The Wikkeling Page 10

  But the alphabet was irregular. The rules all had exceptions, and some of the exceptions even had exceptions. The alphabet was like the Old City. The pitched roof of Henrietta’s house, for instance, was an exception to the rule of flat roofs. Maybe Henrietta’s house should be remodeled to have a flat roof, and maybe the alphabet should be remodeled so all the As sounded like the A in apple.

  But if Henrietta’s house had a flat roof, this story wouldn’t have happened. Mister Lady would not have been able to sneak in. Mysterious jars would not be hidden away among strange artifacts. There would be no windows looking into the past. The alphabet’s different As had caused Gary some problems, but the attic was giving him the time he needed to sort them out.

  With occasional guidance from Henrietta, Gary and Rose sounded out the text of the description of the quaverly (a word in which the A sounds like the A in “Safe”). Here’s what they read:

  A beach-dwelling, nocturnal Carnivore, Quaverly live in Schools of up to one hundred thousand individuals. Roosting and sleeping during the Day under driftwood logs, suspended by a chitinous Hook, this placid Creature drops from its roost at night to the Sand, and enters tidal pools and shallows to provender upon Shrimp, Sand Fleas, and other small Fauna.

  Though edible, Quaverly is rarely prepared owing to its bitter Taste, want of Meat, and nearly imperturbable Hide. However, its Abundance has made it useful to Humans in times of severe Lack—especially in Wintertime, when its Population swells after the Autumnal mating season.

  —Henrift

  They didn’t figure it all out at once. Even Henrietta had to use the dictionary here and there for words like chitinous (hard, like a beetle shell) and provender (to feed). When they finished, Gary slumped. “That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Way harder than what we read in school,” said Henrietta.

  Rose peered at the page. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the word “Henrift” at the very end.

  “That’s the name of the person who wrote this entry,” said Henrietta. “Look here.” She flipped to the front of the book. “See, Aristotle Alcott, that’s the A.A. at the end of some of the entries. I wonder if this Henrift is the same one from History in school.”

  “I can’t believe they wrote this whole thing out by hand,” said Gary.

  “My grandfather said it was made before people typed. He has a newer Bestiary, too. It’s old, but not this old. It’s typed, and it’s longer, because they’d learned more.”

  “It’s weird, as we flipped through,” said Gary. “I’ve never heard of any of the animals.”

  They looked again, skimming past the illustrations. The diversity of pictured life was fascinating: mesmer vole, airship whale, springer, tail fox, candlefly, statium, pulchritude hound, pif, greater pif, paf. . . .

  “I guess they’re all extinct,” said Henrietta. “That’s what my grandfather said about wild housecats, too.”

  As if on cue, Mister Lady took a brief experimental swipe at the quaverly in the jar, as if to ascertain whether or not it might be chased.

  “I think Mister Lady is a girl,” Rose said abruptly.

  Henrietta and Gary agreed, though they weren’t sure why.

  At school, the lessons slowly progressed day to day and the Competency Exam grew inexorably nearer. Gary continued to cheat as always, and so maintained his position at the top of the class. Henrietta never cheated, but she found her work improving considerably, even though school seemed more awful and boring than ever. She wasn’t sure why she was doing better. Partly, it was that she didn’t want to miss her bus after school, because she could go into the attic with her friends. Partly it was because she was feeling happier than she had in a long time.

  And partly, it was because her reading skills were improving. Every day, she learned new words, and encountered more difficult sentences, and she waded through them with increasing expertise. In fact, she was becoming quite an excellent reader, and she had an excellent memory for new words, which seemed to stick in her head like flies to flypaper. She was ensnaring herself a superlative vocabulary.

  After school on the day before the Competency Exam, while Henrietta ducked around with Rose behind the book cases collecting cobwebs, they ran across a book whose title caught Henrietta’s eye: Early Town. She slid it from the shelf and returned to the couch, laying her harvest of webs next to Mister Lady. She opened the book and turned to the title page.

