The Children's Crusade (9 page)

He stopped walking. “What's this?”

An enormous hedge blocked his path. “This
looks like it could be guarding something,” he said. “Maybe a gateway to home.” The hedge was about ten feet high and neatly trimmed.

Tim walked all around the hedge. The shrubbery was so tightly grown together he'd need gardening shears to get inside. It was perfectly square, like a bright-green leafy box. At one side he found a trellis archway, completely overgrown with vines sprouting enormous flowers. It looked as if it had once been an entrance.

He reached out his hand to touch a bright purple rose.

“Don't touch!” the flower snapped at him.

Tim jerked back his hand, startled. He shook his head.
Why does anything surprise me anymore?
“Sorry. I was just interested. I wasn't going to pick you or anything.”

“Well, then, it's okay, I guess.”

Tim peered at the rose. This time it didn't seem as if the rose had been the one speaking. There must be someone on the other side of the hedge.

“You can come in if you want,” the voice said.

Tim's eyes widened as the plants, flowers, and vines uncurled. He stepped inside the hedge box.

He spotted a small green girl, high in a tree. At least, she was sort of a girl. She seemed more
like a plant. Her body was smooth, like a plant stalk, but she had legs and arms like a regular person. But the hair sprouting from her head was thick grass. Tim noticed tiny flower buds dotting her hair. She was small, about the size of an eight year old.

“Did you make the plants do that?” Tim asked. “Just move out of the way like that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's a neat trick,” Tim commented. “What else can you do?”

He hoped she'd say “get you home without playing hopscotch,” but instead her chin quivered as if she were about to cry.

“I think something's wrong with me,” she choked out.

“Why? What's the matter?”

“I don't feel real here. Everything smells different and there's nothing good to eat. And Junkin Buckley lied. I hate him and I want to go home.” She ended in a long wail, covering her face with moss-colored hands.

Tim sat under her at the base of the tree. “Madam, I know exactly how you feel.”

“You do?” She spread her fingers apart and peered down at him.

“More or less. At least, I want to go home, too.”

“Really? You're not one of them?”

“Nope,” Tim said. “I am most definitely not one of them. And wouldn't want to be.”

Her face brightened, and one of the buds in her hair opened. “Then we can play dolls together. This bush grew them for me when I started to cry.”

She pointed below her to the bush beside Tim. He'd been so struck by the girl's appearance that he hadn't noticed that little baby dolls were poking out of the bush.

“Dolls. Right. Makes as much sense as anything else.”
A girl who's a plant. Grass that grows lollipops. Now this. Be prepared for anything
, Tim warned himself.

The girl floated down from her perch in the tree. She hovered above the bush.

Make that a plant girl who can also fly
, Tim amended his previous statement. She is definitely from one of those other worlds—
way
other.

The girl plucked the dolls from the bush as if they were flowers. “I'll have this one and this one and this one.” She studied one, then held it out to Tim. “You can have her.”

“Thank you, I guess,” Tim said. “So what's this dolly's name, then?”

The girl smiled. “That's Oak Leaf. For bravery. That seems to fit you.” She clutched two dolls to her chest and hugged them. “I've got Veronica
and Honeysuckle. For fidelity and affection.” She pointed to a doll that was peeking out from under a rock. She flew over to Tim and whispered into his ear. “That's Peony. For shame. She lives under the rock.”

This is one elaborate game
, Tim observed
. And I thought my identity problems were complex.
“Did you make all that up by yourself?”

The girl laughed. “Course not. It's the language of flowers. Everyone knows that.”

“No, they don't. I don't.”

The girl looked extremely surprised, then shrugged. “Everyone used to know, then. They sent each other messages,” she explained. “Like bluebells means ‘I'll always love you,' and jasmine means ‘we're friends.' And asphodels…” She shivered. “Asphodels are for the dead.”

Tim stood up and stretched. “Listen, I wish I could stay and play with you but I really do have to find my way back home.”

