“Over there,” Daisy said, and pointed. “That’s our main moneymaker.”
Celia sat cross-legged on the picnic bench and felt the weight of food and warmth settle in her stomach. She looked at the table full of Littles working with screwdrivers, sandpaper, and saws. Celia couldn’t tell what they were making. A tall boy with orange teeth smiled at her and put one of the objects on the ground. It began to roll toward Celia on long swirls of octopus legs that ended in wheels. It tipped over just before it got to her and lay toppled on its side with its wheels spinning helplessly in the air.
“It’s a windup toy,” Daisy informed her. “We make them and sell them to fancy toy shops on the wharf. The money lets us buy the things we can’t grow or make ourselves.”
Celia grabbed it and looked at its underside. Its body was smooth, and she liked running her fingers over the curved dome of the glass top. As she inspected the strange object, Daisy explained how they made each one. The Littles took wine bottles from recycling bins, cut off the bumps on the bottom of them, and sandpapered the edges so they weren’t sharp. Then they cut thin strips of sheet metal and wound them tightly together. The legs were made of thin wire from a straightened metal hanger. The wheels were pieces of cut-up bike tires melted back together. All of it was made from things they found around town.
Celia stroked the top of the toy like it was a puppy, then wound it up again and sent it back to the table of Littles working on them.
“Come on, I’ll show you the rest,” Daisy said. She stood and pointed to all the garden plots across the warehouse. “We use grow spells to have lots of veggies all year round.”
Celia followed Daisy. They walked by the table where the Littles worked on the rows of windup sea-creature toys, and maybe Celia imagined it, but they seemed to lean toward her as she passed by. She held her breath as she moved as far away from them as she could without stepping into a vegetable patch.
Daisy led the way down a zigzag path made of red carpet remnants. They passed some Littles gardening, and others cutting up vegetables and throwing them into a pot hanging over a wood fire.
One Little wandered toward them, staring at Celia. He smiled and lunged toward her. Two other Littles ran at him and tackled him to the ground before he could reach her.
It all happened so fast that it was over before Celia could feel scared. A moment later panic flooded her. He had almost . . . he had wanted to . . .
She looked toward the hill where Demetri sat. He stood and glared across the warehouse.
Daisy gave Demetri a shaky thumbs-up.
The Little who had tried to touch her lay on the ground curled up around himself. He mumbled, “Sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t . . .”
The two Littles who had tackled him sat cross-legged on both sides of him.
Daisy took Celia on a wide path around him. A dozen steps later, Daisy whispered to Celia, “Don’t worry about him. Nazreal’s new and a little feral. He’ll stay in his house the rest of the time you’re here. If he tries anything again, he’ll be kicked out.”
“What would happen to him then?”
Daisy shrugged. “Let’s not talk about the bleak stuff. Over here is our salvage.” She pointed to a bunch of trash. It was the opposite of Dreck’s filthy garbage. This pile was full of blue bottles, porcelain sinks, used clothing, and showerheads. Everything was arranged in tidy heaps. “We scrounge a lot to get by. Everyone has to spend five hours a day working. Right now we all have to work ten hours a day, because of the spell.”
“The spell?”
“It’s really big. We’ll get to that.”
They walked by some rusty playground equipment: a swing set, a teeter-totter, and a merry-go-round being spun by some of the younger Littles who could run faster than normal kids. They screamed and held on as their legs and bodies spun out from the whirling center. Behind them sat a large metal cage, the size of a bedroom, with an open door and a thick lock.
Daisy stopped in front of the metal cage and hugged herself. “Sometimes some of us have to lock ourselves up when we’re feeling weak. But unlike the hunters, we always let each other out. Anyway, check out Minerva’s tail. Neat, huh?” Daisy pointed at a girl who hung on to the merry-go-round with her monkey tail. “Lucky.”
“I’d want to glow in the dark,” Celia said.
