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WILDWOOD THE WILDWOOD CHRONICLES, BOOK 1 COLIN MELOY

Wildwood: The Wildwood Chronicles, Book I

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Page 1: Wildwood: The Wildwood Chronicles, Book I

WILDWOODTHEWILDWOODCHRONICLES,BOOK1

COLINMELOY

Page 2: Wildwood: The Wildwood Chronicles, Book I

Illustrationsby

CARSONELLIS

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Dedication

ForHank,ofcourse

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Contents

CoverTitlePageDedication

PartOneCHAPTER1-AMurderofCrowsCHAPTER2-OneCity’sImpassableWildernessCHAPTER3-ToCrossaBridgeCHAPTER4-TheCrossingCHAPTER5-DenizensoftheWoodCHAPTER6-TheWarrenoftheDowager;AKingdomofBirdsCHAPTER7-AnEvening’sEntertainment;ALongJourneyEnded;GoingforaSoldierCHAPTER8-ToCatchanAttachéCHAPTER9-ALesserSvik;TotheFront!CHAPTER10-EntertheBandits;AnOminousNoteCHAPTER11-ASoldierDistinguished;AudiencewithanOwlCHAPTER12-AnOwlinIrons;Curtis’sConundrum

PartTwoCHAPTER13-ToCatchaSparrow;LikeaBirdinaCageCHAPTER14-AmongThievesCHAPTER15-TheDeliveryCHAPTER16-TheFlight;AMeetingontheBridgeCHAPTER17-GuestsoftheDowagerCHAPTER18-OnReturning;AFather’sAdmissionCHAPTER19-Escape!

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PartThreeCHAPTER20-ThreeBellsCHAPTER21-WildwoodRevisited;AMeetingwithaMysticCHAPTER22-ABanditMadeCHAPTER23-CalltoArms!CHAPTER24-PartnersAgainCHAPTER25-IntotheCityoftheAncientsCHAPTER26-TheWildwoodIrregulars;ANametoConjureWithCHAPTER27-TheIvyandthePlinthCHAPTER28-WildwoodRising

AbouttheAuthorandIllustratorCreditsCopyrightAboutthePublisher

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PartOne

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CHAPTER1AMurderofCrows

How five crows managed to lift a twenty-pound baby boy into the air wasbeyondPrue,butthatwascertainlytheleastofherworries.Infact,ifsheweretolistherworriesright thenandthereasshesatspellboundontheparkbenchandwatchedherlittlebrother,Mac,carriedaloftinthetalonsofthesefiveblackcrows,puzzlingoutjusthowthisfeatwasbeingdonewouldlikelycomeindeadlast.Firstonthelist:Herbabybrother,herresponsibility,wasbeingabductedbybirds.Aclosesecond:Whatdidtheyplanondoingwithhim?Andithadbeensuchaniceday.True, it had been a little gray when Prue woke up that morning, but what

SeptemberdayinPortlandwasn’t?Shehaddrawnuptheblindsinherbedroomandhadpausedforamoment,takinginthesightofthetreebranchesoutsideherwindow,framedastheywerebyaskyofdustywhite-gray.ItwasSaturday,andthesmellofcoffeeandbreakfastwasdriftingupfromdownstairs.Herparentswould be in their normal Saturday positions: Dadwith his nose in the paper,occasionallyheftingalukewarmmugofcoffeetohislips;Mompeeringthroughtortoiseshell bifocals at the woolly mass of a knitting project of unknowndetermination.Herbrother,allofoneyearold,wouldbesittinginhishighchair,exploring the farthest frontiers of unintelligible babble: Doose! Doose! Sureenough,hervisionwasprovencorrectwhenshecamedownstairstothenookoffthe kitchen. Her father mumbled a greeting, her mother’s eyes smiled from

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aboveherglasses,andherbrothershrieked,“Pooo!”Pruemadeherselfabowlofgranola.“I’vegotbaconon,darling,”saidhermother,returningherattentiontotheamoebaofyarninherhands(wasitasweater?Ateacozy?Anoose?).“Mother,”Pruehadsaid,nowpouringricemilkoverhercereal,“Itoldyou.

I’m a vegetarian. Ergo: no bacon.” She had read that word, ergo, in a novelshe’dbeen reading.Thatwas the first timeshehadused it.Shewasn’t sure ifshe’duseditright,butitfeltgood.ShesatdownatthekitchentableandwinkedatMac.Herfatherbrieflypeeredoverthetopofhispapertogiveherasmile.“What’sonthedockettoday?”saidherfather.“Remember,you’rewatching

Mac.”“Mmmm,Idunno,”Prueresponded.“Figuredwe’dhangaroundsomewhere.

Rough up some old ladies. Maybe stick up a hardware store. Pawn the loot.Beatsgoingtoacraftsfair.”Herfathersnorted.“Don’tforgettodropoffthelibrarybooks.They’reinthebasketbythefront

door,” saidhermother, her knittingneedles clacking. “We shouldbeback fordinner,butyouknowhowlongthesethingscanrun.”“Gotcha,”saidPrue.Macshouted,“Pooooo!”wildlybrandishedaspoon,andsneezed.“Andwethinkyourbrothermighthaveacold,”saidherfather.“Somakesure

he’sbundledup,whateveryoudo.”(Thecrowsliftedherbrotherhigherintotheovercastsky,andsuddenlyPrue

enumeratedanotherworry:Buthemighthaveacold!)Thathadbeen theirmorning.Truly,anunremarkableone.Prue finishedher

granola, skimmed the comics, helped her dad ink in a few gimmes in hiscrosswordpuzzle,andwasofftohookuptheredRadioFlyerwagontothebackof her single-speed bicycle. An even coat of gray remained in the sky, but itdidn’tseemtothreatenrain,soPruestuffedMacintoalinedcorduroyjumper,wrappedhiminastratumofquiltedchintz,andplacedhim,stillbabbling,intothewagon.Sheloosedonearmfromthiscocoonofclothingandhandedhimhisfavoritetoy:awoodensnake.Heshookitappreciatively.Prueslippedherblackflatsintothetoeclipsandpedaledthebikeintomotion.

Thewagonbouncednoisilybehindher,Macshriekinghappilywithevery jolt.They tore through the neighborhood of tidy clapboard houses, Prue nearlyupsettingMac’s wagonwith every hurdled curb andmissed rain puddle. Thebiketiresgaveasatisfiedshhhhhhastheycarvedthewetpavement.Themorningflewby,givingwaytoawarmafternoon.Afterseveralrandom

errands (apair ofLevis, notquite the right color, needed returning; the recentarrivalsbinatVinylRestingPlacerequiredperusing;aplateofveggietostadas

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wasmessilysharedat the taqueria), she foundherselfwhiling timeoutside thecoffeeshoponthemainstreetwhileMacquietlynappedintheredwagon.Shesipped steamedmilk andwatched through thewindow as the café employeesawkwardlyinstalledasecondhandelkheadtrophyonthewall.TraffichummedonLombardStreet,thefirstintrusionsoftheneighborhood’spoliterushhour.Afewpassersbycooedat the sleepingbaby in thewagonandPrue flashed themsarcasticsmiles,alittleannoyedtobesomeone’spictureofsiblingcamaraderie.Shedoodledmindlesslyinhersketchbook:theleaf-cloggedgutterdraininfrontof the café, a hazy sketchofMac’s quiet facewith extra attentionpaid to thelittledribbleofsnotemergingfromhisleftnostril.Theafternoonbegantofade.Mac,waking,shookherfromher trance.“Right,”shesaid,puttingherbrotheron her knee while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Let’s keep moving.Library?”Macpouted,uncomprehending.“Libraryitis,”saidPrue.SheskiddedtoahaltinfrontoftheSt.Johnsbranchlibraryandvaultedfrom

herbike seat. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said toMac as shegrabbed the shortstackofbooksfromthewagon.Shejoggedintothefoyerandstoodbeforethebookreturnslot,shufflingthebooksinherhand.Shestoppedatone,TheSibleyGuide toBirds,andsighed.She’dhad it fornearly threemonthsnow,bravingoverdue notices and threatening notes from librarians before she’d finallyconsented to return it.Pruemournfully flipped through thepagesof thebook.She’d spent hours copying the beautiful illustrations of the birds into hersketchbook,whisperingtheirfantastic,exoticnameslikequietincantations:thewestern tanager. The whip-poor-will. Vaux’s swift. The names conjured theimages of lofty climes and faraway places, of quiet prairie dawns and mistytreetopaeries.Hergazedriftedfromthebooktothedarknessofthereturnslotand back. She winced, muttered, “Oh well,” and shoved the book into theopening of her peacoat. She would brave the librarians’ wrath for one moreweek.Outside, an old woman had stopped in front of the wagon and was busy

searching around for its owner, her brow furrowed. Mac was contentedlychewing on the head of his wooden snake. Prue rolled her eyes, took a deepbreath,andthrewopenthedoorsofthelibrary.WhenthewomansawPrue,shebegan to wave a knobby finger in her direction, stammering, “E-excuse me,miss!Thisisveryunsafe!Toleaveachild!Alone!Dohisparentsknowhowheisbeingcaredfor?”“What, him?” asked Prue as she climbed back on to the bike. “Poor thing,

doesn’thaveparents.Ifoundhiminthefreebookpile.”Shesmiledwidelyandpushedthebikeawayfromthecurbbackontothestreet.

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Theplaygroundwasemptywhen theyarrived, andPrueunrolledMac fromhis swaddling and set him alongside the unhitched Radio Flyer. He was justbeginning to walk and relished the opportunity to practice his balancing. Hegurgledandsmiledandcarefullywaddledbeside thewagon,pushing it slowlyacrosstheplayground’sasphalt.“Knockyourselfout,”saidPrue,andshepulledthecopyofTheSibleyGuidetoBirdsfromhercoat,openingit toadog-earedpage about meadowlarks. The shadows against the blacktop were growinglongerasthelateafternoongavewaytoearlyevening.Thatwaswhenshefirstnoticedthecrows.At first there were just a few, wheeling in concentric circles against the

overcastsky.TheycaughtPrue’sattention,dartingabout inherperiphery,andsheglancedupat them.Corvusbrachyrhynchos;she’djustbeenreadingaboutthem thenightbefore.Even fromadistance,Pruewasastoundedby their sizeandthepowerof theireverywingstroke.Afewmoreflewinto thegroupandthere were now several, wheeling and diving above the quiet playground. Aflock? thoughtPrue.Aswarm? She flipped through thepagesofSibley to thebackwhere there was an index of fanciful terms for the grouping of birds: asedge of herons, a fall of woodcock, and: a murder of crows. She shivered.Lookingbackup, shewas startled to see that thismurderofcrowshadgrownconsiderably. There were now dozens of birds, each of the blackest pitch,piercingcoldemptyholesinthewideningsky.ShelookedoveratMac.Hewasnowyardsaway,blithelytoddlingalongtheblacktop.Shefeltunnerved.“Hey,Mac!”shecalled.“Whereyagoing?”There was a sudden rush of wind, and she looked up in the sky and was

horrified to see that thegroupof crowshadgrown twentyfold.The individualbirdswere now indiscernible from themass, and themurder coalesced into asingle, convulsive shape, blotting out the flat light of the afternoon sun. Theshape swung and bowed in the air, and the noise of their beating wings andscreechingcriesbecamealmostdeafening.Pruecastabout,seeingifanyoneelsewas witnessing this bizarre event, but she was terrified to find that she wasalone.Andthenthecrowsdove.Their cry became a single, unified scream as the cloud of crows feinted

skywardbeforedivingataferociousspeedtowardherbabybrother.Macgaveaterrificsquealasthefirstcrowreachedhim,snaggingthehoodofhisjumperinaquick flourishof a talon.Asecond tookholdof a sleeve, a thirdgrabbing theshoulder. A fourth, a fifth touched down, until the swarm surrounded andobscuredtheviewofhisbodyinaseaofflashing,featheryblackness.Andthen,withseeminglyperfectease,Macwasliftedfromthegroundandintotheair.

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Pruewasparalyzedwithshockanddisbelief:Howweretheydoingthis?Shefound that her legs felt like they were made of cement, her mouth empty ofanythingthatmightdrawforthwordsorasound.Herentireplacid,predictablelifenowseemedtohingeonthisonesingleevent,everythingshe’deverfeltorbelieved coming into terrible relief.Nothing her parents had told her, nothingshe’deverlearnedinschool,couldpossiblyhavepreparedherforthisthingthatwashappening.Or,really,whatwastofollow.

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“LETMYBROTHERGO!”Waking fromher reverie,Prue foundshewas standingon topof thebench,

shakingher fistat thecrows likean ineffectualcomic-bookbystander,cursing

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some supervillain for the theft of a purse. The crows were quickly gainingaltitude;theynowtoppedthehighestbranchesofthepoplars.Maccouldbarelybeseenamidtheblack,wingedswarm.Pruejumpeddownfromthebenchandgrabbedarockfromthepavement.Takingquickaim,shethrewtherockashardas shecouldbutgroaned to see it fallwell shortof its target.Thecrowswerecompletely unfazed. They were now well above the tallest trees in theneighborhoodandclimbing,thehighestflyersgrowinghazyinthelow-hangingclouds.Thedarkmassmovedinanalmostlazypattern,stallinginmotionbeforesuddenlybreaking inonedirectionand thenext.Suddenly, thecurtainof theirbodiespartedandPruecouldseethedistantbeigeshapeofMac,hiscordjumperpulled intoagrotesque rag-doll shapeby thecrows’ talons.Shecouldseeonecrowhadaclawtangledinthefinedownofhishair.Nowtheswarmseemedtosplit in twogroups:Onestayed surrounding the fewcrowswhowerecarryingMacwhile theotherdoveawayand skirted the treetops.Suddenly, twoof thecrowsletgoofMac’sjumper,andtheremainingbirdsscrambledtokeephold.Prue shrieked as she saw her brother slip from their claws and plummet. ButbeforeMac evenneared the ground, the secondgroupof crowsdeftly flew inandhewascaught,lostagainintothecloudofsquawkingbirds.Thetwogroupsreunited,wheeledintheaironcemore,andsuddenly,violently,shotwestward,awayfromtheplayground.

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Determined todo something,Pruedashed toherbike, jumpedon, andgavepursuit.UnencumberedbyMac’sredwagon,thebikequicklygainedspeedandPruedartedoutintothestreet.Twocarsskiddedtoastopinfrontofherasshecrossed the intersection in front of the library; somebody yelled, “Watch it!”

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fromthesidewalk.Pruedidnotdaretakehereyesoff theswimming,spinningcrowsinthedistance.Herlegsabluebluroverthepedals,PrueblewthestopsignatRichmondand

Ivanhoe,incitinganangeredhollerfromabystander.Shethenskiddedthroughthe turn southward on Willamette. The crows, unhampered by theneighborhood’sgridofhouses, lawns, streets, and stoplights,madequick timeoverthelandscape,andPruecommandedherlegstopedalfastertokeeppace.Inthe chase, she could swear that the crowswere toyingwith her, cutting backtowardher,divinglowandskirtingtheroofsofthehouses,onlytocarveagreatarc and, with a push of speed, dart back to the west. In thesemoments Pruecould catch glimpse of her captive brother, swinging in the clutches of hiscaptors,andthenhewoulddisappearagain,lostinthewhirlwindoffeathers.“I’mcomingforyou,Mac!”sheyelled.TearsstreameddownPrue’scheeks,

butshecouldn’ttellifshe’dcriedthemoriftheywereaproductofthecoldfallair that whipped at her face as she rode. Her heart was beatingmadly in herchest, but her emotionswere staid; she still couldn’t quitebelieve thiswas allhappening. Her only thought was to retrieve her brother. She swore that shewouldneverlethimoutofhersightagain.TheairwasalivewithcarhornsasPruezigzaggedthroughthesteadytraffic

of St. Johns. A garbage truck, executing a slow, traffic-stalling Y-turn in themiddleofWillametteStreet,blocked the road,andPruewasforced tohop thecurbandbarreldownthesidewalk.Agroupofpedestriansscreamedanddoveoutofherway.“Sorry!”Prueshouted.Inanangularmotion,thecrowsdoubledback,causingPruetolayonthebrakes,andthendovelowinanalmostsinglefile and flew straight towardher.She screamedandducked as the crows flewoverherhead,theirfeathersnickingherscalp.Sheheardadistinctgurgleandacall,“Pooooo!”fromMacastheypassed,andhewasgoneagain,thecrowsbackontheirjourneywestward.Pruepedaledthebiketospeedandbunny-hoppedthewheelsofthebikebackontotheblackpavementofthestreet,grimacingassheabsorbedthebumpwithherarms.Seeinganopportunity,shetookahardrightonto a side street that wound through a new development of identicallywhitewashedduplexes.Thegroundbegantogentlyslopeandshewasgatheringspeed,thebikeclatteringandshakingbeneathher.Andthen,suddenly,thestreetcametoanabruptend.Shehadarrivedatthebluff.HereattheeasternsideoftheWillametteRiverwasanaturalborderbetween

the tight-knitcommunityofSt.Johnsand theriverbank,a three-mile lengthofcliffsimplycalledthebluff.Prueletoutacryandjammedonthebrakes,nearlysending herself vaulting the handlebars and over the edge. The crows had

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clearedtheprecipiceandwerefunnelingskywardlikeashiveringblacktwistercloud,framedbytherisingsmokefromthemanysmeltersandsmokestacksofthe IndustrialWastes, a veritableno-man’s-landon theother sideof the river,longagoclaimedbythelocalindustrialbaronsandtransformedintoaforbiddinglandscapeof smokeandsteel. Justbeyond theWastes, through thehaze, layarollingexpanseofdeeplyforestedhills,stretchingoutasfarastheeyecouldsee.ThecolordrainedfromPrue’sface.“No,”shewhispered.Intheflashofaninstantandwithoutasound,thefunnelofcrowscrestedthe

farsideoftheriveranddisappearedinalong,thincolumnintothedarknessofthesewoods.HerbrotherhadbeentakenintotheImpassableWilderness.

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CHAPTER2OneCity’sImpassableWilderness

AslongasPruecouldremember,everymapshehadeverseenofPortlandandthesurroundingcountrysidehadbeenblottedwitha large,darkgreenpatch inthe center, stretching like a growth ofmoss from the northwest corner to thesouthwest,andlabeledwiththemysteriousinitials“I.W.”Shehadn’tthoughttoaskaboutituntilonenight,beforeMacwasborn,whenshewassittingwithherparentsinthelivingroom.Herdadhadbroughthomeanewatlasandtheywerelyinginthereclinertogether,leafingthroughthepagesandtracingtheirfingersover boundary lines and sounding out the exotic place names of far-flungcountries.WhentheyarrivedatamapofOregon,Pruepointedtothesmall,insetmapofPortlandonthepageandaskedthequestionthathadalwaysconfoundedher:“What’stheI.W.?”“Nothing,honey,”hadbeenherfather’sreply.Heflippedbacktothemapof

Russia theyhadbeen looking atmoments before.With his finger, he traced acircleoverthewidenortheasternpartofthecountrywherethelettersofthewordSiberia obscured the map. There were no city names here; no network ofwandering yellow lines demarking highways and roads.Only vast puddles allshades of green and white and the occasional squiggly blue line linking themyriadremotelakesthatpepperedthelandscape.“Thereareplacesintheworldwherepeoplejustdon’tendupliving.Maybeit’stoocoldortherearetoomany

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treesor themountainsare toosteep toclimb.Butwhatever the reason,noonehas thought to build a road there and without roads, there are no houses andwithouthouses,nocities.”HeflippedbacktothemapofPortlandandtappedhisfinger against the spot where “I.W.” was written. “It stands for ‘ImpassableWilderness.’Andthat’sjustwhatitis.”“Whydoesn’tanyonelivethere?”askedPrue.“All the reasons why no one lives up in those parts of Russia. When the

settlers first came to the area and started to build Portland, no onewanted tobuild theirhouses there:The forestwas toodeepand thehillswere too steep.And since there were no houses there, no one thought to build a road. Andwithoutroadsandhouses,theplacejustsortofstayedthatway:emptyofpeople.Theplace,overtime,justbecamemoreovergrownandmoreinhospitable.Andso,”hesaid,“itwasnamedtheImpassableWildernessandeverybodyknewtosteerclear.”HerfatherdismissivelywipedhishandacrossthemapandbroughtituptogentlypinchPrue’schinbetweenhisthumbandfinger.Bringingherfaceclose to his, he said, “And I don’t ever, ever want you to go in there.” Heplayfullymovedherheadbackandforthandsmiled.“Youhearme,kid?”Pruemade a face and yanked her chin free. “Yeah, I hear you.”They both

lookedbackattheatlas,andPruelaidherheadagainstherfather’schest.“I’mserious,”saidherfather.Shecouldfeelhischesttightenunderhercheek.SoPrueknewnottogonearthis“ImpassableWilderness,”andsheonlyonce

bothered her parentswith questions about it again.But she couldn’t ignore it.Whilethedowntowncontinuedtosprouttoweringcondominiumbuildings,andnewly minted terra-cotta outlet malls bloomed beside the highway in thesuburbs, it baffled Prue that such an impressive swath of land should gounclaimed,untouched,undeveloped, righton theedgeof thecity.Andyet,noadulteverseemedtocommentonitormentionitinconversation.Itseemedtonotevenexistinmostpeople’sminds.TheonlyplacethattheImpassableWildernesswouldcropupwasamongthe

kidsatPrue’sschool,whereshewasaseventhgrader.Therewasanapocryphaltale told by the older students about a man—so-and-so’s uncle, maybe—whohadwanderedintotheI.W.bymistakeandhaddisappearedforyearsandyears.Hisfamily,over time, forgotabouthimandcontinuedonwith their livesuntiloneday,outoftheblue,hereappearedontheirdoorstep.Hedidn’tseemtohaveany memory of the intervening years, saying only that he’d been lost in thewoodsfora timeand thathewas terriblyhungry.Pruehadbeensuspiciousofthe story from her first hearing; the identity of this “man” seemed to changefromtellingtotelling.Itwassomeone’sfatherinoneversion,awaywardcousinin another.Also, the details shifted in each telling.A visiting high school kid

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told a group of Prue’s rapt classmates that the individual (in this version, thekid’s older brother) had returned from his weird sojourn in the ImpassableWildernessagedbeyondbelief,withagreatwhitebeardthatstretcheddowntohistatteredshoes.Regardlessof thequestionable truthof thesestories, itbecameclear toPrue

thatmostofherclassmateshadhadsimilarconversationswith theirparentsasshehadhadwithherfather.ThesubjectoftheWildernessfilteredintotheirplaysurreptitiously:Whatoncewasalakeofpoisonouslavaaroundthefour-squarecourtwasnowtheImpassableWilderness,andwoebetideanyonewhomissedabounce andwas forced to scurry after the red rubber ball into thosewilds. Ingames of tag, you were no longer tagged It, but rather designated the WildCoyote of the I.W., and itwas your job to scamper around after your fleeingclassmates,barkingandgrowling.Itwas the specterof thesecoyotes thatmadePrueaskherparents a second

time about the ImpassableWilderness.Shehadbeen awakenedonenight in afright by the unmistakable sound of baying dogs. Sitting up in bed, she couldhearthatMac,thenfourmonthsold,hadawokenaswellandwasbeingquietlyshushed by their parents as he wailed and whimpered in the next room. Thedogs’bayingwasadistantecho,butitwasbone-shiveringnonetheless.Itwasatuneless melody of violence and chaos and as it grew, more dogs in theneighborhood took up the cry. Prue noticed then that the distant barkingwasdifferent from the barking of the neighborhooddogs; itwasmore shrill,moredisorderedandangry.Shethrewherblanketasideandwalkedintoherparents’room.The scenewas eerie:Mac had quieted a little at this point, and hewasbeing rocked in his mother’s arms while their parents stood at the window,staringunblinkingoutover the townat thedistantwesternhorizon, their facespaleandfrightened.“What’s that sound?” asked Prue, walking to the side of her parents. The

lights of St. Johns spread out before them, an array of flickering stars thatstoppedattheriveranddissolvedintoblackness.Herparentsstartedwhenshespoke,andherfathersaid,“Justsomeolddogs

howling.”“Butfartheraway?”askedPrue.“Thatdoesn’tsoundlikedogs.”Prue saw her parents share a glance, and her mother said, “In the woods,

darling,therearesomeprettywildanimals.That’sprobablyapackofcoyotes,wishing theycould tear intosomeone’sgarbagesomewhere.Bestnot toworryaboutit.”Shesmiled.Thebayingeventuallystoppedandtheneighborhooddogscalmed,andPrue’s

parentswalkedherbackintoherroomandtuckedher intobed.Thathadbeen

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the last time the ImpassableWildernesshad comeup, but it hadn’t putPrue’scuriositytorest.Shecouldn’thelpfeelingalittletroubled;herparents,normallytwo fountsof strengthandconfidence, seemedstrangely shakenby thenoises.TheyseemedasleeryoftheplaceasPruewas.AndsoonecanimaginePrue’shorrorwhenshewitnessedtheblackplumeof

crowsdisappear,herbabybrother in tow, into thedarknessof this ImpassableWilderness.

The afternoonhad fadednearly completely, the sundippingdown lowbehindthehillsoftheWilderness,andPruestoodtransfixed,slack-jawed,ontheedgeofthebluff.AtrainenginetrundledbybelowherandrolledacrosstheRailroadBridge,passinglowoverthebrickandmetalbuildingsoftheIndustrialWastes.Abreezehadpickedup,andPrueshiveredbeneathherpeacoat.Shewasstaringatthelittlebreakinthetreelinewherethecrowshaddisappeared.Itstartedtorain.Prue felt like someone had bored a hole in her stomach the size of a

basketball. Her brother was gone, literally captured by birds and carried to aremote, untouchable wilderness, and who knew what they would do to himthere.Anditwasallher fault.The lightchangedfromdeepblue todarkgray,andthestreetlightsslowly,onebyone,begantoclickon.Nighthadfallen.Prueknewher vigilwashopeless.Macwouldnot be returning.Prue slowly turnedherbikearoundandbeganwalkingitbackupthestreet.Howwouldshetellherparents? They would be devastated beyond belief. Prue would be punished.She’dbeengroundedbeforeforstayingoutlateonschoolnights,ridingherbikearound the neighborhood, but this punishment was certain to be like nothingshe’deverexperienced.She’dlostMac,herparents’onlyson.Herbrother.Ifaweekofnotelevisionwasthestandardpunishmentformissingacouplecurfews,she couldn’t imagine what it was for losing baby brothers. She walked forseveralblocks,inatrance.Shefoundthatshewaschokingbacktearsas,inhermind’seye,shewitnessedanewthecrows’disappearanceintothewoods.“Getagrip,Prue!”shesaidaloud,wipingtearsfromhercheeks.“Thinkthis

through!”She took a deep breath and began assembling her options in her mind,

weighing each one’s pros and cons. Going to the police was out; they’dundoubtedly think shewas crazy.Shedidn’t knowwhatpolicedidwith crazypeoplewhocameintothestationrantingaboutmurdersofcrowsandabductedone-year-olds,butshehadhersuspicions:She’dbecarriedoffinanarmoredvanandthrownintosomefarawayasylum’ssubterraneancell,whereshe’dliveout

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therestofherdays listening to the lamentingofherfellowinmatesand tryinghopelessly to convince the passing janitor that shewas not crazy and that shewas falsely imprisoned there. The thought of rushing home to tell her parentsterrifiedher;theirheartswouldbeirretrievablybroken.TheyhadwaitedsolongforMac to come along.Shedidn’t know thewhole story, but understood thatthey’dwantedtohaveasecondchildsooner,butitjusthadn’tcomeabout.TheyhadbeensohappywhentheyfoundoutaboutMac.Theyhadpositivelybeamed;theentirehousehadfeltaliveandlight.No,shecouldn’tbetheonetobreakthisterrible news to them. She could run away—thiswas a legitimate option. ShecouldjumpononeofthosetrainsgoingovertheRailroadBridgeandsplittownand travel fromcity to city,doingodd jobs and telling fortunes for a living—maybeshe’devenmeeta littlegoldenretrieveron theroadwho’dbecomeherclosestcompanion,andthey’dramblethecountrytogether,acoupleofgypsieson the run, and she’d never have to face her parents or think about her dear,departedbrotheragain.Pruestoppedinthemiddleofthesidewalkandshookherheaddolefully.What are you thinking? She reprimanded herself.You’re out of yourmind!

