“Doggo,” she whispered, “I would feel so much better if you were here.”
Above her, two large worlds passed right over her head, grinding and grumbling as they scraped at each other’s sides. From farther away, there were the sounds of collisions and explosions. Flashes of yellow, green, and red burst like fireworks inside distant worlds. The sudden brightness speared into the Conservatory, where the lights that illuminated the workbenches and jetties had dimmed down, as if they knew Garnet wanted to sleep.
Tuesday looked up at the sky and worried. It was supposed to be the Gardener’s job to tend to the worlds, to keep them calm and separate. But things were still going wrong, and the task of making everything go right felt immense and impossible. She thought of the world of Vivienne Small and hoped with all her heart that Baxterr and Vivienne were all right.
Tuesday closed her eyes and breathed as evenly as she could. At last, the worlds in the sky had settled a little, and Tuesday drifted into a sleep full of dreams about Serendipity and Denis and blueberry pancakes. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed when she woke again, this time to a small, curious sound that was coming not from the sky above but from inside the room. Tap, tap … tap, tap, tappety, tap …
In the darkness, Tuesday pricked up her ears. It sounded like someone was walking about the Conservatory, but they were moving too fast for it to be Garnet. And a snore from the yellow couch confirmed that it wasn’t him.
Tuesday stood up, and the lights in the room began to brighten.
“Gracious!” cried somebody in surprise.
And there, over by the workbench and staring around in a rather alarmed fashion, was a small person. From the waist down, he was covered in gleaming black fur, while from the waist up, he wore nothing except a fluffy red scarf that was knotted tightly around his neck. His curling hair was as dark as the fur on his legs, and out of it poked two small, knobbly horns like a goat’s. He had a lively face with a pointy beard. His umbrella was in ribbons.
“Hello?” said Tuesday, blinking in disbelief.
The small, goatlike person stared, then took one or two steps toward her. His dainty hoof steps rang out, tap-tap, on the polished timber floor. It really was—he really was—a faun, Tuesday realized. A very particular faun.
“Oh … ah…,” he said, nervously. “Greetings, young lady. I wonder if you might, perchance, be able to tell me … ah … whereabouts it is exactly that I find myself?”
“Mr. Tumnus?” Tuesday stammered. She glanced up at the sky in amazement, then looked back at the faun. “Are you really Mr. Tumnus?”
The faun smiled in a polite yet mystified way.
“As it happens, I am. Have we met before?”
Tuesday barely managed to keep herself from hugging him. Instead, she held out her hand and shook his, smiling with delight.
“I’m so sorry, but I don’t recall—” he said.
“I can’t tell you how lovely it is to finally meet you,” Tuesday said.
The faun frowned.
“So, we’ve not met before. Am I dead, then? I think I must be. There was an appalling crash and then one side of my home was ripped away, and the next thing you know, I was flying clean out into the snow. I tried to catch hold of the lamppost as I fell, but they’re wretchedly slippery things, you know, and I couldn’t hold on. I appear, though, still to be breathing. Is that natural, when one is dead?”
“You’re not dead,” Tuesday reassured him. “You’re in the Conservatory. You’ve … well, it’s hard to explain. You’ve fallen out of your world. I wonder if it’s a key world. Of course it is. It would have to be. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m talking to myself. You see, I’m the new Gardener, and unless something truly terrible has happened to your world, we can probably get you back to it. I might be able fix it. Your world, I mean. If I really try.”
Mr. Tumnus looked utterly perplexed.
“All those up there,” said Tuesday pointing, “each one of them is a world. Yours is there somewhere.”
Mr. Tumnus stood, dumbstruck, peering upward. After a while he held a hand to his head and said, “I think I need to sit down.”
“It is rather a lot to take in,” Tuesday agreed, and she ushered Mr. Tumnus to one of the seats beside the dining table.
Since she had only just woken up, Tuesday expected the food under the glass dome would be something breakfasty, like a bowl of porridge or bananas with yogurt. Instead, what she found when she lifted the dome were some lightly boiled eggs, sardines on toast, a teacake beautifully dusted with sugar, and a pot of tea.
“Are you hungry, Mr. Tumnus?” Tuesday asked.
The faun took in the spread, and the sight of it brightened him up. “In fact, I believe I am a little peckish. Despite my fall. Or perhaps because of it. I’m not dead, you say? Well, that is something. I’m sorry … what did you say your name was?”
“Tuesday,” said Tuesday.
“Oh, Tuesday,” said Mr. Tumnus. “That is my favorite day of the week! Excellent for beginning things. Much better than Mondays, I always say. Mondays are good for warming up to what needs to be done on Tuesday, don’t you find?”
Tuesday smiled and poured the tea, and the two began to talk as if they had been friends for years. Which, of course, in a way, they had. Before long, there was nothing left on the table but eggshells and crumbs and empty plates and teacups, and Tuesday and the faun—their stomachs quite content—were standing in the center of the Conservatory staring up into the mass of worlds above their heads, searching for the one that belonged to Mr. Tumnus.
“How do we know which one is mine?” Mr. Tumnus asked.
“I wish I knew,” Tuesday said. “I’ve only recently taken over the job, you see, and I still have an awful lot to learn. That’s the old Gardener, over there.”
She pointed to where Garnet was still peacefully sleeping on his yellow couch.
