Elizabeth felt pleased that the Voice sounded alarmed. She took a few more steps, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the shadow. She couldn’t see the white-tailed man any longer, and there was a little rush of disappointment. Perhaps she wouldn’t find out if he had the face of a bird, after all, and she would have to go back and spin coins with Polly and Edith until Mama and Papa decided it was time to return for the feast.
There was a scratching of footsteps in the dirt, and the gleam of eyes near the very end of the walkway. Then Elizabeth saw the white-feathered tail disappear around the corner behind the left-hand house.
If I only hurry, I can catch him and see, she thought, breaking into a run.
No, don’t, sister of Alice! Don’t follow the white tail.
“Why ever not?” Elizabeth said, huffing as she ran. She wasn’t an active-running-about sort of child and she was already hot and out of breath.
I am the keeper of the stories and I’ve heard this story before.
“My story isn’t the same as anyone’s,” Elizabeth said.
Stories are retold more often than people think, because they don’t listen to stories and learn properly.
Elizabeth reached the end of the walkway, which was much longer than she’d expected. She thought she would find herself between two back gardens (she’d expected the City Fathers to have the largest, most elaborate gardens imaginable), but instead she had arrived at a T-junction with another walkway.
She glanced to the left and saw the white tail bobbing away behind the buildings.
Elizabeth ran again, certain that she would catch up to the bird-man in a moment. He was only walking and she was running. The moment she caught him she’d tap his shoulder and he would look directly at her and then she would know for sure whether he was a bird or a man. And once she did she would run right back to Mama and Papa and no one would ever know where she’d gone or what she’d done.
That’s what Alice said, too, the Voice said.
“Oh, do go away,” Elizabeth told the Voice. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop on someone’s thoughts.”
I only meant to say that Alice followed someone she oughtn’t have and she wasn’t the happier for it. You may not be either.
“I told you, go away,” Elizabeth said.
The Voice was distracting her when she needed to pay attention. It seemed that no matter how fast she ran the bobbing white tail never got any closer, though she watched carefully and the bird-man didn’t seem to be running.
Elizabeth was only half aware of what was around her. The bird-man turned another sharp corner and Elizabeth huffed out an irritated breath.
At this rate I’ll never catch up with him. Perhaps I should just turn back now.
(But then you’ll never know for certain if he really is a bird-man, or just a man with a feathered tail stuck under his jacket, and if he is just an ordinary sort of man don’t you want to know why he’s done such a silly thing?)
A stitch had formed under her right ribs, and it made little shooting pains with every step she took. She was starting to get hungry and cross, too, and felt that she’d been gone long enough that when she went back all the grown-ups would shout at her for sneaking off.
Yes, I should just go back, Elizabeth thought, but as she thought it she reached the turning where the bird-man had disappeared.
Just as she arrived she saw a flash of orange and one bright black eye flash around the next corner, which was about ten steps from where she stood.
“Wait!” Elizabeth called. “Oh, wait, please. I won’t hurt you! I only want to talk to you for a moment.”
Elizabeth sprinted to the corner. Her dress was sticking to her back and she tugged at it as she ran. She was certain her beautiful curls and ribbons were all bedraggled, too. But the bird-man was so close. She’d only just seen him. He couldn’t be more than a few steps away now.
Elizabeth rounded the corner and stopped.
She’d reached an odd sort of intersection. She stood in a circle with many alleys shooting off it in all directions, like she was in the center of the sun and its rays.
Elizabeth peered down one of the alleys. There was nothing much to see there—the light petered out a few steps beyond where she stood and the rest of the alley was hidden in shadow.
Just like the walkway where I first saw the bird-man.
She peeked into another alley, and saw the same thing. She went all around the circle only to discover that every path looked exactly the same. It was only then that she finally noticed she couldn’t see any buildings around her, or hear the noise of people, or smell the Giving Day feasts that were surely being cooked in every home.
All around her were high faceless brick walls, and above her was an identical brick ceiling.
She wasn’t in an alley, running behind buildings in the New City. She was in a tunnel. And all the exits from the circle where she stood were identical.
Including the one that would lead her home.
Elizabeth felt the first stirrings of fear. Where in the City was she? She’d never heard of a brick tunnel anywhere—if she had, she might be able to determine just how far she’d gotten from the Great Square.
Mama and Papa and Margaret and even Daniel, who never ever yells, are going to be very put out with me when I get back.
She didn’t doubt at all that she would find her way back. The path wasn’t obvious at the moment but soon she would remember which direction she’d come from and then simply retrace her steps.
And even if I choose the wrong path, I’m sure to come out on a street. And streets have cabs. I shall simply order the driver to return me home and then Hobson will use some spare change to pay for the cab. I might get a scolding, but I shall also have a wonderful story to tell Polly and Edith. They shall be ever so jealous to see me riding up all by myself in a cab like a queen.
“Yes, that’s just what I shall do,” Elizabeth said.
She took a few steps into one of the paths, cocking her head to one side to listen. It was certainly very strange, the way she couldn’t hear anything from the other end of any of the tunnels. It would be easier to make a choice if all the choices weren’t precisely the same.
But they aren’t all the same, Elizabeth thought. Each tunnel leads to a different place. I just don’t know what that place is yet.
Elizabeth realized that if she considered it properly this was all just an adventure, and there was really no need to be frightened at all. When she got through the tunnel—whichever tunnel she chose—she would find someone who would help her find her way home.
That’s how things worked in the New City, after all. Everyone was part of the same community, even if you’d never met them before. And she knew for certain that if she mentioned Papa’s name people would hasten to assist her. It always happened whenever they went out shopping or to a restaurant or some such thing. There would always be a bowing or curtsying worker eagerly saying, “Yes, Mr. Hargreaves. Whatever you would like, Mr. Hargreaves.”