Erik and Maggie both got crayons for Yule â on the very last day, like an afterthought â and not much else. Maggie and the General did Yule when Sanaam came home (not all twelve days of it, just presents and a big dinner), and Erik was still tired from his birthday five days before.
Santa was not expected. Maggie had never had any truck with Santa Claus, and she had given tiny Erik an instant reality check during her first winter at the house. There had been crying, but it was better corrected by an assurance that âSantaâ was real people who loved him and there would still be presents.
It was okay. It was actually pretty great. It was the big box of crayons, one for each of them, seventy-two colours and a sharpener in the side.
Erik was floored by the variety and the arrangement. Gradients of red fading into pink fading into violet, then blues and greens and yellows and oranges. Even the browns made a scale from warm into cool that ended in coal-black.
And everything had names. You couldnât just have blue, because there were, like, fifteen of them. Cobalt and periwinkle and azure and lapis lazuli and cerulean. There had been times in the recent past when he couldnât remember that blue was called blue. To have so many names for one thing seemed like decadence. To have that for every colour was like being encouraged to eat an entire ice cream parlour.
Maggie was getting kind of sick of reading them all to him, though.
His uncle made it out for the last three days of Yule, and so far, every day since, which was another great present.
Erik thought just-Yule was maybe easier than his birthday, less scary or less sad or something. Uncle Mordecai felt bad about the birthday, and that probably made him want to be extra brave for the rest of Yule too. They didnât have Julia anymore, so he didnât have money for presents, but he could make lists and dinners and he did that.
They had⊠not a turkey on Twelfth Night. Something cheaper that Erik couldnât quite remember, some animal heâd never heard of that was done up to look like turkey. (He didnât care about what that was called as much as he did about all the new words for colours.) It was good. Uncle Mordecai had distributed it sparingly to make a week of leftovers. They had it with rice or pasta or potatoes or toast. They could make toast on the stove â it came out a little stripy, but not terrible.
Milo was going to have to make them a new toaster before they had good toast. Milo had been doing Erikâs eye exclusively â barring a brief pause for Erikâs watch â for weeks now, and loving every minute of it. He hadnât even realized it was Yule until he came up from the basement and saw the not-a-turkey.
Erik had a vague recollection of toast, and he was making its acquaintance again. He thought he liked it best with peanut butter.
He was sitting with Maggie behind the little stub of railing to the left side of Ann and Miloâs door. They were employing the crayons and using hard-covered books as drawing surfaces. Maggie had a history of tactics, Erik had the board book Milo got him. The story was kind of too easy for him to be interested in anymore, but it was stiff and light and great for drawing against.
He was considering altering the animals with the crayons. He might like a purple duck. Well, no, perhaps a âplum wineâ duck.
The floor was hard, but the planks were warped and grooved and unsuitable for drawing. Everything came out all wiggly. Maggie thought that was funny but Erik found it irritating.
Apart from that, it was a good place for sitting and doing something quiet. You could see the upstairs and the downstairs. There was just a little piece of floor and railing here that ended in a blank wall, so nobody needed to get past. Ann and Milo didnât ever get annoyed with them for playing outside their door.
Hyacinth and the General, on the less-fun side of the stairs, sometimes did.
It was cold right now, because of the snow and the patched roof, but there was a big bucket with fire downstairs and that helped a lot. Maggie had her coat on and Erik had a blanket.
The subject under consideration, which Erik had subtly pushed for, was people in the house.
He did remember everyone in the house, he really did, but he had trouble naming them sometimes. It didnât help him to just draw them. Ah, but drawing them next to someone who could name all of them, and coaxing that person to say the names about a million times might be of considerable assistance.
Maggie was also labelling everyone, which was less helpful with names (he still couldnât read) but gave him some nice letters he could try to copy. There were a lot of âMâ people in the house. He thought he was getting pretty good at âM.â
âI think Milo is like our little brother,â Maggie opined, adding glasses to him. âHe needs help a lot and we have to be extra careful and nice to him.â
âMaybe draw Milo small?â Erik said. (He was trying to say the names as much as he could too.)
âNo, I donât think thatâs fair. Ann and Milo should be the same. They share things. They just have different clothes.â
âAnn has a smile,â Erik said. He added one to his Ann, a red one. He had put her in the lavender dress. Maggie had put her in the green one.
