The Children's Crusade Read online

  She could pirouette, and pose in arabesque, and plié, but couldn’t use the movement to express what she was feeling inside. She could do the steps, make the patterns, but she couldn’t move with the transporting, compelling grace of a Shimmer. What she had realized while talking to Daniel was that dancing should be about what was inside her, not what her muscles and limbs could do. That was the difference between her and the Shimmers. They were at peace; they lived in harmony with their surroundings. Their insides and their outsides were one.

  That was what Marya had to learn to do.

  She entered her tent, which Daniel had helped her set up a long time ago. It was really just sheets slung over the branches of several trees, clipped together so that they wouldn’t slip. Marya had decorated the branches with chiffon scarves and flower garlands. A trunk held all of her belongings—of which she had few. She stored the various presents that Daniel had given her in the trunk, too. She slept on the soft grass and used a tree stump as a table. She liked being able to watch how the sun changed the colors inside the tent as it filtered through the different layers of fabric.

  She placed the little ballerina statue on the tree stump and lay down on the grass, her arms under her head as she formulated a plan.

  After a short time, she stood and stretched. She knew what she needed to do. First things first. She left her tent and located Kerwyn, making sure he didn’t see her. She hid behind a thick tree and watched him for a few minutes. He was surrounded by a group of children, probably the new ones Daniel had brought in. Kerwyn should be busy for a little longer.

  Next, she went to Kerwyn’s cave. She never understood why he would choose to live underground. Marya’s tent was light and airy, while Kerwyn’s shelter was dark and dank. But Free Country gave each child what they needed, so maybe the dark made Kerwyn feel protected and safe. Marya knew a bit of what Kerwyn had gone through on that Crusade. The cave must let him feel hidden. Had Marya undergone such an ordeal, she might want to hide, too.

  Marya looked around the small cavern. Candles stood in niches carved into the rock walls. Books were strewn about everywhere. Bags of chalk sat in one corner. None of these was what she was looking for.

  Her green eyes lit on a stack of board games. Kerwyn could spend hours playing these games. Several of the children from later times had brought them through, often losing interest in them once they discovered all the activities Free Country offered. They abandoned them for swimming and tumbling and rafting and playing dress up. Kerwyn then inherited the games, and he loved them. He didn’t care if there were no other players. Sometimes he’d sit and play all sides. Both the white and the black checkers, the hat and the car and the iron in Monopoly.

  His favorite, though, far above the rest, was the word game. He would set up four sets of tiles, and make words appear all over the board. He kept a dictionary at hand, and once Marya had heard him arguing with himself over whether or not a word was admissible for points. It grew quite heated, with Kerwyn arguing both sides. Apparently something called “triple bonus points” were at stake.

  Marya opened the box and took all the little tiles with the letters on them. She slipped them into the pocket of her dress. They clicked against each other as she hurried back to the hill where she’d last seen Kerwyn.

  Kerwyn was alone now, sitting with his back against a tree, gazing out over Free Country. He was watching the new children exploring their freedom.

  Marya climbed the hill and stood over Kerwyn. “Kerwyn? Listen. I’m ready,” she said.

  “What?” Kerwyn glanced up at her.

  “I’m ready. I want to go on the next mission.”

  “That’s silly. You’re a girl.” Kerwyn went back to watching the little ones. A small girl was picking flowers that instantly replaced themselves the moment the first ones were plucked from the ground.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Marya demanded. She hated it when Kerwyn said stupid things like that.

  “Our group has only one assignment left, and it’s important.” Kerwyn sounded as if he were a very old man explaining things to a very young—and slow—girl. Daniel was right. What was the word that he had used? Kerwyn was a jerk.

  “This is probably the most important mission anyone’s got. And you are a girl.” He stood up. Marya knew that as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

  Only it wasn’t. Far from it.

  “Kerwyn? You like to play that word game, don’t you? Scribble?”

  “Scrabble. Yes…” Now he looked confused.

