Part 18 (2/2)
”What do you think happened?” asked Mustardseed.
Bertie tasted rest.i.tution soup in the back of her throat. ”I think Ariel found it.”
Trusting him, even for one second, was the stupidest thing I've ever done.
”We need to find him.” Bertie's brain scampered in circles around the missing Book, around Ariel's deception. It looped wider around Ophelia's blatherings in the Turkish Bath, around the ripped-out page, around her claim to have left the theater. . . . ”He was listening.”
”Who?” Moth wanted to know.
”Who was listening to what, and when?” Cobweb clarified.
”Ariel was eavesdropping on us in the Turkish Bath. That was him, his wind, that cleared the steam.”
That's why he followed me to the Properties Department. Why he was so charming, so beguiling. Why we ended up on the chaise together.
And why The Book's nowhere to be found now.
”He told me in the hallway that given half a chance, he would free all who are imprisoned here. Now he has The Book. He could pull out every last page and release the Players. We have to stop him.” Bertie had another horrible thought. ”Unless he's done it already.”
The fairies clutched one another.
Bertie s.n.a.t.c.hed Moth from midair. ”How do you feel? Any more free than usual?”
He paused to reflect. ”Yeah, but only because I'm not wearing underwear today.”
Cobweb and Mustardseed backed away from him. ”You're going commando?”
Moth nodded. ”I forgot to give Mrs. Edith my hamper this week.”
”Aw, man! I want to go commando, too!” Cobweb said as he reached for his trouser b.u.t.tons.
”Keep your pants on. We need to figure out if The Book is still intact.” Bertie turned in a slow circle, her eyes coming to rest on a small window. She righted Marie Antoinette's chaise, shoved it under the window, and stacked two packing crates on top of it. Hoisting herself up onto the first crate, she nearly put her foot through it.
”Careful!” Peaseblossom hovered right next to her. ”Don't fall!”
”I won't if I can possibly help it.” Bertie climbed onto the second crate. Standing on tiptoe, she could just reach the window latch, but it wouldn't budge. ”Get me something. A piece of fabric, a handkerchief-”
”A pillow?” Mustardseed suggested as he kicked a blue satin square.
Bertie nodded. ”Sure, if you can carry it.”
Between them, the fairies managed to get it aloft. Bertie grabbed it, ripped it open, and pulled most of the stuffing out.
”Oh, my! Was that really necessary?” said Peaseblossom.
”Yes,” said Bertie as she wrapped her silk-swathed hand around the window latch. ”It was.”
With two grunts and a heave, the latch gave way and the window swung open. A gust of fresh air caught the fairies unprepared, sending them tumbling back. Bertie clung to the windowsill until her knuckles turned white as the crates swayed underfoot.
”Go on,” she urged. ”Try to fly through.”
They looked at her like she'd suggested they tear off their own ears.
”Are you insane?” Moth asked.
”I need to know if he's pulling the pages out!” The boxes teetered again.
”So you want us to go . . . out there?” said Cobweb.
”Yes, please.”
”No way!” yelled Mustardseed. ”Who knows what's out there?”
”I bet I get eaten by a grue-” Moth paused, choking on his own spit and cowardice, then finished, ”-a gruesome monster of indeterminate size and shape. I'm pretty sure I taste like chicken.”
”You're bioluminescent,” Bertie said. ”Which means you taste awful. Now, come on.” She stuck her hand out the window and waggled it around a bit. ”See? Nothing there to get you.”
”Yeah, to get you,” Cobweb scoffed. ”Because you're from out there.”
Bertie snagged him from the air. ”I'm sorry.”
”For what?” he asked.
”For this,” Bertie said, and tossed him at the window.
Cobweb squeaked when he hit the opening, but light and energy filled in the gap and prevented his exit. There was a sizzle and a zing, then he bounced backward onto the ledge, smoking faintly and smelling of burnt popcorn.
”That answers that, I guess,” said Bertie.
The other three looked at her in horror as Cobweb smoldered.
”I suppose,” Bertie said, realization dawning, ”Ariel might only have torn out his own page and left the rest alone.”
”You couldn't have had that brainwave a minute earlier and saved me a frizzling?” Cobweb demanded.
”Sorry,” she said with a guilty start.
”What is going on here?”
Bertie twisted around at the sound of Mr. Hastings' horrified voice. The packing crates slid one direction and she went the other, thankfully landing on the arm of the chaise before rolling off and hitting the floor.
Mr. Hastings advanced on her, but not to help her up. ”I repeat, just what is going on in here?”
Bertie stood, rubbing her tailbone. ”Just a little experiment.”
”You totally deserved that,” Cobweb observed.
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