“I don’t want to wake him, if I can help it,” Tuesday said, again searching the sky. “Where would it be? Where?”
Mr. Tumnus gave a little laugh.
“You know, I once met a little girl. Younger than you, but not entirely unlike you, I must say. And she used to say that my world was in a cupboard. Isn’t that funny? I always told her that it must have been a rather large cupboard.” He gave a small, goatish laugh.
“That’s it,” Tuesday said. She felt as if a lightbulb had switched on inside her head. “That is precisely it. Mr. Tumnus, you’re a genius.”
And almost straightaway then, she saw it—a huge, mahogany-colored world limping around on its orbit. As Tuesday peered more closely at it, she saw that its surface was decorated with detailed carvings of oak leaves and acorns and animals of all shapes and sizes. Part of its curving side had been smashed open, leaving edges of splintered timber. She would be getting that one in for routine maintenance, Tuesday thought, as soon as she had got Mr. Tumnus back home. She hoisted her boathook and slid its far end into the world’s golden loop.
“Extraordinary,” breathed Mr. Tumnus, as he watched Tuesday tow the world down to the far end of the walkway. “And that is my world? That is how it appears, on the outside?”
“I guess it is,” Tuesday said.
“Oh, well done, Miss Tuesday. Well done, indeed. Wonderful job! Remarkable,” Mr. Tumnus said, giving a small leap and landing neatly on his shiny cloven hoofs.
The damaged world clicked into place. Tuesday set down her boathook and slid her arm through the crook of the faun’s elbow.
“Shall we?” she said.
“We shall,” he agreed.
* * *
I think you can probably guess the first thing Tuesday and Mr. Tumnus encountered when they passed through the door at the end of the walkway. I expect you know that it was a row of thick fur coats. What you might not guess is that when Tuesday rather breathlessly took one of the coats down from its hanger, put it on, and slid her hands into its pockets, she found there two squares of chocolate wrapped in a piece of tattered silver foil. She thought the chocolate must be very, very old—much too old to eat—but precious in any case.
Tuesday and Mr. Tumnus pushed through until fur turned to fir, and Tuesday smelled the Christmas-like smell of pine needles and felt the scrunch of snow under her feet. The weather was calm, but ahead of them, Tuesday saw evidence that a vicious wind had blown through the place, presumably when the side of the world had torn open. Trees had been uprooted, and a lamppost a short way ahead of them had been twisted and bent over on a strange angle. She made a mental note to fix these things as soon as she could.
“Oh, dear,” Mr. Tumnus said, pointing. On the other side of a stand of damaged trees was a gaping hole in the side of the world. Beyond that was a wedge of dark sky with other worlds drifting by.
“Tsk, tsk,” tutted Mr. Tumnus.
“Don’t worry,” said Tuesday. “I’ll put it at the top of my list. For now, though, is there somewhere else you can go? Until I’ve had a chance to mend your house?”
“Yes, yes. Don’t bother about me. I’ll be right as rain,” he said. “My sister will take me in. And when my house is repaired, you will come for tea, won’t you? I’ll toast crumpets.”
Tuesday smiled, then she and the faun said a fond farewell. Mr. Tumnus tucked his useless umbrella under one arm, and Tuesday watched as he trotted off through the snow, the ends of his red scarf flapping in the wind.
* * *
Returning the fur coat to its hanger, Tuesday sighed. Although she hadn’t exactly meant to become the Gardener, she had to admit that the job had some spectacular perks. She stepped back inside the walkway and released the mahogany world into the sky. The gash in the side of that world was horrible, and Tuesday determined to fix it as soon as she could. But there was one thing she had to do first. Something that couldn’t wait any longer.
The lights in the Conservatory had dimmed while she had been away, but as soon as she stepped back inside, the room grew steadily lighter. Beneath the glass dome on the table was a steaming cup of hot chocolate and two plump marshmallows on a saucer. She drank, and ate, and grew warm again. Over on the yellow couch, Garnet slept on.
Tuesday set down her empty cup and took a deep, determined breath.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself.
She picked up her boathook and stood on the rug in the center of the Conservatory, staring up into the sky that teemed with worlds. She had found Mr. Tumnus’s world, and she would find Vivienne’s. She thought of Vivienne and Baxterr, of the Peppermint Forest, of the Mabanquo River and the Mountains of Margolov. She sent her thoughts out to them. And then she saw it. Far, far away was a world of blue skies that was spinning about with another world squashed hard into it. The far side of the world appeared to have mountains breaking through it. It had to be the world of Vivienne Small. She was certain of it.
“I’m coming to get you, doggo,” she whispered.
Tuesday gripped the boathook with sweating palms and felt it lurch out into the sky in the direction of the conjoined worlds. If only she could catch the loop on the side of Vivienne’s world, she would be able to tow it in to the walkway.
Well, Madame Librarian, thought Tuesday, I might find that doorway after all. From the other side!
Tuesday’s heart was beating fast, and the faster it went, the more rapidly the other worlds in the sky began to whoosh and whirl around the ones she sought. She must remain calm. She must not lose sight of the world of Vivienne Small.
Taking long, deep breaths, Tuesday levered the boathook out into space. And then, with a flick and a flourish, she snared the golden loop on the underside of that dented blue-sky world. She mustered all her strength and gave the boathook one almighty heave.