Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
THE GREEN LION
One January, Melanie Fraser (Mool to her friends) looked through a shop window. She was thirteen years old, and she lived in Vancouver, British Columbia, where it rained so much that it seems endless.
Why do we have to move? wondered Mool. I don't care about a sick uncle. She and Mum had to pack up everything and say goodbye to everyone. And after they moved, it would feel like they had brought all the bad days, bad people, and bad places with them. Why move? She had never met Uncle Mathew or Cousin Olga. She didn't even know where they were.
Ever since her father — Bernard Fraser — had died, things had not been right. The days were less bright. There was even more rain. And jokes didn't sound funny. Mool spent much of her time imagining there were Mice in the wall upstairs, that the cat Bavard spoke, and a green lion. But most of all, she felt like she was two people. One was small and bright like Tinkerbelle while the other was dark and large like a Black Rider.
She hugged a sketchbook and gripped a pencil. The cold had gotten into her bones even though she was bundled up. Her wet yellow raincoat covered up her faded dress and sweater of holes. The skin under her curly hair itched as did her feet in her army boots.
In the window, a lemon yellow dress glittered as though covered in snowflakes. It was the perfect dress — at least Mool thought so — and she wouldn't be right without it.
Behind Mool, passers-by passed beneath a lamppost. Most wore raincoats or held umbrellas and gabbled like magpie birds. Cars beeped and honked. Rainwater splashed under feet and under wheels. A group of soldiers passed by. A full Moon peeked through the clouds. Mool smelled yummy food and a rotting smell.
She imagined that a green lion stood beside her. He was proud looking but not brash. He had wings and a unicorn horn. His fur was grass green. One wing was white while the other black. His horn was the color of old paper. He looked soft and summer warm. This was Inberl.
Inberl asked, Is this the dress?
"Yes," said Mool. "Isn't it beautiful?"
A shivering man in foggy glasses bumped into Mool and said, "Sorry, didn't-see-you-there."
Mool ignored him.
I suppose, said Inberl. It looks like something they wear on the Moon.
"The Moon?" said Mool. "It must be wonderful there." She imagined a crater full of blue water and white boats called gondolas. Pale houses ringed the shore. Gold light shone from windows while reddish wolf-people walked and loped under umbrellas called paraluns.
A woman did up in furs, and holding a small dog, bumped into Mool. "Excuse me," said the woman like it was Mool's fault.
Are you going to a dance? asked Inberl
Out of the corner of Mool's eye, she saw a man approach. He wore a hat, suit, shoes, umbrella, and briefcase all the same color as his caramel brown beard. There was something princely about him, at least to Mool's thinking, and she decided that he too was going to the dance. A tarnished, silver carriage waited with silver horse legs instead of wheels would be waiting. A man with a rat's head, wearing a blue suit and a wig, would open the door. Clopping, silver hoofs would take the caramel brown prince up dark streets to a palace burning with color. The city twinkled below. Black gates opened with a squawk, and the Prince would step out and through glass doors. The Prince twirled his mustache. Dancers twirled.
A warm feeling filled Mool. She imagined walking towards the Prince with outstretched hands and dancing.
It's a bit pricey, said the green lion.
She blinked her eyes. Mool and the man in brown froze in mid-dance. The palace thinned. The fantasy melted in her mind like ice cream. The shop and the green lion returned.
Mool felt angry. She put her sketchbook and pencil in her satchel and gave the dress a fierce look.
"I like it," said Mool.
Her cheeks burned. With a sigh, she began to walk home. The sounds of the street dimmed and died. The moonlight lessened.
Flash-boom went the sky.
Inberl can't talk, thought Mool. No matter how often I talk, he won't reply. It's, as her mother would say, in your imagination. It felt unfair that her thoughts leaked out and made the world more interesting than it was. Why live in a place when you can live in a palace? thought Mool.
