WHEN MARZANA STUMBLED down the stairs Friday morning with her newly assembled kit in the purse slung over her shoulder and her journal and the first Sidledywry Knot book under one arm, she found a package waiting for her on the dining room table.
“What’s this?” she asked her mother, who sat lazily braiding her long, dark hair into a single plait as she stared down at the morning paper.
“Search me,” Mrs. Hakelbarend said as she wrapped an elastic around the end and picked up her coffee. “It must’ve been delivered at some unholy hour of the morning. It was on the doorstep when I went out for the paper.”
Marzana took the package and turned it over: a small rectangular box wrapped in crumpled newsprint. It had been sent next-day post, and the shipping label covered most of the sender’s information. All but the first letter on the first line: M. Marzana peeled the label carefully back, and the rest of the name revealed itself letter by letter. “It’s from Milo.”
“Milo from Greenglass House?”
“Yeah.” Marzana tore away the newsprint. Beneath it was an oatmeal box, taped shut, and inside that, a bunch more newsprint. Then, finally, stuffed at the bottom, a second parcel the size of her palm: something small and hard, wrapped in a piece of green construction paper and tied with twine.
“What is it?” Marzana’s mother inquired, leaning around the bowl of flowers in the middle of the table for a better look.
“Still working on that.” Marzana untied the twine and slipped off the construction paper, noting briefly that there were words written on the inside. And then, the thing within lay in her hand. Or really, the two things: a gold-colored metal vial, and tucked inside that . . . Marzana shook whatever it was out and examined it: a figurine about the height of her thumb, in the shape of an owl with a girl’s face. Carved on the base was the word Sirin.
“It’s . . . a bottle, and . . . I think this is an RPG miniature,” Marzana said, turning the Sirin owl over in her fingers. She set it down, reached for the green paper, and flattened it to read the note.
Dear Marzana,
I can’t come help out myself, but I didn’t come to camp alone.
Two things:
1) Don’t lose this vial.
2) Keep the Sirin figure inside it.
She knows I’m sending her, but we’re not sure whether she’ll come through immediately or not. Sometimes she loses time and we don’t really know why.
Oh—three things.
3) Send the vial back to Greenglass House when it’s time.
Good luck,
Milo
Very little of it made any kind of sense to Marzana, except that Milo had sent this—whatever this was—to her, thinking it might help with the investigation. And he’d gone to the trouble of sending it next-day post from summer camp. How did you even manage that?
“And so?” Mrs. Hakelbarend inquired.
“We’re working on putting a game together,” Marzana said, folding up the note and tucking it in her pocket. “This is a character Milo wants to use.” She passed the Sirin owl across the table. “I guess I’m going to be the game master.”
“I can never keep these character types straight,” her mom said. “What’s this?”
“I’m not actually sure.” The only game Marzana definitely knew that Milo played was Odd Trails, so it was probably from that. But the figurine, with its bird’s body and girl’s face, didn’t immediately bring any specific player class to mind. Nor did the name Sirin. “I’ll have to look it up.” She passed her mother the vial. “He said to keep it in this, though I have no idea why.”
She gathered the box and newsprint and carried them into the kitchen to the recycling, then made herself a bowl of cereal.
“Super quiet around here,” she observed as she carried the bowl back into the dining room.
“Honora went to the market,” Mrs. Hakelbarend said, passing back the Sirin figure in its container. “Your dad headed out early.”
Marzana tucked the vial into her pocket. “Work stuff?”
Mrs. Hakelbarend lifted her mug, smiling enigmatically. “Ma-aaybe.”
“I really want to ask what all that was with Rob last night.”
“And I really want to ask about Ciro,” her mother said, turning a page of her newspaper. “Wanna trade?”
Marzana scowled while she finished chewing a spoonful of cereal. “Sure. You go first.”
“What do you want to know?”
What didn’t she already know from the previous night’s eavesdropping? And what did she logically have to ask so it wasn’t obvious that she already knew more than she should? “Well, did he do it?”
“If he had, do you really think we’d have let him walk out the door?”
“I didn’t know you let him walk out the door. He was here, and then he was gone. So he didn’t do it?”
Mrs. Hakelbarend’s smile faded into a thoughtful frown. “I’ll put it this way: I don’t think he did the job himself. I think it’s possible he is, or was, involved somehow, but I also think it’s possible his involvement is unintentional.”
“Does he know who did do it, then?”
“I believe he does not.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “This smacks of someone pulling strings. I think Rob was set up to be a suspect. Frankly, I think we’ll find the same thing is true of Hickson and Rose when we track them down.”
Marzana nodded as if this were all fascinating new information. “Do you still think the people who are really behind it are in the Liberty now?”
