Windblowne

Oliver simmered. He understood he to refer to Great-uncle Gilbert. He was humiliated to admit that his great-uncle had indeed never explained all of these twins and metal treehouses, or anything else at all, for that matter.

“Sit down,” instructed Lord Gilbert with a superior grin, “and I’ll explain everything.”

Oliver sat reluctantly.

Lord Gilbert sat down as well. He laced his fingers together and sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled. He fixed his eyes on Oliver. “I will attempt to explain this in terms that a primitive person from a backward world would understand—”

“Primitive?” interrupted Oliver. “I—”

“Silence!” commanded Lord Gilbert. “I am simply concerned about your mental well-being. Giving you the truth all at once could short-circuit your delicate mental—”

“It will not short-circuit anything,” said Oliver. He did not know what short-circuit meant, and he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Very well,” sighed Lord Gilbert. “You are lucky, boy. You have traveled from one Windblowne—an unsophisticated, backward place—to another Windblowne—an advanced, forward-thinking place. A different world entirely.”

Oliver was surprised. Or rather, he expected to feel surprised. But he remembered Great-uncle Gilbert asking him if he were Oliver from this mountain, and he remembered his great-uncle’s scrawled poem: whisper to me, of oaks which dwell across the worlds. And he remembered landing here and how the colors and scents and especially the sound of the winds had not been quite right.

Lord Gilbert got up and paced, lecturing. “Travel between these worlds is possible, of course—”

“Another world,” whispered Oliver. “Great-uncle Gilbert discovered how to travel to another world!”

A pained expression came over Lord Gilbert’s face. “Yes, months ago, with a sort of beginner’s luck, he accidentally stumbled upon the secret, though I’d seen hints of it years before that. Naturally, it is up to me to perfect the process, to mechanize and maximize it! I’ve nearly mastered it with my own machine—”

“Nearly?” said Oliver.

Lord Gilbert grimaced. “There are still certain—imperfections—in my machine. The process damages the subject in transit—”

“Damages?”

Lord Gilbert cleared his throat. “My experiments have revealed that the traveler, shall we say, gradually sickens as a result of the transfers. The more trips, the more damage. Eventually, he dies. This is rather inefficient, of course. Somehow he—”

“They sicken and die?” said Oliver, shocked. “But I feel fine!”

“Yes,” replied Lord Gilbert sourly. “Don’t interrupt. It seems that in his primitive way, he had a kind of native cleverness, and he was able to construct one of these kites”—he spat the word with derision—“in such a way that it could carry someone—only someone small, such as a child—across the Way Between Worlds and between Windblownes, without harming the passenger.”

Carry a child between Windblownes. Oliver glared at Two.

“But of course, more capacity is needed!” said Lord Gilbert. “I need to be able to stride through all the worlds myself, spreading my wisdom everywhere! Backward worlds like yours shall be modernized by my inventions! Think of it, boy! I’ll need to move people—whole towns! I’ll need to move machines, so that—”

“All the worlds?” Oliver said, surprised. “You mean there’s more than just two?”

Lord Gilbert gave him a pitying look, shaking his head. “Primitive boy. Yes, there are far more than two, and you should ask yourself why your great-uncle never told you about any of this. He probably did not trust you, nor think you capable of grasping this concept.”

“That’s not true!” said Oliver hotly.

Lord Gilbert smirked. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it is something for you to think about, isn’t it? Which of us trusted you with the truth?”

Oliver could not answer. Two was looking at him now, with those hollow, sunken eyes. “What did you do to Great-uncle Gilbert?” Oliver snarled at the other boy.

“Now, now,” Lord Gilbert continued. “Two is hardly responsible for the capture of my idiot twin.”

Oliver bristled at this description. Great-uncle Gilbert might be a number of things, but he was no idiot. “But I saw him. My great-uncle was fighting those hunters.” And if I hadn’t distracted him, Oliver remembered, he might have won.

“Yes,” said Lord Gilbert. He strolled to the counter and spooned up some of the baconish cubes. “But the plan was mine. Unfortunately, Two failed miserably at maintaining the element of surprise, and as a result failed miserably at his secondary objective. An objective that you have managed to accomplish for me.” He tossed the plate onto the table with a clatter. “Have some breakfast.”

“No,” said Oliver. “I want my great-uncle.”

“Don’t be uncooperative,” said Lord Gilbert severely. “Your great-uncle was uncooperative. He would not explain the workings of his device, so I banished him to a hell-world, the most loathsome and horrible of the worlds I have discovered so far.” He pushed the plate closer to Oliver. “Eat.”

A hell-world? Oliver’s blood began to pound. “No,” he said, crossing his arms. “I want my great-uncle and I want my kite.”

“Ah, the kite,” Lord Gilbert continued, clapping his hands together. “I am looking forward to examining it. After last night’s debacle, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see it again. Fortunately, you’ve brought it straight to me.”

“No, I haven’t,” said Oliver.

“Yes,” replied Lord Gilbert, “you have.” He reached into a cabinet and brought forth a cylinder, which to Oliver looked like a handvane without the vane. The thing was made of metal, like so many things in this world, and was covered with buttons and dials. Lord Gilbert snapped the cylinder onto his wrist, and a number of blinking lights appeared on its surface. With a giggle, he pushed some of the buttons in rapid succession.

“What is that thing?” asked Oliver.

“This,” proclaimed Lord Gilbert, “is one of my most clever and useful inventions. I call it the Handvane Mark IV—HM IV for short!”

Oliver was unimpressed. “What good is a handvane without any vanes? You can’t read the wind.”

Lord Gilbert rolled his eyes. “An utter waste of time. The HM IV can do far more interesting things.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s doing much right now,” Oliver observed.

“Just you wait, Oliver One.” Lord Gilbert smirked. The lights on the HM IV, which had been blinking randomly, began flashing on and off in unison. “This is just one of the wonders you’ll discover, my boy, living here under my command!”

“That sounds great,” said Oliver, standing. He edged toward the door. “I’ll just need to get my kite and fly home and get a few of my things.”

With a surprisingly agile leap, Lord Gilbert was in front of him, blocking his way. “Oh no, Oliver One … you can’t go home again, ever. You are far too useful to me. I’ve long needed another assistant of Two’s caliber, and now I have one!”

“I’m leaving,” announced Oliver. He moved to push past Lord Gilbert.

“Sit down,” said Lord Gilbert.

“No.”

“Sit!” commanded Lord Gilbert.

Oliver sat.

Or, more precisely, he fell, and Lord Gilbert slid a chair underneath him on the way down. Oliver’s entire body had gone numb. He tried to move, but nothing below his neck would respond. He looked at Lord Gilbert, who gave him a wink. Oliver saw that he was twisting a dial on the HM IV.

“Don’t despair, my boy,” Lord Gilbert said, resuming his mad pacing. “You wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. My beautiful and deadly hunters would have seen to that! As they will see to your crimson kite. Then the dissection can begin.”