Furthermore (11 page)

“Would you like to stay awhile?” he asked her. Only her. “I could show you around—”

She was already nodding when Oliver interrupted them, yet again. “Please,” he said quietly. His eyes were bright and twitchy and locked on to hers. “A moment of your time in private?”

Alice wanted to ignore him, but the look on Oliver's face worried her. So she excused herself and promised the beautiful boy that she would return shortly.

Oliver, however, was steaming mad.

He had a whole host of unhappy things to say to her about breaking the rules and not listening to him, and though she tried to reassure him that she hadn't meant for any of this to happen, Oliver was adamant that they keep moving.

“And anyway,” Oliver said, “I haven't any idea why you're so enchanted by him. Residents of Slumber are very nearly covered in dust.” (
Dust
, I should mention, was a kind of slang for
magic
.) Oliver crossed his arms. “He has hoaxed you, be sure of it.”

“Oh but Oliver,” Alice said, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you not see him? He is so astoundingly beautiful. Just, oh”—she was very nearly melting—“so very, very beautiful. I am
sure I have never seen anyone so handsome in all my life.” She grabbed Oliver's sleeve. “Do you not think he is the most handsome person you have ever seen in all your life?”

Oliver went purple in the face. He pursed his lips and flailed his arms and almost exploded the words he spoke next. (Honestly, no one could understand a thing he said, so I won't even
try
to recount any of it.) Anyhow, Alice didn't want to upset Oliver—he seemed so very put out by the whole thing—so she prepared to tell the boy that she could not accept his generous offer. But when they returned, he'd already assembled a crowd, and by then—well, by then it was far too late.

And it was all her fault.

Oliver had gone white.

He was milk and paper and ghostly fright. He'd taken her hand and was squeezing so tight Alice had no choice but to shake him off. She yanked her hand back and scowled at no one in particular, realizing all too late that she had caused quite a lot of trouble. She glanced at Oliver. He was frozen in place, eyes wide, horrified by the spectacle they'd become.

The beautiful boy and his crowd of people were close, closer, and a blink later, had circled around them completely. The tallest held a torch and held it high, high above Alice's head, so everyone could get a good look at her face. They were pointing and gesturing, heads cocked and gazes roving over her hair, her skin, her tattered skirts. She felt as though she were locked in a cabinet of curiosities, and she didn't like it one bit.

Alice narrowed her eyes at the beautiful boy, but he didn't seem to notice. He was smiling wide, looking around at his friends like he was proud, like he'd discovered something
odd and strange and oh, wouldn't it be tops to poke fun at the nothing-girl tonight. Well, she wasn't having any of that.

Alice was not interested in being stared at, and besides, she and Oliver had a very busy schedule and no time to spare for nonsense.

The beautiful boy stepped forward.

“My name is Seldom,” he said. And smiled.

Alice wanted very much to speak, but she was abruptly startled into silence. Seldom had moved into the torchlight and his face—well, it was nothing at all like it was in the moonlight. Here, where the fiery glow illuminated his features, she could see him far more clearly. Tall and broad, he wore a sleeveless shirt with a deep V-cut neckline, very short shorts, and a pair of moccasins. But most interesting was his skin. He was a stroke of midnight—so blue he was almost black—and he was covered, head to toe, in tattoos. Stars, moons—
galaxies
—were drawn upon his body in ink so gold they shimmered in the light. Alice stood there staring at him, just as he stood staring at her.

Mouths agape.

He was beautiful in an extraordinary way. He was beautiful in a way she did not understand.

“What is your name?” Seldom asked.

“Alice, don't tell him!” Oliver said, reaching out as if to stop her.

Alice didn't even have time to roll her eyes at Oliver.

“Your name is Alice?” Seldom asked.

She nodded, pausing just long enough to shoot a dirty look at Oliver, who had now turned a very unflattering shade of puce.

“Yes,” she said, and sighed. Oliver had already told him anyway. “My name is Alice. Can I leave now?”

Seldom shook his head. “We would like to keep you.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. She looked around at the crowd. They were smiling eagerly, nodding and waving hello. Suddenly they seemed friendly, and she was convinced it was some kind of a trick. “Well, that is very kind,” she said, turning back to Seldom. “But I really must be on my way.”

She took a step forward.

Seldom stepped in front of her. “Where do you have to go?”

Alice bit her lip and looked him square in the eye, wondering how much to say to him. She wasn't sure how dangerous this situation was—mostly because Oliver was such a mouse he could hardly say a word—but she wasn't going to let anyone keep her here. She knew that if she wanted to find Father, she had to first find her way through this.

(I feel it necessary to mention here that were it not for Father, Alice might not have felt so brave. Love had made her fearless, and wasn't it strange? It was so much easier to fight for another than it was to fight for oneself.)

But how?
Alice thought. Escape might require a lie, and she—well she had bound herself to the truth.

And
yet
, Alice compromised, her truths were meant only for Ferenwood, weren't they? Technically—if we may speak technically—Alice hadn't even known Furthermore was real when she made that pact. And anyway, she quickly convinced herself, these next words wouldn't be a lie. Not exactly. She would tell a story, she'd decided. A fable. A work of fiction.

“I am in charge of the sun,” she said loudly. “And I'm on my way to wake him up.”

Seldom blinked fast. Shocked.

Oliver inhaled sharply.

The crowd around them went loud then silent in rapid succession.

“Alice,” Oliver whispered. He was holding her hand again. He kept doing that. “What are you thinking?”

“I don't know,” she whispered back to him. She was still looking at Seldom. “I'm trying to get us out of here.”

“But, Alice—”

“You are in charge of the sun?” Seldom asked quietly. His eyebrows had rushed together in confusion.

