Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy by Karen Foxlee

Author:Karen Foxlee [Foxlee, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-385-75357-9
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2014-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

She was a girl without coat pockets. She stuffed the three keys in her jeans and ran with the map and puffer and the remains of the glue in her hands, throwing the sardine tin into a receptacle as she went. She wasn’t so sure about the Queen’s machine; the misery birds were probably the real reason children went missing in the museum.

It was late, the sun starting to sink behind the city and the great Christmas tree. On the streets the pale children, in their silvery puffy coats, were already arriving with their skates in their hands, to circle round and round the ice rink, with their frozen faces and their empty eyes. Her father would be waiting for her. Perhaps he already knew she’d lied. He’d probably ban her from coming to the museum ever again.

She ran past the Triceratops and the Tyrannosaurus rex—the guard now gone—and she ran along the darkening corridors. She ran upstairs and downstairs and in and out of the great glittering galleries until she found the small lonely room of teaspoons. She raced down the gloomy gallery of painted girls, across the celebrated sea monster mosaic, and into the room of broken stone angels. She collided with Mr. Pushkinova, the map, puffer, and superglue falling to the floor. The tall old man held her arms to stop her from falling too. His hands were grayish and cool.

“I’m so sorry,” said Ophelia. “I didn’t see you there.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Mr. Pushkinova very slowly and very quietly. She didn’t know if he whispered or hissed the words.

“I was just …”

“What have you got here?” he asked. He reached down to the ground, and Ophelia heard his bones creaking. He took the superglue first and examined it, then her puffer and the map. He opened the map and looked at all her careful shading. He handed the items back to her.

“Interesting.” He definitely hissed this time.

“It’s just …,” said Ophelia.

But she didn’t finish. Mr. Pushkinova leaned suddenly forward so that his face was inches from hers. Ophelia looked at his small, angry mouth and his ancient, stained teeth, which, when she was up close like that, looked a little too pointy. She looked into his terrible, cloudy eyes.

“I will warn you only once: do not meddle in magic, little girl,” whispered Mr. Pushkinova. “There is nothing that you can do which will help the Marvelous Boy.”

He took a deep breath. What was he going to do? Ophelia had a terrible sense that it wasn’t something very nice. Then he did the not very nice thing.

He bared his teeth.

A vile, low growl rumbled from within him.

Ophelia turned and ran. She ran as fast as she could. She ran across the sea monster mosaic, down the gloomy gallery of painted girls, into a small, hushed circular library. She crouched beneath a spiral staircase. She hugged her arms around herself, shaking. She shook so violently that she thought her teeth were going to break apart. Then when she stopped shaking, she put her head in her hands and began to cry.

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