alleyway, but the realization, instead of making him feel unhappy, made him feel strangely free. It was like walking into a room and hearing everyone go silent and knowing yes, it was true, they were all talking about you; and they had been saying that your feet smelled like rotting fish; but also that you didn’t care.
So he would leave town. So what? He would go wherever he found himself, and there he would be.
He remembered, when he lived in the orphanage, how he and the other boys had sometimes sneaked down to the overpass to watch the trains chugging slowly into the train station. There had been a vagabond who lived by the tracks, Will remembered: Crazy Carl, who collected glass bottles. Carl had built a shelter out of a little rusted-out train car that had been abandoned by the tracks. It had kept him relatively safe from the wind and the rain and the cold. Will wondered whether it was still there. He wondered whether Carl was still there.
There was, he knew, only one way to find out.
When his heart had gone back to its normal rhythm, he stood up and started out in the direction of the train station and the overpass. Tonight he would sleep. Tomorrow he would catch a train.
Chapter Nine
LIESL HAD JUST FALLEN ASLEEP WHEN SHE FELT something stirring by the bed. She had the sensation of a long finger brushing her cheek, and for one confused second she believed herself a tiny child again, back at the pond by the willow tree, pressed facedown into the velvet-soft moss that grew above her mother’s grave. Then she opened her eyes and saw that she was, of course, in her little attic room, as she had been for ever so long. Bundle’s moonlight eyes were blinking at her, and Liesl thought she heard a very soft mwark directed into her ear.
Po was there as well, standing by her bed. For a dark piece of shadow, the ghost looked very pale.
“Hello,” Liesl said, sitting up. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Po did not say that it had intended never to come back at all. “I saw your father again,” Po said. “I gave him your message.”
In her excitement, Liesl went to seize the ghost’s hands. Her fingers passed through a soft place in the air, and Po seemed to shiver. “You did? You told him? How did he look? What did he say?”
Po bobbed away from the bed a little bit. The touch had unnerved the ghost. Po could pass through brick walls without feeling a thing; it could disperse into currents of air without pain. But it had felt the girl’s hands, somehow, as though she’d been able to reach in and pull at Po’s Essence. Essence was not physical matter, Po knew. No one could touch it. No one could destroy it either; that was the nice thing about Essence.
People could push and pull at you, and poke you, and probe as deep as they could go. They could even tear you apart, bit by bit. But at the heart and root and soul of you, something would remain untouched.
Po had not known all this when he was alive, but the ghost knew it now.
“He said that he should never have eaten the soup,” Po said, and waited to see whether this would mean anything to Liesl.
She scrunched her mouth all the way to her nose. “The soup? What soup?”
“I don’t know. That’s what he said, though.”
“Did he say anything else?” Liesl asked impatiently. It was annoying that Po had crossed into the land of the dead, and back, only to deliver a message about an unsatis-factory meal.
“Yes.” Po hesitated. “He said that he must go home. He must go back to the place of the willow tree. He said that he will be able to rest then. He said you would bring him there.”
Liesl sat very still. For a moment she was so still and white Po was actually frightened, though he had never once been frightened of a living one before. They were too fragile, too easily broken and dismantled: They had bones that broke and skin that tore and hearts that gave up with a sigh and rolled over.
But that was the problem with Liesl, Po
So he would leave town. So what? He would go wherever he found himself, and there he would be.
He remembered, when he lived in the orphanage, how he and the other boys had sometimes sneaked down to the overpass to watch the trains chugging slowly into the train station. There had been a vagabond who lived by the tracks, Will remembered: Crazy Carl, who collected glass bottles. Carl had built a shelter out of a little rusted-out train car that had been abandoned by the tracks. It had kept him relatively safe from the wind and the rain and the cold. Will wondered whether it was still there. He wondered whether Carl was still there.
There was, he knew, only one way to find out.
When his heart had gone back to its normal rhythm, he stood up and started out in the direction of the train station and the overpass. Tonight he would sleep. Tomorrow he would catch a train.
Chapter Nine
LIESL HAD JUST FALLEN ASLEEP WHEN SHE FELT something stirring by the bed. She had the sensation of a long finger brushing her cheek, and for one confused second she believed herself a tiny child again, back at the pond by the willow tree, pressed facedown into the velvet-soft moss that grew above her mother’s grave. Then she opened her eyes and saw that she was, of course, in her little attic room, as she had been for ever so long. Bundle’s moonlight eyes were blinking at her, and Liesl thought she heard a very soft mwark directed into her ear.
Po was there as well, standing by her bed. For a dark piece of shadow, the ghost looked very pale.
“Hello,” Liesl said, sitting up. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Po did not say that it had intended never to come back at all. “I saw your father again,” Po said. “I gave him your message.”
In her excitement, Liesl went to seize the ghost’s hands. Her fingers passed through a soft place in the air, and Po seemed to shiver. “You did? You told him? How did he look? What did he say?”
Po bobbed away from the bed a little bit. The touch had unnerved the ghost. Po could pass through brick walls without feeling a thing; it could disperse into currents of air without pain. But it had felt the girl’s hands, somehow, as though she’d been able to reach in and pull at Po’s Essence. Essence was not physical matter, Po knew. No one could touch it. No one could destroy it either; that was the nice thing about Essence.
People could push and pull at you, and poke you, and probe as deep as they could go. They could even tear you apart, bit by bit. But at the heart and root and soul of you, something would remain untouched.
Po had not known all this when he was alive, but the ghost knew it now.
“He said that he should never have eaten the soup,” Po said, and waited to see whether this would mean anything to Liesl.
She scrunched her mouth all the way to her nose. “The soup? What soup?”
“I don’t know. That’s what he said, though.”
“Did he say anything else?” Liesl asked impatiently. It was annoying that Po had crossed into the land of the dead, and back, only to deliver a message about an unsatis-factory meal.
“Yes.” Po hesitated. “He said that he must go home. He must go back to the place of the willow tree. He said that he will be able to rest then. He said you would bring him there.”
Liesl sat very still. For a moment she was so still and white Po was actually frightened, though he had never once been frightened of a living one before. They were too fragile, too easily broken and dismantled: They had bones that broke and skin that tore and hearts that gave up with a sigh and rolled over.
But that was the problem with Liesl, Po
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