“Huh,” said Tinn, peeking over Fable’s shoulder. “This is pretty impressive.”
“We don’t know if any of that stuff is true, though,” Cole said. “That’s all just stories Old Jim told her.”
“But it’s written down,” said Fable, “in books.”
“They’re just my journals,” said Evie.
“What’s journals?” said Fable.
“They’re books that Evie wrote,” explained Tinn.
“Oh my gosh—you can WRITE BOOKS?” Fable stared at Evie, eyes wide.
Evie nodded. “Well, sure. Anybody can.”
“And you drew the pictures, too?” Fable said.
Evie nodded. “They’re not perfect, but they’re the best I could do without seeing it all for myself.”
“Ooh! I’ve seen things for myself! Loads of things. Can I help you write books?”
“You . . . want to help me add to my journals?”
“Sure! I can show you the very best forest stuff.” Fable nodded. “And then you can make it all book-shaped!”
“Are you kidding me? Yes! Yes—that sounds amazing!”
“We really should be going,” Cole said.
“Do you have a page for wind blossoms?” Fable snatched a sprig of half a dozen peach-colored flowers from the base of a tree. Two bulbous pink petals curled away from the center of each bloom. “Their proper name is Antipugeum. Mama made me learn lots of plants.”
“Pretty. They look like snapdragons,” said Evie.
“Nope!” Fable giggled. “Watch this!” She gave the base of the flower a squeeze and the petals spread open with a whispered prrppth.
“I think Evie’s right,” said Tinn. “I’m pretty sure those are snap—oh Lord!” He slapped a hand over his nose. “What is that smell?”
Fable erupted into giggles as the other children staggered back from the putrid plant. “Farts! It’s farts! They smell like farts. Their name means counterfeit buttocks. Aren’t they great?” She squeezed the fetid flower so that its twin pink petals wiggled again. “Each one’s only got one really good poot in it. Here, you can do the next ones!” Fable handed the remaining handful of blooms to Evie.
“Oh, um. Thanks,” said Evie. “I think I’ll . . . save mine, though.” She tucked the blossoms very gingerly into the pocket of her dress.
“Hey,” Cole cut in. “Maybe we can talk about books and farts and stuff when we’re not trying to get somewhere in a hurry? The grown-ups will be there any minute now. Fable, do you know where the Roberson Hills are?” Cole asked.
“Nope,” she answered. She returned the journal to Evie, who tightened it back into its strap. “Are they near Quebec?”
“No. They’re near the edge of the forest,” said Tinn. “It’s a really lumpy area next to some farmland with an old swayback barn.”
“I know that place!” Fable brightened. “It’s not far—right up that next ridge and past a little thicket.” Fable leapt into action, hopping over a rotten log and between a pair of mossy boulders. Cole was right behind her. Tinn followed closely at first, but he paused when he noticed Evie lagging. He waited at the top of the rise for her to catch up.
“I can do it,” she huffed. “Thanks, though.” Tinn hadn’t thought about it before, but for every step the boys took, Evie had to take two. The forest must feel twice as vast to her.
“It’s fine. Catch your breath for a second,” said Tinn. Evie nodded and leaned against a sloping rock.
“Are you guys coming?” Cole called from up ahead. Tinn could hear the anxious energy in his brother’s voice.
Evie pushed herself up, hiding a cringe of discomfort as she stood. “I can go faster,” she said.
“We know which way to go now,” said Tinn. He turned back to Cole. “We can meet you there,” he called.
Cole hesitated. He looked at the forest ahead of them, then back at Tinn. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. We’re right behind you. We’ll be fine.”
They would not be fine. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, Cole suspected they would not be fine, but he gave Tinn a wary thumbs-up, anyway, and scrambled onward through the forest with Fable.
FIFTEEN
The Queen of the Deep Dark paced across the empty glen. Fable was late.
It had not been a smooth morning. The entire forest seemed to be unraveling. The gnomes had brought her no less than three formal complaints about the brownies in as many hours, there were several reports of misconduct from wandering bogles, and a handful of nymphs had accused the hinkypunks of moving boundary markers overnight. The accused were all avoiding her and the accusers would not leave her alone. It was all the queen could do to remove herself from the throng of agitated forest folk in time for her daughter’s lessons. And Fable was late.
A note of unquiet urgency echoed in the whipping wind. The queen turned her eyes to the canopy above her. The forest was tense. Something wasn’t right.
Raina pursed her lips. Fable had been late to countless lessons, but she had never forgotten about one entirely. The more she considered it, the more she had to admit to herself that if there was trouble in the forest, Fable was probably already in the thick of it.
She pulled the cloak snug around her shoulders and turned her attention to the north. There, just on the edge of her senses, the forest was itching.
“Yer Majesty,” came a voice from behind her before she could take the first step. Chief Nudd was stepping across the open grass to meet her. “A moment.”
The queen narrowed her eyes to look at the goblin properly. Nudd had come with sentries, although they remained behind him, in the shadows of her forest. He stood just a little straighter than usual, and his hat had been recently buffed.
“This is an official visit, then?” she said.
“Afraid so,” he said. “I’ve just had a meeting.” He cleared his throat. “With the spriggans.”
The queen kept her expression expertly blank. “I imagine you have many diplomatic encounters with factions of the Wild Wood. Business between forest folk and goblins is no concern of mine.”
“It was about you,” said Nudd. “Among other things.”
“I see,” she said. “Well. If spriggans wanted me to be privy to their dealings, I assume they would deal
