Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children(76)

At the far edge of the bog a bomb fell, its muted blast followed by a distant rain of excavated glop.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “First of all, we don’t know that this is Miss Crow or Miss Raven. It could just as easily be a picture of a regular crow. And if Golan was going to kill Miss Peregrine and Miss Avocet, why would he go to all the trouble of kidnapping them? If he wanted them dead, they’d be dead already.” I turned to Emma. “And if we hadn’t left, we’d be locked in the basement with everybody else, and there’d still be a hollowgast wandering around!”

“Don’t try to make me feel better!” she said. “It’s your fault this is happening!”

“Ten minutes ago you said you were glad!”

“Ten minutes ago Miss Peregrine wasn’t kidnapped!”

“Will you stop!” said Hugh. “All that matters now is that the Bird’s gone and we’ve got to get her back!”

“Fine,” I said, “so let’s think. If you were a wight, where would you take a couple of kidnapped ymbrynes?”

“Depends on what’s to be done with ’em,” Enoch said. “And that, we don’t know.”

“You’d have to get them off the island first,” Emma said. “So you’d need a boat.”

“But which island?” asked Hugh. “In the loop or out of it?”

“The outside’s getting torn apart by a storm,” I said. “Nobody’s getting far in a boat over there.”

“Then he’s got to be on our side,” Emma said, beginning to sound hopeful. “So what are we larking about here for? Let’s get to the docks!”

“Maybe he’s at the docks,” Enoch said. “That is, if he ain’t gone yet. And even if he ain’t and we somehow manage to find him in all this dark, and without getting holes ripped through our guts by shrapnel on the way, there’s still his gun to worry about. Have you all gone mad? Would you rather have the Bird kidnapped—or shot right in front of us?”

“Fine, then!” Hugh shouted. “Let’s just give up and go home then, shall we? Who’d like a nice hot cup of tea before bed? Hell, as long as the Bird ain’t around, make it a toddy!” He was crying, wiping angrily at his eyes. “How can you not even try, after all she’s done for us?”

Before Enoch could answer, we heard a voice calling us from the path. Hugh stepped forward, squinting, and after a moment his face went strange. “It’s Fiona,” he said. Before that moment I’d never heard Fiona utter so much as a peep. It was impossible to make out what she was saying over the sound of planes and distant concussions, so we took off running across the bog.

When we got to the path, we were breathing hard and Fiona was hoarse from shouting, her eyes as wild as her hair. Immediately she began to pull at us, to drag and push us down the path toward town, yelling so frantically in her thick Irish accent that none of us could understand. Hugh caught her by the shoulders and told her to slow down.

She took a deep breath, shaking like a leaf, then pointed behind her. “Millard followed him!” she said. “He was hiding when the man shut us all in the basement, and when he lit out Millard followed!”

“Where to?” I said.

“He had a boat.”

“See!” cried Emma. “The docks!”

“No,” said Fiona, “it was your boat, Emma. The one you think nobody knows about, that you keep stowed on that wee strand of yours. He launched off with the cage and was just goin’ in circles, but then the tide got too rough, so he pulled onto the lighthouse rock, and that’s where he still is.”

We made for the lighthouse in a dead run. When we reached the cliffs overlooking it, we found the rest of the children in a thick patch of sawgrass near the edge.

“Get down!” Millard hissed.

We dropped to our knees and crawled over to them. They were crouched in a loose huddle behind the grass, taking turns peeking at the lighthouse. They looked shell-shocked—the younger ones especially—as if they hadn’t fully grasped the unfolding nightmare. That we’d just survived a nightmare of our own barely registered.

I crawled through the grass to the edge of the cliff and peered out. Past where the shipwreck lay submerged I could see Emma’s canoe tied to the rocks. Golan and the ymbrynes were out of sight.

“What’s he doing out there?” I said.

“It’s anyone’s guess,” Millard answered. “Waiting for someone to pick him up, or for the tide to settle so he can row out.”

“In my little boat?” Emma said doubtfully.

“As I said, we don’t know.”

Three deafening cracks sounded in quick succession, and we all ducked as the sky flashed orange.

“Do any bombs fall ’round here, Millard?” asked Emma.

“My research concerns only the behavior of humans and animals,” he replied. “Not bombs.”

“Fat lot of good that does us now,” said Enoch.

“Do you have any more boats hidden around here?” I asked Emma.

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “We’ll just have to swim across.”

“Swim across and what?” said Millard. “Get shot to pieces?”