The Book of Nonsense (5 page)

Daphna wasn't silly enough to think she was a Pop. She could never be as pretty and stylish and sophisticated as any of them, even if she sometimes thought she looked a bit like Teal. But Wren and Teal were still her
friends
. Anyway, she had too much homework in the Talented and Gifted classes to hang out after school. If Wren and Teal had been around this summer, she'd have seen them once in a while. All of this was so upsetting that Daphna completely forgot about Rash until she opened the front door of the shop.

Emmet was at the desk. When he looked up and fixed her with those red, ruined eyes, Daphna felt like screaming again. Instead she marched right up to Emmet with her hand extended. He gaped at it like he'd never seen a hand before, then, tentatively held out his own. 

“We weren't formally introduced yesterday,” Daphna said. “I'm Daphna Wax.”

“Ah—um—”

“You're Emmet.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm glad to know you, Emmet. I guess I'm helping out your boss today for a short while. I think I'm late, so I'll just head on back.” Daphna took her hand back and left Emmet staring dumbly at his own. Then, with an exhale she hoped wasn't obvious, turned and entered a hall of books, heading for Rash's cubby, planning to get this over with as fast as humanly possible.

Dex saw his sister go in. Curiosity about this Rash character had gotten the best of him on the way to the Clearing.

When he'd approached the shop and seen Emmet inside, the shock sent him fleeing into an alley across the street. Dex had thought about warning Daphna when she got there, but decided against it. She seemed to know about him anyway, and maybe a little justice could be served. Maybe she'd get a bit of what he'd gotten yesterday.

But now that he'd seen her go inside, Dex felt apprehensive. The last thing he wanted was to go in there. He'd rather see the place go up in flames. But if something did happen to Daphna, he'd somehow get blamed for not going with her, he was sure of it.

Dex hesitated a moment longer, then hit upon on a compromise. He'd go over and try to peek in a bit further. Maybe he could catch his sister doing something embarrassing for the old man, or maybe he could learn something humiliating about Emmet in case they ever crossed paths again.

Dex slipped out of the alley, then crossed the street out of sight of the ABC. He obviously couldn't just waltz right in, so he hurried down a flight of concrete steps that led behind the building.

The old warehouse sat on a grass and gravel covered slope above a row of stores along a busy road below. There were no rear entrances; the back face of the building didn't have a single window or door. It was just a giant, ugly wall of peeling wood planks.

Defeated already, Dex slumped against it. Torrents of frustration coursed through his body. It was a feeling Dex knew well, and as usual, he didn't know how to deal with it.

Enough was enough. Dex needed to go to the Clearing. He turned to leave, but as he did, a giant drop of cold rain fell directly on his head. Dex looked up, unreasonably furious. Rain was dripping off the edge of the warehouse's roof.

The roof!

Dex walked along the wall, searching for a way to climb on top of the store. Lo and behold, on the far side of the building was a rusty ladder. How could he have given up before walking around the whole place?

Carefully, Dex climbed the slick ladder and stepped onto the wide, flat roof. Just at his feet was a small, square, downward-facing door. “Trapdoor!” Dex whispered. The very idea of a trapdoor was exciting, even if there was probably one on top of every warehouse on the planet. The only problem was that this one had a rusty lock on it.

Breathing deeply, Dex knelt down and lifted the lock, and he was rewarded for keeping his composure. The lock simply broke right off the door when he gave it the slightest pull. Pleased, Dex lifted the door and laid it over onto the roof. Then he peered into the opening—and almost total darkness.

Dex had to think a moment. There had to be more than one floor, or a loft for storage.
Perfect
, he thought, lowering his face into the hole. The smell of rotting wood wafted up and almost choked him, but he got a glimpse of another ladder mounted on the wall leading between the trapdoor and the floor below.

Dex took another deep breath and climbed down onto the ladder. The first step was fine, but he heard an ominous creak when he put his foot on the second rung. The ladder pulled the slightest bit away from the wall, causing his heart to drop into his stomach. Holding perfectly still, Dex considered how wise this little mission was. Then he decided he didn't care. He lowered his other foot and the ladder seemed to hold. Slowly, he descended into the blackness below.

