Chapter the 2nd
The wind and the snow grew stronger with the onset of evening. Michael almost liked Milton when visibility was so low. Better yet, this was be a good time to mail his letter. The mail in Milton might come to a halt if the wind was ushering in a full blizzard, but the special mail service he needed for this letter needed all the wind it could get. Ignoring passers by who were scurrying along Main Street to finish their shopping before the storm, Michael took the letter out of his empty newspaper sack and held it up to the wind. He closed his eyes and formed a mental image of Uncle Martin and Aunt Edith reading the letter to their children. Soon more details of their living room with its stacks of books and music became clearer to him. Just as Michael imagined the children laughing over an incident at school he was sharing with them, the letter flew out of his hand. For a few seconds, Michael could see the wind carry off the letter, then it was lost in the mist.
The first time Michael sent a letter to Carelin, he doubted his efforts would bear fruit. But a week later, he received a reply from Samantha inside one of his school text books, and a rather odd reply at that, including a suggestion that Michael attend the next students' art exhibit at the middle school. He went in spite of his embarrassment at being seen in such a place. He had to admit to himself, however, that he enjoyed some of the work, especially Kevin Rosskill’s drawings of strange beasts. They were enough to make him think Kevin had sneaked into Carelin on his own.
Since then, Michael had received equally strange letters in equally strange ways. One day at lunch, he opened his lunch box and found not only the sloppy sandwich he had made for himself, but a letter from Roger as well. Roger's letter was filled with reports on Myra's dragonlets and of a concert he played the violin with the dragonlets singing along with him.
Just the day before, Michael found a letter from Amarilla in the bottom of his paper sack when he had finished delivering his last paper to Mrs. Lear. In it, Amarilla confided to him that she had just uncovered a prophecy while she was practicing her contrabassoon. Something was obstructing the wind passage, so she took the instrument apart to find the problem. The offending object turned out to be a piece of parchment that read: "a child shall disappear and then reappear through the art that he has made. The disappearance and the reappearance of this child will be important for two towns in two different spheres of reality."
As usual with Amarilla's letters, Michael didn’t know what to make of it, but the letter he had just cast into the wind was a reply wherein he promised to be on the lookout for a disappearing child and to suggest that if a child disappeared into thin air, he might try his hand at traveling into thin air himself.
Michael reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. The pocket was empty. Michael smiled to himself and shook his head over the force of habit. If a cigarette had been where it used to be, he would have lit up. Since he didn't have one, he was too lazy to walk over to the drug store and buy a pack.
"Michael!"
He looked around to see who was calling him. It was Karen Rosskill and she looked very upset. Nothing new there. Michael doubted if she would be happy if she didn’t have something to be upset about. Michael thought she was going to bawl him out again for being less than perfectly kind to Kevin. His throwing the newspaper in Kevin’s face had given Karen a good excuse to yell and scream at him.
"What do you want?" Michael asked, keeping the tone of his voice as cold as possible.
"Have you seen Kevin?"
A sudden burst of interest stirred inside of Michael, but he kept himself under control, and pretended to be indifferent to both Karen and her brother Kevin.
"Not since this afternoon when I delivered the paper in his face," Michael replied. “Why, should I have seen him?"
"I didn't say you should, I just want to know if you did see him.”
"You're welcome to want to know anything you want to know,” Michael replied. “But all you can learn from me this time is that I haven't seen him since doing my paper route.”
Karen sighed. She was about Michael's age, but when busy mothering her younger brother, she looked much older. The wind made her cheeks redder than usual, almost making her attractive, but Michael didn't want to like Karen enough to be attracted to her.
"He said he was going to the library," said Karen.
"Bully for him. Why not look there?"
"I just called there to make him come home and Miss Anderson said she couldn't find him."
That perked up Michael’s interest even more, but he still contained his interest, maintaining a stony look on his face. With the snow thickening and starting to stick to the ground, conditions seemed right for the prophecy uncovered by Amarilla to come true.
"So?"
"So, I don't have the faintest idea of where he is."
"What's so bad about that?" Michael asked. "Maybe Kevin got lost in some book and can't find his way out."
"Very funny."
"Never said it was."
Karen peered through the snow to take another look down Main Street, hoping that one of the shadows might be her brother popping out of a store.
"When I find him, I'm going to kill him," Karen threatened.
"Big help that'll do him. Come to think of it, that might be an improvement for his quality of life.”
"You have as much heart as a lead balloon."
"That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me all day."
Karen started to stalk away, but Michael stopped her.
“Can’t you let me look for my brother in peace?” Karen snapped.
“No,” Michael replied. “You might need a special detective this time.”
Karen glared at Michael.
