Lost Places (3 page)

“Piffle!” Tim heard the little narl named Crimple exclaim. “Is it down, out, and around? Or down, out, and in?” He sighed in frustration and
stared at the strands of grass he held. Tim could see that some of the green fronds had been woven together.

“How do birds manage to do this, Tanger?” Crimple complained. “They don't even have thumbs.”

“Birds are
born
with wings, Crimple,” Tanger explained patiently. “They don't have to make them.”

“No!” Crimple's eyes widened in astonishment.

Tanger nodded his head sharply several times. “It's true, true, quite true. They have wings before they have feathers.”

“Dogfroth!” Crimple's tiny shoulders sagged. “I suppose it's butterfly wings for me then.”

“Only
caterpillars
get butterfly wings, Crimple.”

“But I don't want to be a caterpillar!” Crimple protested. “Two legs are quite enough for me, thank you!”

“Quite enough for me, too!” Tim declared.

“And me!” Molly chimed in, giggling.

The two little sticklike creatures started. Tanger's head whipped back so suddenly to stare up at Tim and Molly that his tiny spectacles fell off. Crimple took one openmouthed look at the two friends looming over him, then dropped the
unfinished grass wings and dashed into the hole at the base of the tree.

“Crimple!” Tanger called after the narl. He fumbled in the grass for his specs, then put them back on, hooking the flexible wire frames around his large, pointed ears. He shook his head. “Don't know what's come over that twigling,” he told Tim apologetically.

“We didn't mean to scare him,” Tim said.

“Think nothing of it,” Tanger said. “The Opener is always welcome, you know that. And so does he. I'll see what I can do.” He stroked his long pointy nose a few times and then followed Crimple into the tree. Tim could hear him trying to reason with the nervous narl.

“I won't go out. Make my excuses,” Crimple said.

“Now, Crimple…”

“Tell them I'm not feeling very leafy today.”

“Crimple, don't be a stick-in-the-mud.”

“I wish I
was
a perishing stick,” Crimple muttered.

“We can do without that kind of talk. Besides, it's the Opener himself!”

“Yes,” Crimple hissed. “But who's he got with him?”

Tim and Molly exchanged a look. Tim shrugged. “I told you they were shy,” he said,
hoping Molly wouldn't feel slighted by Crimple's reaction to her. It had never occurred to him that anyone might not welcome Molly instantly.

She looked worried. “Should I leave?”

“No! No, I'm sure Tanger will work it all out,” Tim reassured her.

“If you're positive…” Molly said uncertainly.

“I am.” He motioned to her to be quiet.

“The Opener is the only one who's supposed to see us,” Crimple declared. “That's the rule, isn't it?”

“Hmm. That is true.” Tim heard Tanger take a long pause.

The narl must be trying to figure out how all this works,
Tim reasoned.
Good luck to him! I'm the so-called Opener, and even I don't understand it!

“But it was the Opener who ordained the rules, you know,” Tanger said finally. “Therefore, it stands to reason that if he wishes to alter it, why—”

“Fizzle!” Crimple cut off Tanger. “I'm not going out there and that's final.”

Tanger let out a long sigh. “Very well, twigling. Suit yourself.”

Tanger reappeared outside the hollow in the base of the trunk. He gave a small bow to Tim. “Good morning, your Openership.” He bowed to Molly. “And good morning to you, too, miss.” He
squinted at her. “Assuming you can see me, of course.”

“I certainly can, and quite pleased to do so,” Molly replied. “It is a true honor.”

“For me as well.”

Tim grinned. If bark could blush, Tanger's cheeks would be red. He seemed quite smitten. And it was clear to Tim that Molly was equally charmed by the little narl.

“My apologies for Crimple,” Tanger said. He shook his head. “He can have some awfully persistent notions.”

“I have an idea.” Molly smiled. She crawled closer to the tree trunk. She knocked twice on the bark, then said, “Crimple, would you come out, sir, please? Tim and I would like to make wings for you, and we need your help!”

The short branches on Crimple's head emerged from the hole in the tree. The rest of him quickly followed. “Wings, you say?” He stepped out in front of Molly. “If you truly need my help, I'll be most happy to oblige.”

