Woundabout Page 3

  “I like your house,” Connor said after a moment. It seemed a safe thing to say. “It’s very old.”

  The Mayor nodded at this. “It is old. Hasn’t changed in years. Good eyes, son. Maybe you’ll do in Woundabout. Just remember, no causing trouble, no asking questions. Things are the way they are because people older and smarter than you decided that was the best way for them to be. That’s the rule of this town.”

  “Do you mean you?” Cordelia asked. She was getting really tired of the Mayor and his oily arrogance.

  “More questions,” the Mayor said. He turned a little pink and shook his head and looked as though he was going to say something, but Aunt Marigold spoke first.

  “They’re very good children. Quiet. Won’t cause any trouble or try to change anything.” Her voice fluttered like a bird.

  “What would we try to change?” Cordelia asked. The Mayor looked at her, his eyebrows getting closer and closer together.

  “Their names are Connor and Cordelia. Isn’t that sweet,” Aunt Marigold interrupted. “They are just children, Mayor.…”

  Suddenly the record scratched and the music went dead. Then the children understood why it was being played; the sound of the wind flooded over them, a loud, terrifying howling that seemed to come from everywhere. They heard how the windows rattled and the house creaked like nasty laughter. The Mayor stood and put down his mug, went over to the record player, and set the needle back on the record. The music started up again. It still wasn’t nice to listen to, but it was less scary than the sound of the wind.

  The Mayor returned to the sofa, leaned back in it, and took a long breath.

  “I think that will do, Marigold,” he said after a moment. “They’re fine for now. Take them home, find them a routine. We’ll see how it goes. I have to go tell people where to search now. So hurry, hurry.” He waved them away with both hands, as if they were insects he was trying to shoo out of the room.

  Aunt Marigold stood and took the children’s hands, practically dragging them off their chairs, and led them back out through the hallways and into the car, where Kip jumped onto Connor’s lap, then onto Cordelia’s, and then back again. Aunt Marigold sat between them and took a long, heavy breath.

  “That could have gone better,” she said. “But it wasn’t so bad. Gray, let’s go home.”

  Chapter 6

  At home, Aunt Marigold looked at the children and blinked a few times.

  “What are we going to do now?” Connor asked.

  “Remember what the Mayor said,” Aunt Marigold replied. “No questions.”

  “But—” Cordelia started to say, then closed her mouth. She had been about to ask a question.

  “Normally, this time of day, I read in bed. I have a routine. You children should have a routine, too.”

  “I’d like to visit the park we drove past last night,” Cordelia said. “Kip needs to get out. And he needs to swim, too.”

  “That sounds like a nice routine for you. Going to the park every afternoon.”

  “Well, not if it’s raining,” Connor said. “Also, I want to map the town.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” Aunt Marigold said.

  “Why not?” Connor asked, then looked down, realizing that was a question. Aunt Marigold looked at him blankly, apparently too befuddled by the question to realize it was a question.

  “I just don’t think you should,” she said, which the children knew meant she didn’t have a good reason. “As the Mayor said—don’t ask questions. Go discover the answers.” She said this as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. The children looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “I’ll escort them to the park,” Gray said. “I usually go there to read my paper before doing the daily shopping. It will only be the tiniest shift in my day. Not really a change at all.”

  “That sounds ideal,” Aunt Marigold said, and suddenly smiled brightly. “And, though you shouldn’t map it, I don’t see why Gray can’t point out interesting things to you along the way to the park. He’s the ideal tour guide. He knows the town perfectly. He was almost Mayor.”

  “Almost?” Cordelia asked, then covered her mouth, thinking she would be lectured for asking a question.

  “There was an election,” Gray said neutrally. “I lost. But I do know the town and love it. I grew up here. I’d be happy to point things out to you.”

  Connor and Cordelia wanted to ask why he’d lost the election, but that would be another question, so they held their tongues.

  “I’ll get my Frisbee and notebook,” Connor said.