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, the information you have given me so far, plus the snow storm hitting Milton when no storm was coming this way, plus my intuition, plus secret information passed on to me from a correspondent tell me that Kevin will have to be searched for through channels that most people don’t know about but I do.”
“If you’re just trying to torment me—“
“I can torment anybody I want without even trying,” said Michael. "Now, where else does Kevin run away to besides the library?"
Lacking any effectual alternatives for searching out Kevin, Karen felt trapped into letting Michael conduct his little investigation.
"Nowhere that I know of," Karen replied. “He's in and out of the candy store when he robs our contingency fund, but the library's the only place he spends any time in."
"Doesn't have any friends, does he?"
“No."
"Didn't think so.”
"Why do you ask? Are you thinking of applying for the position?"
"Me? No. I don't need Kevin for a friend.”
"And I don't think Kevin needs you for a friend, either.”
"However," said Michael, “I need to rule out the likelihood that he’s at a friend’s house. No friends, no likelihood of visiting one.”
“Where else could he be?” asked Karen.
“We’ll check the library again.”
"Whatever for? He isn't there."
"You yourself just said he can’t be anywhere else. That means he’s still in the library or he’s someplace else that we might get to through the library.”
Karen crossed her arms and looked at Michael as if she were the new principal at school assigned the task of keeping the delinquent under control.
"Michael Bullinger, are you trying to pull a fast one on me? If you are, I don’t have time for your mean jokes.”
"Don't believe me, if you don't want to. I can look for Kevin without you. Go home and pout all you want."
With a new sense of purpose, Michael made a brisk beeline towards the library, obviously indifferent as to whether or not Karen went with him. At first, Karen stomped off in the other direction, but then thought better of it and decided to follow Michael at a respectable distance. Walking up the hill to the library from Main Street proved frustrating as the snow had made the way slippery and Karen's shoes had no traction. Somehow, Michael seemed not to have the same problem. When Marvella Anderson opened the door, holding her keys in her hand, a spurt on Michael’s part propelled him to the porch.
I'm sorry," said the librarian, "We're closing early because of the storm.”
"Where was Kevin before he disappeared?" Michael asked impetuously.
"Upstairs, as far as we know. Mark and I checked it out quite carefully. Not a trace of him."
"Did you see him leave the library?"
"No, but I don't guard the door to check off the names of people as they exit the building."
"I would appreciate having a quick look for myself," said Michael insistently.
"But there's nothing to check out," said Miss Anderson. "And I'm closing up the library.”
“I know. You can close the library all you want for as long as you want, snow storm or no snow storm, but first, you have to let me take a quick look for Kevin. Your soup won't boil over at home in the meantime.”
Marvella Anderson opened her mouth to express her feelings towards the troublesome adolescent whom she had never liked, but Karen spoke first.
"Uh—Miss Anderson, I hate to trouble you, but I would feel better about all this if I quick checked out the library for myself."
"Well, maybe that is a good idea," Marvella conceded, as she reopened the door and let Michael and Karen in. She turned on the lights, which somehow made the library feel darker.
"Mark says he last saw Kevin upstairs in the history section," said Marvella.
"Thanks," said Michael as he led the way up the stairs with Karen behind him.
"Where's history?" Michael asked "I never read the stuff myself."
"This way," said Karen, pointing in the right direction.
Michael looked about him in all directions as if he were possessed by an irrational spirit. Not finding Kevin or any clues, Michael began to pound on the walls, Karen was ready to call down for help, although she didn't know how the librarian could help her restrain Michael.
"Nothing here," Michael muttered.
A gust of wind buffeted the plastic sheet so that it billowed like the sail on a ship. Michael grunted and stooped down to the floor right by the wall of plastic. He ran his fingers along the floor and picked up a piece of paper, which Karen was almost certain wasn’t there a minute ago. Michael showed the paper to Karen. It was covered with curious drawings in a style she recognized.
"Is that Kevin's hand?" Michael asked Karen brusquely.
Karen was shaken at the sight of the elaborate swirls intertwined with strange animals sketched on the paper.
"Yes. But—what do we do about it?"
Michael narrowed his eyes and studied the drawing as if he were the world's leading art critic. What caught Michael's interest the most was the drawing of what appeared to be a wild boar bursting through a web of swirling threads.
"This boar's head!" Michael exclaimed.
"What about it?" asked Karen.
"The boar's head is alive,” said Michael.
“It's just a drawing," Karen protested.
"Just a drawing! Fudge in fawn's blood! That's how much you know about these things!"
“I’m not ignorant about art. I know that Kevin’s good at drawing and that he knows how to make animals look alive.”
“Not only that, Kevin knows how to make animals come to life.”
“How?”
