CHAPTER SEVEN

Rufus slammed the front door with a rebellious flick of his heel. “So. All we have to do is find a boy who Teodor hasn’t been able to locate in weeks. In a few hours. Without letting the Sylverings know they have a human girl in their midst. That’ll be easy, won’t it?”

He turned and marched up Peppersnap Nook, favoring his left leg again, leaving Lin to hurry after as quickly as her bandaged foot allowed. Behind them, a streak of orange fur could be seen at the round window below Teodor’s spire. After his visit to the turret, he had been terse and impatient, eager to shoo them off.

“But you have been looking for Isvan for weeks,” Rufus had protested. “There must be something more you can tell us about his case?”

In reply Teodor had given them a piece of paper, upon which he had written down the song he had sung for them in the woods.

“I have always thought of ‘The Margrave’s Song’ as an old ditty,” he had said. “Beloved by penny singers, but mostly nonsense. But in my research into Winterfyrst lore, I discovered that it was originally a Telthic Soothsong. A prophecy if you will. And the words of a Soothsinger have a way of drifting into place.” He had shoved the paper into Lin’s hand. “The Wanderer’s hour is tonight, of course, and the Winter Prince can be none other than Isvan. But I do not know what to make of this Margrave. It means ‘lord of the border,’ and my best guess is that it is simply another name for the wandering star. Perhaps you will make more sense of it as the night unfolds.”

After all the songs her mother had played and picked apart for her, Lin did have a little training making sense of lyrics. Take the words out, her mother would say, look at them from a different angle. Gold doesn’t always mean gold. But Lin had to admit that “The Margrave’s Song” made little sense to her, save perhaps for the ominous line Teodor thought referred to Isvan.

A Winter Prince lost in the Wanderer’s hour.

Was he silenced and caught in the secret cold, too? Lin pulled her cardigan close, trying to stay as hidden as possible inside the smelly hat. Teodor had insisted she keep it, and keep her presence secret. The Sylverings didn’t know that a Twistrose has been called to their aid, and even Rufus had agreed that Lin’s presence was a telltale sign of great danger. “And fear is a destructive force,” Teodor had told them, “even among the most peaceful of people.”

Rufus chewed the tassels of his scarf, muttering to himself. “A boon and not a burden. That crafty old grump! He knew I was standing there!”

Even the most peaceful of people could bicker, it seemed. “What is going on between you two?” Lin asked. “You’re like two firecrackers in a pot. Is it because foxes and voles are natural enemies?”

“No, no.” Rufus spat out the tassels. “Sylver’s not like that. The different clans all have their preferences and quirks, that’s true. Hoofs like rose-painted wood; Beaks like shiny things. Canines like open squares; Felines stick to alleys. And we Rodents have this really annoying urge to, well, chew stuff.” He frowned at the frayed ends of the scarf. “But though we may have been enemies on the other side, we’ve put all that behind us. We call it the Sylver Pact. It’s the first thing they teach us when we arrive: We’re all just people here. Still,” he added darkly, “there are always some who just don’t like each other.”

They were moving through a neighborhood called Wishboxes, named for its lavish window displays. On the opposite side of the street, a black cat was scrutinizing his reflection among pies and chocolate loaves in a bakery window. He kept getting up on his hind legs, dropping down on all fours, and rising back up again, tail shaking with confusion.

“Fresher,” Rufus said. “Probably his first day.”

Presently a smiling dog with a sixpence on his head approached the fresher, patted him gently on the back, and pointed down the street toward the center of the town. “That’s the direction of the House,” Rufus explained. “They’ll sort him out there, help him find somewhere to stay and something to do.”

“What is the House exactly?” Lin asked.

“The House is where all decisions concerning Sylver life are made. If anyone has a problem, they bring it before the House elders. All records and maps are kept there, and the important guilds like the snow clearers and the gatherers have offices there, too. I suppose you could say it’s the heart of the realm. A big, complicated heart with a lot of chambers. I work there, actually.”

“You do?” Lin said, impressed. Rufus had only been here for a month.

“It’s a bit of an honor, for someone as fresh as me.” He gave a mock-humble bow, and Lin could see the bad mood sliding off him like puddle water. “Granted, I spend my days copying letters, or hovering about trying to find out what everyone else is up to. As chief chronicler, Teodor is my superior. He keeps telling me to do the letters over, that my handwriting is sloppy. I do believe he thinks I’m rather incompetent.” Rufus shrugged, but Lin thought she detected a smug curve to his whiskers. “But I’ve made a few friends here and there, dug up a secret or two. Teodor doesn’t need to know everything.”

“What was that thing he wanted you to find?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Rufus winked at her. “I’ve got it covered.”

