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“You’re a good listener, and that’s a very good question. The Unlikely was just as important as all of the rest because everything has its place, even that.”

  “I guess so,” George said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Were there any stars left when the meteors stopped falling?”

  “Yes, but very few. They slowly regrew as the Council did their job. Now, every one hundred eleven years, the Selyrdorian meteor showers return, but only for seven nights, and they no longer threaten to destroy the worlds. Thanks to the Council, the eighth morning always dawns bright and clear.”

  “Sell-er-door-ee-yan,” George said slowly.

  “Yes,” Constantine said. “And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Tomorrow night they begin again!”

  George’s green eyes grew wide. “Can we watch them together?”

  Constantine leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “We can. Many people live and die without seeing them. You’re a very fortunate girl.”

  George thought about that for a moment and then frowned. “Uncle Constantine, if the worlds were new, where did the people come from? And how do stars grow?”

  Constantine smiled as he got to his feet and helped Henrietta up. “I don’t know all of the stories, George. Just some of them.”

  Henrietta leaned down to kiss George’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, dear. We’ll be just down the hall if you need anything, anything at all!”

  George sighed and snuggled into her blankets. “Thank you, Aunt Henrietta, and thank you for the story, Uncle Constantine. Good night.”

  “Good night, George, and you’re very welcome,” he said as he pulled her door closed.

  George lay awake for a long time staring at Toad on the empty bed across the room. She wondered if her parents might get Daniel back in time for him to come watch the Selyrdorian meteor showers with her. Then they could make a hikaru dorodango together if any stardust fell at their feet.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Loud quacking woke George. She rolled over and covered her head with a pillow. The noise continued, this time followed by an enormous splash. She threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and hurried to the nearest window.

  George looked down to the yard, where she saw a garden shed next to a slow-flowing creek. An enormous wading pool dominated the center of the lawn. A duck emerged from under the water and began grooming itself furiously as it bobbed on the surface. As George watched, three more ducks plopped in next to it. She squinted and leaned outside on her elbows to get a better look. One of the ducks dunked the one preening itself, and George laughed.

  “I see my friends have already been entertaining you this morning,” Henrietta said from the doorway, a bright smile on her face.

  George turned to her and grinned as she tucked her hair back behind her ears. “I think they’re playing!”

  Henrietta joined George by the window. “So they are.”

  “Why did you give them a pool when the creek is right there for them to swim in?”

  “It was their idea.” Henrietta then lowered her voice to a whisper. “To be honest, I’m afraid my friends are terrified of heights, and there’s that big drop-off into the creek. They don’t realize they can fly! Don’t let on that I told you.” She looked over her shoulder suspiciously.

  “My lips are sealed,” George promised.

  Henrietta nodded contentedly and wandered out of the room.

  George dressed and went down to breakfast, but not before grabbing Toad by the leg and carrying him along.

  After tidying the kitchen, Henrietta showed George to the parlor. It was a spacious room filled with dusty antiques, and there were at least seven different doors, all of which were closed, but only four of which were mounted in the wall. Two leaned against the sofa, and one lay flat upon the floor. Light streamed through windows draped in glistening cobwebs, and the smell of musty upholstery and lemon furniture polish tickled George’s nose.

  Henrietta gestured to a spacious brick fireplace. “That’s where we roast our marshmallows.”

  “I like mine burned black,” George said as she inspected the room curiously.

  “Why, so do I!” Henrietta said.

  “What are all these doors for? Where do they go?”

  “Oh, you know, here and there.”

  “Okay … Hey, isn’t that what you were wearing when you met me yesterday?” George asked, pointing to a safety harness hanging in the middle of the room. It was connected to a thick rope and attached to an oak beam on the ceiling.

  “Yes, I like to tinker. It’s when I do my best thinking. The gears in that fan up there have been acting up for the past few weeks.” She tilted her head and frowned. “I would have finished it days ago, but my ladder just up and disappeared.”

  “Maybe Uncle Constantine borrowed it.”

  Henrietta shook her head. “No, it wasn’t Constantine who borrowed it.”

  George looked confused. “Who else would have moved it?”

  “Oh, them and they,” Henrietta said vaguely.

  “I’m very proud of Henrietta’s tinkering,” Constantine said as he stepped into the room and came to join them. “Her mechanical skills put me quite to shame.”

  Henrietta patted her hair and blushed. “Heavens to Betsy, Constantine. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “It’s true, Chicken.”

  “Well, I did have a very good teacher…” She trailed off and pursed her lips together.

  Constantine leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Yes, you did.” Then he glanced to a clock, which was off center on the wall, and to the pocket watch in his hand. He nodded to himself and closed the watch with a loud snap before turning to George. “Good morning, George! I trust you slept well?”

  “I did, thank you. But why do you call Aunt Henrietta Chicken?”

  Constantine frowned and looked up at the ceiling. “That was such a long time ago. I know there was a reason. Henrietta, do you recall?”

  Henrietta tapped her chin thoughtfully, and then she clapped her hands together. “I do! Chicken is short for Henrietta.” She smiled and nodded, proud of herself for remembering.

  “She’s right, of course. Chicken is long for Hen, which is short for Henrietta.”

