Tuesday sat at the workbench, wearing the Gardener’s glasses—no, she kept reminding herself, they were her glasses. For quite a while, she had been working away with her tiny shears, carefully pruning the outermost branches of a tree that took up almost all of an entire world. The tree was occupied, not only by squirrels and birds, but also by some folk who lived in little circular houses within its trunk. Up at the top of the tree trunk, leaning out of a window—frozen in time—was a red-cheeked woman in a dirty head scarf. She had a bucket of sudsy water in her arms.
“I see,” Tuesday said, and then hunted around on the bench until she found a minuscule umbrella of the sort you sometimes get in expensive drinks, but even smaller still. Then, with the help of a pair of tweezers, she unfolded it and put it into the hand of a girl standing directly underneath the window.
“There you go,” she said, satisfied.
Through her magnifying glasses, Tuesday gave the world of the tree and the girl and the umbrella a final once-over. As she was about to allow the world to be closed and returned, Baxterr trotted out to the middle of the Conservatory and pricked up his ears. He tilted his head from side to side, watching as three people crammed together on a silver platform zigzagged down through the sky.
“Ruff,” he said to Tuesday, and he said it in the tone of bark that he used when someone was about to ring the doorbell at Brown Street.
Tuesday swung around on her stool, and there, descending to her floor on a platform she recognized—looking positively enormous through the lenses of her microscope spectacles—was a tall young man in an inside-out T-shirt. Was she seeing things? She whipped off the glasses. No, he really was there.
“Blake!” she said.
“Hey, Tuesday,” he said, jumping down as the platform came to a halt. She might have hugged him, had he not been accompanied by two other people whose presence was entirely unexpected.
“Silver Nightly? Madame Librarian? What are you doing here?”
“Some people,” said the Librarian, “are under the rather old-fashioned impression that you are in need of rescuing, Tuesday McGillycuddy. Is it true? Are you incapable of doing this job that you have taken on? Is Baxterr?”
“No, Madame Librarian,” said Tuesday, in a very poised manner. “Quite the reverse. I have been catching up on the backlog, and we’ll soon be up to date.”
The Librarian swept up the Gardener’s glasses and slid them onto her face. My glasses, thought Tuesday, feeling a little annoyed. She watched as the Librarian peered into the world Tuesday had just completed.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Tweezers, please.”
And Tuesday, despite herself, handed over the tiny pair of tweezers and watched as the Librarian reached in and plucked the umbrella out of the girl’s hands.
“I can’t help it. I laugh myself silly every single time she gets a drenching. We mustn’t interfere. Only assist,” the Librarian said, setting the umbrella back down on the bench and removing the glasses.
“You see, Silver? Blake? Tuesday is doing a remarkable job,” the Librarian said.
“And you, Tuesday? Are you sure this is what you want?” Silver asked. He was taking in all the instruments and books, the tools and tubes. He hadn’t said a single word as they had descended through all the worlds, so startled had he been to realize what writers had been creating for so long.
“Well…,” Tuesday began. “It is pretty amazing.”
Silver nodded.
“Quite a place you’ve got down here. Don’t suppose you’d care to show me around?”
“Oh yes,” said Tuesday. “You see, over here, this is where the worlds come in for routine—”
“Whoa,” said Blake. “Tuesday, are you nuts? You cannot seriously be planning on staying here for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, Blake, it’s not just here! Baxterr and I can travel to any world we want. And the worlds are amazing. Every one of them. Look at them! I mean, in any day we can travel into the world of any book, meet the characters, be part of their adventures, eat food with them, feel snow, or go swimming. I mean, think of all the places we can go!”
“Except home,” said Blake.
“Home?” said Tuesday. She frowned. “This is my home, Blake.”
“No, Tuesday. It’s not,” said Blake. “You have a home at Brown Street. I’ve seen it. You’ve got a mother and a father who need you to come home.”
“You’ve been to Brown Street? You met my parents?”
“Yes, Tuesday, and I know exactly who your mom is.”
“Then you understand. If I’m not here, doing this, my mother won’t be able to write anymore,” said Tuesday. “You and Silver and all the other writers—your worlds will collapse and die.”