âMilo has a smile sometimes,â Maggie said.
She considered her Milo and did not add a smile to him. He didnât usually have one and she thought it might look weird. âYou have to catch him doing it,â she said. âYou canât just stare at him and wait, though, because he gets scared of that.â
âDid you stare at Milo and wait for a smile?â Erik said.
âMaybe a couple times,â Maggie admitted. âBut he really hates it. Even if he doesnât know youâre looking. Itâs like he knows thereâs something scary.â
âIt feels crawly when someone stares at you, Maggie,â Erik said.
âYeah, I guess,â Maggie said. âBut Ann likes people to look at her. She sings in a show. I think sheâs like our big sister because sheâs nice and she tries to take care of us, but sheâs not like a mom. She does a lot of silly stuff.â
âYour mom doesnât do silly stuff,â Erik said firmly, shaking his head.
âSometimes with my daddy,â Maggie said. âI think they wouldnât like each other if she couldnât ever be silly, but she hides it. Silly people donât get any respect.â
âDoes Ann get any respect?â said Erik.
âI dunno. But I donât think people would let her order them around. Or die if she said so.â
âYour mom tells people to die?â He was having a hard time manoeuvring Maggie into calling her mom anything but âMom.â He was sure he wasnât supposed to call Maggieâs mom that.
âShe used to. Then we lost the war and they said she couldnât do that anymore. She had to go home. That really pissed her off.â
âYour mom isnât like my mom,â Erik said. âI mean, not like sheâs my mom. And not my auntie. Sheâs just there, and mean.â
Maggie did not dispute this. âMaybe my mom is like your teacher. Sheâs strict and she wants you to be good, but she doesnât care if you like her.â
âIs that a teacher?â Erik said. He hadnât quite dared to draw Maggieâs mom. He drew a dark green dress and didnât put anyone in it. âShe doesnât teach me stuff.â
âShe would if you gave her two minutes,â Maggie said, nodding to herself.
She couldnât decide whether to have her mom smiling or frowning. Frowning was more usual, but smiling would annoy her if she saw the picture.
âShe teaches me stuff,â Erik said. He pointed to his Hyacinth. âButtons. And reading and writing.â
âYeah, but Hyacinth totally loves you,â Maggie said.
âHyacinth totally loves me,â Erik said. He drew some goggles up over her hair, which was a ragged yellow scribble. âCanât teachers love you?â
âI donât think my mom loves me very much when sheâs teaching me,â Maggie said.
But her mom didnât do love stuff a lot. Hugging and kissing. She brushed Maggieâs hair and braided it, and held her in her lap to read books, and helped her up when she fell. Practical stuff. Hey, Iâm going to touch you just because I like you, didnât seem to be a thought that ever occurred to her mother. Except maybe around her father. Sometimes.
âYour uncle gives you a lot of hugs and kisses,â Maggie said. Maybe not as much as her daddy, but her daddy was crazy â and also not home a whole lot.
âIs that a lot?â Erik said. Sometimes he wanted hugging, but he knew his uncle was hiding and felt bad and wouldnât like to do it. It was good when there was hugging and kissing, but the times when there wasnât any kinda stuck out and made him sad.
âOh, yeah,â said Maggie, nodding. âI think your uncle loves you all the time.â Which was something neither of her parents quite managed. Her daddy might be loving her wherever he was, but he couldnât do anything about it. And her mom had to switch it off so she could learn to be, well, Magnificent.
âYeah,â said Erik. Sometimes when he felt bad, heâd tell himself his uncle didnât love him, but he didnât really believe that even when he thought it. âIt makes him sad.â
âThatâs weird,â Maggie said. âLoving people is supposed to make you happy.â
âItâs because Iâm hurt,â Erik said, with certainty.
âI guess I was sad about that too,â Maggie allowed. âAnd sometimes I get sad again when stuffâs hard for you.â
âDo you love me, Maggie?â Erik said.
âYeah.â
âI love you too.â
âYeah, I know.â
He smiled and handed her the crayon he was using, âWhat colour is this?â
She groaned and knuckled a fist to her brow. âItâs âidiot red.â Itâs âtotal idiot redâ!â
âI did not⊠colour my uncle âtotal⊠idiot⊠redâ!â Erik sputtered. Words were a lot harder when she pissed him off and that pissed him off more.
