A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(8)

She flipped to the next picture: a train that had jumped its tracks and tipped over sideways. There were children—peculiar ones, presumably—sitting and standing all around it, smiling like they were having a grand old time.

“A train disaster,” said Millard. “It was carrying some sort of volatile chemical, and a few minutes after this picture was taken, we retreated to a safe distance and watched it catch fire and explode in the most terrific way.”

“What was the point of these trips?” I asked. “Seems a lot less fun than visiting some cool loop in the Amazon.”

“We were helping Sharon,” said Millard. “You remember him—tall, cloaked boatman from Devil’s Acre? Rats for friends?”





“How could I forget?”

“He’s developing a new and improved version of his Famine ’n’ Flames Disaster Tour using the Panloopticon’s loops, and he asked us to test out an early version. Besides the Chilean earthquake and the train wreck, there was a town in Portugal where it rained blood.”

“Seriously?” I said.

“I didn’t go along for that one,” Emma said.

“Good thing, too,” said Horace. “Our clothes were irreparably stained.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve all had a much more exciting time than I have,” I said. “I think I’ve left my house about six times since I last saw you.”

“I hope that’s about to change,” said Bronwyn. “I’ve always wanted to see America—and the present day, especially. Is New York City very far?”

“I’m afraid it is,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, sinking down into the couch cushions.

“I’d like to visit Muncie, Indiana,” said Olive. “The guidebook says you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Muncie.”

“What guidebook?”

“Peculiar Planet: North America,” Olive said, and held up a book with a tattered green cover. “It’s a travel guide for peculiars. It named Muncie America’s Most Normal Town six years running. Totally average in every way.”

“That book is horribly out-of-date,” said Millard. “In all likelihood useless.”

Olive ignored him. “Apparently, nothing unusual or out of the ordinary has ever happened there. Ever!”

“Not all of us find normal people as interesting as you do,” Horace said. “And anyway, I’m sure it’s crawling with peculiar tourists.”

Olive, who wasn’t wearing her leaded shoes, floated over the coffee table, to the couch, and dropped the book in my lap. It was open to a page describing the only peculiar-friendly accommodations near Muncie—a place called Clownmouth House in a loop on the outskirts of town. True to its name, it appeared to be a room inside a giant plaster clown’s head.

I shuddered a little and let the book fall closed.

“We don’t have to go all the way to Indiana to find unextraordinary places,” I said. “We’ve got plenty right here in Englewood, trust me.”

“The rest of you can do what you like,” said Enoch. “My only plan for the next few weeks is to sleep until noon and bury my toes in warm sand.”

“That does sound nice,” said Emma. “Is there a beach near here?”

“Across the street,” I said.

Emma’s eyes lit up.

“I hate beaches,” Olive said. “I can never take my stupid metal boots off, which ruins all the fun.”

“We could tie you to a rock near the water’s edge,” said Claire.

“Sounds magical,” Olive grumbled, then snatched Peculiar Planet out of my lap and floated into a corner. “I’ll just take a train to Muncie and fiddlywinks to the rest of you.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Miss Peregrine came into the room. I wondered whether she’d been eavesdropping on us from the hall, rather than doing an extra security round. “You children have earned a bit of a rest, certainly, but our responsibilities are such that we cannot simply while away the next several weeks in idleness.”

“What!” said Enoch. “I distinctly remember you saying we were here on holiday.”

“A working holiday. We can’t afford to waste the educational opportunities presented us by being here.”

At the word educational, groans went up around the room.

“Don’t we do enough lessons as it is?” Olive whined. “My brain may split open.”





Miss Peregrine shot Olive a warning look and stepped smartly to the center of the room. “I don’t want to hear another word of complaint,” she said. “With the extraordinary new freedom of movement you’ve been given, you’ll be invaluable to the reconstruction effort. With the right preparation, you could be ambassadors to other peculiar peoples one day. Explorers of new loops and territories. Planners and cartographers and leaders and builders—as crucial to the work of remaking our world as you were to the wights’ defeat. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course,” said Emma. “But what does that have to do with taking a holiday?”

“Before you become any of those things, you must first learn to navigate this world. The present day. America. You must familiarize yourselves with its idioms and customs and ultimately be able to pass as normal. If you cannot, you’ll be a danger to yourselves and all of us.”