“You see, Blake, Tuesday understands perfectly what her duty is,” said the Librarian serenely.
“Come, Silver,” Tuesday said, picking up the boathook. “Let me show you how to catch a world.”
“Tuesday,” said Blake, “I know this is going to be hard to hear, but you really have to come home. Your dad, he’s really sick. He’s in a coma.”
Tuesday turned and stared at Blake, and it was as if a mask dropped from her face. Suddenly she looked younger.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“Your father, he collapsed. He’s in the hospital.”
“Well, he’s clearly being well cared for,” said the Librarian.
“No, Madame Librarian, that is not the point,” said Blake. “He’s incredibly ill. Tuesday has to get back to him.”
“Dad?” Tuesday asked. She felt bewildered. “My dad is sick? He needs me?”
“Yes,” said Blake. “And so does your mom. Do you really think if your mother had to choose between writing and you, she’d choose writing?”
Tuesday was trying to clear her head, but it was still full of worlds and planets. Her heart was beating too fast, and every beat was hammering out one word. Dad. Dad. Dad.
“Silver, tell her,” said Blake. “Would you want a girl to give up her life so you could be a writer? Would any of us want that?”
“The boy makes an excellent point, Tuesday,” said Silver Nightly. “It’s not that you won’t do a fine job. A fine job, indeed. But this is a job for someone who’s lived all their adventures. Who’s made all their choices. I’m imagining these Gardeners, like Librarians, are pretty long-lived, eh, Madame L?”
“That is correct, Silver Nightly,” said the Librarian, and to Tuesday’s surprise, she sat down on the couch where the Gardener had so recently evaporated into golden dust. She ran her hand over the fabric and sighed. “We live a very long time.”
“But I am just getting things back to normal,” said Tuesday softly. She sat down on the couch beside Madame Librarian. “I promised Garnet. I didn’t know … I … It overtook me. Something about being here … it made me forget so much. I can’t leave.”
“Unless we find another Gardener,” said Silver.
“Well, it’s not easy,” said Tuesday. “I mean, you have to use the boathook. And then there’s maintenance. And all the repair work. And you have to have the right dog … and it’s not … I mean, it’s a wonderful job. There are so many worlds to visit and so many adventures to be had. But my dad. What about my dad?”
“Well, why don’t I continue?” suggested Silver Nightly.
“You mean while I go home and explain everything?” said Tuesday.
“Oh, I was thinking a little longer term than that,” said Silver, rubbing his chin. “I mean while you’re busy growing up and doing all that your young life has ahead of it.”
“You mean, you would … become the Gardener?” asked Tuesday.
“I think this might be the best job there is for an old boy like me,” Silver Nightly said with a grin.
Blake and Tuesday stared at him, and the Librarian raised her head and smiled.
“Ah, there it is,” she said. They all stared at her. “You see, sometimes the way is not clear. And then, suddenly, it is! Silver Nightly, that is an excellent solution. Tuesday can go home and be whatever Tuesday McGillycuddy had in mind before all this came along. And you, Silver, can stay right here.”
“Silver, what about your family?” said Tuesday.
“Since my wife died, there’s been only me. And my books. Well, there’d be no shortage of reading here, of a slightly different kind, I’ll warrant. But look at all that,” he said, gazing into the worlds above him. “Look at all that!”
Blake sighed. “Well, that was unexpected.”
“As will be the necessity of giving up Baxterr,” said the Librarian to Tuesday.
“Giving up Baxterr?” Tuesday frowned.
“Well, of course,” said the Librarian, “Silver will be needing a dog.”
“No, no,” said Silver.
“You can’t,” said Tuesday. “No. No. I can’t!”
“That’s the choice, Tuesday,” said the Librarian. “Go home, by all means, to your mother and father. Your dog, however, will be required here.”
Baxterr erupted in a fierce outburst of barking.
When at last he finished, Blake said, “Quite a speech, Baxterr. I agree entirely.”
“Well, then,” said the Librarian, “there can be no exchange. The Gardener must have a familiar. A creature to travel between worlds. The best are always the dogs. Dragons are so moody.”