A breeze tangled around her. Mool's nose felt cold. Water trickled. She heard a hum.
A train? she wondered. Where was it going?
Mool took out her sketchbook and began to sketch the area.
Mool imagined Inberl saying, Aren't you supposed to be moving?
"Don't start," said Mool deep in her drawing.
You escaped? asked Inberl. To visit me? He chuckled. I should be flattered.
Mool lifted her attention from her sketchbook.
"Will you stop?" asked Mool. She felt a frown on her forehead.
Inberl's body twisted from his tail to his head. His face turned clockwise. Your mother must have forgotten to pack you, said the statue.
"I'm sketching," said Mool. "Stop moving."
The statue looked away. It shook its fur like a dusty rug. I'm too famous as it is. May I ask — why you've broken out?
"I don't want to move," said Mool. She pouted as she drew. "I want to stay."
Oh, said Inberl with a pop of his mouth. Do you miss me already?
"Don't make fun," said Mool.
What about the Ratboys? asked Inberl.
"Pierre and Robert," said Mool, pronouncing Pierre as pea-air and Robert as row-bear, "Are mice. Stay still. They're moving with us." The lion-bird-unicorn gave her a cheeky grin and with a click of his teeth — froze.
Mool's imagined the yellow dress. She could easily see the edges of its hemline spin in a pirouette. It sparkled.
"I don't want to see my cousin. She's horrible," said Mool with dejection. "And my uncle is a monster."
Liar said Inberl, I can tell when you lie. Your ears flutter.
Mool pinched an earlobe.
It might be good if you have a real friend, said Inberl. The Mice and I can only do so much.
"I don't need anyone," said Mool.
Everyone should have at least one real friend, said Inberl.
Mool cleared her throat and hoped that Inberl would shut up. She wanted to tell him that her hyperactive imagination doomed any chance of friendship.
You are a real girl, after all, said Inberl. You can't daydream all the time. There's food to eat and doors to enter. And real people in between.
"Stop moving your mouth," said Mool.
Stubborn mule said Inberl.
It doesn't matter, thought Mool glumly. She felt sick from hunger.
She drew Inberl's coat. It seemed more like snaky armor than fur. And she drew Inberl's face.
She became lost in quiet stillness, finished the drawing, and held it up. Even though the body was like lightning, the face was warm and welcoming. She showed Inberl.
You've captured me, he said. When is dinner?
"I don't want to go back. Yet," said Mool. She felt a bit hurt that he would brush her off so soon. "Dinner is lunch time. It's supper."
Of course, said the horned, flying lion.
"I wish you were going," said Mool.
I may take up a new post, said Inberl. He stroked his beard. Sounds stuck, doesn't it? Post. On that note, would you be so kind as to deliver this?
With a clawed, rough-looking paw, he held out a long envelope. His fur smelled like rain drying on a sidewalk.
CHAPTER 2
TRAIN OF THOUGHT
Mool stood on her tippy toes, took the envelope, and asked, "Who's it for?"
The Mice said Inberl.
"Is this a trick?" asked Mool. "To get me home?
Noooo no-no-no, said Inberl. It's a secret message. Urgent.
Because of his gleeful expression, Mool could not be sure if Inberl was lying; his ears did not flutter. The envelope weighed almost nothing, so Mool decided it was a single page.
He could have left the flap open, she thought. The gum had been moistened, and the flap sealed. It was like a locked door, and Mool felt left on the outside. But it wasn't a real letter. It was imaginary.
"Why can't you mail it?" she asked.
I trust only one person to deliver it, said Inberl.
"Oh very well," said Mool with a grumble. She tucked the letter into the satchel under her raincoat. "Goodbye," said Mool without looking at the statue.
Please, thought Mool. Be there. When I arrive.
Inberl narrowed his eyes. I wonder if there is a bad bye? he said.
At a crosswalk, Mool pushed a button and lights lit up and blinked.
One last time, she thought.
