THAT DECIDED IT. Page practically dove out the window. John had to hold tight to her sleeve, otherwise she would have been over the balcony.
“Do we jump?” she asked once they were upright and peering over the balustrade. Underneath them, the back gardens seemed to stretch for miles into the twilight.
John peered around in panic. They couldn’t jump. They’d break their legs. “We can tie all our clothes together,” he said, setting his knapsack down on the tiles and pulling out one of his shirts. It looked awfully small.
“Or we could try climbing down that,” Page said.
“What?”
“That.”
She pointed over the balustrade. Wonder upon wonders, a trellis had been affixed to the side of the building, between their balcony and the one next door. The wisteria that was supposed to climb up it was nothing more than an asthmatic bunch of leaves, but John could have kissed each and every one.
“Do you think you can reach it?” he said, climbing over the balustrade and seizing hold of the trellis.
Page smiled and stretched out her hand toward him.
“Don’t you know, Johnny? I’m going to be an acrobat.”
Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! went a knock on the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Coggin, are you all right in there? One of our patrons thought they heard glass breaking. Miss Coggin?” WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! “Miss Coggin?”
“Quick, Page, quick!” John said, seizing hold of her hands and hauling her over the railing. She was heavy, and for a brief moment he thought she might slip through his sweaty fingers. He could feel her going and then—
She caught the slats below him and began scampering down to the ground. John followed, adding a brand-new set of splinters to his palms.
“Now what?” Page asked when they had stumbled onto the gravel walkway.
John glanced to his right. Half the hotel and anyone on the terrace had a view of the entrance, which was full of arriving and departing carriages. And they couldn’t go around to the left, or they’d run into the ocean.
“We’ll go through the garden,” John said confidently, though his pulse was beating fast enough to burst his cuffs open. “And then we can sneak out the back.”
He took Page’s hand again and darted through a maze of irises.
“But,” Page panted, “what will we do when we get on the other side?”
John didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
Around the manicured magnolias they went, treading over daisies and frightening frogs. Skirting the water-lily pond, they scaled the outcrops on the rock garden and skipped over a patch of ferns.
They soon came to a wrought iron fence with fearsome pikes stretching into the clouds. A rat could barely squeeze through the gap in the posts, let alone a boy.
“We can’t get through there,” Page said helpfully.
John began to run down the inside of the fence. Maybe there was a gardener’s gate or a spot they could tunnel under. . . .
It didn’t take them long to smack into a forgotten thicket of unripe raspberry bushes. John wanted to cry.
“Johnny, look, it’s a ladybug.”
Page pointed to a fat ladybug that was crawling over John’s trousers. In the distance, John heard a shout. Then another.
“Page, we don’t have time for this!” He tried to brush off the ladybug.
“No, Johnny, don’t hurt it!” She pushed his hand away. “You have to count the spots.”
John tried to double back along the fence. If Great-Aunt Beauregard had discovered their footprints, then they had only minutes before they were found. But Page was not to be budged.
“It’s important! You get a wish for each spot.”
John yelled, “Fine! My first wish is that we get over that stupid fence!”
“Can I be of assistance?”
A bushel of frizzy red hair appeared in a clump of pink azaleas. Then the rest of Boz’s face popped into view, the ugliest example of an exotic in full bloom.
“Salutations. You appear to be damselflies in distress.”
“We’re stuck,” Page said.
“We’re running away to the circus,” John said.
“Naturally. Otherwise you would have attempted a more public point of departure.”
“But there’s no way through this fence.” John tried to kick a post and bruised his shin instead.
“Not to worry,” Boz said cheerfully, straightening up and tucking an azalea behind his ear. “If you follow me, I believe I can point you to a convenient exit.”
Skipping, he led John and Page around the raspberry bushes and into a dark patch of firs.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” John asked. The faint murmur of human voices had become an angry buzz.
“Fritillaries!” Boz cried out.
