Island of Graves (4 page)

She bonked him on the head with the fife, then slapped her sticky little hand to his mouth.

Alex licked his lips. “Mm, tasty,” he said. “A bit warmer than how I normally take my jam, but I like it.” He looked at Crow. “What do you think? Does Fifer suit her?”

Crow's face was more animated than Alex had ever seen it before. “I think it does!” he exclaimed. “And . . . maybe we can call her Fig for short?”

“I love it,” said Alex. It was nice to see Crow feeling so comfortable without Henry at his side. Perhaps he had found his niche with caring for the little ones. “Fifer Stowe, and Fig for short.” Alex looked at Mr. Appleblossom. “And what about the other Miss Stowe? Nothing's coming to me at all for her, I'm afraid. Have I given you enough time to think?”

Fifer's twin rubbed her eye with her fist. She looked tired and sweet and full of goodness. Then she reached her pudgy hand in the air whimsically, grabbed Mr. Appleblossom's hair, and wrenched his head to the side.

The theater instructor cried out in surprise and pain. When he'd managed to release his hair from the girl's grasp, he spoke. “So sweet, yet thorny as a rose, you see? Determined, full of life, this one will be.”

“She seems to be,” said Alex. “Not sure Sweet or Thorny are
good names, though—she might hate me for either, one day.” He looked at Crow. “Do you agree with Mr. Appleblossom's description?”

“Oh, she's definitely sweet and thorny,” Crow said. “And determined. Fifer is mostly content, but the one in red doesn't stop until she gets what she wants.”

Alex nodded and turned back to the theater instructor. “Do you have a Shakespearean name to fit her, Mr. Appleblossom? Or something else, maybe?”

Mr. Appleblossom craned his neck to look at the girl and eyed her pinching fingers warily. He studied her while the others looked on, waiting.

Finally Mr. Appleblossom's face lit up. “Forget the Shakespeare names. I know of thee!” he cried. “From Ovid, you are
clearly
”—he bowed with a flourish—“our Thisbe.”

“Oh yes!” said Claire. “From Pyramus and Thisbe. I remember it. Forbidden love, tragedy, death . . . It's absolutely perfect for the dramatic one. And the character of Thisbe is so strong-willed, so passionate . . . so brave.” She sighed, remembering.

“Thisbe?” Alex asked, sounding out the two syllables. “Like T-h-i-z-b-e-e?”

“Spell it how you like,”
Mr. Appleblossom said as the twin in red lunged toward Alex, “and read the story.” He tilted his head and said conspiratorially, “Inspired Juliet, our brave Thisbe.”

“Really?” said Alex. “So some guy named Ovid wrote about Pyramus and Thisbe, and Shakespeare got inspired to write
Romeo and Juliet
because of it? That's pretty cool. And I don't even want to know how you know all this.”

Mr. Appleblossom looked ready to rant, but Alex stopped him with a grin. “I know, Mr. Appleblossom,” Alex said. “Books. Thank goodness for the ones that wash up on our shores or we'd have no stories at all.”

“We'd have our own,” Claire said quietly. She nodded at the twins. “I wonder what their stories will be.”

Alex smiled. “I wonder too.” He reached out and took Fifer's twin in his free arm. Almost immediately she laid her head on his shoulder and popped her thumb into her mouth. Her lids grew heavy and she relaxed, like she'd found a perfect resting place there in the crook of her brother's neck. Alex was surprised to feel a wave of emotion come over him.

Mr. Appleblossom wrote the name on a piece of paper and showed Alex.

“Thisbe,”
Alex said, noting the spelling. It sounded smart and important, and the more he said it, the more he liked it. “I think it fits her well,” Alex said. He looked at Crow. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” Crow said. “Thisbe and Fifer. Fifer and Thisbe. They sound good together.”

“Better than Red and Purple?” Alex asked.

Crow laughed. “A lot better.”

“It's a perfect name for her,” Claire said. “Oh, look, Thisbe's asleep. Just like that.”

“And Fig is next,” Crow said. “Look—her sticky cheek is locked in and she's down for the count.” He laughed. “They like you, Alex.”

“Yeah? Do you really think so?” asked Alex. He craned his neck to look narrowly at one, then the other. “This feels very weird,” Alex said. He'd never held two sleeping toddlers before. He turned slowly toward Liam, who had been standing back respectfully, saying nothing, as he was used to doing when he'd gone anywhere with Aaron. Or maybe he was just hiding from Claire.

“And what do you think, Liam?” Alex asked. “Do the names fit them? You've had
more time with them than anyone.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said in earnest. “If what Mr. Appleblossom says is true about the story, the name Thisbe is perfect for the one in red, for she's nothing if not filled with intensity and passion. She cries hard, plays hard, and sleeps hard. And gentle little Fifer, why, the name suits her well. Delicate and sweet. And even her laugh is musical—you'll know her when you hear it. That's a promise of her musical future right there.” He faltered, and his eyes filled. He turned away, embarrassed.

“What's wrong?” Alex asked.

“Nothing. It's just . . . I've never felt so strange,” he said. “So full of hope.” He swiped at a tear and regarded the group, trying desperately not to look at Claire. “Thank you for letting me stay in Artimé. Getting out of Quill—it changes people.”