One foot after another.
This isn't so bad
, Dex thought, at least until he heard the long, pained creak of protest made by the planking at the bottom of the ladder. Instinctively, he squatted, but got a nose full of dust and decay for his effort. Nearly choking again, Dex looked up for something to provide direction. There was something, straight ahead—a dim line of light cut across the warehouse. He was on a loft, and it ended somewhere ahead. If he could make his way to the edge, he'd probably have no problem seeing down into the store.

Any thoughts of turning back ceased. However unsafe, however scary, Dex was having fun. It was as simple as that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so plainly
interested
in doing something.

Dex began to crawl. The floor was rotting. He could dig his nails into it easily, but he still moved swftly. But then, after a good twenty or thirty feet, a loud crack sounded under his left hand. Dex froze, worried someone might've heard him and half expecting to fall right through the floor to his death.

Dexter held his breath and waited a long minute, then leaned forward until he was lying flat on his stomach. From this position, he began sliding forward, almost swimming through the heaps of dust. This disgusting method seemed to be the answer, and Dex worked his way toward the sliver of light ahead, breathing as little as possible.

Finally, he reached the edge and looked over. 

What Dexter saw was a labyrinth. The flat tops of hundreds of shelving units spread across his field of vision in interlocking hexagons of varying size. It was momentarily mesmerizing. But then, running his eyes along the edge of the loft, Dex noticed he'd somehow crawled toward the far end of the store, and the moment he realized this, a noise—someone humming to herself—drew his attention directly down. A woman was there, browsing.

When Dex's eyes adjusted to the weak light around her, he gasped. He knew that thick head of snow-white hair and those broad shoulders. It was Ruby, his secret friend. She looked up when he gasped, and to Dex it seemed she was staring right at him, though her face showed no sign of recognition. He must be hidden by the shadows of the loft. Could she see him or not? Should he roll away? Then, another noise.

Ruby turned her attention away. Emmet was there now, too. The pair looked at each other, but did not speak. It was downright weird watching them face one another so impassively. Finally, Emmet simply walked away.

Confused, Dex decided to make his way along the loft's edge to follow Emmet, but it was difficult since he could only move along the center of the store, and very slowly at that. Dex lost sight of Emmet almost right away, but at some point near the middle of the warehouse, he heard another voice, Daphna's, coming from just ahead.

“But
why
?” she was asking, sounding distressed.

Dex hurried through the dust until he thought he was right above her. Yes, she was there, sitting at a desk inside a tiny candle-lit room walled in by very high, tightly packed shelves. Across from Daphna sat an old geezer with a brown robe and white beard. He was leaning forward, gripping a long, skinny book lying open in front of his sister.

“Mr. Rash?” she asked.

After a moment, the old man responded in a painfully hoarse voice. “Excuse me, my dear. I was distracted for a moment. Something going on in the back of the store. We must always be vigilant about—thieves.”

“But, how do you know what's going on in the back of the store?”

“I have acute hearing, something that develops when one's eyes fail. Please, read it again.”

Dex was forced to doubt what he'd just heard. How could the old man have known what was going on so far back there, especially when no one said a word?

“I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Rash, but why?” Daphna asked again. “I've read the same thing who knows how many times now, and I've stared at this page for so long, my eyes are crossing. Wouldn't you like me to read on?”

In response, Rash mumbled something that sounded like “Graaal.” Then he said, “Read me the passage one more time,” in a way that reminded Dex of teachers. 

Without further protest, Daphna took a deep breath, then began to read, but Rash didn't sit back to listen. Instead, he remained leaning forward, gripping the sides of the long book as if he feared Daphna might grab it and run.

He must really be paranoid
, Dex thought, scoffing at the thought of his sister even contemplating swiping the book—the girl who freaks out if a library book is five minutes overdue, the girl who freaks out if someone
else's
library book is five minutes overdue.