“Okay,” said Tuesday. “I had better find their world. Garnet told me he hid it. Did he tell you about it?”
“The world of the dogs?” The Librarian was amused. “No, I do not know. Don’t look at me like that, young lady. I’ve not the first clue where he might have put it. I much prefer cats.”
“There’s a world?” asked Silver Nightly, peering into the swirl of color and movement above them as if he might spot a Winged Dog at any moment.
“Yes,” said Tuesday. “If we can find it, we can get you a dog of your own.”
“Knowing Garnet, that world is bound to be in a very obscure place indeed,” said the Librarian. “Personally I think the Baxterr option is quick and simple. Is no one up to the hard decisions anymore? Whatever happened to sacrifice?”
“It went out with quills and ink, Madame Librarian,” said Blake.
“And the classics, I fear,” added the Librarian drily.
* * *
So Tuesday, Silver, Blake, and Baxterr searched the sky for the world of dogs. The Librarian, meanwhile, retired to the primrose-yellow couch and chose a book from the pile on the small table beside it. From time to time, she coughed meaningfully, as if she thought her companions were wasting their time.
“Exactly what is it we’re after?” Silver asked, his head thrown back.
“A world,” Tuesday said. “But I haven’t got any more clues than you.”
“Hurrrrrr,” said Baxterr, tilting his head from side to side.
“Surely, if he hid it, it wouldn’t look anything like we expect,” Blake said, gazing at pearlescent worlds and silver worlds, worlds that were tangerine and worlds that were fluorescent green. Some were like soap bubbles and others like steel. Some glowed brightly, and others were darker than the sky itself. There were worlds that were round and worlds that were any shape but round.
Tuesday thought of Mr. Tumnus’s world in a cupboard. Perhaps the world of dogs would be like a tennis ball? Or a bone? She searched for a long time before she turned away from the sky.
Blake had decided it was easiest to study the sky while lying on the rug. And Silver had taken to one of the wheeled chairs from the workbench and was leaning back on it, world-gazing as if he might never tire of it. As for the Librarian, she had fallen asleep on the couch with a book open upon her chest.
Tuesday rubbed her sore neck and thought back over the time she had spent with Garnet and tried to remember every last thing he had said to her about the world of dogs. She thought and thought, and she then remembered one thing he had said, though not to her. To Baxterr.
“Doggo,” she called, and Baxterr trotted over and sat in front of her.
“Ruff?” he said.
“Do you remember what Garnet said: ‘Friends are never so very far away. Not if one uses one’s nose…’ And how he said to you specifically, ‘Baxterr, remember the nose.’”
“Hurrrrrr,” said Baxterr thoughtfully. He began to sniff in the particularly determined way that dogs sometimes do. He sniffed first at the sky, but then, not finding anything of interest to him there, began to nose around the Conservatory itself. He ran his wet black nose along the floor beneath the workbench and all around the table where the Gardener took meals. Catching an interesting scent of something rather like goat, he shook his head disbelievingly.
Over by the yellow couch, he smelled something very interesting. He gave a strange whine before redoubling his sniffing efforts until his nose was drawn to the table beside the couch. Upon this table was a pile of books and a porcelain teacup with a saucer resting on top of it.
“Ruff,” said Baxterr, very sharply and clearly.
“What is it, doggo?” Tuesday whispered.
“Ruff.”
Slowly and carefully, Tuesday lifted the saucer away from the teacup. No sooner had she done so than she hurriedly let it drop back into place. Whatever was inside the teacup began to flutter and buzz. But Tuesday had seen enough of it to realize that it was not a large moth, or a bumble bee. It was, when she peeped under the saucer again and saw it quivering, a tiny round world with two beautiful, furry golden wings on its sides.
Tuesday grinned at Baxterr, and Baxterr grinned at Tuesday.
“Hey, Silver,” Tuesday called. “Are you ready to catch a world?”
Silver Nightly jumped up from the chair. “The secret to success is to be ready when opportunity comes.”
Tuesday blinked and smiled. “Hello, new Gardener,” she said as she held the boathook out to him.
“Well, ain’t this something?” he breathed, gazing at it with a serious and slightly dazzled expression.
