too?”
Two pursed his lips. “Yes. It hurts them. It even kills them, eventually. That’s why Lord Gilbert needs constant replacements. He’s trying to build a whole fleet of a hundred hunters to guard him once he’s able to travel to other worlds.”
Oliver looked at the folded hunters in their fifty-six hutches. “Why aren’t these … uh …”
“Activated?” said Two. “He’s using the oaks for power. The drain from so many hunters would kill the oaks within hours. Once he can get to other worlds, he’s going to build conduits that will add their power to his machine. Then he can activate them all.”
“But—” Oliver began, when suddenly Lord Gilbert’s voice crackled from Two’s handvane.
“Two!”
ordered the scratchy voice.
“The damage is worse than I feared! The machine could explode and destroy the entire mountain. I need your assistance at once!”
“That sounds serious,” said Oliver.
“It will be fine,” said Two. He looked around the laboratory, then grabbed a small metal can. “This is an oilcan. The joints on each hunter have to be oiled. Can you handle that?”
“Of course,” said Oliver, irate.
“Good. Get started.” Two thrust the can at Oliver and hurried from the laboratory.
The oilcan appeared to have a lever on top of it. Oliver gave it an experimental squeeze, and a squirt of black fluid shot onto the floor. Quickly, Oliver set the can on a workbench and pulled a rug over the dark stain.
He looked around the laboratory. He had no intention of helping Lord Gilbert, but he had no idea how to escape from this terrible situation without the crimson kite. He needed to come up with some kind of plan. Maybe he didn’t understand the equipment in the lab, but he might find something he could use among Two’s kitesmithing tools.
He went upstairs to find Two’s bedroom, which he guessed would double as his workshop, just like Oliver’s did.
There was no mistaking the room. Everything in it—the bed, the chest, the workbench—matched the furniture in his own room at home. But there was one large and dispiriting difference. Instead of the broken spars and misshapen sails and other kitesmithing monstrosities that had littered his bedroom at home, this room was full of beautiful kites—some on racks, some hanging from the ceiling. Oliver sighed.
He fell miserably into the chair in front of the workbench. He supposed that one of these kites belonged to him now. His gaze wandered over them. The experience was eerily like looking into a daydream. Each of the magnificent kites was exactly like one he had imagined making but had failed in every attempt to construct. He thought he ought to feel happy that he now owned one of these kites. He tried to rouse himself with the idea that he could use it in the Festival. After all, it was
as if
he had made it. But that was no good.
Two had all of the talent that Oliver lacked. “Yourtalents lie elsewhere,” Great-uncle Gilbert had said.
Sure
, thought Oliver.
All that means is that I don’t have any talents at all
.
He looked restlessly around the room. Two had probably built all of the other things that Oliver had imagined making, too.
He thought of his attempt at a secret drawer in his workbench. He looked carefully along one side of Two’s workbench. The wood appeared perfectly smooth, as though no door were there. But of course, Two had the talents that Oliver lacked. He would have built the drawer properly.
Oliver placed his fingers just where he had tried to put the hidden mechanism for opening his own drawer. And he pushed.
Click
.
Triumph. With a satisfying hiss, a secret drawer slid out from the workbench. Oliver felt a moment of intense jealousy, then lifted the lid on the drawer and looked inside—
And realized he just might escape after all.
10
Oliver reached into the secret drawer . He withdrew a single oaken spar, still green and sticky and freshly cut. In the drawer remained a neat row of similar
Two pursed his lips. “Yes. It hurts them. It even kills them, eventually. That’s why Lord Gilbert needs constant replacements. He’s trying to build a whole fleet of a hundred hunters to guard him once he’s able to travel to other worlds.”
Oliver looked at the folded hunters in their fifty-six hutches. “Why aren’t these … uh …”
“Activated?” said Two. “He’s using the oaks for power. The drain from so many hunters would kill the oaks within hours. Once he can get to other worlds, he’s going to build conduits that will add their power to his machine. Then he can activate them all.”
“But—” Oliver began, when suddenly Lord Gilbert’s voice crackled from Two’s handvane.
“Two!”
ordered the scratchy voice.
“The damage is worse than I feared! The machine could explode and destroy the entire mountain. I need your assistance at once!”
“That sounds serious,” said Oliver.
“It will be fine,” said Two. He looked around the laboratory, then grabbed a small metal can. “This is an oilcan. The joints on each hunter have to be oiled. Can you handle that?”
“Of course,” said Oliver, irate.
“Good. Get started.” Two thrust the can at Oliver and hurried from the laboratory.
The oilcan appeared to have a lever on top of it. Oliver gave it an experimental squeeze, and a squirt of black fluid shot onto the floor. Quickly, Oliver set the can on a workbench and pulled a rug over the dark stain.
He looked around the laboratory. He had no intention of helping Lord Gilbert, but he had no idea how to escape from this terrible situation without the crimson kite. He needed to come up with some kind of plan. Maybe he didn’t understand the equipment in the lab, but he might find something he could use among Two’s kitesmithing tools.
He went upstairs to find Two’s bedroom, which he guessed would double as his workshop, just like Oliver’s did.
There was no mistaking the room. Everything in it—the bed, the chest, the workbench—matched the furniture in his own room at home. But there was one large and dispiriting difference. Instead of the broken spars and misshapen sails and other kitesmithing monstrosities that had littered his bedroom at home, this room was full of beautiful kites—some on racks, some hanging from the ceiling. Oliver sighed.
He fell miserably into the chair in front of the workbench. He supposed that one of these kites belonged to him now. His gaze wandered over them. The experience was eerily like looking into a daydream. Each of the magnificent kites was exactly like one he had imagined making but had failed in every attempt to construct. He thought he ought to feel happy that he now owned one of these kites. He tried to rouse himself with the idea that he could use it in the Festival. After all, it was
as if
he had made it. But that was no good.
Two had all of the talent that Oliver lacked. “Yourtalents lie elsewhere,” Great-uncle Gilbert had said.
Sure
, thought Oliver.
All that means is that I don’t have any talents at all
.
He looked restlessly around the room. Two had probably built all of the other things that Oliver had imagined making, too.
He thought of his attempt at a secret drawer in his workbench. He looked carefully along one side of Two’s workbench. The wood appeared perfectly smooth, as though no door were there. But of course, Two had the talents that Oliver lacked. He would have built the drawer properly.
Oliver placed his fingers just where he had tried to put the hidden mechanism for opening his own drawer. And he pushed.
Click
.
Triumph. With a satisfying hiss, a secret drawer slid out from the workbench. Oliver felt a moment of intense jealousy, then lifted the lid on the drawer and looked inside—
And realized he just might escape after all.
10
Oliver reached into the secret drawer . He withdrew a single oaken spar, still green and sticky and freshly cut. In the drawer remained a neat row of similar
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