“Then where were the kidnapped ymbrynes taken?” asked Emma.
“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew, because it’s none of your concern,” Miss Wren said. “It isn’t the duty of peculiar children to worry for the welfare of ymbrynes—it’s ours to worry for yours.”
“But, Miss Wren, that’s hardly fair,” Millard began, but she cut him short with a curt “I won’t hear anything else about it!” and that was that.
I was shocked by this sudden dismissal, especially considering that if we hadn’t worried about Miss Peregrine’s welfare—and risked our lives to bring her here!—she would’ve been condemned to spend the rest of her days trapped in the body of a bird. So it did seem like our duty to worry, since the ymbrynes had clearly not done a good enough job worrying to keep their loops from being raided. I didn’t like being talked down to that way, and judging from Emma’s knitted brow, she didn’t, either—but to have said so would’ve been unthinkably rude, so we finished our climb in awkward silence.
We came to the top of the stairs. Only a few of the doorways on this level were iced over. Miss Wren took Miss Peregrine from Horace and said, “Come on, Alma, let’s see what can be done for you.”
Althea appeared in an open door, her face flushed, chest heaving. “Your room’s all ready, mistress. Everything you asked for.”
“Good, good,” said Miss Wren.
“If we can do anything to help you,” Bronwyn said, “anything at all …”
“All I need is time and quiet,” Miss Wren replied. “I’ll save your ymbryne, young ones. On my life I will.” And she turned and took Miss Peregrine into the room with Althea.
Not knowing what else to do with ourselves, we drifted after her and congregated around the door, which had been left open a crack. We took turns peeking inside. In a cozy room dimly lit by oil lamps, Miss Wren sat in a rocking chair holding Miss Peregrine in her lap. Althea stood mixing vials of liquid at a lab table. Every so often she’d lift a vial and swirl it, then walk to Miss Peregrine and pass it under her beak—much the way smelling salts are waved under the nose of someone who’s fainted. All the while, Miss Wren rocked in the chair and stroked Miss Peregrine’s feathers, singing her a soft, lilting lullaby:
“Eft kaa vangan soorken, eft ka vangan soorken, malaaya …”
“That’s the tongue of the old peculiars,” Millard whispered.
“Come home, come home … remember your true self … something like that.”
Miss Wren heard him and looked up, then waved us away. Althea crossed the room and shut the door.
“Well, then,” said Enoch. “I can see we’re not wanted here.”
After three days of the headmistress depending on us for everything, we had suddenly become extraneous. Though we were grateful to Miss Wren, she’d made us all feel a bit like children who’d been ordered to bed.
“Miss Wren knows her business,” came a Russian-accented voice from behind us. “Best leave her to it.”
We turned to see the stick-thin folding man from the carnival, standing with his bony arms crossed.
“You!” said Emma.
“We meet again,” the folding man said, his voice deep as an ocean trench. “My name is Sergei Andropov, and I am captain of peculiar resistance army. Come, I will show you around.”
* * *
“I knew he was peculiar!” Olive said.
“No, you didn’t,” said Enoch. “You only thought he was.”
“I knew you were peculiar the second I saw you,” said the folding man. “How you weren’t captured long time ago?”
“Because we’re wily,” said Hugh.
“He means lucky,” I said.
“But mostly just hungry,” said Enoch. “Got any food around here? I could eat an emu-raffe.”
At the mere mention of food, my stomach growled like a wild animal. None of us had eaten since our train ride to London, which seemed eons ago.
“Of course,” said the folding man. “This way.”
We followed him down the hall.
“So tell me about this peculiar army of yours,” Emma said.
“We will crush the wights and take back what’s ours. Punish them for kidnapping our ymbrynes.” He opened a door off the hallway and led us through a wrecked office where people lay sleeping on the floor and under desks. As we stepped around them, I recognized a few of their faces from the carnival: the plain-looking boy, the frizzy-haired snake-charmer girl.
“They’re all peculiar?” I asked.
The folding man nodded. “Rescued from other loops,” he said, holding a door open for us.
“And you?” said Millard. “Where did you come from?”
The folding man led us into a vestibule where we could talk without disturbing the sleepers, a room dominated by two large wooden doors emblazoned with dozens of bird insignias. “I come from land of frozen desert beyond Icy Waste,” he said. “Hundred years ago, when hollows first born, they strike my home first. Everything destroy. All in village killed. Old woman. Baby. All.” He made a chopping motion in the air with his hand. “I hide in butter churn, breathe through reed of straw, while own brother killed in same house. After, I come to London to escape the hollows. But they come, too.”