âYou totally did,â Maggie said, grinning. She knew he was mad when he slowed down like that and she thought it was funny. âItâs exactly right too. Can I use it?â
âNo! Youâre⊠mean! Youâre mean to uncles and⊠crayons. Gimme my crayon!â He snatched it.
She was mean to crayons. She had them all out of order already and she had peeled the wrappers off half of them. That was where the names were!
âItâs âbrick red,â really,â she said gently.
âIâm gonna find⊠âmean brown,ââ Erik muttered.
âNot without me reading the names off,â Maggie said.
âMaybe I donât⊠care,â Erik said. He scribbled quietly for a time.
âIâm sorry,â Maggie said.
âMm.â
Maggie couldnât find her own âbrick red.â She had to use âcerise,â which was a little too pink. âIt kinda sucks you canât read.â
Erik sighed. âYeah.â
âIâm sorry I teased you. Do you want me to read that one?â
âYes.â He held it back from her with a frown. âDonât hurt it.â
âI wonât. I promise Iâll only ruin mine.â
He handed it to her.
ââTanâ,â she said. âThatâs a short one. Iâll write it.â
She gave him a piece of paper with T-A-N in tan to copy. He attempted it. He thought he got the first letter all right, maybe a little crooked. When he tried to do the second, he wobbled off the page. âNo,â he told his hand. It wasnât even going the right way.
âItâs okay, try the next one,â Maggie said.
âThere!â He sat back with a smile, pleased with it.
âUm,â Maggie said.
Erik glanced up at her and winced. He knew that look. That was the itâs-right-but-itâs-backwards look. They didnât like to tell him that, because backwards was a lot better than all he used to do. But backwards was worse because he couldnât tell.
âNo,â he said weakly. He examined the paper and turned it. It was⊠No. Wasnât it?
Itâs really not the same? he thought, frowning.
âMaggie, donâtâŠâ he began, painfully. Why did this have to be so hard? It was hard enough feeling bad and having to relearn all this stuff in the first place, and now he had to fight to even say anything about it.
She waited for him, looking just as pained, which didnât exactly make things any easier.
â…tease me,â he finished, after what felt like about a year.
âIâm not,â she said. âIâm sorry, Erik. Itâs really close. Itâs good.â
He pushed the paper away. âI donât want to⊠write stuff.â
âItâs okay. What colour should I draw you?â She offered her box.
Erik examined his own, where all the green was nicely arranged. He tested a few of them, making small scribbles. âThis one.â
ââSagebrush,ââ Maggie said. She looked in her box. She had no hope of finding it. âCan I borrow yours?â
âYeah.â
He put the finishing touches on his Maggie. He had thought about drawing her really mean and ugly, but he felt bad about it. He had tried to draw her nice. He put bows on her shoes.
âWhat colour is your dad?â he asked. He was going to have to crib most of Maggieâs dad from Maggieâs drawing. Erik knew he was big, and dark, and he knew everything about monsters, but everything else was kind of difficult.
I think I said something mean about how he looked, he thought absently. I was tired. Iâll have to remember to say sorry.
âI dunno,â Maggie said. âJust really dark brown.â
Erik selected the cool brown that came just before black and used that.
Why are his ears funny? he wondered, but he thought that might not be nice to ask. He just copied them as best he could.
Maggie had moved on from her daddy. She was drawing something crazy with a pink face and spiky grey hair. It had a brown dress and blue pants. At the same time. âWhatâs that?â Erik asked her.
âOh. Thatâs Barnaby.â She put a broken plate on the ground beside him.
âWhatâs Barnaby?â He shook his head. âWhoâs Barnaby?â
âI think âwhatâ is better,â Maggie said. âAnd Iâm not sure. He lives in the attic. Heâs super weird.â
âHe lives here?â Erik said. He leaned in closer and stared at the picture.
âYeah. Donât you remember?â
Erik sighed and laid down his crayon. He put both hands over his face. He forgot someone again. He thought he was done forgetting people. He couldnât remember this one at all.
