Unwritten Books 1 - Unwritten Girl (7 page)

“How come —” Peter’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no — we’re part of a story, aren’t we?”

Rosemary looked up. “Peter?”

He shivered. “Think about it: a storybook forest? Bad things happen in storybook forests! We could run into lions or tigers or bears —”

“Lions live in grasslands,” said Rosemary.

“I’m talking
storybook
forests!” Peter rounded on Puck. “What’s here? Goblins? Trolls? Evil trees?”

Puck shrugged. “That, my friend, I cannot say. We must go on and find the way.” He linked their hands together. Peter and Rosemary looked at each other and let go. They grabbed hold again when
Puck took Rosemary’s other hand and pulled her into the forest.

Puck soon let go of their hands and darted ahead of them, prancing and leaping over fallen logs, looping back to them to make sure they weren’t left behind.

“I had a dog like this,” muttered Peter, his arms folded and his shoulders hunched. “Maybe we could throw him a stick.”

“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” said Rosemary. “Look at Puck. He seems at home here.”

Puck turned around and paced them, walking backwards. “That is because this
is
my home!” He swung his arms wide. “And I am always happy to return to it! I am the forest and the forest is me. Remove me and a part is lost. Return me and I am whole!”

He cartwheeled backwards, landing on his feet. “Dance with me, Rosemary!” He held out his hand. “Feel the joy of the forest!”

Rosemary hung back, but Puck caught her hand. She sailed into the dance with a cry. Then, as Puck swung her around, she began to laugh and shriek with delight.

Puck twirled her, and Rosemary, laughing, swung down the path towards Peter. She reached out her hand to draw him into the dance, but he ducked back. She stopped and looked at him sourly. “Why not?”

He laughed. “I — I’m not the dancing type.”

“You should be,” said Puck. “You seem most nimble and well-made. Doesn’t he, Rosemary?”

“I — I just think we should be more careful,” stammered Peter.

“How can you be afraid of this place?” said Rosemary. “With Puck so happy, what could possibly go wr—”

Puck tackled her, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Rosemary struggled free. “What?”

“You tempted fate,” said Puck, his smile gone. “Never do that in the Land of Fiction.”

“But this is your home!”

“Sage Rosemary, look me in the eye. I am the forest and the forest is me. Would you trust
me
every moment of the day and night?”

Rosemary looked at Puck. His eyes were bright as new leaves and deep as wells. They sparkled with energy and Rosemary was bathed in Puck’s compassion for her. But she also sensed a wildness in that gaze that could overwhelm her.

She turned away, shivering. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking!”

“My fault. You caught my happiness. You could not see my caution.”

Peter cut them off. “I hear something.”

A low and steady drumbeat rose at the edge of hearing and grew louder.

Peter, Puck, and Rosemary dove for cover in the bushes. From there they watched the path and listened.

The drumbeat grew louder, and as it did, other music, whistles and trumpets, entered the range of hearing. Then they heard the sounds of marching feet, and they could see shapes moving along the path.

As the figures came closer, Peter and Rosemary realized that the shapes weren’t human, they were ... shapes. And they were singing.

Two, four, six, eight,
Find the greatest numerate!
Three, six, nine, twelve,
Through the forest we will delve!
Four, eight, twelve, sixteen
To catch the largest number seen!
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty
For our hunt to feed us plenty!

Spheres, cubes, and pyramids, each barely two feet tall, were marching along the forest floor on legs as thin as pencils. Their hands were human, but barely an inch across. Their arms were as thin as their legs. They wore white sailor hats, white gloves, and galoshes and carried fountain pens for spears.

Rosemary frowned. She stood up.

“Rosemary!” Peter gasped. “What are you doing?”

She stepped through the bushes and onto the path. Peter moved to stop her, but Puck held him back. “She is following her instinct. My instinct says to let her.”

The troop of shapes stopped in their tracks. They looked at Rosemary in shock.

One of the shapes, a gold sphere with two white eyes, a slit mouth, and no nose, stepped forward. It peered at Rosemary. “Princess Rosemary!” it squealed in a little-girl voice. It jumped up and down. “You’re back! You’re back! It’s been one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-
eight
years since you last read us!” The creature jumped into Rosemary’s arms and looked her over. “You’ve grown!”

Rosemary lifted the little sphere in shocked delight. “Una? I remember you!” She looked around at the crowd. “I remember all of you! You’re the Number Crunchers!”

