CreateSpace Word Templates fileI wondered which face Gigi was making right now—scrunching up her...

Penny and the Seer’s

Ballad

by Katie Foth

Penny and the Seer’s Ballad

2

1: Santo Prospero

The day my sister disappeared began as any other. Dad

knocked on our bedroom door and poked his head inside. “You two

awake in here? Gigi? Penny?”

I felt the bunk beds vibrate as my sister climbed down from

the top. Gigi always did what she was supposed to do, whether she

felt like it or not.

I heard Dad‟s footsteps on the tile floor and pulled the covers

over my head. Ugh! Why did he always have to fling open the

curtains and snap up the shade?

“Morning, sunshine!”

“Morning, Dad,” Gigi mumbled. Her voice sounded flat.

“Hey, what‟s up? You look way too tired for someone who

fell asleep over her homework at seven-thirty last night.

“I woke up in the middle of the night.”

“More nightmares?”

I wondered which face Gigi was making right now—scrunching up

her nose or maybe twitching her eyes? Gigi can make the most

disagreeable faces when she is ornery. Or tired. Or worried. And she

worries a lot, especially about our mother, who left eleven years ago,

when I was a baby. I don‟t remember her, but Gigi does.

“They‟re just dreams, you know. They‟re not true.”

“It‟s still hard to fall back to sleep afterward, Dad.”

Pause. Maybe now she was giving the blank stare, which

meant she was tired of trying to explain how feelings and worries are

hard to ignore. Dad always told her, “Live your life going forward,

Gigi. Don‟t live in the past. You can‟t change anything.”

Me? I didn‟t have much of a past to forget. As far as I could

remember, we had always lived in this apartment together with Mrs.

Dobbs to keep house for us.

Dad sighed and Gigi‟s footsteps padded down the hall to the

bathroom.

“You too, my little tulip. Your sister is already up and

dressing for school.” He kissed my cheek.


3

Ugh! Doesn’t he EVER remember? I’ve told him a million

times I don’t want to be coddled like a little kid. I scrunched down

further under the covers. “I am not a little tulip!” The words came

out muffled.

“Oh, I see. It‟s a game of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

What‟s the magic word? Petunia? Sweet Pea? I‟ve got it!” He tapped

my shoulder. “Wake up, little peony!”

I groaned. Dad can be incorrigible at times.

“Ha-ha! Got you! Get dressed for school now, Penny.”

I sat up and yawned. I didn‟t feel duty-bound like Gigi. I let

myself take time to get going in the morning.

I crawled on top of the desk and sat cross-legged, looking out

the window. Two birds swooped past but did not stop. I frowned. A

little bird often hopped along my windowsill. Where are you today,

little bird? I saved a package of crackers for you.

I slid up the sash and poked my head out the window. Our

modern apartment building looked down on the old parts of Santo

Prospero. I almost always found something interesting to watch

outside.

I spotted the neighbors on the flat rooftop below me. A

mother scurried about cooking breakfast on a tiny charcoal grill. She

stopped to wash her toddler‟s face. The child threw back her head

and wailed. Nearby a boy swept with his broom of twigs. He stopped

and turned his face upward. A flock of birds flew overhead. Were

they the same kind as my bird friend? I couldn‟t tell.

The mother‟s head was bobbing. She was probably fussing at

her son to hurry up and finish. The father walked out onto the

rooftop. He stood, waiting for his breakfast. Together they made a

family—mother, father, sister, brother.

What would it be like to be part of a normal family?

Mrs. Dobbs entered. She marched to the window and slid it

down with a snap. “Stop spying on people! Leave them alone. They

are far less fortunate than you, and it‟s rude to be so nosy.” She

spoke with an accent, and her words always sounded harsh.


4

I said nothing in return. Mrs. Dobbs dished it right back if I

tried to argue with her, and then her lectures lasted longer. I stared at

the faces she made while she scolded. Her lips bunched together in

disapproval. Wavy lines appeared on her forehead. What makes her

so worried about everything? She might actually be beautiful,

despite her pokey nose and long skinny legs, if she would just let

others be and smile.

“Hurry and get dressed now. Your breakfast is growing

cold.”

“Yes, ma‟am,” I murmured.

She closed the door, and I carefully slid open the window

without making a sound. The father had left, and the mother was

taking the baby inside. I flung a package of crackers onto the rooftop

courtyard. The wind was blowing gustily. It wafted the package

directly to a spot beside the boy, who sat eating his breakfast.

