and they tasted bad. “It was in the case.” The Mayor pointed to a glass case by the window. It was open, and looked flimsy. “I’m afraid the window was open during the storm, and maybe the wind blew it out or… something.” He scratched his head. “I can’t think of who would steal it… but it can’t fall into the wrong hands. I’ve created a search grid and I have teams out, but I’d like to go out and look myself.”

  “What thing?” Cordelia asked loudly. She knew she was supposed to stay quiet, but they were talking about something without
telling her or her brother what it was, and that was rude, like whispering a secret in someone’s ear in front of everyone else. The Mayor turned his eyes on her and tilted his head again. The children started to think that this was what he did when he noticed something unpleasant, like gum stuck to his shoe.

  “You like asking questions?” he said.

  “They’re the best way to learn,” Cordelia replied. That was what her parents had always told her, but she felt as though maybe the Mayor would disagree.

  “Ah, children, that may be true for school, but here in Woundabout, we don’t ask questions.”

  “But then how will we learn?” Cordelia asked. The Mayor waggled a finger at her.

  “That’s a question,” he said, as though very disappointed. Cordelia frowned. “But I’ll answer it anyway, because you’re new.” He took a sip of his coffee and crossed his legs. “You see, if you have to ask other people questions, then you’ll always be reliant on other people. We instruct our citizens in independence. We expect them to answer their own questions.” He nodded, then looked away, out the window. “And if they can’t find the answers… then they were never meant to know them in the first place.” He turned back to the children and smiled the way they thought a hungry leopard might. “I’d ask if you understand, but that’s a question, so I’m just going to assume you do.”

  The children stared at him in silence. Everything he’d said had made sense when he said it, but when they tried to think about it, it was as though his words had been thrown into a blender and mixed on the highest setting. All they understood was that they weren’t supposed to ask questions.