Bea Flint and Phoebe Lu hurried back along the path toward Bell Hoot, while Nails the meerkat dozed happily in the jogging darkness of the backpack, his belly full of worms and beetles. The pale ghost of a blue moon remained in the sky. Below it the dawn had begun to spread on the western horizon—a fact that would have seemed strange to the two girls if they had had a compass to point it out to them. They were discussing whether they should tell anyone about the mysterious stowaway on the Blue Moon Mobile.
“We did promise him,” said Phoebe.
“I know, but why was he so worried? Do you think he knows that someone has disappeared because he was there?” Now that they had left the falls behind, Bea could hear again the warm humming she had noticed earlier. She wondered vaguely what it could be.
“We don’t know that for sure ourselves. And he doesn’t seem very bright,” said Phoebe, her arms stretched out for balance as she walked along a narrow log by the path’s edge.
“I don’t think he’s as simple as he’d like us to believe. How did he get out of that compartment?”
“Didn’t you let him out?”
“No. He unscrewed the panel from inside. How can you undo screws from the pointed end?”
They passed the stone library. The windows were dark, overlooking the square like empty eye sockets. The path that led to the Millers’ house seemed unnaturally silent now.
“He did have a tool belt,” said Phoebe. “And anyway, we don’t know what they’ll do to him if we tell. Maybe they burn people at the stake here.”
“I doubt it,” said Bea. She chewed her lip. “But you’re right. We should find out some more. We’ll bring him some food later, and see if we can—”
“Bea—” Phoebe interrupted her quietly. She pointed along the path. An eerie scene was unfolding in the cobwebby shadows. A strange mob of people surrounded the Millers’ house. They all had similar features—broad, flat faces and round staring eyes. Their clothes were worn and patched. Most wore fingerless gloves and some had scarves wrapped around their heads like desert nomads, despite the warmth of the night. Their hair—where it could be seen—was long and tangled. It was not their appearance, however, that made Bea stop in her tracks. They seemed to be performing a bizarre circus act. The sturdier members of the group stood just outside the circle of thornbushes that was planted beneath the house. Others had climbed onto their shoulders, and as Bea and Phoebe watched in dreadful fascination a third group of these odd intruders was clambering up to stand on the shoulders of the second. The whole operation was carried out in deathly silence.
Bea reached out to grab Phoebe’s arm and pull her out of sight among the bushes, but Phoebe had other ideas. She was already marching along the center of the path and into the small clearing in front of the house. The third wave was just reaching the high windows of the Millers’ house when Phoebe spoke up.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said in a loud voice. Several of the intruders jumped visibly, and one of their human towers collapsed, pitching the boy who made up its third tier into the thornbushes. He was about twelve, and he let out a yelp as the thorns bit him. It was the first sound that any of them had made, and as the boy struggled to extract himself from the thornbush Bea could see he was biting his lip to avoid making another. She forced herself to follow Phoebe, wishing she could be half as fearless as her friend.
An ancient, squat woman appeared from the far side of the house. She said nothing, but the rest of the mob quickly dismounted as though she had given an invisible signal. The woman had the flat face and widely spaced, almost colorless eyes of her clan. It was the paleness of the eyes in particular that gave her stare such an unnerving intensity. Her hair was tied behind her head in a tight bun and she had a thin scarf wrapped several times around her neck. She walked silently up to where Bea and Phoebe stood, and looked at each of them in turn. Bea found it hard to meet her gaze, and even Phoebe’s defiant stare seemed to wilt a little. The woman spoke in a voice like a rusty nail. “You’re new here,” she croaked. “Who came with you?”
“Captain Bontoc,” said Bea. She knew this was not what the old woman was asking, but she felt compelled to give an answer, and she hoped that this one would give nothing away.
“Fool,” spat the old woman. It was not clear whether she was referring to Bea or to the captain. “Any more children?”
“No,” said Phoebe, which was at least half true. “What were you doing at the windows of the Millers’ house?”
The woman glared at her. “Neighborhood watch,” she said. She looked from one to the other again. Bea felt exposed under her gaze, as if she were in the middle of a field in a thunderstorm, wearing only her underwear.
At that moment the Millers’ front door swung open and Mr. Miller’s voice called, “Who’s there?” through the gloom.
The intruders vanished in a moment. As Bea watched they simply slid away between the trees, all except the old lady and the boy, who was extracting himself from the thornbush, and disappeared from view.
The old woman leaned closer, until her nose almost touched Bea’s and her eyes seemed to merge into one pale disk with a black hole in the center. She smelled strongly of mothballs. “There’s more,” she croaked quietly. She turned and strode silently past the house. “Ike,” she said in a low voice as she passed the boy in the thornbush. Ike freed himself with a final push. He ran clumsily after the gray-haired woman, and Bea thought she heard her say, “Idiot boy!” as they slipped away among the trees.