I smiled. Most mornings I missed my target. Not today.

The boy picked up the package. He looked up and smiled—at

least I imagined a smile from my high-up perch.

Gigi‟s head was bent over her journal.

“What are you writing about that‟s so secret?”

“Can‟t you see I‟m busy? You know it‟s not polite to snoop.”

“I was just asking.”

Gigi glared at me. Her eyes twitched in that annoying way.

“You don‟t have to be so . . .” I glanced at Dad and Mrs.

Dobbs. Good! They didn’t notice. I lowered my voice to a whisper.

“You have dark circles under your eyes, Gigi. You had another one

of those dreams, didn‟t you? Was Mother calling for help again?”

Gigi scowled and shushed me.

“Don‟t dally, Penny. Eat!” Mrs. Dobbs sounded stern.

I sniffed my oatmeal and studied the garnishes. Two raisins

for eyes. Two more torn apart to fix the shape of the eyes. Chopped

walnuts for eyebrows. Brown sugar for hair. Dried cherries for lips. I

glanced at Gigi and sneaked a smile.

Dad set down his paper. “What is it this morning, Penny?”

He looked into my bowl and then laughed.


5

Gigi looked and made a face. Her eyebrows pinched together

at the bridge of her nose. Her lips puckered in a scowl. A spark of

fury spit from the eyes. The expression on her face looked just like

the face in my bowl of oatmeal.

“I don‟t know how you manage to do that, Penny,” Dad said.

“Yesterday it was Mr. Tan‟s scowl. Before that it was . . .” He

glanced over at Mrs. Dobbs.

She glared at both of us.

“Ahem—yes.” Dad moved around the table and stood

between Gigi and me. “You should try making happy faces

sometimes.” He bent down and gave both of us kisses on the tops of

our heads. Then he picked up his briefcase and left.

Huh! Was he talking to Gigi or to me?

I stirred my oatmeal and took a bite. I had only eaten only

half of it when the kitchen timer rang.

“Time to go,” Mrs. Dobbs announced.

Gigi stuffed the journal into her bag while I ran back to the

bedroom to fetch my backpack. When I returned, Mrs. Dobbs was

holding the door open for us.

“Be careful!” she ordered. She said that every morning. She

glared at me. “Don‟t stray from the route, and don‟t talk to strangers.

Stay with your sister!”

Then she had one of her fits. She was strange that way. She

stared off into space. Her mouth fell open. She seemed blank for a

matter of seconds. Next she usually gasped and acted as if nothing

had happened. This time, however, she backed away and sat down

hard on a kitchen chair. Her hands covered her gaping mouth. Her

face looked pale. Her hands shook.

Gigi and I looked at each other. We shrugged and turned to

leave, but Mrs. Dobbs recovered and stopped us. “Here, you must

take these.” She slipped the beaded bracelets from her slender wrists

and shoved them toward us.

My eyes grew wide, but Gigi nodded. A look passed between

her and Mrs. Dobbs. Gigi knows something. I opened my backpack

and dropped the bracelet she gave me inside.

“No!” she ordered. “You both must wear them. Don‟t take

them off! Ever!”


6

We‟re not supposed to wear jewelry to school. There are

rules. We wear uniforms. But I put the bracelet on as I was told.

We walked to school side-by-side. People crowded the

narrow streets. As usual, Gigi marched ahead while I dragged

behind. I liked to soak in the sights. Gigi just wanted to get to

school. She grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “Come on,

Penny. You heard what Mrs. Dobbs said. We can‟t be late for

school.”

We passed the street vendors‟ pushcarts. I licked my lips at

the cups of fruit and the sweet potato pancakes. Mrs. Dobbs never

made breakfasts as inviting as those. We passed rows of tiny shops.

My eyes lingered on the clothing, jewelry and knickknacks.

Gigi walked even more briskly as we cut through Green

Park. My eyes followed the groups of workers moving gracefully

through their calisthenics. I peeked into a huddle of old men playing

checkers, but Gigi jerked me back. That old geezer in the bandstand

was playing his haunting violin again.

We had almost reached school when a rain shower broke

loose. I slipped off my backpack and stooped down to pull out my

rain cape. Gigi pulled hers out too. As she did, her journal slipped

out and fell on the ground. I glanced up to see if she had noticed.

