Oliver woke to the sound of footsteps downstairs. He sat up in a rush. He must have fallen asleep. After all, he hadn’t gotten much rest last night. A delicious smell wafted into the bedroom, and Oliver realized he was famished. He was wondering if he should go downstairs and sullenly accept some lunch when he heard slow, soft steps coming up the stairs.
He buried himself under the blankets, not wanting his face to give away any hint of what he had discovered.
He heard the door open.
“I’m trying to sleep,” said Oliver, his voice muffled by the bedclothes.
A weary, raspy voice replied, “Sorry.”
Oliver sat up in surprise, spilling pillows. He had not recognized the voice. But it was Two, and he looked terrible. He was even thinner, as though he had lost another ten pounds in the last few hours. In his hands was a bowl, and he bent forward as he held it, as if it were a boulder.
“You don’t look like you’re going to make it,” observed Oliver.
“Thanks,” said Two. He shuffled to the workbench and placed the bowl there with trembling hands. “Here’s your lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” Oliver said, staring ravenously at the bowl. He was not sure what it was—some kind of complicated stew—but it looked and smelled heavenly. He didn’t think, though, that it would be a good idea to eat anything prepared by Lord Gilbert.
“It’s okay,” said Two, seeming to understand this. “I cooked it.”
Oliver sighed. “Of course you did.” Naturally, Two was also an expert chef. Oliver crawled out of bed and sat morosely at the bench. He took a bite. Yes, sadly, the stew was absolutely superb—far tastier than anything Oliver had ever managed to prepare.
Two flopped onto the bed. He stared dully at the ceiling, saying nothing.
Oliver, as he wolfed down the stew, watched him out of the corner of his eye. Two’s hands would not stop shaking, and the skin on his arms and legs was raw and red. “Why are you helping Lord Gilbert?” Oliver asked between mouthfuls, trying not to sound too concerned about it. “That machine is killing you.”
“I don’t have any choice,” said Two distantly.
“I would never work for him,” mumbled Oliver with as much determination as he could muster with a mouth full of stew. He swallowed. “I would never do anything he told me to do, no matter what!”
Two fixed him with a solemn stare. “What if helping Lord Gilbert gave you a chance to have the thing you’d always wanted most in the world?”
This gave Oliver pause. What would he do? The thing that Oliver had always wanted most in the world was to win first prize at the Festival.
“I still wouldn’t do it,” said Oliver. He realized with surprise that this was actually true. He had hardly given the Festival a thought all day. Oliver felt vaguely disturbed by this radical reordering of his priorities.
“You have no idea,” said Two wearily.
“How do you know?” said Oliver in irritation. “What’s this thing you want so badly?”
Two kept staring, saying nothing. Then, to Oliver’s surprise, he asked, “What are your parents like?”
“My parents? Why would you want to know about them?”
Suddenly he remembered what Lord Gilbert had said about Two’s parents’ “disappearance.” Of course Two would be interested in Oliver’s parents.
Reluctantly, Oliver told Two about the sculptures that littered the yard, creating an eyesore and an embarrassment. He told Two about the long, boring books that almost no one read.
“They sound really nice,” said Two. He had an odd and wistful expression on his face.
“Well, they’re my parents.” Oliver didn’t know what else to say. The look on Two’s face was strange and a little scary. “What happened to yours?”
Two’s eyes had a faraway look. “Six years ago, Lord Gilbert began experimenting with a machine that would create free power for the whole town. He said he’d discovered unusual properties of the oaks and that he could draw energy from them without harming them.”
“That’s crazy,” said Oliver.
Two nodded. “A lot of people thought so, but back then everyone in Windblowne loved Lord Gilbert. He’s a brilliant inventor, and he’d made all kinds of devices that made life better for everyone. They were willing to let him try. I used to follow him around all the time, begging him to let me help him with his experiments. We were both inside the control booth the first time he switched on his new machine. But something went wrong. There was an enormous flash of light, and we were both knocked unconscious. When we came to, we discovered that everyone on the mountain had vanished. They were just … gone.”
“Everyone in the entire town?” said Oliver. He remembered his mother mentioning another leaf death that had occurred six years ago.
“Yes. After that, Lord Gilbert seemed to go a little mad—”
“A little?”
“A lot,” admitted Two. “He thought everyone had died. But he kept up his experiments with the machine. He convinced himself that if he could make the machine work, then the sacrifice was worth it. He had me help him wire up every oak on the mountain.”
“You mean those black strings?” said Oliver.
“Wires,” corrected Two.
“But what if they weren’t killed?” asked Oliver, hastily covering his mistake. “What if they just got sent to another world?”
“Neither of us thought of that,” said Two. “At least, not until the crimson kite arrived.” Then a queasy look came over him, and he began a fit of coughing. Oliver waited impatiently. Anything he learned about this world might be something that would help him escape.
“So the crimson kite flew here,” prompted Oliver.
“Yes,” Two replied, recovering. “It flew in on the night winds, carrying a letter from your great-uncle. He was searching for a reply from someone—anyone—from another Windblowne. This changed everything for Lord Gilbert. He realized his machine could transport people between worlds and had already done it once by accident.”
“You should have tried to find the people from your Windblowne,” advised Oliver.
Two looked annoyed. “Don’t you think that was the first thing I thought of? I wanted to find my parents again. But it turned out to be impossible. What happened back then was an accident. There was no information on where everyone went, or even that they went anywhere at all. The new version of the machine tracks exactly where it sends things. Anything that travels to another world through the machine can be called back by Lord Gilbert anytime he wants. But the original machine couldn’t do that. Lord Gilbert didn’t seem to care anymore, though. He’d become convinced that other worlds were more primitive than ours and that they could be improved by his inventions. He thinks he’s going to be the savior of all the worlds.”
“But there’s something Great-uncle Gilbert knows that Lord Gilbert doesn’t,” said Oliver, proud. “No one gets sick from traveling with the kite. And the kite doesn’t need to draw energy from the oaks.”
“Yes,” said Two, “and that makes Lord Gilbert wild with anger. He corresponded with your great-uncle, letters flying back and forth with the crimson kite. He wanted to know how the kite worked. But your great-uncle is a little, well …”
“Paranoid?” said Oliver. “But he had reason to be, didn’t he? The first time I met him, he accused me—I mean, accused
Two looked away. He was silent for a few moments. Then: “The crimson kite offered to take me to your Windblowne. I flew to your crest and found my way to your great-uncle’s treehouse—”
“I know,” Oliver interrupted. “I saw your trail.”
“And I saw you,” said Two. “I saw you fly your kite. Well, I saw you destroy it.”
Oliver gaped. “You were spying on me?”
Two looked alarmed. “Yes, but—”
“Then you know I’m no good with kites!” said Oliver. “You know I can’t help you make new hunters. Why are you letting Lord Gilbert think I can? When he finds out, he’ll send me to a hell-world! He’ll send
Two struggled to his feet. “You don’t know what it’s like!” he said between bouts of hacking coughs. “You
