“Look, just tell me how it got here, then.”
“I told you, it’s not for me to say.” Colin sighed. Children. “When you’re both ready I’ll meet you at the top of the stairs down the hall and take you down to the dining room.” He walked away, keeping his back as straight as he could. He’d show these urchins how to look dignified. If there was one thing his mother had made sure of, it was that Colin had good posture. He ignored the snorting noise Tyler made behind him. The boy was almost a savage, after all.
Ten minutes later, still ignoring Tyler’s endless questions, Colin led the Jenkins children into the kitchen, where he introduced them to the women preparing breakfast-red-cheeked Sarah, blonde, round, and bustlingly warm; tall, superior Azinza from West Africa; and the little, solemn-faced Tibetan girl, Pema. None of the young women liked him very much, Colin knew, but they all feared his mother, which kept them polite. Once names had been exchanged, he pulled the Jenkins children out of the kitchen and led them onward into the dining room with its long tables. Most of the farmhands were there already, and they turned to gaze with curiosity at the new arrivals.
Colin led Lucinda and Tyler to the serving table. The spread was a good one this morning: eggs of every kind, bacon, sausages, ham, hash brown potatoes, a platter of fried mushrooms and tomatoes (which Tyler Jenkins was careful to avoid, although he seemed to have taken more than a little of everything else), waffles, pancakes, and at least five or six different kinds of muffins. When they had loaded their plates, Colin looked around. The only empty space big enough for all three of them was next to Ragnar, so he reluctantly led them over.
The big blond-bearded man grinned and reached out to shake hands with the children. Their hands disappeared into his massive grasp like pink baby mice being swallowed whole by a python. “Greetings to you both.” Ragnar turned a less friendly look on Colin. “And to you, young Needle.”
“Where did that dragon come from?” Tyler demanded.
“That is Gideon’s story to tell, not mine,” Ragnar said.
“Do you all live here on the farm?” Lucinda asked. More farmhands were coming in now, although all but the kitchen workers were men.
“Gideon has generously given us homes, all us refugees,” Ragnar explained. Colin tensed, afraid the man might say too much-Ragnar was far too full of himself-but the Scandinavian giant only turned to Mr. Walkwell, sitting at a nearby table. “Isn’t that right, Simos?”
The farm’s overseer looked sour. “You children, get on with the eating” was all he said. “It is a long day ahead.”
“Ick, Tyler-you’ve got enough syrup on your plate to float an ocean liner,” Lucinda complained. Her brother ignored her and began to eat. Colin Needle realized that he was hungry too. Then, just as he bent to his plate, a cool hand closed on his shoulder.
“Ah, there you all are,” his mother said.
It was always the same feeling Colin’s mother brought to him, part excitement, part worry. Had he made a mistake of some kind? He had done just what she’d asked, hadn’t he?
“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked the two guests. “I’m look forward to getting to know you both.” She turned her smile on her son. “Have you been showing our guests around?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“He’s been very helpful, Mrs. Needle,” said Lucinda.
Colin suddenly decided that for an unwanted guest, the Jenkins girl was not so bad. “Can I get you anything, Mother?”
“Just some fruit and yogurt, dear, thank you.”
By the time Colin came back she was doing her best to charm the Jenkins children, and her best could be quite impressive. Tyler did not look entirely convinced, but Lucinda seemed taken with his mother’s accent, her careful, clever way of talking, and her occasional bright smiles. Colin found himself proud of his mother, proud that he was her son-that she had chosen to have him. Who needed a father, or even to know who his father had been? His mother could be difficult, it was true, but that was because she was special. A sort of genius. That was one of the reasons Colin felt so drawn to Octavio Tinker, the founder of Ordinary Farm. Genius had its own rules. Genius had to get its own way.
“You know, Lucinda,” his mother was saying, “you have such a charming face…” She reached out her long fingers toward the girl. “You should cut your hair shorter to show it off.”
A little startled, Lucinda leaned back suddenly and lifted her arm, knocking over a basket full of muffins that had been set down on the table beside her. The basket bounced and the muffins leaped out, rolling across the floor. The little dark-haired farmhand, Haneb, who had been passing behind her, danced back with a cry of surprise and almost dropped his breakfast plate. Even as he did so, though, Haneb struggled to keep the left side of his face turned away, and tried to shield it with a free hand, but this only ensured that some of the food slid from his plate and fell to the floor amid the now free-ranging muffins.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Lucinda as she jumped up. She began gathering muffins into the basket, and as she did so stuck out a hand toward Haneb. “I’m really sorry. Hi, I’m Lucinda and I’m a clumsy idiot, obviously.” Suddenly she gave a horrified gasp and straightened up, stumbling back from the dark-haired man as though she had been struck.
Haneb stared at her for a moment, both eyes wide and the good one blinking. The left half of his face was a mass of scars, the skin melted like candle wax, the eye pulled half shut. Colin had often thought that if the man had any concern for the feelings of others, he would wear a mask like the Phantom of the Opera. Especially when people were eating.
Haneb ducked his head and, without picking up any more of his breakfast, scuttled away toward Mr. Walkwell’s table. Once seated, he began to eat quickly without looking up.
Tyler hissed at her. “Jeez, Lucinda, treat that guy like Frankenstein much?”
She stared at him, embarrassed but also angry. “It surprised me, that’s all.” She turned to Colin. “Poor guy! What happened to him?”
“Burned.” Were these children going to blunder and crash through every little private matter on the farm? If so, it was going to be a very long summer.
“Whoa,” said Tyler, interested for the first time. “Really? What burned him?”
A shadow fell over them-a large shadow. “Come along, you young ones,” Ragnar said. “The sun is almost at noon!”
Tyler looked at his watch. “It isn’t even six thirty yet!”
“On a farm that is the middle of the day,” Ragnar said cheerfully.
“Has anyone decided what chores these children are going to do?” Colin asked. He had a sudden horror that Gideon was going to expect him to entertain these barbarians, to play with them or some other impossibly childish idea.
“Work?” Tyler blinked. “Can’t we see the dragon again? What was her name?”
Ragnar grinned. “Meseret. You like dragons, do you? Then you have never met one on a windy mountainside with nothing but an ax in your hand.” He laughed. “I do not think you will see more of the great she-worm today-she has been ill. But there are other things worth doing… and seeing. I have good news for you, young Master Tyler. There shall be no work for you today.”
“What?” said Colin. “But everyone has to work!”
“Not today,” said Ragnar firmly. “Gideon has decided that the safest thing is for the children to be taken on a tour of the farm, the better to stop any more unfortunate explorations.”
Colin’s mouth fell open. Could anything be more unfair? “But… ”
“As for you, young Master Needle, Mr. Walkwell asks me to remind you he needs his feed budget, and will you please work with your mother to get it to him by the end of the day.”
So the children would get a tour of the farm while he was stuck with bookkeeping? “Really?” Colin asked miserably. “Today?”
“Today.” Ragnar laid a big hand on Colin’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make his point. “You know Mr. Walkwell does not joke.” He turned to Lucinda and Tyler. “No more wasting time,” he said. “Let us go.”
“Bye, Colin,” said Lucinda.
Her brother grinned at Colin. “Yeah. Enjoy yourself.”