A cheer went up among the crowd. “She remembers us! She remembers us!”

“I read you when I was like four!”

“And eight years have passed,” said Una. “That makes you twelve, because four plus eight is twelve!”

“Yes, I know that.” Rosemary hesitated, blushing. “I can divide and multiply.”

“Ooo!” said the crowd.

Peter and Puck glanced at each other, shrugged, and stepped out of the bushes.

The Number Crunchers gasped and started to edge away.

“It’s okay,” said Rosemary. “These are my friends.” She looked at Peter. “Why are you snickering?”

“So, this was what you were reading when you were four?” said Peter.

Another shape darted forward, two blue pyramids balanced tip to tip. It hopped into Peter’s arms. “Peter the Valiant of the Merry Men! It’s been one-two-three-four-five-
six
years since you last read us!”

Peter flushed. “Hello, Dué.”

The crowd cheered. “Not just one reader returns, but two! Hurray! What a joyous reunion for the Number Crunchers! A feast! We must have a feast to celebrate!”

The shapes scrambled and produced a blanket from nowhere. They spread it out along the path and began setting down plates, forks, knives, and cups. Then came the platters of food.

Peter leaned towards Rosemary. “What are they serving us?”

She grinned at him. “Numbers, of course! Why else would they be called the Number Crunchers?”

“Can we eat numbers?” asked Peter.

“Certainly,” said Dué, pulling something from her backpack. “Here, have a four.”

Other numbers were being laid out on large platters, garnished with operands. Other shapes were mixing
various drinks together to the precise millilitre. Number Crunchers ushered Peter, Rosemary, and Puck forward to the guest of honour positions. Rosemary placed Una beside her and sat down. Puck sat crosslegged, all points: elbows, knees, and chin. The others followed, until the blanket was ringed with geometric shapes, two humans, and Robin Goodfellow.

Peter took his four and sniffed it. He chewed at the stem and swallowed. “This tastes like beef jerky.”

“They do say math is dry,” said Puck.

Rosemary broke a four in half. The pieces reshaped themselves in her hands into smaller twos. She took a bite out of one and picked up a glass. “Try the numerade.”

Una was staring at Puck. “You know Robin Goodfellow?” she said to Rosemary. “You have moved up in your reading, Princess Rosemary. Has he been treating you well? Not leading you down mischievous paths, I hope. You are still quite young.”

“He’s fine.” Rosemary frowned. “He’s my guide through the Land of Fiction.”

“Why
are
you trekking through the Land of Fiction, Princess Rosemary?”

“To rescue my brother.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Rosemary caught whispers: “Theo! We remember Theo! He read us fourteen years ago. She took him. Rosemary is going up against Her. Oh, poor Princess Rosemary!”

Rosemary frowned. “You know about this?”

Una nodded sadly. “We have heard rumours.”

“Who’s kidnapped my brother? You said ‘her.’ Do you mean a girl, like me, wearing horn-rimmed glasses?”

“We don’t know for sure,” said Dué. “She is hard to read. All we know is that she is a powerful character. We stay out of Her way. Don’t go to Her, Rosemary. We don’t want you to be hurt.”

“She has no choice,” said Una. “She has to save her brother.”

“What does she want?” asked Rosemary. “Why did she kidnap Theo?”

“Because She is very angry,” said Una.

The other numbers nodded and repeated, “Very angry. Very, very angry.”

Una continued. “She is angry at you.”

Rosemary gaped at her. “Me? What did I do?”

“We don’t know,” said Dué. “We do not understand Her. We know you, Rosemary. You have been nothing but good to us.”

“Great to us!” clamoured the crowd. “We had such fun!”

“We learned how to add together,” said Una.

“And subtract,” said Dué.

“We made the numbers dance,” said Una. “Do you remember how we danced?”

Peter sunk his head into his hands. “Oh God, I remember. There was dancing.”

“Wait a minute,” said Rosemary. “What about —” A clatter of musical instruments interrupted her. A group of shapes holding fiddles, banjos, a washing board, and a milk jug scrambled together and started a tune. Other shapes took partners while a purple dodecahedron strode out to call the cues.

“Now bow to your partner. Now bow to the corner.”

“They’re square dancing,” said Peter.

