Read Online The Boundless by Kenneth Oppel - Free Book Online Page A

body.
    â€œTighter, young sir, tighter!” cries Mr. Dorian.
    â€œI don’t want to hurt her,” Will says.
    Laughter rises from the audience.
    â€œYou won’t hurt me,” she says, just to him. “Go ahead.”
    â€œIt’s you, isn’t it?” he whispers.
    She gives a quick, almost imperceptible nod.
    He knots the rope many times. “You have my sasquatch tooth,” he murmurs.
    â€œI know.”
    Will winds the chains around her and fastens them with heavy padlocks, then tests the locks to make sure they are secure.
    â€œThank you, young sir. Now if you will step to one side . . .”
    Her eyes meet his once more before she turns her attention to the front.
    With a flourish Mr. Dorian throws an enormous silk scarf over her, and she’s transformed into a giant cocoon, wriggling about to the sound of clanking chains as she tries to free herself. Will can hear the steady sound of her breathing.
    â€œSurely that’s long enough!” exclaims Mr. Dorian after only fifteen seconds, and he impatiently grabs hold of the silk scarf and yanks it off.
    The audience gasps, for the girl is no longer there. All that’s left is the rope and chains in a pile on the floor.
    â€œLadies and Gentlemen!” cries Mr. Dorian with a tip of his hat. “The disappearing act!”
    *   *   *
    The applause is still going strong when Mr. Beecham, the conductor, takes Will’s arm and says, “You can go back to your seat now, lad.” Will watches as Mr. Dorian strides behind the screen and is gone.
    â€œI want to talk to them.”
    â€œWilliam!” his father calls. He turns to see his father looking at him expectantly.
    â€œWhere are they staying?” Will asks Mr. Beecham. In his haste he’s forgotten to be nervous.
    â€œThey have rooms in second class for the night. Tomorrow they’ll return to their own cars during our stop.”
    â€œWill!” his father calls again.
    More than anything Will wants to run after Maren and talk to her, but he reluctantly hurries back to his father.
    â€œThe key,” he says to Will.
    Will fishes it out of his pocket and presses it into his father’s hand. “I wanted to ask the magician something,” he says.
    His father looks a bit surprised but then nods. “I’ll see you back in the stateroom.”
    Will’s on the move at once, squeezing his way between people and chairs. When he reaches the Terrace car, the crowd
thins, but then thickens again near the dining car. She can’t be too much farther ahead. Past the kitchens a child is sprawled on the floor, having a temper tantrum as his weary mother cajoles him to stand. Will jumps over him. He spots a steward.
    â€œThe circus man and his assistant?” he asks. “Did you see them?”
    â€œJust a few moments ago.”
    Will jogs through the hurtling train. He reaches the end of another carriage and opens the door to a gust of startlingly chilly night air. A brakeman in coveralls stands at the corner of the small platform, the tip of his cigarette flaring orange. He nods curtly at Will.
    Through the next door—and he’s suddenly in a garden, as warm as a hothouse. Tall plants rise all around him. Birds shriek from the high glass ceiling. It smells like summer. Fairy lanterns light a paved path. He rushes past a burbling fountain.
    Will barrels on through the pungent fug of a cigar lounge. In the next car he slows down to cross the slippery deck of the swimming pool. The water flashes with color, and, startled, he looks down to see all manner of exotic fish darting about. Peering harder, he realizes they’re contained in a shallow aquarium along the pool’s bottom.
    He keeps going, past a small cinema and the smell of roasted almonds and popcorn. How can Maren and Mr. Dorian have gotten so far ahead? The train is endless, juddering, shuddering, steaming along its steel road. He