âHe doesnât come down a lot,â Maggie said. âSeriously. He hates everything and he doesnât like to do the stairs. Hyacinth goes up and feeds him, thatâs all. I think he throws his poop out the window, or maybe he does magic to it.â
Erik blinked at her with pained confusion. âFor real?â
âYeah. Heâs really, really weird, but we donât see him. So if you donât remember, itâs okay.â
Erik didnât think it was okay, especially somebody that weird. He wanted to remember. He tried to copy Maggieâs drawing. âWhat⊠room is he?â
âThe attic,â Maggie said. She pointed straight up. âThereâs a door right there, in the ceiling.â Now she pointed across, above Hyacinthâs room. There was a rectangular outline and a wooden ring hanging down.
âHyacinth has to pull it down with a pole when she wants to go up,â she said. âThe stairs come down. Theyâre super wobbly because theyâre supposed to have metal, but now itâs all wood and magic. Itâs kludged. Thereâre stairs like that in Room 204 too. They go to the roof.â
âWhoâs in 204?â
âNobody,â Maggie said. âBoxes. Mice.â
âMice.â Erik snickered. He liked to picture a tiny mouse family with little beds paying Hyacinth rent, but he couldnât figure exactly the words âpaying rent,â so he couldnât tell Maggie about it. Maybe heâd have to draw it, when he was done with Barnaby.
âWhy is it pants and a dress?â he asked. Ann and Milo had pants and a dress, but not at the same time.
âItâs not a dress, itâs a robe,â Maggie said. She picked up a crayon and emphasized the tie in the front. âHe just wears pyjamas the whole time. The robe is over them so he doesnât get cold.â
âDoesnât Hyacinth help Barnaby with buttons?â Erik said. Hyacinth wouldnât let him just wear pyjamas all the time. She said he had to practise clothes and there were times to be in clothes. Even his uncle put clothes on before he came out of the bedroom, but sometimes not lots of them.
âBarnaby hates everything,â Maggie said. She made a broad gesture with both hands. âI think if he had clothes, they would have to be exactly the right clothes, or heâd yell.â
She sighed, shaking her head. âBarnaby gets mad when the clouds are wrong. I can hear him sometimes because my roomâs upstairs. When he comes down, he moves stuff and he breaks stuff. He says everything has to be auspicious. That means lucky. He wants to fix everything. I mean everything.â She flung out her arms, indicating the whole universe, house, sky and clouds included. âHe tried to make Hyacinth put new wallpaper on the whole house because the stripes werenât good enough.â
She remembered that fight. She had been pretty little, but it had gone on for days, and it had kind of scared her. They had screamed at each other.
Her parents never screamed when they fought. Her mom got really quiet and sharp when she was mad, and her daddy got kind of snappish, but not loud.
Barnaby and Hyacinth had sounded like they were going to strangle each other, or maybe they already were. About the stripes in the wallpaper.
âDid she?â Erik said.
âNah. We donât have enough money for that stuff. Itâd be a really stupid reason to do it too.â
âWhy is Barnaby here if he hates it?â
âBecause he hates everything.â She made the expansive gesture again. âSo he doesnât hate it more than other places. And Hyacinth told him he has to stay.â
âOh,â Erik said, nodding. Yeah, you pretty much had to do it if Hyacinth told you to. Sometimes his uncle didnât, but it seemed really hard.
âShe found him,â Maggie said. âShe brought him here.â She couldnât quite fathom it. What did they need with a Barnaby? Was it not weird or loud enough?
âHyacinth found me and my uncle,â Erik said. He selected another piece of paper and began to draw mice.
âYeah, but your uncle needed fixing. She likes doing that.â
âBarnaby needed fixing. Hyacinth found him on a street-corner screaming at people. She felt bad.â
âYeah?â Maggie said.
Erik shrugged. âI think she knew him when he didnât used to do that.â
âHuh.â
âHe had a top hat.â
âMaybe Iâll give him one,â Maggie said. It certainly couldnât make him more weird.
They drew for a while. Erik picked up his paper when he was done with it and showed it to Maggie with a grin. âI think these mice live there.â He pointed to Room 204. He had given them tiny hats and furniture. He gave one of them a top hat like Barnaby.
Maggie snickered. âProbably them and all their friends and family.â
âI should draw more,â Erik said. He should at least make one with striped pants to be friends with the Barnaby-mouse.
He wondered how a mouse would wear pants. Two legs or all four?