“Sutro,” Daphna read, “ibn lanik exos nada—”

“
What was that?!
” Rash interrupted, reacting as if Daphna had just sworn at him in Swahili or something. Maybe she had. Dex hadn't the slightest idea what she'd just read. It sounded like gibberish.

“
What?!
” Rash demanded again. “Did you say exos nada?
Did you, girl?!
”

“Oh, sorry,” Daphna hurriedly replied. “Nadas. It says, ‘Exo nadas.' I read it wrong that time. Is it important?”

Rash gave out with a fantastically wearied sigh. “More than you could possibly know, my dear,” he said. “Please, begin again.”

“Sutro,” Daphna repeated, this time very deliberately. “Ibn lanik exo nadas circa earl.”

Dex shook his head. Not a word of that made sense. And it was definitely not English.

“Should I go on, Mr. Rash?” Daphna asked.

“Marvelous! Marvelous!” the old man croaked. “Don't you agree? Such promise these words possess! There is no need to go on right now,” Rash said. Then he added, “Good things come to those who wait, child. Don't let anyone ever tell you to ignore clichés.”

“Ah—,” Daphna said, but Rash wasn't finished.

“If I may advise,” he continued, “don't fight Fate, my dear. You need simply wait.” Rash laughed a long, satisfied chortle at his felicitous turn of phrase.

“What do you mean?” Daphna asked. “I don't understand.”

“What I am saying, young lady, is that in the infinity of Time, all things must come to pass. In some future time, you and your father will come to my store, but we will not meet. In another, you will not come at all. In still another, you will bring me a book that only closely resembles the book I seek, and I will be disappointed. All of this must be in the fullness of Time.

“But, you see,
this
time, Daphna, your father brought me
this
book, and then he gave me you, too. If this book is what I believe it is, and if I believed in luck, I'd say yesterday was the luckiest day of a long and unlucky life.”

“I—I'm still not sure I—” 

“Not to worry!” Rash replied. “Not to worry! Let me chat with you a moment. Tell me about your family.”

“Well,” Daphna said, sounding relieved not to have to read the strange line yet again, “you met my father. He's a book scout, obviously. It used to be a hobby, but he's been doing it pretty much full time lately, I guess. My mom was a scout, too, but she died when I was a baby.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Rash said, though to Dex's ear he didn't sound the least bit sorry.

“Yeah. We never knew her,” Daphna continued. “My father doesn't talk much about her. She died in Turkey, in an accident right after we were born. She was a book scout first, actually. He came into her store one day. He's got pictures of her up everywhere. I can't stand that one in the living room. It takes up the entire mantle. I never invite friends over ‘cause I don't want them to see it. They'll look at me funny. Their moms are beautiful and—young, and alive, of course.”

“You have her eyes,” Rash said, startling both twins. “I knew your mother long before she married your father,” he explained. “In another lifetime, you might say. Your father must be a genuine romantic to have won such an extraordinary woman. Oh, Time, thy pyramids!”

“A romantic,” Daphna laughed. “That's a good one.”

“Tell me about your brother, the wanderer with sharp hair. He shares your mother's eyes.”

“He's my twin,” Daphna said, “but we're nothing alike—I can promise you that. His name is Dexter.”

Dex was confused. How could the old man know what he looked like if he couldn't see? How could he know what Daphna looked like for that matter? Emmet must have told him.

“Perhaps I should meet the boy,” Rash mused.

“I don't know,” said Daphna. “You'd have a hard time getting him to step foot in here. He's one of those kids who doesn't think much, like he'll just be ready for whatever life has in store—no need to study, no need to be serious about anything. I don't think he's ever seen a comb or tucked in a shirt since the day he was born. It's like he doesn't care what the world thinks of him.

“I try to help him out, but he just won't listen to me, or anyone really. I'm not sure what he thinks he's going to do with his life. Though he's really good at some things. I can never fool him because he always remembers exactly what I say.”