“No you wouldn’t. George glows, and he was almost impossible to free because he’s so bad at hiding. And anyway, don’t ever wish you’re one of us, Celia.”
“I wasn’t. I wouldn’t. I meant, if I had to choose . . . it’s kind of like that game where you pick what superpower you’d want.”
Daisy frowned. “It’s the opposite of having superpowers.”
They walked by a Little with thorns growing out of her hands. She had a black eye.
“Hunters jumped her two nights back,” Daisy said.
The words hung in the air as they walked around the edge of the playground toward the largest garden in the warehouse. It had long rows of vegetables and a grassy patch at the center. In the grass, a group of Littles sat lotus-style with their eyes closed in meditation. They chanted together. One girl’s eyes snapped open and she stared right at Celia. She smiled with fangs jutting out of her mouth.
Daisy pointed out an area where three Littles sat listening at different tubes and pipes that came out of the wall. “We have spells to listen in on places across the city,” Daisy explained. “And Bigs can talk to us through them, if we have their hearts.”
They passed a row of tents and came to a place along the wall where at least forty Littles were hard at work building some kind of giant statue made out of chicken wire and papier-mâché. It was shaped like a man and rose up almost to the ceiling.
“Our big spell,” Daisy whispered. Awe filled her voice. “Demetri’s had us working on it ever since you told him Krawl was back. He says, if we do it just right, it will break the prophecy and destroy Krawl. I can’t wait for it to be done.”
That might make the doom prophecy go away? Celia stared up at the massive lumpy effigy. It stood on crooked legs and looked like it might fall over if you bumped into it. Ten Littles ran laps around its feet and touched the big toe on the right foot each time they passed. Others folded up newspaper squares into origami cranes and threw them into a hole in the statue’s shin. Another crew of Littles stood on rickety ladders and painted symbols on its knees and thighs.
Celia was about to ask questions about how the spell worked, but she was interrupted by someone playing the drums. In one corner of the warehouse a girl with purple and pink skin held drumsticks and sat behind two five-gallon plastic tubs. She banged out a fast beat.
Two Littles ran over and grabbed more plastic tubs. They began playing too: not matching each other’s beats exactly, but somehow sounding in sync. Celia found herself bouncing up and down to the rhythm.
A girl with bright-blue horns and a red dress joined them. She tucked a violin under her chin as she raised her bow and began playing fast and hard. Even her squawks sounded good as she filled up the spaces in between the drumbeats. Another boy joined with an old black-and-white accordion strapped to his chest; then a tree-gnarled girl with a large guitar sauntered over. All the Littles stopped what they were doing and moved toward the makeshift band.
Daisy swayed from side to side. “We do this every night. It helps keep us from . . . you know. We need it, tonight especially, to deal with you being here. Stay back,” Daisy said, and walked toward the music.
Celia kept her distance as all the Littles gathered in a circle around the band. She walked to a small zucchini-covered plot where she could see them better. Demetri stood and came down from his hill to join them. Maybe he was the one who started singing, or maybe it was someone else.
At first the voices sounded like noise, but then Celia could make out a word here and there, and then more words as more voices joined in and repeated a chorus about being lost and wanting to go home. Littles shouted the words, jumped up and down, and threw themselves against each other as they danced.
The first song ended, and the next song had a harder beat that pulsed through the air. The writhing mass of Littles bumped into each other and sang louder. This song was about a ship filled with plague that was lost at sea. All of them yelled out the lyrics, and there was something beautiful and wild about it. The Littles moved together like one big monster made out of a hundred different parts.
They belonged together and took care of each other. A part of Celia longed to run forward and join them. The monster mark on her cheek throbbed. She stayed where she was and watched as each new song came faster and wilder than the last. Finally, after dozens of songs, the music slowed and a calm settled over the warehouse. Celia saw it on every Little’s face. She felt it in the air and the way her own shoulders and arms hung loose. Even though it probably wasn’t true, right now it felt like everything was going to turn out okay.