  “Well, someone’s taken all the pieces. Those square letter things? And hidden them.” She laughed. “To tell the truth, I did it.” She pirouetted, then grinned at him. “I’ll bet you’d do just about anything to get them back, wouldn’t you?”

  Kerwyn leaped to his feet. “Do you think I’d jeopardize the whole mission just to—”

  “Of course you would,” Marya cut him off with another laugh. “Anyone sensible would.”

  Kerwyn stared at her. “You evil brat!”

  She wasn’t upset by his calling her names. She knew he didn’t really mean it. It was simply the proof that she’d won.

  “Maybe I am and maybe I’m not,” she said. “But I know how to get things done, don’t I?” She’d been right. He loved the Scrabble enough that he’d do anything to get his pieces back. Even send a mere girl on a mission.

  Kerwyn paced a few minutes. Finally he stopped and glared at her. “All right. Since you’re so clever. How’s this for fair? You get to go. You can go on this mission. But if you fail, you can’t come back here. Ever.”

  That didn’t scare her one bit. “I’ll go pack right now!”

  She hurried back to her tent, trying to figure out what she should bring with her. She slung a cloth pouch over her shoulder and looked around her little space.

  “Hmmm. Chalk!” She bent down and put the colored chalk into her pouch. That was a definite. “Her.” She picked up the ballerina statue, smiled at it, then slipped it into the pouch. “Apples.” She might get hungry. “Comb. Bracelet.” She glanced around her tent, pondering. “More apples?”

  Daniel popped his head through the opening of the tent.

  “You done it!” he exclaimed. “You got ’round Kerwyn! He hardly ever lets the girls do anything!”

  “Uh-huh.” She waved him to come in, then knelt by the trunk, wondering if she’d forgotten anything.

  Daniel squatted down beside her. “How’d you ever do it? No one gets ’round Kerwyn.”

  “Simple. I scared him.” She moved some scarves aside, rummaging deeper in the trunk.

  “Did you? I wish I could have seen that.” Daniel sank back onto his heels and grinned.

  “What you got in that bag there? Apples?”

  “And my comb and my bracelet. And your present.” She lifted the ballerina from the bag to show him.

  Daniel’s blue eyes widened and he quickly glanced down at the ground, blushing. “I’m glad you’re taking something to remember me by.”

  She smiled. She was glad she had decided to take the statue. It pleased Daniel so much to know she liked it. Daniel tugged at the pouch. “What else you got in there?”

  “Uhm, the chalk.”

  “Well, that’s good. Wouldn’t get far if you forgot that. Anything else?”

  Marya hesitated a moment and then reached down and pulled out a battered pair of dancing shoes. She had never shown them to anyone in Free Country before.

  She dangled the ragged pink satin slippers from their fraying pink ribbon, letting them twirl in front of her face. It had been some time since she’d taken them out of the trunk. But there they were in front of her face. Same wood blocks in the toes. Blood still staining the insides. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m taking these.”

  Daniel looked from her to the shoes, then back to her face again. She could tell he was unsure what to say, but she liked the fact that he clearly understood how important the ballet slippers were to
her. He just nodded, then said, “So you’re all set then.”

  “All set. Oh! Except for these.” She dropped the Scrabble tiles onto the tree stump. “Tell Kerwyn where they are after I’ve gone.”

  “All right.”

  Daniel walked her to the special spot where the pattern would work. He had to leave her at the clearing—one could only go through the gate alone.

  She knelt down and drew the hopscotch grid. Then she turned and waved good-bye. He looked so sad, but when he realized she was looking at him, a grin spread across his face. “See ya!” he called. “Come back soon!”

  Marya patted her pouch. She took a deep breath and began to hop and chant.

  “Mary, Mary, quite contrary

  How does your garden grow?

  With silver bells and cockleshells

  And pretty maids all in a row.

  My mother says to pick just one

  So out goes Y-O-U!”

  With that last phrase, she hopped the last part of the pattern—right out of Free Country.

