get together, and that she would tell them about an adventure unlike any other, guaranteed.
When all four had gathered on Elli’s big bed, and the door had been shut, Elli proceeded to tell them everything that had happened to her that day at the library. There was Beatríz, a tall and lithe girl with black hair that hung in joyful waves all the way to her waist. Alex was short, especially for his age, but he was built like a middle linebacker, naturally and uncommonly strong, and sported the same buzz cut he had had since he was a small child. Jamie, as uncommonly short for his age as Alex was strong for his age, had a slight, but wiry, build, harvest blonde hair that flopped over his ears and forehead, and sad eyes—as if they were drawn that way on his face.
With their eyes and ears glued to Elli, not one of the three friends doubted in the least that something very strange had happened to her at the library, and none doubted that Elli was telling the absolute truth—or at least what she thought was the truth, which itself frightened Jamie. But no one said anything, except a few scattered and whispered “wows.” After about a minute of complete silence, Beatríz finally said, “Well, I think the least we can do is go back to the library and see what happened to you, Elli. And, then . . . if it’s all as you have described things, Elli, we can—all of us—decide, okay?” All nodded in agreement.
After a restless night of intermittent conversation and a bit of sleep, the four left the house at ten thirty, to be certain to be at the library when the doors opened at eleven.
Armed with the key and her pattern of stealth past the circulation desk and through and around the aisles of bookcases, Elli and her friends stood in complete darkness just inside the door to the basement. Without hesitation, Elli led them in single file with feeling hands and feet down the stairs on which Elli had descended the day before. Without talking, and with only the sound of whispering shoes on the smooth stone stairs, the four companions proceeded, as if out of reverence for the space or the moment. Elli, who was leading the group, watched in the blackness for any hint of light from the open doorway casting itself on the steps below. Elli worried that perhaps they had already traveled too far down the stairs; she also sensed that someone—or something—else was close by when she felt a slight and chilly breeze pass in front of her.
But then Elli saw the familiar light of the opened door below her on the steps. Elli led her friends into the room and looked for Peterwinkle at his desk. When she saw that the chair was vacant, she called for him. “Mr. Peterwinkle?”
In a moment, Peterwinkle appeared from behind a bookcase, carrying a stack of volumes. “Come in, come in,” he said warmly, as he laid the books on his desk, dusted them and himself off, and then sat in the chair, his pointed hat cocked to one side. He pushed the hat back to its proper place, chuckling, “I try to not hit my head on the hard ceiling when climbing the ladder, but the hat is not always so successful; but, better the hat than my head.” He giggled and paused awkwardly. “And,” he added, “I have the hooks on the tops of my boots to keep me from falling off the ladder. I still fall rather a lot, but at least I don’t fall very far, and I get an entirely different perspective on the books while hanging upside down!
“Well, young lady,” he said, looking at Elli, “I see you’ve returned, and with your friends. Please, sit down.” He invited them with a gesture to sit on the floor. Then, Peterwinkle himself sat on the floor and began to tell the story to all four of them, just as he had told it to Elli—and just as Elli had told it to her friends. He concluded by saying to them that it was up to Elli to decide first if she was going to accept the mission, and then up to the rest of them to decide, one by one, whether they would be joining her on this difficult and uncertain journey. The decision had to be made then and there, and the moment of decision would be irreversible when they passed through the doorway: either remaining in their world by going back up the stairs, or journeying to the land of Bairnmoor, by continuing down the dark staircase.
When Peterwinkle had finished speaking, the group remained silent for a long time, each one considering whether to turn left and go back up the stairs or to depart to the right and go down the stairs, descending further into the darkness—and the unknown.
Beatríz spoke first. “Mr. Peterwinkle, what about our parents and school?”
“From the moment you turn to the right, your absence will be timeless. You will be traveling perpendicular to time, returning, if you survive this mission, at the same moment of your departure—unless,” he interjected as an appending thought, “you decide otherwise at the moment of your return. You will simply have been to the library today, regardless of how many days or weeks and months, or even years, you will have spent in the land of Bairnmoor.”
“And if we are not successful, Mr. Peterwinkle, and . . . ” Beatríz said and paused. Then she continued, somewhat haltingly, “If we do not return, Mr. Peterwinkle, then what will happen to us here?”
“I’m afraid I am not able to answer that question, Beatríz, with any certainty, that is. I would suppose your existence here would be . . . non-existent. But, I simply don’t know.”
“Peterwinkle,” Elli said, somewhat pensively, already missing those wonderful parts of her world in which she at that moment yet lived, “I knew somehow when I left you yesterday that, regardless of how I felt or what I thought, I would be going to Bairnmoor.”
“I’m not letting Elli go alone; if she’s going, then I’m going, too,” Beatríz said.
“Me, too,” said Alex.
The three of them lowered their heads while waiting for Jamie’s answer.
“I don’t see how I can be of any value to Elli, or to the rest of you, and I have some very bad feelings about all of this, but if you are going, and you want me with you, then I guess I’m in,” said Jamie, finally.
Then, as if part of a liturgical mantra, each of the others repeated, in succession, “I want you along.”
“Well, then,” said Peterwinkle, placing his palms together, “it’s been decided. Besides each other, you will have to assist you a leather backpack from me containing some essentials. You will find in your packs a canteen of water, a week’s supply of special wheat crackers, some chocolate, and room for whatever else you may be provided by others throughout your journey.”
“Peterwinkle,” said Elli, “can you tell us anything else about the land of Bairnmoor, or how we will go about carrying out our mission?”
“Once more, I am sorry to say, I do not have answers for you. It was a long time ago when last I was there. I was but a small boy, then. I am now a very old child, and I remember very little; my memory betrays me, and so much has changed. I do know there will be those of one sort or another who will assist you, and that you will come to know who they are, including some who will likely surprise you. I have been set apart only to discover you, to tell you the story, and to send you on your way in the direction you are to go. And, oh, yes, it is imperative that you not tell anyone else about your mission, even if someone already seems to know about it. Finally, I have been set apart to thank you on behalf of the Queen and her people who do not know you, and to say, ‘Fare thee well.’” He then added, rather sadly, “It may be that I shall not be seeing you again.”
The four rose when Peterwinkle got to his feet. He went behind the bookcases from which he had appeared earlier and returned with the four promised backpacks. When Elli and her friends had put on their packs, Peterwinkle ushered them gently through the door, careful that he himself did not cross the threshold with them. He said, “Oh, I almost forgot! You must not remove the key, Elli, for you will require it to return to your world. Fare thee well.” And then he closed the door.
Once