  A bashful smile spread over George’s face. “I like that. Chicken is a good name.”

  “I must admit that I’m partial to it,” Henrietta said, and then changed the topic. “As you can see, Constantine’s portrait is there above the mantel. It was painted on our anniversary over fifty-five years ago!”

  “Fifty-five years ago? You mean he’s always been that old?” George asked incredulously, and then blushed so deeply that her red freckles disappeared. “Sorry, Uncle Constantine.”

  Constantine’s laughter boomed through the dusty parlor. “No need to apologize, George. You see, I am that old.”

  “Old?” Henrietta looked at Constantine. “Yes, I suppose so. It’s the nature of his work, you know.” She then began dusting the mantelpiece with a stray duck feather.

  “His work? What do you do, Uncle Constantine?”

  “Oh, I dabble a bit,” he said. “Are you excited for the meteor shower tonight, George?”

  George nodded eagerly at the reminder. “I can’t wait.”

  THUD! There was an enormous bang from behind one of the many closed doors, and at the same time, a cloud of ash erupted from the chimney. Henrietta, who had been standing next to the fireplace, was black with soot.

  Constantine rushed to her side and dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. “We really ought to do something about that draft, Chicken.”

  Coughing and sputtering, she patted her dress, which caused more ash to erupt into the air. “Apologies, child. We have a call.”

  “Yes, George, why don’t you run along while your aunt and I take this?”

  George looked around the room in confusion. “I don’t see a phone.” She sneezed twice as she bent over and tried to look up the chimney. “And what w
as that bang? Should I check?”

  “No! Don’t check. As your uncle said, it’s just that pesky draft.” Henrietta swiftly ushered George from the parlor as Constantine began tugging the curtains closed. “Check the mail tree, dear. Maybe there’s a postcard from your parents!”

  “But I hate postcards,” George said as she was hustled into the hallway and the door shut behind her. “And I didn’t see a phone!”

  After a moment of silence from within the parlor, George headed outside. She skipped to the mailbox and pulled out a stack of letters. She riffled through them, but there was nothing for her. Her shoulders drooped ever so slightly. “Like I said, I hate postcards.”

  George left the mail on a side table in the foyer and gazed at the parlor doors for another moment. Finally she sighed and started up the stairs. When she was halfway up, she heard Henrietta speaking loudly to someone.

  “Why, I never! Can you repeat that? Oh my. Constantine, say hello to you-know-who.”

  George paused to listen with her hand on the smooth wooden banister. The low rumble of Constantine’s voice leaked from the room. George crouched behind the railings as the door cracked open just enough to allow a plump white duck to be shoved through.

  The duck quacked indignantly and then made its way up the stairwell. It hopped clumsily up each step, clucking to itself, a piece of paper held securely in its bill.

  “Do they seem a little crazy to you?” George asked as it passed.

  The duck reached the landing, ignoring her except for a quick shake of its tail feathers. It waddled briskly down the hallway.

  George burst into laughter. “Yeah. They’re totally crazy. But I must fit in, because I’m the one talking to a bird.” She met the same duck just a moment later coming out of her bedroom as she was going in. She stepped aside to give it room to pass. “Excuse me.”

  George dropped Toad on the spare bed. “Two for Toad,” she said as she took number twelve for Istanbul from the windowsill. She sat down and rubbed gently at the clay ball with a rag. As the hikaru dorodango developed a faint sheen, George’s mind began to wander.

  * * *

  Sometime later, George was jerked abruptly from her reverie.

  “There you are!” Henrietta said as she came into the room carrying a small suitcase. “I’ve been calling and calling for you! Didn’t you hear me, dear?” She hurried back the way she had come.

  George blinked and shook herself, then followed Henrietta down the stairs. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anything.” She noticed a label on the side of the suitcase. PROPERTY OF C. SNAFFLEHARP. PLEASE RETURN TO NEAREST ACTIVE PORTAL IF FOUND UNATTENDED. “What is an active portal? And where’s Uncle Constantine going?”

  “He has a business trip scheduled.”

  “A dabbling trip?” George asked.

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “When I asked Uncle Constantine what he does for work, he just said he dabbles a bit. Is he leaving right now?”

  “No, he’ll be leaving tonight after the meteor showers. He promised to watch them with you, remember?”

  George smiled. “I remember. How long will he be gone?”

  “Not very, I hope!” Constantine said as he bounded down behind them on his long legs. When he reached the foyer, he took his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examined it.

  George noticed again that it didn’t have any hands.

  “Uncle Constantine—” George was cut off by the shrieking of a teapot.

  “Just in time,” he said with a satisfied smile, snapping the watch shut. “Are you ready for banana splits, George?”

  “For dinner?” George asked, surprised.

  “Of course! There’s no better time for banana splits!”

  Henrietta nodded her agreement as she straightened his jacket.

  “I don’t know how my parents would feel about banana splits for supper.…”

  Constantine patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t fuss, don’t fret, my dear. Why … don’t fress! We’ll have to add that one to our dictionary, Chicken!”

  Henrietta smiled indulgently at Constantine. “Don’t worry, George. When your father was a boy, we always had banana splits one evening per week.”