“You’re absolutely sure you want this?” she asked. “Because once you take it from me, it’ll be yours. Forever.”
“If you look closely,” said Silver with a wink, “you’ll find that this here boathook already has my name on it.”
There was the briefest moment in which Tuesday didn’t want to let go. Being the Gardener had been the most extraordinary adventure. But she knew what she must do.
As Silver took hold of the boathook and her hand fell away, Tuesday saw him fill with pride. Tuesday stepped backward, swaying a little. She felt exactly the way she did after getting off a fast ride at a carnival—a little sad that it was over, but mostly relieved to be back on solid ground.
“The world we’re looking for is over here,” Tuesday said, leading Silver to the couch, where the Librarian lay, murmuring softly in her sleep.
“Where?” asked Silver, puzzled.
“Get ready, Mr. Gardener,” Tuesday said. “It’s in this teacup, and it’s going to fly fast.”
“In the teacup?” Silver asked.
Blake got up from the floor and came over to see what was going on.
“Did you say ‘fly’?” he asked.
“It’s got wings,” Tuesday said. “I’m going to let it go, Silver. You’ll need to hook it by a loop on the side.”
“I’ll give it my all,” said Silver.
Baxterr barked.
“Okay,” said Tuesday. “One, two … three.”
Tuesday lifted the saucer, and the world darted up into the Conservatory. As soon as it was free, it began immediately to grow. Within a heartbeat, it was the size of a soccer ball, and a second later, the size of a hot-air balloon, its furry wings beating the air.
Silver lunged at it with the boathook, but it zoomed away from him, rising up into the dark sky.
“Dang!” he said. “I’ve missed the darned thing.”
The world had grown to the size of a small moon.
“Don’t worry,” Tuesday said, “Keep reaching. The boathook knows what to do.”
“Oh, my giddy aunt,” the Librarian said, waking up to the sight of a colossal winged world directly above her.
“Here I go again,” Silver said, feeding the boathook up into the sky. The hook extended and extended.
“Do you see the loop, Silver? There, there!” Tuesday cried.
“I see it!”
“Ruff,” said Baxterr, who was practically prancing with excitement.
With a swipe that was not especially elegant, Silver snagged the winged world on the end of his boathook. He beamed.
“Excellent. Bring it in to that jetty, over there,” Tuesday said, pointing to the narrow walkway. At first the world strained against the hook as if it wanted to fly away and be free, but after a moment, it appeared to change its mind and submitted to being towed down to the platform. With a magnetic click, it was secure, and its furry wings came to a gentle standstill.
“Well, hooley dooley,” said Silver, resting on the boathook as if it were an oversized cane. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief.
Though it was not a large world, it was a beautiful one, its surface marbled gold and pearl.
“So what happens next?” asked Blake in almost a whisper.
“C’mon,” said Tuesday. “This is the best bit.”
The Librarian, perfectly awake again, said, “Well, this is something I have to see. Before I go home and chase that horse of yours out of my roses, Blake Luckhurst.”
And so the Librarian, Blake Luckhurst, Silver Nightly, Tuesday, and Baxterr walked the narrow walkway to the world at the end of the jetty. When they opened the pearly door that presented itself, they found a world so bright that for a moment they were blinded. A rush of salt air washed over them, a breeze stirred, waves broke, and Baxterr barked.
“Oh, doggo,” said Tuesday, patting him, “it’s exactly like I always thought it would be!”
* * *
It was a world of wide, white stretches of sand and stepped cliffs that rose, ledge after ledge, into a blue sky full of puffy white clouds. Creeks snaked down over the sand toward a blue, rippled sea. Waterfalls tumbled in the crevices of the cliffs. And everywhere there were dogs. Huge dogs. Winged Dogs flying the currents of air, gliding, wheeling, leaping, and tumbling.
“This is where they all went,” Tuesday breathed. “I can’t wait to tell Mom I’ve seen them. Oh, Silver, you have no idea how much I want to go home.”
Baxterr barked. “Yes, doggo!” said Tuesday. “Of course you can run!”
She watched Baxterr bounding away, and then he grew. He spread his wings and took flight.
