Bran Hambric: The Farfield Curse (15 page)

"Bran!" he heard a familiar voice all of a sudden. He spun quickly, and there was Rosie, standing between two shelves a few rows away, as if she had been waiting for him all the time.

"Come here, quick!" she whispered, beckoning. He blinked, wondering what he should say to her, when she rushed over to him with a book in her hands.

"Look here, Bran!" she said excitedly, waving a book. "
The Complete Encyclopedia on the History of—
whatever’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!"

Bran blinked at her and stepped away. He didn’t know how to react to her for a few moments.

"Rosie," he asked. "Where’d you go?"

"Go?" she studied his face, blinking. "What do you mean, where did I go?"

"Back there," Bran pointed to the door. "You told me to follow you, and then you left."

"I did what?" Rosie’s eyes followed his finger to the door. She peered at it for a few seconds.

"Oh, no, you must be confused," she laughed lightly. "That door has a sign on it that says only employees are allowed. I’m obviously not an employee, so I’m not allowed."

"But Rosie," Bran said, beginning to feel very odd, "you were back there, and you told me to go find the box, and to open it, and—"

"Bran," Rosie broke in. "I can assure you, I never went through that door. In fact, I’ve been here with the encyclopedias the entire time we’ve been here!"

Bran blinked, but he could see in her eyes that she was telling the truth. His heartbeat quickened, remembering the voice. It
was
her, he knew it.

Am I going mad?
he wondered, just staring at her. Rosie looked at his face for a long time, and she seemed to be just as confused as he was.

"Bran, I—" she began, but she stopped. She didn’t seem to know what to say. Then she looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, look, I think it’s time to go," she said, trying to force a smile. "They seem to be loading up without us."

Bran couldn’t make himself smile, though he tried to hide it from her. Rosie put her arm over his shoulder, and Bran simply took a deep breath and went with her to the car.

The Schweezer spluttered and popped all the way back to Bolton Road, and no one said a word the whole time. When they pulled up to the curb and got out, there was a strange feeling crawling up Bran’s spine, as if he were being watched by a hundred dark eyes, from the windows of the houses, behind the cars, in the bushes. He couldn’t lay his finger on the feeling so he pushed it away as best he could. He had been through enough fright for one day, and he wasn’t going to let it get to him any more than it already had.

"Mabel," Sewey said, digging through his pockets. "I can’t seem to find my house key."

"I’ve got one," Mabel said with a huff, leading the troupe to the front door. She stuck the key into the lock and gave it a good wrench around, but it didn’t budge. "Funny," she said. "I was sure I locked it before we left."

"I remember that," Sewey said. "Now who’s gone and unlocked it this time?"

They began to argue as to who was to blame, and it ended up being Sewey’s fault, then Baldretta’s fault, then Mr. Rat’s fault, and finally landed as Bran’s fault.

"Does it really matter?" Bran asked. "I mean, it does look awkward standing here outside our own front door."

"He’s right," Sewey said in a rush, looking up and down the street quickly.

"We’d better hurry," Mabel said, flinging the door open. "It’d be the talk of the town!"

"I can see the headlines now: ‘Wilomas Family Can’t Get through Front Door,’" Sewey said as he flipped the lights on. "It might make it right on top of
Miss Grundy Reports!
"

"Or it might—" Mabel started, but all of a sudden she gave a great scream and fell a few steps backward, her hands going up to her cheeks. Rosie gasped at the horrible sight before their eyes.

Furniture was overturned onto the floor, lamps were knocked down, and papers strewn everywhere. The couches were thrown about and the stairs were littered with their belongings. It looked like a troll had been set loose in the house, and all anyone could do was stand there with their mouths open and their eyes blinking at the horrific scene.

"Goodness!" Rosie squeaked.

"Great Moby!" Sewey burst.

"The burglar!" Balder said what was on everyone’s minds.

In a second, everyone was running through the house, shouting at each other from different rooms—all except Bran, who could do nothing but stand frozen in the doorway.

"Oh, my kitchen!" Rosie wailed, moving pots and pans around. Mabel rushed through the house, picking up broken vases and clocks and picture frames. Bran couldn’t even think of what monster would have done this—except the creature on the roof.