“That’s awful,” said Bronwyn. “I’m so sorry for you.”
“One day we take revenge,” he said, his face darkening.
“You mentioned that,” said Enoch. “How many are in your army, then?”
“Right now six,” he said, gesturing to the room we’d just left.
“Six people?!” said Emma. “You mean … them?”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“With you, makes seventeen. We growing quick.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “We didn’t come here to join any army.”
He gave me a look that could freeze Hell, then turned and threw open the double doors.
We followed him into a large room dominated by a massive oval table, its wood polished to a mirror shine. “This is Ymbryne Council meeting place,” the folding man said.
All around us were portraits of famous old peculiars, not framed but drawn directly onto the walls in oil and charcoal and grease pencil. The one closest to me was a face with wide, staring eyes and an open mouth, inside of which was a real, functioning water fountain. Around its mouth was a motto written in Dutch, which Millard, standing next to me, translated: “From the mouths of our elders comes a fountain of wisdom.”
Nearby was another, this one in Latin. “Ardet nec consomitur,” Melina said. “Burned but not destroyed.”
“How fitting,” said Enoch.
“I can’t believe I’m really here,” said Melina. “I’ve studied this place and dreamed about it for so many years.”
“It’s just a room,” said Enoch.
“Maybe to you. To me, it’s the heart of the whole peculiar world.”
“A heart that’s been ripped out,” said someone new, and I looked to see a clown striding toward us—the same one who’d been stalking us at the carnival. “Miss Jackdaw was standing right where you are when she was taken. We found a whole pile of her feathers on the floor.” His accent was American. He stopped a few feet from us and stood, chewing, one hand on his hip. “This them?” he asked the folding man, pointing at us with a turkey leg. “We need soldiers, not little kids.”
“I’m a hundred and twelve!” said Melina.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” said the clown. “I could tell you people were peculiar from across the fairgrounds, by the way. You’re the most obviously peculiar bunch of peculiars I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“I told them same thing,” said the folding man.
“How they made it all the way here from Wales without being captured is beyond me,” said the clown. “In fact, it’s suspicious. Sure one of you ain’t a wight?”
“How dare you!” said Emma.
“We were captured,” Hugh said proudly, “but the wights who took us didn’t live to tell about it.”
“Uh-huh, and I’m the king of Bolivia,” the clown said.
“It’s true!” Hugh thundered, going red in the face.
The clown tossed up his hands. “Okay, okay, calm down, kid! I’m sure Wren wouldn’t have let you in if you weren’t legitimate. Come on, let’s be friends, have a turkey leg.”
He didn’t have to offer twice. We were too hungry to stay offended for long.
The clown showed us to a table stacked with food—the same boiled nuts and roasted meats that had tempted us at the carnival. We crowded around the table and stuffed our faces shamelessly. The folding man ate five cherries and a small hunk of bread and then announced he’d never been so full in his life. Bronwyn paced along the wall, chewing her fingers, too consumed by worry to eat.
When we were done, and the table was a battlefield of gnawed bones and grease stains, the clown leaned back in his chair and said, “So, peculiar children, what’s your story? Why’d you come here all the way from Wales?”
Emma wiped her mouth and said, “To help our ymbryne.”
“And when she’s helped?” the clown asked. “What then?”
I’d been busy sopping up turkey gravy with the last of the bread, but now I looked up. The question was so straightforward, so simply put—so obvious—that I couldn’t believe none of us had asked it before.
“Don’t talk like that,” said Horace. “You’ll jinx us.”
“Wren’s a miracle worker,” the clown said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Emma.
“Of course I am. So what’s your plan? You’ll stay and help us fight, obviously, but where will you sleep? Not with me, my room’s a single. Exceptions rarely made.” He looked at Emma and raised an eyebrow. “Note I said rarely.”
All of a sudden everyone was looking off at the paintings on the walls or adjusting their collars—except for Emma, whose face was turning a certain shade of green. Maybe we were naturally pessimistic, and our chances of success had seemed so tiny that we’d never bothered to wonder what we’d do if we actually fixed Miss Peregrine—or maybe the crises of the past few days had been so constant and pressing that we’d never had a chance to wonder. Either way, the clown’s question had caught us off guard.
What if we really pulled this off? What would we do if Miss Peregrine walked into the room, right now, restored to her old self?