  “And I’ll get Kip’s chew toy, so he doesn’t try to gnaw on the benches,” Cordelia said. Capybaras’ teeth are constantly growing, so they have to chew things to keep them from getting too long. The children ran upstairs and grabbed their things. When they came back down, Aunt Marigold was already gone, presumably reading in her bed. But Gray was waiting for them at the door.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. The children nodded.

  Outside was warm and sunny, with a breeze that kept the day from getting too hot. Gray led them down twisty streets, pointing out people they passed.

  “That’s Mr. Thizzle. He walks his dog, Nosey, every day at this time.

  And there’s Mrs. Washburn. She’ll be hanging her laundry out to dry soon. Hello, Mrs. Washburn.”

  Mrs. Washburn started to wave at Gray but paused when she saw the children.

  “These are Cordelia and Connor,” Gray said. “Marigold’s niece and nephew, come to stay with her.”

  “They’re new!” Mrs. Washburn said, looking as bewildered as she would have if a family of geckos had emerged from her laundry basket and begun singing in four-part harmony.

  “Yes,” Gray said.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Washburn said. She looked frightened of the children. Maybe, they thought, it was Kip. Not many people had seen a capybara before.

  “This is Kip,” Connor said. “He’s harmless. He’s a capybara.” Mrs. Washburn said nothing, but kept staring.

  “They have a great sense of smell,” Connor said. Mrs. Washburn nodded, and turned away from them, back to her laundry, which, thankfully, was gecko-free. Cordelia took a photo of the way the clothes blew in the breeze.

  Connor entered the streets and buildings on his smartphone, and Cordelia took photos of everything interesting that she saw. Gray didn’t scold them for either of these things. In fact, he seemed almost happy with them—though they couldn’t be sure. He was difficult to read.

  Walking was different from driving through the city. They noticed that the streets were paved with cobblestones worn as flat as mirrors, and that there were manhole covers at every intersection with the word VOTE carved into them. Connor and Cordelia thought this was an odd, but probably very effective, way of reminding pedestrians to participate in the democratic process.

  Gray walked ahead of them, pointing out buildings and saying what they were: “That’s Mrs. Helmsley’s Hat Shop,” he said, nodding at the milliner’s they’d seen when driving in. “And that used to be the museum, but the Mayor closed it.” It was a wide building with statues of a hippo on either side of the steps leading to the barred door. One hippo was sleeping.

  “The library is back that way,” Gray said, pointing down a street, “but it’s closed, too. Oh, this is Mr. Levin’s Bakery.”

  “Were you really almost Mayor?” Connor asked suddenly. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but the question just popped out. But Gray didn’t seem to mind at all.

  “I was,” Gray said. “Almost. But I lost the election, and so I’m not.”

  “But then, why are you Aunt Marigold’s butler?” Cordelia asked. Gray stopped walking suddenly and opened his mouth, then closed it again, like a fish.

  He opened his mouth again and said, “Your aunt Marigold is an extraordinary woman. I’m proud to work for her. And besides, there’s not much difference between being a private servant or a public one.” He looked down at them, and his lips c
urled into something that might have resembled a smile but which the children could tell was just pretending. “Anyway, let’s get to the park. We can talk more there.” He started walking faster, and stopped pointing out shops, making Connor and Cordelia wonder if they’d hurt his feelings.

  They passed through the square with the statue of the masked woman with her hands out. She was the size of a real person, and on a pedestal about as tall as a bench. Cordelia took a picture.

  “Look,” she said. “There’s a hole in her back.” Connor looked to where she was pointing, and indeed, there was a strange, eight-sided hole in the woman’s back. It was about the size of his fist, and lined in metal. Kip sniffed at it curiously.

  “Maybe she used to have wings,” Connor suggested. Cordelia shrugged and took a photo.

  “Come on, children!” Gray called, waiting at the edge of the square.

  They walked farther along, and passed over a bridge. The water underneath it didn’t seem to run at all, and was a dark green color. Connor drew the river in his map.