Shetookadeepbreathandkeptwalking,pushingherbikealong.Achillcameoverherassherealizedheronlyoption.Shehadtogoafterhim.ShehadtogointotheImpassableWildernessandfindhim.Itseemedlikean

insurmountabletask,butshehadnochoice.Therainhadgrownheavyandwaspelting down on the sidewalks and the streets,making huge puddles, and thepuddles became choked with flotillas of dead leaves. Prue devised her plan,carefully gauging the dangers of such an adventure. The chill of eveningwasdrapingovertherain-sweptneighborhoodstreets;itwouldbeunsafetoattemptthetripinthedeadofnight.I’llgotomorrow,shethought,unawarethatshewasmumblingsomeof thewordsaloud.Tomorrowmorning, first thing.MomandDadwon’tevenhavetoknow.Buthowtokeepthemfromfindingout?Herheartsankas shearrivedat thesceneofMac’sabduction: theplayground.Theplaystructurewasabandonedinthesheetingrain,andMac’slittleredwagonsatontheasphalt,aheapofsoggyblanketsittinginside,collectingwater.“That’sit!”saidPrue,andsheranovertothewagon.Kneelingdownonthewetpavement,she started to mold the sopping blanket into the form of a swaddled baby.Standingback,shestudiedit.“Plausible,”shesaid.Shehadstartedtoattachthewagontothebackaxleofherbikewhensheheardavoicecall:“Hey,Prue!”Pruestiffenedandlookedoverhershoulder.Standingonthesidewalknextto

the playgroundwas a boy, incognito in amatching rain slicker and pants.He

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pulled the hoodback on his slicker and smiled. “It’sme,Curtis!” he shouted,andwaved.Curtiswas one of Prue’s classmates.He livedwith his parents and his two

sistersjustdownthestreetfromPrue.Theirdesksatschoolweretworowsapart.Curtiswas constantly getting in troublewith their teacher for spending schooltimedrawingpicturesofsuperheroesinvariousscrapeswiththeirarchenemies.His drawing obsession also tended to get him in trouble with his classmates,sincemostkidshadabandoned superherodrawingyearsbefore, if theyhadn’tabandoned drawing altogether. Most kids devoted their drawing talent tosketchingbandlogosonthepaper-bagcoveringoftheirtextbooks;Pruewasoneof the only kids who’d transitioned away from her superhero-and fairy-tale-inspired renderings to drawings of birds and plants. Her classmates lookedaskance at her, but at least they didn’t bother her. Curtis, for clinging to hisbygoneartform,wasshunned.“Hey,Curtis,”saidPrue,asnonchalantlyaspossible.“Whatareyoudoing?”Heputhishoodbackon.“Iwasjustoutforawalk.Ilikewalkingintherain.

Lesspeoplearound.”Hetookhisglassesoffandpulledacornerofhisshirtfrombeneathhisslickertocleanthem.Curtis’sroundfacewastoppedbyamassofcurlyblackhairthatsprangfrombeneathhisslickerhoodlikelittlecoilsofsteelwool.“Whywereyoutalkingtoyourself?”Pruefroze.“What?”“Youweretalkingtoyourself.Justbackthere.”Hepointedinthedirectionof

thebluffashesquintedandputhisglassesbackon.“Iwassortoffollowingyou,Iguess.Imeanttogetyourattentionearlier,butyoulookedso...distracted.”“Iwasn’t,”wasallPruecouldthinktosay.“You were talking to yourself and walking and then stopping and shaking

your head and doing all sorts of weird things,” he said. “Andwhywere youstandingonthebluffforsolong?Juststaringintospace?”Pruegotserious.Shewalkedherbikeover toCurtisandpointedafinger in

his face. “Listen tome, Curtis,” she said, commanding her most intimidatingtone. “I’ve got a lot on mymind. I don’t need you bothering me right now,okay?”Toherrelief,Curtisappearedtobeeasilyintimidated.Hethrewuphishands

andsaid,“Okay!Okay!Iwasjustcuriousisall.”

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“Well, don’t be,” she said. “Just forget everything you saw, all right?” Shestartedtopushherbikeawaytowardhome.Asshestraddledthebikeseatandputherfeetinthetoeclips,sheturnedtoCurtisandsaid,“I’mnotcrazy.”Andsherodeoff.

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CHAPTER3ToCrossaBridge

Itwasnearingseveno’clockasPrueapproachedherhouse,andshecouldseethe lighton in the living roomand thesilhouetteofhermother’shead,bowedoverherknitting.Herfatherwasnowhereinsightasshecreptaroundthesideofthehouse,moving slowly soasnot todisturb thepeagravelof thewalk.Thesoggy blanket in the wagon made a convincing slumbering one-year-old butdefinitelywouldn’twithstandclose inspection,soPrueheldherbreath inhopethatshewouldn’tencounteraninquisitiveparent.Herhopesweredashedassheroundedthebackcornerofthehouseandsawherdadfumblingwiththegarbageandrecyclingbins.Thefollowingdaywasgarbageday;ithadalwaysbeenherfather’stasktowrestlethebinscurbside.SeeingPrue,hewipedhandstogetherandsaid,“Hey,kiddo!”Theporchlightspreadahazyglowacrossthedarkenedlawn.“Hi,Dad,”saidPrue.Herheartwasracingassheslowlywalkedthebikeover

tothesideofthehouseandresteditagainstthewall.Herdadsmiled.“Youguyswereoutlate.Wewerestartingtowonderabout

you.Youmisseddinner,bytheway.”“WestoppedatProperEatsonthewayin,”saidPrue,“sharedastir-fry.”She

steppedawkwardlysidewayssoastostandbetweenherdadandthewagon.Shewaspainfullyawareofhereverymovementas she tried to feignnonchalance.“Howwasyourday,Dad?”“Oh, fine,” he said. “Fairly hectic.” He paused. “Get it? Craft fair? Fairly

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hectic?” Prue let out a loud, high-pitched laugh. She immediately second-guessedthereaction;usuallyshegroanedatherfather’sterriblepuns.Herfatherseemed tonotice the inconsistency aswell.He cocked an eyebrowand asked,“How’sMac?”“He’sgreat!”Pruesputtered,maybetooquickly.“He’ssleeping!”“Really?That’searlyforhim.”“Um, we had a really . . . active day. He ran around a lot. Seemed pretty

tuckeredout,andsoafterwehadfoodIjustwrappedhimupinhisblanketandhe fell asleep.” She smiled and gestured at the wagon behind her. “Just likethat.”“Hmm,”saidherfather.“Well,gethiminsideandintohisjammies.Hemight

bedownforthecount.”Hesighed,lookedbackattherecyclingbins,andbegandraggingthemalongthesideofthehousetowardthestreet.Prueletoutabreathofrelief.Turningaround,shecarefullyscoopedthewet

blanketoutofthewagonandwalkedintothehouse,bouncingandshushingthebundleasshewent.The back door let into the kitchen, and Pruewalked as softly as she could

across thecorkflooring.Shehadalmostmadeit to thestairswhenhermothercalledfromthelivingroom,“Prue?Isthatyou?”Pruestoppedandpressedthewetblanketagainstherchest.“Yes,Mother?”“Youguysmisseddinner.How’sMac?”“Good.He’ssleeping.Weateonthewayhome.”“Sleeping?”sheasked,andPruecouldimagineherbespectacledfaceturning

tolookattheclockonthemantel.“Oh.Iguessgethim—”“Injammies,”Pruefinishedforher.“I’monit.”She tore upstairs, skipping every other step, and rushed into her room,

dumping the soaked blanket in her dirty clothes hamper. She thenwalked outinto the hall and headed into Mac’s room. She grabbed one of his stuffedanimals—an owl—and placed it in his crib, carefully shrouding the toy withblankets.Satisfiedthatthelump,ataglance,wouldsuggestasleepingbaby,shenoddedtoherselfandturnedoffthelight,thenheadedbackintoherroom.Sheclosedthedoorandthrewherselfontoherbed,buryingherheadinherpillows.Herheartwasstillbeatingwildlyandittookseveralmomentstogetherbreathundercontrol.Therainmadeaquietrattleagainsttheglassofherwindow.Prueliftedherheadfromthebedandlookedaroundherroom.Downstairs,shecouldhearherfathershuttingtheoutsidedoorbehindhimandwalkingintothelivingroom.Theshushedmurmurofherparents’voicesfollowed,andPruerolledoutofherbedandsetaboutpreparingfortomorrow’sadventure.

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Pullinghermessengerbagfrombeneathherdesk,sheupendeditanddumpedeverythingoutontothefloor:hersciencebook,aspiralnotebook,andaclutchofballpointpens.ShegrabbedtheflashlightshekeptunderherbedandtooktheSwissArmyknifeherdadhadboughtherforhertwelfthbirthdayfromherdeskdrawerandstucktheminthebottomofthebag.Shestoodforamomentinthemiddleofherroomandchewedonafingernail.Whatdidonepackforatripintoanimpassablewildernesstoretrieveone’sbrother?Shewouldgetfoodfromthepantry in themorning. For now, all she needed to dowaswait. She thumpedbackdownonherbed,pulledTheSibleyGuidetoBirdsfrominsideherpeacoat,and flipped through thepages, trying to clearhermindof the frantic thoughtsthatwereracingthroughherhead.After an hour or so, she heard her parentswalk up the stairs, and her heart

startedpoundingagain.Therewasaknockatherdoor.“Mm-hmm?” she said, again feigning nonchalance. She didn’t know how

muchlongershe’dbeable tokeepthisactup,all thisnonchalance-feigning.Itwasexhaustingwork.Herdadcrackedthedoorandpeekedin.“G’night,sweetheart,”hesaid.Her

momadded,“Don’tbeuptoolate.”“Uh-huh,”saidPrue.Sheturnedandsmiledatthem,andtheyclosedthedoor.Prue frowned as she heard their footsteps on the hardwood floor, moving

towardherbrother’sroom.ThesoundofMac’sdoorcreakingopensoundedlikea peal of thunder to Prue’s hyperattentive ears, and her breath caught in herthroat.Thinkingquickly,Prue leapt fromherbedandran toherdoor,peekingherheadoutfromaroundthejamb.“Hey,Mom?Dad?”shewhisperedloudly.“What’s that?” said her father, his hand on the doorknob. The light from

Mac’snight-lightspilledintothehall.“Ithinkhe’sreallywipedout.Maybetrynottowakehim?”Hermomsmiledandnodded.“Surething,”shesaid,beforepokingherhead

intoMac’sroomandsayingquietly,“Goodnight,Macky.”“Sweetdreams,”whisperedherfather.Thedoorcreakedshut,andPruesmiledatherparentsas theypassedheron

thewaytotheirbedroom.Seeingthedoorclosebehindthem,shereturnedtoherbedandletoutherbreath.Itemergedfromherchestasifshe’dhelditinalldaylong.Thatnight,Pruesleptrestlessly,hersleepfraughtwithdreamsofgreatflocks

ofgiantbirds—owls,eagles,andravens—indazzlingplumage,swoopingdownandcarryingawayherfatherandmotherandleavingPruealoneintheiremptiedhouse.Shehadsetheralarmforfivea.m.buthadbeenawakeforawhilewhen

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it finallywentoff.She rolledoutofbed, carefulnot tomake toomuchnoise.Thehousewassilent.Theworldwasstilldarkoutsideandtheneighborhoodhadyet to wake up, the only sound being the occasional car whispering past thehouse. Prue slipped into her jeans and threw on a shirt and a sweater. Herpeacoat was still draped over her desk chair from the night before, and shecinchedascarfaroundherneckbeforeputtingonthecoat.Shewiggledherfeetinto her black sneakers and padded out into the hall. She put her ear to herparents’doorand listenedfor thesawingsnoreofherfather.Herparentswerefastasleep.Shefiguredshehadanhourbeforetheywouldbeup,whichwouldbeplentyof time tomakeherescape.Shewalkeddown toherbrother’s roomandpulledthestuffedanimalfromhiscribandupsettheblankets;shepickedasetofwarmclothesfromMac’sredchestofdrawersandstuffedthemintohermessengerbag.Tiptoeingdownstairs,Pruewroteahastynoteon thedry-eraseboardbytherefrigerator:

Mom,Dad:Macwasupearly.Wantedtogoadventuring.Backlater!Love,Prue

Sheopenedthepantryandpuzzledoverthepotentialrationsshemightbringalong,settlingonahandfulofgranolabarsandabagofgorpleftoverfromthesummer’slastcampingtrip.Bythecampingstapleswasthefamily’semergencyfirstaidkit,andPrueslippedtheplasticcaseintoherbag.Anairhorn,akindofcanister with a plastic belled horn on the top, caught her attention, and shepickeditup,inspectingit.Apictureofamenacinggrizzlybeargracedthelabel.ThewordsBEAR-BE-GONEmadeanarcintheairabovehim.Apparentlythenoisewasloudenoughtoscareawaywildlife,somethingsheimaginedwouldcomeinhandyinan impassablewilderness.Shedroppedit into themessengerbagandscanned thekitchenbeforeslippingout thebackdoor to theyard.Theairwasbrittle and cold, and a slight breeze disturbed the yellowing leaves in the oaktrees.Pruepushedherbike,theRadioFlyerwagonstillattached,quietlyoutintothestreet.Thefirstglimmersofdawncouldbeseentothedistanteast,butthestreetlights still illuminated the leafy sidewalksasPruepushedherbikea safedistancefromherhousebeforeclimbingon.Thescarfhermotherhadknit forher the prior winter clung snugly to her neck as she gained speed over thepavement,headingsouthwestthroughthestreetsandalleys.Lightsinthehousesbeganflickeringon,andthehumofcarsonthestreetsgrewastheneighborhoodawoketothemorning.

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Followingthepathofherpursuitthedaybefore,Pruemadeherwaythroughtheparktothebluff,thewagonjumpingandclatteringbehindher.Aheavymisthung over the river basin, obscuring the water completely. The lights of theWastes on the far banks of the river flashed under the cloud. An inscrutableclankingnoisewascarriedacross thewide troughof the river,echoingoff thecliffwallsof thebluffs. It sounded toPrue like thegrindinggearsofagiant’swristwatch.Theonlythingbeyondthebluffthatwasexposedabovethebankofcloudswastheimposingironlatticeof theRailroadBridge.Itseemedtofloat,unmoored,ontherivermist.Pruedismountedherbikeandwalkeditsouthalongthebluff towardanareawhere thecliff sideslopeddown into theclouds.Theworldaroundherdimmedtowhiteasshedescended.When the ground below Prue’s feet finally evened out, she found she was

standinginanalienlandscape.Themistclungtoeverything,castingtheworldina ghostly sheen.A slightwindwas buffeting through the gorge, and themistoccasionallyshiftedtorevealthedistantshapesofdesiccated,wind-blowntrees.Thegroundwascovered inadeadyellowgrass. Justbeyonda lineof trees, aspanofrailroadtrackscarvedastraight lineeast towest,disappearinginto thehazeoneitherend.Assumingthetrackswouldleadoverthebridge,Pruebeganfollowingthemwestward.Ahead,themistslifted,andshecouldseethespiresoftheRailroadBridge.As

shemadeherway toward it, she suddenlyheard the soundof footsteps in thegravel behind her. She froze.After amoment, she cautiously looked over hershoulder.Therewasnoone there.Shehad turned andkeptwalkingwhen sheheardthesoundagain.“Who’s there?” she shouted, searching the area behind her. There was no

response. The railroad tracks, flanked by the line of strange, squat trees,disappearedintothemist;therewasnosignofapursuer.Prue took a deep, shuddering breath and began walking faster toward the

bridge. Suddenly, the footsteps sounded again unmistakably, and she spunaroundintimetoseeafiguredartoffthetracksandthroughagapbetweentwoof the trees. Without thinking, she dropped her bike to the ground and gavechase,hershoessendingupasmallplumeofgravelasshetookthecornerintothetrees.“Stop!” she yelled. She could now see the person through themist—itwas

rathershortandworeaheavywintercoat.Astockingcapwaspulleddownoverthefigure’shead,obscuringhisface.WhenPrueyelled,thepersonmomentarilylookedbehindhim—andslippedinapatchofloosedirt,slammingshoulder-firstintothegroundwithahoarseyellofsurprise.Prue dove onto the prostrate form of her pursuer and yanked the figure’s

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stockingcapaway.Shegaveastartledcry.“Curtis!”sheyelled.“Hi,Prue,”saidCurtis,outofbreath.Hesquirmedunderneathher.“Canyou

getoffofme?Yourkneeisreallypushingintomystomach.”“Noway,”saidPrue,regaininghercomposure.“Nottillyoutellmewhyyou

werefollowingme.”Curtissighed.“Iw-wasn’t!Really!”She jammed her knee farther into his ribs, andCurtis let out a cry. “Okay!

Okay!”heshouted,hisvoicequaveringon theedgeofcrying.“IwasupearlytakingtherecyclingoutandIhappenedtoseeyouridingbyandIjustwonderedwhere you were going! I heard you talking to yourself last night about yourbrotherandhowyouweregoingtogethim,andthenIsawyouleaveyourhousesoearlythismorningandIfiguredsomethinghadtobeup,andIjustcouldn’thelpmyself!”“Whatdoyouknowaboutmybrother?”Prueasked.“Nothing!” said Curtis, sniffling. “I just know he’s . . . he’s missing.” He

blushedalittle.“Also,Idon’tknowwhoyouweretryingtofoolwiththatwetblanketinthewagon.”Pruereleasedthepressureonhisribs,andCurtisletoutabreathofair.“You scared the crap out ofme,” said Prue. She stepped off his body, and

Curtissatup,dustingoffhispants.“Sorry, Prue,” said Curtis. “I didn’t really mean anything by it, I was just

curious.”“Well,don’tbe,”saidPrue.Shestoodupandbegan towalkaway.“This is

noneofyourbusiness.Thisismymesstodealwith.”Curtisscrambledtohisfeet.“L-letmecomewithyou!”heshouted,following

afterher.Backattherailroadtracks,Pruepulledherbikeupfromthegravelandstarted

walkingittowardthebridge.“No,Curtis,”shesaid.“Gohome!”Theriverbanksloped in toward the firstabutmentof thebridge,creatingakindofpeninsula,andthetrackfollowedagentleslopetomeetthelatticeofthebridge.Prueledher bike up the middle of the tracks while she balanced on the rail. As sheclimbed,themistsbegantocleartorevealthefirstspireofthebridge.Thespireshoused the pulley mechanism that lifted the middle section when taller boatscrossedunderit,andtheyweretoppedwithflashingredbeacons.Pruebreathedasighofrelieftoseethattheliftspanwasdown,allowinghertocross.“Aren’tyouworriedthatatrain’sgoingtocome?”askedCurtis,behindher.“No,”saidPrue,thoughintruthitwasonethingshehadn’treallyconsidered.

Betweenthetrackandthetrussofthebridgetherewasbarelythreefeetofspace,

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andtheloosegravelwasnottoofriendlytopedestriantraffic.Asshearrivedatthemiddlesectionofthebridge,shelookedovertheedgeandgulped.Themistsat heavily on the river basin and created a floor of clouds that hid thewaterbelow,givingtheillusionthatthebridgesatatatremendousheight,likeoneofthosedelicateropebridgesspanningsomecloudyPeruvianchasmPruehadseeninNationalGeographicmagazine.“I’ma littleworried that a train’s going to come,” admittedCurtis.Hewas

standingbeneathoneofthespiresinthemiddleofthetrack.Pruestopped, leanedherbikeagainst thebridge truss,andpickedupa rock

fromthegravelbed.“Don’tmakemedothis,Curtis,”shesaid.“Dowhat?”Pruethrewtherock,andCurtisleaptoutoftheway,nearlytrippingontherail

ofthetrack.“What’dyoudothatfor?”heyelled,couchinghisheadinhishands.“’Causeyou’rebeing stupidandyou’re followingmeand I toldyounot to.

That’s why.” She bent down and selected another rock, this one sharper andbiggerthanthepreviousone.Shejuggleditinherhandasifgaugingtheweight.“C’mon,Prue,”Curtissaid,“letmehelpyou!I’magoodhelper.Mydadwas

denleaderofmycousin’sWebelosgroup.”Helethishandsfallfromhishead.“Ievenbroughtmycousin’sbowieknife.”Hepattedthepocketofhiscoatandsmiledsheepishly.Pruethrewthesecondrockandsworeasitglancedoffthegroundinfrontof

Curtis,missinghisfeetbyinches.Curtisyelpedanddancedoutoftheway.“GoHOME,Curtis!”Prueshouted.Shecroucheddownandselectedanother

rock but paused as she felt the ground give a sudden tremble below her. Therocksbegantoclatterinplaceasthebridgegavealong,quakingshudder.Shelooked up atCurtis,whowas frozen in place in the center of the track. Theystared at each other, wide-eyed, as the trembling began to grow stronger, thesteelgirdersofthetrusslowingincomplaint.“TRAIN!”shoutedPrue.

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CHAPTER4TheCrossing

FromthequickglancethatPruewasaffordedofthetrain,shecouldtellitwasnotalongone,butitwasmovingatafairlysteadypace,puffinguptheinclineofthehilltheyhadclimbedminutesbefore.Sheturnedandboltedforherbike,lifting it from where it rested against the side of the bridge and tossing itbetween the rails of the track. She vaulted the seat and jammed down on thepedals,sendingthebacktireintoafreespinagainstthelooserockbetweentherailroadties.“Waitforme!”screamedCurtisfrombehindher.Themetalofthebridgewasnowheavingandrattlingundertheweightofthe

oncominglocomotive.Pruewasalreadyinmotionandthrewafastglanceoverher shoulder to measure the distance between her bike and the train.Backdropped by the ominous iron face of the train bursting through themist,Curtiswasrunningtowardher,hisarmsswinginginfranticarcs.Thebikeframejoltedwitheverywoodentieshecrossed,andshehadtokeepastudiedeyeonthe space in front of her in order to keep the bike upright on the unsteadyground.TheRadioFlyerintowhoppedfromtietotie, threateningtoupendateach pedal. “Jump in the back!” shouted Prue over the deafening hiss of thetrain.“Ican’t!You’removingtoofast!”shoutedCurtis.Prue swore under her breath and pumped the handle brakes, her back tire

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fishtailing in the gravel. The train, now reaching the middle section of thebridge, letoutastaccatoburstofwhistle, thetracksaudiblygroaningunderitsweight.CurtisdovefortheRadioFlyerandletoutabone-numbing“OOF!”ashisbodymet themetal floorof thewagon.Hegrasped thesidesof thewagonandhollered,“Go!” andPruewasoff,peelingawakeof shale from the trackandfiringdownthefarsideofthebridge.Ontheothersideofthebridge,thetrackssplitintoaYatadense,deepgreen

bankoftrees.Pruewaspickingupspeedonthegradualinclineastheendofthebridgecameintoview,andherbikeleaptandkickedagainstthepoundingofthetiresontheties.Thewagon,nowfreightedwithCurtis’swrithingbody,heldtothe groundmuch better, though Pruewas panting to keep hermomentum up.The trainwasgetting louderbehind them.Shecouldn’tbringherself tostealaglancetomarkitsprogress;hereyeswereintentonthefarsideoftheriver.“Holdon,Curtis!”sheshoutedoverthedinasshereachedthespotwherethe

trackssplitandangledawayfromthebridgeineitherdirection.Sheshovedherrightfootdownonthepedalandhoppedherfrontwheeloverthetrack,sendingthebikeovertherailandintothedeep,loosegraveloftheditchthatfellawayfromthetrackatthebridge’send.Thebacktireandthewagonfollowedquicklyafter, and the whole bike pitched forward in a violent spasm, sending bothoccupantsoverthehandlebarsandintoadrybedofscrubbrushontheothersideoftheditch.Thetrainwentscreamingby,thesteelrailswailingundertheweightofthetrainastheenginerolledsouthwardintothebankofclouds.Pruelayflattenedagainstthecoldground,rapidlypanting.Hereverylimbfelt

chargedwith electricity.Shepushedherselfontoherknees and spat,wipingasmear of mud from her cheek. She looked around her; she was sitting in ashallow culvert in a drab field of dead grass. Just beyond stood the IndustrialWastes,abizarreandimposingneighborhoodofwindowlessbuildingsandsilos;beyond that lay the first rise of a steep hill, blanketed thicklywith a dizzyingretinue of towering trees. They were on the borderlands of the ImpassableWilderness.Sheshuddered.Agrumbleissuedfromthebedofgrassbesideher,and she lookedover to seeCurtis struggling tohis knees, the redRadioFlyerwagonobstinatelyclingingtohisbacklikea turtle’sshell.Hethrewitoffandrubbedatthenapeofhisneck.

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“Ow,”hesaid.HelookedatPruemournfullyandrepeated,“Ow.”“Maybeyoushouldn’thavefollowedme,then,”saidPrue,bringingherselfto

her feet.Thewreckageof thebikeandwagon lay in a crumpledmessnext tothem. Prue grunted as she pulled the frame of her bike from the grasp of theculvert’sstickerbushesandstudiedtheremains:Mostofthebikehadwithstoodthe impactwell enough, but the frontwheelwas irretrievably bent, its twistedspokesjuttingfromtherimatdesperateangles.Cursing loudly, she dropped the bike and kicked at a clump of thistles,

sendingupasprayofdirt.Curtiswassittingcross-legged,marvelingatthebridgebehindthem.“Ican’t

believewemadeit,”hewheezed.“Weoutranthattrain.”Pruewasnotlistening.Shewasstandingwithherhandsonherhips,staringat

thetwistedremnantsofherfrontbikewheel,herbrowdeeplyfurrowed.She’dworkedallsummerontuningupthebike.Thefrontrim,nowdisfiguredbeyondrepair,hadbeenpracticallybrand-new.Hermissionwasclearlynotgettingofftoaverygoodstart.“We did pretty well back there,” Curtis was saying. “I mean, we worked

togetherreallywell.YouwereridingthebikeandIwas...onthewagon.”Helaughed as hemassaged his templeswith his fingers. “Wewere like partners,huh?”Prue’smessengerbaghadbeenthrowntothegroundduringthecrash,andshe

stoopedandpickeditup,fittingthestrapoverhershoulder.“Bye,Curtis,”shesaid. Leaving behind the bike and thewagon, she beganwalking through theWastestowardthesteephilloftrees.The tawny field of dried and burned grass led into the tight grid of the

mysterious buildings. Some appeared to bewarehouses, paneled in corrugatedmetal,whileothershadtheaspectofmassiveboxysilosandhaddoorsatwildheightsthatseemedtoopentonowhereandyardsofmetalductingsnakingout

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of them, leading to their neighboring buildings. A few of the buildings hadwindowsthatglowedandflickeredred,asifgreatfireswereragingwithinthem.All along, this “city” rangwith an insistentmetallic clanging and the gaseousbelchingofsmokestacks,givingitthestrangestappearanceofbeingcompletelyabandonedyetperfectlyactive.Faroff,thegruntsandshoutsofstevedores,theirbodieslosttothelowlyingmist,rangfromthemetalwalls.AsPruewalked,shecasthereyesabouther;noonesheknewhadeverventuredherebefore.Sosooninher journey,shealreadyfelt like thefirstexplorerofsomealienworld.Thefogcontinuedtodissipate.Recessedinthegridofthegravel-pavedavenueswasagraystonemansion,itsmossyrooftoppedbyaclocktower.Abelltolledthehour;Pruecountedsixbells.Aftera time, theboxystructuresof theWastesgaveway toaslopeofdeep

greenbrush;Pruesteppedacross thenorthboundbranchof the train tracksandfound herself immersed in a lush, knee-deep thicket of ferns. The groundcontinued to slope upward toward the first trees that marked the boundarybetween the outside world and the Impassable Wilderness. Prue took a deepbreath,adjustedthebagathershoulder,andbeganwalkingintothewoods.“Wait!”shoutedCurtis.Hehadpulledhimselfupandwasstumblingafterher.

Hestoppedatthebarrieroftrees.“You’regoinginthere?Butthat’s. . .that’stheImpassableWilderness.”Ignoring him, Pruemarched on. The groundwas soft beneath her feet, and

leavesofsalalandfernwhippedathercalvesasshewalked.“Uh-huh,”shesaid.“Iknow.”Curtis was at a loss for words. He crossed his arms and shouted as Prue

venturedfartheruptheslopeandintotheforest:“It’simpassable,Prue!”Pruepausedand lookedaround.“Iseemtobepassing through itokay,”she

said,andkeptwalking.CurtisscamperedforwardsoastoremainwithinearshotofPrue.“Well,yeah,

right now,maybe, butwho knowswhat it’s like once you’re farther in there.Andthesetrees. . .”Herehepausedandscannedoneofthetallertreesonthehillside,toptobottom.“Well,IhavetotellyouI’mnotgettingaveryfriendlyvibefromthem.”HiswarningshadnoeffectonPrue,whokeptmarchingupthewoodedslope,

steadyingherselfonthetrunksofthetreesasshehiked.“Andcoyotes,Prue!”continuedCurtis,scramblinguptheinclinebutstopping

atthefirsttreeoftheboundary.“They’lltearyouapart!Therehastobeanotherwaytogo!”“Thereisn’t,Curtis,”saidPrue.“Mybrother’sinheresomewhere,andIhave

tofindhim.”