“By getting to a universe where drawings come to life, Stupid!”
“Don’t call me that,” said Karen.
Michael pounded on the walls and the plastic barrier as if commanding them to open before him, but nothing happened.
“I think he went that away, but the route seems to be sealed off again,” Michael concluded. “We'll have to follow him some other way."
"What do you mean?" asked Karen.
"Don't expect me to explain anything, because I can't, and I wouldn't if I could,” Michael replied. “What I can and will tell you right now is that I don't think Kevin left by the front door of the library or any other door we can see right now. That means he must have left the library by some other door we can't get to. However, there are other ways to get to where I think he's gone."
"What are you talking about? You're not making any sense."
"Never said I was.”
Michael clattered back down the stairs loudly enough to drown out anything else Karen might say.
"Find anything?" asked Marvella Anderson.
"Yes," said Michael as he showed her the drawing he had found. Her eyebrows almost rose above her head.
“Where was it?” asked Marvella.
“On the floor, by the table, by the plastic wall.”
"Funny Mark and I didn't see it.”
"Not so funny, really," said Michael, snatching the drawing back from Marvella. "I just have the magnetism for making these things appear when I want them to."
Marvella looked at Michael's feverish face and shuddered.
"Uh—thank you for your trouble, Miss Anderson," said Karen.
"Yea, thanks a lot," said Michael as he opened the door, apparently oblivious to either Karen or Marvella.
Karen and Marvella exchanged anxious looks about both Kevin and Michael, and then Karen followed Michael out into the driving snow.
"Now what, Sherlock Holmes?" Karen as she struggled to keep up with him.
"Don't know," was the reply, although Michael walked on as if he knew exactly where he was going.
A car turned the corner up ahead. Suddenly the shadow of a man appeared in the car’s headlights. The brakes squealed as the car hit the pedestrian, then fish tailed in the street. Somehow, the driver regained control of the car and drove off as if nothing had happened.
"Don't stop or anything!" Michael yelled after the driver.
But the car lumbered on down the slippery hill, and was gone. Michael tried to read the license plate, but he could hardly see the shape of the car in the snow, let alone read any numbers. Karen ran up to the fallen stranger and Michael followed her when he gave up on bringing the driver to justice. Under the streetlight, he saw a blond youth who, at first glance, looked like Robin Hood. He was wearing a medieval-looking leather tunic and, against his chest, he was clutching a small harp with all its strings broken. At second glance, Michael recognized the face and that really startled him.
“What are you doing here?” Michael asked the young man as he knelt down to pick him up.
“Don’t move him!" cried Karen.
"I know what I'm doing.”
"No you don't!”
Karen elbowed Michael out of the way and turned the young man on his back so smoothly that Michael couldn't help but admire her agility. The young man still clung to the harp for dear life.
"A harp of all things," Karen muttered. "We've got to get it out of his hands."
"May I take your harp, sir?" asked Michael as if he were the young man's foot servant.
The harpist gazed vacantly, showing no sign that he knew anyone was talking to him. When Michael and Karen gently pulled the youth's fingers off the harp, he suddenly screamed, but did not try to grab the harp back when Michael took it away.
"Now help me prop up his feet,” Karen ordered. “He's most likely in shock."
"How?"
“Make a snow bank, Stupid."
For once Michael let someone call him "Stupid." Feeling that he was betraying the harp, Michael placed it gently in the snow and helped Karen build a little mound of snow to support the harpist's feet. Karen loosened the young man's tunic, which took some doing, since it was tied with leather laces.
"Are you okay?" Michael asked.
The youth moved his head a little, looked at Michael uncomprehendingly, then closed his eyes.
"Keep him awake," said Karen, "he has to stay awake."
Michael started to shake the young man.
"Don't shake him you hotheaded crackbrain!” Karen exclaimed. “Just talk to him. You're good at that and I know what to do."
Karen picked up some snow and gently rubbed it on the youth's face.
"I said: Are you okay?" Michael repeated
The youth's eyes opened wildly and he uttered something that Michael could not understand.
"What?" asked Michael.
"May - you - be - a boar - who - never stops running—from—from---!" cried the youth.
“From where?” Michael prompted him.
"I come from everywhere and go everywhere. May the threads of your book overflow and choke you!"
“I can tell you where you come from," said Michael. "You’re from Carelin."
"The land of waste and ruin and dragons' blood!"
Michael and Karen exchanged glances.
"We've got to get him to the hospital, fast," said Karen
"Who wants to go to a hospice when your cracked hospitality has broken the heavens and ushered in a century's worth of snow?" cried the youth.
"Ah, but at this hospital," said Karen in a soothing voice Michael didn't know she had, "my mother will take care of you. She knows how to fix a head that's broken."
