Read Online A Tangle of Knots by Lisa Graff - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Graff
Tags: General, Action & Adventure, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Orphans & Foster Homes
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the Owner because of his salt-and-pepper hair. It was the Owner, no question.
So why were the man’s feet planted firmly on the ground?
15
The Owner
T HE OWNER THOUGHT, AS HE SEARCHED THROUGH HIS BOOKSHELF , that perhaps he heard a soft scuttling noise from the ceiling above, but when he looked up, he saw nothing. Just his old ears playing tricks on him again. He glanced at the St. Anthony’s suitcase waiting patiently on his tattered bedspread. The Owner was desperate to open it, to look inside. But it had been fifty-three years already—he could certainly savor this moment the way it was meant to be savored.
The bookshelf along the far wall of the Owner’s bedroom was lined with jars, top to bottom. To someone who didn’t know any better, they would probably look like simple peanut butter jars. All of them unmarked. All of them empty. But the Owner could tell them apart, and they most certainly were not empty.
This was his collection of Talents. Talents for origami and dog-training and computer-repair and whistling, and dozens of others he’d managed to nab over the years. The Owner had always believed that there was really only one Talent you needed in this world: The Talent for appropriating other people’s Talents.
Selecting a jar from the back, one which had not yet been filled, the Owner— switt-tsk-schwap! —unscrewed the lid. Then he lifted his right hand above the empty jar and squeezed it into a fist. Tighter and tighter he squeezed, until at last . . .
Plunk!
Where just a moment ago there had been nothing, now suddenly there was the Talent the Owner had plucked from the man in the gray suit, clean and condensed and opaque, like an ice cube. The Owner had seen the sight a thousand times, but he never tired of it.
As the Owner reached for the lid to the jar, the Talent began to dissipate, just as the Talents always did if you left them to their own devices. A fine mist rose out of the jar, higher, higher, straight into the air vent above. The Owner thought he heard a soft sniffle escape from the vent, but when he shot his eyes up to check, there was nothing. Tricks from his old ears again.
He returned his attention to his Talents.
16
Will
W ILL PRESSED HIS FACE HARDER AGAINST THE GRATE, UNTIL HE was sure the metal zigzags were patterning his nose. When he unintentionally sniffed up some of the mist, he had the strangest desire to tie a knot.
Down below, the Owner screwed the lid down tight on the jar in his hand. And, as Will watched, the ice cube that had appeared from nothing only moments before evaporated to mist inside the jar, and then thinned into a haze, and then disappeared completely. Within the span of an instant, the jar appeared just as empty as before. The Owner set it back on the shelf with the others, then pulled a new jar from his pocket. He opened it, raised his hand above it, fingers stretched taut, and again a mysterious icy stone appeared, just below the old man’s skin. But this time, the ice cube melted into the Owner’s palm, and his feet began to rise—one inch, then two—until he was floating above the ground, the way Will was accustomed to seeing him.
Will tensed his muscles the way the knights in his storybooks would if they’d just caught an evil wizard doing something suspicious. He’d been searching for Sally, but he just might have found an adventure.
Down below, the Owner crossed to the bed with the suitcase on it. He was up to no good, Will was certain of it.
And then the Owner took something new from his pocket, and began to pick his teeth with it.
Beige.
Cracked.
Knobby.
As wide as a rib of celery and as long as a pencil.
The Owner was picking his teeth with Will’s mother’s hairpin.
Suddenly, Will wasn’t Will anymore. Suddenly he was Sir Will, a brave knight whose job it was to retrieve precious stolen objects from spooky evil wizards.
With the quick thinking and courage of the very best knights from the very best storybooks, Sir
So why were the man’s feet planted firmly on the ground?
15
The Owner
T HE OWNER THOUGHT, AS HE SEARCHED THROUGH HIS BOOKSHELF , that perhaps he heard a soft scuttling noise from the ceiling above, but when he looked up, he saw nothing. Just his old ears playing tricks on him again. He glanced at the St. Anthony’s suitcase waiting patiently on his tattered bedspread. The Owner was desperate to open it, to look inside. But it had been fifty-three years already—he could certainly savor this moment the way it was meant to be savored.
The bookshelf along the far wall of the Owner’s bedroom was lined with jars, top to bottom. To someone who didn’t know any better, they would probably look like simple peanut butter jars. All of them unmarked. All of them empty. But the Owner could tell them apart, and they most certainly were not empty.
This was his collection of Talents. Talents for origami and dog-training and computer-repair and whistling, and dozens of others he’d managed to nab over the years. The Owner had always believed that there was really only one Talent you needed in this world: The Talent for appropriating other people’s Talents.
Selecting a jar from the back, one which had not yet been filled, the Owner— switt-tsk-schwap! —unscrewed the lid. Then he lifted his right hand above the empty jar and squeezed it into a fist. Tighter and tighter he squeezed, until at last . . .
Plunk!
Where just a moment ago there had been nothing, now suddenly there was the Talent the Owner had plucked from the man in the gray suit, clean and condensed and opaque, like an ice cube. The Owner had seen the sight a thousand times, but he never tired of it.
As the Owner reached for the lid to the jar, the Talent began to dissipate, just as the Talents always did if you left them to their own devices. A fine mist rose out of the jar, higher, higher, straight into the air vent above. The Owner thought he heard a soft sniffle escape from the vent, but when he shot his eyes up to check, there was nothing. Tricks from his old ears again.
He returned his attention to his Talents.
16
Will
W ILL PRESSED HIS FACE HARDER AGAINST THE GRATE, UNTIL HE was sure the metal zigzags were patterning his nose. When he unintentionally sniffed up some of the mist, he had the strangest desire to tie a knot.
Down below, the Owner screwed the lid down tight on the jar in his hand. And, as Will watched, the ice cube that had appeared from nothing only moments before evaporated to mist inside the jar, and then thinned into a haze, and then disappeared completely. Within the span of an instant, the jar appeared just as empty as before. The Owner set it back on the shelf with the others, then pulled a new jar from his pocket. He opened it, raised his hand above it, fingers stretched taut, and again a mysterious icy stone appeared, just below the old man’s skin. But this time, the ice cube melted into the Owner’s palm, and his feet began to rise—one inch, then two—until he was floating above the ground, the way Will was accustomed to seeing him.
Will tensed his muscles the way the knights in his storybooks would if they’d just caught an evil wizard doing something suspicious. He’d been searching for Sally, but he just might have found an adventure.
Down below, the Owner crossed to the bed with the suitcase on it. He was up to no good, Will was certain of it.
And then the Owner took something new from his pocket, and began to pick his teeth with it.
Beige.
Cracked.
Knobby.
As wide as a rib of celery and as long as a pencil.
The Owner was picking his teeth with Will’s mother’s hairpin.
Suddenly, Will wasn’t Will anymore. Suddenly he was Sir Will, a brave knight whose job it was to retrieve precious stolen objects from spooky evil wizards.
With the quick thinking and courage of the very best knights from the very best storybooks, Sir
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