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Curtiswasshocked.“Youthinkhe’s inhere?”Pruewasfarenoughintothewoodsnow thatCurtis couldbarelymakeout the redofher scarf through thebramble of trees.Before she disappeared completely fromview,Curtis took adeep breath and stepped into thewoods. “Okay, Prue! I’ll help you find yourbrother!”heshouted.Pruestoppedandleanedagainstafirtree,takinginherverdantsurroundings.

Asfarastheeyecouldsee,itwasgreen.AsmanyshadesofgreenasPruecouldimagineweredrapedacrossthelandscape:theelectricemeraldofthefernsandthe sallow olive of the drooping lichen and the stately gray-green of the firbranches.Thesunwasrisinghigherinthesky,anditstreamedthroughthegapsofthedensewood.ShelookedbackatCurtis,pantingupthehillbehindher,andkeptwalking.

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Pruestoppedandleanedagainstafirtree,takinginherverdantsurroundings.

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“Wow,” said Curtis, between gasps for breath, “the kids at school are notgoingtobelieve this.Imean,noone’severbeenintheImpassableWildernessbefore.LeastI’veneverheard.Thisiswild!Lookatthesetrees,they’reso...so...tall!”“Trytokeepitdown,Curtis,”saidPruefinally.“Wedon’twant toalert the

wholeWildernessthatwe’rehere.Whoknowswhat’soutthere?”Curtisstoppedandgaped.“Yousaid‘we,’Prue!”heshouted,andthencaught

himself,repeatinginahoarsewhisper,“Yousaid‘we’!”Pruerolledhereyesandturnedaround,jabbingafingeratCurtis.“LikeIhave

a choice. But if you’re going to come along, you’ve got to stick byme.Mybrotherwaslostonmywatch,andI’mnotabouttoloseastupidschoolmatetoo.Isthatclear?”“Clearas. . . ,”Curtisbegan.Hegrimaced,rememberingPrue’sinstruction,

and whispered the rest: “. . . as crystal!” He raised his hand to his brow,apparently imitating some kind of specialized salute. He looked like he wastendinganeyeinjury.Theywalkedinsilenceforawhile;adeepgullyinthetreesopeneduptotheir

left, and they scrambled down the bank to the bottom, skidding on themossyloamof the forest floor.Thesmall trickleofacreekhadcutawashdown thevalleyoftheravineandnotreesgrew,onlyshortplumesoffernandshrubs.Thewalking was easier here, though they occasionally were forced to struggleunderneathsomeofthelowfallentreesthatcrisscrossedtheravine.Thesunlightdappled the ground in hazy patterns, and the air felt pure and untouched toPrue’s cheeks. As she walked, she wondered at themajesty of the place, herfears subsidingwithevery step in this incrediblewilderness.Birds sang in thelooming trees above the ravine, and theunderbrushwasperiodicallydisturbedbythesuddenskitterofasquirrelorachipmunk.Pruecouldn’tbelievethatnoone had ever ventured this far into the ImpassableWilderness; she found it awelcomingandsereneplace,fulloflifeandbeauty.After a time, Pruewas pulled from hermeditations by the voice of Curtis,

whispering,“Sowhat’stheplan?”Shepaused.“What?”Hewhisperedlouder,“Isaid,what’stheplan?”“Youdon’thavetowhisper.”Curtislookednonplussed.“Oh,”hesaid,inhisregularvoice,“Ithoughtyou

saidwehadtokeepourvoicesdown.”“I said tokeep itdown,butyoudon’thave towhisper.”She lookedaround

herandsaid,“I’mnotquitesurewhatwe’dbehidingfromanyway.”“Coyotes,maybe?”offeredCurtis.

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“Ithinkcoyotesonlycomeoutatnight,”saidPrue.“Oh,right,Ireadthatsomewhere,”Curtissaid.“Doyouthinkwe’llbedone

beforenightcomes?”“Ihopeso.”“Wheredoyouthinkyourbrotheris?”Thequestion,simpleasitwas,madePrueblanch.Itwasdawningonherthat

thejoboffindingMacmightbeharderthanithadinitiallyseemed.Onsecondthought,hadsheevenconsideredwhatshewasgoingtodoonceshe’dmadeitintotheImpassableWilderness?Itwasonethingtobravethejourneybut—whatnow?Improvising,shesaid,“Idon’treallyknow.Thebirdsdisappearedaround—”Curtisinterruptedher.“Birds?Whatbirds?”“Thebirdsthatkidnappedmybrother.Crows,actually.Awholeflockof’em.

Amurder.Didyouknowthat?Thataflockofcrowsiscalledamurder?”Curtis’s face had dropped. “What do you mean, birds kidnapped your

brother?”hestammered.“Like,birds?”Prue flared her eyes and said, “Try to keep up here,Curtis. I have no idea

what is going on, but I’m not insane and I have to believewhat I saw. So ifyou’regoingtocomealong,you’regoingtohavetobelievethisstufftoo.”“Wow,”saidCurtis,shakinghishead.“Okay,I’mthere.I’mwithyou.Well,

howarewegoingtofindoutwherethesebirdswent?”“IsawthemdiveintothewoodsinthehillsabovetheRailroadBridge,andI

didn’t see them fly back out, so I have to assume they’d be around heresomewhere.”Shestudiedtheworldaroundher:Theforestseemedlimitlessandunchanging,theravineascendingalongthehillasfarastheeyecouldsee.Thewordhopelesssuddenlysprangtomind.Shepusheditaway.“Iguesswe’lljusthavetokeepsearchingandhopeforthebest.”“DoesheunderstandEnglish?”askedCurtis.“What?”“Yourbrother.Ifwecalledforhim,wouldheanswer?”Prue thought for a moment and said, “Nah. He speaks his own weird

language.Hebabblesprettyloudly,butI’mnotsurehe’drespondifwestartedyellinghisname.”“Tough,” saidCurtis, scratchinghis head.He lookedup atPrue sheepishly.

“Nottochangethesubjectoranything,”hesaid,“butyoudidn’thappentobringanyfoodalong,didyou?I’mkindahungry.”Pruesmiled.“Yeah,I’vegotsomestuff.”Shesatdownonabrokentreelimb

andswunghermessengerbagoverhershoulder.“Youlikegorp?”Curtis’sfacebrightened.“Ohyeah!I’dkillsomeofthatrightnow.”

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Theysatonthe logtogetherandscoopedhandfulsof the trailmixinto theirmouths, lookingout over thebrambly ravine.They talked about school, abouttheirsad,boozyEnglishteacher,Mr.Murphy,whohadtearedupwhilereadingCaptainCat’sopeningmonologueinUnderMilkWood.“Iwasoutthatday,”saidCurtis.“ButIheardaboutit.”“Peopleweresocruelaboutit,behindhisback,”saidPrue.“Ididn’tgetit.I

mean,it’sareallyprettybit,huh?”“Hmm,”saidCurtis.“Ididn’tgetthatfar.”“Curtis,it’slikeinthefirsttenpages,”snortedPrue,tossinganotherhandful

ofpeanutsintohermouth.They started talking about their favorite books. Curtis briefly profiled his

favoriteX-Menmutant,andPrueplayfullyteasedhimbeforeadmittingacertainenvyforJeanGrey’stelekinesis.“Sowhy’dyoustop?”askedCurtisafterapause.“Whatdoyoumean?”“Well, remember, in fifthgrade,weused topasspictures to eachother?Of

superheroes? You did really good biceps. I totally ripped off your biceptechnique.”Curtiswasshylylookingdownintothebagofgorp,fishingthroughtheraisinsandpeanutsfortheM&Ms.Pruefeltcastigated.“Idon’tknow,Curtis,”shesaidfinally.“IguessIjustlost

interestinthatstuff.Istilllikedrawing,Ilikedrawingalot.Justdifferentstuff.Gettingolder,Iguess.”“Yeah,”saidCurtis.“Maybeyou’reright.”“Botanicaldrawing,that’ssortofmythingnow.Youshouldtryit.”“Botanical?What,likedrawingplantsandthings?”Hewasincredulous.“Yeah.”“I don’t know.Maybe I’ll try it sometime. Find a leaf to draw.”He spoke

quietly,almostdespondently.Prueglanceddownat the log theyweresittingon.Awild tangleof ivyhad

claimedthe territory;scarcelyanyof thewood’sbarkcouldbeseenbelowthegreen leaves. It looked as if the ivy itself had been the reason for the tree’stoppling. “Look at these ivy leaves,” she said, trying on the tone of an artteacher.“Howthe littlewhite linesmakedesignsagainst thegreenof the leaf.Themoredetailyougetinto,themorefunitgets.”Curtis shrugged. He tugged at one of the vines. It clung to the bark

tenaciously,likesomeobstinateanimal.Lettinggo,hequietlyreachedbackintothebagofgorpforanotherhandful.Prue tried to lighten the mood. “Hey,” she said pointedly. “Stop picking

throughforthechocolate.That’ssoillegal.”

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Embarrassed,CurtissmiledandpassedthebagbacktoherAfterthey’dfinishedhalfthebag,Prueproducedherbottleofwaterandtook

aslug.ShehandedittoCurtis,andhetookadrinktoo.Theearlymorninglightdimmedasagraybankofcloudsblewinabovethetreesandcoveredthesun.“Let’skeepmoving,”saidPrue.They continued marching up the ravine, grabbing fistfuls of ivy to steady

themselvesasthegroundsteepenedbelowthem.Thecreekbed,whichseemedlikeitwouldcarryalotofwaterduringthewinterandspring,wasshallowandmostlydry,andtheysoonfoundthegoingeasierif theyuseditasamakeshifttrail.Thewashflattenedoutatthecrestofahill,andtheywereagainstandinginthemidstofthetreesonaslightplateau.“Ihavetopee,”saidPrue.“Okay,”saidCurtis,distractedlystaringbackdowntheravine.“So go over there,” said Prue, pointing to a thicket of bracken, “and don’t

look.”“Oh!”saidCurtis.“Yeah.Okay.I’llgiveyousomeprivacy.”Prue waited until he was out of sight through the branches, found a spot

behindatree,andsquatted.Justasshewasfinishingsheheardanunintelligiblerasp coming from the thicket. She quickly buttoned her jeans and cautiouslycamearoundthetree;therewasnoonethere.“Prue!”repeatedtherasp.ItwasCurtis.“Curtis,Isaidyoudidn’thavetowhisper,”shesaid,relieveditwashim.“C-comehere!”Curtissputtered,stillwhispering.“Andkeepquiet!”Pruewalkedovertowardhisvoice,pushingherwaythroughatangleofvines.

Ontheothersideof the thicket,Curtiswashuncheddownandstaringinto thedistance.“Lookthere!”hewhispered,andpointed.Prueblinkedandstared.“What—”shebegan,beforeshewasinterruptedby

Curtis.“Coyotes,”saidCurtis.“Andthey’retalking.”

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CHAPTER5DenizensoftheWood

Thegroundfellawayfromtheedgeofthethicketatasteepgrade,creatingakindofpromontoryover a smallmeadowamid the trees. In themiddleof theclearing was a gathering of roughly a dozen figures, collected around theremnantsofwhatappearedtobeacampfire.Fromthedistance,itwasdifficulttomakeoutdetails,butthefiguresweredefinitelycoyotes:Theywerecoveredin amatted gray fur and their haunches were thin. Some prowled around thesmolderingcampfireonallfours,whileothersstoodonhindlegsandsniffedatthe air with their long gray snouts. However, there were two rather startlingaspectsofthescene:One,theyallseemedtobewearingmatchingreduniformswithtall,plumedhelmetsontheirheads,andtwo,theyweredefinitelytalkingtooneanother.InEnglish.The coyotes spoke in a brittle, yapping timbre, and they punctuated their

sentenceswithsnarlsandbarks,butPrueandCurtiscouldoccasionallymakeoutwhattheyweresaying.“You’repathetic!”shoutedoneofthelargercoyotes,baringhisyellowteeth

atoneofhissmallercompatriots.“Irequestasimplefireandyouidiotscan’tgetasingleemberalight.”Someof theanimalshadwhatappeared tobesheathedsabers attached tobelts around theirwaists,whileothers stood leaningagainsttall, bayonet-topped rifles. This larger coyote rested his paw on the ornatepommelofalong,curvedsword.

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Thecoyotetowhomthistiradewasaddressedwasskulkinginthegrassandwhinginglittleyelpsinresponse.“This platoon is not fit to serve,” continued the larger one, “if it cannot

completeasimpleroutinescoutingdrill.”Helookedabouthimattherestofthegroup.CurtiswhisperedtoPrue:“Arethey...soldiers?”Shenoddedslowly,stilldeeplyinshock.“Andlookatthefilthyconditionofyouruniforms,”howledthelargercoyote,

whoPrueassumed tobeacommanderofsomesort.Hisdresswasmarginallycleaner than that of his soldiers, and his shoulders were ornamented withepaulets.HeworeakindoflargefeatheredhatthatPruethoughtsherecognizedfrom a documentary about Napoleon their world history teacher had shownthem. The commander continued, “I should bring you before the DowagerGovernessinthisstateandseehowshe’dreceiveyou.”Hesnappedhisjawsatanothercoyote,whowascoweringon thegroundbehindhim.“She’dcastyououtofWildwood, iswhat she’ddo,andwe’dseehowyou faredwithoutyourpack.”Hestiffenedandadjustedhisswordhandleathissideandsaid,“Ihavehalfamindtodoitmyself,butI’drathernotsoilmyhindfeetbootingyououtintothebrush.”The coyote at whom the commander had been yelling finally spoke words

betweenhisabashedyelps:“Yes,Commandant.Thankyou,Commandant.”“And where was your confounded guard detail?” the commander barked,

pacing theground.“Iwalkedupwithoutasinglesoulbattinganeyelash.Youare an embarrassment to the corps, a stain on the legacy of every soldieringcoyotewho’scomebeforeyou.”“Yes,Commandant,”wastheresponsefromthecoweringcoyote.Thecommandersniffedtheairandsaid,“It’llbedarksoon.Let’sfinishthis

drill and head back to camp. You, and you!” Here he pointed at two of thesoldierswhowerestandingatattentionbythecampfire.“Getintothebrushandstartcollecting firewood. I’llget this firestarted if Ihave to throwoneofyouintothepitforkindling!”The group burst into activity with this command. Curtis and Prue eased

themselvesflat to thegroundandfrozeunder thefrondsofaparticularly largestand of ferns. A few coyotes began circling out from the group in search offirewood while others stood in formation in the center of the meadow andcontinuedtobeberatedbythecommander.“Whatdowedoiftheyseeus?”hissedCurtisasafewofthecoyoteswalked

closertothem.“Justkeepquiet,”whisperedPrue.Herheartwasracinginherchest.

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Twoof thecoyoteswanderedover toapileofscrub rightbelowCurtisandPrue’s perch and began collecting branches of deadfall in their spindly arms.Theyweresnappingateachotherwhiletheyworked,andPrueheldherbreathasshelistenedtotheircaninebickering.“It’syourfaultwe’reinthismess,Dmitri,”saidonecoyotetotheother.“My

usualdetailisneverthisincompetent.It’sembarrassing.”Theother,bentdownamongthebranches,said,“Oh,shutup,Vlad.Youwere

the onewho insisted everyone ‘mark the territory’ everywhere.Never seen somuchpeeinoneplace.Nowonderthestupidfirewouldn’tstart.”VladwavedabirchbranchinDmitri’sface,hiseyeswideinanger.“That’s—

that’stheblastedprotocol!Checkyourfieldmanual.Orcanyouevenread?”Dmitri dropped his load of firewood and bared his teeth. The coyoteswere

closeenoughnowthatPruecouldseehislipssnarlbacktorevealafrightfulsetof chipped yellow teeth emerging from his bright red gums. “I’ll show youprotocol!”shoutedDmitri.TheybothstoodsilentforamomentuntilVladspokeup.“Whatisthatsupposedtomean?”askedVlad.Dmitribarkedsharplyandleaptathiscompatriot’sthroat,histeethflashing.

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Through the mossy ground cover, Curtis crept his hand along until it metPrue’s,andhesqueezedherfingers.Shesqueezedback,notdaring to takehereyesoffthebattlingcoyotes.Thetwosoldiershadfallentothegroundandwerethrashing about in a desperate whirl of motion, their jaws locked on to eachother’sthroats.Theirpainedandangeredyipscaughttheimmediateattentionoftherestoftheplatoon,andthecommanderroaredasheranovertothetangleofthetwosoldiers.Hehaddrawnhissaberfromitssheath,andwhenhearrivedatthewarringcoyotes,hegrabbedthefirstonehecouldgethishandson—Vlad—

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andyankedhimfromthescrum,hisblade’sedgeatVlad’sthroat.“I’llhaveyourheadsontreebranches!”sworetheCommandant.“I’llseeyou

strunglimbfromlimb,sohelpmeGod.”Hethrewhiscaptivetothegroundandswiveled, swinging his sword point so that it was a mere hairbreadth fromDmitri’smuzzle.Hespokemoreslowly.“Andyou,youraggedy,snot-snouted,pathetic excuse for a coyote: I’m prepared to end this right here, right now.”Dmitri whimpered at the point of the blade, and the commander brought thesword up to swinging height. From above, Curtis gaped and Prue buried herheadinherhandstoavoidwitnessingthegruesomescenetocome.Suddenlyabreezepickedupandwhispereddownthroughthetrees,traveling

over Prue and Curtis’s bodies from their feet to their neck, out over thepromontory and down into themeadow below. The violent scene playing outbelow them froze into stillness as each of the coyotes’ ears flinched and theirsnouts sniffed the air. The commander huffed, his sabermotionless above hisheadinmidswing.Dmitri,hissentencetemporarilycommuted,letoutarushofbreathandlookedaroundhim.Prueliftedherheadfromherhands.Slowly,theCommandantliftedhisnoseandtookadeep,lingeringinhalation.“HUMANS!” the Commandant shouted, breaking the silence and swinging

hisswordtopointatthestandoffernsabovethem.“INTHETREES!”In an eruption of action, several soldiers who had been flanking the

Commandant broke away and started clambering up the embankment towardPrueandCurtis.“RUN!”shoutedCurtis,pushinghimselfupfromtheground.Pruescrambled

toherfeetanddoveoutofthebushes,awayfromtheembankment.Thecoyoteswerebayingfranticallybehindherastheycrestedthelipoftheplateauandtorethrough the ferns. She sprinted back through the trees until she arrived at theravine they’d been following. She took onewild step over the edge, caught afootonatangleofbriar,andwasthrownheadlongintothegully.Curtishadplowedinadifferentdirection,choosinginsteadtomakehisway

upthehillsideinthedirectiontheyhadbeenwalking.Thegradewassteepandunrelentinginthisdenselywoodedarea,andthebirchbranchesandblackberryvines thrashed at his face and arms, hampering his scrabbling sprint. Thecoyotes, accustomed to the terrain, raced through the underbrush on all fours,andCurtis hadbarelymade it tenyards from the embankmentbefore the firstcoyotelungedonhisbackandbroughthimtotheground.“You’remine!”hissedthecoyote,andCurtis’sarmsandlegswerepulledtaut

andpinnedtothegroundasmoresoldiersarrivedatthesceneofhiscapture.

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“C-Curtis?” Prue mumbled, gaining her bearings. It was clear she’d beenknocked momentarily unconscious; she found herself lying facedown in thebrackenoftheravinewithasplittingheadacheandthemetallictasteofbloodinher mouth. She heard a distant howling and was jolted into her presentcircumstance. Staying close to the ground, she dragged herself through theunderbrushandpeekedover the lipof the ravine.Apparently, the soldiershadnot seenherheadfirstvault into thegullyandhadchosen to takedownCurtisinstead.Fromhervantage,shecouldseethesoldiershaulingCurtistohisfeet.ShewatchedtheCommandantslowlyapproach,grabCurtisbythescruffofhiscoat,andshovehismuzzleintoeithersideofCurtis’sthroat,sniffing.ShecouldseethefearinCurtis’seyes.Hewassurroundedbyagroupofcoyotegruntswhowere skulking around his feet on all fours, whining and snapping. TheCommandantbarkedaseriesoforders,andtheircaptivewasboundbyropeandthrownoverthebackofoneofthelargercoyotes,andthepartydisappearedintothewoods.Pruefoughttheurgetocry;shecouldfeelthesobscomingfromthepitofher

stomach,andhereyesstartedtowellwithtears.Herfingersclenchedaroundatussockofgrassandsqueezedasshewilledhermindtoquiet.Shefeltwithhertongue thespotonher lipwhere therewasasmallbulbofbloodand licked itclean.Theairwasstillandthelightwasflatastheearlyafternoonsunbegantodim. She thought about the note she’d left for her parents thatmorning.Backlater,ithadsaid.Despitethegravityofthesituation,shecouldn’thelpbutstiflealaugh.Shepulledherselfupfromthegroundandsatontheedgeoftheravine,dustingthestainofdirtfromthekneesofherjeans.Asquirrelpoppeditsheadfrombehindarottedtreestumpandlookedatherquizzically.“Whatdoyouwant,squirrel?”shejeered.Shelaughedtoherselfandsaid,“I

supposeIshouldwatchwhatIsay.Youprobablytalktoo.Doyou?”Thesquirrelsaidnothing.“Great, that’s actually a bit of a relief,” she said, propping her chin in her

hands.“Thoughyoumightjustbethequiettype.”Shescannedhersurroundingsandthenlookedbackatthesquirrel,whichhad

cocked itshead to theside,studyingher.“SowhatdoIdonow?”askedPrue.“Mybrotherwaskidnappedbybirds.Myfriendwascapturedbycoyotes.”Shesnapped her fingers. “And I nearly forgot:My bike is broken. Sounds like acountrysong.Ifcountrysongswerereally,reallyweird.”Thesquirrel suddenlystraightenedand froze, itsears twitching.Beneath the

hushofthebreezeinthetreebranchescameanunexpectedsound:theputterofacarengine.Asitgrewlouder,thesquirreldovefromitsperchanddisappeared.Pruejumpedupandstartedrunningtowardthesound,fightingherwaythrough

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thefallentreebranchesandbrush.“Stop!”sheshoutedasthesoundseemedtogrowlouder.Thewoodswereparticularlydensehereandthehillsidesteep,andPrue’srunbecamemoreofadesperatestaggerasshetriedtoreachthesound.Ahedgerow of blackberry brambles bloomed in front of her and she dove intothem, feeling the thorns tear at her coat and hair.Her eyes closed, she foughtthrough the bushes, flailing at the stinging branches until suddenly she wasreleased from their clutches and she fell forward onto the first level, emptygroundshe’dseensinceenteringthewoods.Shelookeduptofindshehadfallenontowhatappearedtobearoad.Andquicklyapproachingalongthisroadwaswhatappearedtobeavan.Prueleaptupandwavedherarmsfrantically,andthedriverslammedonthebrakes,thevehicle’stiresskiddinginthedirtoftheroad.Itwasabrightredcargovan,anditlookedlikeithadseenbetterdays.Itwas

ofanindeterminateage,thoughtheamountofrustandscrapedpaintonthesidessuggested it had seen its fair share of punishment. The side of the van wasemblazonedwithastrangecrestthatPruedidnotrecognize.Asshestaredindisbeliefatthismysteriousvehicle,sheheardthedistinctive

click of a shotgun being cocked. She looked to see the driver’s-side windowbeinghastilyrolleddown,andagrizzled,baldingheademerged,eyessquintingdownthesightofamassivedouble-barreledriflethatlookedtobeofCivilWarvintage.“Makeonemove,missy,andI’llfillyoufullofholes,”saidthedriver.Pruethrewherhandsintotheair.ThedrivercautiouslyloweredtherifleandgapedatPrue.

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“Areyou...,”splutteredthedriver,“areyouanOutsider?”Pruewasn’tquite surehow to respond; thequestionwasbizarre.Shestared

blankly for a moment before hazarding a response: “I live in St. Johns, inPortland.”The shotgunwasnow lowered at amuch less threatening angle, andPrue’s

poundingbloodrelaxedinherchest.“Isthatwhatyoucallit?”askedthemaninthevan.“Iguessso,”respondedPrue.ThemancontinuedtogapeatPrue.“Incredible,”hesaid.“Justincredible.In

allmyyears,IneverinmylifethoughtI’deverrunintooneofyou.FromtheOutside.”Nowthattheshotgunwasnolongerathiseye,Pruehadabetterviewofthe

driver.Hewasanelderlyman—hisskinwaspaleandweatheredandtwogreatplumesofwiryhairwerehiseyebrows—buttherewassomethingPruecouldn’t

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putherfingeronthatseemedtoexudefromhim,somethingthatmadehimseemlikenooneshe’devermetbefore.Itwasakindofauraorshine,likethewayafamiliarlandscapeistransformedinthelightofafullmoon.Prue summoned her courage and spoke. “Sir, can I put my hands down?”

When he nodded consent, she dropped her hands to her sides and continued,“I’minalittlebitofajam.Mylittlebrother,Mac,waskidnappedyesterdaybyaflockofbirds—crows,actually—andbroughtsomewhereinthesewoods.Ontopofthis,myclassmateCurtisstupidlyfollowedmeintothewoods,andwewereattackedbywhatIthinkwerecoyotesoldiers.Imanagedtoescape,buthewascaptured.I’mreallytiredandalittleconfusedbyallthat’shappenedtoday,andifyouwouldn’tmindhelpingme,I’dreally,reallyappreciateit.”The speech seemed to render the man at a loss for words. He pulled the

shotgun back into the cab of the van and looked behind him, down the road.ThenhelookedbackatPrueandsaid,“Okay,getinthevan.”Pruewalkedaroundtothesideofthevan,andthedriveropeneditfromthe

inside.Sheclimbedintothecabandextendedherhandtotheman,saying,“Myname’sPrue.”“Richard,” said the man, shaking her hand. “Pleasure to make your

acquaintance.”Heturnedthekeyintheignition,andthevangrumpilysputteredtolife.Behindthecabwasametalgateleadingintothecargoarea.ThroughthegatePruecouldseepilesofmanila-coloredboxesandcratesteemingwithneatlytiedstacksofenvelopes.“Wait,”saidPrue.“You’rea...mailman?”“Postmastergeneral,miss,atyourservice,”saidRichard.Heworeatattered

uniform: a royal-blue blazer with dirty yellow piping. A patch on his chestsported the same emblem as Prue had seen on the side of the truck.His chinbristledwithaweek’sworthofwhite,unshavedstubble,andhisfacewasetchedwithwrinkles.“Okay,”saidPrue,assessing thesituation.“Well, it’llhave todo.Now:My

friendCurtiswastakenjustbackthere.Theycan’thavegottenfar.Betweenyouandmeandthatshotgunofyours,Ifigurewecanprobablydevisesomesortofplan...whereareyougoing?”Richardhadgunned thevan, and it lurched forward,movingbumpilyalong

theunevenroad.Hehadtoshouthisresponseovertheroaroftheengine:“Nowaywe’regoingbackthere,”hehollered.“It’swaytoodangerous.”Prue’s eyes widened. “But—sir! I have to help him! He’s on his own out

there!”“I’ve never seen these coyote soldiers you’re talking about, but I’ve heard

about’em,andbelieveme,yourfriendisbeyondhelpatthispoint.Nosensein

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usgettingkilledaswelloverit.No,bestwegetbacktoSouthWoodandreportthistotheGovernor-Regent.”“The what?” stammered Prue, and then, before waiting for Richard to

respond,“Listen:Thosecoyotesmight lookscary,but they’veonlygotswordsand old-looking rifles. You’ve got a really big gun. With you waving thatshotgunaround,I’msurewecouldgetinandoutoftherewithoutascratch.”“I’vegotajobtodo,”saidRichard,gesturingtothepilesofmailinthecargo

hold. “And I’m not about to jeopardize it over some boyo who gets himselfnabbed by coyotes. This is Wildwood, kid, and I can’t afford to stop foranything.You’reluckyyoujumpedinmyway.Otherwise,I’dhaveleftyouonthesideoftheroad.”“Fine,” said Prue, and she started fumbling at her side for the door handle.

