A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #4) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,44

what the little ones all want to hear at bedtime,” said Miss Peregrine. “It’s even being adapted for the stage by Miss Grackle’s troupe of thespians—and set to music!”

“Oh my God,” I said, mortified.

“You’ll start here, in the Acre,” said Miss Peregrine, “and then travel to some of the outer loops, the ones hit hard by the wights but still occupied—”

“But . . . what about America?” I said. “Your thorny problem?”

“At the moment, we’re primarily focused on rebuilding our own society,” said Miss Cuckoo.

“Then why did you tell me all that?” I asked her.

Miss Cuckoo shrugged. “You were staring at the maps with such longing.”

I shook my head. “You said America was full of unknown loops. And there was fighting and trouble.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m an American. I can help. So can my friends.”

“Jacob—”

“We could all help, once I teach them how to pass as normal. Hell, Emma’s ready now, and with most of them I’d only need a few days, maybe a week of focused lessons—”

“Mr. Portman,” said Miss Peregrine, “you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Isn’t that why you want them to learn about the present? Isn’t that why you brought them to live with me?”

Miss Peregrine sighed sharply. “Jacob, I admire your ambition very much. But the council doesn’t think you’re ready yet.”

“You only just learned you were peculiar a few months ago,” said Miss Cuckoo.

“And you only decided you needed to help the cause this morning!” Miss Peregrine added.

It almost sounded like she was poking fun at me.

“I’m ready,” I insisted. “So are the others. I want us to work for you in America, like my grandfather used to.”

“Abe’s group didn’t take orders from us,” said Miss Peregrine. “They were entirely self-directed.”

“They were?”

“Abe did things his own way,” Miss Peregrine said. “Our world has changed a lot since then, and we can no longer function in such a manner. In any case, the way Abe conducted business does not affect this conversation. All that matters is that the situation in America is still developing. Right now that’s all we can tell you. When we need your help there—and when the council thinks you and your friends are ready—we will ask for it.”

“Yes,” said Miss Cuckoo. “But until then—”

“You want me to be a motivational speaker.”

Miss Peregrine sighed. She was starting to get exasperated with me, and I was starting to get angry. “You’ve had a hard day, Mr. Portman.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said. “Look, I just want to do something that matters.”

“He wants maybe to be an ymbryne?” Miss Cuckoo said, smirking.

I pushed my chair back and stood up.

“Where are you going?” asked Miss Peregrine.

“To find my friends,” I said, and started toward the door.

“One step at a time, Jacob!” Miss Peregrine called after me. “You have the rest of your life to be a hero.”

* * *

• • •

My friends were still elsewhere in the building, discussing the details of their work assignments, so I sat on a bench in the busy lobby and waited, and while I was waiting, I decided something. My grandfather had never asked the ymbrynes’ permission to do his work, and I didn’t need their permission to continue it. That Abe had left his logbook for me to find was permission enough. I needed a mission. And to get one of those—

“Omigod.”

“Uhhhhhh. Are you Jacob Portman?”

Two girls had sat down next to me. I tore myself away from my train of thought to look over at them, and was surprised to see only one girl. She was Asian, a bit younger than me, dressed in seventies-era flannel and bell-bottoms—and most definitely by herself.

“I’m him,” I said.

“Would you sign my arm?” she said, holding out one arm. Then she held out the other and said, in a deeper voice, “And mine, too?”

She saw my confusion. “We’re a binary,” she explained. “Sometimes we’re confused for a dual-personality person, but we actually have two hearts, souls, brains—”

“And voice boxes!” said her other voice.

“Wow, that’s cool,” I said, genuinely impressed. “It’s great to meet you. But . . . I don’t think I should be signing body parts.”

“Oh,” they said together.

“Are you excited about Miss Grackle’s production?” said the deeper voice. “I can’t wait. She did one about Miss Wren and her animals last season. The Grass Menagerie.”

“It was far out. Very groovy.”

“Who do you think they’ll get to play you?”

“Uh, wow, I really don’t know. Hey, would you guys excuse me?”

I stood up, apologized again, and started quickly across the room. Not