It was Millard who finally gave an answer. “I suppose we would head west again, back where we come from. Miss Peregrine could make another loop for us. One where we’d never be found.”
“That’s it?” the clown said. “You’ll hide? What about all the other ymbrynes—the ones who weren’t so lucky? What about mine?”
“It isn’t our job to save the whole world,” Horace said.
“We’re not trying to save the whole world. Just all of peculiardom.”
“Well, that’s not our job, either.” Horace sounded weak and defensive, ashamed to have been cornered into saying this.
The clown leaned forward in his chair and glared at us. “Then whose job is it?”
“There’s got to be someone else,” said Enoch. “People who are better equipped, who’ve trained for this sort of thing …”
“The first thing the corrupted did three weeks ago was attack the Peculiar Home Guard. In less than a day, they were scattered to the four winds. With them gone, and now our ymbrynes, who does the defense of peculiardom fall to, eh? People like you and me, that’s who.” The clown threw down his turkey leg. “You cowards disgust me. I just lost my appetite.”
“They are tired, had long journey,” said the folding man. “Give them break.”
The clown waved his finger in the air like a schoolmarm. “Uh-uh. Nobody rides for free. I don’t care if you’re here for an hour or a month, as long as you’re here, you’ve got to be willing to fight. Now, you’re a scrawny-looking bunch, but you’re peculiar, so I know you’ve all got hidden talents. Show me what you can do!”
He got up and moved toward Enoch, one arm extended like he was going to search Enoch’s pockets for his peculiar ability. “You there,” he said. “Do your thing!”
“I’ll need a dead person in order to demonstrate,” Enoch said.
“That could be you, if you so much as lay one finger on me.”
The clown rerouted himself toward Emma. “Then how about you, sweetheart,” he said, and Emma held a particular finger up and made a flame dance atop it like a birthday candle. The clown laughed and said, “Sense of humor! I like that,” and moved on to the blind brothers.
“They’re connected in the head,” said Melina, putting herself between the clown and the brothers. “They can see with their ears, and always know what the other’s thinking.”
The clown clapped his hands. “Finally, something useful! They’ll be our lookouts—put one in the carnival and keep the other here. If anything goes wrong out there, we’ll know right away!”
He pushed past Melina. The brothers shied away from him.
“You can’t separate them!” said Melina. “Joel-and-Peter don’t like being apart.”
“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew, because it’s none of your concern,” Miss Wren said. “It isn’t the duty of peculiar children to worry for the welfare of ymbrynes—it’s ours to worry for yours.”
“But, Miss Wren, that’s hardly fair,” Millard began, but she cut him short with a curt “I won’t hear anything else about it!” and that was that.
I was shocked by this sudden dismissal, especially considering that if we hadn’t worried about Miss Peregrine’s welfare—and risked our lives to bring her here!—she would’ve been condemned to spend the rest of her days trapped in the body of a bird. So it did seem like our duty to worry, since the ymbrynes had clearly not done a good enough job worrying to keep their loops from being raided. I didn’t like being talked down to that way, and judging from Emma’s knitted brow, she didn’t, either—but to have said so would’ve been unthinkably rude, so we finished our climb in awkward silence.
We came to the top of the stairs. Only a few of the doorways on this level were iced over. Miss Wren took Miss Peregrine from Horace and said, “Come on, Alma, let’s see what can be done for you.”
Althea appeared in an open door, her face flushed, chest heaving. “Your room’s all ready, mistress. Everything you asked for.”
“Good, good,” said Miss Wren.
“If we can do anything to help you,” Bronwyn said, “anything at all …”
“All I need is time and quiet,” Miss Wren replied. “I’ll save your ymbryne, young ones. On my life I will.” And she turned and took Miss Peregrine into the room with Althea.
Not knowing what else to do with ourselves, we drifted after her and congregated around the door, which had been left open a crack. We took turns peeking inside. In a cozy room dimly lit by oil lamps, Miss Wren sat in a rocking chair holding Miss Peregrine in her lap. Althea stood mixing vials of liquid at a lab table. Every so often she’d lift a vial and swirl it, then walk to Miss Peregrine and pass it under her beak—much the way smelling salts are waved under the nose of someone who’s fainted. All the while, Miss Wren rocked in the chair and stroked Miss Peregrine’s feathers, singing her a soft, lilting lullaby:
“Eft kaa vangan soorken, eft ka vangan soorken, malaaya …”
“That’s the tongue of the old peculiars,” Millard whispered.
“Come home, come home … remember your true self … something like that.”