“I’dliketobeletout,please.I’mgoingtosavehimmyself.”Beforeshecouldswing thedooropen,Richardshothishandacrossher lap

and held the door closed, the van swerving nearly into the roadside ditch. Asinglewheelhoppedoverastraytreebranch,andRichardyelled,“Don’tgooutthereifyouvalueyourlife—Iain’tjokingaround!”Prueretractedherhandandcrossedherarmsoverherchestgrumpily.“Listentome,”saidRichardcalmly.“Thisisnoplaceforayounggirltobe

outalone.AndanOutsideroneatthat.Thoseanimalswillcatchyourscentfromamileaway.Idon’tknowhowyougotthisfaronyourownbutIcantellyou,your luckwouldn’t likely lastmuch longer. If the coyotes didn’t get you, thebanditswhocampinthesepartswould.Inthecabofthisvanisthesafestplaceyoucouldberightnow.I’vegottotakeyoustraighttotheGovernor-Regent.It’sprotocol.”“Who is theGovernor-Regent?” askedPrue. “Andwhydoes everyonekeep

callingthisplaceWildwood?Iheardthecoyotessaythattoo.”Richard pulled a half-chewed cigar from the ashtray and put it between his

teeth,leaningoutthewindowtospitafewflecksoftobaccoontotheroad.“TheGovernor-Regent,”hesaid,talkingaroundthestogieinhismouth,“istheleaderof South Wood. His name is Lars Svik.” He suddenly lowered his voice.“Though, between you and me, he’s got enough snakes around him hissingadviceintohisearstopopulateasultan’ssalon.”HeglancedatPrue.“Figurativesnakes,thatis.Bureaucratsandthelike.“Wildwood,” Richard continued, “is the uncivilized country.” Using the

dashboardasamap,hetracedhisfingeralongthevinyl.“ItstretchesfromthenorthernmostborderoftheAvianPrincipalityallthewaytotheborderofNorthWood.Ifoundyouabouthalfwayinthemiddleofnowhere,rightsmackinthecenter of Wildwood where there ain’t nothing but wolves and coyotes and

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thieves living off what they can scavenge from the ground or loot from theoccasionalpassingsupplytruck.Ormailtruck—whichiswhyIcarrythatpieceofirondownthere.”Hepointedat theshotgun.“Beingthepostmastergeneral,it’smy job to delivermail and supplies andwhatnot from the folks in SouthWoodtothecountryfolkinNorthWoodandviceversa,andIdothatbydrivingthisblastedroad—it’scalledtheLongRoad,whichisano-brainerofaname—backandforthbetweenthetwoplaces,bravingthismadnessandputtingmylifeand limb at great risk everyweek. And I tell you one thing, Port-Land Prue,beingastateemployeeisnotapathwaytowealthandriches.”“You can just call me Prue,” was all she could think to say. She was

dumbstruck by Richard’s monologue. She had so many questions swirlingaroundherhead,beggingtobeasked,shewasbarelyabletosortthemout.“Sothere are other people. Living here. In thesewoods.Where I come from, thisplaceiscalledtheImpassableWilderness.”ThismadeRichardlaughsohardhiscigarflewoutofhismouth,andhehad

tofumblearoundathis feet tofind itagain.“ImpassableWilderness?Ohboy,wouldthatitwere.Imighthavealittlemoretimeathome.Nah,Idon’tknowwho toldyou that,butyouOutside folkhavegot itallwrong. ’Course,you’rethefirstofyourkindI’veeverseenhere,soitstandstoreasonthatnooneevermadeanefforttofindoutabouttheWood—Wild,North,orSouth.”HelookedatPrueandsmiled.“Seems likeyou justmightbeour firstpioneer,Port-LandPrue.”

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CHAPTER6TheWarrenoftheDowager;

AKingdomofBirds

The ropes stung Curtis’s wrists, and his chest ached from being bouncedagainst the coyote’s bony spine. The pack moved quickly through the forest,undaunted by each sword fern and low-hanging tree branch that lashed atCurtis’sface.Theforestfloorwasablurbelowthefeetofhiscoyotecaptor,butCurtiskepthiseyesopen,tryingtoregisteranychangeintheenvironmentthatmightallowhimtoretracetheirtracks.Thisendeavorseemedhopelessuntilthepackbrokethroughaparticularlydensepatchofbrushontowhatappearedtobeawidedirt road.Thecoyotespickedupspeedhereover the levelground,andCurtislookedsidewaysattheoncomingterrain.Thepackwasapproachingwhatappeared to be a very largewooden bridge. They hit the bridge at breakneckspeed,andCurtisgavealittleyelpashelookeddownovertheedge,throughtheornate railingsof thebridge:Amassivechasmyawnedbelowthem,stretchingdownward into blackness. Just as quickly as they’d arrived at the bridge, theymade theother sideandscrambledbackoff the roadand into the trees.Curtisstrained to see behind him, to catch another sight of this awesomegap they’dcrossed, but the towering firs swallowed up the landscape, and he returned tostaringdownattheforestfloor.Hewasn’tsurehowlongthey’dtraveled,buttheafternoonwaswaningwhen

finally the pack emerged into awide glade in thewoods. In the center of the

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gladewasasmallhill,coveredinivyanddeadfall,whereaman-sizedholehadbeenburrowedintotheearth.Withoutaword,thepartyhustledthroughtheholeandbegan following a long, dark tunnel down into the ground.Twines of ivyand tree roots supported the roof of the tunnel as it descended, and here andthere, burning torches affixed to the dirt walls provided a hazy light. Theunmistakable smell of wet dog was everywhere, though Curtis thought hesmelledsomethinglikecookedfoodandgunpowderaswell.Finally,thetunnelopened into amassive chamber bustlingwith activity.Hewas in the coyotes’warren.Agroupofsoldiersinthecenteroftheroommadeatightphalanxandwere

beingcommandedinadrillbyamenacingsergeant.Ahostofapronedcoyoteswerepreparingadinnerinablackironcauldronrestingonaragingfire,wherealineofeagersoldierswaitedpatientlywithtinplatesextendedintheirpaws.Acrude stone chimney carried the smoke from the fire upward into the centraltrunkofagianttree,whoserootsprovidedthestructuralbonesfortheroom.Thewindingroottendrilsofthegargantuantreeframedtheopeningstoamyriadofgrottos and tunnels leading off this main room. The walls were lined withwoodenrackswhere restedamassivearsenalofweapons: rifles,halberds,andsabers.Upended crates, their packing hay spilling out, littered a corner of theroom,andasmalltroopofsoldierswasbusilycheckingtheircontents.Ancient-lookingmusketswerebeinginspected;sacksofgunpowderwereunloadedandsafelystowedinanearbyhollow.Alineoftatteredbannersonpikesledtoalarge,circulardooratthefarendof

theroom,madeofasinglewidesliceofagiantcedartree.Infrontofthedoorstood two rifle-bearing coyotes. Itwas to this doorway thatCurtiswas finallydragged,hisboundwristsfreedwithaswikoftheCommandant’ssword.

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“Holdhimfast,”orderedthecommanderashesteppedforwardandspoketotheguardsinfrontofthedoor.TwocoyoteswrangledCurtistohisfeet,holdinghis arms in their clammy paws. One of the door guards nodded to theCommandantandheavedthedooropen,disappearingwithin.Afterashorttime,the guard returned and gestured for the commander and his prisoner to enter.Curtiswasshovedforward,andhesteppedoverthethresholdintotheroom.Thelightwasverydiminside,theonlyvisiblesourcesbeingafewflickering

braziersandwhatlittlelightwasallowedinsideviaseveralcrudeskylightsdugintotheceilingleadingtothegroundabove.Darkwoodyrootssnakedacrosstheceilingandwalls;thewhitetendrilsofplantrootsdangledabovetheirheads,andthe room smelled distinctly of onions. At the far end of the chamber was anelaboratedais,decoratedwithlongvinesofivyandplushcushionsofgatheredmoss. In the center of thedaiswas a chair unlike anyCurtis had seenbefore:Seeminglyhandcarved froma singlemassive tree trunk, it lookedas if ithadgrownfromtheearthitself.Thearmrestssnakedaroundthecushionedseatandwere capped by carved talons; the legswere clawed at the bottomwithwhatlooked to be coyote paws.The seat back towered over the room, and the twopostsoneithersideofthebackrosetomeetatthetop,wherethewoodhadbeencarvedintotheominousshapeofasinglespikedcrown.Curtisstaredinwonderatthesceneuntilheheardavoicebehindhimask:“What do you think?” It was a woman’s voice, and Curtis found himself

soothedbyitssonorousmusic.“Amarvelofcraftsmanship,yes?Ihaditmadeespeciallyfortheroom.Tookages.”Curtisturnedandclappedeyesonthemostbeautifulwomanhe’deverseenin

hislife.Herfacewasovoidandpale,thoughherlipsshoneredlikethefreshestlatesummerapples.Herhairwasanelectriccopper-redandithunginbraidedtresses, brocaded with mottled eagle feathers. She wore a simple floor-lengthgownof tawny leather, and a heavy stolewas draped over her shoulders. Shewasdiscerniblyhuman,yetshestruckCurtisasbeingentirelyotherworldly,asifshe’dbeenpulled fromthe faceofsomecathedral’s faded,ancient fresco.Shetoweredoverhercourtofcoyotes,andtheyscurriedinherwakeasshemovedtowardCurtis.“It’sverynice,”hesaid.“We’vedoneourbest here,” she continued,waving at her surroundings. “It

wasdifficultatfirsttogatherthebasiccomforts—thosecreaturecomforts—butwemanaged.It’smiraculous,really,consideringthatwestartedfromnothing.”She smiled in thought and let her slender hand caress Curtis’s cheek. “AnOutsider,” she said thoughtfully. “An Outsider child. How beautiful you are.What’syourname,child?”

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“C-Curtis,ma’am,”hestammered.He’dnevercalledanyonema’ambefore.Itjustseemedappropriatenow.“Curtis,” said thewoman, retractingherhand, “welcome toourwarren.My

nameisAlexandra,thoughmostcallmetheDowagerGoverness.”Shesteppeduptothedaisanddrapedherselfovertheseatofthethrone.“Areyouhungry?Thirsty?Youmusthave traveledfar today.Ourstoresaremeager,butyouarewelcometowhateverwecanoffer.”“Sure,”saidCurtis.“Iamprettythirsty.”“Borya!Carpus!”shesaidloudlyasshesnappedherfingersat twoloitering

coyotes.“Abottleofblackberrywineforourguest.Andgreens!Dandelionandfern fiddles. And a bowl of the venison stew for the Outsider child Curtis!Quickly!”SheflashedabroadsmileatCurtisandgesturedatthepileoffreshlygatheredmossthatsurroundedthethrone.“Please,haveaseat,”shesaid.Curtis, surprised to be treatedwith such hospitality, settled himself into the

deepcushionofthemoss.“We’resimplefolk,Curtis,”begantheGoverness.“Weprotectourown,and

weasklittleoftheforest.YoumightcallusthewardensofWildwood.We’vemade thisuntamedwildernessourownand imposedanorderon it thatwas itwassorely lacking.Our intent is tocultivateabeautiful flower from this starkand infertile ground. For example, when I arrived here in Wildwood, thesecoyotes you see were a hardscrabble, desperate lot. Practically anarchistic intheirorganization,theywereconstantlyatwarwithoneanotherandreducedtothelowestformofforestdweller:thescavenger.ButIbroughtthemtoorder.”AcoyoteattendantappearedatthedoorandmadehiswaytoCurtis,carrying

awidetinplateheapedwithfreshgreens,abowlofstew,andawoodenmugofadarkpurpleliquid.HesetitinfrontofCurtis.Theattendantthenproducedacorked bottle from underneath his arm and placed it next to the tray. TheGovernessnodded,andthecoyoteboweddeeplyandwalkedfromtheroom.“Please, eat,” said the Dowager Governess, and Curtis dove into the food,

slurping down the venison stewwith relish. He took a healthy gulp from thewoodenmug,andhisfaceflushedasthewarmliquidrolleddownthebackofhisthroat.TheGovernesswaswatchinghimintently.“YouremindmeofaboyIknew,”

shesaidthoughtfully.“Hemust’vebeennotmucholderthanyou.Howoldareyou,Curtis?”“I’llbetwelveinNovember,”saidCurtisbetweenbites.“Twelve,”sherepeated.“Hewasjustafewyearsolder,thisboy.Hisbirthday

would’ve been in July. He was born in the full throat of summer.” Her eyestrailedoff tostareatsomefixedpointoverCurtis’sshoulder.Curtispaused in

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hischewingandlookedbehindhim;therewasnothingthere.TheGovernesssmiledand,rememberingherself,lookedbackatCurtis.“How

isthefood?”sheasked.Hehadamouthfullofgreens,andhehadtoquicklyswallowthemtoanswer.

He pulled an errant fiddlehead frombetween his teeth and set it down on theplate. “Oh, very good,” he responded finally. “Though these ferns are a littleweird. I didn’t knowyou could eat them.”He dipped his spoon back into theheartystewandbroughtit,full,tohismouth.TheGovernesslaughedandthen,turningserious,said,“ButCurtis,I’mvery

curious as to what brought you into these woods. You Outside folk haven’tthoughttovisitforsuchalong,longtime.”Curtis paused mid-slurp, set his spoon down, and swallowed. It hadn’t

occurredtohiminthechaosofhiscapturewhatexplanationheshouldgiveforhispresenceinthewoods.HedecideditwouldbebestnottogiveawayPrue’smissionuntilhehadabettersenseoftheGoverness’sintentions.“Iwasjustoutwalking,actually,andIwanderedintothetrees.Igotlost,andthat’swhenyour.. . your coyotes foundme.”He could only hope that the soldiers hadn’t seenPrue.“Justoutwalking?”askedtheGoverness,archinganeyebrow.“Yeah,”saidCurtis.“I’llbetotallyhonestwithyou:Iwasskippingschool.I

wasskippingschoolandthoughtI’dgoonalittleadventure.You’renotgoingtoreportmetotheprincipal,areyou?”Alexandra threwherheadbackand laughed. “Ohno,dearCurtis,” she said

betweenfits,“I’dnever reportyou.ThenIwouldn’thave thepleasureofyourcompany!”Shereacheddownandpickedupthebottleofwine.Pullingthecorkfrom the top, she pouredmore of the dusky liquid into Curtis’s cup. “Please,drinkmore.Youmustbesoparched.”“Thankyou,MissDowag—”Hefumbledoverhertitleandcorrectedhimself:

“Alexandra,ma’am.Iwillhavealittlemore.It’sreallygood.”Itwassweetandstrong,andwhenhedrankit,hefelthisstomachradiatewarmthtotherestofhisbody.Hetookanotherlargeswig.“I’veneverreallydrunkwinebefore—Imean,I’vehad a littleManischewitz atPassover, but it’s nothing like this.”He tookanotherdrink.“Soyouwereoutwalking.Inthesewoods,”repeatedtheGoverness.Curtis swallowed the wine and picked up a pile of dandelion greens and

shoveditinhismouth.Henodded.“ButCurtis,mydear,”saidAlexandra.“Thatissimplynotpossible.”CurtismunchedhisgreensandstaredattheGoverness.“Literally impossible,” she said, turning serious. “You see, Outsider child

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Curtis, there is a thing calledWoodsMagic that protects this wood from thecuriosityoftheoutsideworld.Itisthethingthatseparatesourkindfromyours.EverybeinginthisforesthastheWoodsMagicrunningthroughtheirveins.Ifoneofyourkind,anOutsider,wastofindhiswayintothesewoods—Ithinkyoucharmingly refer to it as the ‘Impassable Wilderness’—they would findthemselvesimmediatelyandirretrievablycaughtinthePeripheryBind,amazeinwhicheveryturnisadeadend.Theforestbecomeslikeahallofmirrors,itsimagerepeatedinillusionintothehorizon,yousee,andateveryturnonewouldfindoneselfexactlywhereonehadstarted.Ifyouwerelucky,thewoodswouldspityououtsomewherebacktotheoutsideworld,thoughitisjustaslikelythatyouwould forever be lost, wandering the forest’s infinite reflection until youeitherdiedorwentmad.”Curtis slowly finished crunching the dandelion greens and swallowed them

withaloudgulp.“No,my sweetCurtis,” theGoverness said, thoughtfully toyingwithoneof

theeaglefeatherspinnedinherhair,“theonlywayyouwouldhavebeenabletocross the border and travel in thesewoodswould be if youwere born of theMagicyourself.”CurtisstaredattheGoverness,achillrunninguphisspine.“Or,” she continued, “if you were accompanied by someone of Woods

Magic.”TheDowagerGoverness lookeddirectly intoCurtis’seyes, thesteelblueof

heririsesflashinginthelightoftheflickeringfires,andsmiled.

The sunwas setting, and Prue grew sleepy as themail van trundled bumpilydown the LongRoad, occasionally swerving to avoid the felled tree branchesandmuddypotholesthatlitteredtheroad.Theconversationquieted,andRichardhadstubbedhiscigarintheashtrayandwaswhistlingtohimself.Pruerestedherhead against the door and stared out thewindow,watching thewoods changefromaknotofdensescrubandgaunt trees towidegrovesofmassive,ancientcedarandfirtrees,theirwizenedlimbsreachingoutovertheroad.“TheOldWoods,”saidRichardastheypassedunderthecanopyofthegiant

trees.“We’regettingcloser.”PruesmiledandnoddedatRichard,andagreatwaveof tirednessovercame

her,andshefeltherselfdriftingofftosleep,therattleofthevanlullingherintoadeepslumber.Shewokesuddenlywhenshefelt thevanshuddertoastop.Itwasdarknow,andshedidn’tknowhowlongshe’dslept. In thecrooked lightprojected from the van’s headlights, Prue thought she saw birds, though her

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visionwastoofoggyfromsleeptobesure.RichardheavedtheemergencybrakewithbothhandsandletthevanidleasheturnedtoPrueandsaid,“Checkpoint.Youmight have to get out of the van.”Hepushedopenhis door and steppedoutsideontotheroad.Prue rubbed her eyes clear and squinted through the dirty windshield. A

strangeflickeringwasoccurringjustoutsidetheedgeoftheheadlights,andshestrainedtomakesenseofitwhensuddenlyapairofscalytalonsalightedonthehood in front of her. She shrieked with surprise and fell back in her seat. Agigantic golden eagle (Aquila chrysaetos—she recognized it immediately fromTheSibleyGuide)cranedhisheaddownandlookedcuriouslyintothecabofthevan.Abruptly, theheadlightglarebehindhimwas teemingwithbirdsofeveryfeather: thrushes, herons, eagles, and owls, some flying in and out of theheadlights, some landingon theground, somescrambling foragripwith theirclawson the van’s hood.Pruepushedherself farther back into the seat as theeagleonthehoodcontinuedhisprobeofthecab.Richardappearedinthemidstof the squall, making his way into the shine of the headlights. He wasbrandishing a small book, opened and held at arm’s length. The eagle on thevan’s hood turned from the windshield and hopped into the air to land on abranchinfrontofRichard,hispowerfulwingsfanninginquick,mightybeats.“You’ll find it’s all in order,General,” saidRichard to the eagle,whowas

intently studying the booklet inRichard’s hand. Satisfied, he flew back to hisformerperchonthehoodofthevan.HeupsetaflurryofnuthatchesashelandedandturnedhissteelyeyesagaintoPrue.“Andwhoisyourcompanion,Postmaster?”askedtheeagle.Richardsmiledand laughed.“Well, Iwasgoing toget to that, sir,”hesaid,

walking to the driver’s-side window. He tapped at the glass and gestured forPruetogetout.“AnOutsiderchild,sir.Agirl.Ifoundherontheroad.”Prueopenedherdoorandsteppedoutontothegravel.Shewasimmediately

metbyahostofsmallerbirds,finchesandjays,whoflewaroundherheadandshouldersinfranticcircles,skimmingherhairandpickingatherpeacoat.“AnOutsider?”askedtheeagle,incredulous.Heflewtotheothersideofthe

vanand,landing,letoutaloudsquawkthatsentthesmallerbirdsflyingintothetrees.He looked intentlyatPrueandsaid,“Incredible.Howdidyou findyourway,girl?”“I...walked,”respondedPrue,aghast.She’dneverbeensoclosetoaneagle

before.Itwasstunning.“You walked?” asked the eagle. “Ridiculous. What’s your business in

Wildwood?”Pruewas speechless. The eagle craned his head forward until his beakwas

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inchesfromherface.“She’slookingforherbrother,”interjectedRichard.“Andherfriend,cometo

thinkofit.”“TheOutsidergirlcananswerforherself!”squawkedtheeagle,nottakinghis

eyesoffPrue.“It’s t-true,” stammered Prue finally. “My brother, Mac. He was taken by

crowsand,asfarasIcantell,takensomewhereinthesewoods.SoIcamehereto findhim.Andon theway, Iwas followedbymyfriendCurtis,andhewascapturedbyagroupofcoyotes.”TheeaglestaredatPrueinsilenceforamoment.“Crows,yousay,”hesaid.

“Andcoyotes.”Hecast ameaningful lookathis fellowbirds and shuffledhistalonsalongthehoodofthevan.“Right,” said Prue, gathering her courage. “Any help in finding Mac and

Curtiswouldbemuchappreciated.Sir.”Evidently satisfied, the eagle ruffled his feathers and looked behind him at

Richard.“Wherewereyouplanningontakingher,Postmaster?”“TotheGovernor-Regent,”answeredRichard.“That’sthebestoptionIcould

thinkof.”TheeaglesnortedandlookedbackatPrue.“TheGovernor-Regent,”repeated

theeagle,anacidtonecreepingintohisvoice.“I’msurehe’llbeveryhelpful.Ihope you’re not in toomuch of a hurry to find your brother and your friend,Outsider.IfIrecallcorrectly,RequestforAidinSearchofHumanAbductionbyCrowisastandardH1sub6slash45Edocument,tobesignedintriplicatebyallreigningMetroCommissioners.”The flurryof birds surrounding the eagle began to titterwith laughter.Prue

didn’tget the joke.Richardsmilednervouslyandsaid,“I’msurehe’llbeverysympathetic,General.Unlessyouhaveabetteridea.”“No,no,”saidtheeagle,“Isupposethatisthebesttack.Besides,herstory,if

it is true,may lend credence to our pleawhen theCrown Prince visits SouthWood.”“TheCrownPrince,”saidRichard,insurprise.“InSouthWood?”“Himself,” replied the eagle. “The birds are sick of waiting for your

commissioners to act while the safety of the Principality is at risk. Ourambassadorshavebeenignored,ifnotaltogethershunned;ourentreatiesforaidandalliancebrushedoff.IftheCrownPrincecan’tachieveresults,thenitisoneeagle’s humble opinion that the Wildwood Protocols be considered null andvoid.ThereisagatheringstorminWildwood.Ihaveseenit.Wecan’tsitbackanylongerandwaitforthesebarbarianstooverrunus.”“Understood, General,” said Richard. “Now if I’m cleared to go . . .” He

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gesturedatthevan.“Ihavealotofmailtodeliver.”TheGeneralraisedhiswingstotheirfullspanandpushedhimselfaloftfrom

thevan’shood.Withonlyafewrobustwingbeatshewasintheair,alightingonatreelimboverhead.“Yes,Postmaster,”saidtheeagle,“youarefreetogo.LetotherLongRoadcouriersknow,however:Wewillcontinuetodetain travelersontheroaduntilthesafetyofthePrincipalityisassured.”Therestofthebirdscircledintheairabovethevanbeforedisappearingintothedarkofthetreeline.“Andyou,Outsidergirl,”continued theeagle,“toyouIsaygood luck. Ihopeyoufindwhatyou’velost.”Withthat,theeagleunfurledhiswingsandvanishedintothetrees,producingagustofwindthatshookthebranchesandrustledtheleaves.After the birdswere gone,Richard smiled at Prue from across the van and

mimed a relievedwipeof his forehead. “Well!” he said, opening the driver’s-sidedoorandclimbing in. “Thatcheckpoint isgettingmorechallengingeveryday.Getin.Let’sgetgoingbeforetheychangetheirminds.”Prue,alittlestunned,returnedtothepassengerseat.Richardrevvedthevan’s

engineandstarteddriving,arduouslygrindingthegearsintoplace.“Whatwasthatallabout?”askedPrue.“Oh,it’scomplicated,Port-LandPrue,”saidRichard.“We’repassingthrough

the Avian Principality, a kingdom of birds. It’s a sovereign country betweenSouthWood andWildwood; they’ve been pressuring the Governor-Regent toallow them tomove intoWildwood to defend themselves against attacks thathavebeenmadeontheirborders.”“What’s stopping them? Why do they need the Governor-Regent’s

permission?”askedPrue.“Whathesaid:athingcalledtheWildwoodProtocols,whichbasicallystates

that any signatoryof the treaty is forbidden fromexpanding intoWildwood—andthatincludesmilitaryexcursions,”Richardexplained.“Whichisridiculous,ifyou thinkon it.Whyanyonewouldwant tomove intoWildwoodisbeyondme.Theplaceiswild.Overgrown.Treacherous.Unruly.Youcouldn’tpayyourcitizenstotryandsettleinthatplace.”“Butwhoisattackingthebirds?Obviously,somebody’slivinginWildwood.”“They’ve been claiming that troops of coyotes, probably the same as your

coyotesoldiers,havebeenattackingbirdsentriesalongtheborder.Theybelievethat these coyotes—typically a disorderly lot—are under the leadership of thedeposedDowagerGoverness, the former leaderofSouthWood.”Hechuckledunderhisbreath,asifthestoryweresomeinsidejoke.“Crazybirds.”Prueturnedtohim,saying,“Wait;who?”“The Dowager Governess. She was the wife of the late Governor-Regent

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Grigor Svik. Came to power after his death. Terrible ruler. Shewas removedfrom the seat about fifteen years ago and exiled toWildwood like a commoncriminal.Gone.Outofthepicture.”“Richard!” said Prue, her face alight. “The coyotes! They mentioned her

name!”“Whose,theDowagerGoverness’s?”askedRichard.Hestaredather.“Yes!” said Prue. “WhenCurtis and I first came on the coyotes, theywere

arguing. One of them threatened to turn the other over to the DowagerGoverness.I’mcertainofit.”“Can’tbe,”Richardsaid.“There’snowaythatwomansurvived.Droppedinto

themiddleofWildwood.Withnaughtbuttheclothesonherback.”PruesmartedatRichard’sdisbelief.“Isweartoyou,Richard,”shesaid,“one

ofthecoyotessaidhewasgoingtoreportanothertotheDowagerGoverness.Ihearditveryclearly.AndIdon’tevenknowwhatthattitlemeans.”Richard swallowedhard. “Well,Governess—shewas the female heir to the

seatofgovernorship.AndDowager—thatmeansshewasmadeawidow.Whenherhusbanddied,see.”Heletoutalowwhistlebetweenhislips.“Hoo,boy.Ifshe’salive—andputting togetheranarmy,no less—Igotta think thatbodes illforGovernor-RegentSvikandthefolksofSouthWood.I’msuretheGovernor-Regent will want to hear your story. So far, no one’s come forward to givewitnesstowhatthebirdsareclaiming.He’snotbuyingitfromthebirdsalone.”Richardpulledanothercigar fromhis jacketpocketandbeganchewingon theendthoughtfully.“MaybetheGovernor-Regentcanhelpmeafterall,”saidPrue.“Imean,ifthis

Governess woman is really a threat to his country, he’ll have to helpme getCurtisback!Andthen,whoknows;maybeshecanleadustoMac.”Sheputherforehead inherhand.“Ican’tbelieveI’msaying thisstuff. Ican’tbelieveI’mhere, in thisweirdworld. In thismail van.Contemplating talking birds and aDoweryGoverness.”“Dowager,”correctedRichard.“Right.And her army of coyotes.” Prue looked imploringly atRichard, the

only friendly face she’d seen since arriving in this strange land. A flood ofemotionovercameher.“WhatamIdoinghere?”sheaskedweakly.“Isuppose,”respondedRichard,“thingstendtohappenforareason.Ihavea

suspicionthatyoubeinghereain’tanaccident.Itendtothinkyou’rehereforareason,Port-LandPrue.”Hespitawadoftobaccooutthewindow.“Ijustdon’tthinkweknowwhatthatreasonisyet.”