“Don't you like it here?” she asked.

“No.”

“Me neither!” the girl exclaimed. “So why did you come?”

“A girl named Marya talked me into it. It seemed as sensible as anything else at the time.”
Though it seems really, really dumb now,
Tim admitted to himself.

“Where is she now?” the girl asked.

Tim sighed. “I have no idea.”

“What's it like where you're from?”

“You ask a lot of questions, kid.”

“You're being rude. Don't call me that.”

“Sorry. What should I call you?”

“My name is Suzy. And you should be nice to me because the same thing happened to me that happened to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“A boy named Junkin Buckley brought me here, and then he disappeared,” Suzy explained. “I want to go home, but I don't know how. Just like you. So I found a place to be and things grew all around me. And I just broke my doll.” She dangled the doll above Tim.

“What?” Tim asked.

“When I broke a doll before, I just held it out in front of me and it got fixed. Now it's not working.” She showed it to Tim. “Can you fix her?”

Tim glanced at the doll. Suzy had subconsciously snapped off the doll's head while she was talking.
She must be seriously peeved at this Junkin Buckley chap.
“Why don't you pick another?” he suggested.

Suzy's chin quivered again. “Because I like this one,” she said plaintively, holding it out to Tim.

Reluctantly, Tim took it. Examining it from a
number of angles, he could see that the only way to repair it was with magic. But could he even do that?

He held the doll and concentrated. He thought back to when he had first used magic, to keep the snow from falling on Kenny, the homeless man.
Don't think about anything but the space between the neck and the head
, he told himself.
Close it up with your mind. The edges reach for each other; they want to be joined, they belong as one
. Over and over Tim found words to command the doll's neck and head to fuse—to use its former wholeness to repair itself.

“She's all better!” Suzy cried, breaking Tim's focus. He blinked a few times at the doll.

“Hey, you're right. Here.” He handed the doll—now in one piece—back to Suzy.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Suzy fluttered all around him.

Tim grinned. It felt good to make the little flower girl so happy, when only moments before she'd been in tears. And it felt good to use his magic successfully—without dire consequences, without anything going wrong as a result. Maybe he'd be able to figure out this whole magic thing someday after all.

“Well, now that you have your doll back, it's time for me to go.” He took a few steps away from Suzy.

“Can I come with you?” Suzy asked.

Tim turned around. He gave the girl an amused smirk. “I really don't think we're heading in the same direction. I mean, I'm from London and it's pretty safe to assume you're not. And I'm not really in the mood to visit any strange botanical kingdom. So good luck, and I hope everything works out for you.”

He turned around and started walking. Maybe if he found a place that was more citylike or at least had pavement, he could try that hopscotch thing again.

He thought about Suzy.
What an odd little creature
. He felt bad about leaving her behind, but what could he do? Trying to help Marya got him into this mess. Who knows what would happen if he tried to help a plant girl? Besides, he didn't want to be distracted from his mission to get home.

But something was distracting him now. A shadow of a small girl with wild grassy hair was visible on the ground in front of him.

“You're following me, aren't you,” Tim stated.

“No,” Suzy replied.

“Well, go away. You're not coming with me, all right?”

“Fine.”

Tim walked a few more yards. He turned
around, put his hands on his hips, and glared at Suzy.

“I'm not following you!” she insisted.

“Now look—” Tim began, exasperation rising.

“But you're my boyfriend!” Suzy exclaimed. “We go everywhere together. You can't stand to be without me, not even for a second.”

Tim was so startled by this that he stared at her, openmouthed. There was really no way to respond. He turned around and went back to walking.

“Suzy! Please don't follow me,” he called over his shoulder.

“Okay.”

Now he didn't even bother looking at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead. “You have to turn back,” he insisted.

“All right.”

“And I'm not your boyfriend,” he added for good measure.

“I know.”