  Constantine led the way into the dining room, muttering to himself, “Fress! Why, don’t fress,” and chuckling at his own cleverness.

  * * *

  George brushed her teeth and prepared for bed without having to be reminded, eager to watch the meteor showers. When she returned to her room, Constantine was busy plumping her pillows, while Henrietta opened the porthole skylight as wide as possible.

  “Two for Toad,” George said as she put Toad in his usual spot and then bounded onto her mattress. “I’m so excited!”

  “Oh, me too,” Henrietta said, dimming the lamp before joining George on the bed and stretching out beside her. “It feels like we’ve been waiting forever!”

  They made room for Constantine, who lay down next to Henrietta.

  George snuggled into Henrietta’s plump arms as they watched the sky above, waiting for the stars to begin their fall. She smothered a yawn behind one hand. “Can you tell me a story while we wait, Uncle Constantine?”

  “I can. What would you like to hear? How about ‘The Princess and the Pea’?”

  “No … how about the story from last night? Is there any more of it?”

  “Indeed there is. Do you remember where we were?”

  “The Council had just been made up of seven people, and they each had important jobs to do,” George said. “There was the Timekeeper, who made sure time ran in the right order; and the Judge, who made sure people didn’t break the rules.” She began ticking off on her fingers. “There was the Guide, who helped people make good choices; the Engineer, who invented things so the people in different worlds could be friends; and the Recorder, who wrote down the stories of all the worlds. The Innocent was smart in ways only kids could be. The Unlikely was last, and she made chaos, because you said that everything has its place, even that.”

  Henrietta’s mouth fell open in surprise at this quick recital.

  “Good gracious!” Constantine said. “All right, then. So the creation of the Council of Seven brought a stop to the Selyrdorian meteor showers, which had ravaged the worlds and killed countless people. As long as the Council performed their duties, order was kept. There was peace and the people prospered. Everyone had enough to eat, children had long childhoods, and there was friendship between worlds, times, and even dimensions. The Council operated in harmony for eons, and every one hundred and eleven years, they would come together again at the very place and time they were elected all those millennia ago to re-form their bonds, thus renewing the magic that kept the falling stars, and the destruction of the Flyrrey, at bay.”

  “The Flyrrey?” George asked.

  “All life, worlds, eras, and dimensions are in the Flyrrey. It’s everything that exists.”

  “Like everything inside our universe?” George asked.

  “Bigger even than that,” Henrietta said. “All universes are part of it. Even ideas are a part of it. Can you imagine something so vast as to contain every thought ever conceived on every world that ever lived?”

  George shook her head slowly as she tried to believe something that large could exist.

  “Sometimes it boggles even my mind, and I’ve had a lot longer to think about it than you have,” Constantine said. “And as big as that is, consider how difficult the jobs of the Council members must have been. The pressure to keep order was intense. That’s why the Council had been made up of seven different people, and not one single person. It was vital that no individual have too much power or responsibility, so as not to be crushed by their obligations. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out the way it was intended, and soon a certain member began to feel the strain of his position. That might be enough to explain what happened next.”

  “What? What happened?” George asked.

  “It all began to fall ap
art,” Constantine said. “Though the people who elected the Council had intended that each member have only one task, they had unwittingly given the Judge the jobs of three individuals. As the Judge, he was responsible for acting as Justice, Critic, and Mercy. It was up to him to determine not only if someone had broken the law, but why they had broken it, and whether or not they were due mercy, and exactly how much mercy they deserved. It was truly an unintentional curse, for he was but one man after all—”

  “That’s no excuse, Constantine,” Henrietta said, and there was an edge to her voice.

  “I know, Chicken.”

  “What happened to the Judge?” George asked.

  “Throughout their long lives, the members of the Council of Seven had all been the dearest of friends. The Timekeeper and the Judge had been children together, and they became closer as the years went by until they were as brothers. The two had become the unofficial leaders of the little group. But the Judge’s great power had planted seeds of madness in his soul. There were disagreements between him and the other members—small at first, but then they grew. The Judge wanted something that was not permitted. When the Council voted against his wishes, the Judge began to resent them. His fevered mind reasoned that, with his wisdom and experience, it was possible for him to act as the entire Council. He decided there was no need for the other six members. He was the Judge. He controlled who was punished and for what. He doled out mercy as he saw fit, and the more insane he became, the less mercy he distributed. And so, the Council of Seven broke.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Is that the end of the story?” George asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Constantine said. “The Judge was mistaken, of course. In his greed for power, he overlooked how very vital were the positions of the Timekeeper, Guide, Engineer, Recorder, Innocent, and Unlikely. It wasn’t long before his madness ran away with him. It began as a small dispute with the Unlikely, but it quickly grew in ferocity, until in a rage, the Judge shoved her from a cliff into the sea far below, where she perished, her body never to be recovered.”

  George gasped in dismay, and Constantine nodded sadly.

  “The Timekeeper, horrified by this act of betrayal, pursued the Judge in hopes of preventing further violence. The remaining members of the Council fled into hiding, except for the Innocent, who refused to leave the Timekeeper and insisted upon joining his efforts.