In an instant, he remembered the look behind Shambles’s eyes. He remembered the clawing, searching moves of his hands. He could almost see the creature in his mind, running through the house, tearing it up, searching for something…

"My room!" Bran gasped, and he broke into a run up the stairs, leaving the front door open behind him. He ran as fast as he could and didn’t stop until he got to his ladder, climbing up as fast as he could, his hands and feet barely touching the steps.

When he came to his room he stopped, and he looked at it, unable to say a word.

His desk had been turned over on its side, the bulb in his lamp smashed. There were pieces of paper all over the floor and his window was open with the air blowing things all around. Boxes were knocked over, pushed around, some of them ripped open with the things spilling out.

A sudden terrifying thought came to him, and he leapt forward, throwing the sheets off his bed and reaching under it, all the time hoping the creature hadn’t found his bag. His hand felt far underneath, all over, but touched nothing. He pushed his head under—the bag was gone!

His eyes searched the room frantically for any trace of it. All of a sudden, he spotted it near some boxes across the room. He dashed over and pulled it into the light: the clasp unlocked and the bag already opened. He pushed the things around with his hand, counting them, making sure everything was there. They slipped through his fingers as he sorted them onto the floor: when he got to the bottom, his hand stopped.

"The papers!" Bran gasped. He dug around in the bag, but the paper with his name was nowhere to be found, as was the scrap Mr. Swinehic had given him. Bran went through the things twice, then a third time. But both were gone.

He slid his hands along the floor, looking for anywhere it might have blown, his mind frantic and his motions quick. His eyes swept across the floor, but came across nothing. He dug through the shreds and the boxes, searching everywhere, all in vain.

He fell against the wall in shock. Not only had he lost the paper from Mr. Swinehic, his only clue from the creature, but he had also lost the paper with his name, the only clue to his past.

"Why?" he asked himself in anger, hitting the hard floor and looking around the room.

"What do you want!?" he called out, as if the creature was there and could hear his words. His hands tightened into fists and his breath became slow and deliberate, unable to solve anything in his head and everything lost to him.

"What do you want with me?" he asked again, his voice lower.

I want you.

Bran gasped, turning at the sound in his head, his breath stopping. His heart pounded. He looked, but there was nothing; he listened, but no sound of movement came.

"W-who’s there?" Bran asked; still, silent, alert to the voice. The words had been so quick it was hardly more than a breath in his ear, by something Bran could not see or feel, almost inside of him. His gaze shot all over the room, one place and then the next. He felt the eyes again, watching him from all directions at once. He blinked but didn’t move.

He saw a rush of motion sliding to the side and turned, pressing against the wall. It was such a fleeting movement it was hardly more than a shadow of something black, going behind a pile of boxes. Bran spun, grabbing for something to defend himself. His hand came across a piece of wood from a broken crate, and he held it in front of him, nails sticking out at all angles.

"Where are you?" Bran said quickly, his throat dry and his forehead becoming warm with alarm. All was motionless. He stepped toward the box he had seen the figure dart behind, his hands shaking. There was a black cloth hanging over some crates, and for a second it seemed to rustle, almost as if someone was behind it. Slowly, Bran came forward, reaching for the cloth.

"I know you’re there," Bran hissed, and in a sudden motion, he swept the material away, holding the board out, ready for anything…

But he was met with his own reflection.

He jumped. For a moment he was startled but a second later, he recognized his face. It was an old mirror, leaning against the boxes. But there was no one else.

Chapter 12

The Telephone Call

Sewey Called them together ten minutes later.s"There’s no getting around it," he said. "We’ve been robbed." "But nothing’s missing!" Rosie said. Bran had kept quiet about the missing papers. "We’ve been robbed nonetheless," Sewey said. "By what?"

He nodded matter-of-factly. "By
gnomes.
" Balder and Mabel gasped, and Baldretta hiccupped. "What gnome?" Sewey asked aloud, raising a finger. "The gnome from the roof. This—" He gestured around at all the mess. "—is definitely a
gnome mess.
" "And no witnesses," Rosie realized grimly. "All the neighbors were gone for the picnic!" "Right!" Sewey said. "The perfect time to break in!" Mabel said with a gasp. Sewey nodded with a glum frown. "Goodness! Let’s call the police right away, then!" Rosie said. "Can’t," Sewey told her. "The Law clearly states if a gnome enters one’s house, the homeowner is just as guilty as the gnome; because after all, he
was
harboring a criminal!" "Goodness!" Rosie said. Baldretta crossed her arms with disgust.

