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  “The Timekeeper knew there was little he could do for the Judge, for he had committed the vilest of sins, after all. He had taken a life, and in so doing, he destroyed what could have been. The Timekeeper and the Innocent spent years tracking the madman they had once called friend. Imagine their shock, the agony and crushing sense of failure they must have felt as the Judge countered their every move.”

  George realized she was holding her breath, and let it out in a whoosh.

  “The Judge found the Guide, the Engineer, and the Recorder, and he demanded they provide him with forbidden information. When they refused, he tortured them. When they did not break, he killed them. Perhaps he felt that by extinguishing the lives of the other members of the Council, then he could assume their power and authority.” Constantine stopped to clear his throat.

  “He was wrong,” Henrietta said, her voice quavering. “Wasn’t he, Constantine?”

  George grasped Henrietta’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t be scared, Aunt Henrietta. It’s just a story.”

  “He was wrong,” Constantine said. “But that knowledge didn’t help the Timekeeper, who almost went mad himself, with grief, when he discovered that his companions had been murdered. Only the Innocent remained alive, and the Timekeeper would have been alone if not for that. It seemed improbable, though, that either of them would live through the Judge’s savage campaign. But then, in the midst of a great crowd, the Judge was caught in a fiery explosion. Where he had stood, nothing was left but a blackened smudge and the compass gifted to him long ago by the Council of Seven as a symbol of his position. He had never been without it, but now it was cracked and clouded with soot. It was all that remained of him.

  “At first the Timekeeper thought it was a trick, and he searched and searched to be certain it wasn’t. Eventually he accepted that the Judge must really be gone, and the Timekeeper and the Innocent went on with their lives. They did their best to keep the world on her now-tilted and imperfect axis, and always after that, they searched for those special individuals who could help rebuild the Council of Seven. And tonight the showers return for the first time in one hundred eleven years, and for the first time since the breaking of the Council.”

  “Did they ever rebuild it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Constantine said. “I’ve not yet reached the end of that story.”

  “I know it’s just a fairy tale but … the falling stars aren’t going to destroy the worlds this time, are they?” George asked.

  “Don’t be afraid, child,” Henrietta said. “I’m sure the Timekeeper and the Innocent have it all under control.”

  George gasped and pointed to the sky above. “Oh! Did you see that? It’s started!”

  Henrietta shook her head. “I must have blinked.”

  “Don’t worry, Chicken. There’s still time.” Three more stars shot across the heavens before Constantine could even finish his sentence, and Henrietta gasped in delight.

  “They’re so big,” George said. “I’ve never seen them so bright before, not even in Giza.”

  “They do like to show off,” Constantine said.

  The trio watched in silence for a while before George spoke again. “Do you think these stars can be seen from Istanbul?”

  It was a moment before anyone answered her.

  “Perhaps not right now, George, but the same stars are falling over your parents as are falling over you,” Henrietta said.

  “And Daniel too?”

  “Yes. Daniel too,” Henrietta said.

  They watched for what seemed like a very long time. George was drifting in and out of sleep when Henrietta and Constantine wished her good night.

  “Two for Toad, three for Aunt Henrietta, four for Uncle Constantine,” George said sleepily as she rolled over to face the spare bed. “Good night, Toad.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three days later, Constantine still hadn’t returned from his business trip.

  George sat at the dining room table polishing twelve for Istanbul as Henrietta tinkered with a glitchy outlet. She flinched as a loud POP! sounded from her aunt’s direction.

  Henrietta frowned at a trail of smoke coming from the wall and adjusted her safety goggles. “Goodness. You are a temperamental one, aren’t you?”

  “Do you need any help?” George asked tentatively.

  “Thank you, but I’ve just about got it.”

  “Right … Aunt Henrietta, would it be okay if I went exploring?”

  “Of course, dear. Maybe today you can find the library. It does meander about so.”

  George’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, but then she just shook her head, remembering that sometimes her aunt wasn’t at all logical. “Thanks!” She tucked twelve for Istanbul into her pocket, grabbed Toad by the leg, and sprinted from the room.