They rounded a corner into a stump of a street where the windows were crowded with clothes and hats. Rufus stopped in front of a blue door under a sign fashioned as a threaded needle. “Here we are! Stitch Lane is the best street for tailoring in all of Sylver, and Sofie is the best on Stitch Lane.”

“You think Isvan came here?” asked Lin.

“No,” Rufus said. “But you can’t very well traipse around in your pajamas all night.”

Behind the blue door there was indeed a little tailor shop. A gray rabbit in a red brocade coat sat at a desk in the middle of the room, cutting patterns from greaseproof paper. When they stepped under the tinkling bell, she muttered without looking up. “Will it be pockets or tassels today, Rufus dear?”

“Neither,” Rufus said, peering quickly around the shop to make sure they were alone. The racks that lined the walls were full of mismatched garments: coats and vests and hats, and quite a few pairs of knitted socks. “I need a full set of warm clothes. Wool if you have it.”

“A full set? I should think your fur is perfectly good enough to . . . Oh.” The rabbit gawked at them. “It’s not for you. A new friend?”

“Uh, yes. Just arrived. I’m showing her around.”

“Welcome to Sylveros.” Sofie put her scissors down and came plodding over to inspect Lin’s clothes. “This won’t do! A wet cardigan and ditto slipper!” She pulled out a measuring tape and held it up to Lin’s arm. But when she reached around to measure Lin’s waist, her pink nose suddenly twitched. Lin took a step back, but it was too late.

“You smell like morellos!” Sofie peered into Lin’s hat. “Can it be that you are . . .”

“She’s a little wary still,” Rufus interrupted with a too-bright smile.

Sofie lowered her hands. “I understand. Don’t worry, dear, I won’t touch you.” She returned to the desk for a parcel with blue ribbons. “I think I have something that may fit. I made it because it would suit my human girl, but she has changed her style. She smelled nice, too, like peppermint.” Sofie gave Rufus a glance. “Isn’t it sad, Rufus? One moment, everything is as it used to be, and the next . . .”

Rufus tightened his scarf. “Right.”

The rabbit held out the parcel. “Go on, dear. It’s a gift.”

Lin opened it and found a tunic of soft white wool. There were also mittens, socks, and thick pants, all in icy colors. “Let me see if I can find you a parka,” Sofie said. “So you can get rid of that grubby, old cardigan.”

“She may want to hang onto that for now,” Rufus said. “It’s nice to have something lived-in when you’re far away from home.”

Sofie raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t argue. Instead she rustled up a strange garment called a chaperon, a pointed hood with shoulders that covered the top third of Lin’s cardigan. “Take these, too,” the rabbit said, and placed a pair of white lace-up boots on top of the pile. “Colbear made them, so they’re good quality. Now, try everything on so we can see if it needs adjusting.”

Lin stepped behind a folding screen and rubbed her skin dry with a towel that Rufus handed to her. The bandage on her injured foot was soaked, and she unwound it. The cut had grown a brown scab already. It still twinged, and it reeked from Teodor’s ointment, but there was no need for a bandage.

Quickly she dressed in her new outfit. The boots were a little oddly shaped, wider at the toes, but the supple leather molded to her feet. The chaperon fit perfectly, and as she pulled on the mittens, she felt warm at last. Somewhat self-consciously, she walked over to the mirror, peeking out from the deep shadow of the hood. A smile spread on her face. At last she was dressed for the part. She could be the hero of a polar expedition, or a master troll hunter ready for a blizzard. If only everyone at Summerhill could see her now!

“Not another stitch needed, I think,” Rufus said, scooping up Lin’s discarded hat from behind the screen.

“Leave me the pajamas,” Sofie said. “I’ll mend them for you.”

Rufus bowed again, but this time sincerely. “Thank you so much for your help. And we’d appreciate it if you’d keep from mentioning our fresher to anyone. Just for tonight.”

“I won’t tell. I only ask . . .” Sofie nibbled at her paw. “I only ask that you enjoy your time together while it lasts.”

As Rufus pulled Lin out the door, she thought the rabbit’s eyes were watering. “What was that about?”

“Ah, that’s just Sofie,” Rufus mumbled. “She misses her girl a lot, and she’s a little mushy. But trustworthy, or I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

Lin lowered her voice, too. “We’re going to need a better plan next time.”

“You’re right,” Rufus said. He didn’t steer her back out on the street, but down some steps to Sofie’s cellar.

“Where are we going?” Lin asked as Rufus opened the door for her. She had to stoop so she wouldn’t bump her head on the lintel.

“To make a better plan,” Rufus said. “This is the safest place in all of Sylver.” He ushered her into a little den with crisscrossing rugs on the uneven floor and small windows under the ceiling. The furniture was simple—a stove, a bed, and a table—but still the room seemed crowded, for the table and the walls were covered with maps. “It’s not much, but it’s comfortable.”