  EARLY TOWN:

  A Book of Records Including Maps and Services

  The next page, printed in black, blue, and red ink, folded out to become twice as wide as the book. The legend at the top read CITY MAP. Henrietta had never seen a map before, except in the movie Watch Out for Pirates, when some buccaneers had used one to find buried treasure.

  Gary and Rose looked over Henrietta’s shoulder at the folded-out page. Mister Lady approached as well, curious as she always was whenever anyone read something. She often peered over their shoulders while they waded through the old books, and Henrietta had begun to wonder about it—maybe the cat really could read.

  “What is it?” Gary asked.

  “A map,” said Henrietta.

  “Like in Watch Out for Pirates?”

  “But not a treasure map,” said Henrietta. “Just a regular map. It shows how the city used to be.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Gary.

  “Pretend we’re floating over the buildings,” said Henrietta. She pointed at a straight red line. “This is a road.”

  “And that’s a river,” said Rose, pointing to a meandering blue line.

  “And the squares are buildings?” said Gary. “We don’t really need these anymore I guess, since your car or your phone just tells you.”

  “This seems kind of better, though,” said Henrietta.

  “It seems complicated,” said Gary.

  “But when your car tells you, you don’t really know where you’re going.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” said Gary. “If the phone says ‘turn left’ . . . I can see how a map is better.”

  “Also, I like how it looks,” said Henrietta. “It’s like a painting.”

  “If I found it in the trash, I’d definitely keep it,” said Gary.

  “It doesn’t show what’s here now,” said Rose.

  “It’s what used to be, back then, I bet,” said Henrietta, gesturing out the attic windows.

  It took some puzzling out because the map contained many streets, houses, and streams. Labels for everything were crammed in at different angles, but they eventually found a street with the same name as theirs: Boardwalk. Strangely, it was right at the far left edge of the map, like it was the last street, period.

  “It looks like we’re on the edge of the world,” said Henrietta. “I wonder what’s beyond it.”

  “The Addition,” said Rose.

  “But why isn’t it on here?”

  “It wasn’t built yet.”

  For a few moments the children contemplated the fact that the city they lived in, every building and every street, hadn’t always existed.

  “I want to know everything that happened between then and now,” said Gary.

  “I wonder how long ago it was,” said Henrietta.

  “If any of those people are still alive,” said Rose.

  The three of them walked to the windows and looked down at the narrow brick road. At the moment, the boulevard was nearly empty. Two young men sat on the edge of the giant stump, arguing earnestly and passing a steaming thermos back and forth between them.

  “They should see their street now,” said Gary. “I wonder if they’d like it.”

  “Maybe some of them have seen it both ways,” said Henrietta. “Like my grandparents.”

  “I want to tell those people not to chop down the trees,” said Gary. He looked out at the soaring boughs and wished he could somehow prevent them from disappearing. The leaves were full of the gold and red of autumn, and some had fallen in stiff breezes and litte
red the ground, skittering here and there along the bricks and across the great stump.

  “Hey, look!” said Henrietta, pointing high into the branches of one of the trees. “There!” She kept pointing, following the form as it moved from branch to branch within the deep orange foliage. Because of its orange fur, it was tough to see. “It’s . . . I think it’s a wild housecat!”

  Suddenly, from behind them, Mister Lady leaped down from the couch. Before Henrietta could turn, the cat was beside them, pressing her front paws against the windowsill. Her green eyes were wide.

  “I see it!” said Gary.

  “Me too,” said Rose.

  The cat was huge, a tabby even larger than Mister Lady. It left the shadows for a moment to run across a thick branch right by the windows. As it passed, Mister Lady let out a long, plaintive meow. She pawed at the glass, but the tabby neither saw nor heard her. In another instant it reentered the shadows of the heavy foliage, and disappeared as it leaped effortlessly on its long legs from one tree to another and continued down the boulevard.

