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  For my mother, who got me started;

  my sister, who kept me going;

  and my father, for his vivid imagination

  CHAPTER ONE

  There are places in this world that are not meant to stay where they have been forgotten. You may come back to where you last saw them and find they’ve wandered off, regardless of how it might inconvenience you. I know of such a place, and it was there that a girl named George kissed her mother good-bye on a Saturday evening not long since past.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” her mother said, tucking a frizzy lock of orange hair behind George’s ear.

  George said nothing, only stared at a mailbox leaning against one of the cherry trees that lined both sides of the deserted road. Written on the mailbox in flaking letters were the words #1 SNAFFLEHARP LANE, C. & H. SNAFFLEHARP. George looked left as far as she could see, and then right, but there were no other mailboxes, or homes for them to belong to. She stood before the only one.

  Her mother’s worried eyes darted to the solitary house and then back to George. “I’m sorry we can’t come in. We have to get back to the search. Give Constantine and Henrietta our love.” She patted George’s freckled cheek, but her gaze lingered on the toy frog George held against her chest. “Be good.” She turned and hurried to the vehicle.

  “But I want to help…,” George said, blinking back tears as the door slammed and gravel crunched. The car disappeared behind spring-colored hills, and she watched until the last of the cherry blossoms drifted to the ground in its wake.

  George took a deep breath and turned again to face the fading Victorian cottage lurking behind the trees. It was all weather vanes and spires. A fat round tower rose from the center of the house, appearing impossibly tall. George felt a quiver of anxiety as she squared her shoulders and began to drag her suitcase along the cobblestone path, stepping carefully over the brave dandelions sprouting through cracks in the stone.

  As she climbed the steps, she saw that every window was covered with glossy nets of silken thread from which hung generations of plump spiders. She shivered as a breeze caught the ends of her scarf, whipping them against the peeling paint of the front door. She tugged them straight and noticed an unfamiliar symbol carved into the wood just above the knocker. She traced a fingertip over the strange mark, a looping circle attached to a line pointing down with two strikes through it.

  Then the door was yanked open and slammed against the wall. George gasped and stumbled back as the wind pulled the scarf from her neck and blew it through the entrance, down the hall, and out of sight. She was too busy staring at the person before her to care.

  In the doorway was a frazzled and curious-looking old woman. She wore a safety harness over a polka-dotted apron, and her blue eyes were huge behind a pair of goggles. The woman threw her arms around George, embracing the girl against her massive bosom.

  George dropped her suitcase, stiffening in surprise before returning the hug warily.

  A man’s deep voice boomed from inside the house, “Let her breathe for heaven’s sake, Henrietta!”

  “My goodness, I know. I’m just delighted to see you! We’ve been looking forward to your visit so much.” Giving her one last quick squeeze, the woman released her and then called loudly, “Constantine? Constantine, come out here!”

  A very distinguished old gentleman stepped from behind Henrietta. “I’m here, Chicken,” he said, resting one hand on Henrietta’s back as he looked at George kindly.

  George’s mouth fell open as her eyes followed the man from his red shoes up, up, up to little round spectacles perched over the bridge of his nose, wide handlebar mustache, and bushy white eyebrows.

  She cleared her throat and stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “Hello, I’m George. Thank you for having me.”

  “Goodness, would you listen to her?” Henrietta said, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “Why, I haven’t seen you since you were knee high to a June bug, and here you go greeting us like we’re the king and queen of England. Isn’t that the most precious thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “We’re very happy to have you,” Constantine said. “Though we’re very sorry for the circumstances.”

  Henrietta’s face fell, and she reached out to take George’s hand in both of hers. “Yes, we were so terribly sad to hear about your little brother. Imagine, a seven-year-old boy all alone in that great city.… How long has he been missing now?”

  George stared hard at her feet. “Daniel’s been gone for ninety-seven days,” she said in a small voice. “My parents let me help look for him at first, but I guess I got underfoot, so they brought me here.”

  Henrietta glanced at Constantine before smiling sweetly back at George. “How old are you now, Georgina? I could just swear you have a birthday coming up. Oh, would you listen to me going on and on while you’re standing in the cold. Come in, come in!”

  “I’m twelve,” George said as she stepped into the house, hauling her suitcase with her.

  “So grown up!” Henrietta said. “Now, dinner is ready if you’re hungry. Just drop your things there by the staircase; we’ll take them up later.”

  George paused a moment to appraise her surroundings. Hanging from the ceiling of the foyer was a massive crystal chandelier casting rainbow shadows upon the walls. She could see a large dining room through open double doors on her right, but the matching doors on her left were closed. The staircase Henrietta had referred to was made of gleaming black wood, which curved into ornate spirals at the foot of the stairs.