“This is your place!” Lin said. “Look at all these maps!”

“I copied them from originals I’ve borrowed from the Cartography Chamber. It’s forbidden, of course, but I borrowed Teodor’s key and had that copied as well.”

“You stole Teodor’s key?” Lin grinned. It didn’t surprise her at all that Rufus had a light-fingered streak. In Grandma Alma’s kitchen, he used to climb down her leg to help himself from the food bowl of Summerhill’s fat cat.

“Borrowed. And copied. It’s not the same.” He shrugged. “No one ever goes in there anyway. The Sylverings aren’t interested. They have a whole world to explore, and most of them have never even visited the Palisade.” Rufus ran his hand over a map titled “The Realms of Dream and Thorn,” a great almond-shaped island of cities, fjords, and mountain ranges, where Sylveros made a tiny speck to the far north. “When I go, I won’t be stopping at the border. I’m going across the Nightmare Mountains to the other Realms. I’m going to see everything.”

He turned back to face her, and his eyes were shining. “But back to our plan. Secrecy first. Your disguise looks great, but your scent gives you away.”

It was true. Up close, Sofie had no problem smelling that Lin was no ordinary fresher. In the wild, Lin knew how to avoid being detected by animals: stay upwind and stay away. But that wouldn’t get them far in a town. “Do I really smell all that different from a Petling?”

“Yes. But luckily, most Sylverings find that their senses have dulled since they came here.” With his teeth, Rufus tore the earflaps off Teodor’s hat and gave them to Lin. “This won’t fool those who still have keen noses, like Sofie, but the old fur will mask the morellos a bit. Put them somewhere they won’t be conspicuous. Your boots maybe?”

Lin sat down on the bed to tie the fur pieces to her laces. For some reason, Rufus turned away, twirling his tassels quickly while he studied the maps. “The bed’s a little lumpy,” he muttered. “But you get used to it.”

The bedding was hay, covered with a knitted sleeping bag that was too wide at the top. “Wait a minute,” Lin said. “This looks just like my cardigan pocket!”

“Sofie knitted it for me when I first got here.” Rufus cleared his throat. “It helped me get through the awakening. I guess it comforted me.”

Lin put her hand under the dark blue yarn. “Does it feel strange? Being a Petling?”

“It did at first. But memories from before are fading, and the new me, the Petling me, is bleeding in. As if I’ve always loved mead houses and old legends and the color green.”

“Oh,” Lin said. While she had been grieving by the rosebush, Rufus had slowly been forgetting his old life. She did want him to be happy, but it stung a little. Bending down to adjust the earflaps, she said, “All right, stink pads secured to boots. And I think your showing around a skittish fresher is a good cover. It would explain why I keep my distance, plus it gives us freedom to search around for Isvan. Where should we begin?”

Rufus flung the scarf ends over his shoulder. “My first thought was to seek out places Isvan usually goes and speak to his friends. But the funny thing is, in all my time here, his name has never once come up. It’s like no one knows him.”

With a coldness in her chest, Lin remembered the sad tug of Isvan’s smile. The last Winterfyrst in all of Sylver. “Well, Teodor said he vanished from his home. Do you have any idea where it is?”

“I think I might!” Rufus began riffling through his maps. “I can’t remember seeing the Winterfyrst name anywhere, but . . . Ha! This is the one we want.” He smoothed out a roll on his desk, pinning the corners down with a pocketknife and two coffee mugs. Unlike the rest of his collection, this map was made of creamy, weaved paper. But the details and names had been scribbled with light, uncertain pencil strokes, erased and done anew. The only part written in ink was the title: “The Comprehensive Chart of Sylveros and All Its Lands.” “I couldn’t find a detailed map of the entire town, so I’ve been piecing together some smaller ones.” Rufus scratched his head. “But the proportions seem off somehow.”

“Well, it’s hard if you can’t use your eyes for measure. Remember when Niklas and I made that Summerhill map? We climbed up to Buttertop to get it right.” Lin traced the line of the long, straight Main Road, which ended in the Great Square and a miniscule drawing for the House. “These symbols are beautiful!”

“I just tried to make them look like yours.” Rufus’s whiskers perked up. He pointed to the south end of Sylveros, which was severed from the rest of the town by the looping river. On the very edge of the street grid, all but surrounded by the woods, nestled one of his symbols. “I added this one from an old map of magical sites in Sylveros. Doesn’t it strike you as somewhere a Winterfyrst could live?”

It was a snow crystal marked as the Hall of Winter.

Lin smiled. “For the first time in history, I think I can say: one point to Rufus of Rosenquist!”