"The harp is broken! All is broken until the strings are whole again!"
The roar of a snow plow coming up the street drowned out the harpist’s yelling.
"See if they can call the police or an ambulance," ordered Karen.
"You know what people think of me,” Michael replied. “They'll think I'm playing a trick on them, which I would if I could. Besides, I can do a better job at counter-examining him"
Karen looked about uncertainly, then decided it was best to trust Michael with the patient for a moment.
"All right, but don't let him fall asleep in case he has had a concussion. And don't keep him awake by shaking the daylights out of him."
"Thanks for the tip."
Karen ran off and Michael turned his attention back to the young man.
"What string is broken?" asked Michael.
"The harp string that holds the worlds together!" the youth cried.
"That's some string," said Michael.
“The harp string wraps itself around the boar who destroys the worlds with the fire in its eyes!"
"A boar with fire in its eyes, you say?"
"A COSMIC FIRE IN ITS EYES!" roared the youth.
With the harpist’s second mention of a boar, Michael reached under his jacket, pulled out Kevin's drawing and looked at it again under the streetlight. Sure enough, there was the picture of a boar, with its eyes flashing like fire.
"Does the boar who destroys all worlds have a pair of long tusks?" Michael asked.
"The boar's tusks extend to infinity!" the harpist yelled.
"That's pretty far," said Michael. He looked at the drawing again. He was sure the tusks had just grown longer on the paper before his eyes. Unnerved, Michael stuffed the paper back under his jacket to protect it from the snow.
"Is he making any sense yet?" asked Karen breathlessly as she knelt back down beside her patient.
"Of course not. Anybody coming?"
"They radioed for an ambulance."
Karen rubbed a little more snow on the harpist's flushed face. "Where are you?" Karen asked him.
"I have lost my way in the forgotten melodies of time and eternity!"
"That's a nice place to be," said Michael.
Karen shot Michael a sharp look. Michael ignored her.
"Where do you come from?" Karen asked the harpist.
"I come from the womb of unpardonable insult. May the century-long blizzard bury your palace in forgetfulness!"
Karen shook her head, obviously disoriented by the harpist's words. She did not conceal her relief when she saw an ambulance appear with its flashing red light all but obscured by the snow. One of the paramedics jumped out and ran over to the fallen youth.
"What happened?" asked the paramedic, sounding very official, until he recognized Karen. “Why, hi Karen. Fancy seeing you here."
"It's fancy all right," Karen replied. "Some car hit this guy."
"One of those nice hit and run drivers who hid his license plate in the snow," Michael added.
The paramedic grunted. "How does your head feel?" he asked the youth.
"Like - like a mountain running - "
"I think he hit his head when he fell," Michael explained.
"Some Halloween costume he's wearing," the paramedic muttered as he checked to make sure the youth was breathing properly.
"Halloween is six months away," said Michael.
"So it is. The costume is the least of our problems. The important thing is to get him to the hospital."
The paramedic waved his companion over and Michael stood by as they carefully loaded the youth into the ambulance. With that done, they drove away. Karen and Michael watched the rear lights of the vehicles disappear in the snow. Then Michael picked up the broken harp, feeling awkward with the instrument in his hands.
"Well, now your mother can deal with him," Michael remarked.
"Yea," said Karen. “Now I won’t be able to get a hold of her and tell her Kevin's missing."
"She'll have her hands full enough without worrying about Kevin," said Michael. “Meanwhile, we will have our hands full trying to find him. Come on."
"What do you have up your sleeve now?" asked Karen with little patience left.
"If you look up my sleeve, you'll see a lot of snow and a visit to Mrs. Lear's house.”
“What? She’s the crabbiest woman in Milton!”
“I know. We’ll just have to endure her crabbiness for Kevin’s sake. Can’t be worse than yours.”
“How come you’re on your high horse all of a sudden?”
"I'm just trying to be nice to you at a time when you need some help.”
“All you've done is insult me.”
“Sorry about that,” said Michael, not sounding very contrite, “I should talk about being crabby. I know all about it. However, there is anybody in the world who can find Kevin for you, it's me. And I happen to know that consulting Mrs. Lear should help."
“How do you know that?”
“You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to,” said Michael. “You can go anywhere you like. What I am going to do is go to Mrs. Lear’s house and ask her help me find Kevin.”
Michael forged ahead into the snow, leaving Karen behind. The possibility of being left all alone in the storm with the uncertainty of Kevin’s disappearance overwhelmed Karen to the point that sticking with Michael Bullinger seemed better than being left all alone. Karen started to run after Michael and fell down. She swore through her tears and decided to give up on chasing Kevin until she felt a hand take a hold of hers. It was Michael.