  George wandered for a while; upstairs and down, through forgotten bedrooms, into a cluttered music room, out of a dusty nursery. She finally found herself in the parlor, with no idea of how she had ended up there. She swiped her hair away from her sweaty face.

  “Is it just me, Toad, or is this house way too big on the inside to make sense for the outside?” Toad didn’t answer, but his silence gave George a sudden inspiration. The library would have to wait.

  She scanned the room quickly to make sure all the doors were shut tight. She placed Toad on the sofa and began tiptoeing around the parlor. She opened cabinets and looked under armchairs. She dropped to her knees by the fireplace and peered up the chimney. She even checked the back of the piano, but a telephone was nowhere to be found.

  “I knew there wasn’t one in here!” She flopped onto the sofa next to Toad. “Ouch!” She jumped right back up again. Sticking out from between the cushions was the corner of a book.

  George tugged on it, but it was stuck. She pulled harder and stumbled backward when it came free. A black-and-white photograph fluttered, unnoticed, from between the pages. The tome was bound in rich mahogany leather. On the cover, above the word Candidates, was stamped the same odd symbol she had seen on the front door.

  George began to open the book, but then a slight cough came from behind her. She stopped dead, and turned to face Henrietta. “Oh … hi,” she said sheepishly. “I found this book.”

  But Henrietta wasn’t looking at George, and upon her face was a devastated expression.

  “What’s wrong, Aunt Henrietta?”

  Henrietta bent and, with a shaking hand, retrieved the fallen photograph from the floor. She stared at the nine smiling faces within.

  George peered anxiously over Henrietta’s arm. “Who are those people? Isn’t that you and Uncle Constantine in the middle? Who is the baby that pretty lady is holding? Are you okay?”

  Henrietta skimmed her fingertips over the glossy paper, the corners of her mouth wrinkling in a faint smile. “Yes. I’m okay. That was us with several of our colleagues many, many years ago. The baby’s name was Carl.” She looked a moment more before blinking rapidly and tucking the photograph into her apron pocket. She cleared her throat. “I came to see if you wanted to roast marshmallows. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, please.” But George’s eyes were still on Henrietta’s apron pocket.

  “Run along to the kitchen and see if you can find some lurking about in the cupboards. I’ll get the fire going.”

  George did as she was told, and when she returned, Henrietta was her usual smiling self.

  “Which roasting stick would you like, dear?” Henrietta gestured to a bundle of sharpened twigs leaning against the wall.

  “Actually, I have one upstairs. It folds up. We go camping a lot, so Daniel and I each got our own. Mine is purple. I’ll go get it.” George hesitated a moment, twisting the ends of her scarf. “Aunt Henrietta? I’m sorry the picture made you sad. Is there anything I can do for you? I want to make you happy again.”

  Henrietta stroked her soft palm over George’s frizzy hair. “It isn’t your fault the picture made me sad, and just having you around makes me happy. N
ow, hurry along or I might eat all of these marshmallows myself!”

  George grinned and ran upstairs. She placed Toad on the spare bed and went to the closet. She dropped to her knees and reached back into the darkness, retrieving the roasting stick quickly from her camping supplies. She was startled as her fingers brushed against a hard, cool object. Pushing the clothes aside, she followed the object with her eyes up along a smooth length of yellowed ivory. George found she was gazing into the face of an enormously tall and very bewildered skeleton, who was watching her with its head tilted curiously to the side.

  George shrieked and scrambled away from the closet. Before her was an honest-to-goodness skeleton, lurching clumsily into her very own bedroom, clutching something in its bony hands.

  “Heavens to Betsy!” George said, holding the roasting stick before her like a sword.

  Henrietta barreled into the room and skidded to a halt, looking around wildly before her eyes settled on the skeleton. Her mouth dropped open as she stood there holding a crooked stick with a half-roasted marshmallow dangling off the end. Then she smiled.