  Chapter Five

  TIM STOOD UP AND LOOKED AROUND. There were more people in the cemetery now. On the weekends, the dead always had more visitors.

  Tim brushed off his jeans and started walking. It wasn’t that he had any destination in mind. Unless there is some weird realm I haven’t yet visited called Explanations Land, or Confusion’s End, Tim mused.

  He left the graveyard, and it finally occurred to him that having Titania, Queen of Faerie, as an enemy might not be very good. In fact, antagonizing her the way he had probably wasn’t the brightest tack to take. But he’d taken it. There was no going back now.

  But he couldn’t go forward either. Titania’s accusations stung. Mostly because he was so afraid they were true. She was right—he didn’t know anything, and that made him dangerous. He hadn’t meant to go to the manticore’s lair. But if he hadn’t, Faerie would still be a wasteland, and Tamlin might have wound up dead anyway. Titania, too, for that matter. Why didn’t she see that? He shook his head. Who knows how her twisted green mind works?

  Grown-ups were always interfering, getting in his way, or plain old coming after him. Still, he supposed he had to try to figure them out—if only in self-defense.

  He wandered into a playground and was surprised to see how deserted it was. The only kid around was a chubby girl, about ten years old, sitting on a swing. She rocked slowly back and forth, one foot trailing in the dirt.

  This is Saturday, isn’t it? Tim thought. The place should have been overrun with kids.

  The lone girl sat muttering and scowling. Her mood matched Tim’s exactly. He sat on the swing beside hers. She glanced over at him.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “Are you one of the kidnappers?”

  Kidnappers? Tim raised his eyebrows above his spectacles. He didn’t think he particularly looked like a kidnapper. Then again, he didn’t exactly look like a magician either, and he supposedly was one. “No. I’m just me. Wondering if you’re okay.”

  “Oh.” She looked puzzled. “No one has been asking me that.” She pouted and kicked her legs hard, setting herself swinging. “They’re all too busy worrying about Oliver.”

  “Who’s Oliver?” Tim asked. “And why’s everyone so worried about him? Is he sick?”

  “No, he’s gone missing. Like the others.”

  “What others?” Tim asked.

  She stared at him with open eyes and mouth. “Don’t you read the papers? Or watch the news?” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe Tim’s sheer stupidity. “I was interviewed on the nine o’clock news after it happened. Mummy taped it and everything.”

  Tim squinted. The girl’s story was beginning to sound familiar. Of course. Molly had mentioned missing children earlier that day. But that was in some other town, not here, he thought.

  “Didn’t that happen somewhere else?”

  She rolled her eyes. “First, Brighton. Then here.”

  That must explain why the playground is empty, Tim thought. All the children in this neighborhood must have gone missing, too.

  “So,” Tim continued, “who is Oliver?”

  The girl scowled. “My little brother.”

  Hm. Clearly she isn’t a fan. “So, if all the other kids are gone, why aren’t you missing?” Tim asked.

  “I had to go to the orthodontist.” She grimaced and showed him her braces. “When I got home, everyone was gone.”

  “Do you have any idea where they went?” Tim asked, curious in spite of himself. It was kind of a relief to worry about someone else’s problems for a change.

  “No one knows. But I bet it has something to do with that foreign kid who was always playing at the abandoned manor.”

  “What foreign kid?”

  “He had a funny accent and wore the strangest clothes. I never saw anyone like him before.”

  “Where was he from?” Tim asked.

  The girl shrugged. “America, I suppose. He kept going on about it being a free country where he came from. Isn’t that what they call America? He was always trying to get us to play games. Baby stuff. Hopscotch and the like. Nursery rhymes.”

  “Have the police been ’round?”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “Course they have. Just like on the telly. They asked me loads of questions. But I don’t think they’ll ever find Oliver.”

  “Do you miss him?” Tim had always wondered what it would be like to have a sister or brother, especially in the last few weeks when everything had grown more and more confusing.

  “My mum does. She’s frantic. I wish I was the one missing. No one pays any attention to me. All they care about is my stupid, piggy brother.”