Miss Wren heard him and looked up, then waved us away. Althea crossed the room and shut the door.
“Well, then,” said Enoch. “I can see we’re not wanted here.”
After three days of the headmistress depending on us for everything, we had suddenly become extraneous. Though we were grateful to Miss Wren, she’d made us all feel a bit like children who’d been ordered to bed.
“Miss Wren knows her business,” came a Russian-accented voice from behind us. “Best leave her to it.”
We turned to see the stick-thin folding man from the carnival, standing with his bony arms crossed.
“You!” said Emma.
“We meet again,” the folding man said, his voice deep as an ocean trench. “My name is Sergei Andropov, and I am captain of peculiar resistance army. Come, I will show you around.”
* * *
“I knew he was peculiar!” Olive said.
“No, you didn’t,” said Enoch. “You only thought he was.”
“I knew you were peculiar the second I saw you,” said the folding man. “How you weren’t captured long time ago?”
“Because we’re wily,” said Hugh.
“He means lucky,” I said.
“But mostly just hungry,” said Enoch. “Got any food around here? I could eat an emu-raffe.”
At the mere mention of food, my stomach growled like a wild animal. None of us had eaten since our train ride to London, which seemed eons ago.
“Of course,” said the folding man. “This way.”
We followed him down the hall.
“So tell me about this peculiar army of yours,” Emma said.
“We will crush the wights and take back what’s ours. Punish them for kidnapping our ymbrynes.” He opened a door off the hallway and led us through a wrecked office where people lay sleeping on the floor and under desks. As we stepped around them, I recognized a few of their faces from the carnival: the plain-looking boy, the frizzy-haired snake-charmer girl.
“They’re all peculiar?” I asked.
The folding man nodded. “Rescued from other loops,” he said, holding a door open for us.
“And you?” said Millard. “Where did you come from?”
The folding man led us into a vestibule where we could talk without disturbing the sleepers, a room dominated by two large wooden doors emblazoned with dozens of bird insignias. “I come from land of frozen desert beyond Icy Waste,” he said. “Hundred years ago, when hollows first born, they strike my home first. Everything destroy. All in village killed. Old woman. Baby. All.” He made a chopping motion in the air with his hand. “I hide in butter churn, breathe through reed of straw, while own brother killed in same house. After, I come to London to escape the hollows. But they come, too.”
“That’s awful,” said Bronwyn. “I’m so sorry for you.”
“One day we take revenge,” he said, his face darkening.
“You mentioned that,” said Enoch. “How many are in your army, then?”
“Right now six,” he said, gesturing to the room we’d just left.
“Six people?!” said Emma. “You mean … them?”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“With you, makes seventeen. We growing quick.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “We didn’t come here to join any army.”
He gave me a look that could freeze Hell, then turned and threw open the double doors.
We followed him into a large room dominated by a massive oval table, its wood polished to a mirror shine. “This is Ymbryne Council meeting place,” the folding man said.
All around us were portraits of famous old peculiars, not framed but drawn directly onto the walls in oil and charcoal and grease pencil. The one closest to me was a face with wide, staring eyes and an open mouth, inside of which was a real, functioning water fountain. Around its mouth was a motto written in Dutch, which Millard, standing next to me, translated: “From the mouths of our elders comes a fountain of wisdom.”
Nearby was another, this one in Latin. “Ardet nec consomitur,” Melina said. “Burned but not destroyed.”
“How fitting,” said Enoch.
“I can’t believe I’m really here,” said Melina. “I’ve studied this place and dreamed about it for so many years.”
“It’s just a room,” said Enoch.
“Maybe to you. To me, it’s the heart of the whole peculiar world.”
“A heart that’s been ripped out,” said someone new, and I looked to see a clown striding toward us—the same one who’d been stalking us at the carnival. “Miss Jackdaw was standing right where you are when she was taken. We found a whole pile of her feathers on the floor.” His accent was American. He stopped a few feet from us and stood, chewing, one hand on his hip. “This them?” he asked the folding man, pointing at us with a turkey leg. “We need soldiers, not little kids.”
“I’m a hundred and twelve!” said Melina.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” said the clown. “I could tell you people were peculiar from across the fairgrounds, by the way. You’re the most obviously peculiar bunch of peculiars I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“I told them same thing,” said the folding man.
“How they made it all the way here from Wales without being captured is beyond me,” said the clown. “In fact, it’s suspicious. Sure one of you ain’t a wight?”
“How dare you!” said Emma.
