Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“Right, the other Outsider you’ve lost in your adventures,” Roger replied. “Abducted by crows, you say?”

“Yes. From a park in St. Johns. In Portland—the Outside, I guess.” She was distracted by the rhythmic pumping of breath emanating from the Governor-Regent, who now had a finger at his wrist, monitoring his pulse.

“Well, that may be out of our jurisdiction. A case for your friends in the Avian Principality, I’d say. Though it is highly suspicious that any avian creature should be involved in the abduction of a human child from the Outside. Highly suspicious.” Roger paused and tapped his finger against his chin in thought. “This may be very valuable intelligence, Miss McKeel.” He leaned down and whispered something in the Governor’s ear, during which Lars briefly halted his breathing exercise. When Roger had finished, the Governor nodded gravely and looked at Prue.

“If what you’re saying is true,” said the Governor, Roger’s hand still resting on his shoulder, “this could mean very serious things for the relationship between South Wood and the Avian Principality.”

Roger interjected, “What the Governor is trying to say, Miss McKeel, is that any sojourn a bird or birds may have taken into the Outside, not the least the suggestion that they may have returned with someone in tow, is quite clearly a violation of any number of citations in the Periphery Laws, and we would thank you for bringing this information to our attention.”

“And my brother?” asked Prue impatiently, her brain reaching capacity for political talk.

“It would be in the South Wood’s best interest to help find your brother so that we might bring the perpetrators to justice more swiftly,” replied Roger.

Prue breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you!” she cried. “Thank you so much. I know he’s out there; I know he’s still alive.”

Roger had rounded the side of the desk and walked to Prue’s side, placing an arm around her shoulder. He gently guided her back toward the door. “Of course! Of course!” he consoled. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your brother, I promise.”

“And you’ll let me know when you have?” asked Prue.

“Absolutely,” said Roger as they neared the door. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“He’s wearing a brown corduroy jumper,” she stammered. “A-and he doesn’t really have any hair.”

“Brown jumper,” repeated Roger soothingly. “No hair. Got it.”

They arrived at the far end of the room, and Roger nodded to the attaché, who had been waiting at the door. The door was opened for them.

“We would be honored to have you as a guest of the Mansion,” said Roger as they stood at the open doorway. “You’ll find comfortable lodgings awaiting you in the North Tower. Wait at your chambers and we’ll alert you as soon as we know anything more about your brother or your friend Constance.”

“Curtis,” corrected Prue.

“Curtis,” Roger repeated, and then added: “Please don’t hesitate to let the secretary know if there’s anything else we can do to make your stay here in South Wood more enjoyable.” His hand at the small of her back ushered her gently into the hallway. “Good-bye, Prue. It was very nice to meet you.”

The door closed behind her.

The attaché smiled his mustardy smile and motioned the way down the hall.

The horse’s hooves pounded the soft ground as the stallion vaulted berm and tree trunk and Curtis held tight to the Governess’s slender waist. Throwing the leather reins back and forth across the horse’s broad neck, the Governess nimbly navigated her mount through the wild vegetation of the forest.

“Hold tight!” Alexandra would occasionally remind Curtis when they would leap a particularly large fallen tree or dive into a deep gulch.

“Where are we going?” hollered Curtis, ducking the branches that swung at his face and shoulders.

“To the front!” shouted the Governess, urging the horse to run faster. “I want to give you a glimpse of our struggle, our fight for justice!” The forest blew by at a furious pace, the soft echo of their every hoof-fall resounding through the woods. Curtis gaped up at the towering trees flying by, their tops enshrouded in a veil of mist.

“Okay!” shouted Curtis in response. “So long as I don’t have to fight!”

“What’s that?” yelled Alexandra.

The cool air whipping at his face brought tears to Curtis’s eyes. “I said, AS LONG AS I DON’T HAVE TO FIGHT!”

The Governess pulled back on the reins and the horse reared as they crested a ridge, a steep fern-laden valley stretching out before them. Steam blew from the horse’s nostrils, and it whinnied to feel the Governess’s caress at its neck. “Good boy,” Alexandra chimed. Curtis gazed down at the blanket of deep green that covered the valley floor, a canyon of moss and stone erupting from either side of a gushing brook. The gap was crisscrossed with ancient deadfall, and colonnades of soaring fir and cedar trees rose majestically from the opposing hillsides.

“It’s really beautiful,” Curtis said.

Alexandra smiled and looked back at him. “My thoughts exactly when I first arrived here in Wildwood. I immediately knew that this was my home; this wild country was where I belonged.”

“How long have you been here?” asked Curtis, uneasily adjusting his perch on the back of the horse. The horse made a kind of box step on the forest floor, shifting its footing below the two riders. “Did you move here from somewhere?”