W
hen Aaron Stowe finally opened his eyes in the dark shelter, it took him several minutes to figure out that the howling noise he heard wasn't coming from any of the jungle creatures. It wasn't Panther screaming her affection, or the rock growling his melancholy loneliness, which Aaron didn't really care about. He stared at the ceiling without thinking at all for quite some time before any thoughts began to form.

A few hazy memories floated above his head, and he wasn't sure if they were real or if they were dreams: The pirates attacking him in his office and dragging him to the fishing boat, throwing
him in and leaving him there, broken. Then pulling his boat behind their ship for days and the awful rocking on the waves. The extreme pain in his shoulder and face was real—he was sure of that, for it was still present. And the horrible thirst was real too. He swallowed reflexively, finding his throat still sore and parched. And his body ached all over. But why? Why had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve it? The questions ran through his mind endlessly, exhausting him.

Eventually he became aware of a few things, like the fact that he wasn't in a boat anymore. There was a blanket covering him, and he seemed to be lying on something soft. With great effort, he slid one hand to the edge of the soft bedding and, to his disappointment, felt the cool, rock floor below it. He had hoped, however silly it seemed, that he had somehow made it to the jungle, where he had come to feel the most comfortable he'd ever been with the other misfit, dangerous ones. But this floor was not the jungle floor, and this noise was not jungle noise, and these smells weren't jungle smells.

Too exhausted to pull his arm back under the blanket, Aaron fluttered his eyes and closed them. His head listed to one side, and he slept.

T
he next day in Artimé, Alex sat at his desk in his office, which was once known as Mr. Today's office. Some of the older Unwanteds still referred to it as such out of habit, and Alex didn't mind. It still looked almost exactly like Mr. Today's office since Alex had had little time to do anything to it after he'd been forced to step into the role of head mage.

The one noticeable difference was that the monitors behind the desk no longer showed any images of the activities in Quill. Instead they hung useless and dark. Alex had puzzled over the strange phenomenon for a while when he first noticed it upon returning to Artimé, but it didn't take him long to realize that
it probably had something to do with the wall around Quill coming down.

Now Alex wished for a bird's-eye view into Quill as a new plan began to form in his mind. What were the people of Quill doing? How had they handled the ice? Were they afraid of Gondoleery, or did they support her? Did they even understand what was happening?

He considered doing a flyover with Simber, but he didn't want to frighten anyone or make Gondoleery suspicious of anything, for such an act could be considered threatening. And while Alex fully intended to threaten the high priest of Quill with his new plan, he did not wish to give Gondoleery any warning at all.

He pondered his options for hours, forgetting all about dinner. Eventually he heard the Museum of Large's door creak open, accompanied by excited chattering in the hall. The first meeting attendees were arriving. Alex could hear Lani speaking expertly about where to find things to someone who must surely be Sky.

Alex's stomach twisted at the sound of Sky's voice, which
had never fully healed from when she wore the thorny necklace of Warbler. He was in love, it was true. But he wasn't quite sure how she felt about him. She'd taken a step back in their relationship due to his stupidity, but she was slowly coming back to being his friend. And they'd come awfully close to a kiss on the ship as they returned home from the Island of Shipwrecks, though the sight of the help sign on the gorilla island had ruined that moment. If he could just keep cool and stop himself from messing things up, there might be a kiss in his future. But then Alex sighed, because that would cause old problems to resurface, he was sure.

The two girls entered the room with Sean Ranger right behind them. Sean, whose leg was nearly healed, walked on his own with only a magical support fashioned by Ms. Octavia, the octogator art instructor, to aid him. She was accustomed to fixing limbs of all kinds. And while she couldn't just give a human a whole new leg like she could do for Captain Ahab or Florence or any other statue, she built this contraption, which allowed Sean to walk normally without putting full pressure on his leg. Now it could finish healing properly while also giving him the freedom to walk without assistance.

This was the first time all three of them were present at one of Alex's office leadership meetings, and they seemed eager and nervous to be there.

Alex welcomed them in. “Sit anywhere, except not that giant floral sofa—that's Florence's spot. And Ms. Octavia prefers one of the small chairs up front, because otherwise she can't see.”

The three looked around. “Your office looks just like the miniature version,” Sky said. She had been the one to find the mini mansion in the gray shack back when Artimé had disappeared.

“Why, yes,” Alex exclaimed as if it were the most brilliant thing said in his lifetime. “It does. Exactly like it.” He perched comfortably on the corner of his desk and glanced up at the artwork on the wall. “See there? All those crazy dots.” He shook his head, remembering how hard it had been to figure out what they meant.

“Do you still remember the words?” Sky asked.

“All but the fourth one,” Alex said. The two shared a laugh that Lani and Sean didn't get, but neither Alex nor Sky offered to explain.

Others soon arrived. Florence, Simber, Ms. Octavia, Claire, Samheed, and Carina could see the entrance to the not-very-secret hallway, so they walked in easily. Most found chairs to sit in, and Simber lounged on the floor.

Alex welcomed them all.

Once everyone was settled, Alex turned first to Sean, Meghan's older brother. “How are you?” he asked.

Sean gave a small smile. “I'm holding on. I went into Quill and told our parents yesterday. Just to let them know.”

Carina glanced over at him and slipped her hand in his, then pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes with it. She'd lost her young husband in the first battle with Quill, and her mother, Eva Fathom, not long ago. Of anyone, she could definitely relate to Sean's great loss.