Furthermore(42)

Using magic to solve a problem felt like cheating. After all, not everyone had spare stoppicks just lying around, and it made Alice angry—now that she thought about it—to know that she’d need more than just courage to survive in Furthermore.

She pressed her lips together.

Alice had been considering Oliver’s finks and stoppicks for some time now, often wondering at his casual use of magic and his practiced skills in conjuring and manipulation. These were skills Alice never had access to, and not for a lack of wanting. She had, of course, taken basic classes on the harnessing and transformation of contained magic, but that was all theory. She’d never interacted with much raw magic, and when she did have a few finks her in pocket, they were very precious to her; she used them carefully and thoughtfully. Alice had never known anyone who could throw money around the way Oliver had in the last few hours, and she couldn’t imagine what that kind of luxury was like.

Thinking about money made Alice unspeakably sad. She still had much to learn in life, but she’d seen enough to know that money mattered, and though she didn’t understand the whole of it, she did understand that a few extra stoppicks in a pocket often made it easier to live. A thousand times Alice had wondered whether having money would’ve helped her find Father sooner, and thinking about it now put a pinch in her heart.

Alice bit her lip as she looked Oliver over, taking care to really notice him now. She squinted at the simple clothes he wore—the ones she’d so carelessly dismissed earlier—and this time noted the careful stitching, the heavy fabric, and the expertly tailored fit. She noticed his hands, smooth and unblemished, his nails clean and short and buffed. Her eyes roved over his shiny hair, his glowing brown skin, the healthy brightness in his blue-violet eyes. Alice was beginning to realize something about Oliver that she’d never realized before.

“Oliver,” she said quietly. “Are you very rich?”

Oliver blinked fast. “What?”

“Do you have a great deal of money?” she asked, valiantly ignoring the heat blooming in her cheeks.

“A great deal?” he said, eyes wide and surprised. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. Not any more than most people, I imagine.”

Alice bit the inside of her cheek and swallowed back all the things she nearly said. Much more than me, she nearly said. I’ve never touched a stoppick in all my life, she nearly said.

“Oh,” was what she actually said.

Oliver wore a pained expression, his cheeks warmed by a truth neither one of them wished to acknowledge, and Alice was surprised to find that his discomfort bothered her. Embarrassed her, even. So she changed the subject.

“The town of Still seems so small compared to Slumber,” she said, staring at the colorful barricade Oliver had built. “Where are we now? Why isn’t anyone trying to eat us anymore?”

“Right! Yes!” Oliver said too loudly, relieved to be discussing something new. “Well! The villages in Furthermore are all built differently.” He nodded. “Some are big, some are small, some are very, very tall. But Still isn’t a proper village—and it’s not meant to be. Still is only home to one person.”

“One person?” said Alice. “But what about all the ladies who just tried to eat us?”

“Ah, well—the ladies of Still are just a security measure,” Oliver explained. “They’re here to protect the land from unwanted visitors. But the person we’re here to meet has no interest in eating anyone. In fact, he’s one of my few good friends in Furthermore.”

“Who is he?” she asked. “Who are we here to meet?”

Oliver met her gaze, the moon glinting behind him.

“Time.”





Alice sat there a moment longer, waiting for Oliver to tell her he was joking, when he tugged on her braid and said, “Narrow-mindedness, Alice, will do us no good.”

Alice scowled and slapped his hand away from her hair. “I’m not narrow-minded,” she said. “It’s just difficult for me to believe that we are actually about to meet Time.” She nearly rolled her eyes.

Oliver gasped—and very loudly.

His eyes were wide and horrified, and he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Listen closely,” he said. “Do not let those words leave your lips again. You do not disbelieve in Furthermore. Do it enough times and you’ll end up there.”

“End up where?”

“In Disbelief,” he said, and shuddered. “It’s a horrid town.”

Alice was afraid to ask him why, so she only nodded and said nothing more, keeping her disbelief to herself.

After their lungs had rested awhile, they walked on tired legs into the Still night, where birds were free to sing and crickets were free to dance and frogs would happily croak. They walked through grass that grew up to their knees and ponds that kicked quietly at their shores. Oliver stomped on and smiled at nothing in particular, while Alice distracted herself by peeking into the dark woods that crept just beyond, wondering all the while where everyone had gone, or if anyone had ever been, and what Time would look like, and would Time be nice, and what would happen if Time grew old? What would they do if Time died? And then she had a thought that wasn’t relevant at all, because she was reminded in a quiet moment that she’d been hungry—very hungry—not too long ago. Strange. She didn’t feel it at all anymore.