Gigi stood like a statue. She was staring at four large, brown

dogs. Maybe this time, she won’t try to pet them. I squatted down

and picked up her journal. Brown boots stepped in around me. I

tucked Gigi‟s journal beneath the folds of my rain cape and glanced

up.


7

2: The Vanishing

The dogs had surrounded my sister. Men with beards and

brown capes closed in around the dogs. Their faces looked mean.

Terror raced up my spine and stabbed my chest. I wanted to scream,

but my muscles seemed frozen. Gigi was still staring at the dogs. She

wore an odd look on her face. The men joined hands. Their capes

swished in front of me and closed off Gigi from my view. I was still

squatting. I waddled closer and ducked my head between their capes.

They had begun a chant. Their deep voices sounded almost

mechanical:

Stuckta dido, stuckta dah,

Tuckda guto, Tuckda vah,

Guto gottee, Guto tah,

Jicky, jicky, jicky dazah!

On the last line, the men raised their arms, and the capes

swished over my face. I pulled back. The dogs yelped. Gigi gasped.

With a puff of smoke, the men and dogs vanished—and Gigi with

them.

I looked around. My mouth fell open. Where did they go?

Why had they taken Gigi?

Rain poured down in torrents and cleared the smoke. People

moved past me, close enough that their umbrellas brushed against

each other. I stood up. A motionless figure beyond the crowd drew

my gaze: another bearded man. He wore a brown cape like the

others, but his beard was red. He raised a brow, and his dark eyes

took on a hard glint. He pointed directly at me and barked a

command I couldn‟t understand.

People passed between us, blocking my view. I heard him

shout. The crowd thinned, and I saw his face. His eyes moved

beyond me. A sneer started to form on his face. Was someone

coming up behind me? Fear rippled through me. I turned and ran.

I ran hard, following the same winding path that Gigi and I

had taken from the apartment. I raced through Green Park toward the

little alleys full of shops. Men shouted behind me. A brown cape

appeared in front of me. I plunged into a side alley and zigzagged

through the maze of shops. I spotted a brown cape ahead.


8

Oh, no! I ducked under the wooden table of one of the shops.

I crawled beneath it and crammed myself into a dark corner. I tried

to catch my breath without making a sound. My heart was racing.

Rain dripped from my plastic rain cape. I shivered.

Voices whirled near me, but their meaning escaped me. A

ruckus arose in the street. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out the

noise. I needed to think.

I must find help, but where should I go? I’ll have to explain

what happened. Will Dad believe me?

I shivered again and shifted my position. Gigi‟s journal

slipped from my grasp and fell splat on the floor. The nearby voices

stopped.

I froze. I held my breath. Someone hissed. Footsteps scuffled

past me, toward the front of the shop. I heard the rattle of a heavy

bamboo shade being dropped and latched to the sides of the shop.

Something crashed against the bamboo, making an awful clatter. The

whole shop seemed to vibrate. Then someone shrieked. A woman

scolded someone outside.

I cowered at the angry exchange that followed. Would they

find me? Did the shopkeeper know I was here? The gravelly voice of

an old man called from somewhere above, but I couldn‟t understand

the words.

“Coming,” someone answered. The voice turned in my

direction. “Those ruffians in the street—stay until it‟s safe. You can

sit in this chair. I must go upstairs and check on my father.”

So she was the shop owner. I tensed as her stout legs passed

me. I held my breath as a pair of skinny legs shuffled past me too. I

heard a plop and a sigh as someone sat down.

I didn‟t expect the meow.


9

3: Madame Howe and Her Cat

A lean gray cat peered at me from under the far end of the

table. Its green eyes glittered from the shadows. The cat sat and

meowed again, twitching its large ears. It turned its head toward the

bamboo shade, peeking between the slats.

Help!

The cat turned swiftly and looked at me as if it had heard my

thoughts.

Was that an eyebrow it raised? Do cats have eyebrows?

The cat flicked its tail in the air and walked toward me. It

brushed up against my elbow and rubbed its fur against my legs.

Then it purred.

The pair of skinny legs moved toward me. “Goodness

gracious, Qiao Miao! You‟re certainly happy about something.

Whatever did you find?”

The cat meowed, a meow that sounded almost like “You

mean who.”

A hand flipped up the tablecloth, and a wrinkled face peered

at me. “Come out from under there, girl.”

I shivered and looked at the cat. It nodded and nudged at my

elbow. I crept from beneath the table. The woman stood no taller

than I, but her head hung downward and her back formed a hump.

