The Mapmaker and the Ghost(28)
Like on how fine everything was. His sister wasn’t crazy. They were going to get out of these woods perfectly safe and sound. And he, Birch Awl Moram, was going to happily spend the rest of his summer vacation relishing the boredom. He was going to wade in boredom until his fingers got pruney and never attempt anything as ridiculous as an adventure again.
He could almost see the edge of the woods now. He started to run faster toward the beautiful, unfiltered light, toward certain freedom.
Then, he heard the sound of snapping twigs and a drawling voice laughing almost directly to his right. Goldenrod must have heard it too because Birch immediately felt her grab his backpack and pull him down behind a bush.
They had been only moments away from running smack dab into Toe Jam and No-Bone.
No-Bone was sweating. He had used the fifty dollars he’d weaseled out of that supremely gullible chiropractor to buy a camel-colored faux-leather jacket. It was entirely too hot to be wearing it, but he thought it looked too cool to take it off. He had never had anything like it when he was traveling with the circus or at the orphanage afterward. He particularly liked the way it stretched along with him as he maneuvered his body into all of its impossible positions.
No-Bone had a very vague recollection of his dad owning a leather jacket similar to it. It was one of the few pictures he could conjure up in his mind of his parents, both sitting atop a shiny, chrome motorcycle. It’s possible the image in his head was from the morning before the accident. Or maybe his imagination had just dramatized it in that way.
He was six when the accident happened and knew enough about himself to be violently against being sent to an orphanage. Back when his parents were still alive, whenever he threw a tantrum, his father would say, “If you don’t like it here, why don’t you run away and join a circus?”
So when he was standing at the train platform with his temporary guardian, looking up at the colorful sign for the Orange & Clyde Big Top Act, it seemed to him like, well, a sign. All No-Bone had to do was dodge his guardian for a minute, take the train from the other platform, and then eventually tell his sob story to a few clowns who would convince the ringmaster to let them keep him.
Of course, that’s where he had learned to maneuver his spine. Xiao, the head acrobat, had taken notice almost right away when he’d spied No-Bone trying to fit himself into the circus bus’s luggage rack. At first, No-Bone had thought that the small, fierce-looking man had come to yell at him, and he’d quickly tumbled off the rack and tried to run away. But once Xiao had caught up with him—which incidentally was in about two seconds, in case you ever have the bright idea to try and flee from a top acrobat—he’d gently put his hand on No-Bone’s shoulder and simply said, “You’ve got talent. Would you like to learn more about how to use it?”
From there, the lessons had begun, and No-Bone had spent hours and hours practicing everything from tumbles and somersaults to high-flying, gravity-defying trapeze tricks. His proudest moment came at the age of seven when he officially became the youngest performer to ever grace the Orange & Clyde stage.
No-Bone had been heartbroken when the show was forced to pack up. He was nine, and Xiao was going back to China. The clowns and lion tamers and all the various other friends he had made all had their own lives to get to and work to find. So he had wound up in an orphanage anyway, here in boring, old Pilmilton. Sure, he enjoyed winning limbo competitions, but he had to believe there were bigger and better things out there for a boy of his talents. That’s what Spitbubble had promised him anyway: some excitement.
“I’m bored,” Toe Jam said as if he could read No-Bone’s thoughts. “How come I never get to be in on any of the plans?” He kicked some dirt with the tip of his expensive sneakers.
No-Bone smirked. It was true that Toe Jam really had no part in tomorrow’s proceedings, whereas he, No-Bone, would be a star player. Teasingly, he said, “Come on. You really wanna get involved with that stuff? This way we do all the work, and you get all the benefits.” As he spoke, No-Bone went out of his way to bend backward underneath a particularly low tree branch.
“I guess,” Toe Jam sulked. “But I wanna do something. What about all that adventure Spitbubble is always talking about? What about being a hoodlum?”
No-Bone had straightened up again to his neutral C posture. He thought for a moment. “Well, if you really wanna do something, I have an idea. And it’ll impress Spitbubble and the others too.”
Toe Jam’s face immediately brightened. “What is it?”
“You know that old lady who lives at the edge of the woods?”
“Yeah?” he said hesitantly.
“Well,” No-Bone casually drawled out, “everyone says she keeps a load of cash under her mattress ’cause she doesn’t trust banks.”
“Who’s everyone?” Toe Jam asked skeptically.
“I don’t know. Everyone. I just heard it, okay?”
“How d’you know it’s true?”
“I don’t … but there’s only one way to find out,” No-Bone said.
Toe Jam remained quiet.
“We break into her house, you idiot,” No-Bone said.
“Yeah, I get where you’re going,” Toe Jam immediately retorted. “I just don’t know if it’s such a good idea …,” he trailed off.