It felt bittersweet, and Mool said, "Goodbye, delicious beacons," but they only seemed to say, Look-right. Look-right. Look-right.
When Mool finally reached her house, a blue truck was in front. Chairs, coat trees, and all manner of things were piled high like some terrible tidal wave. Three men — wearing animal masks (of a rat, a mole, and a hedgehog) and olive green, hooded capes — leapt off the truck. They skipped about with a, "Hup-hup-ho!" and tossed objects to each other with zest. Mool wasn't sure the explosion of strangeness was happening.
I'm not imagining it, Mool decided. She watched as the three masked movers piled cardboard boxes into the truck, tucked the boxes into place, slammed the back door shut, and drove off with a poot-poot.
Mool wondered if the cardboard box were full of bad things.
Mum stood in the doorway with pink-looking eyes, trying to smile. She wore a black cape over a black dress.
Bavard's yellow eyes looked furiously from his cat carrier.
Mool imagined Bavard saying, I demand to be released.
"I tried calling," said Mum, holding up her cell phone. "But I couldn't reach you."
Mool's phone was in her satchel and turned off.
Mum put a black cape over Mool's shoulders and attached a clasp. Mool stuck out her tongue like the cape was choking her. The fabric was itchy and scratchy.
"Do you want to say goodbye to the house?" asked Mum.
"No," said Mool.
"Are you sure?" asked Mum. "You might not see it. For a while."
Mool felt her chest go tight and she looked down. Why do we have to go at all? she wondered.
Mum waited a moment and then turned off the light and closed the door. She locked it, put the keys through the mail slot, and patted the door.
I shall complain to the Ministry of Cats! Mool imagined Bavard said.
Stepping down the three steps, Mum looked up at the house. "Goodbye, old thing. Better days."
She said to the grey factory across the street, "I won't miss you at all."
"Now," she said to Mool, "Take off the necklace around your neck."
"My necklace?" said Mool. "Why?"
"Because we can't get to where we are going if you don't," said Mum. She held out her hand.
With a shrug, Mool removed a small, blue-green key on a chain. The key had a small squiggle on it that looked like a knot. She handed it over, and her Mum put it away.
Suddenly, there was a pink smell in the air. Was it bubble gum or ham? It was something pink, but Mool couldn't place the smell.
The cat-carrier in one hand and Mool's hand in the other, Mum led the way.
Slowly, everything became pink-tinted like a fog at sunset.
With every step, the pink tinge became stronger and thicker until it was a smoke and then a fog. It completely surrounded them and the street was gone like a dream.
Pink fog? wondered Mool. That's not right. She had never heard of a pink fog. Maybe it was smoke from a signal flare, like when a car breaks down and needs repair.
"People used to call us Cunning Folk," said Mum. "Because we could see things. And we could get to Terrapin."
Terrapin? thought Mool. Isn't that a turtle?
"We live in Vancouver," said Mum, "Because it is a thin place. The border is closed. Now. Terrapin is not a normal place. It's — foreign. But don't be surprised. All right?"
"Okay," said Mool, but she was already worried. Were they going to France?
Mum turned to the left and tapped with her foot like she was looking for something in the dark.
"This way," said Mum. "I'm fairly sure."
What if, wondered Mool, we get lost? The fog was so thick that they might go the wrong way or fall down a hole like a couple of rabbits.
She imagined the people that lived in the hole were Moles. They were fond of Swiss cheese — which is full of holes — and were fond of games like basketball and golf.
Mum said, "We're going to the city of Perlox. You can only go there in January. One month of the year. And only on Thursdays. Otherwise — we would have gone earlier."
Mum tapped a foot like a white cane but then stopped.
"Hello?" she said into the pink fog.
"May I help you?" asked a policeman in a pink uniform, cape, and bobby helmet. Mool had thought it wasn't a real policeman. His billy club looked like a sausage. Perhaps it was the fog that was making his uniform pink, but he had a pink circle on each cheek.