She strained to lift her head and look me over.

“I guess you‟re the small package of peony that I‟m supposed

to rescue from the spice shop.”

I stared at her. “Someone told you I‟d be here?”

“The Begetter, of course—he‟s the one who sent me. I must

say! I do quite enjoy his sense of humor. Your name wouldn‟t

happen to be „Peony,‟ would it?”

“It‟s Penny—but my father called „little peony‟ this morning

when he woke me up.”

The old woman cleared her throat. “Now the Begetter

specifically said, „Rescue.‟ I‟m sure he did. I was busy building

banana castles for breakfast, and he distinctly told me to stop this

minute and rescue a small package of peony at the spice shop.”


10

I blinked. “It‟s my sister who needs to be rescued. Some men

in brown capes took her. Look, I need to call my dad and tell him

what happened. Do you have a communicator? I have his business

card in my backpack.”

“Not with me. Oh, dear! I left it at the hotel. Come with me.”

The cat meowed again, a long wavering meow.

The woman paused and swept her eyes over me. “You‟re

right, Qiao Miao. She won‟t do the way she is. If the men are still

about, they might recognize her—out of school and all. Pull your

rain cape over your backpack, Penny, and pull up your knee socks so

that your skin does not show beneath the rain cape.”

“Who‟s the Begetter? How did he know I was here?”

“Later. I am taking you to the Grand Hotel. Have you ever

been there?”

“Not inside.”

“Qiao Miao will lead you on the leash. You must walk as if

you know where you are going, all the way through the lobby, then

left up the grand stairwell to the very top—eight floors, sixteen

flights. No elevator for you—less traffic on the stairs.”

“Where will you be?”

“Behind you at first, but I‟ll sneak a ride on the service

elevator. We should not be seen together. Pull the hood of your rain

cape over your face as far as it will go. There, that‟s right! Keep your

head down. If anyone questions you, pretend not to hear. Do not

speak a word. Do not look around. Just watch Qiao Miao and keep

going. Got it?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. The old woman attached a

leash to Qiao Miao‟s collar and handed me the loop.

“Go ahead.” She popped the latch on the back door of the

shop and held it open. The cat lifted its head high and led me

through the narrow alley to a main road. We followed the sidewalk

and turned into Green Park. We strolled along the winding pathways

beneath the willows, crossed a bridge, and arrived at a large plaza.

Across the street stood the Grand Hotel. I followed the cat across the

street and past the doormen loading suitcases onto a cart. We crossed

the glossy marble floor of the lobby and turned left at the staircase.

One flight, then two and three.


11

I heard the scuff of shoes on the third-floor landing as we

rounded the banister.

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice said. The sound came from the

open doors at the landing. “Do you know the woman on the

stairwell? Who is she?”

The man’s voice sounded like my father’s! I jerked my head

round to look. Then the old woman‟s warning rang in my ears. I

pulled my head downward and glued my eyes to the cat.

“One of our guests. Can‟t disclose names, of course.”

“Madame Howe, by chance?” The voice called to me.

“Maddie? Is that you?”

I fought the urge to look. His voice sounded so much like

Dad‟s. I wanted to throw my hood back and rush down the steps to

him. But the cat jerked on the leash and pulled me around the

banister and up the next flight of stairs.

“My deepest apologies, sir,” someone answered. “She is a

little deaf, I fear. She is rather spry for her age, but flighty—“

“I can see that,” the man said, laughing. “How many flights

of stairs does she climb? But never mind. I have an appointment in

Suite three three one, and I don‟t wish to be late.”

That laugh. The man has to be Dad! I hesitated on the step.

The cat turned and hissed at me. It yanked me forward.

“Suite three three one? The man with the red beard? Proceed

with caution. He can be gruff.”

I’ve only seen one red-bearded man in Santo Prospero. And I

saw him this morning. I shuddered.

The cat sprinted up the next flight. I raced to keep up. Fear

tingled down my spine.

“I don‟t know what he looks like….” I heard Dad say, but the

ring of a cell phone cut off his words. The voices drifted off.

We finally reached the top. A pair of carved wooden doors

swished open. “Well done, my dears!” The old woman gazed fondly

at the cat and patted my shoulder. “Now you‟re safe!”

“I‟m not so sure,” I said, leaning against the closed doors and

breathing hard. “The man with the red beard is staying at the hotel.

What do we do now?”