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CHAPTER7AnEvening’sEntertainment;

ALongJourneyEnded;GoingforaSoldier

Despite the fact that it was now nightfall and he was as far away from hisparentsashe’deverbeen,deepinanundergroundcoyotewarrenandthecaptiveofanarmyoftalkinganimalsandtheirstrangeandmysteriousleader,Curtiswasfeelingprettygood.He’dhadsecondsofthevenisonstew,whichhe’dfoundtobeincrediblytasty,andhe’dlosttrackofhowmanytimeshismugofblackberrywine,which he found to be equallywonderful, had been refilled.His presentcircumstances, he reasoned, would seem pretty strange and frightening if heweretolookattheminthecoollightofday,butthere,inthewarmconfinesofthe earthy burrow with the braziers burning and the moss below him socomfortable,everythinglookedparticularlyrosy.Hewascaptivatedbyhishost,themostbeautifulwomanhe’devermet,andfanciedthatwitheveryrefillofhismug,hegrewmorecharmingandcharismatichimself.Hewasregalingherwiththetruestoryofhowheandaclassmatehadbrokenanentirerowoffluorescentlightswhilepoundingnickelsflatonananvilinmetalshop.Hehadstruckonenickelatabadangle,and ithadshotup likeabulletand“blewout thewholelight!BOOOOSH!And, like, everyonewasgoing ‘WHAAAAT?’”Hepausedfor effect while Alexandra laughed heartily. She motioned to an attendant torefillhismugofwine.“AndI justwalkedover to the . . .oh,sure,I’llhavea

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littlemore...overtoallthebrokenglassandjustpickedupthenickelandwasalllike,‘I’llbekeepingthis,thankyouverymuch.’”Helaughedandmimickedslipping the nickel into his jeans pocket. He slurped downmore of thewine,spillingsomeonhiscoat.“Ohboy,that’llleaveastain!”Helaughedsohardhehadtosetthemugdownandcollecthimself.TheGovernesswaslaughingwithhimaswell,thoughherlaughtrailedoffas

shebeganspeaking. “Oh,Curtis,howcharming.Howexcellent.Youare trulyoneofakind.Nowonderyoubraved thesewoodsalone.Youareasingularlyindependentspirit,aren’tyou?”“Oh,well,yeah,”saidCurtis,attemptingsobriety.“I . . .well, Iwasalways

kindofaloner,Iguess.Kepttomyself,youknow.Butthat’ssortofhowI,um,roll.Youknow,lookingoutfornumberone.Etcetera,etcetera.”Hesippedathismug.“ButI’mgoodinateam,too.Really.Imeanifyou’reeverinneedofapartner,I’myourman.Pruedidn’tbelievemeatfirst,butwemadeaprettygoodteamforabit—wewere,like,realpartners.”“Who?”“Who?Did I say someone’s name? Prue? I think I said,who, as in: ‘Who

wouldn’tbelieveme?’”Curtis turnedpale. “Wow.This stuff is really strong.”Hefannedhimselfwithhishandandsethismugdown.“Prue.YousaidthenamePrue,”saidtheGoverness,herfacegrowingserious.

“Somaybeyouweren’taloneafterallinyourlittleforayintothewoods.”Curtis clasped his hands between his knees and breathed deeply, exhaling

loudly.Thewinehadhadanunexpectedeffectonhim:Hehadtotallylosttrackofwhathewastalkingabout.Hefoundhimselfstrugglingtoreturntohissenses.“Okay,”hesaidfinally,“Imightnothavebeentotallystraightwithyouonthatfront.”TheGovernessarchedaneyebrow.“ItwasPrue’sideatocomeintothewoods—she’smy,well,friend,Iguess.

She’saclassmate.Shesitstworowsoverfrommeinhomeroom.Andwehavehonors English and social studies together.We’ve never really hung out thatmuch,though,outsideofschool.”Alexandra impatiently motioned her hand for him to continue. “And what

broughtyouintothewoods?”“Well, I followedher thismorning.See, shewas coming into thewoods to

look forher . . .herbabybrother,whowas . . .”Herehe trailedoff,glancingaroundtheroom.“Iwouldsaythatthiswouldsoundcrazy,butconsideringallthatI’veseentoday,itseemsprettyordinaryactually.Herbrotherwas,Iguess,kidnappedbycrows.Abunchof ’em.Swarmingaround.They justpicked thekidupandtookhimintothewoodshere,andsoPruewentafterthem.”

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TheGovernesswasstaringatCurtisintently.“And Iwent after her. Thinking she could use the help.And herewe are,”

Curtis finished.He looked at Alexandra pleadingly. “Please don’t be angry. IknowIsaidIcameherealoneatfirst,butIwasn’tsurewhatwasgoingonorifyouguyswere,y’know,trustworthy.”Massaginghisbelly,hepuffedhischeeksandblewthroughpuckeredlips.“Idon’tfeelverywell.”There was a long silence. A cold, musty breeze blew through the room,

guttering the flamesof thebraziers.Acoyoteattendant in thecornercoughed,clearedhisthroat,andexcusedhimself.“Oh, we’re very trustworthy, Curtis,” said the Governess, breaking the

reverie.“Ithinkyoushouldnotbeafraidtotellusanything.Thismustbequiteashock for you, having grown up in themundaneOutside,with your everydayexperiencesandyourdomesticatedanimals,soshortonintelligencetheyhaven’tthecapacitytospeak.Icanunderstandyourreticenceintrustingme,especiallyaftermyCommandantandhisbrutishunderlingshandledyousodisrespectfully.They can be a miserable bunch. I can only offer my humblest of apologies.We’rejustnotusedtovisitorshere.”TheGovernesswastracingherfingeralongtheeddyinggrainofthearmrest’swood.“AndIcantellyoudirectlythatthisisnot the first time we’ve heard complaints about those meddling crows. Theirspeciesasawholetendstowardthissortofmischievousactivity.Ican’timaginetheymean to do anything untowardwith your friend’s brother. It’s likely thatthey’llkeephimaroundforabitandplaywithhimlikesomebauble,andoncethey’vetiredofhiscompany,they’llreturnhimtotheplacefromwhencehewasstolen.”“P-playwithhim?Really?”askedCurtis.“Ohyes,”repliedtheGoverness.“ThoughIdon’timaginethey’lldohimany

realharm.”Shethoughtforamomentandcontinued,“Aslongashedoesn’tfallfromoneoftheirnests.”“Fall?Fromtheirnests?”“Yes, Iwouldexpect that’swhere they’llbekeepinghim.Notoriously, they

make them rather high in the trees. But he should be fine; crows are veryprotectiveof their possessions.He’ll beperfectly safeprovidedhedoesn’t getstolenbyaneighboringbuzzardorsomething.”“Abuzzardwouldstealhim?”Shenodded.“Ohyes,and then,dearCurtis, I’mnot sureanythingcouldbe

done.Buzzardsadorehumanflesh.”Curtis’sbodyconvulsed,andheclaspedhishandtohismouth.Hehadgrown

considerablypaleroverthecourseofthelastfewminutes.“But don’t worry, Curtis!” said the Governess, leaning forward. “I will

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personallysee to it thatabattalion isdevoted to thesearchandrescueofyourfriend’sbrother.We’vedealtwiththesecrowsbefore;Ihavenodoubtwewillhaveferretedoutthatboyinafewdays’time,trustme.”The low light of the warren shivered in Curtis’s vision, and the dirt walls

began to revolve slightly, sending a sickening feeling into his stomach. Thefeelingwasstanchedwhenheclosedhiseyes,soherasped,“IthinkImightjustrestmyeyesalittle,ifthat’sokay,”andshutteredhislids,recliningfartherbackonthebedofmoss.“Youmust be exhausted, my dear boy,” came the voice of the Governess,

soundingclosernowinthedarkness.“Youshouldrest.We’llspeakagaininthemorning.Untilthen,lieback.Sleep.Sleepanddream.”AndCurtisdidjustthat.Asleep,hedidnotseetheGovernesslookingdownonhimfondly.Hedidnot

feelherlayafurblanketoverhisbodyandtuckthehemtidilyunderhischin.Hedidnothearhersighdeeplytowatchhimsleep.

Thefirstbrokenraysofdawnwerefilteringupthroughthetreeswhenthemailvan came to a halt at amassive stonewall.A towering pair ofwooden doorsprovidedagatewaythroughthewall,andacarvedplacardreadingNORTHGATEwas affixed to the keystone. Prue rubbed sleep fromher eyes, exhausted aftertheir nightlong drive, and looked out the window at the imposing wall as itstretchedineitherdirectionawayfromtheroaduntilitwasswallowedbydistanttrees.Asofthazedustedthevegetationoftheforestfloor,andthegreenwascastin a crystalline shimmer by the early morning’s remaining dew. A few birdssang.Richard stubbedhis third cigarof thenight into theoverflowingashtrayandwaved at the two armored guardswho stood on either side of the doors.Theywalkedovertothevanwindowandpeeredthroughtheglass.WhentheysawPrue,theireyeswidened,andRichardrolledthewindowdown.“An Outsider,” he explained wearily. “I’m bringing her to the Governor-

Regent.”“We had heard,” said one of the guards, an olderman.His gray-whiskered

beardprotrudedbetweenthechinstrapsofatinhelmetthatcloselyresembledanoverturned dinner plate. “We caught word from the Avians. You can gothrough.” The other guard was younger and appeared more aghast by Prue’spresenceinthevan.AstheoakendoorsofthegatewereslowlyheavedopenandRicharddrovebeneath thewidestonearch,Pruecaughtaglimpse through theside-viewmirroroftheyoungerguard,standingstone-still inthemiddleoftheroad, watching the van. The look made her uncomfortable; she felt overly

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scrutinized,likesomestrangeinsectunderamagnifyingglass.Pruereturnedherattentiontotheroadinfrontofthevanasitwidenedonthegroundbeyondthegate.“SouthWood,”saidRichard.“Homeatlast.”The forest here had a completely different aspect than the wild scrub and

crooked,loomingtreesofWildwood:Pruebegantoseeoddstructuresappearinginthewoodsalongtheroad,whatappearedtobemodesthousesandbuildings.Some stood dramatically apart from the trees, built of rough stone and brick,whilesomeseemedtogrowfromthetreesthemselves,shingledinbranchesandlayers of moss. Others bolted up from the ground like burrows with colorfulwooden doors and small porthole-like windows and sprouted crooked tinchimneys that belched wisps of smoke into the arbor eaves. A lattice ofwalkwaysandbridges linked thehigherboughsof the trees together,andPruecraned her neck upward to see that they led to more houses, shacks, andoutbuildings in the topsof the trees.Peoplemoved inandoutof thebuildingsand populated thewalkways and doorways, but not just people: animals, too.Deer and badgers, rabbits and moles walked among the humans in thismiraculous world. Other roads appeared and intersected with the Long Road:arterial roads, side streets, and alleys, some paved with flagstones and brick,otherscoveredingravelanddirtandpockmarkedwithpuddlesremainingfromthepreviousnight’srain.TheLongRoaditself,afteratime,becameagrandavenuethroughthetrees,

and smooth, ancient ruts were worn into its paving stones. Lavish residencesbegan to line theRoad,multistory townhouses built of palewhite granite anddeep red brick with graceful porticos and mullioned windows. Some of thehouses seemed to be built around the trees themselves, dramatic cedar trunksextending from the center of the roofs or out the side of thewalls. The acridsmellofburningcoalandcreosoteslightlytaintedtheair,astrikingchangefromthe clear, crisp air ofWildwood. The Road here became choked with traffic,even:Sputteringcars andbatteredoldmotor scootersvied for spacealong theflagstonesamongbicyclists,pedestrians,andclatteringcartsdrawnby(literally)complainingoxen,horses,andmules.“This is incredible,” Prue finallymurmured once she’d recovered from her

shock at seeing the forest come to life. “I can’t believe this has been here allalongandIneverevenknewit.”

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“Ican’tbelievethishasbeenhereallalongandIneverevenknewit.”

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Richard,hisarmrestingontheopenvanwindow,hadjustfinishedcastigatingawobblycyclistforcuttinghimoff.HelookedoveratPrueandsmiled.“Yup,hereitis.SouthWoodinallitsglory.Alittlecluttered,formytaste.ThequietoftheNorthWoodisabitmoremyspeed.Countryfolk.Simplethings.”Thesectionofroad they traveledonnowcutacross thesideofahill,anda

knobbystonebridgeallowedpassageoverarushingbrookbeforetheroadbegancarvingswitchbacksupanotherhillside, thisonerimmedwith thewoodenandstonefacadesofbuildingsgaudywithcarnivalesquesignsadvertisingcafésandtaverns,shoeshopsandsodafountains.Thetrafficwasthickesthere,andthevanheavedjerkilyforwardalongthesteepandbusystreets,Richardswearingunderhisbreathevery timehewasforced toslamonthebrakesforastoppedcarorpassingpedestrian.Finally, they topped thehill,and the trafficclearedand thebuildingsrecededbehindthemastheforestfellawaytorevealanextraordinarysight: agloriousgranitemansion in themiddleof apristinepark, itswindowsglintinginthebrightmorningsun.Pruedrewinherbreath;itwastrulybeautiful.“PittockMansion,builtcenturiesagobyaWilliamJ.Pittocktoserveas the

seatofpowerforSouthWood—ithaschangedhandsmanytimesovertheyears,mostly peaceably, though sometimes by force,” explained Richard, in touristguide mode, “as you can see from the many pockmarks in the granite fromcannon and bullet fire. This country was forged in the clashing of divisions,Port-LandPrue, andnota lotof thosedisagreementshavebeen forgotten, I’msadtosay.”Sureenough,Pruecouldseethedivotsinthestatelystone,thoughthey did not diminish the grandeur of the place, its two north-facing cornerscapped with red-roofed turrets bordering a handsome balcony on the secondfloor.

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The grounds of the Mansion suggested an immaculately tended Englishgarden,hedgesandfloweringtrees(denudedbytheseason)fannedinsymmetricpatterns away from the central hub of the Mansion—a stark contrast to theclusterandchaosofthebusystreetsinthewoodsbelow.Afewcouplesstrolledalongthegravelpaths;afamilyofbeaversfedbreadcrumbstoenthusiasticgeesepaddling in a resplendent statue-crowned fountain. The van exited the Long

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Road here and followed a circuitous stone road into the Mansion’s innercompound.Awrought-irongatewas thrownopen at the endof thedrive, andRichardnavigatedthevanthroughthetumultofcarriagesandstatevehiclesthatcloggedthedriveway.Heeasedtoastopinfrontofapairofglass-panedFrenchdoors.“And ’erewe are,” saidRichard, letting the van idle noisily in front of the

Mansion.“And here we go,” Pruemuttered as she threw the door open and stepped

downontothecobblestonedrive.

Curtis,ontheotherhand,didnothavesuchaniceintroductiontothemorning.Justpriortowaking,hehadtheclearestsensationofbeinghome,inhisbed,

pillowedinhisduvetwithitsSpider-Manduvetcover.Ashewoke,hiseyesstillclosed,hemarveledatthebizarreandvividdreamhe’dbeenhaving,somethinginvolvinghimandPrueMcKeelandavoyageintotheImpassableWilderness;ithad been at times a terrifying dream, but now he felt a distant, naggingreluctancetoreawakenintohisnormal life.Whenhedidfinallyacquiesceandopenhiseyes,hescreamed.Abovehimstoodaheadlessfigure,clothedinanofficer’scoat, itsarmsand

legsmadeof thebranchesofa leafy tree. It loomedoverhim, inspectinghim,readytostrike.Curtisgraspedforhisduvetandfounditwasn’tthere;hishandssank into the mossy loam of the dais. His surroundings came into focus: theornate throne, the root-lined ceiling, the cracked mud of the walls. Heimmediatelyrealizedwherehewas:thethroneroomoftheDowagerGoverness.He scrambled backward, pressing himself against the roughwall, and readiedhimselfforhisattacker.Thefiguredidnotmove.Avoicecamefromthemiddleoftheroom.“Goodmorning,MasterCurtis,”

saidthevoice,growling,gruff,andbrittle.Curtislookedovertoseeoneofthecoyotesoldiers,freshfromhisdream,walkintothelightofthebraziers.A sinking feeling of nausea was creeping up on Curtis. His mouth felt

uncomfortablydry.Hequicklyglancedbackoverattheuniformedfigurebythemossbedandrealized,tohisrelief,thatitwasonlyadummy.“TheDowagerGovernesswishedyoutohavethisuniform.Sheinstructedme

todressyouandtomakesureitfitcorrectly,”saidthecoyote,gesturingtothedummy.Theslightesttoneofresentmentcoloredhisvoice.Theuniformslungoveritsshoulderslookednewerthanthetatteredapparelof

thecoyotesoldiershehadseenthedaybefore:Thecoatwasdarkblueandheldclosedbybrightbrassbuttons.Theshoulderswerecrestedwithepaulets,andthe

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hemsof the sleevesended inbright redcuffs,delicatelybrocadedwithgoldencording.The chest of the jacketwas festoonedwith important-lookingmedalsandbadges.Awideblackleatherbelthadbeendrapedoveroneofthedummy’sstick-arms,andonithungascabbardencrustedwithsmallriverstones;aswordhilt,glintinggoldandtoppedinariver-pebblepommel,juttedoutfromoneend.Apairofdarktaperedpantswithsilverpipingclungtothedummy’slegs.Curtisstaredatthesight.“Forme?”heasked.Hissurprisehadsentajoltup

throughhisbody,andhisstomachturned.Thecoyotenoddedandbeganpullingthe uniform from the dummy. Once he had removed it, he shook it at theshoulders,themedalsjingling,andwaitedpatientlyforCurtistostand.Theroomfeltunsteadyashestood,andhehadtobracehimselfonthearmof

the throne. The soft throb of a headache pushed at the insides of his skull. ItoccurredtohimthatthismightbeaconsequenceofthebeveragetheGovernesshadservedhimthenightbefore.Histonguefeltlikeithadbeenbeveledwitharasp.However,thefeelingsoonbecamesecondaryastherealityofthesituationdawnedonhim.“Why does she want me to wear it?” he asked, eyeing the uniform. Back

home,hehadaposterdetailingtheanatomyofaBritishhussar’suniformfromtheCrimeanWarabovehisbed.Theprospectofwearingwhatwasbeingofferedtohimwasnothingshortofthrilling.“You’llhavetoaskher,”respondedthecoyoteimpatiently.“I’mjustdoingas

Iwastold.”Curtiswassuspicious.“Idon’tsupposeI’llhavetofightanyone,willI?”he

asked,envisioningaThunderdome-stylemeleewithsomebrutefromthewarren.Itseemedtohimthatthissortofthingwasconstantlyhappeninginmoviesandcomicbooks. “I can’t do that. I’mapacifist,”he said.Ayounger andmeekerfriendof his,TimothyEmerson, hadonceused that excuse to explainwhyhehadn’t foughtbackwhena fewof theolderkids fromthegradeabovepushedhimoffthemonkeybarsduringrecess.Ithadseemedimpressiveatthetime.Thecoyotesaidnothing.Heshooktheoutfitagainandclearedhisthroat.“Thatisaprettysweetsword,”admittedCurtis,admiringthesheathedsword

onthebelt.“CanIseeit?”The coyote laid the coat down on the dais and pulled the sword from its

scabbard,presentingit toCurtishilt-firstwithprofessionalaplomb.Curtistookholdofitandswungitintotheair—itwasheavierthanhe’dimaginedittobe.The blade was roughly the length of his forearm and was made of highlypolishedsilversteel.Thelightsofthechamber’ssmolderingtorchesreflectedinthemetalashecarvedafigureeightintheairwiththeblade.Thoughalien,theweight of the sword in his hand released a torrent in his imagination—at that

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instant,hewasnolongerCurtisMehlberg,sonofLydiaandDavid,residentofPortland, Oregon, comic-book fanboy, persecuted loner; he was TaranWanderer,hewasHarryFlashman.Hemassagedthegripofthehiltinhispalmandnarrowedhiseyesatthecoyote.“Okay,”hesaid,“helpmegetthatuniformon.”

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CHAPTER8ToCatchanAttaché

The relative quiet of the driveway was broken as soon as a pair of liveriedattendants threwopen theFrenchdoorsandusheredPrueandRichard into thefoyeroftheMansion.Theybothimmediatelyfroze.Thefoyerwasacauldronoffrenzied activity. An ocean of figures, animal and human, occupied the largemainroomofthebuilding,somemillingabout,involvedinheatedconversation,othersspeedingacrossthegranitefloorinanarrayofdirections.Whatsoundedlike a million voices echoed throughout the chamber, and Prue’s head spuntryingtopickthemapart.Thefigures,clothedprimarilyindressblacksandties,eachcarriedsheavesofpaperundertheirarmsandwereeachflankedbyother,similarlydressedfigures tryingdesperately tokeepupwiththepack.Theonlyobstacletothisperpetualblurofmovementwasabrilliantwhitecentralstaircasethatwoundupfromthepolishedcheckerboardfloor.Awarthoginathree-piecegreencorduroysuitwasholdingcourtfromthemiddlelandingofthestaircase;asmall retinueofobservershuddledaroundhimashespoke,hiscloven thumbstuckedintothearmholesofhiswaistcoat.Apairofblack-taileddeer,thetiesontheiroxfordshirtsmatchingtheirtails,arguedvehementlybythemarblebustofan important-looking man; a squirrel stood on the edge of the bust’s plinth,nodding.Occasionallythecollectiveattentionoftheroomwouldbeswayedtofollow

one single character, a grayingman inbifocals, as he sped across the room, adaunting pile of papers and manila file folders precariously embraced to his

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chest.When thismanappeared, entering the roomfromonepairofdoorsandexiting at the opposite end through another, many of the figures in the roomwoulddropwhatevertheyhadbeendoingandwoulddesperatelyentreathimforattention.Invariably,themanignoredalladvances,and,afterhehaddisappearedbehindanotherpairofdoors,theroomwouldreturntoitsformerchaoticbuzzofactivity. Richard finally spoke. “I think that’s the guy you need to see—theGovernor’s attaché.”Prue lookedupathimand saw thathewas just as shell-shockedasshewas.Shetookadeepbreathandextendedherhandtohim.“IthinkI’mgoodfromhere,”shesaid.“You’vegotmailtodeliver.”Richard looked relieved. He took her hand and shook it. “It was very nice

meetingyou,Port-LandPrue.Ihopeourpathscrossagain.Iwishyouthebestofluck.”Turningtoleave,hehesitatedatthedoorandturnedaround.“Ifyoueverneed

anything,I’matthepostoffice—justsouthwestoftheMansionhere.Thatis,ifI’mnotontheroad.”Hesmiledwarmly.“Thanks,Richard,”saidPrue.“Thankyouforeverything.”AfterRichardhadleft,Pruestoodforatimeandwatchedthebusycurrentof

lifeintheroomasitebbedandflowed.Shenoddedtoanagedblackbearashehobbled past her to the outside door; she smiled politely at awomanwearingcat’s-eyeglasseswhonearly ran intoher, her focuswas so intenton apileofpapersinherhands.Finally,Prueheardthetelltalesoundoftheroom’sattentiondiverted again to a far set of double doors as theywere thrown open and thebespectacled attaché emerged and began his foray into the clutteredantechamber.Prue stepped forward, raised her hand, and began to speak, but was

immediately silenced as the roomeruptedwith every imaginable soundof theanimal kingdom: yelled entreaties from the humans, deafening roars from thebears,andshrillbirdsongfromthejays,swallows,andnuthatchesthatfuriouslywingedaroundtheroom.Undaunted,theattachédoveheadlongintothecrowdandbeganmakinghisway to theoppositeendof the room.Prue lookedon indespairashewasimmediatelyswallowedbythecrushofhumansandanimals,allvyingdesperatelyforhisattention.Asthecrowdpassedwithinafewfeetofwhereshewasstanding,shefeeblyraisedherhandagainandsaid,“Sir!”butithadcomeoutsomeeklythatitwasindistinguishablefromthehubbub.“You’regoingtohavetodobetterthanthat,”saidavoicebyherside.Shelookedoverandsawnoone.“Downhere,”thevoicesaid.Prue lookeddownandsawa fieldmouse,calmlychewingonasplit filbert.

Heappearedtobeonhislunchbreak.Hewassittingagainstthebaseofoneof

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the room’s columns, and a kerchief laid out in front of him displayed a tidyselectionoffoods:achunkofcarrot,a tinywedgeofcheese,anda thimbleofbeer.Hewasheddownamouthfulofthefilbertwithaswigofbeer,clearedhisthroat,andsaid,“Areyouonthelist?”“List?”askedPrue,nonplussed.“Whatlist?”The mouse rolled his beady black eyes. “I expect you’re here to see the

Governor-Regent. And anyone who wants an audience with Governor Svikneeds tobe registeredwith theGovernor’soffice.Onceyou’re registeredwiththeGovernor’soffice,yournameisputonawaitinglist.Whenyournameisatthetopofthelist,youwillbecontactedbytheattachéandanaudiencewiththeGovernorwillbescheduled.”Themousesaidallthiswhileinspectingthewedgeofcheeseinoneofhisspindly-fingeredhands.Evidentlysatisfied,hepoppedthewholethingintohismouth.“But...,”beganPrue,dismayed.“Howlongdoesthattake?”“Well,”answered themouse, sounding thewordsaround themassivechunk

ofcheeseinhismouth,“theregistrar’sofficeisinthesouthbuilding,justdowntheroad.That’swhereyouregisterforanaudience.Ibelievetheirofficehoursarenoontothree,WednesdaysandFridays.”“W-WednesdaysandFridays?”stammeredPrue.Byherbestreckoning,today

wasSunday.“Mm-hmm,”respondedthemousecasually.“Getthereearly,there’salwaysa

line. And then once you’re on the list, it’s usually a five-to ten-business-dayturnaroundbeforeyou’recontacted toscheduleanappointment—usuallyaboutthreetofourweeksoutattheearliest,dependingontheseason.”Pruewas devastated. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. “Butmy

brother!MybrotherwasabductedandIhavetofindhim!He’soutinthewoodssomewhere—there’snowayhe’llsurvivethatlong!”Themouseshrugged,unmovedbyherstory.“We’veallgotproblems,miss.”

Hetossed theremainingcarrotchunkintohismouth,washeditdownwith therestofthebeer,andbegancleaninguphisdiminutivepicnic.Prueswallowedhard.Shelookedoutintotheroomattheloiteringhordesof

humans and animals. The attaché had exited the chamber again, and thecreatureshadresumedtheirprioractivitiesastheywaitedforhimtoreturn.“Whatabout them?”sheaskedthemouse.Hewaswipingthecornersofhis

mouthwiththekerchief.“Them?”heasked.“Yeah—if there’s a waiting list and the governor’s office contacts you to

schedule an appointment, why are they all trying to get the attention of thesecretary?”