âHey, Erik, check your watch,â said Maggie. âIs it almost lunch?â It was Sunâs Day, so Maggie had been available for playing since breakfast, and she didnât have her Mom in charge of when it was okay to break for food.
Erik drew the watch out of his right pocket by the chain and had a look. âAlmost.â He showed her the hands, which were beginning to edge into the sandwich. âWe should go eat.â
Maggie pushed back to her feet with purpose, but eating was not it. âCâmon. I bet if we hang out on the stairs for a little, we can watch Hyacinth feed Room 101.â
âThereâs⊠people in 101?â Erik said. He stuffed the watch back in his pocket without looking and scrambled to his feet as well. âYou didnât⊠draw them!â 101 was right next door! How did he not know who was in 101?
âShh!â Maggie waved an impatient hand at him. She had gone down a couple of stairs and was peering through the railing. âNo one knows whoâs in 101, Erik. Itâs not just you. Hyacinth doesnât know and she goes in there. Thereâs something magic on the door so you canât know, and weâre not supposed to try to figure it out. If weâre quiet, we can watch her go in.â
Erik crept down a few stairs and peeked past Maggie and the railing. You could just make out 101 beyond the dining room.
It was next to the downstairs bath, which had no plumbing so they mainly just used it for the mirror. They took baths in the big wooden laundry bucket in the kitchen. The dining room didnât have any dining room stuff in it, either, just carpet. They ate in the kitchen too.
âNo one knows?â Erik said, regarding the closed door. It had faint numbers on it like their door, where there used to be metal ones but they got taken off, but you couldnât tell from here. 101, 102 (which was his and his uncleâs) and 103.
103 was a little bit bigger than 102, with more mice and boxes, and a bay window that invited thrown bricks. Erik had tried playing in there a couple times, but it smelled funny. He never even tried to get into 101, even though the door was right there. It was almost like it wasnât.
âNo one,â Maggie replied, shaking her head. âHey, can you figure it out?â she asked him. âLike Momâs tiara and Barnaby in a top hat?â
Erik frowned. That made it sound like he only knew stuff about hats. âI dunno. I can try.â
He wasnât sure if trying was really how he knew stuff. It was like he thought about stuff, and then someone who was watching him think about stuff decided there was other stuff he needed to know, so they put that in his head so he could think about it too.
He guessed he could try thinking about Room 101 and see if anyone thought he needed to know more about it.
Okay. So itâs really quiet in there, because I never thought about there being anyone in there. They donât talk or run around. I bet itâs not a lot of people. Or maybe they just donât talk, like Milo. Or I guess it could be really tiny people, like the mice in hats?
He snickered. That would be silly.
There was something (A picture? But not mice in hats?) that he was thinking about for a minute, but then he lost it and he couldnât remember what it was. He knew he was thinking about something, because time had gone by, but he didnât remember any thoughts past the mice in hats.
He winced. That used to happen to him a lot. He could even be saying something and heâd forget what it was, or why. He didnât like it. It hadnât happened in a long time and he didnât like it happening again.
What was it? Mice in hats⊠then what?
(âGoddammit, Diane.â)
It happened again. He had been staring at 101 and thinking, and he didnât know what. It was gone.
He shook his head. âI donât like it, Maggie. I feel⊠broken.â
âDoes trying to know stuff about it make you feel broken?â Maggie asked, looking back at him.
âI donât know,â Erik said. He sighed. âMaybe itâs me.â
âI bet itâs the room,â Maggie said. âYou wait. Hyacinth doesnât like what it does either. She always looks mad about it.â
âWhy do we have it if she doesnât like it?â
âI dunno. I guess it could be some really powerful, evil magic-user and heâs making her bring him lunches, but then youâd think heâd do something. Not just eat and be quiet. Itâs been like that ever since Iâve lived here. She brings them food and takes out dirty dishes. I guess maybe they throw their poop out the window or magic it like Barnaby.â
âWhat magic would you do to poop?â Erik said.
Maggie snickered. âI dunno. Turn it into something else you donât mind having around, I guess. Tiny cat figurines.â
She had to stifle a laugh with both hands. The idea that Barnaby and Room 101 might just have boxes and boxes of tiny cat figurines⊠or that all tiny cat figurines used to be poop.