12

4: Secrets

The hunch-backed old woman sat down hard on a bench

beside the door. “Oh, dear! Not good. A red beard, you say?”

“Yes, and my dad saw me on the stairs, only he thought I was

you. Are you Madame Howe? You never told me your name. He

called you Maddie.”

“Oh, my! Oh, no!” She fanned herself with her hand. “My

sister was the only one who ever called me Maddie. No one has

called me that for years.”

“How would he know you?”

Madame Howe closed her eyes. A pained look passed across

her face. “He must have known my sister. She‟s been dead for

eleven years.”

I blinked. “That‟s how old I am.”

Surprise brightened her eyes. She strained to look up at me.

“What is your father‟s name?”

“Henry. Henry Lee.”

“Oh, dear! We must prepare to leave right away then.

Where‟s my communicator? Here—I left it on the counter. I‟ll send

a message to my pilot first. Then you can message your father and

ask him to come to Suite eight hundred.” The old woman sent her

message and then handed me the device.

I punched in Dad‟s number as she hurried off through the

living room. No answer! I left a text message instead.

Madame Howe returned with a rolling suitcase. She flipped it

open and started putting things inside. I stared at the suitcase while I

waited for a response.

A large cloth-bound book sat in a special cushion: Legends of

Ellandria. Four ball-shaped candles sat next to it. The old woman

added a peacock feather and an inkwell with a stopper. She zipped

the suitcase shut.

“What‟s all that stuff?”


13

“My treasures,” she said. “There! Mostly ready.” She

checked the communicator for messages and then looked up at me.

“I met your father only once, but I heard about him often from my

sister and her husband Chip. Mimi claimed he was the best business

manager they ever had. Bright. Honest to a fault. I know that to be

true. I worked through their estate matters myself, after their deaths.

Everything was in grand order despite your father‟s sudden

absence.”

I looked puzzled. “What happened to make Dad leave?”

“The man with the red beard.” A dull look glazed over the

old woman‟s eyes, and she crumpled onto the sofa. “It‟s all my fault

. . . my sister‟s death . . . Gloria‟s flight . . .your predicament!” Tears

streamed from her eyes. She covered her face with her hands for a

moment.

I didn‟t know what to think. I said nothing. After a few

moments, she wiped her tears away, swallowed hard, and sat up

straight.

“Leave me alone while we wait for your father—please!”

I backed away, still staring at Madame Howe. Gloria. That

was my mother’s name! This old woman was the reason my mother

had left? Madame Howe was the one who had messed up my life?

I sat on the living room sofa and watched her from a

distance. She cried like a little kid. I‟d never seen an adult cry. It

made me feel bad.

Whatever she did, she’s sorry for it. She didn’t mean to do it.

But what could she have done to cause so much trouble?

Dad would never tell me much about my mother. Gigi knew

more. That was why she had nightmares—but she wouldn‟t tell

much of anything about our family‟s past, except for the slip last

week after Mr. Tan‟s dog had bitten her arm.

The scene flashed in my mind. Gigi had tried to pet Mr.

Tan’s new guard dog—a dog the same breed and color as the dogs

that had surrounded her this morning. Wait! Maybe that’s a clue!


14

I pulled my sketchbook out of my backpack. Slowly I flipped

through the pages. Mrs. Dobbs scowled at me on the first page. A

picture of Dad reading his morning paper followed. On the third

page, I had drawn the neighbor boy with his broom, his face turned

up to watch the birds. On the fourth page, I had drawn Mr. Tan‟s dog

sitting in the doorway of his guard station.

Something has been going on that I don’t understand. Think!

What happened the day Mr. Tan’s dog bit her? Gigi said

something—but what?

Gigi and I had been walking home from school. We were

passing along the front of our apartment towers, where the buildings

rise straight up from the sidewalk, when Gigi stopped. The noise of

the street surrounded us—the swish of bicycles passing, the honking

of automobiles, the sound of vendors hawking their wares, the

chatter of passersby, and the rumble of delivery trucks.

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

A new sound had found its way into the mix—a deep,

guttural growl. Gigi let her backpack fall to the ground and ran

toward the sound. I scooped up the backpack and followed her down

the long alley between the two towers to Mr. Tan‟s station, where he

stood guarding access to our apartment towers.

