glanced at each other, and then stopped in their tracks. They stared at each other, then at themselves.
Their clothes had changed. Instead of jeans and a winter coat, Peter was wearing a medieval tunic and stockings, leather shoes, and a leather cap with a feather sticking out of it. Slung over his shoulder was a longbow.
Rosemary was in a pink and white dress that stretched to her ankles. There was something on her head. She tried to yank it off. “Ow!”
After pulling off the pins, she disentangled a cone-shaped storybook princess hat. “I look like a fairy godmother! A short fairy godmother!”
Puck sighed and stepped back.
“Why did our clothes change?” asked Peter.
“To make you more suitable to the setting,” said Puck.
Rosemary cast aside her cone hat. She poked her foot out from beneath the hem of her dress and peered at her cloth slippers. “How am I going to get through the forest in this?”
“How come —” Peter’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no — we’re part of a story, aren’t we?”
Rosemary looked up. “Peter?”
He shivered. “Think about it: a storybook forest? Bad things happen in storybook forests! We could run into lions or tigers or bears —”
“Lions live in grasslands,” said Rosemary.
“I’m talking storybook forests!” Peter rounded on Puck. “What’s here? Goblins? Trolls? Evil trees?”
Puck shrugged. “That, my friend, I cannot say. We must go on and find the way.” He linked their hands together. Peter and Rosemary looked at each other and let go. They grabbed hold again when Puck took Rosemary’s other hand and pulled her into the forest.
Puck soon let go of their hands and darted ahead of them, prancing and leaping over fallen logs, looping back to them to make sure they weren’t left behind.
“I had a dog like this,” muttered Peter, his arms folded and his shoulders hunched. “Maybe we could throw him a stick.”
“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” said Rosemary. “Look at Puck. He seems at home here.”
Puck turned around and paced them, walking backwards. “That is because this is my home!” He swung his arms wide. “And I am always happy to return to it! I am the forest and the forest is me. Remove me and a part is lost. Return me and I am whole!”
He cartwheeled backwards, landing on his feet. “Dance with me, Rosemary!” He held out his hand. “Feel the joy of the forest!”
Rosemary hung back, but Puck caught her hand. She sailed into the dance with a cry. Then, as Puck swung her around, she began to laugh and shriek with delight.
Puck twirled her, and Rosemary, laughing, swung down the path towards Peter. She reached out her hand to draw him into the dance, but he ducked back. She stopped and looked at him sourly. “Why not?”
He laughed. “I — I’m not the dancing type.”
“You should be,” said Puck. “You seem most nimble and well-made. Doesn’t he, Rosemary?”
“I — I just think we should be more careful,” stammered Peter.
“How can you be afraid of this place?” said Rosemary. “With Puck so happy, what could possibly go wr—”
Puck tackled her, clamping a hand over her mouth.
Rosemary struggled free. “What?”
“You tempted fate,” said Puck, his smile gone. “Never do that in the Land of Fiction.”
“But this is your home!”
“Sage Rosemary, look me in the eye. I am the forest and the forest is me. Would you trust me every moment of the day and night?”
Rosemary looked at Puck. His eyes were bright as new leaves and deep as wells. They sparkled with energy and Rosemary was bathed in Puck’s compassion for her. But she also sensed a wildness in that gaze that could overwhelm her.
She turned away, shivering. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking!”
“My fault. You caught my happiness. You could not see my caution.”
Peter cut them off. “I hear something.”
A low and steady drumbeat rose at the edge of hearing and grew louder.
Peter, Puck, and Rosemary dove for cover in the bushes. From there they watched the path and listened.
The drumbeat grew louder, and as it did, other music, whistles and trumpets, entered the range of hearing. Then they heard the sounds of marching feet, and they could see shapes moving along the path.
As the figures came closer, Peter and Rosemary realized that the shapes weren’t human, they were ... shapes. And they were singing.
Two, four, six, eight,
Find the greatest numerate!
Three, six, nine, twelve,
Through the forest we will delve!
Four, eight, twelve, sixteen
To catch the largest number seen!
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty
For our hunt to feed us plenty!
Spheres, cubes, and pyramids, each barely two feet tall, were marching along the forest floor on legs as thin as pencils. Their hands were human, but barely an inch across. Their arms were as thin as their legs. They wore white sailor hats, white gloves, and galoshes and carried fountain pens for spears.
Rosemary frowned. She stood up.
“Rosemary!” Peter gasped. “What are you doing?”
She stepped through the bushes and onto the path. Peter moved to stop her, but Puck held him back. “She is following her instinct. My instinct says to let her.”
The troop of shapes stopped in their tracks. They looked at Rosemary in shock.
One of the shapes, a gold sphere with two white eyes, a slit mouth, and no nose, stepped forward. It peered at Rosemary. “Princess Rosemary!” it squealed in a little-girl voice. It jumped up and down. “You’re back! You’re back! It’s been one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight years since you last read us!” The creature jumped into Rosemary’s arms and looked her over. “You’ve grown!”
Rosemary lifted the little sphere in shocked delight. “Una? I remember you!” She looked around at the crowd. “I remember all of you! You’re the Number Crunchers!”
A cheer went up among the crowd. “She remembers us! She remembers us!”
“I read you when I was like