  So much for sisterly love, Tim thought.

  “The foreign kid is gone now, too. Maybe he wasn’t behind it at all. Maybe the kidnappers got him as well.” The girl shivered. “Maybe someone is out to kidnap all the children in the whole world. I overheard my parents talking, and they said forty children disappeared from Brighton. The same sort of case.”

  “They’ll figure it out, I’m sure,” Tim said.

  “How do you know?” she demanded in an accusing tone. “You don’t know anything.”

  “Well, what I mean to say is, uhm, I’m sure your brother is okay,” Tim said.

  “Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.”

  Tim shook his head. No matter what he tried to say, it was the wrong thing. Is it me? Is it girls? Is it this girl in particular? He wasn’t even sure which she was more upset about—that her brother had gone missing or that she hadn’t.

  A woman with light brown hair and wire-rim glasses rushed into the playground. “Avril!” she cried. “You were supposed to be home ten minutes ago! I was so worried.”

  Ten minutes? My dad doesn’t start to worry until I’ve been gone extra hours, not extra minutes. If then.

  The woman charged over to the swing and swooped the girl up into her arms. “I was afraid you’d been stolen away, too,” she said.

  Tim noticed a smirk cross Avril’s face. He suspected that she had planned this. Tim was fairly certain Avril was going to continue being late as long as she could get away with it. She obviously relished the attention.

  The woman finally noticed Tim. “You should get home right away, young man,” she scolded him. “Go inside and stay there. There are crazy people around.”

  Tim stood. “You have no idea,” he replied.

  Marya stood in a confusing jumble of noise and motion. She blinked a few times and took a deep breath. That set her to coughing. The air was gray here, almost chewy, compared to the bright clean world of Free Country.

  Where are they all going, she wondered, and why are they all in such a hurry? Women in slim short skirts with matching jackets strode purposefully toward stairs that descended underground. Men hurried along carrying newspapers and leather cases.

  Daniel was right—people had little boxes attached to their ears with wires. Others spoke loudly into small devices they held up
to their heads.

  Marya had seen a city before, though she’d been in Free Country for so long that she wasn’t accustomed to such bustle any longer. But this city was nothing like St. Petersburg or any other city she’d seen before. The fountain in the center of the square and the cobblestone side streets reminded her a bit of her old home, but everything was crowded and close together. And there were so many people.

  And those vehicles! Where were the horses and the carriages? Strange-looking metal carriages with rubber wheels growled and squealed around her. People shouted at one another from windows of the cars and on the street. It was overwhelming.

  Marya took a few steps backward into the protective shadows between two towering shiny buildings.

  “Lissen you,” a gruff voice growled at her. “Get offer me ’ouse.”

  Startled, Marya glanced around but saw no one.

  “Get off!” the voice shouted.

  Marya realized the voice was coming from below her. A head suddenly poked out of the large cardboard box behind her, like a turtle emerging from its shell.

  “This is my ’ouse, and I’ll have none of yer lot running me out,” the man snarled.

  Marya stepped off the cardboard flap she’d been standing on. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize.”

  The man squinted at her as if he were trying to decide if she were sincere in her apology. His thick face was covered in stubble and dirt.

  What kind of world is this? Marya reached into her pouch and pulled out one of her apples to give him. She must have been more nervous than she realized—the apple fell from her hands.

  The man stared at the apple, then at Marya, then back at the apple again. With the quickness of a striking cobra, the man snatched the apple. He pulled himself completely inside the box.

  “Breakfast?” the man muttered inside his strange little house. “Lunch?” Marya heard a crunching sound: The man must have taken a bite of the apple. “Brunch!”

  Satisfied that the man no longer deemed her a house thief, Marya went on her way.

  “Timothy Hunter, come out, come out, wherever you are,” she chanted in a singsong voice. Her bare feet made no sound on the pavement. She took care to avoid the stickiest, dirtiest spots. Now that she was here, she wasn’t quite certain how to begin her mission.