Usually he stood in the doorway watching everyone who

passed by. He didn‟t let strangers pass without good reason. That

day, a huge brown dog stood beside him. Gigi was sprawled on the

cement, crying as I‟d never seen her cry before. She held a bloodied

arm in front of her face. The dog strained at his leash, growling,

teeth bared. Mr. Tan was yanking the dog‟s leash and cursing.

Between sobs, Gigi blurted out, “He didn‟t mean… to, to bite

me. I just surprised him. And he is not a brute!”

“Of course he meant to bite you. He was trained to be a

brute. Only an idiot would try to hug my new guard dog. Don‟t you

have enough sense to be afraid of the beast?” Mr. Tan swore again

and yanked the leash. The dog yelped and growled.

“Stop! Please stop. You‟re hurting him.”

I had never seen my sister in such a state. I helped her to her

feet and glared at the man and his beast. I stood tall and firm, as my

father would have. “You—both of you know better! And next time

we pass here, I will expect you to do what is right!”


15

How many times had Dad told Gigi and me the same thing? I

must have sounded just like him, with his commanding tone of voice.

Mr. Tan dropped his stare, and the dog‟s head dipped

slightly.

I ignored them both and led Gigi up the stairs to our

apartment.

Normally, Mrs. Dobbs greeted us at the door (if her manner

could ever be considered a greeting). But she was gone. I had to fish

the apartment key out of Gigi‟s backpack and undo the lock myself.

Gigi was sobbing. I tried to comfort her. I couldn‟t find any

medical supplies. So I doused the bite marks with vinegar from the

bottle under the sink and tied up her arm with a clean cotton dish

towel.

Gigi finally stopped crying. I asked her, “Did you actually try

to hug that dog?”

Tears began streaming down her face again. “He sounded

like Penter. I recognized his bark.”

“You recognized a bark? Who‟s Penter? We‟ve never had

any dogs.”

But Gigi wouldn‟t say a word more.

They’ve been trying to shield me, I realized, staring at my

sketches. They think I’m still a little kid, too young to understand.

There’s some dark family secret behind what’s happening now. The

dogs are involved—and this Penter, whoever he is.

I’ve got to remember everything about Gigi’s disappearance.

Every detail could be a clue, and I’m the only one who saw.

I pulled out a pack of colored pencils and sketched. Qiao

Miao jumped up on the coffee table to watch. The cat‟s head turned

left and right as Gigi‟s face took form, and then the dogs and the

four men. The angles were all out of kilter, but I didn‟t care. On a

separate page, I drew the man with the red beard. As I colored his

dark eyes with that hard glint, Qiao Miao hissed and sprang from the

table.

Savino. The cat had hissed the word. I was sure. What did it

mean?


16

5: Henry Lee

A knock sounded on the door. Madame Howe dragged the

bench to the door and climbed up to gaze through the peephole.

Then she unlocked the door and motioned Dad inside. “Henry!”

“Where‟s—” His eyes spotted me. He ran to me. His arms

wrapped around me and squeezed tight. “Penny, am I ever glad to

see you! I‟ve been sick with worry ever since the school called me to

report your absence. What happened? Where is Gigi?”

I showed him the picture of Gigi with the dogs. His face

grew pale as I explained. When I told him how she disappeared, he

stared off into space.

“Your mother left in a somewhat similar fashion, though not

against her will. Only there wasn‟t a chant. There was an old man

playing music, and then nothing.”

Madame Howe gasped. “The Transporter! Gloria knew he

had betrayed her. How could she dare trust him?”

“She said she didn‟t have a choice. She took precautions.”

“Can we follow Gigi?” I asked. “I think I can remember

some of the words the men used. Something like stuckta dido—”

Madame Howe turned pale. “Hush! You must not repeat the

words. They are only used by evil men to transport their captives to

the Beggar‟s Circle.”

I was about to ask if that‟s where Gigi was when someone

pounded at the door. I felt my heart jump into my mouth. I couldn‟t

speak.

“In case you were wondering, we‟re not answering,”

Madame Howe announced calmly. “I suspect the men in brown

capes have caught up with us. We must leave. Henry, would you be

so kind as to pick up that harp in the corner? Do you have your

backpack, Penny? Follow me!”

Leave? We’re on the eighth floor. Are we leaving by

parachute? Bungee cord?

But the moment we slipped through the French doors to the

rooftop courtyard, I heard the chopping sound. A helicopter

appeared and settled on the red X of the helipad across courtyard.