“Fritillaries? What are those?”
“Various members of the family Nymphalidae, especially of the genera Speyeria and Boloria,” Boz said.
John was about to ask him what that meant when Boz stopped short.
“The fruition of our good fortune.”
John looked up. A teetering tower of flowerpots, wooden fruit crates, and rocks rose before them. As the tiniest breath of wind meandered through the firs, the whole edifice creaked and swayed in an agony of pain.
“What is that?” asked John, taking an involuntary step back.
“It’s a princess castle!” Page cried.
“That,” Boz said proudly, “is our method of egress.”
“You built that?” asked John.
“With my humble hands. I considered a rope, of course, but I deemed that the young lady might find this solution more accessible.”
A piece of crate fell off the side and barely missed striking John’s head.
“It’s incredible,” John said despairingly.
Boz rubbed his nose with mock humility. “I am, as they say, a jack-of-all-shades.”
“And what are we supposed to do with it?”
“We’ll use it to get over the fence.”
“Oh, no,” John said, watching the tower wobble in the breeze. “We’re not going up that.”
“My dear unfortunates,” said Boz as the bellows of men could be heard in the distance, “I’m afraid you have no choice.” He smiled and put a hand on John’s shoulder.
“Now, if you could genuflect in the general direction of the grass.” Boz pushed John down into a kneeling position. “And then plant your phalanges firmly in the plants.” He continued to push until John was on all fours. “Then I will be able to ascend unto the celestial heavens.”
And with that, Boz sprang onto John’s back and launched himself onto a crate.
“Coming?”
Up the tower they scrambled, flowerpots slipping beneath their feet. The stones grew skinnier and the wood got rottener as they neared the top. Then, suddenly, they were there! Standing on a crate and sliding dangerously toward the tips of the spikes.
“Sequimini me!” Boz leaped into the air.
John and Page looked over the fence. Their new companion was lounging on the top of a fireman’s ladder. A fireman’s ladder that was attached to a brilliant red fire engine. An engine that was drawn by a pair of black stallions.
“What is that?” yelled John, grabbing onto Page as the tower lurched sideways.
Boz tilted his head in sympathy. He seemed to think John had lost his mind.
“It’s a fire engine,” he said very slowly and carefully. “They use it to help put fires out.”
“I know that!” John almost shrieked. “But where did you get it?”
“Amusing anecdote, that,” Boz began. “Involving a constipated Labrador and some elderflower cordial—”
“We don’t have time!” Page squeaked as the tower began to keel over backward.
“Oh, well, then perhaps you’d better disembark from the bark,” Boz said, hopping off the ladder and into the engine.
John and Page needed no prompting. They were on the ladder quicker than you can say KABOOM! Which is precisely the sound the tower made as it hit the ground, almost braining the approaching crowd and sending up a tornado of dust.
“Might I urge a little acceleration?” Boz called up. “We may have outstayed our welcome.”
Down the ladder John and Page slid, toward the beautiful hunk of gleaming brass beneath them. The dust was still three feet thick between themselves and the fence, but clearing rapidly.
“So you stole—” John began.
“Borrowed, my dear boy, borrowed.” Boz helped Page take a seat.
“You borrowed a fire engine?” John followed Page, landing with a thump.
“Well, they didn’t appear to be using it at the time.”
Boz flicked the reins. The stallions reared on their hind legs and came down charging. The engine bell clanged uncontrollably. The ladder fell off into the road. Only Page’s hand stopped John from tumbling headfirst under the wheels.
“Isn’t this magnificent?” Boz yelled. “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder, soaring high, out on the sly!”
Off they went, careening down the road, sending cats and roosters and barrels scattering before them. When John found enough balance to peek back at the fence, he could just spy the top of the canary in Great-Aunt Beauregard’s hat. It appeared to be screaming.
“JOHN PEREGRINE COGGIN! I WILL ROAST YOUR GIBLETS FOR THIS!”