  Mister Lady stared after it, her eyes seeking this way and that for another glimpse. Finally she turned and walked back to the couch. Her limp was nearly gone now, but her gait was slow, dejected.

  “I think she really is from out there,” said Gary.

  “I wonder how much longer she’ll stay here,” said Henrietta. “She’s almost better.” This was a tough thought, because none of the three wanted to lose Mister Lady, who was as much a part of their shared friendship as anyone.

  They looked down as a few more schoolchildren ran by, chasing after leaves and playing. Seeing them turned Henrietta’s thoughts back toward class. “Gary, do you think you’ll cheat on the Competency Exam tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’m just not good enough yet to do it on my own,” he replied. “What if I got Finished? I’d never see you guys again. Say, do you want to cheat?” he asked. “I could help you.”

  “Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to it,” said Henrietta, “after all the practice we’ve done up here.”

  “These books are different from the computer questions,” said Gary.

  “It’s all reading, though,” said Henrietta. “People have been doing it since forever.”

  That night, as Henrietta changed Mister Lady’s bandages and sterilized the wound, she made a disturbing discovery. In the near-darkness of the attic, she shone her flashlight on the cat’s injured leg and saw several small, white worms crawling.

  “Ugh!” She simultaneously recoiled from them and reached out to brush them off. Mister Lady wrenched away and leapt onto a bookshelf several feet above Henrietta’s head. It was the first such leap Henrietta had ever seen the cat make. The ease and strength of the jump was astounding, and Henrietta felt a small resurgence of the fear she’d felt when she and Mister Lady first met.

  “I’m sorry,” said Henrietta. “Please come down.”

  The sight of the worms squirmed awfully in her brain. How could that have happened? She’d been so careful to keep the wound clean. Her eyes fell on the Bestiary, which lay as always atop the glass coffee table.

  Henrietta flipped to the index. Scanning through, she noticed an entry for “Worm—Flesh-Eating.”

  Worm, Flesh-Eating:

  Though disturbing on first encounter, and often erroneously associated with Uncleanliness and Disease, the Flesh-Eating Worm is beneficial to Humans. The presence of Flesh-Eating Worms in a Wound is indicative of the Restoration of an Injury to Health, as the creatures consume only dead and diseased Flesh. Their attentions are a boon to Healing. It is most unfortunate that many souls benighted by Ignorance view these worms incorrectly as the Cause and Continuation of the Necrosis they in fact hasten to eradicate.

  —Recorded and observed by E.S.

  It went against good sense, but somehow it also made sense. Henrietta turned to the bookcase, from which Mr. Lady glared down. “All right,” she said. “I’ll leave them. But it’s gross.”

  The Competency Exam

  After weeks of practice tests, detention, and homework, the morning of the Competency Exam arrived to find Henrietta waiting at the bus stop for Gary, bursting to inform him about flesh-eating worms. Gary was a good person to tell disgusting things to because he could be relied upon to make revolted faces. Hopefully the diversion would take both of their minds off the test for a few minutes.

  Unfortunately, Gary was also the kind of person to show up a little late for things, and he trudged up just as the bus arrived. As it slowed for the children, the cars behind it began honking.

  “MIRACLE MEDICAL WISHES ALL STUDENTS GOOD LUCK

  ON THEIR COMPETENCY EXAMS!”

  “GOT AN A ON YOUR EXAM? CELEBRATE WITH A SKIPPING-STONE

  PHONE FROM TINCAN TELECOMM!”

  Henrietta said hello to Gary, and he said hello back, but neither could hear the other over the racket. They strapped themselves into their seats, the blue warning lights turned off, and the yellow safety light turned on. As the bus picked up speed and the Honk Ads diminished, Henrietta said, “Are you nervous?”

  “I know all the questions,” said Gary. “I’m ready.”

  “You really just ask your mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you feel guilty about it?” Henrietta couldn’t imagine taking similar advantage, were she in his position.