  George obediently stacked her belongings near the steps. She counted softly to herself as she did so. “Toad is number two, backpack is number three, and suitcase is number four. Nothing’s missing.” She placed the toy frog on top of the suitcase gently. “Wait here, Toad.”

  Henrietta exchanged a quizzical look with Constantine, but he just shook his head.

  “How did you like Istanbul, dear?” Henrietta asked. “Are your parents heading straight back there to continue the search for Daniel?”

  “You’re going to wear out her tongue, Chicken,” Constantine said.

  “Nonsense. I’m just interested.” She looked at George anxiously. “Your tongue is all right, isn’t it, dear?”

  “My tongue is just fine, thank you.”

  “Ha! She doesn’t mind my questions at all. Now, let’s skedaddle. Dinner will get hot if we don’t hurry. You’re just going to love it! I made it special. Applesauce sandwiches and pickled eggs. Your father’s favorite when he was a boy, you know.”

  George began to wrinkle her nose but then remembered to be polite.

  Henrietta wiped her hands on her apron, pulled off the goggles, and hurried through the open doors. George lagged behind, concentrating hard on her luggage. Constantine waited patiently as George counted again: “Toad is two, backpack three, suitcase four. Nothing’s missing.”

  Constantine
counted too. “You’re right. Nothing’s missing.”

  George smiled shyly and allowed him to usher her after Henrietta and into the dining room where dinner was already laid out. Constantine pulled Henrietta’s chair out for her and then did the same for George.

  George was placing her napkin in her lap when a soft quacking sound drifted from beneath the table. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion as she leaned over in her chair, lifted the white tablecloth, and peered under. She sat up again.

  “Aunt Henrietta,” she said tentatively, “do you know there are ducks under your table?”

  Henrietta took a sip of water, waving one hand dismissively in the air. “Don’t mind them, dear. They’re just pets.”

  An indignant series of quacks sounded from beneath the table, causing Henrietta to sputter. “Goodness me! I do apologize. They’re not pets; they’re my friends!”

  George burst out laughing but immediately clapped her hands over her mouth as her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Constantine chuckled deep in his throat. “No need to be sorry, Georgina. We can laugh here. Now, will you pass the pickled eggs?”

  She handed him the heavy bowl. “I actually prefer to be called George.”

  “But why, dear? Georgina is a lovely name,” Henrietta said.

  “And so is George,” Constantine said with a wink.

  George smiled at him gratefully before taking a bite out of a soggy applesauce sandwich.

  * * *

  After dinner Constantine helped George recount her luggage. They both agreed nothing was missing and followed Henrietta upstairs to George’s new bedroom. As they climbed the steps, Henrietta casually mentioned that George would be staying just across the hall from the ducks’ room, and the ducks in question appreciated their privacy after ten PM.

  Constantine raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled at George, who earnestly assured Henrietta that she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping fowl.

  They entered a room with matching beds. Above each was a large porthole framing the many constellations of the night sky.

  George went immediately to the bed closest to the door and placed Toad lovingly on the pillow. “Two for Toad.” She moved to the far side of the room and claimed the bed nearest the mirrored closet for her own.

  Constantine hefted the suitcase onto a dresser and left George and Henrietta to unpack while he went back downstairs to tidy up.

  George opened her backpack and pulled out a multitude of velvet bags. From each bag she removed a hard, glistening ball the size of a goose egg and in varying shades of brown, black, gray, and even rusty red. She placed each ball in the window while counting under her breath. “Two is Venice, three is Moab, four is Easter Island, and five is Giza.” This went on until she reached “Twelve for Istanbul,” which was not shiny like the others, but dull and dirty looking. She stood back to admire them.

  Henrietta looked up from where she was placing George’s socks in a drawer. “What are those pretty stones, dear?”

  “They’re my hikaru dorodango.”

  Henrietta looked confused. “Why, yes, I suppose they are.”

  George smiled at Henrietta. “They’re balls made of mud and then polished with dirt or sand until they shine. I make them. I haven’t finished twelve for Istanbul yet.”

  “But how do you keep them from crumbling right to pieces?” Henrietta asked, moving closer to get a better look. “And how long will they stay pretty?”

  “You just have to be really patient when you’re forming them. And as long as I don’t get them wet or drop them, they’ll stay pretty forever.”

  “Absolutely fascinating! They are lovely hikaru doro … They are lovely.” Henrietta turned to hang several of George’s scarves in the closet and then shut the door tightly. “You’re quite brave. Most children prefer to sleep as far from a closet door as possible.”

  George shrugged. “I always take the bed nearest the closet.”

  “Yes, of course you do,” Henrietta said, glancing across the room at Toad. “How silly of me. Why don’t you go get washed up, dear? The bathroom is down the hall, the yellow door, you can’t miss it. You’ll find towels and a new toothbrush and everything you need.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Henrietta.” George took the pajamas offered to her. She washed and brushed quickly. She patted her face dry and left the bathroom, moving quietly down the hallway so as not to disturb the ducks. As she neared her bedroom, she heard Constantine and Henrietta speaking in hushed tones. They were so intent on their conversation that George was able to enter the room completely unnoticed.