“Excellent!” Molly picked up some leaves and held them up to Crimple, checking them for size. Tim did the same for Tanger. They began twisting the stems together.

“So what else is out there in this place?” Molly asked as she fashioned a leaf wing before
Crimple's adoring eyes. He had a big smile on his face. Tim admired Molly's clever way of smoothing things over with the nervous creature.

“I don't know,” Tim admitted. “This is as far as I've gone.”

“Are you serious?” Molly gaped at him. “Why?”

“Why am I serious or why haven't I gotten myself lost out there?”

“Truly, Molly, miss,” Tanger said. He took a sip of rainwater he had collected in an acorn cap. “The Opener is right. Why should he venture farther than our tree? Our lovely meadow. It's nice and picnickery here.”

Crimple shuddered. “There's no telling what might be out there.”

“This is absurd.” Molly put down her half-made wings and stood up. “I'm taking a look around.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Tim argued. He reached for his backpack and pulled out a sandwich. “Like Crimple says, we don't know what's lurking out there.”

“Hey, no boyfriend of mine is going to see me as a weak and helpless female.” Molly waggled a finger at Tim. “You'd better not get all protective and overbearing or you'll be in a load of trouble.”

“All right, all right,” Tim said with a laugh.
He flopped onto his back and watched her go.

Molly set off through the tall grasses.
How much trouble could she really find in a place I made up as a kid?
Tim thought, taking a bite of his sandwich and enjoying the spring sunshine.
She should be fine.
Besides, he knew Molly would get quite mad if he objected any further. The day was just too nice for any more arguing.

“You'd better go after her, your Openership,” Tanger said. “She could meet someone she hasn't been introduced to.”

“She's pretty good at introducing herself,” Tim assured Tanger. “That's how I met her.”

Tanger put his acorn cup down on the root beside him. “I'm afraid you don't understand, Opener.”

“Oh, sazzle it!” Crimple exclaimed. “You stump heads can sit there and talk. I'm going after her.” Crimple raced across the meadow and disappeared into the tall grass.

Tanger gasped. “He left the tree!”

Tim glanced at Tanger. The narl looked horrified. “Uh, is he overreacting, or is Molly really in potential trouble?”

It was as if the little narl hadn't heard him. He seemed too stunned by Crimple's departure. “He's left the meadow. I can't believe it.”

Tanger's fear was palpable, and now Tim was worried. He got to his feet. “Come on, we don't want to lose them,” he said.

“No,” Tanger said. “No, we don't.”

“Do you want me to carry you? My legs are a lot longer.”

“I'm heavier than you think,” Tanger said.

Tim looked down at the six-inch twiglike man and suppressed a smile. “I'll manage.”

He knelt down and let the spiky little creature climb up onto his shoulder.

“Set?” Tim asked.

“I suppose I must be.”

Tim carefully stood up again, and Tanger clutched the collar of Tim's sweatshirt to hold himself steady.

“What were you saying about Crimple?” Tim asked as he trotted across the meadow. They soon slipped into the overgrown, grassy section where they had last seen Molly and Crimple.

“Just that he'd left the tree and the meadow.”

“He doesn't do that often, then?”

“No. Not many narls do.”

“But aren't you bored, staying in the same place all the time?”

“Oh yes, your Openership. Bored as trivets. It was never a very exciting meadow, once you
stopped coming 'round. I've often wished we could leave it. Without dying, that is.”

Tim stopped in midstep and gulped. “Dying?” he repeated. Had he heard Tanger correctly? Were the two narls in even greater danger than Molly?

“W
HAT DO YOU MEAN?
You
die
if you leave the tree?” Tim asked Tanger. The idea had never occurred to him. “How?”

“I couldn't say exactly, your Openership,” Tanger replied, shifting nervously on Tim's shoulder. “I've never died before, you see, so I'm a bit vague on the details. But that's enough of that. Let's concentrate on finding Crimple and Molly.”

“Tanger, are you daft? If your life is in danger, you can't come with me to find Molly.” He gripped Tanger's ankles as tightly as he could without snapping them or getting splinters. “Hold on tight, I'm going to run you right back to the tree.”