  “Why is the river so still?” Cordelia asked. She knew she wasn’t supposed to ask questions, but Gray hadn’t seemed to mind yet.

  “The water in our town is sluggish,” Gray said. “It used to be a fierce, roaring river.”

  “What changed it?” Connor asked.

  “The water wound down,” Gray said.

  “Wound down?” Connor asked. “Like, dried up?”

  “I suppose,” Gray said, tilting his head.

  “Hey, look—another hole,” Cordelia said, pointing at another eight-sided hole, this one just beside the river.

  “Weird,” Connor said. “I’ll start marking them down on my map.” He drew a little dot next to the river on his map, and another on the statue in the square.

  They continued onward until they came to the park they had passed last night. CRUMBLES PARK said the sign over the arch. The vines were wrapped all over the gate, but Cordelia and Connor pulled it open with just a little difficulty. Then they walked into the park.

  It was empty and barren. There were trees, but they had no leaves or flowers on them. There was grass, but it was short and occasional, not like a carpet, but like a man going bald. There was a pond, too, with a statue in the middle of it that looked like a fountain, but no water poured from it, and the pond was black and motionless.

  “Well,” Connor said. “I guess it will have to do.”

  Chapter 7

  Kip splashed around in the pond. He didn’t seem to mind that the park wasn’t really a park so much as it was dirt with some dead trees. Cordelia took photos of the trees, but they weren’t very inspiring or beautiful.

  “It’s summer,” Connor said. “This place should be green!”

  “It’s always like this,” Gray said, sitting on the one bench in the park, under a large, leafless tree.

  “Isn’t there a gardener or someone to plant things?” Connor asked.

  “There was once,” Gray said. “But the Mayor fired her.” He took out the newspaper he had brought, which the children noticed was a week old and from another town, and began to read it. The children walked away to explore the park, staring at the rocks and the mud in the pond. Gray stayed on his bench, a reassuringly neutral pillar by the gate.

  “So, what do you think the ‘thing’ the Mayor lost is?” Cordelia asked Connor, staring at a hand-sized patch of brown grass.

  “I don’t know,” Connor said. “But I don’t think the storm could have opened a box and taken a thing out the window.”

  “Maybe it’s something from one of his travels,” Cordelia suggested.

  “Maybe,” Connor said, sitting on his haunches and picking up an old stick from the ground. He started absentmindedly sketching building plans in the dirt. “But then why would Aunt Marigold care about it?”

  “If it’s really valuable,” Cordelia said. “Maybe it’s like a big jewel and everyone loves to see it, ’cause it’s so beautiful.”

  “Maybe…” Connor said. He’d drawn a blueprint of their old home—the ranch—without realizing it. He stood and erased it with his foot.

  “Well,” Cordelia said, putting her hands on her hips, “I think we should do just like the Mayor said.”

  “You do?” Connor said, looking over at her skeptically.

  “Yes,” Cordelia said. “He said we don’t ask questions—we find out answers for ourselves. So let’s do that. Let’s find the thing.”

  “We don’t know where it is, or what it is, or how it even went missing,” Connor said.

  “So we’ll figure it out,” Cordelia said. “We know the thing can’t be bigger than Kip, because that was about the size of the box.”

  “And it can’t be too heavy, if they think the rain could have blown it away.” Connor nodded.

  “So, we have a start. We’ll just keep our eyes peeled for anything valuable-looking. He said it couldn’t fall into the wrong hands—so maybe something dangerous-looking.”

  “Maybe it’s an old sword from a Mayan temple,” Connor said. They started walking along the border of the dead trees.

  “Or a gun from a pirate ship,” Cordelia said. She kicked at a pebble in front of her. “Or maybe it’s something that has to do with why the town is so weird—the air, or why we can’t light matches.”

  “Like… a magical humidifier?” Connor asked. He was a bit older, and didn’t really believe in magic. “I don’t think so. But maybe, like, an old stone that they say gives the town its good air. It wouldn’t be real, of course, but something symbolic.”