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The mouse stuffed the kerchief into his vest pocket and wiped his handstogether. “Well, it’s an imperfect system. Sometimes itworks if you just yellloudenoughtobenoticed.Whoknows?”Heshrugged,gavealittlesalute,andwalkedoffintothefoyer.Pruewaitedforamomentandstudiedthecrowdintheroomthoughtfully.She

wondered where the best vantage point might be; where she might get theharried secretary’s attention the easiest. While she didn’t mind crowds—theanonymity they granted gave her a kind of weird confidence—this one wasawfullyintimidating.Finallygatheringhercourage,shewalkedovertothespotwhere the stairwaybeganand stood,herhand restingon the ivorybanister.Amiddle-aged man and a badger who were standing next to her engaged in ahusheddiscussionglancedoverwhenshearrivedandnodded,thendidadoubletake.Pruesmiledandwavedfaintly.ThemanwhohadbeentalkingtothebadgerturnedtoPrueandsaid,“Excuse

me,miss.My friend and I were just talking—andwewerewondering if youweren’t from the Outside.” He had a long, gray-flecked beard and, from hisoutfit,appearedtobeanavalofficerofsomesort.“Yes,”respondedPrue.“Yes,Iam.”“Incredible,”saidtheofficer.“AndyouhaveanaudiencewiththeGovernor-

Regent?”“Well,notexactly,”saidPrue.“Idon’thaveanappointmentoranything.But

I really need to see him, and so I figured maybe they’d just slip me insomewhere.”Theofficerfrownedandshookhishead.“Goodluck.I’vehadanappointment

scheduled for weeks now, and I still haven’t been able to get in to see theGovernor.Myshipisindocksidewithanimpatientcrew,andallIneedistheseblastedpapersstampedandI’monmyway.”Heangrilyshookasheafofpaperin his hand. “I tell you . . .” Here the officer looked around the roomconspiratorially. “This country still hasn’t recovered from the coup, all thoseyears ago. These fools don’t know how to run a government, not by a longsight.”HestraightenedandironedthefrontofhisjacketwithapalmandlookedatPrue.“IsthishowthingsarerunontheOutside?Doyouhavetodealwiththismadness?”Prue thought for a moment. Her only struggle with bureaucracy was when

she’dbeenon thewaiting list for aparticularlypopularbookat the library. “Iguessso,”saidPrue.“ButIdon’treallyknow.I’monlytwelve.”Theofficerhadbarelytimetorespondwithadissatisfied“Hrrrm”beforethe

double doors at the other end of the foyer were thrown open and the attachéblazed into the room, a long line of assistants and hangers-on trailing in his

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wake. The room again descended into cacophony,with all the various partieswho had beenwaiting in the room jumping into action, fighting to get to theattaché before he disappeared again. The officer and the badger next to Pruesprang away from the staircase and began shouting their pleas to the frazzledsecretary. Prue, caught off guard, gained her bearings and dove into the fray,pushing aside a red-tailed fox who was hopping up and down, trying to seeabovethescrumofpeople.“Sorry!”shecriedasshewaspracticallypickedupoffher feet andwhisked along themarble floorby the rushof thepack. “Mr.Secretary!”sheshouted,wavinganarmaboveherhead.Mostofthecreaturesinthecrowdweremuchlarger thanPrue,anditwasallshecoulddotokeephereyeonthecenterofthestorm,wheretheembattledattachécouldbeseenwithhis pile of papers, doing his best to ignore the pleading cries of themob thatbeset him. A brightly colored halo of birds circled his head, squawking forattention.“Mr.Secretary!”sherepeated,alittlelouder.Shecouldfeelthesharpjabofelbowsinherribsasothersjoinedinandcompetedforground.“Mr.Secretary!”sheholleredasloudlyasshecouldmuster.“Ineedtotalkto

theGovernor!Mybrotherwaskidnapped!Mr.Secret—oof!”Herpleawascutshortwhenasquatflailingbeaver,shovedbackfromthecenter,head-buttedherdirectlyinthestomachandalltheairblewoutofherlungs.Sheandthebeaverwent flying headlong out of the throng and spilled in a tumblingmass to thefloor. Prue swore, pushing herself to her feet. She stared determinedly at theattachéandhis teeminghorde,whohadbynowreachedthedoubledoors.Shesuddenlyrememberedtheemergencyairhornshe’dputinherbag.Shequicklywhippedthebagoverhershoulderand,rippingtheflapopen,pulledoutthecan.“MR.SECRETARY!!!”shescreamedone last timebeforeshesqueezed the

handleofthehorn.Theroomfilledwithsound.Ear-shaking,hair-rattlingsound.Theburstlasted

afewseconds.Everyonefroze.Someone’spenclatteredtothefloor.Ablackbearinagabardinewaistcoatpanickedandranoutthefrontdoor.Theentirecrowd,silencedbytheimmensevolumeofthehorn,turnedslowly

to look at its source. Prue stood alone in the middle of the foyer floor,momentarily stunned by the horn’s power. She cleared her throat. “Um,” sheintonedquietly,“Mr.Secretary.I...um...needtospeakwiththeGovernor.”The swarm surrounding the attaché stood transfixed, and Prue found it eerilyunsettling tohave theattentionof theentire room.Finally, themassofpeoplebegantomoveasafigureforceditswaythroughthebodies.Itwastheattaché.Hisbrowdeeplyfurrowed,hewaslookingdownhisnosethroughhisbifocalsat

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Prue as he hobbled clear of the crowd. Pausing, he studied her intently,alternatelyoverandthroughhisglasses.“Areyou...,”hebegan.“Areyou...anOutsider?”“Yes,sir,”respondedPrue.Sheslippedtheairhornbackintoherbag.“Imean—Imean—”stammeredtheattaché.“FromtheOutside?”“Yes,sir,”saidPrue.“AndthereasonI’vecomeisbecause—”Shewasinterruptedbytheattaché.“Howdidyougethere?”

Prue smiled uncomfortably, suddenly struck shy by her rapt audience. “Iwalked,sir,”shereplied.“Youwalked?”askedtheattaché,indisbelief.“But—but—youcan’tdothat!”Prue,atalossforwords,stoodsilently.Theattaché,evidentlydeeplyflustered,shookhisheadandrubbedhisbrow

withhisfreehand.“Imean—Imean—it’sabsolutelyimpossible!Oritshouldbeabsolutely impossible, unless—unless—” He stopped and stared at Prue andthen,changinghismind,heshookhisheadandcontinued,“Theremustbeariftsomewhere or a break in the Bind. A lesion in the spell. Those confoundedNortherners.Backwoodsidiots!”Hesnappedhisbrittlefingers,andanassistantscurried to his side. Speaking out of the side of hismouth, the attaché begandictating his directions: “Get me a form 45 slash C—they should have themdown in accounting—and let the Secretary of the Exterior know that I’ll beneeding it signed immediately. Better yet: Contact the Office of NorthWoodRelationsandlethimknowthat—”Prue,regainingherfooting,interjected,“Sir,Ihaveaseriousproblem.”The attaché, looking away from his assistant, laughed nervously at Prue.

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“Mademoiselle,youareaseriousproblem.”Prue continued, undaunted, “Sir, my brother,Mac, was taken yesterday by

crows.Isawthemtakehimintothewoods.IntoWildwood.”Thecongregationinthefoyerlistenedspellbound.“AndI’dreallyjustliketogethimback.”Shecould feel tearsofdesperationwellingup inhereyes.“And Ipromise, Icrossmyheart,thatifIcanjustgethimhome,I’llneverevercomehereagain.”SheweaklytracedanXacrossherchestwithherfinger.“Promise.”Theroomremainedstalledinsilenceastheattachéstaredindisbelief.Finally,

theassistantattheattaché’ssideleanedinandwhisperedsomethinginhisear.Theattachénoddedsilently,nevertakinghiseyesoffPrue.“Verywell,”saidthesecretary, after what seemed to Prue an eternity. “Since you are in a uniqueposition,we’llseeifwecanfityouin.Followme.”Thecrowdsurroundingtheattachéfellaway,andheledPrueupthealabaster

staircase.

Though there were no clocks hung in the Governess’s cavernous hall, Curtiscould tell that the morning was nearly gone by the time he had finishedsashayingaroundtheroominhisnewgarb, thrustingandparryinghissaberinthe sort of grand and dramatic fashion of the swashbuckling dragoons he hadseen inmovies and read about in books. The decorations on his chest jingleddeliciouslywithhiseverymove,andtheswordmadeaterrificwhisheverytimehe swung it through the air. The coyote attendant, apparently accustomed toattending to eccentricmasters,waited patiently by the throne,moving only toflinchatoneofCurtis’swildripostes.“Verynice,sir,”saidtheattendantafterCurtis’senergyhadflagged.“Youare

agiftedswordsman.Forapacifist.”Curtisstoodinthecenteroftheroomandkickedhisfeetinthedirt.“Well,I

would never, you know, fight anyone.” He was panting slightly from theexertion.“But...,”hecontinued.“Youthinkso?”“Oh,certainly,”saidthecoyote.“It kind ofwears you down, doesn’t it?”Curtis asked.Hemanaged a final

thrustbeforehelettheswordfalltohisside.Hemassagedhisarmwithhisfreehand.

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“You’llgetusedtoit,sir,”saidthecoyote.Curtiseyedthecoyotesuspiciously.“What’syourname?”heasked.“Maksim,sir,”saidthecoyote.“Maksim, huh?” saidCurtis, turning the sword in his grip. “You guys sure

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havefunnynames.”Maksimmerelyraisedaneyebrow.“Sowhatdoyoudoaroundhere,Maksim?”askedCurtis.“I am theGoverness’s aide-de-camp. I have been assigned to oversee your

orientation.”“Myorientation.”“Yes,” the coyote replied. “The Governess would seem to have auspicious

plansforyou.”Curtis, trying to divine the meaning of the word auspicious (was it like

suspicious?),chewedonthisinformationforamomentbeforereplying,“WhereistheGoverness?”“Inthefield,sir,”saidMaksim.“Awaitingyourcompany.”“Thefield?”askedCurtis.“What’sthefield?”Maksimignoredthequestion.“Iwasinstructedtowakeyou,fityou,andsend

youtoherassoonasyouwereready.”Hepaused.“Areyouready?”Curtisclearedhis throatandnodded.“I supposeso,”hesaid,and then, ina

voiceasadultashecouldconjure,“Leadtheway,Maksim.”Heslidhisswordintothesheathathisbelt.Exiting the room, Curtis noticed the warren was strangely devoid of the

previous day’s hubbub: Absent was the throng of coyotes that had huddledaroundthecentralcauldronandwhosemilitarydrillshadtattooedthedirtfloor.Afewsoldiersmilledabout,patchingcrumblingwallsandhaulingfirewood,butcompared to thedaybefore, thewarren feltpracticallyuninhabited.Curtis felttheclawedfingersofMaksimadjusttheshouldersofhisuniform,whichhadslidofftooneside.“You’llgrowintoit,”saidMaksimfinally,apparentlyunsatisfiedwiththefit.

HethenbeganleadingCurtisthroughoneofthemanytunnelsleadingfromthemainroom.“Thisway.”Backaboveground,Curtiswincedatthebrightnessoftheair.Thelowearly

morningcloudshadburnedawayand the lightwascrisp in thegrove,and thebrilliancewashedasecondwaveofnauseadownhisspinefrombraintobelly.Maksimledthewaythroughtheopengladeandintothethickofthetreesthatsurroundedtheclearing.Asmallgroupofsoldiersatthetreeline,laboringovera stake that refused to be hammered into the ground, abruptly stopped theiractivity whenMaksim and Curtis approached, and snapped to attention, theirhandslockedinsalute.Astheygotcloser,Curtisrealizedthatthesoldiersweresalutinghim,notMaksim.Curtisawkwardlysalutedbackastheypassed,andthecoyotesreturnedtotheirwork.“Whatwasthatabout?”whisperedCurtiswhentheywereoutofearshotofthe

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soldiers.“Showingproper respect to rank.You’reanofficer,afterall,” saidMaksim.

He stopped and pointed to one of the brooches that were pinned to Curtis’schest. Itwassimple:a tautweaveofblackberrybrambles toppedby thebroadpetalofatrilliumflower,castinadarkbronze.Curtispushedatitcuriouslywithhis finger, adjusting its place on his jacket. “An officer,” he repeated quietly.Maksimcontinuedwalkingintothewoods.“Whoa.Waitasecond,”saidCurtis.“Anoff-officer?WhatdidIdotodeserve

that?”“You’llhavetoaskthemadam.”“I’mnot sure ifyou’re,youknow, familiarwith thehumanspeciesornot,”

Curtis said,“but Iamnot technicallyanadult. I’llbe twelve thisNovember. Idon’tknowwhatthatisincoyoteyears,butinhumanyearsit’sakid.Aboy.Achild!” Hewaswalking briskly to keep upwithMaksim. Curtis waited for areply,andwhentherewasnone,hecontinued,“Sowhatdoes thismean?DoIhavetodoanything?Itoldyouguys,I’mapacifist.Ican’treallyusethissword.Whatever swordsmanship I was showing off back there was totally, totallyaccidental.JustsomestuffIcribbedfrom,like,Kurosawamovies.”“I expect all will be made clear when we see the Governess,” responded

Maksim,battingbranchesfromhispath,notattemptingtohidetheirritationinhisvoice.Curtisglancedback,tryingtofindtheentrancetothewarrenamidthewoods’

thickbracken.Hewasastonishedtoseehowallsignsofthecoyoteencampmentcompletelydisappearedintotheforestastheytraveledfartheraway.“Like,willIhavetocommand...something?”askedCurtis.“Ihavenoidea,”Maksimsaid.“I’malittlesurprisedmyself.”They walked in silence for a moment. The wood grew darker, the canopy

oppressive.“Howdidyoubecomean...aidofcamp?”askedCurtis.“Aide-de-camp?Iwasappointed.”“Whatdidyoudotodeservethat?”“IsupposeIdistinguishedmyself,”respondedMaksim,“inbattle.”“Ohboy,”saidCurtis,hisworrygrowing.“ThoughIwasnotbornafighter.Intruth,Iowemylifeandmydestinytothe

DowagerGoverness.Iwasborntoapoorpackinthebush;myfatherhadbeenkilledinamudslideandmymotherslavedtoraisemyfivesiblingsandmyself.WewerestarvingwhentheGovernessfoundus.Shebroughtustothecamp;shefedusandtaughtustobuildandtofight.”Maksimtoldhisstorywithoutashadeofsentimentality.“Andso:IwouldgladlylaymylifedownfortheGoverness.

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Sheelevatedourentirespecies fromour lotasscavengersandscroungers; shebroughtuscoyotestoaplaceofhonoramongthebeastsofthewood.Andwe’llenjoyaseatatthetablewhenWildwoodisours.”“Yeah,”saidCurtis.“Listen,Maksim.Icantotallyseehowthatworksforyou

andIappreciateyourcommitment,but,yousee,Idon’tknowifI’mquitethereyet,youknow,officermaterial.I’veonlybeenhereforadayandI’mstillkindoffiguringeverythingout.”Avoice,awoman’svoice,soundedfromabovethem.“Andthat’swhywe’re

here,dearCurtis.”Curtis lookedup and sawAlexandra, theDowagerGoverness, astride a jet-

black horse, emerge from over a hillock between two massive cedars. Sheextendedawillowyhand.“Come,”shesaidtohim,“I’llshowyoutheworld.”

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CHAPTER9ALesserSvik;TotheFront!

Stepthisway,Miss...?”promptedtheattachéwhentheyhadreachedthefarendofthelandingandwerestandinginfrontof a massive oaken door. He was looking through the smeared glass of hisbifocalsathisclipboard;he’dwrittendownthedetailsofhercircumstancesonasingle-sheetdossier.“McKeel,”saidPruedistractedly.Shepeeredaroundtheedgeofthedoorasit

was prized open by one of the attaché’s aides.Awide hallwaywas revealed,linedwithdarkwoodenwainscoting toppedbypanelsofduskygreendamask.Thedoorpulledwide,Pruecouldseethatthehallwayterminatedatthefarendatanotherlargedoor,whichwashingingopenandclosedlikeagiantclam.Witheveryout-breath,itemittedmeninblacksuitscarryingsheavesofpaperandfilefolders,itsin-breathreceivingmoreofthesame.“Don’tmindtheactivity,MissMcKeel,”saidtheattaché.“Whileitresembles

chaos,Icanassureyou,thegovernmentisrunningassmoothlyandefficientlyasever.”Hesmiledwidelyather, revealing twocrooked rowsof long,mustardyteeth.Hetookadeepbreath,frowned,andusheredherintothehallway.“Excuseme.Pardonme.Sir, ifyou’llallowus . . . ,” theattachécalledout

with every step as they dodged the coming-and-going current of governmentagents. Prue felt the hallway bending in her vision as she navigated her waytowardthefardoor,thewhirlofbodiespushinginandoutofherperipherylikeaplagueofinsects.“Justalittlefarther—excuseme,sir!—andhereweare,”said

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theattachéas theyarrivedat thedoor.“Iwon’tbeamoment.”Whenthedoorbreathedopenagain,thesecretaryslippedthroughtheopeninganddisappeared.Thedoor remainedclosed fora fewquietmomentsbefore itwas thrownopenandtheattachébeckonedforPruetoenter.Theroomwasstately;hunterschasedstagsinapastoralfriezealongthetopof

thewall,illuminatedbyagiantcrystalchandelierhangingfromtheceiling.Thechamber seemed, however, to be in serious disuse. Large framed paintings,evidently intended to be hung, were leaning against the wall in a haphazardfashion,andtheornaterugthatcoveredthewoodenfloorwaswornwithabuseandneglect.Inthecenteroftherug,thefloorboretheweightofahugewoodendesk, piled so high with stacks of paper that the person sitting at it wascompletely obscured by themess. In fact, youwouldn’t even know therewassomeone sitting at it if itweren’t for the huddle of black-suitedmen standingaround, competing for the attention of the person behind the piles of paper.When the attaché arrived at the front of the desk, the black-suited men allsnappedtoattention.“Sir,”saidthesecretary,“meetPrueMcKeel.OfSt.Johns,theOutside.”Thepale,baldingcrownofaheadappearedoverthemountainofpaper.The

man to whom it belonged followed close behind, wearing a pair of hugetortoiseshellglassesandawidemustacheonajowlyface.Hisskinwaswetwithperspiration,andhislipsquiveredashespoke.“Howdoyoudo?”Prue was taken aback by the man’s disheveled appearance. This was the

Governor-Regent?Hissuitwaswrinkled,andlittleblossomsofsweatbloomedfromthearmpitsofhisjacket.Histie,aplainburgundy,waslooselyknottedandhung askew above a shirt unbuttoned to just below his Adam’s apple.ApparentlynotingPrue’ssurprise,theGovernormadeanattempttotidyhimselfbyadjustingtheknotofhistieandsmearingafewstrandsofoilyhairoverhisbaldpatch.“Myname’sLars.LarsSvik.TheGovernor-RegentofSouthWood.”Findinganopeningbetweentwoofthetoweringstacksofpaper,Larsputouthishand,andPruesteppedforwardtoshakeit.“Howdoyoudo,sir,”washerreply.“I’mPrue.”“Yes,yes,” said theGovernor-Regent, lookingbackdownathisdeskat the

sheetofpaperthattheattachéhadgivenhim.Hepushedhisglassesbackfromthetipofhisnoseandbeganstudyingthepaper.“PrueMcKeel,humangirl,”heread aloud in a humming monotone. “Of Port-Land, the Outside. Parentageunknown. Discovered by postmaster inWildwood, Area 12A, Long Road. Inapparentdistress.Complainingoflostbrother,Mac,andabductedfriend,CurtisMehlberg.Suspects:crows,coyotesrespectably.Respectably?”Helookedupat

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Pruequizzically.“Respectively,sir,”correctedanattendantathisside,athinmanwithaneat,

close-croppedbeardandapince-nez.“Crowsinthecaseofthebrother,coyotesinthecaseofthefriend.”“Ahyes,”saidLars,lookingbackdownatthepaper.“Ofcourse.Thankyou

forthatclarification,Roger.”“Thinknothingofit,sir.”Rogersmiled.Lars continued reading from the dossier: “Suspects: crows, coyotes

respectively. Seeks aid of government of South Wood in recovering saidabductees.Hasmadepassingreferenceto theDowagerGoverness in initial—”Larsstoppedsuddenlyandstaredat thepaper.Hepushedhisglassesbackandreread the sentence, mouthing the words silently. When he was finished, helookedupatPrueandgawked.“TheDowagerGoverness?”heasked.“Areyousureyouheardthat?”Before Prue had a chance to answer, Roger, the thin man, interrupted.

“Entirelyhearsay,sir.Before listeningto theinsinuationsofanOutsidergirl, Iwould remindyou that there is no substantial evidencewhatsoever thatwouldleadustobelievethattheGovernesshassurvived.”Prueglaredattheman.“IcanonlytellyouwhatIheard,sir,”shesaid.“AndI

specificallyheardthosecoyotessaythat.”Roger challenged, “And what makes you so sure they were coyotes, Miss

McKeel?Theycould’vebeendogsor...anything!Inthehazeoftheforest,amild-manneredmolecouldbemistakenfora—”“Theywerecoyotes,sir,I’msureofit.Andtheywerewearinguniformsand

carriedswordsandriflesandthings,”snappedPrue.RogerpausedandstudiedPrue.“I’mgiventounderstandthatyouhadarough

crossingattheborder.Youhadabitofa,howshallIsay,confabwiththebirdsentries.”Prue paused, attempting to guess the aide’s intentions. “Yes,” she said, “I

guess.”“Whatwasthenatureofyourdealings?”“They,um,wanted toknowwhat Iwasdoing.Theysaid theywere looking

outforcoyotes.”RogerturnedtoLars.“Yousee,sir?It’sjustaslikelyshe’sbeenputuptothis

by the birds. She’s a pawn.A paid shill for their agenda.”He looked back atPrue.“Andratherclever,Imustadmit.JustintimefortheirAvianEminence’sgreatarrival.”Prue was speechless. The aide had an incredible ability to manipulate the

circumstances.“That’snottrue,”shemuttered.

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“Mydear,”soothedRoger,histoneicy,“youmustbeveryagitated.YouarelikelysufferingfromsomesortofcultureshockbeinghereintheWood.Iwouldrecommend a hot bath and awarm compress on your forehead. Ourworld isvery different from your own. Which reminds me”—here he turned to theGovernor-Regent—“theOutsider girl’s presence here isunprecedented.Undersubsection132CintheBoundaryLawCode,itclearlystatesthatOutsidersarenotlegallyallowedtocrossoverfromtheOutsidewithoutproperpermitintheevent that theboundarymagic, thePeripheryBind, is somehowcompromised,whichIcanonlyassume—”Prue interrupted angrily, “I know I’m not supposed to be here.And I’ll be

perfectlyhappytoleaveandneverbotheryouagain,butIcan’tdothatwithoutbringingmybrotherandmyfriendCurtiswithme.”TheGovernor-Regentstillappearedstunned.Afewfreshbeadsofsweathad

collectedonhismassiveforehead,threateningtofall.Hemassagedhiscarrotlikefingerstogethernervously.“You’recertainyouheardthemrefertotheDowagerGoverness?Thoseverywords?”heasked.Pruereplied,“Yes,sir.Certain.”Larsgrittedhisteethandpoundedhisdeskwithaclenchedfist.“Iknewit!”

hesaid.“Iknewexilewastoolenient.Weshould’veforeseenthis!”Rogerspokeinlow,firmtones.“Sir,theseareunsubstantiatedrumorsfroma

delusionallittlegirl.”Lars ignored him. “And to think she’smanaged to bring the coyotes to her

side.Unthinkable!”Hiseyeswidened.“Does thismeanthatwhat thebirdsaresayingistrue?Coulditbe?”Hisvoicetrailedoffashebecamelostinthought,hiseyesstaringunblinkingintothedistance.Roger’s face grew beet red. “P-poppycock!” he shouted, before collecting

himself. “If you’ll excuse the expression.” He brought his thin fingers to hismustache,smoothedhiswhiskers,andthendroppedhishandtotheGovernor’sshoulderinaconsolingcaress.“Sir,calmyourself.Thereisabsolutelynoreasontogetupsetoverthis.IftheGovernesswerealive,we’dhaveheardlongbeforenow.Thereisabsolutelynopossiblewayawomansuchasherselfcouldsurviveinthewildforthatlong.Thesecoyotesoldiersthegirlhasseenareapparitions,illusions—theproductofatraumatizedmind.”BeforePruecouldobject,heheldoutahand.“But,”hecontinued,“if itwouldput theGovernoratease,mightIsuggestwesendasmallplatoon,afewdozenmen,intothisareaofWildwoodand see what sort of information they can glean from the natives. It’s anunorthodoxapproachandIamhesitanttorecommendit,butifitwouldsatisfythegirl’ssupplicationanddispelanyfearsyoumighthave,Mr.Svik,Ithinkitwouldbethebestcourseofaction.Thinkofyourcondition,sir.”

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Lars grunted in agreement andbegan calmly, deliberatelymeasuringhis in-andout-breathsinameditativeway,hiseyesflutteringclosed.“AndCurtis?”askedPrue.“You’dlookforCurtis?”Rogersmiled.“Ofcourse.”“Andwhataboutmybrother?MybrotherMac?”“Right, the other Outsider you’ve lost in your adventures,” Roger replied.

“Abductedbycrows,yousay?”“Yes.FromaparkinSt.Johns.InPortland—theOutside,Iguess.”Shewas

distracted by the rhythmic pumping of breath emanating from the Governor-Regent,whonowhadafingerathiswrist,monitoringhispulse.“Well,thatmaybeoutofourjurisdiction.AcaseforyourfriendsintheAvian

Principality, I’d say. Though it is highly suspicious that any avian creatureshouldbeinvolvedintheabductionofahumanchildfromtheOutside.Highlysuspicious.” Roger paused and tapped his finger against his chin in thought.“Thismay be very valuable intelligence,MissMcKeel.”He leaned down andwhisperedsomethingintheGovernor’sear,duringwhichLarsbrieflyhaltedhisbreathingexercise.WhenRogerhadfinished,theGovernornoddedgravelyandlookedatPrue.“Ifwhatyou’resayingis true,”saidtheGovernor,Roger’shandstillresting

on his shoulder, “this could mean very serious things for the relationshipbetweenSouthWoodandtheAvianPrincipality.”Rogerinterjected,“WhattheGovernoristryingtosay,MissMcKeel,isthat

any sojourn a bird or birdsmayhave taken into theOutside, not the least thesuggestionthat theymayhavereturnedwithsomeone in tow, isquiteclearlyaviolationofanynumberofcitationsinthePeripheryLaws,andwewouldthankyouforbringingthisinformationtoourattention.”“Andmy brother?” asked Prue impatiently, her brain reaching capacity for

politicaltalk.“Itwouldbe in theSouthWood’sbest interest to help findyourbrother so

thatwemightbringtheperpetratorstojusticemoreswiftly,”repliedRoger.Prue breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you!” she cried. “Thank you so

much.Iknowhe’soutthere;Iknowhe’sstillalive.”RogerhadroundedthesideofthedeskandwalkedtoPrue’sside,placingan

arm around her shoulder. He gently guided her back toward the door. “Ofcourse!Ofcourse!”heconsoled.“We’lldoeverythinginourpowertofindyourbrother,Ipromise.”“Andyou’llletmeknowwhenyouhave?”askedPrue.“Absolutely,” said Roger as they neared the door. “You’ll be the first to

know.”

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“He’swearingabrowncorduroyjumper,”shestammered.“A-andhedoesn’treallyhaveanyhair.”“Brownjumper,”repeatedRogersoothingly.“Nohair.Gotit.”Theyarrivedatthefarendoftheroom,andRogernoddedtotheattaché,who

hadbeenwaitingatthedoor.Thedoorwasopenedforthem.“WewouldbehonoredtohaveyouasaguestoftheMansion,”saidRogeras

theystoodattheopendoorway.“You’llfindcomfortablelodgingsawaitingyouin theNorthTower.Wait atyour chambers andwe’ll alertyouas soonasweknowanythingmoreaboutyourbrotheroryourfriendConstance.”“Curtis,”correctedPrue.“Curtis,” Roger repeated, and then added: “Please don’t hesitate to let the

secretary know if there’s anything else we can do to make your stay here inSouthWoodmore enjoyable.”His hand at the small of her back ushered hergentlyintothehallway.“Good-bye,Prue.Itwasverynicetomeetyou.”Thedoorclosedbehindher.Theattachésmiledhismustardysmileandmotionedthewaydownthehall.

Thehorse’shoovespoundedthesoftgroundasthestallionvaultedbermandtreetrunk and Curtis held tight to the Governess’s slender waist. Throwing theleatherreinsbackandforthacrossthehorse’sbroadneck,theGovernessnimblynavigatedhermountthroughthewildvegetationoftheforest.“Hold tight!”AlexandrawouldoccasionallyremindCurtiswhen theywould

leapaparticularlylargefallentreeordiveintoadeepgulch.“Where arewegoing?”holleredCurtis, ducking thebranches that swungat

hisfaceandshoulders.“Tothefront!”shoutedtheGoverness,urgingthehorsetorunfaster.“Iwant

togiveyouaglimpseofourstruggle,ourfightforjustice!”Theforestblewbyata furiouspace, the softechoof theireveryhoof-fall resounding through thewoods.Curtisgapedupatthetoweringtreesflyingby,theirtopsenshroudedinaveilofmist.“Okay!”shoutedCurtisinresponse.“SolongasIdon’thavetofight!”“What’sthat?”yelledAlexandra.Thecoolairwhippingathis facebrought tears toCurtis’seyes.“I said,AS

LONGASIDON’THAVETOFIGHT!”TheGovernesspulledbackonthereinsandthehorserearedastheycresteda

ridge,asteepfern-ladenvalleystretchingoutbeforethem.Steamblewfromthehorse’snostrils,anditwhinniedtofeeltheGoverness’scaressatitsneck.“Goodboy,”Alexandra chimed.Curtis gazed down at the blanket of deep green that

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coveredthevalleyfloor,acanyonofmossandstoneeruptingfromeithersideofagushingbrook.Thegapwascrisscrossedwithancientdeadfall,andcolonnadesofsoaringfirandcedartreesrosemajesticallyfromtheopposinghillsides.

