Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“How do you do, sir,” was her reply. “I’m Prue.”

“Yes, yes,” said the Governor-Regent, looking back down at his desk at the sheet of paper that the attaché had given him. He pushed his glasses back from the tip of his nose and began studying the paper. “Prue McKeel, human girl,” he read aloud in a humming monotone. “Of Port-Land, the Outside. Parentage unknown. Discovered by postmaster in Wildwood, Area 12A, Long Road. In apparent distress. Complaining of lost brother, Mac, and abducted friend, Curtis Mehlberg. Suspects: crows, coyotes respectably. Respectably?” He looked up at Prue quizzically.

“Respectively, sir,” corrected an attendant at his side, a thin man with a neat, close-cropped beard and a pince-nez. “Crows in the case of the brother, coyotes in the case of the friend.”

“Ah yes,” said Lars, looking back down at the paper. “Of course. Thank you for that clarification, Roger.”

“Think nothing of it, sir.” Roger smiled.

Lars continued reading from the dossier: “Suspects: crows, coyotes respectively. Seeks aid of government of South Wood in recovering said abductees. Has made passing reference to the Dowager Governess in initial—” Lars stopped suddenly and stared at the paper. He pushed his glasses back and reread the sentence, mouthing the words silently. When he was finished, he looked up at Prue and gawked.

“The Dowager Governess?” he asked. “Are you sure you heard that?”

Before Prue had a chance to answer, Roger, the thin man, interrupted. “Entirely hearsay, sir. Before listening to the insinuations of an Outsider girl, I would remind you that there is no substantial evidence whatsoever that would lead us to believe that the Governess has survived.”

Prue glared at the man. “I can only tell you what I heard, sir,” she said. “And I specifically heard those coyotes say that.”

Roger challenged, “And what makes you so sure they were coyotes, Miss McKeel? They could’ve been dogs or . . . anything! In the haze of the forest, a mild-mannered mole could be mistaken for a—”

“They were coyotes, sir, I’m sure of it. And they were wearing uniforms and carried swords and rifles and things,” snapped Prue.

Roger paused and studied Prue. “I’m given to understand that you had a rough crossing at the border. You had a bit of a, how shall I say, confab with the bird sentries.”

Prue paused, attempting to guess the aide’s intentions. “Yes,” she said, “I guess.”

“What was the nature of your dealings?”

“They, um, wanted to know what I was doing. They said they were looking out for coyotes.”

Roger turned to Lars. “You see, sir? It’s just as likely she’s been put up to this by the birds. She’s a pawn. A paid shill for their agenda.” He looked back at Prue. “And rather clever, I must admit. Just in time for their Avian Eminence’s great arrival.”

Prue was speechless. The aide had an incredible ability to manipulate the circumstances. “That’s not true,” she muttered.

“My dear,” soothed Roger, his tone icy, “you must be very agitated. You are likely suffering from some sort of culture shock being here in the Wood. I would recommend a hot bath and a warm compress on your forehead. Our world is very different from your own. Which reminds me”—here he turned to the Governor-Regent—“the Outsider girl’s presence here is unprecedented. Under subsection 132C in the Boundary Law Code, it clearly states that Outsiders are not legally allowed to cross over from the Outside without proper permit in the event that the boundary magic, the Periphery Bind, is somehow compromised, which I can only assume—”

Prue interrupted angrily, “I know I’m not supposed to be here. And I’ll be perfectly happy to leave and never bother you again, but I can’t do that without bringing my brother and my friend Curtis with me.”

The Governor-Regent still appeared stunned. A few fresh beads of sweat had collected on his massive forehead, threatening to fall. He massaged his carrotlike fingers together nervously. “You’re certain you heard them refer to the Dowager Governess? Those very words?” he asked.

Prue replied, “Yes, sir. Certain.”

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nbsp; Lars gritted his teeth and pounded his desk with a clenched fist. “I knew it!” he said. “I knew exile was too lenient. We should’ve foreseen this!”

Roger spoke in low, firm tones. “Sir, these are unsubstantiated rumors from a delusional little girl.”

Lars ignored him. “And to think she’s managed to bring the coyotes to her side. Unthinkable!” His eyes widened. “Does this mean that what the birds are saying is true? Could it be?” His voice trailed off as he became lost in thought, his eyes staring unblinking into the distance.

Roger’s face grew beet red. “P-poppycock!” he shouted, before collecting himself. “If you’ll excuse the expression.” He brought his thin fingers to his mustache, smoothed his whiskers, and then dropped his hand to the Governor’s shoulder in a consoling caress. “Sir, calm yourself. There is absolutely no reason to get upset over this. If the Governess were alive, we’d have heard long before now. There is absolutely no possible way a woman such as herself could survive in the wild for that long. These coyote soldiers the girl has seen are apparitions, illusions—the product of a traumatized mind.” Before Prue could object, he held out a hand. “But,” he continued, “if it would put the Governor at ease, might I suggest we send a small platoon, a few dozen men, into this area of Wildwood and see what sort of information they can glean from the natives. It’s an unorthodox approach and I am hesitant to recommend it, but if it would satisfy the girl’s supplication and dispel any fears you might have, Mr. Svik, I think it would be the best course of action. Think of your condition, sir.”

Lars grunted in agreement and began calmly, deliberately measuring his in- and out-breaths in a meditative way, his eyes fluttering closed.

“And Curtis?” asked Prue. “You’d look for Curtis?”

Roger smiled. “Of course.”

“And what about my brother? My brother Mac?”