“Going back isn't going to change anything,” Tanger said. “I've left my place, and there's no undoing that.”

This was all too confusing to Tim. “Get down, Tanger. We need to talk about this.”

“Very well, Opener, if you insist. But let's not dawdle, eh? Our friends are lost enough as it is.”

Tim knelt down. “Come on, hop off.” He winced as the twiglike creature poked and scratched him clambering back to the ground. “Now, what's all this
place
business?”

“Don't they have places where you come from?” Tanger asked.

“Where I come from
is
a place, so far as I know. But you won't catch me dying because I've left it.”

“Hmm. That sounds a bit implausible, if you'll forgive my saying so. Perhaps your folk don't call their places ‘places'?”

“I'm trying to understand,” Tim said. “I really am. But this still doesn't make sense to me.”

“What do your folk call it when you have to do certain things to convince your world that you belong in it?”

Tim's eyebrows rose behind his glasses. “I don't think there is such a word. Or such a thing, for that matter. Not where I live, anyway.”

Tanger stared at Tim. “Don't your people have rules?” he asked, clearly perplexed. “Rules you all know but never talk about? Keep them and you're welcome as rain, anywhere. Break them, though, and decent folks wouldn't mulch with you if their roots depended on it. Even water runs away from you.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Tim nodded as he began to understand. “We call that being snubbed. Listen, I can see how it might upset you to be ostracized like that—but aren't you taking it a bit too hard? I mean, you're not going to die of it, surely.”

Tanger shook his head. “Well, if you're not the most unfortunate Opener I've ever known, I'm a saucepan. Imagine having ears that size and not knowing how to use them!”

Tim tried not to laugh. He knew Tanger was trying to explain something very important—life-threatening danger, in fact—but to see the little twiglike figure in such fury was, well, kind of cute.

“Okay, let me try to figure this out,” he said to Tanger. “You're saying, unless you do these things you always do—these
habits
, say, or ways of living—then the world itself doesn't recognize you as one of its own.”

Tanger clapped his small hands. “That's it!”

Tim could say the words, but it still didn't make much sense to him, so he kept trying to work it out. “So these actions, or ways of being, kind of determine who you are?”

“Yes, indeed, Opener! You're coming 'round, I see!”

Tim thought about the way he had felt when he had visited other worlds, like Faerie and Free
Country. Tanger was right—one of the ways he was recognized as an outsider, and one of the reasons he felt so strange in those places, was because there were all these ways of behaving and beliefs and practices that he didn't know anything about. All the Fair Folk knew how to live in Faerie; they were born knowing. Even within his own world, if Tim were to visit Buckingham Palace, for instance, he would certainly feel like he had left his place. He'd be far from the world he knew.

“I think I get it now,” Tim said. “And because you've left your place, you've mixed things up. Your reality has changed.”

“Precisely.” Tanger nodded.

“And by changing your reality so drastically, you think you might cease to exist altogether.”

“Yes,” Tanger said, his face brightening. Then, as if the implications of what Tim had just said became clear, his eyes were downcast again. “Yes,” he said softly.

That's just how I felt when I discovered I was magic. But things are different now. I learned—no
, Tim corrected himself—
I'm
learning
how to navigate this new world, the world in which I am magic. But it disrupted my place, and by doing so, in a sense the old Tim Hunter died. Maybe it would it be like that for Tanger
, Tim told himself.
Maybe this wouldn't be
a real death but some kind of symbolic death.

But there was no way for Tim to be sure. What should they do? What was the right thing?

Tanger stared down at the ground, silent. Tim placed his hands on his hips, thinking.
If leaving the tree really might kill Tanger and Crimple, it is probably too late to change that. So we might as well go forward—and hope that the narl is wrong.

“Listen,” Tim said finally. “Hop back up. If you're right about this, there is nothing we can do about it now. So we might as well try to find Molly and Crimple. After that, we'll see about you and Crimple returning to your ‘place.'”

“Yes, Opener,” Tanger said. But Tim didn't need to use magic to understand that Tanger didn't really hold out much hope for surviving this adventure.