“My, that’s a wonderful sight,” said Silver, blinking. “I guess he doesn’t get to do that at home too often.”
“This would have been his home,” said Tuesday quietly as they strolled together along the expanse of sand, leaving Blake and the Librarian behind.
“I guess that’s true, except it isn’t,” said Silver. “Anyone can tell that home for that dog is you.”
“Perhaps we can come and visit sometime,” said Tuesday.
“Sounds like a mighty fine idea,” said Silver.
Tuesday gazed at all the dogs in flight, the dogs bounding along the beach, tossing their heads and frolicking together, rolling in the sand, and splashing in waves.
“How will you choose one?” Tuesday asked.
“You mean how will it choose me?” Silver smiled. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” And so they walked the entire length of that beach while Baxterr flew and landed and ran and flew again. Until at last he came bounding along the beach with a friend. She was white, with a brown patch over one eye. She was bigger than Baxterr, with shaggier fur.
“Ruff,” said Baxterr.
“Is that so?” said Silver Nightly, eyeing the white dog. He held out his hand and the white dog sniffed it, and then she licked it and barked.
“Are you sure?” Silver asked.
“Ruff,” the dog replied.
Tuesday nodded. “So that’s how it’s done,” she said.
“I think I’ll take a stroll with my new friend, if you don’t mind, Tuesday,” said Silver Nightly. “I’m guessing you need to be getting home, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time I see you.”
“I’m sure it won’t, Silver Nightly,” said Tuesday. “Or should I say Mr. Gardener?” She held out her hand, and he took it, and as he did so a curious rush of energy ran between them. Tuesday and Silver both stared at their hands. The green had gone from Tuesday’s nails, while Silver Nightly was chuckling.
“I’ll be! I grew a green thumb!”
“I think you’re going to be wonderful at gardening. But I haven’t shown you anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure Madame Librarian will get me sorted,” he said. “You get yourself home safely, and remember, you did a great thing for all of us, taking over in a crisis.”
Tuesday walked back to the Librarian and Blake.
“So, it’s all turned out quite well, Tuesday McGillycuddy,” said the Librarian. “A second visit is always difficult. There are so many options. I mean, you might have refused the thread when it came to get you. You might have said no to Vivienne and no to me. You might have said no to the Gardener. Yet you did not. You have said yes and yes and yes. True imagination takes great courage. And you have worked a small miracle, in your own way. You have saved this marvelous place of worlds for writers and readers everywhere. And found your way, I think, almost to The End.”
“And if I’m right, I’m never going to need my thread again,” said Tuesday. “Because of Baxterr I can travel between worlds.”
The Librarian sniffed. “Well, go on, then. You’ll both be back, I’m certain of that. Whatever way you come.”
With formality, she shook hands with Tuesday and Blake.
“I do like young people,” she said. “You have so little fear. Now, off you go. Please don’t get sensible too soon.”
“Ready, Blake?” asked Tuesday.
“You don’t mean…,” said Blake, grinning. “On Baxterr? Really?”
* * *
It was Sunday morning in City Park, and the earliest of the birds were scouting the lawns for worms. Night creatures were making their way home to their hollows in the trees, preparing to sleep out the day. On the grassy slopes and lawns, daisies were unfurling their petals, but there were still hours to go until the shutters on the ice-cream kiosk would rattle open for business. The only people about were some joggers, two City Park officials in their green uniforms, and a newspaper boy.
The newspaper boy always got to the park early, to claim his favorite spot. It was beneath a tree that shaded him from the sun on hot days, kept the worst of the rain off him on wet days, and made a good stand to lean his bike against. Best of all, though, the tree was at the junction of four pathways, which meant that plenty of people went right past where he stood calling out the headlines of the day. Last Sunday it had been “Seven Writers Abducted! J. D. Jones snatched in her sleep! Read all about it! Read it right here!” Barney had sold out of papers by lunchtime. He’d done well all week, actually, with that girl called Tuesday missing, last seen right here in City Park.
On his head was a bright red cap, and around his waist was the leather pouch in which he kept his change. At his feet was a huge stack of fresh newspapers, still wrapped in plain newsprint and tied with string. He sliced through the string with his pocketknife.
