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Authors: Teresa Flavin
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glanced at Dean’s jacket draped over a chair and at Sunni’s winter coat. “I do not know how long I have been here, because time moves strangely in Arcadia. But I deduce from your clothing that you are not from 1859. What was the date when you walked the labyrinth?”
When Sunni told him, Hugo murmured, “It means the debt collectors who hunted me are long dead by now.” He was still for a moment. “As well as everyone else I knew.”
Dean began yawning, and Hugo stood up.
“I am a poor host,” he said. “You surely wish to rest, and I am boring you with my own troubles. There is a bedchamber for you.” He picked up a brass bell from the table and shook it once.
Inko appeared and beckoned to Sunni and Dean.
“I hope you will be comfortable for the night,” Hugo said, clasping his hands together. “Most delightful to have your company, my young friends! It has been so long since . . .” He stopped, his eyes misting over. “Since I had anyone amiable with whom to converse.”
Dean’s whisper cut through the darkness of the bedchamber they shared. “What do you make of Foxy Farratt?”
“He’s OK, I think,” Sunni mumbled, half asleep on a bed of the softest feathers. “He knows a lot.”
“Yeah, though he’s nice one minute and strange the next. Maybe he’s been cooped up here too long.”
“Oh, only by a hundred years or so!” Sunni said. “Just try to be a bit less mouthy, huh?”
Dean’s hoarse whisper rose. “I was just trying to show him I’m not a stupid little kid!”
“You don’t have to prove yourself. He seems to want to help us,” said Sunni. “Let’s not make him change his mind.”
Dean was silent at this and then asked, “What do you think of Inko?”
“Dunno. Didn’t speak while we were there. Did he say anything to you?”
“No,” answered Dean. “I don’t think he talks.”
Sunni didn’t respond.
“Sun?”
“What now?” she groaned.
Dean whispered earnestly, “Sorry I got us stuck in here.”
Sunni let out a long breath. “It’s all right.”
At the bottom of the naiads’ lake, a commotion began. There had always been a patch on the lake bed that glowed white under the silt, but it had never erupted before. Now suddenly a tangle of arms and legs thrashed up through it, propelling clouds of bubbles and sending the naiads darting away. A young man emerged, kicking at something below him, forcing it back down. Struggling to hold his breath, the young man finally let go. Satisfied that the mud had settled and his pursuer had gone, he pushed himself up to the surface, bursting from the water with a low cry of relief. He swam toward the lights of the palace and staggered out of the water, shaking pink droplets from his black hair.
The naiads recognized him and shrank back into the water to let him pass. He hardly noticed them — his eyes were trained on the palace ahead. He stole along the palace wall and heard voices through one of the high windows; voices that were unknown to him.
The young man made his way into the woods and whistled. A collective breath greeted him from the trees, like the wind rising through the leaves.
“Newcomers,” it whispered. “Newcomers are here.”
The dust of melancholy had settled over Hugo Fox-Farratt, sitting alone in his chair. He looked up as Inko scurried into the room with a tray.
“Bit of a shock, Inko,” he said. “Outside it is the twenty-first century already.” He picked up his goblet. “I ask myself whether my enterprise was worthwhile. I have evaded my enemies, the debt collectors, but I have also evaded my friends. I shall never see them again.” His head dropped to his chest.
Inko stood nearby, his face furrowed with concern. Hugo half smiled when he looked up and saw the servant’s serious expression.
“Still, it is good to have company, eh, Inko? I would have preferred visitors from my own time and closer to my own age, but it will be most interesting hearing about the
When Sunni told him, Hugo murmured, “It means the debt collectors who hunted me are long dead by now.” He was still for a moment. “As well as everyone else I knew.”
Dean began yawning, and Hugo stood up.
“I am a poor host,” he said. “You surely wish to rest, and I am boring you with my own troubles. There is a bedchamber for you.” He picked up a brass bell from the table and shook it once.
Inko appeared and beckoned to Sunni and Dean.
“I hope you will be comfortable for the night,” Hugo said, clasping his hands together. “Most delightful to have your company, my young friends! It has been so long since . . .” He stopped, his eyes misting over. “Since I had anyone amiable with whom to converse.”
Dean’s whisper cut through the darkness of the bedchamber they shared. “What do you make of Foxy Farratt?”
“He’s OK, I think,” Sunni mumbled, half asleep on a bed of the softest feathers. “He knows a lot.”
“Yeah, though he’s nice one minute and strange the next. Maybe he’s been cooped up here too long.”
“Oh, only by a hundred years or so!” Sunni said. “Just try to be a bit less mouthy, huh?”
Dean’s hoarse whisper rose. “I was just trying to show him I’m not a stupid little kid!”
“You don’t have to prove yourself. He seems to want to help us,” said Sunni. “Let’s not make him change his mind.”
Dean was silent at this and then asked, “What do you think of Inko?”
“Dunno. Didn’t speak while we were there. Did he say anything to you?”
“No,” answered Dean. “I don’t think he talks.”
Sunni didn’t respond.
“Sun?”
“What now?” she groaned.
Dean whispered earnestly, “Sorry I got us stuck in here.”
Sunni let out a long breath. “It’s all right.”
At the bottom of the naiads’ lake, a commotion began. There had always been a patch on the lake bed that glowed white under the silt, but it had never erupted before. Now suddenly a tangle of arms and legs thrashed up through it, propelling clouds of bubbles and sending the naiads darting away. A young man emerged, kicking at something below him, forcing it back down. Struggling to hold his breath, the young man finally let go. Satisfied that the mud had settled and his pursuer had gone, he pushed himself up to the surface, bursting from the water with a low cry of relief. He swam toward the lights of the palace and staggered out of the water, shaking pink droplets from his black hair.
The naiads recognized him and shrank back into the water to let him pass. He hardly noticed them — his eyes were trained on the palace ahead. He stole along the palace wall and heard voices through one of the high windows; voices that were unknown to him.
The young man made his way into the woods and whistled. A collective breath greeted him from the trees, like the wind rising through the leaves.
“Newcomers,” it whispered. “Newcomers are here.”
The dust of melancholy had settled over Hugo Fox-Farratt, sitting alone in his chair. He looked up as Inko scurried into the room with a tray.
“Bit of a shock, Inko,” he said. “Outside it is the twenty-first century already.” He picked up his goblet. “I ask myself whether my enterprise was worthwhile. I have evaded my enemies, the debt collectors, but I have also evaded my friends. I shall never see them again.” His head dropped to his chest.
Inko stood nearby, his face furrowed with concern. Hugo half smiled when he looked up and saw the servant’s serious expression.
“Still, it is good to have company, eh, Inko? I would have preferred visitors from my own time and closer to my own age, but it will be most interesting hearing about the
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