This was becoming absurd. Becoming? No, it was
already
flat-out ridiculous.
How can I fight a girl who agrees with everything I say, then does what she wants anyway?

“You're still there, aren't you?” he said.

“Maybe.”

Tim sighed
. I give up. I'm stuck with her. I just hope it doesn't become a horrible disaster to have her tagging along.

“So what kind of flowers are asphodels, anyway?” he asked.

“Daffodils.”

Hm. I wonder why daffodils are for the dead
. “So how does the language of the flowers—”

A scream from Suzy cut him off. He whirled around.

“What's wrong?”

“Stop him!” she cried. “Oh, please. We have to stop him!”

She darted past Tim, heading down a hill to the lagoon. Now it was Tim who was following her. He had to run fast to keep up.

“What's wrong?” he called. “Who do we have to stop?” He really hoped it wasn't some dark practitioner, wizard, or ogre. He'd be really bummed if those types were also allowed into Free Country. What would be the point of a refuge if it didn't keep you safe?

“A flower is hurting!” Suzy shouted back.

“A what is what?” Tim slowed his pace
. This rescue mission is to save a flower?

Suzy flew back to Tim and tugged on his arm. “Come on! He is pulling the petals off. They're
screaming at him to stop. He can't hear.”

“Whoa,” Tim murmured, staring at the lagoon.

Mermaids frolicked with dolphins, while kids played on an old pirate ship. Everyone was splashing and happy.

Everyone except for the chubby little boy sitting on shore. He sat, frowning, doing exactly what Suzy described. The kid had a pile of daisies, and he was plucking the petals from each of them.

Probably pulls the wings off flies, too
, Tim thought.

“Okay, I'll stop him,” Tim assured Suzy.

“Of course you will! Because you're my boyfriend hero!”

“Whatever.”

“Hurry,” she urged. “Do you hear the flowers? They're saying, ‘Oliver, stop! Please! Stop!'”

Oliver? So maybe this unpleasant-looking kid was Avril's missing brother. He even sort of resembled her.

I might as well do my good deed for the day
, Tim thought as he approached Oliver.
This kills two birds with one stone. I can make Suzy happy by getting Oliver to quit destroying her flower friends, and then if I manage to find a way home, I'll get Oliver back to his family.

Well, that's a pretty big if, Hunter
, Tim told himself.

Tim strode over to Oliver. “Hey, Oliver. Please put down the flowers.”

“Won't.” Oliver gripped the stems in his thick fingers and scowled.

“I'm not asking you, Oliver. I'm telling you.” There was something about this kid that brought out the irritated parent in Tim. He reached down and pried Oliver's fat fingers apart.

“Ow!” Tim yelped. He stared down at Oliver who was now grinning. “You brat! You bit me!”

The boy stuck out his tongue. “You taste bad!”

Tim rubbed his hand. At least the kid hadn't drawn blood. Tim handed the flowers to Suzy. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” She hugged the flowers close and cooed over them like long-lost friends.

Tim faced Oliver again. “Okay, kid, like it or not, you're coming with me.”

“Won't. You're horrid.”

“That's right. I am. But you're still coming with me.”

“You're a big pile of doggie doo.”

“Actually, Oliver, I'm Tim Hunter. And I know your sister, Avril. She's very worried about you.”

“Avril is doggie doo, too.”

Tim rolled his eyes.
Why am I even bothering?

“Timothy Hunter's my boyfriend,” Suzy informed Oliver. “He's a master magician. He fixed my doll. So you better do what he says or he'll turn you into a toad.”

“Ooooooh!” Oliver's piggy little eyes widened. “I know something you don't know,” he chanted in a singsong voice. “I know something you don't know.”

“And what's that?” Tim demanded.

“I know something you don't know! I know something you don't know!”

“Okay, Oliver, you're getting on my nerves.” Tim snarled. He reached for Oliver's ears. “Shall I try to see if your ears are detachable?”

“I'll tell!” Oliver yelped. “Don't hurt me.”