A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #4) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,137

very long time. They got snapped up—quite literally. Starved of new blood, peculiar populations grew older and became loop-bound. An army that can’t stray far from its loop for fear of aging forward isn’t very effective. So there is really nothing more valuable in peculiardom than a never-contacted peculiar. Especially a powerfully talented one.”

“Why didn’t H tell us that?” I said. “He must’ve known helping Noor would make the local clans angry.”

“I’d like to ask him that same question,” Miss Peregrine said angrily. “And several more, as well.”

“I’m sure his motives were virtuous,” said Millard. “She was being hunted by some very nasty people.”

“Helping her might’ve been virtuous,” said Miss Peregrine. “Involving my wards in the matter was not.”

“We’re so sorry,” said Emma. “I hope you can believe that.”

Miss Peregrine ignored her, as she had ignored all our attempts to apologize. She went to the window and blew a cloud of pipe-smoke out toward the humming street. “We were making progress in our peace talks, but this episode has seriously damaged the clans’ trust in us. The neutral party cannot be suspected of having any agenda other than peace. It’s a bad setback.”

“Do you think they’ll go to war?” asked Millard. “Because of us?”

“We may yet have an opportunity to mend things. But the clans are quite far apart on a number of key issues. They must agree on territorial boundaries, elect a peacekeeping council . . . these are no small matters, and the stakes are considerable. If war should break out between them, it would be a disaster not only for American peculiars, but for all of us. War is a germ that can rarely be contained. It would surely spread.”

Judging from our slumped shoulders and downcast expressions, all of us were feeling intense shame. I was starting to regret everything—even reaching out to H in the first place.

After what felt like a long time, Miss Peregrine turned to look at us. “Worse than any of that,” she said, sighing, “worse than the clans not trusting us, is that I feel I can no longer trust you.”

“Don’t say that, miss, don’t say that,” pleaded Bronwyn.

“I think I’m perhaps most disappointed in you, Miss Bruntley. This sort of behavior isn’t so surprising from Miss Bloom or Mr. O’Connor. But you have always been so loyal and kind.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Bronwyn said. “I promise.”

“You’ll start by working on the kitchen cleanup crew here in the Acre for one month.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Bronwyn, nodding eagerly. She seemed relieved to have a punishment, which meant forgiveness was possible.

“Miss Bloom, I’m reassigning you to the Smoking Street garbage incinerator.” I saw Emma wince, but she said nothing. “Mr. O’Connor, you’ll be sweeping chimneys. Mr. Nullings—”

“Miss Peregrine?” I interrupted her.

She stopped mid-sentence. My friends looked at me with various shades of disbelief.

“What is it?” said Miss Peregrine.

I knew that what I was about to ask would be met with a barrage of resistance. But I had to say it anyway.

“What about Noor?”

“What about her?” said Miss Peregrine. I knew her patience was wearing thin. But I couldn’t let this go.

“We just . . . left her there,” I said.

“I’m aware of what happened,” Miss Peregrine said. “And if it had been possible to bring her back to the Acre with us, I would have done it. But it took all the leverage I had to secure your release. To then insist upon taking her, too, would have made it seem as if it were her we’d wanted all along. That we really were after their uncontacted peculiars. And that would have derailed the peace talks.”

Miss Peregrine had a point, but she was talking about politics, and I was talking about a person. Couldn’t we avoid war and save Noor? And so I persisted.

“Leo’s crazy and dangerous,” I said. “I know it would look bad, so maybe there’s a way we can sneak her out, so they wouldn’t know it was us . . .”

Emma was shooting me daggers with her eyes. Stop, she mouthed.

Miss Peregrine was about to lose it, I could tell.

“Mr. Portman,” she said, “if that girl’s in danger, it’s your fault. I cannot believe, after all I just told you, that you’re still insisting we attempt to remove her from that loop. I simply can’t believe it.”

“I know it’s my fault, and I admit that.” I was talking fast, trying to make my point without pushing Miss Peregrine too far. “But you should’ve seen the people