  “—poor girl left the bed farthest from the closet for her little brother, bless her heart,” Henrietta said. “It was thoughtless of me to put her in here. We should move her down the hall where there isn’t an extra bed reminding her constantly of who’s missing.”

  “Chicken, ignoring it won’t make it any better. She’s already afraid Daniel’s disappeared forever, and we both know there’s still hope. If we pretend he never existed, we’ll just make her worst fear feel like it’s coming true,” Constantine said.

  George shifted uncomfortably and coughed.

  “My, you’re a fast one,” Henrietta said, her hand fluttering to her chest.

  George nodded. “I skedaddled.”

  Constantine chuckled, and it made George relax to hear it. “So you did.”

  “Now, what do you say you hop under the covers?” Henrietta said, turning down the sheets. “Maybe we can talk your uncle into a bedtime story.”

  “It’s possible…,” he said, glancing at a silver pocket watch hanging from his coat.

  George noticed the watch didn’t have any hands on it.

  Constantine nodded. “Yes, we have time. If a certain young lady is ready, that is?”

  George climbed into bed and leaned against her pillows. “I’m ready. But how can you tell time on that watch, Uncle Constantine? It doesn’t have any hands!”

  He closed it with a snap, and his eyes settled on the polished clay balls in the window. “That, my dear, is not the story I’ve chosen for tonight.”

  Henrietta sank into a chair and fished a screwdriver and an old clock out of an apron pocket as Constantine settled down next to her.

  “Do you know what a meteor shower is, George?” Constantine asked.

  “Yeah, it’s a night when there are a bunch of shooting stars. Mom and Dad and Daniel and I got to watch one near Giza once. It was the best night ever. I used some of the dirt from where we camped to make one of my hikaru dorodango. Five for Giza.”

  “That’s right. Some meteor showers last only one night, but some have been known to last much longer. The story I have in mind is about one that lasted for seven whole nights. So many stars rained down from the heavens that people started drowning in them!”

  George raised her orange eyebrows at this. “That’s an awful lot of stars, Uncle Constantine.”

  He nodded solemnly. “It is, indeed. Shall I tell the story, then, or would you prefer to hear about Jack and the Beanstalk?”

  “No. I would like the star story, please.”

  “Good choice,” Constantine said. “Now, it first happened a very long time ago, when there were more worlds than this one and they were a bit emptier. All life was new and had yet to find order. People, nature, and time itself operated in a hopeless chaos.

  “One dark evening, throughout all of the worlds, a sprinkling of stars fell from the sky. The inhabitants had never seen anything like this before, and they were frightened. When no harm came, they crept cautiously from their homes. At last, they realized there was no danger, and they rushed outside in droves and began gathering the shimmering spheres.

  “The meteors came again the next night, and the people were still excited and again gathered the fallen stars. On the third night, even more came down, and the citizens grew concerned. Every night the stars fell harder and thicker, until the people were terrified and fleeing for
the high ground. Many were swept away by the glowing orbs.

  “By the seventh evening, those who endured knew they had to do something, or surely the stars would continue to rain fiery destruction down upon the worlds until nothing was left of heaven or earth. From the small group still living, the people chose seven of their kindest, wisest, and bravest. They named them the Council and charged them with bringing order to the worlds. When the members were sworn into their new positions, the meteor showers ceased, for the election had brought the first semblance of order to a topsy-turvy universe. This happened at exactly eleven eleven at night.”

  “Which is a very curious time,” Henrietta said.

  “It is. Once the immediate danger had passed, the members of the Council of Seven embraced their new talents and responsibilities, and they began to set out laws of conduct, as well as tend to their individual jobs.”

  “What were their jobs?” George asked.

  “Let’s see, the Timekeeper was in charge of reining in time, as you can imagine. Before that, time had just been jumping around higgledy-piggledy, and it was his responsibility to set things up in the chronological order we enjoy today. The Judge was charged with the task of enforcing law, and the Guide was responsible for whispering softly in the ear of the people and acting for them as a conscience until they developed their own. The Engineer began to design various procedures to encourage friendship between worlds, and the Recorder kept a written history of all people. The Innocent provided much-needed childlike wisdom and was a special friend of nature.”

  “I think the Innocent had the best job,” Henrietta said.

  “But that’s only six people,” George said. “You said they chose seven.”

  “She’s right, Constantine,” Henrietta said.

  “So she is! The seventh was the Unlikely, and her job was to offer just a bit of chaos.”

  George held up her hands. “Wait, wait. I thought the Council was made to put things in order, so why have a member especially to make chaos?”