that had knocked the monster away, and how, with one final effort, she had reached out and laid her hand upon the book.
Kate lurched to her feet.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“My book! I had a book! A green book!”
The floor was covered with piles of dusty rags, dented cans, yellowed scraps of newspaper, rotted-out burlap sacks; Kate tore through it all, tossing things left and right so that the two boys were forced back against the door.
“What’ve you done with it? Where is it?”
“We didn’t take no book!” said the boy with the stick.
“Yeah, what’d we want a book for?” said the other, as if having or wanting a book was the silliest idea in the world.
An awful thought occurred to Kate.
“How … long have I been here?”
“Dunno.”
“When did you find me? It’s important!”
“Couple hours ago. You were just lying here. I went to get Jake.” He nodded at the boy with the stick. “Figured if you were dead, we could get the wheelbarrow, take you down to the doctor college. We coulda used five dollars.”
Kate couldn’t breathe. She pushed past the two boys and through the wooden door. Pale sunlight blinded her, and she threw up an arm. She looked about, blinking. She was on a rooftop; a maze of low buildings stretched out in all directions. The room she’d woken in was a kind of shed. The air was bitingly cold. She could see her breath before her. Ice and old snow crunched beneath her feet. Dressed for summer, Kate could only hug her arms tight to her body.
She stepped to the edge of the roof and looked down. The building was just six stories high, and she could make out huge snowdrifts funneling people along sidewalks. In the street, horses were pulling carts, undisturbed by the presence of cars and buses. Kate listened for engines, horns, the squeal of tires; but the only sounds were of people and carts and horseshoes. She scanned the horizon. There was not a tall building in sight.
Her heart began to beat faster, and a memory came to her. Michael had been trapped in the past, held prisoner by the Countess, and she and Emma had gone back to rescue him. They’d been in the past scarcely half an hour when the
Atlas
had faded and vanished before their eyes. Kate remembered the witch explaining how the Atlas belonging to that time had exerted its dominance, that two copies of the book could coexist for a brief period, but eventually, one would vanish.
The boy said that he’d found her two hours ago. The book was long gone.
A hand grabbed her arm and she whirled about, thinking the Screecher had somehow followed her. It was one of the boys.
“You gotta be careful. You’re gonna fall.”
Kate stepped back from the edge. “What’s the date?”
“December something.”
“I mean, what year is it?”
“You kidding?”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s 1899,” the other said. “How don’t you know that?”
Kate said nothing. She just looked out at the white rooftops of the city. She was cold, and alone, and she was trapped in the year 1899. How was she ever going to get home?
The boys—their names were Jake and Beetles (no explanation)—said that seeing as things hadn’t turned out as they’d hoped and she appeared to be more or less alive, she had to come and see Rafe. Kate told them that she didn’t know who Rafe was and she had no intention of going to see him. The only thing that mattered—she thought this, but didn’t say it—was finding a way back to her brother and sister.
“Where’re the stairs?”
“You can’t just go off,” Beetles said. “Anyway, you’ll freeze.”
The boy had a point. While he and his partner each had on two jackets, multiple shirts, and heavy-looking wool trousers (every article patched and raggedy, but no less warm for that), Kate wore just an old pair of sandals and a sleeveless summer dress. She was already shaking. She was also, she noticed, covered in dried mud.
“Fine. Where”—her teeth had begun to
Kate lurched to her feet.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“My book! I had a book! A green book!”
The floor was covered with piles of dusty rags, dented cans, yellowed scraps of newspaper, rotted-out burlap sacks; Kate tore through it all, tossing things left and right so that the two boys were forced back against the door.
“What’ve you done with it? Where is it?”
“We didn’t take no book!” said the boy with the stick.
“Yeah, what’d we want a book for?” said the other, as if having or wanting a book was the silliest idea in the world.
An awful thought occurred to Kate.
“How … long have I been here?”
“Dunno.”
“When did you find me? It’s important!”
“Couple hours ago. You were just lying here. I went to get Jake.” He nodded at the boy with the stick. “Figured if you were dead, we could get the wheelbarrow, take you down to the doctor college. We coulda used five dollars.”
Kate couldn’t breathe. She pushed past the two boys and through the wooden door. Pale sunlight blinded her, and she threw up an arm. She looked about, blinking. She was on a rooftop; a maze of low buildings stretched out in all directions. The room she’d woken in was a kind of shed. The air was bitingly cold. She could see her breath before her. Ice and old snow crunched beneath her feet. Dressed for summer, Kate could only hug her arms tight to her body.
She stepped to the edge of the roof and looked down. The building was just six stories high, and she could make out huge snowdrifts funneling people along sidewalks. In the street, horses were pulling carts, undisturbed by the presence of cars and buses. Kate listened for engines, horns, the squeal of tires; but the only sounds were of people and carts and horseshoes. She scanned the horizon. There was not a tall building in sight.
Her heart began to beat faster, and a memory came to her. Michael had been trapped in the past, held prisoner by the Countess, and she and Emma had gone back to rescue him. They’d been in the past scarcely half an hour when the
Atlas
had faded and vanished before their eyes. Kate remembered the witch explaining how the Atlas belonging to that time had exerted its dominance, that two copies of the book could coexist for a brief period, but eventually, one would vanish.
The boy said that he’d found her two hours ago. The book was long gone.
A hand grabbed her arm and she whirled about, thinking the Screecher had somehow followed her. It was one of the boys.
“You gotta be careful. You’re gonna fall.”
Kate stepped back from the edge. “What’s the date?”
“December something.”
“I mean, what year is it?”
“You kidding?”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s 1899,” the other said. “How don’t you know that?”
Kate said nothing. She just looked out at the white rooftops of the city. She was cold, and alone, and she was trapped in the year 1899. How was she ever going to get home?
The boys—their names were Jake and Beetles (no explanation)—said that seeing as things hadn’t turned out as they’d hoped and she appeared to be more or less alive, she had to come and see Rafe. Kate told them that she didn’t know who Rafe was and she had no intention of going to see him. The only thing that mattered—she thought this, but didn’t say it—was finding a way back to her brother and sister.
“Where’re the stairs?”
“You can’t just go off,” Beetles said. “Anyway, you’ll freeze.”
The boy had a point. While he and his partner each had on two jackets, multiple shirts, and heavy-looking wool trousers (every article patched and raggedy, but no less warm for that), Kate wore just an old pair of sandals and a sleeveless summer dress. She was already shaking. She was also, she noticed, covered in dried mud.
“Fine. Where”—her teeth had begun to
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