  “Maybe a little,” he said, shrugging as well as he could in his harness. “But I also think the tests are dumb.”

  “I never thought about it that way,” said Henrietta. She always felt bad about her grades, but what if grades were the problem, and not her?

  Suddenly, something happened that didn’t normally happen.

  From the empty seat in front of them, a head rose up and peered back over the headrest. The face had a tiny nose, a weak chin, and thin yellow hair partly covering a tall forehead. It flickered briefly as its pale yellow eyes focused on the two of them.

  The bus’s security system didn’t respond to the infraction: No lights went on or off, and the engine didn’t shut down.

  Gary gasped. “You!” he said.

  Henrietta froze. Her heart gulped.

  “Get away!” said Gary. He wrestled against his restraints, but after his encounter with the driver weeks back, the school district had retrofitted the buses with automated seat belts. The children were trapped.

  The thing’s mouth opened into a round hole with a guttering yellow light glowing up from its pink throat. Its voice leaked out, slow and scratchy, like a recording. Its lips didn’t move to form the words. “WHERE DO YOU GO?” it said.

  Henrietta wanted to look over at Gary, but her eyes wouldn’t respond to her urging. “WHERE DO YOU GO?” the voice came again. Its inflections were exactly the same as the first time. The thing brought an arm up over the back of the seat and one long, waxen index finger reached toward Gary.

  “Don’t!” Henrietta whispered.

  The finger lightly tapped Gary’s forehead, and the creature winked out, disappearing like a switched-off light.

  “I need my medicine,” said Gary, his voice trembling and small. He was pale and sweating. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Henrietta racked her brain, trying to figure out if there was any way to get out of her straps. Finally, she did the only thing she could think of: she screamed.

  Once they arrived at school, a crumpled Gary was whisked to Ms. Morse’s office by the bus duty supervisor. Henrietta, after a brief trip to the principal’s office to receive a Behavioral Citation and a lecture about Being Disruptive on the Bus, had to proceed straight to class to take the Competency Exam.

  It was no longer practice. This was what they’d all been preparing for. Statistics from this test would be tabulated for all districts, schools, classes, and students. Schools could lose funding, teachers could lose jobs, and students could be classified as At Risk or even Finished. Henrietta entered the room and sat silently at the back, next to Gary’s empty chair.

  At
the front, Ms. Span stood and silently watched her nervous students. She was dressed in a black sweater and black slacks, scrupulously devoid of any piece of lint. Her black hair was pulled back into a perfect bun, and her normally thick eyebrows were plucked into precise arcs. Despite her severe appearance, Henrietta could tell she was worried. Not only was the exam itself stressful, and her best student sidelined, but that student was her son, and she couldn’t go visit him to see how he was doing.

  When Ms. Span had everyone’s undivided attention, she spoke. “Read every question twice,” she said, speaking slowly and articulating carefully. “Be fast and accurate. Never leave a blank. It is vitally important that you do well today, for yourself, and for me, and for the school. Failure will have real consequences, up to and including being Finished.” She paused. “Don’t be nervous,” she added. She smiled nervously. “Don’t be anxious.”

  The class hung on her every word. Finally, she donned her reading glasses and spent a few moments tilting them back and forth on her nose to make sure they were perfectly straight. Meanwhile, in homes and workplaces all across the Addition, parents held their cell phones before them in sweating hands, watching anxiously for news.

  Ms. Span sat at her terminal. “Get ready,” she said as the clock approached the hour. In seconds, every student in every school in every district everywhere would be presented with their first short response question; the same question for everyone, every child responding in parallel with every other child.

  The clock turned. “Begin!” said Ms. Span as everyone’s screen went momentarily blank, and then lit up with the prompt.

  WHERE DO YOU GO?

  “Don’t start!” said Ms. Span, her voice shrill. She typed at her terminal. “It must be a glitch. . . .” She frowned. “No, this is it. This is the question! Go!”

  “What does it mean?” said one student.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Ms. Span. “Just answer it!”