The Children's Crusade (4 page)

T
IM 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.

After the first shock of the chaos had worn off, Marya could see why this place had fascinated Daniel. The shop windows were full of such amazing things. She couldn't imagine what they were for or what they did. The people looked so interesting, their faces displaying every conceivable emotion, their clothing clashing in wild disharmony. There was so much movement, so much to see.

Marya watched an unlikely pair of women cross a street. One wore thick, dark face paint, with black rings around her eyes. Tattoos covered the bare arms revealed by her black sleeveless shirt. Next to her was a woman dressed in bright colors, her blond curls pulled into a bouncy tail on top of her head. What struck Marya most was that the woman in black had a big smile on her face and the perky-looking one was scowling angrily. As they crossed to the other side, a young man on a wheeled board veered between them. And a man with exposed knees, white socks, and sandals nearly backed into them as he held a small device in front of his eyes and clicked, pointing the box at a tall building.

“It's like a dance,” Marya exclaimed. Somehow all the dancers managed to keep to the imper
ceptible pattern and not smash into each other.

A sparkling display caught her eye. She stopped to peer into the window of a jewelry store. Bracelets and necklaces sat in velvet cases, glittering in the afternoon light.

This might be just the place
, Marya decided. Fixing her bracelet was one of the tasks she had been determined to accomplish in her time away from Free Country.

She opened the door and stepped inside. A little bell jangled, announcing her presence. The store was quiet and clean.

A stout man looked up when he heard the bell. He held a case of gold rings that he was just returning to the glass cabinet. He slipped the case onto a shelf and turned the key in the lock.

He eyed Marya, and she realized it might be unusual to be barefoot in the city. She awkwardly stood with one foot on top of the other, trying to cover up the worst of the dirt.

“Yes, miss?” the man said.

“Do you fix things?” Marya asked.

“We've been known to. If it's jewelry you're talking about.”

Marya smiled. “Good.” She pulled her precious bracelet from her pouch. “Can you fix this?” She held the bracelet out to the man.

He squinted at it. “Possibly, possibly.” He
took the bracelet from her. His hand felt warm and clammy.

“Mmm.” He turned the bracelet over, then held it up to the light. His squinty eyes opened wide. “Good lord!” he exclaimed. “A Lermontov!”

His hand closed around the bracelet. Marya didn't like the way it disappeared into his fat hand.

He leaned over the counter and glared at her. “All right, young woman. Where did you steal this?”

Shocked by the accusation, Marya replied indignantly, “My mother gave it to me! Empress Anna gave it to her. But it didn't fit her right so she gave it to me.” There. That should settle things. She rummaged in her pouch and brought out an apple. It was shiny and perfect. “Will you fix it? I'll give you an apple.”

“An apple?” the man bellowed. He leaned over the counter even farther. His face was mere inches from Marya's. His breath was stale. “Off with you this instant! And be glad I don't have you arrested.” He pointed sternly toward the door.

Marya stared back at him. Why did her bracelet make him so angry? She looked at the apple.
It's a particularly nice apple
, she thought,
the best of the lot. Maybe I should have offered two?

The man came out from behind the counter,
placed a meaty hand on Marya's slight shoulder, and practically shoved her out the door. “Go! And don't let me see you here again, or I shall call the police on you!”

The door slammed behind her.

“But…my bracelet…” she protested meekly. Marya had been in Free Country for an awfully long time. It had been ages since anyone had treated her so roughly. She wasn't sure how to respond.

Feeling defeated and forlorn, she leaned against one of the potted plants that stood on either side of the jewelry store door. “My mother gave it to me,” she murmured. She traced a pattern on the pavement with her big toe. “It's all I have left…” Marya crossed her thin arms over her chest and tried to keep herself from crying.

“What's wrong?” the potted plant asked.