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“It’sreallybeautiful,”Curtissaid.Alexandrasmiledandlookedbackathim.“MythoughtsexactlywhenIfirst

arrivedhereinWildwood.Iimmediatelyknewthatthiswasmyhome;thiswildcountrywaswhereIbelonged.”“Howlonghaveyoubeenhere?”askedCurtis,uneasilyadjustinghisperchon

the back of the horse. The horsemade a kind of box step on the forest floor,shiftingitsfootingbelowthetworiders.“Didyoumoveherefromsomewhere?”“Let’s justsay,sweetCurtis, thatIdidnotcomehereofmyownfreewill,”

the Governess responded, “and initially I was deeply unhappy—but I soonrealizedthatmyexilehereinWildwoodwaspredestined,thatthereweregreatermachinationsatwork.Ibegantoseemypersecutorsasmyliberators.”Somewhere, distantly, a bough broke, and the ensuing crash of its landfall

echoedthroughthewood.Abirdsangitsfull-throatedwarbleinanearbybush.“I saw inWildwood, this forsaken country, a model for a new world. An

opportunity to return to those long-forgottenvalues that are programmeddeepwithinus,thedrawofthewild.IthoughtifIwereabletocorralandfocusthispowerfullawofnature,IcouldbringtotheWoodasortoforderoutofdisorderandgovernthelandasitwasalwaysintendedtobegoverned.”“I’mnottotallysureI’mfollowingyou,”Curtissaid.TheGovernesslaughed.“Induetime,”shesaid.“Induetime,allwillbemade

clear.”SheturnedandlookedatCurtisagain,hersteelyeyesbrightandpiercing.“Ineedpeoplelikeyou,Curtis,onmyside.CanIcountonyou?”Curtisgulped.“Iguessso.”Alexandra’ssmileturnedwistful.HereyeslingeredoverCurtis’sface.“Such

aboy,”shesaidquietly,asifshewerespeakingtoherself.“Isitacoincidence,theresemblance?”“Pardon?”askedCurtis,hisconfusionredoubling.TheGoverness blinked rapidly and furrowed her brow. “Butwe’rewasting

timehere!Tothefront!”Shedugherheelsintothehorse’sflankanditburstintomovement, leaping down into the ravine and charging up the far side. CurtisgrippedhishandstogetheratAlexandra’swaistandgrittedhisteethasthehorsemadequicktimethroughthetrees.Theyhadtraveledforthebetterpartofanhourwhentheyarrivedatasmall

clearingatthetopofahill.There,agroupofcoyotesoldiershadgatheredandasmall village of tents had been assembled in a circular formation.One of thesoldiers, seeing Alexandra and Curtis’s approach, ran up to the horse andgrabbeditsreins,allowingtheGovernesstovaulttotheground.Unaided,Curtisthrewonelegovertherumpofthehorseandawkwardlyslidoff,nearlyfallingashedidso.

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“Battalion is in place, ma’am,” reported a soldier, saluting them both.“Awaitingfurtherinstruction.”“Any sign of the bandits?” asked the Dowager Governess, knotting a belt

aroundherwaistthathadbeengivenherbyanothersoldier.Along,thinswordhunginitsscabbardthroughtheweaveofthebelt.Thesoldieralsopresentedtoheratimewornrifle,whichsheheftedtohershoulder,peeringdownthebarrelandcheckingthesights.“Yes,ma’am,”repliedthesoldier.“Theyaregroupingonthefarridgeline.”Dropping the rifle to her side, the Governess smiled. “Let’s show these

ruffiansthetruelawofWildwood.”Curtis,meanwhile,wasstandingbythehorse,stilljarredfromthehorseback

ride. He snapped from his trance to notice one of the coyote soldiers stillstandingatattentioninfrontofhim,saluting.“Asyouwere,”saidCurtis,alinerepeated from countlesswarmovies he had seen. Satisfied, the soldiermovedawayandleftCurtis,suddenlyexhilarated,asmilecreepingacrosshisface.“Asyouwere,”herepeatedinawhispertotheair.“Curtis!”shoutedtheGoverness,standingamidacrowdofsoldiers.“Stayby

me!”Holdinghisswordpommel,CurtisjoggedovertowhereAlexandrastood.

Theroomwasplainandsimpleand,beingtheloneroomatthetopflooroftheMansion’sNorthTower,wasintheshapeofahalfcircle.Afewframedetchingsdecorated thedrabpaperedwalls. Inone, a square-rigged sailing ship, its keelexposed, was navigating around a giant rock in a wild gale. Another etchingshowed a pastoral scene of a wooded clearing, in the center of which rose amassivegnarled tree that dwarfed its surroundings.A lineof figures encircledthe base of the tree, their heads barely cresting the tree’s exposed roots. Pruestudied these pictures for a while, admiring the line work, before a wave oftirednessovercameherandshewalkedtothebedandthrewherselfdown.Theboxspringgaveacomplainingsqueak.Shegrabbed thebed’sonlypillowandhugged it to her face, breathing in its musty scent. She hadn’t realized howexhausted she was until this moment. Before she had any further chance toreflect,shefeltherselfdriftingintoadeepsleep.Shewas awokenbywhat initially sounded like a colossal, lingeringgustof

wind, like the suddenonset of a summer thunderstorm.She soon realized thatthe soundwas instead the collective rustling of a hundred birds’wings. “Thecrows!”shecried,inhalfsleep.Sheleaptfromthebedandrantothewindow,intimetoseethelargestandmostvariedflockofbirdsshe’deverseen,swirlingin

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aliquid,eddyingpatternagainstthesky.Adizzyingpanoplyofbirds,nuthatchesandjays,swiftsandeagles,allvolleyedforairspaceinthesuddenswarm.Amidtheir squawks and titters, Prue could hear the words “Make way!” and “Heapproaches!”andshecranedhernecktoseewhatthefusswasabout.Belowthetower, she could see that the entranceway to the Mansion was alight withmovement, the full retinue of the Mansion’s staff running in and out of thedoubledoorsinpanickedchaos.Lookingup,shesawaprocessionapproachingalongthedrivethatcurvedthroughtheestate’sluxuriantlawn.Thisprocession,however,wasentirelyinflight,amultitudeofsmallbrownfinchessurroundingacentralfigure:thelargestandgrandestgreathornedowlPruehadeverseen.AstheprocessionflewnearertotheentranceoftheMansion,thedoubledoors

werethrownopen,andPruerecognizedthefiguresoftheGovernor-Regentandhisaide,Roger,astheysteppedforwardtomeetit.Theowl,nearlythesizeofthe corpulent Governor, arrived at the entrance, and the hovering finchesdispersed into the trees and the cornices and eaves of theMansion’s exterior.The Governor-Regent bowed deeply. The owl, all mottled brown, white, andgray,alightedonthepavementandnoddedhishead,histwowideyelloweyesglowing amid his plumage. Roger bowed his head slightly and made awelcoming gesture, motioning the great owl through the doors. Together, thegroupwalkedforwardanddisappearedintotheMansion.“Wow,”breathedPruefinally.“He’sbeautiful.”“OwlRex,”saidagirl’svoicebehindher.“Hereallyis,ain’the?”Pruejumped.Turningaround,shesawthatamaidhadenteredwhileshehad

beenatthewindowandwasbusylayingtowelsandabathrobeatthefootofthebed.Shelookedaboutnineteenandwasdressedinaveryold-fashioned-lookingapronanddress.“Oh!”saidPrue.“Ididn’thearyoucomein.”“Noworries,”thegirlsaid.“I’llbeoutofyourwayinatick.”Pruelookedoutthewindow,watchingtheebbofactivityattheentranceway

below.“Thatwassomeentrance,”shesaidfinally.“Thebirds,Imean.”“Ohyeah,”respondedthemaid.“Ineverseenthatbefore,theowlcomingto

the Mansion. Usually it’s some lower bird or other who comes for thePrincipality’s business. Don’t know that Owl Rex has ever set foot in SouthWood.Orwouldyousay‘setclaw’?”Shelaughedandshrugged.“Hey,Idon’tmean to pry, but . . . you’re thatOutsider girl, huh? The one that everyone’stalkingabout.”

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“Yeah,”Prueresponded,“Iguessthat’dbeme.”“I’mPenny,”saidthegirl.“IlivedownintheWorkers’District.Icanseethe

topsofyourbuildingsfrommybedroombackhome.IalwayswonderedwhatitwaslikeontheOutside.”“It’s pretty different fromhere,” said Prue. “So no one’s ever been—to the

Outside?Fromhere?”“NotthatIknowof,”wasPenny’sanswer.“Waytoodangerous.”Shewalked

tothebedframeandbeganturningdownthehemofthequilt.“How’dyougetinhere?”“Ijustwalkedin,”answeredPrue.“ButIguessIwasn’tsupposedtobeable

to.Somethingaboutaboundary?”“Yep,”saidPenny.“There’sathingcalledthePeriphery;keepsussafefrom

the Outside. You can only get through if you’re, you know, from here.” Shepausedandthoughtforamoment.“Butyou’renotfromhere.”“Definitelynot,”saidPrue.The two girls stood quietly in the room, each privately considering that

paradox.

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“SoIheardyoulostyourbrother?”askedPennyfinally.Pruenodded.“I’mrealsorrytohearthat,”saidPenny.“IhavetwobrothersathomeandI

hate’emtodeathsometimes,butIcan’timaginewhatI’ddoiftheyeverleft.”Suddenlyfearingshe’doversteppedherbounds,Pennyretreatedtothedoorwaywithhersatchelofcleaningsupplies.“IsthereanythingIcangetforya,miss?”sheasked.“No, I’m good,” said Prue, smiling. “I don’t suppose you know how soon

they’llcomeforme,doyou?Imean,regardinganynewstheyfindout.”Pennysmiledsympathetically.“Sorry,dear,”shesaid.“Idon’tknownothing

aboutwhatgoesondownthere.Ijustcleanup.”Pruenoddedandwatchedasthegirlwalkedout intothehallwayandclosed

thedoorbehindher.Crossingover toamirror thatsatatopanancient-lookingvanity,Pruetousledherhairandstaredatherreflection.Shelookedtired;therewerebagsunderhereyesandherhairwastangledwithbedhead.Shestoodthereandlettimeslowlycascadeoverher,thinkingofherparentsandhowdevastatedtheymustbe,sheandMacnowtwodaysgone.Shebetthey’dbeenreportedasmissingtothepolice,andasearchteamwouldbeassembled,combingthroughtheparksandalleywaysofSt.JohnsanddowntownPortland.Shewonderedhowlongitwouldbebeforetheygaveup,declaredthemmissing,andtheirpicturesstarted showing up on the backs ofmilk cartons and in the foyer of the postoffice.Maybe,intime,they’dtakeoldschoolphotosanddigitallyagethemlikeshe’d seenonTV,creatingaweirdapproximationof the influenceof ageandtimeonayounggirl’sface,ababyboy’stoothlesssmile.Shesighedheavilyandwalked from the mirror and into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and thebathrobeonherway.Maybeahotbathwouldcureeverything.

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CHAPTER10EntertheBandits;AnOminousNote

Hold to the line!Keep in formation!”barked theDowagerGoverness as shestalkedbackandforthbehindalonglineofcoyotesoldierswhowereinstalledattheedgeofadeep,widewash.Curtisstruggled tokeeppace.Thesidesof thewash fell gradually away from the ridgeline, allowing several distinct rows ofthesoldierstofindtheirground.Thefirstrowwasmadeupoffusiliers,armedwithmuskets,whowerecrouchedinthetuftsofmaidenhairfernthatblanketedthe slope. Directly behind themwas a long row of archers, their bows at theready,thegroundattheirfeetbristlingwiththefletchingoftheirarrows.Athird,wider rowstoodbehind these tworanks,and thesewere the infantrydogs, thegruntswhoweresparkingwithanticipationat thebattleahead,yappingatoneanotherandnervouslystampingthegroundwiththeirhindpaws.“Makewayforthecannons!”shoutedasoldier,andCurtislookedbehindhim

toseearowofcannons—tenat least—beingpusheduptherearhillsideabovetheclearingwherethesoldiers’campwasmade.Eachcannonhadfoursoldierslaboringoveritsmovement,theunrulyforestflooranuncooperativesurfaceforthecannons’heavywoodenwheels.Whentheyfinallyarrivedattherearrowofinfantry,thecoyotesshuffledoutofthewaysothatthecannonscouldbeplaced,everyfifteenfeetorso,atthehighestpointontheridge.Thesoldierswhohad

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pushedthecannonscollapsedwhentheyreachedtheirgoal,onlytobeyappedatbytheircommandingofficersandshovedintoformation.WhileAlexandrastoodapartandupbraidedasergeantwhosecolumnwasin

disorder,Curtis crept through the rows of soldiers (intoning “as youwere” toeverysoldierwhoturnedandsaluted)tothefrontoftheline.Arrivingattherowof archers, he peered behind their shoulders, trying to catch a glimpse of theenemythatwouldwarrantsuchanimpressivedisplayofmilitarymight.Thefarsideofthegullywasempty.Curtis looked to either side of him, down the seemingly endless row of

coyotesthatpopulatedthehillside,atthesoldiersastheystaredwithsteelyeyesat the ridge on the other side of the wash, and wondered what they couldpossiblybeseeingthathewasn’t.Helookedbackatthefarsideofthegullyandsquinted.Stillnothing;onlytrunksofhemlockandoaksproutingfromamossyflooroffernandsalal.Hewhisperedtothenearestarchernexttohim,“Sowhoarewefighting?”“Thebandits,”repliedthesoldierbeforeadding,“sir.”Curtis nodded knowingly. “Okay,” he whispered. He still couldn’t see

anything.Amomentpassed.“Wherearethey?”askedCurtis.“What, the bandits?” asked the soldier, clearly uncomfortable having an

officerspeaktohimthisway.“Yeah,”saidCurtis.“They’re in the trees, over there, sir,” said the archer, pointing to the far

hillside.“Ah, okay,” said Curtis, still unclear. “Got it. Thanks. As you were.”

Muttering excuses, he pushed his way back to the rear of the formation andfoundtheGovernessspeakingtoasmallgroupofofficers.WhenshesawCurtis,sheturnedandsmiled.“Curtis, just in time,” she said. “We are about to begin our advance. Iwas

thinkingofdepositingyouinoneofthesehightreelimbs,thatyoumighthaveabetterviewofthebattle.Wouldyoulikethat?”Glancingupattheloomingbranches,Curtisnodded.“Yeah,”hesaid.“Maybe

thatwouldbebest.”A small groupof soldiers helpedCurtis into the lower limbsof anobliging

cedar, and from therehe scaledup to the thickerbranches that sproutedat theancient tree’s gnarled midsection. Selecting a particularly hearty branch, hescooted himself out along thewoody surface until he found a spotwhere thebranch split and hewas able to couch himself in the intersection, looking out

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over the ravine. From this vantage, he could see the entire legion of coyotesstretchingawaydowntheridge.Hestillcouldnot,however,seeanythingontheothersideoftheravine.Heheardacommandbelowandwatchedasthefusiliersliftedtheirmusketstotheirshouldersintautunison.Theorderlyrowsofsoldiersbehind the rifles ceased their restless movement and stood vigilantly at theready.Thebarkingoforderscametoastopandtherewassilenceintheravine,save the slight whisper of the wind and the rustle of the high tree branches.Curtisfoundhimselfholdinghisbreathashesearchedtheopposinghillsideforsignofmovement.Suddenly,thetreescamealive.

Prueleaptoutofherbath,hearingthemirageofaknockatthedoor.Hopingitwould be one of theGovernor’s attendants, come to give her good news, shethrewonthebathrobeandrantothedoor,peekingoutintothehallwaybeyond.Herheartsanktoseenoonewasthere.“Hello?”shecalled.Her eyes fell on the figure of a large dog, a mastiff, clad in dress blues,

standingagainstthewallattheveryendofthehallway.Heglancedatherbrieflybefore looking back down at his paws. He lifted a cigarette to his teeth. Theglowofalitmatchsuddenlyilluminatedthesmoothfurofhisfaceashebroughtittotheendofhiscigarette.HetookaponderousdragandlookedbackatPrue.Henodded.“Oh,hi,”saidPrue.Themastiffsaidnothing.Pruesquinted,makingoutapatchontheshoulderof

hisjacket.There,thewordSWORDwasspelledoutinallcapitalletters.“Excuseme,”calledPrue.“Doyouworkhere?”Thedoggavenoanswer.“I don’t suppose you know anything about my brother, do you? Did the

Governorsendyouhere?”Still,silence.Thedogshruggedhisshouldersandlookedawaydownthehall.Well,that’sprettyrude,thoughtPrue.Shewasabouttoaskwhatthedogwas

doing therewhena tallman in a suit rounded the corner andgreeted thedog.Theyshookhandsandbeganspeakingtoeachotherinlowvoices.Hewasjustwaitingforsomeone,thoughtPruedespondently.That’sall.Sheclosedthedoorandreturnedtothebathroom,whereshebegantoweling

her wet hair. Some song from the radio snuck into her head and she beganhumming it, singing an approximated version of the chorus when it camearound.Absently running the toweloverherneckandnape, shewandered the

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roomintheearlyevening’sdimminglight.The better part of an hour had passed before a sudden sound from below

broughther to thewindow.Shearrived in time tosee themultitudeof finchesshe had seen earlier swing down from their nooks in the building and hoverbefore the double doors of theMansion’s entrance.After a fewmoments, thedoorswereheavedopenandoutwalked theresplendentOwlRex,attendedbyRoger,theGovernor’saide.Pruewatchedtransfixedasthemassiveowlturnedandnoddedtohiscompanion.RogerrepeatedhisshallowbowandwalkedbackintotheMansion,thedoorsclosingbehindhim.Aloneinthecourtyard,theowlhesitatedbeforetakingflight;hescannedthehorizonandseemedtosavortheairfor amomentbefore, astonishingly,he cranedhishornedheadaround togazedirectlyupintoPrue’swindow.Prue jumped back from the glass with surprise. His bright yellow eyes

continued to hold in place as she stared back. Finally, after what seemed aneternity, he swiveled his head back around, crouched low, and unfurled hisimmense dappled wings.With a tremendous lunge, the owl launched himselfinto the sky. He wheeled twice above the driveway, almost prehistoric in hiscarriage,beforeflyingoffintotheforest,themassoffinchesglidinginhiswakelikestaticagainstthegrayingsky.Prueshookherhead,unnervedbytheexperience.Hadhebeenlookingather?

Hecouldn’thavebeen,shedecided;whywouldanowlprincehaveanyinterestinahumangirl?Itmust’vebeenpurecoincidence,anillusionthathelookedupintoherwindow,nothingmore.Somethingcaughthereyeon thewindowsill, justoutside theglass. Itwasa

smallwhiteenvelope.ThewordsMissPrueMcKeelwerewrittenonthefrontina delicate, elaborate hand. She quickly threw open the sash and grabbed theletter from the sill. She looked out at the vista beyond thewindow; the birdsweregone.Tearingopenthesealoftheenvelope,Prueremovedapieceofivorypaper, which, unfolded, revealed a short note written on the Mansion’s ownembossedletterhead.Itread:

DearMissMcKeel,ItisofvitalimportancethatImeetwithyoutonight.Pleasecometomy

roomsat theWhiteStoneHouse,86RueThurmond.Makecertainthatnoonefollowsyou.Youmaybeingravedanger.Yours,OwlRex

Prue reread thenote instunnedsilence.Shewandered the room, turning thepiece of paper over and over in her hands, a pang of fear blossoming in herchest.She read thenoteagain, this time inahushedwhisper, intoning the last

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sentenceseveraltimesoverbeforeshefoldedthenoteintoasmallsquare.Shewalkedtothedoorandslowlycrackeditopen,peeringoutintothehall.

Themastiffinthebluesuitwasstillthereattheendofthecorridor.Hisattentionwasfocusedonhisforepaws;hewaspickingathisclawswithalittlefile.Pruesawhimbegintoturnhisgreat,jowlyheadtowardher,andshequietlypushedthedoorclosed,retreatingbackintotheroom.Ina trance,shewalkedover tothebed,whereher jeanslay.Shestuffedthe

note into the front pocket. The light was slowly fading in the room, and sheturnedonthesmallbedsidelamp.Shesatonthebedandfeltherheartpoundingthroughherribcageasifitwereexploding.

Curtis had, at one point, been an avowed Animal Planet buff. Couldn’t getenoughofit.Startingwhenhewastwo,hewastold,hisparentswouldsethimdown in front of the television after dinner and he would sit, transfixed,absorbinganythingthecablechannelwouldbroadcast,regardlessofthefeaturedspecies,habitat,orclimate.Theobsessionworeoffeventually(tobereplacedbyaseriesofthings:RobinHood,ancientEgypt,FlashGordon—thelistwenton)buthealways remembered the images that firstcarriedhis fascination.Oneofthem was the scene, ubiquitous in any program involving creatures thatnumbered camouflage among their evolutionary advantages,where the camerawould be trained on a tranquil, emptymeadow or veldt and you, the viewer,would be baffled as towhy these professionalwildlife documentarianswouldwastepreciousfilmonanimal-lessgrassland—whenallofasudden,alionorasnake or a panther would move out of the grass or scrub and you would beshockedatyourowninabilitytodetectit.ThisiswhatpoppedintoCurtis’smindashewatchedtheforestonthefarside

ofthegullybreatheintolife.Itstartedimperceptibly;thegentlemovementsoftheswayingfernfrondsand

low-hangingbranches slowlyseemed to takeonamore threatening,deliberateaspect,andCurtis thoughthesawa flashofmetal frombehindasmallpileofdeadfall.Then,itwasasiftheundergrowthsproutedlimbsandbegantomove,unmooredfromtheforestfloor.Thebodiesofhumanssoonbegantodistinguishthemselvesfromthebackground,andCurtisgaspedtoseeafewfiguresemergefrom the greenery, their dark faces savagely streaked with brown and greenpaint.AsCurtiswatched,moreandmorebodiesjoinedthesefewuntiltheentirefar ridgewas crowdedwith people, a people swathed in tattered clothing andholdingastrangeandwildvarietyofweapons: rifles,knives,clubs,andbows.Thecrowdcontinuedtogrow,andCurtisestimatedtheirnumbertobewellover

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twohundred—atleastasmanypeopleashe’drememberedseeinginhisschool’sgymnasiumduringarally.Theirmovementsmadenosound,savetheclickingofriflesengagingandtheyawningcreakofarrowsbeingdrawn.Below him, the Governess appeared, back astride her horse. She fearlessly

canteredthehorsetothefrontoftheline,drewhersword,andpointeditattheemergingarmyacrosstheravine.“Bandits!”sheshouted.“I’mgivingyouonelastchancetodropyourweapons

and concede defeat. Those who surrender will be treated with fairness andleniency.Thosewhodon’twillfacedeath!”Thehorsesidesteppedandwhinniedonthelushslope.Therewasnoresponse

from theother side.Abreezedisturbed thequiet treebranches.The afternoonlightcame through thewoodssideways,casting long, loomingshadowson theground.

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“Very well!” continued Alexandra. “You have chosen your fate.Commandant,prepareyour—”Shewas interrupted by the snick of an arrow, speeding past her cheek and

lodging itselfwith awoody pop into a nearby tree.Her horse reared and shestruggledtocalmit,allthewhiletraininghereyesangrilyacrosstheravine.Aman stepped forward from the throng on the opposing ridge. Hewore a

thickredbeardandwhatlookedtobethesalvagedremnantsofanofficer’scoat,itsredclothanddecorativebraidingdefacedbydirtandash.Finger-widestreaksofpaint scarred the cheeksofhisweather-beaten face.Heheld agnarledyewbowinhisglovedhand,itssinewystringstillquiveringfromtheshot.Acrownofivyandsalalwastangledinhismatted,curlyredhair,andhisforeheadwas

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brandedwithatattooofsometotemicaboriginaldesign.“Thiscountryain’tyoursforthetaking!”shoutedtheman.“You’llbequeen

of Wildwood when we’re dead and laid in the dirt!” The army of banditssurroundinghimletoutaboisterouscheerinresponsetotheman’sdefiance.TheGoverness laughed. “Couldn’t agreemore!” shecried, finally steadying

her horse. “Though I am unclear as to what authority crowned you king,Brendan!”The man, Brendan, grumbled something under his breath before shouting,

“We followno law, accept nogovernance.Theycallme theBanditKing, butI’veasmuchright to that titleasanyonehere,anyanimal,avian,ormanwhofollowsthebanditcodeandcreed.”“Thieves!” shoutedAlexandra, furious. “Low thieves andbrigands!Kingof

theBeggarsisyourrightfulmantle!”“Shutit,witch,”wasBrendan’ssteadyreply.TheGovernesslaughedandclickedhertongueatherhorse,spurringitaway

from the ravine. Passing the Commandant, she turned to him and said flatly,“Wipethemout.”“Aye,madam,” said theCommandant, smiling. Standing at the front of the

line,heraisedhissaberandshouted,“Fusiliers!Aim!”The line attended his command; together, their rifles were raised to their

shoulders.“FIRE!”Anerraticstaccatoofcracksfollowed,andtheairoftheravinewasfilledwith

adense,acridsmokeasthefusiliersfiredintotheopposingbanditforces.Throughtheclearinghaze,Curtiswatchedasseveralbanditstoppledintothe

gully,theirlifelessbodiesrollingdownthroughtheferns,whileotherscrowdedinto theirabandonedposts.Therewasasortofhalf secondofshockedsilencethat seemed to Curtis to last an eternity before the quiet was broken by acollective,impassionedcryfromtheentirehillsideandthebanditlineburstintoaction, tearing down the ravine, their swords, clubs, and knives brandishedsavagelyabovetheirheads.Alooselyorganizedlineofarchersbehindthemletflyadensevolleyofarrowsintothecoyotes’forces,andCurtisgapedtoseethelineof fusiliersdecimated,dozensof thecoyote riflemenkeelingover into thegullywitharrowslodgedintheirchests.Before thebandit ground forceshad a chance to reach theother sideof the

ravine, the coyote archers, on command, stepped forward into the fusiliers’position,theirarrowsnocked.“Archers!”shoutedtheCommandant,standingintheirmidst.“FIRE!”Thewashwasagainbridgedbyatightweaveofarrowsinflight,thistimein

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the opposite direction, and the gully became littered with the bodies of thoseunfortunatebanditswhoshouldfindthemselvesinthearrows’path.Thebanditarchers, reaching for more ammunition, allowed a straggling few riflemen tostep forward and fire into the coyote formation;many shots struck home andmore bodies of coyotes began to join the bandits’ in the smoky ravine.Curtisstaredatthegrowingnumberofdeadandwounded,andthebattlehadscarcelybegun.“Infantry!”cametheCommandant’sholler.“MARCH!”Thegruntsintherearoftheformationmarchedforwardpastthearchersand

fusiliers,justintimetomeetthebanditsastheyclamberedupthegradualinclineoftheravine.Thetwoforcescrashedtogetherinanexplosionofsound:clashingsabers, wild howls, fiery shouts, and cracking bones. Curtis grimaced, hisstomachturning.Theromancehe’dassociatedwiththesesortsofbattles,chieflyfromhistoricalnovelshe’drecentlytakenalikingto,wasbeginningtotarnish.Therealitywasprovingmuchuglier.The twowarring forcesbecamea tangleofbodies, fur and flesh,metal and

wood,as their respectiveartilleries fired roundafter roundofarrowandbulletintotheopposingridgeline.Buthowevermanybanditsspilledovertheedgeandintothegully,moreappearedfromtheforesttoreplacethem,andforamomentitseemedasifthecoyoteswouldbehorriblyoutnumbered.Thatwaswhenthecannonswerecalledin.Withfourcoyotestoeachgun,theywereheavedthroughtheremainingline

ofarchersandfusilierstostandatthetopoftheridge.Onecoyotestoodbesidethecannonandhowledcommandstotheothers,whointurnpackedpowderandball into thecannon’swide shaftwithadisciplinedefficiency.When thegunswere loaded, the commanders raised their sabers and, on the Commandant’smark, yelled “FIRE!” and the forest resounded with a series of thunderousbooms.Thecannonballssmashedintothebandits’line,sendingbodiesflyinginevery

direction. The balls, hitting their mark, sent up giant plumes of dirt andsplintered even the most massive of tree trunks as if they were toothpicks.Ancient,sky-talltreesthatlookedasifthey’dbeenbornwhentheearthwasnewcamelumberingtotheground,crashingintotheirneighboringtreesandsendingsplinteredbranchesandlimbsflyingineverydirection.Morethanafewunluckyfightersintheravine,inheatedbattle,werecrushedbythesefallingbehemoths.Curtis’searswerestillringingfromthecannonfirewhenhesawthebandits

regrouping on the hillside. The fusillade had temporarily disarmed them, buttheywere growing again in number, their forces continually feeding from thewoods behind the ravine. Their line of archers was pulling back for another

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deadly volley. In an attempt to capitalize on the artillery’s initial success, theCommandant quickly ordered that another round be fired. Curtis watched thecoyotes’movements intently, fascinated by the quickness of the artillery teambelowhim.JustastheCommandantbarkedhisordertofire,anarrowshotovertheravine

anddirectly into theneckof thecoyote tasked to light thewick.He fellback,dead, and the smoldering slowmatch in his hand toppled into a pile of driedvinesatthefootofthetreeinwhichCurtiswascradled.Therestoftheartilleryteamwassuddenlybesetbybanditsasawaveofthemcrestedtheslope,andthecoyoteswereforcedtoleavetheirposts,lockedincombat.The ember from thematch quickly caught fire in the dried vegetation, and

little flames began licking at the base ofCurtis’s tree.Curtis flinched, staringdownatthegrowingfire.“Darn,”hemuttered.“Superdarn,darn,darn.”Hehastilypushedhimselfbackfromhisperchon thebranchandsliddown

the trunkof the tree, the roughbarkscraping throughhisuniformathiskneesandelbows.Landingon theground,hegrabbed the slowmatch fromwhere itlayandbeganstampingoutthefireattherootsofthetree.“Darn,darn,darn,”herepeatedincessantly.The dried leaves quickly crumbled beneath his shoes, and the fire was

extinguished.The tipof the lit slowmatchglowed inhishand.Hestoodforamoment, paralyzed by the action around him, and then looked over at theabandonedcannon,itstendersstillblade-to-bladewiththeirbanditfoes.“Mightaswell...,”hisinternalvoicedecided.Herantothecannonandheldthelitmatchtothewick.Inaninstant,thefuse

caught, the cannon fired, and Curtis was thrown as the gun mule-kickedbackwardandashowerofsmokeandsparksfilledtheairandtheworldaroundhimwassilencedsaveforaslight,distanthigh-pitchedring.“Wow,”hefelthimselfwhisper,thoughhecouldn’thearathing.

