A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(12)

I wedged myself into the seat next to Emma. Horace made a big show of unveiling the platters of food he’d prepared.

“This morning we’ve got pain perdu, potatoes à la royal, a viennoiserie of French pastries, and porridge with caramelized fruits!”

“Horace, you’ve outdone yourself,” said Bronwyn, her mouth already full.

Plates were filled and thanks were given. I was so eager to eat that it was several minutes before I thought to ask where the groceries had come from.

“They may or may not have floated off the shelves of a market down the road,” said Millard.

I stopped mid-chew. “You stole all this?”

“Millard!” said Miss Peregrine. “What if you had gotten caught?”

“Impossible, I’m a master thief,” he said. “It’s my third-most impressive skill, after my extreme intelligence and near-perfect memory.”

“But they have cameras in stores now,” I said. “If they get you on video, it could be a big problem.”

“Oh,” said Millard. He seemed suddenly fascinated by the caramelized peach slice at the end of his fork.

“Very impressive thieving,” said Enoch. “What was your first-most impressive skill again?”

Miss Peregrine put down her silverware and snapped her fingers. “All right, children. We’re adding stealing from normals to the mustn’t-ever list.”

Everyone groaned.

“I’m quite serious!” Miss Peregrine said. “If the police were to pay us a visit, it would be no small inconvenience.”

Enoch slumped dramatically in his chair. “The present is so tiresome. Remember how easy these things were to sort out in the loop?” He drew a line across his throat: “Ckkkkk! Goodbye, troublesome normal!”

“We’re not on Cairnholm anymore,” Miss Peregrine said, “and this isn’t a game of Raid the Village. The actions you take here have real and permanent consequences.”

“I was only kidding,” Enoch grumbled.

“No, you weren’t,” Bronwyn hissed.

Miss Peregrine held up her hand for silence. “What’s the new rule?”

“Mustn’t steal,” the kids chorused unenthusiastically.

“And?”

A few seconds passed. The headmistress frowned.

“Mustn’t kill normals?” Olive ventured.

“That’s right. There will be no killing of anyone in the present.”

“What if they’re really annoying?” asked Hugh.

“No matter. You may not kill them.”

“Without permission from you,” said Claire.

“No, Claire,” said Miss Peregrine sharply. “No killing at all.”

“Oh, all right,” said Claire.

It might have been chilling talk had I not known them so well. Still, it was a stark reminder of how much they had to learn about life in the present. Which reminded me—

“When should we start these normalling lessons?” I asked.

“How about today?” Emma said eagerly.

“Right now!” said Bronwyn.

“What should I start with? What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you fill in our knowledge of the past seventy-five years or so,” said Millard. “History, politics, music, popular culture, recent breakthroughs in science and technology . . .”

“I was thinking more along the lines of learning to talk like you’re not from 1940 and crossing the street without being killed.”

“I suppose that’s important, too,” said Millard.

“I just want to go outside,” said Bronwyn. “We’ve been here since yesterday and all we’ve done so far is muck through a stinky swamp and ride a bus at night.”

“Yeah!” said Olive. “I want to see an American city. And a municipal airport. And a pencil factory! I read a fascinating book about pencil factories—”

“Now, now,” said Miss Peregrine. “We’re not going on any grand expeditions today, so just get that out of your minds. We’ve got to walk before we can run, and given our limited transportation options, a walk sounds just about right. Mr. Portman, is there an underpopulated place we can perambulate that’s proximate to here? I don’t want the children interacting with normals unnecessarily before they’ve had more practice.”

“There’s the beach,” I said. “It’s pretty dead in the summertime.”

“Perfect,” said Miss Peregrine. She sent the kids off to change— “I want to see sun protection!” she called after them. “Hats! Parasols!”—and I was about to go and change, too, when I felt the dread return.

“What do we do about my family?” I asked her.

“They were dosed with enough dust to keep them sleeping into the afternoon,” she said. “But just in case, we’ll post someone here to keep watch over them.”

“Okay, but then what?”

“You mean, after they wake?”

“Yeah. How am I supposed to explain . . . you?”

She smiled. “That, Mr. Portman, is entirely your decision. But if you like, we can talk strategy as we walk.”



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