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“Cary, I think? Something like that,” said Curtis. “I don’t know. It’s been so long and I’ve been so intent on my own survival here, that I’d kind of forgotten about him.”
“But he was blind?”
“That’s what the bear said, anyway. Had his eyes taken out by the Governess.”
An awed silence fell over the two sisters as they swiveled aside and looked at Carol Grod; the old man had been listening in and began walking toward the young bandit.
“Indeed, she did,” he said. “But I made these old wooden ones, didn’t I? Suit me just fine.”
“No. Way,” said the rat at Curtis’s shoulder.
“That’s it. Carol Grod,” said Curtis, staring at the old man. “You’re the other machinist. The one who made Alexei.”
Both Elsie and Rachel let out an amazed gasp.
“That’d be me,” said the old man matter-of-factly, before correcting him: “But I couldn’t have done it alone.”
“No, you couldn’t have,” said Curtis, dazed. “You needed another. Esben Clampett, the bear.”
“That’s right. Don’t know where he ended up. For my part, they sent me to the Periphery. Exiled me there.”
“That’s where we met him, Curtis,” said Elsie. “We were there, stuck in the Periphery.” She then turned to Carol and said in a stunned voice, “That was why you were exiled, huh? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Didn’t come up, really,” the old man said coyly, before adding, “It was a touchy subject, dear. I don’t particularly like talkin about it. What she did left more than just physical scars. I was tryin to forget, there in that place.”
“How did you get out?” asked her brother, awash in all this bizarre new information. “And how did you get in—here—now?”
“Same way you did,” put in Rachel.
“Woods Magic,” said Carol, hobbling over to them with Martha’s help.
“We must have it,” said Curtis. “I was never sure. I mean, I seemed to pass through the boundary fine, but I just couldn’t ever figure why. We must have it, in the blood.” He turned to Carol, his intention renewed. “We have to get you to Prue. She’s got Esben.”
The old man’s eyes opened wide, and the wooden orbs goggled in his skull. “He’s alive?”
“He was exiled, too. Sent to the Underwood. We found him, Prue and I. Another sort of crazy coincidence.” He looked around him, as if taking in the thatchwork of trees surrounding them. “Though I think Prue would say otherwise. She’d say it’s the workings of the tree. In any case, Esben is with Prue now.”
“No, he isn’t,” came a voice from the dark. The gathered crowd looked over at Roger Swindon, sitting cross-legged on the leafy ground, his arms pinioned behind his back.
“What did you say?” asked Curtis, waving the torchlight in his direction. A few sparks erupted from the flame.
“She doesn’t have the bear. We have the bear.”
“Who’s we?” asked Curtis, dumbfounded.
“The Synod. The Caliphs of South Wood.”
“What happened to Prue?” pressed Curtis.
“She’s gone.”
Nico gave the captive a swift kick to the ribs. Roger toppled sideways with an anguished shout. “Stop being difficult,” said Nico. “You’re our prisoner now.”
“Hey,” said Elsie. “Go easy.”
“Sorry,” said the saboteur.
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” asked Curtis.