Pruecouldn’tremembereverbeingas impatientfor thesuntogodownasshewasnow.ShesatatthewindowofherroomintheMansionandwatchedthebigorbdescendbehindthedistantpeaksoftheCascadesuntil theforestwasdark.With the dimmingof the day, the activity in theMansion seemed to ease andcalm,and thecomingsandgoings shehadwitnessedall afternoonat the frontdoorscametoaquietend.Theclatteroffootfallinthehallwayoutsideherdoorhadceased,andtheMansionseemedtofallintoasilentnocturnalslumber.Pruefiguredherchancewasnow.

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Shepaddedquietlyintothebathroomandturnedthesinkfaucetonfullblast.Therushofwaterspatteredagainstthewhitetileofthefloor.Shethenreturnedtothemainroomandgraspedthehandleofthedoor.Takingadeepbreath,sheturnedtheknob.Heregoesnothing,shethought.The door creaked open, revealing the long hallway. A few hanging light

fixtures illuminatedanornatePersian runner that led fromher room.Asshe’dexpected,themastiffstillstoodsentryatthefarendofthehall.Hearingthedooropen, he briefly looked up.Wisps of smoke drifted from a lit cigarette in hispaw.“Excuseme!”calledPrue.“Excuseme,sir?”The dog, apparently surprised to be spoken to, looked around. Once he

realizedshewastalkingtohim,hegrumbleduncomfortablyandstoodupfromhisleaningpositionagainstthewall.“Yes,miss?”heasked.“I was wondering—I just need some help,” said Prue, conjuring her best

damsel-in-distressroutine.“Ican’tseemtogetthesinkinthebathroomtoshutoff.Ithinkthefaucetisbroken.I’mafraidit’sgoingtooverflow.”Thedogpaused,evidentlyweighingtheproprietyofhishelping.Heshiftedin

hissuit,whichclungtightlytohislarge,hairybody.“Please?”askedPrue.Themastiffgavealittlehuffandsteppedawayfromthewall.Hegroundthe

cigaretteoutonthewoodofthefloor.WhenhecameclosertoPrue,hesaid,“Iain’tnoplumber,mind,”hisvoicelowandgruff.“ButI’llseewhatIcando.”Pruegotabetterlookatthebadgeonhisshoulder;belowthewordSWORDwasthegrimimageofabladesurroundedbywhatlookedtobebarbedwire.Prue let the dog into the room and followed him as he walked toward the

bathroom. He swung the door open and entered, approaching the sink. Pruestayedbehind in theroom.Reachingover,hegave thespigotaquick turnandthe faucet stopped. Before he had a chance to raise any kind of surprisedobjection,Pruehadslammedthebathroomdoorclosedbehindhim.“Hey!”thedogcried,hisvoicemuffledbehindthedoor.Theornatebowofaskeletonkeycouldbeseenprotrudingfromthekeyhole

inthedoor.Withaswiftflickofherwrist,Pruehadthrownthelock,hearingtheweightyclickofthedeadboltengaging.“HEY!” the dog cried again, now angrier. He began frantically trying the

doorknob.“Letmeouttahere!”“Sorry!” cried Prue, feeling genuine anguish that she’d tricked the mastiff.

“I’mreallysupersorry.I’msuresomeonewillbealongtohelpyou.Iputabagofgorpbythebathtubifyougethungry.I’vegottogo.Sorry!”Shequicklyexitedtheroom,hearingtheechoesofthemastiff’sangeredbarks

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fade behind her down the hallway. As she walked, she breathed a quickbenedictiontothepatronsaintofsleuthing.“NancyDrew,”shewhispered,“bewithmenow.”At the end of the hall was a door. She opened this to find herself looking

downanotherlonghallway.Thecorridorbeforeherwasempty.Pruecautiouslysteppedonefootoutontotherug,pausedatthefloorboards’firstcomplaint,andthenstartedtiptoeingdownthehallway.Thewingseemedparticularlyvacant,andPruegainedconfidencewithevery

stepthatshewouldnotbecaught;untiladoorsuddenlyflewopenandayoungbespectacledmanwalkedout,carryingabriefcasewithanovercoatslungoverit.“Goodnight,Phil,”hesaidtosomeoneinsidetheroomhehadexited.“G’night,”cametheresponsefromwithin.Pruefrozeinplace.Withnowheretoconceivablyhide,Pruehadnochoicebut

tostaystock-stillinthemiddleofthehallway,prayingtheyoungmanwouldnotturn and see her. To her great relief, he didn’t. Apparently so occupied inleaving,hesimplywalkeddownthehallanddisappearedaroundacorner.Notmoving,Prue lookedoutof thecornerofhereye into the room, thedoornowopenedtothehallway.Anothermansatatadesk,busilyintentonhiswork.Agreen anglepoise lamp illuminated thepapers in front of him.Occasionallyhedabbedanibpenintoaninkwell.Pruehurriedly stepped through theblockof light on the floor cast from the

open room, hardly daring to breathe until she had cleared the doorway.Whensheheardnocallsforhertostop,shestartedwalkingfaster.Therugendedatalargewoodendoor,andPruecrackeditopenandpeeked

through.Beyondthedoorwasthestairwaylandingandbelowit,thefoyer,noweerily absent of all the manic activity she had witnessed that afternoon. Thedoubledoorstotheeastwingwereclosed,andwhatappearedtobeaLabradorinkhakisslumberednoisilyinachairoutside.Prue pushed the door open and snuck out onto the landing. Reaching the

stairs, she carefully began descending, counting each step until she made thebottom. Upon reaching it, she half walked, half ran across the checkerboardmarbleofthefloorandwasnearlytothefrontdoorwhenshesuddenlyheardaman’svoice,loudandreproachful:“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”Prue’sbodyseizedup,merestepsfromthefreedomofthefrontdoor.“How many times have I told you, the Governor takes cream with his

chamomiletea?”continuedthevoice.Pruelookedovertothesourceofthescoldingandsaw,throughadooroffthe

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foyer,aman—abutlerofsomesort—givingastern lecture toagirlwhoPruesaw,inthefalteringlamplightofthesmallroom,tobenoneotherthanhermaid,Penny.Themanwasholdingatraywithateacupandakettleonit.“Sorry,sir,”wasPenny’ssheepishreply.“Itwon’thappenagain.”Penny’seyes lookedupand inan instant she sawPrue, frozen in the foyer.

Hereyeswidened.SodidPrue’s.Theystaredateachotherforamomentbeforethebutlerspoke.“Well, Idon’texpectyou’llmake themistakeagain.Otherwise, it’sback to

thescullerywithyou—andthat’sgoingeasy!”Pennylookedbackattheman.“Yes,sir,”shesaid.“Understood,sir.Giveme

thetea,sir,I’llbringittotheGovernor.”ThebutlerhuffedhisapprovalandhandedthetraytoPenny,exitingthesmall

room through a door in the rear, his back toPrue all thewhile.Whenhe hadgone,PennylookedatPrue,hereyesagainwidewithsurprise.“Whatareyoudoing?”shewhispered.Pruerealizedshehadnochoicebuttobehonest.“IhavetogoseeOwlRex,”Pruewhisperedback.“Hesentmeanote.Hesaid

Ishouldcomeseehim.Tonight!”Shetoedthegroundinfrontofherashamedly.“And,ohgosh,Ikindoflockedsomeoneinmybathroom,thisdogwhoIthinkwasguardingme.Imightbeinabitoftrouble.”“Youdidwhat?”whisperedPenny,appalled.“I...lockedhiminmybathroom.It’sokay,Ileftabagofgorpinthere,in

casehegetshungry.”Pennywasmomentarilyspeechless.Finally,shehissed,“Well,don’tgo that

way!Therearesentrieseveryfifteenfeetoutthefrontdoor!”Pruelookedatthedoorsinfrontofher,bowledoverbythefactthatthathad

notoccurredtoher.“Oh.”Penny rolled her eyes. “What were you gonna do, lock them up in your

bathroomtoo?Comethisway.”PruejoinedPennyinthesmallroom,whichappearedtobeakindofservants’

staging area. Penny set down the tea tray and opened the small door throughwhichthebutlerhadleft.Shepeekedherheadaroundthecornerand,satisfiedthatallwasclear,motionedforPruetofollow.Penny ledPruedowna tight labyrinthofpassageways, litby theoccasional

flickeringgaslight.Atsomepoints, thepassagewaysseemed tobe justarteriesconnecting other corridors, where others appeared to be in use as pantries orlarders,theirwallscoveredinshelvesholdingbagsofflourandrowsofstrangevegetablesinjars.Pruelosttrackoftheirbearingafterthefifthintersectionwascrossed,andshesimplystartedfollowingPennyblindly,acquiescingwordlessly

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tothemaid’severyhushed“thisway”and“followme.”Theyfinallyarrivedataparticularlyancient-lookingdoorandPennyopenedit,revealingawornflightofstonestepsleadingdownintodarkness.Pennyfetchedtwocandlesfromaboxonthefloorand,lightingthembothonanobliginggaslamp,shehandedonetoPrue.

“What’sthis?”Pruewhispered.“The tunnels,” said Penny. “They run everywhere. We can take them into

town.”“Whataboutthetea?Isn’ttheGovernorexpectingyou?”askedPrue.Pennysmirked.“Thatoldinsomniac?He’llgetby.”

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Prue paused at the doorway. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For helping. Idon’tknowwhattosay.”“Listen,” repliedPenny, “I could get in big trouble for this.But I’m a firm

believerthatyougottadowhatyougottado.AndiftheCrownPrincewantstoseeyou, yougo.Godknowsyou’ll likelybebetter off than collectingdust inthat guest room.”She studiedPrue intently. “As soon as I sawyou,my heartwentout.Toimaginelosingabrother.”Shesighedandheldhercandleintothedoorway, illuminating thesteps.Theslightestbreeze,coldandstill,crept fromtheopeninganditsmelledofmusty,dampstones.“Goahead.”Pruesteppeddownontothesmoothstoneofthestairs,wornbywhatlooked

like a forgotten eternity of footsteps.The dankness of the stairwellwas bone-chilling, and she shivered as she descended. Penny followed, closing the doorbehindherasshewent.Thecandlesintheirhandsprojectedflickeringshadowsagainstthebrickwalls,theirflamesquiveringinthestagnantair.Atthebottomofthestairs,thecorridorlinkeduptoasinglepassagewaythat

ledineitherdirectionintopitch-blackness.Thewallsofthetunnelradiatedawetchill, theexpansestainedhereandtherebyrivuletsofwaterdrippingfromthearchedceiling.Thegroundwasofashydirt,andPruecouldfeelthecoldseepingthroughhershoes.Theconstructionofthetunnelchangedastheytraveledfartheralong;thered

brick and mortar of the walls gave way to rough-hewn stone and granite.Sometimes, the tunnel seemed to be carved out of the earth’s rock itself. Theceilingtoweredabovethemandtookontheaspectofacavern;othertimes,theywere forced to crouch over and shuffle through low passageways.Afterwhatseemed like aneternity, theyarrivedat an intersection, andPennypointedhercandledownthisnewcorridor.“ThisisasfarasIgo,”shesaid.“Ihaveteatodeliver.Followthispassage.Afterabityou’llcometoaladder—takethattothesurface.Fromthere,you’reonyourown.”“Thankyousomuch,”saidPrue.“Idon’tknowwhatI’dhavedonewithout

you.”“Don’tmention it,” replied Penny. “I know you’ll find him, your brother.”

Shesmiledandturnedtoleave, thehalooflightcastbyhercandlefadingintothedarknessofthetunnel.Pruebeganwalkingdownthisnewpassageway.Beforetoolong,shearrived

attheladderPennyhaddescribed.Itsrungsweresplinteredandworn,andtheybowedwiththeweightofPrue’sfeetasshegingerlyclimbed.Theladdercarriedherupthroughalongcylindricalductintheceilingofthetunnelthatendedatwhat looked like a manhole cover. Bracing herself against the rungs of theladder,Prueheavedthecoverupandslidit tothesideoftheopening.Abrisk

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breathoffreshaircaughtherbysurprise,andsheinhaleddeeply.Shecautiouslypushedherheadupthroughtheopeningandlookedaround.Shewasbackinthewoods.

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CHAPTER11ASoldierDistinguished;AudiencewithanOwl

Curtis,liftinghimselfuponhiselbows,surveyedthedamagehehadwrought.Thecoyotesoldierswhohad, justmomentsearlier,beenin the throesofbattlestood frozen in surprise, their adversaries having miraculously vanished. Thecourse of the cannonball had ripped a tidy pathway through the underbrush,crossed the gaping ravine, and continued its path onto the other side. Severalbandits,immobile,layinitswake.Curtisblinkedrapidly.Thesoldiersraisedtheirsabersinabriefcheerbeforeanewwaveofbandits

appearedovertheravineedge,andtheyleaptbackintothefray.Curtisheardthesoundofhoofbeatsbehindhim.“Curtis!”camethevoiceoftheGoverness.“Comewithme!”HeturnedtoseeAlexandraabovehim,herhandextended.Theylockedhand-

to-forearm,andhewascarriedoverthehorse’sflanks.Curtis’shearingwasonlynowreturning“Did you see that?” he shouted over the ruckus of the ongoing battle. He

couldfeelhimselfbeaming,asmuchwithastonishmentaswithpride.“I did!”wasAlexandra’s response. “Very nicework, Curtis!We’llmake a

warrioroutofyouyet!”Onehandholdinghersword,theotherholdingthereins,sheurgedthehorse

toagallopasitdeftlyslalomedthroughthetrees.Herhorsemanshipwassecondtonone,andwoebetidethebanditswhoattemptedtoraisearifleorsabertoher

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assherode:Theywerecertaintobecutdown.“Wherearewegoing?”askedCurtis,hisfacenuzzledintothefurofherstole.“You’llsee!”shoutedAlexandra.Theyarrivedatthefarendoftheridge,wherethewashwasatitsdeepestand

thegully’swallsrosefromthebottomlikethesheerfaceofacanyon.Theridgewasalla-tanglewithbanditsandcoyotes,toetotoe,theirbayonetsandswordsclashing.Alexandra leapt fromthehorse,quicklydispatchedachargingbanditwithathrustofhersword,andrantotheedgeoftheridge.Curtisgulpedloudlyand followed.When he had arrived at her side, the Governess pointed to thetrough of the draw,where a group of banditswas laboriously pushing a gianthowitzerupthegully.“There,”shesaidsoftly.“Ifthatgungetsmuchfarther,ourbattalionwillbeat

themercyofthesesavages.”Themassivehowitzermadethecoyotes’cannonslooklikeRomancandles;its

mouthwaseasily threefeet indiameterandtheborewasofsucha length thattwomen,endtoend,couldlieinside.Theironofthegunwasornatelydecoratedwiththeviciousformofadragon,thegun’smawframedbythedragon’sbarbedfangs. One shot from that, Curtis surmised, and you could take out an entirehillside.“Whatcanwedo?”Curtisasked.“Start shooting,”Alexandra replied. She thrust a rifle into his hands before

hefting her own to her shoulder, squaring her sights with the howitzer crewbelow.Curtis blanched, and the pit in his stomach grew.He had fired the cannon,

sure,butithadfeltsoanonymousandrandom.Hewasn’tsurehe’dactuallybeabletoshootagunatsomeone.Paralyzed,hesimplystood,holdingtherifleinhisarms.TheGoverness,meanwhile,hadfiredseveralshotsintothecrowdsurrounding

the giant cannon, felling two bandits who were quickly replaced as morereinforcements came hurrying up the draw. Stamping the rifle butt on theground,shecursedassheunscrewedtheramrodfromtherifleandbusilybeganrepackingaround.Desperateforanalternatestrategy,Curtisscannedtheridgeline.Hiseyesfell

onsomethingthatmadehisheartcatch inhis throat.“Holdon!”heshoutedtoAlexandra,droppinghisrifletotheground.Hesprintedovertoamossyoutcropoverlooking the gully, where a massive cedar tree had fallen, its rough barkovergrownwith ivyand ferns. It lay in theunderbrush,perilouslybalancedontheedgeoftheravine,itsmidsectioncantileveredonanotherfallentree.Curtisgaugedthedistanceandheightoftheoverhang,allthewhilelookingbackand

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forthbetweenthebanditsandthedeadtree.Satisfied,hevaultedbackoverthetreeandthrewhimselftotheground,liftinghisfeettofindpurchaseagainstthebark of the tree’s trunk.With a pained grunt, he began pushing with all thepowerhecouldmuster.Thetrunkbegantotiponitsaxis,thelivingearthbelowitrippingaway,beforeheexhaustedhisenergiesandthetreetippedbacktoitsrestingplace.Hetookadeepbreathand,gruntinglouder,beganpushingagain.The trunk lifteda little farther this time,butstillnotenough tobeunanchoredfromitsperch.“Alexandra!”heshouted.“Comehelpme!”TheGoverness,whohadbeenfiringherrifleintotheamassingbanditsbelow

tonoappreciableeffect,lookedoverand,catchingontoCurtis’splan,ranovertowherehelay.Droppingtotheground,shetoobeganpushingatthetreetrunkwithhermoccasinedfeet.“One...two...three!”countedCurtis,andtheybothpushedwithalltheir

might.The tree trunkgavea terrificgroanbefore it toppled from itsmooringsandpitchedover theedgeof theravinewithadeafeningcrack.AlexandraandCurtis leaptupfromthegroundin timetosee thegiant treegocrashingdownthe steepwall of the gully, gaining speedwith every roll.A scant few of thebandits, those thatwere alert,managed to dive out of theway before the treecollidedwiththehowitzer,sendingasprayofsplintersandbarkintotheair.Thehowitzer collapsed from its carriage and tipped over onto the ground, themassivecedartrunkfinallycomingtorestontopofitsmuzzle.Thebanditswhomadeup thehowitzercrew, thefewthat remained, ranoffdownthegullyanddisappearedintothebush.Curtisstartedjumpingupanddown.“Holy...holy...,”hesputtered.“Holy

SMOKE!Didthatreallyjusthappen?”Alexandralookedonandsmiled.Theinimitablesoundofaconchshellbeingblowndistractedthemfromtheir

celebration, and suddenly the tide of bandits was retreating from the hillside,desperately scrambling up the far side of the ravine and back into thewoods.The surviving coyote soldiers gave brief chase, picking off a few of thestragglers as they went, before raising their arms in a collective cheer. Theravinewastheirs.

Prue pulled herself from the manhole and, sitting on the edge, surveyed thelandscape;theknotoftheforest’scanopyloomedoverher,andthefewstarsintheearlyeveningskyglimmeredthroughthebranchesabove.Shefoundshewasinasmallclearing,surroundedbyadenseweaveoftrees.She scarcely had time to ponder the presence of a manhole (its face was

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mintedwiththewordsPROPERTYOFSOUTHWOOD,DRAINAGERESOURCESCOUNCIL)in this remoteclearingwhensheheardastrange,woodyclatteringbehindher.She turned to see abrightyellow rickshawmaking itsway towardher. Itwasbeingpulledbyabadger.“Hello,”saidthebadgerwhenhearrivedatPrue.Heslowedtostop.“Hi.”Thebadgerblinkedandlookeddownatthemanhole.“Didyoujustclimbout

ofthere?”heasked,puzzled.Pruelookedbackatthehole.“Yes.”“Oh,”saidthebadger,andthenadded,asifsuddenlyrememberinghistrade,

“Needaride?”“Ido,actually,”Pruesaid,pullingtheowl’snotefromherpocket.“Ineedto

gettoRueThurmond.NumberEighty-six.Isthatfar?”“Nah,notfaratall,”hesaid.“Justuptheroad.”Hejerkedhishead,gesturing

totherickshaw.“Hopin,I’llgiveyouaride.”“Idon’thaveanymoney,”saidPrue.The rickshaw driver paused for amoment before responding. “Don’tworry

aboutit.Lastfareofthenight.You’reonmywayhome.”Pruethankedhimkindlyandhoppedintotherickshaw’scushionedchair.The

carriage’sgarishcoatofyellowpaintwasaccentedwithbrightreddesignsandlittleknittedbaublesdangledfromtheroof.Withaquickwordofwarning(“Itmightbebumpy”)fromthebadger,therickshawburstintomovement,andinnotime they were bumping along the forest floor at a quick clip. Taking a fewquickturns,therickshawbeganfollowingawell-trodpath,andlittleramshacklehovelsstartedappearinginthewoods.Afteratime,thedirtofthepathgavewaytocobbledstreets,andthewoodswereupstagedbyanimpressiverowofposhtown houses, theirmullioned baywindows refracting the light of candelabrasdownontothepavement.“Fancy place, this,” commented the driver wryly. “Your friend is doin’ all

rightforhimself.”The street began inclining gradually, and the badger put his head down in

concentrationastherickshawclimbedthehill.Whentheyhadarrivedatthetop,thecarriagecametoastopinfrontofthegrandesthouseontheblock—itwasathree-story behemoth of alabaster-white stone, and twin cherubs carryingtrumpetsmetinareliefcarvedintothegroundfloorwindow’sornatemolding.Awarmlightbathedthedrawncurtainsinfrontofthewindow,andthenumber86waswrittenonaplacardoverthefrontdoor.

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“Here ya go,” said the badger, catching his breath. “Eighty-six RueThurmond.”Prue climbeddown from the carriage. “Thankyou somuch,” she said.The

badgernoddedanddroveoff.

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Sheclimbedthemarblestairstothefrontdoorandtookamomenttoadmiretheknockerthathungthere:abrasseagle’sheadwithaheavygoldenringinitsbeak.Withmorethanalittletrepidation,sheliftedtheringandletitfallontotheoakof thedoor. Itgavea resoundingbangandshestoodback,waiting.Therewasnoanswer.She tried theknockeragainandstillnoonecame to thedoor.Steppingback,shelookedupattheplacardasecondtime,reaffirmingthatthiswas, in fact, house number 86. She let the great golden ring fall a fewmoretimesbeforeshestartedtogetworried.Suddenly,thedoorcreakedopenafewinchesandstopped.Shewasaboutto

step forwardwhen the door slammed closed, only to inch a little farther openthanithadbefore.Puzzled,Pruepeeredintothespacebetweenthedoorandthejambandcalled,“Hello?”Thesoundoffeathersflutteringinadesperatemanneransweredhergreeting,

andshecould see that twosparrowswere trying, fairlyunsuccessfully, to turnthedoorknob.“Sorry!Sorry!”oneofthemsaid,histalonstrikingatthepolishedbrass.“Oh!”saidPrue.“Letmehelpyou!”Shecarefullypushedthedoorwideand

walkedintotheentryway.“Thankyou!”saidoneofthesparrows,hoveringbeforePrue.“We’renotused

tothesesortsofbipedalcontraptions.”“YoumustbetheOutsidergirl,McKeel,”saidtheothersparrow.“ThePrince

isexpectingyou.”Thesparrows,aftereffortlesslytakinghercoatandflyingituptohangona

hook by the door, led Prue through one, down a short hallway, and into anenormoussittingroom.Anopen fire roared in thehearthbelowanornatewoodenmantel at the far

endof the room,and its lightprojectedwhirlingshadowsagainst the toweringceiling.Thefurniturewas,forthemostpart,drapedinwhitecloth,savefortwotall-backedwing chairs that were angled facing the fireplace. Thewalls werelined with high bookcases, the thousands of book spines lining their shelvesgivingtheillusionofamulticoloredtapestry.Thedrapingonaframedportraitabovethemantelhadfallentothesidealittle,revealingthefigureofabluejayin an austere robe, and it struck Prue that the room exuded a kind of cozymelancholy.“Goodevening,”saidawizenedvoicefrombehindoneofthechairs.“Ihope

youfoundyourwayheresafely.Please,sit.”A giant wing appeared from behind the chair, its innumerable brown and

whitefeathersarticulatingopentogesturetothechairopposite.Pruewhisperedathank-youandwalkedacrosstheroomtowardthechair.The

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warmthofthefiregreetedherasshereachedit,andshefoundherselfsitting,herjeansabsorbingtheheatoftheflames,staringintotheeyesofOwlRex.Hewasevenmoreimpressiveinperson,thehornlikefeathersextendingfrom

thegossamerfeathersofhishead,andhisbrownspeckledbodyeasilyfilledthecushionsof thechair.Heworea softvelvetwaistcoat, anda tasseledcapwasperchedonhiscrownbetweenthe twofeathered tufts.Hisgnarled talonswererestingonanottoman,andhispiercingyelloweyesstaredintentlyatPrue.“Iapologizeforthestateoftherooms,”hecontinued.“We’vescarcelyfound

the time to make ourselves at home here. More pressing things demand ourattention.ButIshouldbeofferingyousomerefreshment.Youmustbeparchedfromyourtravels.Teaorcoffee?”“Tea,sure,”respondedPrue,stillgettingoverheramazement.“Imean,herbal

tea.Ifyouhaveit.Peppermintorsomething.”“Mint tea!” shouted the owl, swiveling his head to the side of the chair.A

sudden flappingofwings behind them suggested the order hadbeen received.Heturnedtolookbackathisguest,thebeadsofhiseyesburrowingintoPrue’s.“Agirl.AnOutsidergirl.Quitefascinating.I’mtoldyou...yousimplywalkedin?”“Yes,sir,”repliedPrue.“I’veflownoveryourOutsidecitymanytimes,butIcan’tsaythatI’vehad

anyinterest instopping.Doyouenjoynestingthere?Is itcomfortable?”askedOwlRex.“Iguessso,”saidPrue.“Iwasbornthereandmyparentslivethere,soIguess

I don’t really have a choice. It’s a pretty nice place.” She paused, thinking,beforecontinuing:“Mostpeople—andanimals—I’vemetwereprettysurprisedIwashere.Youdon’tseemtobethatweirdedoutbyit.”“Oh,Prue, if you live tobe asold as I, you’ll seemany,many strange and

wonderful things.Andthemorestrangeandwonderful thingsyousee, thelesslikelyyouare tobe,asyousay,‘weirdedout’bythem.”Owlliftedoneofhisdappledwingsandlightlypeckedattheundersidewithhisbeakbeforereturningittohisside.

Page 130: Wildwood: The Wildwood Chronicles, Book I
Page 131: Wildwood: The Wildwood Chronicles, Book I

Prue, intheconversation’spause,hazardedthequestionshe’dbeendyingtoask since she’d arrived at the house: “Mr.Rex, do you knowwhat the crowshavedonewithmybrother?”Theowl sighed. “I amvery,very saddened to tell you that I donot. If it is

true,asyousay,thatthecrowsareresponsibleforyourbrother’sabduction,thenIhaveasmuchauthoritytofindandprosecutehiskidnappersasIwouldifthesalamandersweretoblame.”Pruedidn’tquitefollow.“You see,” continued theCrown Prince, “the crows—the entire subspecies,

mindyou—defected from thePrincipality somemonths ago.Theyhad alwaysbeena troubled lot,prone tomischiefandpetty thievery,andseemedtosufferunderthedelusionthattheysomehowstoodabovetheiravianbrethren.Asee,