"Maybe he found what he wanted and now he’ll just go away," Mabel said.

"Don’t be so sure," Sewey warned. "Mark my words, that gnome is somewhere out there—and if my name is Sewey Wilomas, he’ll be back for more."

The conversation was beginning to wear on Bran’s nerves, so he started for the door to go outside. He couldn’t stand being in the house anyway: it felt as if every inch of what he had deemed a safe haven had been invaded.

"Where are you going?" Sewey asked him sourly.

"Outside," Bran said.

"Where?"

"Just outside," Bran murmured, pushing past and shoving the front door closed behind him. Sewey was too upset or bewildered to follow. The family had hardly ever seen Bran angry before, but Bran didn’t care. He just wanted to be away from them and the house and everything else.

He paced the little bit of lawn they had. He knew if he started to concentrate, his thoughts would end up back on what had happened at the park and the bookstore and then in his room. He didn’t want to think about any of it anymore.

But eventually, he found that he had wandered beside the house, to the spot where Mr. Swinehic had found the paper that the creature had dropped. The grass was still slightly messy from where Shambles had scratched up the dirt in his haste to get away. Bran pushed it around with his foot, wandering aimlessly until his eyes caught the ladder, still sitting against the house.

"Now
that
will probably stay there until it rusts," he muttered. Sewey was awful about getting things out of his shed and leaving them lying about. But the ladder gave Bran an idea, so he moved for it, and started up. He got to the top and climbed to the roof, the same place he had been just a few nights earlier, when the creature had appeared. He went to the chimney and sat against it, just breathing the cool air that was moist with the approaching storm clouds. Everything was gray and blue. But up there, Bran felt safe.

He gazed around at all the houses. He could see far, even though clouds were drowning out most of the sunlight. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to be there with the storm coming, but right then, he didn’t really care.

He let himself mull over all that had happened: the bookstore, the secret room, his mother’s note. Then he thought about the strange man at the library: the one who had acted so odd, pointing him right to Highland’s Books for apparently no reason. But Bran was finished with believing in coincidences. He felt as if there was some great puppet-master twisting the strings above him, tweaking him so that these things would happen. But what was it all for?

He felt the folded newspaper in his pocket, and it gave him a start immediately. He had made it from the bookstore without it being discovered. He drew the sheet out. It felt odd having it in the open, even though no one could see it from the ground. It was a welcome distraction, so he smoothed out the creases and peered at the front page headline:

CITY OF WINDALE MAGES STRIKE:

TROUBLE FOR THE FLOATING CITY?

Below the headline was a photograph of a city on the edge of a cliff, with a sharp drop-off into the sea, waves crashing against the rocks and throwing foam into the air. There was, however, one strange feature. At what appeared to be a few hundred feet away from the top of the cliff, hovering over the water, was a second city, its buildings poking into the clouds and an airplane just flying in. There was simply nothing underneath it at all.

He skimmed the report: apparently, the two cities had been one on the seaside coast, before a terrible crumbling of the rock underneath nearly spelled the demise of half the population into the ocean. They were narrowly saved by a large, around-the-clock group of Netora mages who kept the doomed city aloft telekinetically. It seemed that the group, after nearly a century of work, had begun to tire of the long hours and were ready to drop it, much to the understandable disagreement of the Windalers.

There were other articles on each side, one a review of a book called
Kitchen Magic
by Barbara Smithens and the other detailing a disagreement between a group of archmages and the Primirus, which the article alluded to as the head of the Mages Council. Bran pulled the pages apart but inside there were no other plies of paper: a simple, one-sheet newspaper. It seemed quite odd to Bran, even as he ran his eyes over the articles, detailing the news and what was going on outside: disagreements, the death of a famous mage, statistics of mages in political office. It was all very eye-opening that so much went on outside Dunce. The city walls had severed off an entirely different world.