“We were captured,” Hugh said proudly, “but the wights who took us didn’t live to tell about it.”
“Uh-huh, and I’m the king of Bolivia,” the clown said.
“It’s true!” Hugh thundered, going red in the face.
The clown tossed up his hands. “Okay, okay, calm down, kid! I’m sure Wren wouldn’t have let you in if you weren’t legitimate. Come on, let’s be friends, have a turkey leg.”
He didn’t have to offer twice. We were too hungry to stay offended for long.
The clown showed us to a table stacked with food—the same boiled nuts and roasted meats that had tempted us at the carnival. We crowded around the table and stuffed our faces shamelessly. The folding man ate five cherries and a small hunk of bread and then announced he’d never been so full in his life. Bronwyn paced along the wall, chewing her fingers, too consumed by worry to eat.
When we were done, and the table was a battlefield of gnawed bones and grease stains, the clown leaned back in his chair and said, “So, peculiar children, what’s your story? Why’d you come here all the way from Wales?”
Emma wiped her mouth and said, “To help our ymbryne.”
“And when she’s helped?” the clown asked. “What then?”
I’d been busy sopping up turkey gravy with the last of the bread, but now I looked up. The question was so straightforward, so simply put—so obvious—that I couldn’t believe none of us had asked it before.
“Don’t talk like that,” said Horace. “You’ll jinx us.”
“Wren’s a miracle worker,” the clown said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Emma.
“Of course I am. So what’s your plan? You’ll stay and help us fight, obviously, but where will you sleep? Not with me, my room’s a single. Exceptions rarely made.” He looked at Emma and raised an eyebrow. “Note I said rarely.”
All of a sudden everyone was looking off at the paintings on the walls or adjusting their collars—except for Emma, whose face was turning a certain shade of green. Maybe we were naturally pessimistic, and our chances of success had seemed so tiny that we’d never bothered to wonder what we’d do if we actually fixed Miss Peregrine—or maybe the crises of the past few days had been so constant and pressing that we’d never had a chance to wonder. Either way, the clown’s question had caught us off guard.
What if we really pulled this off? What would we do if Miss Peregrine walked into the room, right now, restored to her old self?
It was Millard who finally gave an answer. “I suppose we would head west again, back where we come from. Miss Peregrine could make another loop for us. One where we’d never be found.”
“That’s it?” the clown said. “You’ll hide? What about all the other ymbrynes—the ones who weren’t so lucky? What about mine?”
“It isn’t our job to save the whole world,” Horace said.
“We’re not trying to save the whole world. Just all of peculiardom.”
“Well, that’s not our job, either.” Horace sounded weak and defensive, ashamed to have been cornered into saying this.
The clown leaned forward in his chair and glared at us. “Then whose job is it?”
“There’s got to be someone else,” said Enoch. “People who are better equipped, who’ve trained for this sort of thing …”
“The first thing the corrupted did three weeks ago was attack the Peculiar Home Guard. In less than a day, they were scattered to the four winds. With them gone, and now our ymbrynes, who does the defense of peculiardom fall to, eh? People like you and me, that’s who.” The clown threw down his turkey leg. “You cowards disgust me. I just lost my appetite.”
“They are tired, had long journey,” said the folding man. “Give them break.”
The clown waved his finger in the air like a schoolmarm. “Uh-uh. Nobody rides for free. I don’t care if you’re here for an hour or a month, as long as you’re here, you’ve got to be willing to fight. Now, you’re a scrawny-looking bunch, but you’re peculiar, so I know you’ve all got hidden talents. Show me what you can do!”
He got up and moved toward Enoch, one arm extended like he was going to search Enoch’s pockets for his peculiar ability. “You there,” he said. “Do your thing!”
“I’ll need a dead person in order to demonstrate,” Enoch said.
“That could be you, if you so much as lay one finger on me.”
The clown rerouted himself toward Emma. “Then how about you, sweetheart,” he said, and Emma held a particular finger up and made a flame dance atop it like a birthday candle. The clown laughed and said, “Sense of humor! I like that,” and moved on to the blind brothers.
“They’re connected in the head,” said Melina, putting herself between the clown and the brothers. “They can see with their ears, and always know what the other’s thinking.”
The clown clapped his hands. “Finally, something useful! They’ll be our lookouts—put one in the carnival and keep the other here. If anything goes wrong out there, we’ll know right away!”
He pushed past Melina. The brothers shied away from him.
“You can’t separate them!” said Melina. “Joel-and-Peter don’t like being apart.”