Taking up most of the front page was a picture of a man with a curling black mustache. He was on crutches, with the lower part of his leg swathed in white bandages. The headline read JEFFERSON LOSES FOOT.
The newspaper boy read through the details of how Cordwell Jefferson—a writer and, by his own admission, not always the most practical of men—had run over his own foot while mowing the lawn. “It’s always a risk to tangle with things you don’t fully understand,” Jefferson was quoted as saying.
As his head was bent over the paper, a gigantic Winged Dog came soaring in over the treetops heading for the open lawn beside a bank of public telephones.
The newspaper boy heard a noise and jerked his head up. Where a moment ago there had been nothing and nobody about, there was a smallish golden-brown dog and, sprawled on the grass beside him, a teenage boy and a girl, slightly younger. It was never too early to make the first sale of the day, so the boy cried out, “Cordwell Jefferson maimed by lawn mower! Read all about it! Read about it right here!”
Tuesday picked herself up and brushed the leaves and dried grass from her clothes.
“A lawn mower,” she said to Blake, raising her eyebrows as they walked away.
“Seriously?” Blake said.
“A crocodile,” said Tuesday.
“Ouch,” said Blake.
* * *
As they exited City Park, Tuesday caught the first of the notices bearing her face and the words: HAVE YOU SEEN TUESDAY?
“Oh, dear,” she said. On every lamppost and telephone pole, in every window, there was her photograph staring out at her.
“Blake, how long has it been?” she asked.
“A week,” he said.
“Thank goodness. It feels like months.”
Tuesday began to hurry. As they were about to turn the corner into Brown Street, Blake slowed to a stop.
“Tuesday, I think you should know there might be a media posse outside your house.”
“Blake,” Tuesday said, “promise me you won’t ever tell anyone that I really considered never coming home again. I think it was the world … I think…”
“I get it,” said Blake. “And I think it might be best if you go home alone. Your parents … they don’t want to see me.”
“Are you sure you won’t come in?”
“Nah. Can’t stand soppy scenes,” said Blake.
“Thank you, Blake,” said Tuesday. They smiled at each other, and then Blake suddenly hugged her.
“Your home is right there,” he said, pointing. “You think you can make it on your own?”
Tuesday ran. She ran with Baxterr beside her. She was almost to the front gate when a reporter, a young woman with a lemon-colored scarf knotted at her throat, turned around and cried, “There she is!”
All at once the reporters were around her. There was the clicking and whirring of cameras, and everyone was calling out to her.
“Where have you been, Tuesday?”
“Tuesday, can you tell us what happened?”
“Were you abducted?”
“Were there aliens?” asked the reporter with a badge that said Universal Chronicle. “Tuesday, can you describe them?”
“Tuesday, did your parents have anything to do with your disappearance?”
Tuesday, quite terrified, picked up Baxterr and held him tight in her arms. He growled at the reporters with the special, deep sound that he reserved for protecting the people he loved most.
Suddenly the front door was thrown open, and there stood a woman with bright pink hair and a furious scowl on her face. For a moment, Tuesday had the horrible feeling that she had come to the wrong house. She read the street number that was screwed into the wall beside the front door. Yes, it was definitely her own home.
“Clear off, you vultures,” the pink-haired woman said. “Let the girl inside, will you?”
The reporter with the lemon scarf caught Tuesday’s eye and held her microphone out to Tuesday. “Tuesday, you’ve been gone all week. The entire city has been waiting and worrying. Where have you been?”
“I wasn’t anywhere,” Tuesday stammered. “Baxterr and I … we went for a walk in the park.”
Then the woman with the pink hair opened the gate and marched Tuesday up the steps and into the house, slamming the front door behind them. The light in the hallway was dim compared with the bright sunshine outside, and Tuesday had to blink several times before she understood.
“Miss Digby?” she said. “Is that really you?”
But before Miss Digby had a chance to answer, Serendipity Smith came flying down the hallway with tears of relief shining on her cheeks, and wrapped her daughter in her arms as if she would never, ever, ever let her go again.