Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy by Karen Foxlee Page A

with such a snap that it made Ophelia fall backward and land with a bump on the ground. Its wings snapped open like a deathly black fan and trembled slightly. They almost filled the room. The bird opened its luminous gray eyes. It made a dangerous, low noise in its throat.
    “I’m sorry,” whispered Ophelia. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    The bird peered at her.
    Now she was going to be eaten. She knew it. It wasn’t fair. Her father would always wonder what had happened to her. He would say, “She went somewhere with superglue and then we never saw her again.”
    Ophelia closed her eyes and waited for the end.
    She waited and waited, and then she got tired of waiting and opened her eyes.
    The bird was staring at her with its intelligent eyes. It stretched its long, thin neck out and came very close to her face. It sniffed her features slowly. Its breath made Ophelia close her eyes again. She made a little squeak. She couldn’t help it. The bird sniffed her hair and sniffed her shoulders and sniffed her pockets. First her right, then her left.
    It took her left pocket within its powerful beak and ripped it clean off. The map, the sardines, the puffer, and the keys clattered to the ground. The bird stretched its neck all the way down and examined these things. Finally it took the sardine tin and brought it up to Ophelia.
    She took it with shaking hands. She pulled the ring top and peeled the lid open.
    “Is this what you want?” she croaked.
    The bird opened its massive beak. She picked a sardine out and placed it on its hard gray tongue. When it had swallowed, it opened its mouth again. While she fed the bird, she knelt down and picked up the keys. She took a tiny step sideways toward the little box on the floor in the corner of the room. Then another. The bird’s neck stretched after her and the sardines.
    “Nice birdie,” she said, plucking another sardine and placing it on its tongue.
    She knelt down again, picked up the golden box from the ground, and placed another sardine in the misery bird’s mouth. She took the key and opened the lock, a task that required her to hold the sardine tin and the key together in one hand. A task that required her to remove her eyes from the misery bird’s face. She felt its breath on her neck. She squeaked. She fumbled inside the box for the key. There it was. It was a long golden key, exactly the right size for the boy’s prison door.
    “More,” she said to the misery bird. “Have some more.”
    She placed the last sardine from the tin in the bird monster’s mouth.
    “Can I go now?” whispered Ophelia.
    Trembling, she picked up her puffer and map and glue. The misery bird looked at her closely. It yawned with its sardine breath. It retracted its neck and tucked its head neatly under its wing. Ophelia thought that probably meant yes. She walked to the door, her legs like wobbly stilts.
    She opened the door very carefully.
    The bird watched her with one eye.
    She closed it. She inserted the superglue nozzle in the keyhole and squeezed. She moved back along the corridor to the large empty room and the elevator. She would let the boy out, she thought, and then that was it. He was on his own. She pressed the elevator button and heard it approaching from below. If the Queen was in the elevator, it would be the endof her. She knew it. She felt quite suddenly as though she was going to wet her pants. Up, up, up the elevator came. The doors slid open. It was empty. Ophelia pushed the button marked down and sank to the floor inside.
    She was a girl without coat pockets. She stuffed the three keys in her jeans and ran with the map and puffer and the remains of the glue in her hands, throwing the sardine tin into a receptacle as she went. She wasn’t so sure about the Queen’s machine; the misery birds were probably the real reason children went missing in the museum.
    It was late, the sun starting to sink behind the city and the great Christmas tree. On the streets the pale