  “Hello, Yorick,” she said.

  “Aunt Henrietta, what do I do?!” George’s voice was edged with panic as she clambered onto the nearest bed, never taking her eyes from the creature. “It’s a monster!”

  The skeleton was absolutely shocked at such an accusation and promptly burst into tearless sobs. It dabbed at its empty eye sockets with the ends of a familiar-looking scarf.

  George’s mouth opened and closed again before she managed to sputter, “That’s mine!”

  The skeleton grasped the scarf protectively, unwilling to part with this pilfered treasure.

  “Finders keepers, George. And don’t call him a monster. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  George still held the makeshift sword aimed at the skeleton as she tried to decide whether she wanted her scarf back after it had been claimed by the living-impaired. “How do you know it’s a he?”

  Aware of her disdain, but with a job to do, the skeleton diligently advanced on her.

  Henrietta shook her head in amusement. “Isn’t it obvious? Besides, he’s an old friend of the family, and your uncle’s most trusted helper. And look, he’s got a note.”

  As Henrietta stepped up to the jumble of bones, the gooey marshmallow slid off the end of her stick, plopping onto the carpet unnoticed. “I do apologize for the unfriendly welcome, Yorick. It isn’t George’s fault, you see. I simply forgot to tell her that you occasionally drop by.” She patted the sniffling skeleton awkwardly and took the letter he held.

  George relaxed slightly as Yorick, task completed, turned to leave. He looked down with obvious disgust as his foot came into contact with the sticky marshmallow. He gave his leg a good shake and ambled back to the closet with one last sigh and a dirty look.

  “Oh dear,” Henrietta said. “I’m afraid you’ve offended him. I suppose it can’t be helped. It isn’t like you’re used to this sort of thing yet.” She waved as he disappeared behind the hanging clothes, shutting the mirrored door behind him.

  “Yet? Right…,” George said. “Do you think he’s really gone?”

  “I’m sure of it. He leads a very busy life. Er, death. Now, hurry down off that bed, you silly squirrel. This letter is addressed to you!”

  George eased down, still glancing suspiciously across the room.

  Henrietta handed her the note. “Open it! Do hurry! I’m very excited to see what it says!” But she didn’t look excited. She looked nervous.

  George took the note but then gazed at Henrietta with a look of bafflement on her face. “Aunt Henrietta, you do realize a skeleton just strolled out of your closet, right? A skeleton? A dead person’s bones? And you’re okay with that?”

  “Like I said, he drops by from time to time. Read it!”

  George opened her mouth to say more, but then she gave up and opened the note. “It’s from Uncle Constantine.”

  Dearest Georgina George,

  My plans have been interfered with in a most dastardly fashion, and I find myself in need of immediate assistance. Circumstances are dire, and I cannot proceed alone. You must set out at once to find the Eldest of the Els, where you will be instructed further. Swiftness is imperative, and caution is crucial. Farewell!

  —Uncle Constantine

  P.S.: Dear Chicken, 1G + 2B = 3 to Flee. Forecast: Generous Rain!!! Be a duck, have a plan.—Love, C.

  George squinted and then looked at her aunt. “I think this weird P.S. at the bottom is for you. What’s it mean? And do you know who the Eldest of the Els is?”

  Henrietta took the letter from George. “Of course. Everybody knows of the Els; they’re rather infamous. The Eldest, though, she’s a real character.”

  “Do you know where to find her?”

  “Hmm, no. She’s rarely in the same place twice, dear. Well, she’s in the same place, but that place is never in the same place. Her sisters are more predictable in their travel habits.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Aunt Henrietta.”

  But Henrietta only murmured under her breath, “Generous … Now, what could he mean by…?” Then she glanced at George’s earnest face, and her eyes grew wide with alarm. She came to life in a flurry of motion. “Oh my! Quickly, dear. Swiftness is imperative!” She shoved the note into George’s hands and grabbed the backpack from the foot of the bed.

  George slipped the paper into her pocket, and her hand brushed against twelve for Istanbul. “Aunt Henrietta, is this a joke?”