Her mother said nothing for a moment. She took a sip of coffee. “I honestly have no reason to think so, Marzie. I never did.” Her expression darkened. “If they are, then I’m glad to help, because the asylum laws that protect the Liberty won’t survive if kidnappers and violent criminals are allowed to shelter here. But I’ll tell you this much: If there’s someone causing problems in Nagspeake, and that person can’t immediately be dragged in to face the music—if there’s trouble finding them for even five minutes, everyone always assumes they’ve gone to ground in Gammerbund. And obviously”—she raised both arms to indicate herself—“that is sometimes true. But not everyone here is a lawbreaker. Not even most everyone. And not everybody gets sanctuary. The monsters don’t get sanctuary, and for the most part, they know it, so they don’t even ask. The city proper needs to start taking a much closer look at itself if it really wants to get serious about tracking them down in town.”
“Wow,” Marzana said. “Downer, Mom.”
“Yeah. I’m in a bit of a mood today.” Mrs. Hakelbarend straightened and flashed a hundred-watt smile. “My turn.”
“Shoot,” Marzana said, turning her attention to her cereal.
“Why did I not know you had a—” Marzana raised her head and her spoon in warning. Her mother closed her mouth for a moment. “Why was I totally unaware of someone you were apparently good enough friends with to invite him over for a movie?”
“Well,” Marzana said, “maybe I didn’t invite him over before now because I was afraid you guys were going to make a big deal of it. And,” she added, remembering Ciro’s advice that a good liar told as few lies as possible, “you were kind of busy yesterday when we got here.”
Mrs. Hakelbarend nodded and sipped her coffee. “Fair.”
Marzana made a production of glancing at the clock on the sideboard. “I believe I have time for precisely one more query, Mother.”
Mrs. Hakelbarend gave her a long look, and it occurred to Marzana to wonder whether her mom was about to fling a point-blank question in her face: something along the lines of Just what the heck do you think you’re up to, Marzana? or Exactly who do you think you’re fooling here, young lady? or possibly something as pointed as Did you find whatever you were looking for in my study?
Instead, though, her mother went nonlinear. “Are you okay?”
Marzana blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”
Mrs. Hakelbarend turned the mug between her hands. “I find investigating a kidnapping very upsetting. Your dad feels the same way. I think we’re both having a hard time compartmentalizing our feelings as parents, and because I’m really not sure how much good we’re going to be able to do—since, like I said, we’re really just not sure there’s any Liberty connection—I think we both feel a little helpless and frustrated. I guess I wanted to make sure you weren’t having a similar experience. Not stressing or worrying or feeling anxious because of it.”
“I . . . hadn’t thought of it like that at all, actually,” Marzana said. It was a lie—hearing the words “suspected murder” had knocked the breath out of her—but she couldn’t bring that up. Plus, if her mother suspected anything about this had shaken her, Mrs. Hakelbarend would clamp down on every scrap of information. Marzana would get nothing else from her.
“Well, good. Don’t start now. Forget I said anything.” Mrs. Hakelbarend got to her feet. “I believe that’s the end of my time.” She reached for Marzana’s bowl and spoon. “I’ll take care of these.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Marzana hesitated. “I promise I’m okay.”
“Good.” Her mother leaned over and kissed her forehead, the long braid brushing Marzana’s wrist. Marzana touched the end of the plait. They didn’t look much alike, she and her mom, but they had the same dark-rimmed eyes, and in the right light you could spot the same just-barely-there reddish highlights in their hair. She could see the faintest tinge of them now.
On impulse, she got to her feet and hugged her mother tight. Then she disentangled herself. “I better get going.” She grabbed the book and her journal and darted for her backpack. If she hurried, she’d get to school with a decent amount of time to spare. Hopefully Nialla had something to report.
Marzana had barely closed the door behind herself out on the front stoop when a voice spoke from her side. “Hey.” She started, and turned to find a girl who looked just a little younger than she was standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the stoop railing as if she’d been waiting for Marzana to emerge.
There was something distinctly familiar about this girl. She was pale and lightly freckled, with curly reddish hair that poked out in a fringe from under a green-and-blue knitted beanie. As Marzana looked down at her, she had the strangest feeling, like back when Nialla had started wearing glasses the week after they’d first met. The I know you awareness had come well before the actual recognition.
But the recognition was there. “Hey,” Marzana said as she studied the girl. She wore jeans, and a T-shirt with UP IN THE AIR, JUNIOR BIRDMEN! on it that Marzana had definitely seen somewhere before . . . but where?
Up in the air. Marzana glanced at the girl’s beanie, struck by a sudden memory of a different hat altogether: a fur-lined aviator’s cap. And . . . a Christmas tree.
The answer hit her, and she almost tripped over her own feet as she took a step toward the girl, who had begun to smile as if watching Marzana figure things out was the best game she’d played in days.
She knows I’m sending her, but we’re not sure whether she’ll come through immediately or not. Sometimes she loses time and we don’t really know why.
“Oh, my God,” Marzana said, grabbing the railing to regain her balance. “You’re—are you Meddy?”
And the girl, who was not just a girl but a thirty-something-years-dead ghost somehow sent to Marzana in the mail, of all things, nodded. “That would be me.”