He's a pretend policeman, thought Mool. It must be an actor. In a play.
"I'm looking for the station," said Mum.
"The train station?" asked the policeman.
"Yes," said Mum. "To Perlox."
The pink policeman pulled out a small, pink notebook.
"Ah!" he said, flipping the pages. "Missus Fraser?"
"Yes," said Mum with a blink.
"I almost sent you the wrong way," said the policeman. "That would not do." He ticked off the page and put his book away. "You are expected."
He pointed at Mool and said, "Wear your cape at all times, otherwise citizens might suspect you are from Outside. Best not talk of Vancouver. And don't mention the War."
The policeman bent an arm towards the pink fog.
He said to Mum, "For future reference, the Alley-baba is hornswoggle."
"Thank you," said Mum. "Thank you very much. This way?"
"Just past the fog," said the policeman, and he was swallowed up like cotton candy. "Straight ahead."
"Now," said Mum. "It's different there. You're going to see many strange things. I don't want you afraid. Just hold my hand. That's it. Forward." Mum led the way.
They came to a door — an odd door. It looked like it was behind the scenes of a play. It was neither painted nor stained. The walls to either side were plywood and held up with flying buttresses made of two-by-four lumber. There was a piece of paper taped to the door that read: #38.
Mum put down the cat carrier, wiped her hands on her cape, and then opened the door.
"Quick, quick," said Mum. She picked up the cat cage and bustled Mool through. "We mustn't let the Outside in." On the other side was an odd street. It was completely circular, like a roundabout, with a garden in the middle that had a sole tree. The street was odd in that one half, the side Mool was on, was moonlit. The other side of the street was sunlit. And there were no stars.
Mum closed the door to Number Thirty-seven and led the way past doors that were one color or the other. To either side of a door were Greek pillars. Set in most of the doors were a brass number, a brass doorknob, and a brass mail slot.
"Whatever you do," said Mum, "Don't talk to the Feather Boa." She pointed across to the garden that was half full of snow and half full of green. But it was the tree that caught Mool's eye. The tree was half Christmas and half May Day. Its bark was silver white and its leaves were golden.
Mum led the way around. When they crossed an intersection, down which was more pink fog, they crossed from night-time to daytime. Above the street was a line of twilight.
"Where are we?" asked Mool.
"Mornington Crescent," said Mum. "The original is in London. There's one in Singapore. And one in Australia."
At Number Seven, whose flower boxes were bright with flowers, Mum knocked twice, led Mool into absolute darkness, and closed the door.
CHAPTER 3
TERRAPIN
Mool heard sounds in the dark. First, she heard something like a teakettle when it's frothing with vapor. Then, she heard voices of people in a hurry, saying things like, "Don't forget this-and-that," and, "Make sure to say hello to so-and-so."
Mool was going to ask, Is an Alley-baba a password? when they stepped through the fog like it was a door. On the other side was a train station whose sign read: Pancras.
A young boy with butterfly wings held up a Terrapin Express Times newspaper, and said, "Another child disappears!"
A train waited on the platform. It was green in the beginning, black in the middle, and red at the end. A man that looked like he was half goat stood in the engine's doorway. He wore a green scarf, half-moon glasses, and drank from a white cup while writing on a newspaper.
None of the people waiting for the train were entirely human. There were animals that stood on their hind legs and talked. Some of them wore clothing or seemed to be half human like a bird man, a horse woman, or a fish person. Then, there were people who were kind of human except that they had pointy ears. Some had wings and antennae. Some were plant-like. Nearly everyone wore a cape.
A giraffe in an ill-fitting stationmaster's uniform stood above the crowd and announced, "The Express for Perlox is de-par-ting! Please find a seat! The Express ..."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Gray Hawk of Terrapin"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Moss Whelan.
Excerpted by permission of Prodigy Gold Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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