Erik swatted her on the shoulder. âShh! Hyacinth.â
She had just left the kitchen via the dining room. She was carrying a tray. She crossed directly to Room 101. She knocked on the door. After a brief pause, it clicked open a crack. She pushed it open the rest of the way and went in.
Both Erik and Maggie leaned forward, trying to see inside, but there was nothing to see. It was dark inside. The door clicked closed.
âThatâs it?â Erik said.
âSometimes thereâs talking, but I only ever hear Hyacinth. Whoeverâs in there talks really quiet.â
They hushed and strained to hear.
No voices. A moment later, the door opened and Hyacinth emerged with a tray and empty dishes. Different dishes, Erik was pretty sure. Maybe breakfast dishes. She blinked and wobbled, then she turned around and frowned thunderously at the open door.
âSee? Look,â Maggie whispered. âI think she just forgot whoâs in there. It pisses her off.â
Nevertheless, she shut the door and returned to the kitchen with the tray.
âSheâs not scared of it,â Erik noted. He didnât think Hyacinth scared easily, or ever, but if it was someone evil making her bring him lunches, he thought sheâd at least look a little bit worried. Especially if she didnât forget until she looked mad.
âMaybe when she goes in there she remembers and it makes sense,â Maggie said.
They both considered what sort of thing could be in Room 101 that Hyacinth might see and immediately understand why it needed to stay in there.
A famous gangster, Maggie thought.
A talking dog? thought Erik.
âSheâll feed Barnaby next, you wanna see that?â Maggie said.
âWill we see Barnaby?â
Maggie shrugged. âMaybe.â
âYeah,â Erik said.
Hyacinth found them both standing under the folding staircase with smiles and hands folded behind their backs. She had a plate with a sandwich and an apple cut into seven pieces. Barnaby preferred seven to eight. It was a real pain in the ass. âWhatâre you two doing up here?â she said. âItâs lunchtime. Hit up the kitchen.â
âWe want to watch you feed Barnaby, Miss Hyacinth,â Maggie said, politely.
âWatch me feed him?â said Hyacinth. âMaggie, Barnaby is not a lion. He doesnât kill⊠Well, he doesnât kill his lunch. Heâs not entertaining.â
âThe stairs kind of are. And Erik doesnât really remember about Barnaby. I was trying to explain him, but heâs just so weird. I donât get him.â
âBarnaby sees things,â Hyacinth told them. âThe past and the future. More the future, I think, but Iâm not sure. Maybe he just cares more about the future. It used to be he could only see about what he wanted and when he wanted, but now itâs everything all the time.â
He had told her once that it was like being surrounded by signs, actual signs, with printing. That was how easy it was. Some of them little pencil scribbles and some in ink and some in bright paint and some in great big blinking fey lights.
Not just about important things, all the things, and the obviousness had nothing to do with the importance. HEY, THAT WOMAN IN THE GREY STOCKINGS IS GOING TO BURN THE POT ROAST TONIGHT! Okay! I really donât care! Shut up!
It got so he wanted to change things just so he could quit reading whatever it was over and over again, or at least make it less obnoxious.
âIt bothers him,â said Hyacinth. âThatâs why heâs weird and he doesnât like to come down.â
âCan we visit him with lunch?â said Maggie.
Hyacinth shook her head. âBarnaby doesnât want visiting.â People were covered in signs too. âYou can help me do the stairs. Iâll ask him if he wants to come down and say hi.â
Or, she thought, heâll take one look at me and heâll know I was going to ask him that and heâll be ticked off about it.
âYay!â said Maggie, upstarting. âI want to pull them down!â
âYou and Erik can share,â Hyacinth said. âJust stay where I put you, so the damn things donât conk you in the head.â
It was a really long pole, so you could stand off to the side while you hooked the ring.
The hook on the pole and the ring on the stairs used to be metal, but they had gone a long time ago, probably during the siege. It wasnât like doorknobs and hinges that had to be metal â and that Maggieâs daddy remembered to buy replacements for â so they stayed wood and Milo stuck a couple of charms on them.
Sometimes they broke anyway, and Hyacinth had to bang on the ceiling to get Barnaby to do his own stairs.
Erik and Maggie were careful, although a little inaccurate due to having four hands working the pole. They hooked the ring on the third pass and dragged down the door.
