Hollow City (Miss Peregrine’s Peculiar Children, #2)(89)

“Catching a wight is easier said than done,” said Emma. “And they lie, of course. Lying is what they do best.”

“Then we’ll catch two and compare their lies,” the clown said.

“They come sniffing around here pretty often, so next time we see one—bam! We’ll grab him.”

“There’s no need to wait,” said Enoch. “Didn’t Miss Wren say there are wights in this very building?”

“Sure,” said the clown, “but they’re frozen. Dead as doornails.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t be interrogated,” Enoch said, a grin spreading across his face.

The clown turned to the folding man. “I’m really starting to like these weirdos.”

“Then you are with us?” said the folding man. “You stay and fight?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Emma. “Give us a minute to talk this over.”

“What is there to talk over?” said the clown.

“Of course, take all time you need,” said the folding man, and he pulled the clown down the hall with him. “Come, I will make coffee.”

“All right,” the clown said reluctantly.

We formed a huddle, just as we had so many times since our troubles began, only this time rather than shouting over one another, we spoke in orderly turns. The gravity of all this had put us in a solemn state of mind.

“I think we should fight,” said Hugh. “Now that we know what the wights are doing to us, I couldn’t live with myself if we just went back to the way things were, and tried to pretend none of this was happening. To fight is the only honorable thing.”

“There’s honor in survival, too,” said Millard. “Our kind survived the twentieth century by hiding, not fighting—so perhaps all we need is a better way to hide.”

Then Bronwyn turned to Emma and said, “I want to know what you think.”

“Yeah, I want to know what Emma thinks,” said Olive.

“Me too,” said Enoch, which took me by surprise.

Emma drew a long breath, then said, “I feel terrible for the other ymbrynes. It’s a crime what’s happened to them, and the future of our kind may depend on their rescue. But when all is said and done, my allegiance doesn’t belong to those other ymbrynes, or to other peculiar children. It belongs to the woman to whom I owe my life—Miss Peregrine, and Miss Peregrine alone.” She paused and nodded—as if testing and confirming the soundness of her own words—then continued. “And when, bird willing, she becomes herself again, I’ll do whatever she needs me to do. If she says fight, I’ll fight. If she wants to hide us away in a loop somewhere, I’ll go along with that, too. Either way, my creed has never changed: Miss Peregrine knows best.”

The others considered this. Finally Millard said, “Very wisely put, Miss Bloom.”

“Miss Peregrine knows best!” cheered Olive.

“Miss Peregrine knows best!” echoed Hugh.

“I don’t care what Miss Peregrine says,” said Horace. “I’ll fight.”

Enoch choked back a laugh. “You?”

“Everyone thinks I’m a coward. This is my chance to prove them wrong.”

“Don’t throw your life away because of a few jokes made at your expense,” said Hugh. “Who gives a whit what anyone else thinks?”

“It isn’t just that,” said Horace. “Remember the vision I had back on Cairnholm? I caught a glimpse of where the ymbrynes are being kept. I couldn’t show you on a map, but I’m sure of this—I’ll know it when I see it.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger.

“What I’ve got up here might just save those chaps a heap of trouble. And save those other ymbrynes, too.”

“If some fight and some stay behind,” said Bronwyn, “I’ll protect whoever stays. Protecting’s always been my vocation.”

And then Hugh turned to me and said, “What about you, Jacob?” and my mouth went instantly dry.

“Yeah,” said Enoch. “What about you?”

“Well,” I said, “I …”

“Let’s take a walk,” Emma said, hooking her arm around mine. “You and I need to have a chat.”

*

We walked slowly down the stairs, saying nothing to each other until we’d reached the bottom and the curved wall of ice where Althea had frozen shut the exit tunnel. We sat together and looked into the ice for a long while, at the forms trapped there, blurred and distorted in the darkening light, suspended like ancient eggs in blue amber. We sat, and I could tell from the silence collecting between us that this was going to be a hard conversation—one neither of us wanted to start.

Finally Emma said, “Well?”

I said, “I’m like the others—I want to know what you think.”

She laughed in the way people do when something’s not funny but awkward, and said, “I’m not entirely sure you do.”

She was right, but I prodded her to speak anyway. “Come on.”

Emma laid a hand on my knee, then retracted it. She fidgeted. My chest tightened.

“I think it’s time you went home,” she said finally.

I blinked. It took a moment to convince myself she’d really said it. “I don’t understand,” I mumbled.