Furthermore(10)

Alice had never been able to prove it, but she’d always known that Father was still alive. She’d mourned his absence, yes, but she’d never mourned his death, because she’d been sure—absolutely sure—that one day, somehow, she would find him again. Father was out there. Somewhere. He had to be!

Though she really ought to make sure.

“What if you’re lying?” she whispered, eyes the size of sunflowers.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” He looked unhappy about that.

But it was true. She would.

The week after Father left, Alice had made the biggest purchase of her life. At the time, her savings were a total of seven finks—just one fink short of a stoppick—and she used them to make an ever-binding promise: For as long as a single lie never left her lips, she could never be fooled by one. It was the only way she could be sure she’d find Father one day. To never be led astray.

(A gentle aside: While it is very common practice in Ferenwood to spend finks and stoppicks on any number of impermanent tricks and promises, it is my personal belief that Alice’s gesture, while exceedingly romantic, was altogether impractical. A waste of seven finks, for certain, but then, we cannot fault the girl for wanting to exercise some control over the situation, can we? But I digress.) “Oh Oliver where is he?” Alice asked suddenly, heart racing and hopes soaring and hands shaking. “Where did he go?”

“Not so fast,” Oliver said, holding up a hand. “First we solve my task, and then we get your father.”

“But that doesn’t seem fair—”

“It’s the only deal I’ll offer.”

“We both have something to lose,” she protested. “If you don’t finish your task—”

“I know,” he said, cutting her off with an unkind look. “I already know what will happen to me if I don’t finish my task. You don’t have to say it out loud.”

Alice was about to say it out loud anyway when she remembered something awful. She fell back against the tree, gasping “Oh no, oh no” over and over again.

“What?” Oliver tried not to look concerned. “What is it?”

She looked up. “Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow is the first day of spring.”

“So?”

“So,” she insisted, irritated now. “Tomorrow I will be getting a task of my own!”

“You’re twelve already?” Oliver gaped at her, running both hands through his hair. “I thought you were nine.”

Alice chose to ignore that last bit.

Instead, she said, “What if I have to catch a dragon like Fenny Birdfinsk? Or if I’m sent to the stars like Sellie Sodcryer or, oh, if I have to spend a year mending a cow with nothing but a silver penny!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Oliver said. “No one has ever had to mend a cow with a silver penny. They’ll let you use a gold nickel, at the very least—”

“Oh kick the cow, Oliver, it will be impossible for me to help you!”

“Right,” he said, dragging a hand across his face. “Yes, right.”

Alice’s hopes had been dashed. They fell into a neat pile beside her feet.

“Unless,” Oliver said suddenly.

She looked up.

“Unless—” he said again, then hesitated.

“Go on.”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Unless you waive your Surrender.”

Alice gasped.

Waiving her Surrender was an option that had never been an option. Her Surrender was a ticket to something new—a task that would set her life in motion. Every child in Ferenwood grew up aching to be tasked—awaiting adventure and the thrill of a challenge.

Alice had been dreaming of this day her entire life.

Different though she may have looked, her heart was a Ferenwood heart, and she had the right to her task just like everyone else. She’d clung to this all through kindercare and middlecare and hometeaching with Mother—this hope, this truth—that one day, no matter her differences, she would be just like everyone else in this small way.

Losing it would break her heart.

Just as losing Father had broken her heart.



Picnicsticks, she didn’t know what to do.





Alice wandered toward town in a daze. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was headed this way, but today had been a strange day, and she couldn’t face going home just yet. Still, she seldom traveled this far out, because going into town was a painful treat. There was so much she wanted to explore (and purchase!) but with just one fink in her pocket, Alice could only do so much.

She ambled down familiar grassy lanes toward the stone-paved streets of town with none of her usual excitement; she kept tripping over roots and sleeping birds and had to pause occasionally to rest her head against a tree trunk. There was so much on her mind she hardly had room for things like balance and hand-eye coordination. Alice sighed and prepared to set off again, but then she heard a rustle of paper and soon spotted the culprit: the town newspaper caught in a tree, clutched in a fist of branches. She managed to tug the paper free, scanning the front page with little interest. Boiled potatoes were five finks a sackful. The town square would be under construction in preparation for the Surrender, please excuse the mess. Had anyone seen Mr. Perciful’s pygmy goat? Zeynab Tinkser was selling a lemon canoe for fifteen tintons.