The Clockwork Three by Matthew J. Kirby

Author:Matthew J. Kirby [Kirby, Matthew J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-545-32307-9
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2010-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

A Memorial Stone

HANNAH LEANED AGAINST A TREE TO CATCH HER BREATH. A single ant crawled from the rough bark onto her hand, and she watched it explore her skin before blowing it off into the dirt. She was sweating in the midmorning heat. She scratched her scalp, wishing in that moment her hair were thinner and shorter. McCauley Park spread away from her in all directions, dense and high. Every branch stretched upward, like hands swaying overhead in slow warning, urging her back.

It helped to pretend the forest was enchanted. Hannah spotted a circle of mushrooms, a fairy ring, and imagined tiny eyes peeking at her through the leaves. Translucent wings fluttering at the edge of her eye. Elves lurking in the shadows beneath the trees. It was more comforting to see these phantasms than to consider what might really be stalking her.

The path she trod had long ago lost its gravel to hard-packed dirt. She had no map, and took those tracks that seemed to lead inward, to Grover’s Pond near the center of the wood. She did not feel lost, exactly, but unmoored and alone, and wished for a trail of bread crumbs leading the way back out of the forest. Of course, the birds flapping and calling up in the trees would probably swoop down and gobble them all up, just like in the story.

Her decision to enter the park had been made out of desperation, but now seemed more like stupidity. She had no idea what she was looking for at Grover’s Pond. All she knew was that McCauley held the key to Stroop’s happiness, Stroop had a clear view of the pond from his suite, and Mister Grumholdt and Miss Wool had circled a part of the pond on a map. With those facts Hannah had decided that Grover’s Pond was the next place to search for … something.

Back in the city, in her family’s apartment, her father lay stricken. If she did not return with money that evening, there would be no medicine, and her father, the strongest man she knew, the finest stonemason in the whole city, would lose his leg.

Time passed, and the sun crossed its halfway peak, sliding down toward afternoon. The dirt trail gave way to matted grass, hard to distinguish from the forest to either side. As she walked along, something faint reached her ear, a slight rushing sound, perhaps a brook. If it was, it might lead her to the pond. She took several steps in the direction it came from, head up, listening. She took a few more steps toward it, and a few more, before deciding it was only the wind through the trees.

She looked down at her feet and found them buried in underbrush. She looked back. More underbrush. Hannah had lost the tiny path she had been clinging to. She rushed to find it, eyes sweeping the green all around her, but saw no sign of the trail. It was as if the forest had just swallowed it up.

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