17

We ran toward it. The cat sprang ahead and leaped in as the

door opened. Madame Howe handed the pilot her bag while Dad

helped me inside. Madame Howe shouted to the pilot and pointed to

a bench on the courtyard. The pilot ran and scooped it up just as the

men in brown capes burst toward us through the French doors.

“Oh, no! They‟re going to get us!” My stomach churned as I

watched from the helicopter window.

But the pilot was lifting off now, and the men struggled

against the wind from the rotating blades. As the helicopter lifted,

one of the men reached us and grabbed the underbody. I felt a jolt

downward. There was a scream, and suddenly we jerked upward.

“Where to?” The pilot shouted, turning toward Madame

Howe.

She leaned toward him and spoke, but I couldn‟t hear what

she said.

The helicopter flew across the channel to the mainland. I

watched as Santo Prospero grew smaller and smaller, a gray-brown

speck in a sea of blue. We flew over Port City with its ships and

warehouses. We flew over woods and farmland, a lake, and tiny

towns. No one talked because the noise.

We landed at a small airport, where a biplane awaited.

Madame Howe sat up front with the pilot, holding Qiao Miao in her

lap. Dad and I sat in the rear. That flight lasted over two hours. We

landed at another small airport and taxied to a stop.

Madame Howe turned to us. “We‟ll stop to eat at the Hanger

Café while we wait for the rental car to be delivered. We have a lot

to talk about while we eat.”

No kidding!

The waiter blinked twice when Madame Howe ordered a

table near the window and Qiao Miao took one of the chairs. He

started to sputter, “We don‟t—”

Madame Howe cut him off. “Don‟t worry. The cat has

excellent manners, and I assure you the tip will be generous if you

overlook his presence.”

I watched the waiter‟s Adam‟s apple move up and down as

he swallowed hard. He nodded and took our order.


18

“I‟m going to start at the beginning for Penny‟s sake,”

Madame Howe announced, looking first at my father. “I spent much

of my youth in a faraway land watched over by the Begetter. Perhaps

you have heard of him?”

I shook my head. “Only from you. You said the Begetter sent

you.”

“So he did.”

Dad cleared his throat. “Gloria mentioned the Begetter

numerous times, but frankly, I resented her devotion to the guy.”

Madame Howe nodded. “Yes. Like me, she loves him with

all her heart, but Henry, he‟s not the type of guy you should worry

about. He isn‟t like other people. He has strange ways that are

nothing like our manner of doing things. He‟s good to the core,

though. I met him as a child and know him well. I‟ve moved from

place to place over the years, but we still keep in touch. He sends his

messages through the birds.”

“Like carrier pigeons?” I asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Like these birds?” I nodded toward the windows. Outside, a

flock of chestnut-cheeked starlings hopped around on the cement of

the landing field.

Madame Howe raised her eyebrows. “Hmm. Maybe. He has

his ways. You see, Penny, your mother was born in that faraway

land. When trouble came, she was not much older than you are now.

A cruel dictator attacked the palace and killed the king and your

mother‟s parents and many others in the palace.”

She sipped her water and continued. “When I discovered that

Gloria was still alive, Qiao Miao and I arranged for her escape. My

sister Mimi and her husband were living in Parley, not far from here,

so I took your mother to their place for safe-keeping. Gloria grew

into a fine young woman. It was at my sister Mimi‟s estate where

your father met her.”

“That place you were living, where the palace was—it‟s

called Ellandria, isn‟t it? I saw the title on your book. Is that where

all your treasures came from too?”

Dad leaned toward Madame Howe. His body tensed. “Is that

where the Beggar‟s Circle is? You think Gigi‟s been taken to

Ellandria?”


19

Madame Howe sighed. She waited while our food was served

and the waiter moved out of earshot. “Yes, Henry. That‟s what I‟m

afraid of. All these years, I‟ve blamed myself for the tragedy that

happened to your family. If I had stayed away from my sister and

from Gloria and never used the Transporter to visit them, the

Transporter would not have been able to betray our location. But he

did. My sister and her husband were killed. Your family had to flee.

Gloria had to protect her charges.”

She turned toward me. “I assume that‟s why she left you with

your father, Penny.”

“Charges? What do you mean?”

Madame Howe stared at me and then Dad. “You mean you

don‟t know?”

“Know what?” I asked.

“Your mother is the Keeper of Ellandria. She guards the

heirs.”

I stared at Dad. He looked away.

“Dad, I don‟t understand. How come you never told me

about Mom? About Ellandria and Savino—the man with the red

beard?”

