Chapter Forty-Two

The Theft

Nellie didn’t want to take me back to the aerie.

“I don’t think Grandpa’s ready to have you near his special books,” she said.

“If we do it right, he’ll never know.” That didn’t convince her, so I went on, “It’s just, now that I can read, I want to choose my own books. Some of them could . . . call to me.”

Telling the truth worked. Nellie got her determined expression.

“You’re right. I need to choose my own books, too. Half the time I don’t know if a book is for me until I start reading. Let me think.”

In the end, we figured it out together. Nellie would tempt the walrus from the house by offering to carry his painting gear to a beautiful spot. She’d get him settled and leave him there until high sun, which she called noon. Then she’d go back to carry his gear home. That would leave us all morning with the house empty, and he wouldn’t catch us by surprise.

He leaped at the offer.

The first day, when Nellie came back and led the way inside, she looked guilty. “He told me how thoughtful I was,” she said. “It felt rotten.”

And then she opened the door to the aerie.

Finally! I strode to the shelves. The last time I was here, I’d shouted at the books to speak. Why, they’d been speaking all along! I ran my finger down a spine. “Tales from the Hearthside,” it proclaimed, as bold as thunder.

“What are you looking for?” said Nellie.

She was taking a big risk for me, but I still couldn’t tell her. “Maybe stories,” I said. After all, the story about the selkie wife had been packed with truth.

I chose a book of folktales. Nellie and I stretched out on the floor and read in silence. Every once in a while I glanced up at her. She was flipping pages quickly, chasing her story through the book.

Me, I trudged along. Reading was hard work, and my pages turned slowly. There were ghost ships, and mermaids, and a boy who rode a turtle to a world under the waves. I could smell the brine and hear the roar of the surf. But the sun was rising higher and I still hadn’t found a single word about selkies. I drew in a quick, anxious breath.

Nellie misunderstood. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Grandpa won’t come back until I fetch him. But we’d better go now.”

We put our books back. Then we stopped by Nellie’s room so she could get her backpack.

It wasn’t anything like Tommy’s room. She had shelf after shelf of books of her own, and a table with paper and little pots of color, and a row of rocks and shells. Next to her bed a small, round table held a lamp and a picture in a frame. I stepped closer. The picture showed Nellie with a man and a woman. The woman had golden hair and Nellie’s gray eyes; the man had dark brown skin and Nellie’s mouth and black hair. They both had their arms around Nellie.

“Is that part of your clan?” I asked.

“I guess you could say that.” She pulled her pack out from under a pile. “It’s my mom and dad.”

An endless week passed the same way. I’d be there when Nellie came back from taking the walrus, and then we’d run upstairs to the aerie. Each day I read faster. But in the aerie’s stillness, time was tightening around me like a net.

One morning I found a book about seals in the far north. I read, hoping to find something about the wise ones. Snow and slush and ice; a low, gray sky—it pulled me deeper and deeper until I fell into a waking dream. I was in my pelt, turning with a flick of my flippers, an effortless swish of my tail. In the distance, Mam lay on an ice floe. Then I saw three black dots creeping toward her—two eyes, a nose—a polar bear! I put on a burst of speed and vaulted onto the ice with a ferocious growl. As the polar bear reared up in surprise, Mam and I hurled ourselves into the water and sped away. . . .

“What are you reading now?” said Nellie.

I startled back to the aerie and slammed the book shut.

“Stories,” I said, disgusted.

Stupid stories. I’d been reading for days. Page after page, book after book. And what had I found? Nothing. Not one single clue. Not even a hint of magic. I wasn’t one splash closer to my pelt and swimming off to help Mam.

I stormed back to the wall of books. Words had power. That day in the cove, they’d gathered Mam’s pelt. They had to help me now.

I shoved the book back on the shelf and tugged out the one next to it, a small, thin book with a dingy paper cover. I tossed it on the floor, opened a page at random, and read:

“Sometimes the child of a selkie and a man is born—”

I gasped.

“What?” said Nellie.

My heart was pounding so fast I couldn’t answer.

Suddenly her head jerked up and she leaped to her feet. Then I heard it, too. Labored steps were approaching the house, stomp-drag, stomp-drag—

The walrus had come back on his own!

“Quick!” whispered Nellie. “Down to my room!”

In a flash we were bounding down the stairs. We flew past the front door—the knob was turning!—skittered around the corner, and flung ourselves through Nellie’s door. She landed on the bed. I slid and sat on the floor. We stared at each other wide-eyed.

My fingers were throbbing. I looked down: I was still clutching the book.

“NELLIE?” shouted the walrus.

She ran from the room.

The book was burning up my hand. I’d been in the aerie. I’d taken a book. If the walrus found out, he’d never let me in the house again. He’d forbid Nellie to see me.

Down the hall, the walrus cried, “There you are!” I heard his cane clatter to the floor, the rustle of a hug.

I flipped the pages, frantically searching for the words I’d just read. Sometimes the child of a selkie and a man—what came next?

“I thought something had happened to you.” The walrus’s voice was muffled, as if his head was bent down to hers. “I was worried sick.”

“I’m really sorry, Grandpa. Aran is here and we were playing. I forgot the time.”

I was still turning pages.

“Where is this friend of yours, then?” said the walrus.

“In my room.” Then, calling, “Aran!”

I stood and closed the book. The next thing I knew, I’d slipped it under the back waistband of my shorts and pulled my T-shirt down over it. I walked out carefully.

The walrus stood by the still-open door, an arm circling Nellie’s shoulders.

“Hello, Aran,” he said, smiling.

“Hi.” I leaned my back against the wall. “Sorry I kept Nellie so long.”

“Well, no harm done. My knee was better today. Perhaps I’ll start going out on my own again.”

“Oh, no, Grandpa!” Nellie gave me an anxious glance. “I like carrying your stuff. And . . . and getting fresh air and everything.”

He motioned to the satchel at his feet. “Why don’t you start by carrying that to the table, then? And you can get some fresh air fetching the rest of my gear after lunch.”

He shuffled toward the living room. When he reached me, he paused. His eyes seemed to see right through me to the book gouging into my back.

“Will you join us for lunch?” he said.

It was all I could do to shake my head.

“Next time, then.”

I sidled toward the door. Nellie was bending to pick up the satchel. I slipped past her, muttered a quick good-bye, and pulled the door shut behind me. I managed to walk slowly all the way to the corner of the house. Then I grabbed the book and ran.