Una began pulling on Rosemary’s fingers, her galoshes squeaking. “Come! Dance with us, Princess Rosemary!”

“But,” said Rosemary. “Hey!”

Dué pushed at Peter from behind. “You too, Peter!”

“But,” Peter stammered. “I — I’m not the dancing type!”

“Me neither,” said Rosemary, gripping the ground with her free hand. “I — I couldn’t. Puck? A little help, here!”

“Certainly,” said Puck, and pushed them onto the dance area.

Peter and Rosemary stood up, facing each other. Rosemary swallowed hard. Dué and Una joined hands as the cue caller spoke up. “Now swing your partner round and round ...”

Rosemary and Peter tried reaching for each other’s hand, got mixed up, and ended up slapping wrists twice. Una and Dué darted between their legs
to opposite corners, and Peter and Rosemary had to shove past each other to complete the square.

“Crossproduct allemande!” called the cue caller.

“Crossproduct what?” said Peter.

“Like this,” whispered Una, twirling Dué between them. Peter and Rosemary hesitated a moment, then stepped into the square. This time Peter took Rosemary’s hand and she twirled, planting her foot directly on his toe. He stumbled, bumped her. She staggered. “Sorry!” They scrambled for their corners.

“Corner cross times two!” called the caller.

Rosemary switched places with Una through the centre of the square. Peter crossed with Dué. That had gone much better.

“Now do-si-do the cosine wave through all four corners of the square!”

Rosemary and Peter followed Una and Dué’s movements and managed to pass each other without stumbling. As they passed again, Rosemary flashed Peter a triumphant grin.

“And with your partner, promenade! Promenade! Promenade!”

Arm in arm, Peter and Rosemary strode down the path; Una and Dué marched behind them.

At once, the music stopped, and Peter and Rosemary stood on their own, arm in arm, on the forest pathway. The Number Crunchers were nowhere to be
seen. They glanced at each other, then stumbled apart, taking a keen interest in the surrounding foliage.

The sound of Puck applauding brought their attention around. They looked up to see him leaning against a tree. “Congratulations, my friends. You have passed the first challenge.”

“What are you talking about?” said Rosemary. “Where did Una go?”

“She sends her best wishes,” said Puck, hauling out a leather-bound pouch. “And numerous leftovers from your feast. As for what I speak about, you passed the first challenge; you danced it all away.”

“That’s the challenge?” said Peter. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

“Did it come easy to you?” said Puck.

Peter frowned. Then the light dawned. “Oh.”

“I wish we’d got a chance to say goodbye,” said Rosemary. “They were just as fun as I remembered.”

Peter snorted. “And you said you had no imagination.”

“I was four!” said Rosemary. “Everyone has an imagination when they’re four!”

“And no one loses it,” said Puck. “If they show it not later in life, they have merely locked it away. And such tyranny can lead to rebellion.”

Silence fell on the forest. Puck eyed Rosemary, his arms across his chest. Peter glanced from one to the
other, looking perplexed. Rosemary lowered her gaze to the ground.

She clenched her fist. “Come on. Let’s find Theo.”

She strode forward, Peter and Puck following, deeper into the woods.

A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

“Nothing. That’s the point!”

— Marjorie Campbell

T
hey’d walked for an hour when suddenly Rosemary’s shoes changed. She stumbled and fell over.

She sat up, dusting herself off while Puck came back and watched with amusement. She was wearing a dress of heavy brocade with billowy skirts and frills around her neckline. No pink princess dress, this. She slapped away Puck’s helping hand and struggled to get up. Then she gave up and clasped his wrist, hauling herself to her feet. She glared at his cheeky grin. “New clothes. New story?” she asked. Puck nodded. “What’s it about?”

“I think I know,” came Peter’s muffled voice. Rosemary turned. Her eyes widened, then she clamped a hand over her laugh.

Peter clanked up to her in a full suit of armour. Only a narrow slit allowed him to see. “No fair!” he
said, pointing at her with jointed gloves. “Why can’t
you
be the knight in shining armour?” He slid up his visor. “It’s not funny! I can’t breathe in this —” His next words were cut off as the visor clanked down.

Then Rosemary’s gaze fell on Peter’s scabbard, and she stopped laughing. She eyed the jewelled hilt of the sword it contained, and the length that trailed behind Peter. She glanced once more at her own dress, ludicrous, but more realistic. “Puck? Where are we?”