Dad wiped the sweat off his forehead with a napkin. “Savino

has a red beard? That new client who called me early this morning—

That‟s . . .? I almost fell into his hands!” He sat head in hands. None

of us ate.

Finally he looked at me. “Penny, I don‟t know much. This

much I do know: Savino is a scoundrel, a villain, from the land

where your mother was born.”

“You mean Ellandria? You never told me anything.”

Dad sighed. “I don‟t know what to say. Your mother‟s stories

of Ellandria seemed like fairy tales—full of palaces and talking

animals and enchanted artifacts. I loved your mother dearly, but I

had a hard time believing all of her stories.”

Madame Howe smiled. “Ellandria is indeed a world of

charming delights, and truly at times there seems to be something

magical afoot. The world of H‟an seems so dull in comparison—

except for the marvelous machines humans invent.”

My eyes flitted between Dad and Madame Howe. Nothing

made sense. “The world of H‟an? What‟s that?”


20

“It is where we live now—in the land of Human, or H’an, as

the dogs call it.”

“Dogs? Dogs have a name for our world? I mean, I know

they bark and whine and yip and growl, but do they really talk?”

Madame Howe chuckled. “Oh, every creature talks in one

way or another. Most folk just don‟t understand them, and when I

say folk, I mean people as well as animals. Here in H‟an, most dogs

don‟t understand cats, and most cats don‟t understand birds. Most

birds don‟t understand humans, and consequently most everyone‟s

afraid of each other. If you listen closely, however, you might be

able to understand some of what an animal says—just like you

understood Qiao Miao when he hissed at your picture of Savino.”

“That‟s another thing I didn‟t believe,” Dad confessed.

“Gloria told me she could understand the dogs, that she could talk to

them. I thought she was crazy—in an endearing way, of course.”

Madame Howe patted his hand. “It will be all right, Henry.

You‟ve never been to Ellandria. How could you understand?”

She turned to me. “Your mother had a great gift, Penny, one

that she both inherited and developed with help from her mother,

Aurelia Parley Delrose. Gloria had a gift for languages. She could

understand and talk to dogs and other animals too—bear and lizard,

even the Lynx.”

Qiao Miao bristled and hissed.

“The Lynx? What is that?”

Madame Howe made a face as if she‟d eaten something

distasteful. “An ancient foe of your family—and of mine. There only

ever was one, a greedy creature bent on hoarding treasure.

Enchanted artifacts, as your father calls them.”

“Are your artifacts enchanted? Is this Lynx after your

treasures?”

Madame Howe‟s eyes flashed. “We were talking of your

mother. She learned all languages easily. She would have succeeded

her mother as the official translator for Ellandria, if the land had not

been overtaken.”

“She never mentioned that part to me,” Dad said. “She

seemed focused on her duties as Keeper.”


21

Madame Howe nodded. “Her father was the Keeper. At his

death, since she escaped with the royal heir to the throne, she felt the

duty fell to her.”

“Wait a minute—you said Keeper, like a dog keeper?”

Madame Howe laughed. “Things are quite the other way

around in Ellandria. The Keeper is the one whom the King of

Ellandria finds worth keeping. Your grandfather Stig Delrose was

the royal advisor and best friend of King Alever.”

A man who was the dog’s best friend? Isn’t that backwards?

I struggled to wrap my mind around the idea.

Madame Howe‟s voice grew soft and dreamy. “Your

grandfather Stig Delrose was more like the friend that the dogs of

Ellandria loved so much they wanted to adopt him into their family.”

“Wait! You mean the king of Ellandria is a dog?”

“Well, of course! And Stig guarded the King‟s friendship

with his life. In ways, you could say the heart of Ellandria beat

within him. He loved the place and its folk. Ellandria suffered a

double blow, losing both the King and Stig at the same time.”

“Gloria told me about Savino‟s attack on the palace,” Dad

said. “At first I thought she was exaggerating the danger. It wasn‟t

until Savino‟s men attacked your sister‟s home that I realized the

depth of Savino‟s hatred for Penter—and Gloria.”

He turned to me. “The memory of that attack has been hard

enough for Gigi. I didn‟t tell you because I didn‟t want you to grow

up full of fear.”

Madame Howe‟s voice wavered. “It‟s not just Penter now,

Henry. I fear Savino has discovered the remaining stanzas of the

Seer‟s Ballad.”

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