  But Henrietta had stopped listening and was now scurrying from the room. “Raincoats, we have to get the raincoats!” She returned seconds later carrying three brightly colored slickers, which she frantically stuffed into the backpack.

  “Aunt Henrietta?” George grabbed Toad from the bed and hugged him to her chest. “You’re scaring me.”

  Henrietta paused and took a deep breath. She hurried to George and wrapped her in a tight hug. “Don’t be afraid, dear. There isn’t time.”

  “I don’t understand what’s—” George said.

  “Hear me, Georgina,” Henrietta said sternly, taking George’s freckled face in both hands. “There isn’t time to be scared. There are villains afoot. Listen to the note. Locate the Eldest of the Els. Hopefully, she will lead you to Constantine. I have complete faith in you.”

  “But I don’t know how, or where,” George said in a tiny voice.

  “The Eldest will be looking for you.” She released George and pressed the backpack into her arms. “Don’t lose this. The raincoats are vital to your method of transportation, so don’t take your eyes off them for a minute.”

  “But they’re just raincoats!”

  “You’ll understand later, dear. Don’t argue. And remember, when in doubt, always go left!” Henrietta stopped dead and cocked her head to the side. “Did you hear something?”

  George just shook her head mutely, but then there was a creak in the stairwell that was too heavy to be a duck.

  The color drained from Henrietta’s face. “Hide!” was all she said as she shoved George down and under the nearest bed.

  George huddled with the dust bunnies, silently obedient in her fear and confusion. She clutched Toad and her backpack as she watched Henrietta in the closet mirror.

  Henrietta stood breathing shallowly. She smoothed the front of her dress and then patted her hair before perching serenely on the edge of a chair as if waiting for something.

  Nothing happened.

  “Aunt Henrietta? Can I come out now?” George asked in an anxious whisper, wondering if this was all part of an elaborate game.

  Henrietta met George’s eyes in the mirror and gave her head a sharp shake. Then the bedroom door creaked open.

  * * *

  George clasped both hands over her mouth as a ridiculously large man entered the room.

  He was dressed in a black slicker, and there was a red bandanna tied around his bulging neck. His head and face were completely free f
rom any hair, and there were bloody scabs covering his scalp and where his lashes and brows should have been.

  Even Henrietta, sitting there so calmly, gave a start as his ghastly blank eyes fell on her.

  “Move aside, Arlo,” a hidden man said, his cultured voice entirely empty of emotion. “We have a deadline.”

  Henrietta stiffened ever so slightly at the sound of that voice.

  Arlo grunted and obeyed, exposing a dapper gentleman with crooked eyebrows and hair just beginning to gray at the temples. He was wearing a plaid raincoat over his suit and holding an elegant cane.

  “Hello, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta didn’t reply, but her hands tightened to fists on her lap.

  The man moved about the room, his fine leather shoes trailing drops of muddy water. His cane thumped the ground with every step, and the floorboards groaned. He walked to the window between the two beds and pulled the curtains back to look at the ducks swimming in the sunny garden below. “Such a peaceful home you have.” The smell of his spicy aftershave drifted down and stung George’s nose.

  His bored gaze fell upon the shining clay balls on the sill. He touched one delicately, relishing the smooth texture. “You know how they say that history repeats itself?” he asked, and then, with a twitch of his finger, he gently pushed two for Venice over the ledge. The hikaru dorodango crashed to the ground and shattered into a dozen glistening shards. “Sometimes I like to make sure that’s still…” He paused, and then three for Moab followed two for Venice and burst upon the floor. “True,” he finished with a placid smile.

  George’s heart lodged in her throat as he reached down and smoothed his palm over the mattress directly above her head.

  The broken pieces of clay cracked beneath his heels as he strolled to Henrietta.

  George couldn’t swallow, couldn’t blink, couldn’t do anything as she lay hidden and listening.

  “Nothing to say to me?” the handsome man asked. “But it’s been so very long.”