The stairs ratcheted and shuddered, sliding down rapidly until they hit some function that didnât work right and it slammed them to a halt. They mustâve done that fifteen or twenty times on the way down, and they failed to deploy entirely.
Hyacinth had to put a foot on the bottom stair and stomp on it until it clacked to the floor and locked into place.
The whole apparatus creaked and rocked while she climbed, and at one point gave an ominous snap which made her wince, but didnât lose any pieces or fall apart.
She turned at the top and said, âYou guys wait down there.â
Maggie dared Erik to go up the stairs. He went up one. Maggie went up three. Erik had gone up seven when a pale, blue-veined hand descended from the attic space and snatched him by the shoulder.
A deep voice issued from above, âSeven is quite sufficient, thank you.â
Erik cried out and staggered, but the hand was strong enough to keep him from falling off the stairs. It was a bit painful. When he had stabilized, it released him.
âBarnaby! Are you trying to kill him?â cried Hyacinth.
âNo,â said Barnaby. âAlthough Iâm not certain it would make much difference if I did. You would be upset with me, I suppose.â
âA lot of people would be upset with you!â
âPerhaps a few. But in this instance, I have only prevented him from falling. And Magnificent from completing the mathematical sequence and entering the attic. I do not want Magnificent in the attic. Children are chaos.â
He descended the stairs, not all the way. About half.
Erik had gone down all the way as soon as Barnaby let him go. He was standing at the bottom with a petrified expression. The only reason he hadnât run off was he had sort of forgotten he could.
Barnaby was a lot like Maggieâs picture. The brown robe and blue pants and a blue shirt with buttons under the robe â but that part was hard to see. He had broken-down grey plaid slippers and bare feet inside them. His white hair stood out in corkscrews at the sides of his head and he had none on top
Maggie had only drawn grey hair because white crayons didnât work very well. He wasnât pink, either, but that was maybe the closest colour they had to what he was. Pinkish, but sort of translucent like the belly of a frog.
All that, Erik had expected and couldâve managed, but Barnaby was big. And not, like, a friendly sort of big â not big like Maggieâs daddy. More like punching-people-in-the-face-while-snarling big. Like a shaved bear. A shaved bear that is not real happy you have been daring each other to climb up its stairs.
The stairs quivered and Barnaby did likewise. He sat down on them.
âErik,â he said. âI have no emotional investment in whether you remember me or not, but I wish to speak to you about the mouse in striped trousers.â
âOkay,â Erik said faintly.
âWhat?â said Hyacinth, above.
âThat is an ill-omened mouse. Remove it at once. Draw something over it. More tiny furniture. A featureless black void. The Baron himself. Anything but a mouse in striped trousers. I do not require one.â
âOkay,â Erik repeated, numbly.
âThat will be all,â said Barnaby. He rose shakily. The stairs made it audible and magnified the motion. Hyacinthâs hand came down from the ceiling to help steady him.
He paused and leaned back down from the attic space to address Erik with a pointed finger, âUnder no circumstances should you provide that mouse with a phonograph. Or a record player. Or whatever damn thing it is now.â Muttering to himself, he disappeared into his lair.
âOkay,â Erik said, one last time, to nobody.
âWow,â said Maggie.
She was grinning, open-mouthed, almost laughing. That had been the most Barnaby-esque performance out of Barnaby that she couldâve hoped for.
Well, maybe he couldâve rearranged something and broken something, too, but he hadnât come down all the way or stayed very long.
Maggie thought that was a perfect little summary of the crazy man in the attic. That was all Erik needed to know about him, right there.
âErik, Iâm sorry, did he scare you?â Hyacinth asked, descending.
âIâm not sure,â Erik replied, honestly.
It had been scary for a minute there, but the whole experience had been too weird to stay scared. He could accept somebody knowing about the mouse, he knew things about stuff a lot of the time, but all that stuff that Barnaby said to do about it? Where did that come from?
If Barnaby had come down and yelled at him, he wouldâve been scared. This just made him dizzy.
âYou guys want lunch?â Hyacinth asked them.
âI gotta draw something first,â Erik said.
He put a piano over the mouse, a big black one that covered the stripes. Like maybe it came down from the ceiling and smushed the mouse. You could see a little bit of brown where he tried to draw the keys that used to be a mouse elbow, but he thought that was probably okay.
The mouse with the top hat seemed to approve.