“Yes,” she said. And nodded, too, for added effect.

“Oh.” He frowned. “We did not think a person could climb so high.”

“I'm very talented,” she assured him, this time not lying at all. “There are a great many things I can do.”

Seldom grunted.

Alice tried to smile.

“Is that why you're so white?” Seldom asked, with no preamble.

“Excuse me?”

“Because your color's all burnt off,” said someone from the crowd. “You're white because you burnt off all your colors, didn't you?”

“Well, I wouldn't say that I—”

“So—you are not a visitor?” Seldom asked. “You're one of us, but your color is gone? Because of the sun?”

“I, um”—Alice cleared her throat and looked around at their anxious faces—“yes,” she decided, “yes, that's exactly what happened.” And she silently congratulated herself on her storytelling abilities.

“And what about him?” Seldom was pointing at Oliver.

“Oh yes,” she said quickly. “Him too. He's seen the sun too many times, too. Not as many times as me, of course, but, you know, eventually, he'll be just as white as I am.”

Seldom was crestfallen. He was so disappointed, in fact, that he seemed almost mad at Alice. He and his friends shared some words on the matter, and everyone took turns shooting her unkind looks.

Slowly, they scattered.

When they'd all finally walked away, Alice and Oliver were left to dwell on their feelings—and it turned out they were both very angry with the other.

Oliver was still holding Alice's hand and they were now walking very, very quickly through town, but Oliver was huffing and Alice was puffing and he said, “I can't believe you!” and she said, “You are such a coward!” and he said, “Always causing trouble, never listening,” and she said, “Didn't do anything at all to save us, just standing there like a stump,” and Oliver stopped so suddenly they nearly fell over.

“Didn't do anything at all to save us?” he said. “
Standing there like a stump?
Alice, have you gone mad?”

“Oh don't be ridiculous, Oliver! I was the one who had to think quickly—I was the one who had to—”

“You did nothing at all!” Oliver nearly shouted. “Do you know how hard I had to work? To get us out of that mess?”

“What?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

“Me, Alice,
me
.” He stabbed a finger at his chest. “While you stood there answering questions and making up stories, I had to convince them to believe you, and my head nearly exploded with the effort. I've been working so hard to help you, and all you do is fight me. I take your hand and you shove me away and I'm left grasping, furious—”

“Well maybe I don't want you to hold my hand,” Alice
snapped, cheeks pinking. “And anyway, I had been wondering why—”

“I am trying to keep us safe!” Oliver shouted, so angry now he was practically shaking. “I need to be near you in order to quietly convince everyone to leave us be! And what thanks do I get for all this? None. None at all. You're running off, breaking away, charging into strangers! You make everything so much more difficult!”

Oliver threw his hands in the air.

Alice shoved him in the chest. Twice. “Maybe if you'd been
honest
with me about what to
expect
—”

“Maybe if you'd been
patient
, or even bothered to ask
nicely
—”

“I am not incompetent!” Alice cried. “And I don't appreciate your patronizing me! In fact, I've no doubt I could find my own way through Furthermore, without a bit of help from you—”

“Is that right?” Oliver's eyes flashed.

“Right as rainlight!”

“So you really think,” Oliver said, stepping closer, “that you'd have gotten five feet farther without my saving you from your own silly stories? You think anyone would've believed you?”

Alice's confidence faltered. Her stomach did a nervous flip.

Oliver looked away, shaking his head. “
In charge of the sun
,”
he said. “Really. What nonsense was that? Of all the things to say!”

He ran both hands through his hair, losing steam.

“Don't you understand why your father was tasked to me? Why the Elders sent me
here
, to Furthermore, to a land of tricks and puzzles? I have the gift of persuasion, Alice. And, yes, it grants me the ability to know the deepest secret of every person I meet, but the people of Furthermore are nothing like the people of Ferenwood, and their deepest secrets hardly help me at all, making the task infinitely more complicated. And if you think navigating this land is hard for
me
, it would be a sight near impossible for
you
.”

“I beg to diff—”

“Forgive me,” he said, exhausted. “I didn't intend that as an insult. Truly. It's just that some things in Furthermore are about more than being smart. In fact,” he said, “most of it is about lying, tricking, and the luck of just barely surviving.” He looked up, looked her in the eye. “Alice, this land is not generous. It does not forgive. And it would kill to devour you.

“There is only one reason I have not yet met your father's fate, and it's that I have the ability to convince others to believe what I want them to believe. So please,” he said. “Please trust me enough to do the one thing I'm any good at.
If we don't stick together, we're lost for good.”

Alice hung her head.

“But even you couldn't save Father,” she said, staring into the darkness. “Even persuasion wasn't enough.”

“No.” Oliver sighed. “Not the first time, at least. But we'll get it right this time. I swear it.”

Alice closed her eyes and hugged herself, more terrified for Father than ever before. Furthermore was brilliant and frightening, and though she'd only seen a small slice of it, she could now understand perfectly well why Father had been so enchanted. But it was becoming clear to her that Furthermore was full of quiet dangers, and it would not be wise to be too easily distracted. It would be simple to get lost here—lost and destroyed—and she had not realized that Oliver had been looking after her all this time, quietly convincing this world to leave her unharmed.

The truth was, she
hadn't
trusted Oliver. Not really. He'd hurt her somewhere deep—wounded her pride and her vanity —and it made her cold and hard and stubborn. But she could see now that she was being difficult, and fighting Oliver would do them no good. Father needed her, and that meant she had to trust Oliver, no matter how
nothing
he thought she looked.

Oliver lifted her chin with one finger, and when their eyes
met, they both apologized. Regrets and reconciliations, all at once.

Oliver almost smiled.

Alice almost did, too.

Then she slipped her hand in his and held on tight.