  “Yeah,” Cordelia said. “A magic rock that makes the air super curative.” She did believe in magic. “We’re new here. We’ll notice things that people who live here walk right by, because it’s all new to us.”

  “Like those weird little holes,” Connor said.

  “Look,” Cordelia said to Connor, “there’s another one!” They both looked down at the new hole Cordelia had found. This one was just in the grass, under a tree.

  “What are they?” Cordelia asked. “Drainpipes?”

  “No,” Connor said. “That wouldn’t make any sense. Why would one be in the back of the statue? They don’t need to drain.” He stuck his hand into the hole. Inside, he could feel it was lined in metal until the bottom, about a foot down, where there were some gears and a slot. “It seems like it’s mechanical.”

  “Maybe the city used to have signposts, or lamps? Or maybe mechanical statues that moved?”

  “That would be something to see,” Connor said. “But I don’t know. Whatever it’s part of is gone now.”

  Cordelia snapped a photo of the hole, then shrugged. “I wonder why they took it down,” she said.

  “Maybe the fountain or statue was asking too many questions,” Connor said. Cordelia smiled at that.

  “They’re not all over,” said a voice. Connor and Cordelia turned around. There was another boy standing there, as though he’d been watching them for a while. He looked to be around twelve, maybe thirteen—just a little older than Connor. “They’re just in a few places. So it wasn’t, like, statues or anything. That’s daft.” He held his shoulder slouched behind him, as if he was always bored. He reminded Connor and Cordelia of photos of rock stars or movie stars when they were just walking on the street. And he talked as if he knew everything, but without being snobby. He was cool.

  “Oh,” Cordelia said. “I guess.”

  Connor and Cordelia looked at each other, not sure who this new person was.

  “So you’re the new kids,” the boy said. “Everyone is talking about you.”

  “Who’s everyone?” Connor asked.

  “The town—people said you’d be moving here a few days ago, but no one believed it. They whispered about it over the fences in their backyards, but then you showed up, and now they’re all shouting over the fences. No one moves into Woundabout. My parents have been asking the Mayor to let us move here for a year now, and he keeps saying later, but you two just get to move
on in, no problem.”

  “Our parents died,” Cordelia said. “We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Oh.” The boy’s face softened. “I didn’t know that.” He stepped forward and held out a hand to shake. His hands were covered in dirt. “I’m Nico,” he said. “My parents live down by the train station just outside town, but we come into Woundabout most days to deliver the vegetables and fruit we grow in our greenhouses to the store here.”

  “I’m Connor,” Connor said, shaking Nico’s hand, “and this is Cordelia.”

  “Why do your parents have to ask permission to move into the town?” Cordelia asked, shaking Nico’s hand.

  Nico shrugged. “Dunno. But it’s the rule. The Mayor has to let people move in. My parents moved to just outside town a year ago, and have been begging the Mayor to let us move in ever since.”

  “Why here, though?” Cordelia asked. “It’s kind of a weird place.”

  “My dad says the air on the cliff will be good for my sister. She’s kinda sick.” Nico rolled his eyes, as though he thought this was a dumb reason for wanting to move anywhere. Connor and Cordelia weren’t sure what to say.

  “Anyway,” Nico said, “I’m gonna dash. Good meetin’ you, though.” He waved at them.

  “Didn’t you just get here?” Connor asked.

  “Yeah, well,” Nico said, turning and walking away. “I like it when it’s less crowded.”

  He walked out the gate of the park, leaving Connor and Cordelia to stare after him.

  “I guess he didn’t like us,” Cordelia said, folding her arms.

  “At least we know there are some other kids nearby,” Connor said. “We haven’t seen anyone else.”

  “Yeah,” Cordelia said. “So what do you want to do now?”

  “Play with Kip?” Connor said.

  Cordelia looked at Kip and narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said.

  “Why not?” Connor asked. Cordelia hadn’t been mean to Kip lately—not exactly. But she used to love playing with him, and now she seemed to be going out of her way to ignore him.