Osmo Unknown and the Eightpenny Woods by Catherynne M. Valente

Author:Catherynne M. Valente
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 2022-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen NEW PUPPY DAY

“Dark’s a funny name kind of name for a monkey,” Bonk said doubtfully.

The slab of deep space sitting in the shape of an orangutan shook its starry head.

“You misunderstand, gentlesir,” the creature said in a lilting showman’s rhythm. “I am not named Dark, I am the Dark, trademarked, all rights reserved, accept no substitutes, the pleasure is mine, much obliged, your most sincere and humble servant, etcetera, etcetera, no autographs, please.”

“The Dark,” Osmo repeated.

“The very one.”

“As in, the stuff that’s not light?”

“A clever and perceptive lad if I ever met one!”

Osmo fidgeted. “Then why are you a monkey?”

The Dark glanced at its shadowy fingernails, irritated. “An orangutan is not, strictly speaking, a monkey, you know. It is a great ape, thank you very much. But then, I am not, strictly speaking, a great ape. I am the Dark! Native to the world beyond light and life! Splendid and mysterious! Patron of spies and thieves and secrets! Terror of tiny children! Friend to owls and foxes and the undersides of beds everywhere! As to why I look the way I do, what can I say? I like apes. They’re so cute. But I can be anything you prefer. The Dark can expand or contract to fill any space from the corner of a kitchen drawer to the whole of a cathedral. What would you have? A cat?” The glittering sky dribbled apart like candle wax. It dribbled up again into the shape of a huge house cat. The cat meowed. It rubbed a paw over the North Star that formed the tip of its nose. “A pony?” The cat melted into nothing. The nothing flowed back into the shape of a pretty little draft horse with wide furry space-colored hooves. It pranced up and down the boards of the spangled stall. “A you?” The Dark shivered out of its horse shape and into the silhouette of Osmo himself. The exact height, weight, disastrous hair, and tense posture. Osmo reached out his hand toward the boy made of night, but that shape wriggled away just as fast.

“That’s enough showing off, Mister the Dark,” Bonk growled. “You’re giving me a headache.”

The boy vanished and the galactic orangutan returned faster than the space between breaths. “Yes, I agree, chef’s choice is always best. But I am not a mister. Nor a madam. Why, the Dark itself wears neither skirts nor trousers—what would be the point, I ask you? If you find yourself at a loss for a pronoun, you may simply use dark/darkness in place of he/him or she/her. Now! Let us start over again. STEP RIGHT UP AND TRY YOUR LUCK!”

“You said we could improve our kits?” Nevermore ventured.

A little star deep in the chest of the great ape went nova—then the night closed in around it again. “I daresay I’ve never seen any more pathetic than yours. You must have led dreadful lives. You won’t be building much with dry leaves and one rock.”

“Building?” Osmo asked. “Building what?”

The Dark patted his head with a cold, soft, smoky paw.

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