Chapter Two

THE TRAIN DIDN’T ARRIVE IN BATTING-AT-THE-FLIES until late afternoon. Nate was the only one who got off. An old dog slept in the doorway of the station, a swarm of flies buzzing idly around his head. As Nate walked toward him, the door opened and an old, bent man came out. He studied Nate. “You must be the newest Fludd. C’mon, I’m to give you a ride up to the farm.”

The stationmaster tossed Nate’s suitcase into the back of a wagon harnessed to an old horse. Then he and Nate climbed in. The stationmaster clicked his tongue, and the horse set off at a slow clop.

They rode through a rolling green countryside dotted with farmhouses and cottages. Sheep stood in the pastures, twitching their tails lazily. Something about their dull, placid faces reminded Nate of Miss Lumpton. His eyes stung and his throat grew tight. He opened his sketchbook, took out his pencil, and began to draw one of the sheep.

He sketched until the wagon turned down a rutted road and a rambling farmhouse came into view. The house was slightly rundown, with rough stone walls and a thatched roof that jutted out at a steep angle, like a bristly mustache. Two monstrous brick chimneys loomed against the skyline. Towers and gables stuck out from all sorts of odd angles.

 

 

It looked as though it probably had bats. Nate’s heart sank as the wagon rolled to a stop.

“Here ye go, then,” the stationmaster said. The old man hopped down and unloaded Nate’s suitcase. Before Nate could say thank you, the man tipped his cap, climbed back in, and turned the horse back toward the village.

Nate picked his way up the path, which was overgrown with weeds and brambles. The front door was sturdy and thick and needed a new coat of paint. The brass door knocker was shaped like the head of a snarling lion or a snarling man—Nate couldn’t be sure which. He reached gingerly around its sharp teeth and knocked on the door.

Nothing happened.

As he waited, he noticed a brass plaque above the door: P. A. FLUDD, BEASTOLOGIST.

 

 

He’d never heard of a beastologist before. That could be interesting. Except that thinking of beasts had him thinking of bats again. He glanced up at the shadows under the eaves, then lifted the knocker and rapped harder.

Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps from inside the house. The door jerked open as a voice said, “I told you. I don’t have anything else for your charity bazaar. Now, do leave me alone—oh. Hello.”

Nate took a step back and stared at the person in the doorway. She was tall with lots of elbows and knees and angles poking about, which reminded him of a giraffe. Her hair was pulled back, but little wisps escaped. A giraffe with a mane, Nate corrected. His fingers itched for his pencil. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height like Miss Lumpton used to do. “I am Nathaniel Fludd. Would you please inform the master of the house that I have arrived?”

“Oh-ho! A bit of a nib, are you?” The woman looked amused. “I am the master of the house, young Nate. Phil A. Fludd, at your service.”

Nate blinked. This was his father’s long-lost cousin? “B-but you’re a she,” he said.

“Phil is short for Philomena. The A is for Augusta. My parents couldn’t decide between Latin and Greek. I’m sure you can understand why I go by Phil. You may call me Aunt Phil, if you prefer.”

Nate was unsure what to do. He couldn’t have imagined someone less like Miss Lumpton if he’d tried. A wave of homesickness swept through him, and he fought the urge to run all the way back to the train station.

“You look just like your father, when he was your age,” the old woman said.

Her words chased all thoughts of flight out of his head. “I do?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Did you know my father well?” Nate asked shyly.

“Of course I did! I taught him half of what he knows. Knew,” she corrected. Her voice softened. “I’m very sorry about your parents, Nate.” They stood awkwardly for a moment before Aunt Phil cleared her throat. “Well, come in. I’m quite busy and it’s nearly dinnertime.”

She grabbed his suitcase, picking it up as if it weighed no more than an umbrella. Halfway through the front hall, she turned back toward him. “Well, do come on.”

Pushing his homesickness aside, Nate followed her into his new home.