Down Among the Sticks and Bones (Wayward Children #2)(17)

“I allowed the girls to select their own meals,” said the first man, sounding affronted. “It’s not my fault if she prefers her meat rare.”

“Mmm,” said Dr. Bleak noncommittally. He focused on Jill. “What’s your name, child? Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to harm you.”

“Jillian,” whispered Jill, in a squeak of a voice.

“Dr. Bleak lives outside the village,” said the first man. “He has a hovel. Rats and spiders and the like. It’s nothing compared to a castle.”

Dr. Bleak rolled his eyes. “Really? Really? You’re going to resort to petty insults? I haven’t even made my choice yet.”

“But as you’re clearly going for the one I’d be inclined to favor, I feel no shame in pleading my case,” said the first man. “Besides, look at them. A matched set! How could you begrudge me the desire to keep them both?”

“Wait,” said Jack. “What do you mean, ‘keep’ us? We’re not stray dogs. We’re very sorry we trespassed in your big creepy field, but we’re not staying here. As soon as we find a door, we’re going home.”

The first man smirked. Dr. Bleak actually looked … well, almost sad.

“The doors appear when they will,” he said. “You could be here for a very long time.”

Jack and Jill bore identical expressions of alarm. Jill spoke first.

“I have soccer practice,” she said. “I can’t miss it. They’ll cut me from the team, and then Daddy will be furious with me.”

“I’m not supposed to go outside,” said Jack. “My mother’s going to be so mad when she finds out that I did. We can’t be here for a very long time. We just can’t.”

“But you will,” said the first man. “For three days as guests in my home, and then as treasured residents, for as long as it takes to find a door back to your world. If you ever do. Not all foundlings return to the places that they ran away from, do they, Mary?”

“No, m’lord,” said Mary, in a dull, dead voice.

“The last foundling to come stumbling into the Moors was a boy with hair like fire and eyes like a winter morning,” said the first man. “Dr. Bleak and I argued over who should have his care and feeding—because we both love children, you see. They’re so lively, so energetic. They can make a house feel like a home. In the end, I won, and I promised Dr. Bleak that, in order to keep the peace, he would have the next foundling to pass through. Imagine my surprise when there were two of you! Truly the Moon provides.”

“Where is he now?” asked Jack warily.

“He found his door home,” said Dr. Bleak. “He took it.” He glared down the length of the table at the first man, like he was daring him to say something.

Instead, the first man simply laughed, shaking his head. “So dramatic! Always so dramatic. Sit down, Michel. Let me feed you. Enjoy the hospitality of my home for an evening, and perhaps you’ll see the wisdom of letting these pretty sisters stay together.”

“If you’re so set on keeping them as a matched set, honor the spirit of our agreement and let them both come home with me,” said Dr. Bleak. His next words were directed at the girls. “I can’t keep you in luxury. I have no servants, and you’ll be expected to work for your keep. But I’ll teach you how the world works, and you’ll go home wiser, if wearier. You will never be intentionally harmed beneath my roof.”

The word “never” seemed to leap out at Jack. The first man had only promised them three days. She looked across the table at Jill and found her sister sulky-eyed and pouting.

“Will you eat, Michel?” asked the first man.

“I suppose I should,” said Dr. Bleak, and dropped himself into a chair like an avalanche coming finally to rest. He looked to Mary. His eyes were kind. “Meat and bread and beer, if you would be so kind, Mary.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary, and actually smiled as she fled the room.

The first man—the Master—raised his goblet in a mocking toast. “To the future,” he said. “It’s on its way now, whether we’re prepared or not.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Dr. Bleak, to him, and “Eat,” he said, to Jack and Jill. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.

“We all will.”





6

THE FIRST NIGHT OF SAFETY

JACK AND JILL were tucked away in the same round tower room, in two small beds shaped like teardrops, with their heads at the widest point and their feet pointed toward the tapering end. The windows were barred. The door was locked. “For your protection,” Mary had said, before turning the key and sealing them in for the evening.

Many children would have railed at their confinement, would have gone looking for clever ways to pull the bars from the windows or break the latch on the door. Many children had been raised to believe that they were allowed to rail against unnecessary rules, that getting out of bed to use the bathroom or get a glass of water was not only allowed but encouraged, since taking care of their needs was more important than an eight-hour stretch spent perfectly in bed. Not Jack and Jill. They had been raised to obey, to behave, and so they stayed where they were.

(It is, perhaps, important to note that while blindly following rules can be a dangerous habit, it can also mean salvation. The ground below the tower window was white with old bones from children who had tried to make clever ropes out of braided sheets, only to find them too short and fall to their deaths. Some rules exist to preserve life.)