Strangeworlds Travel Agency Read online

  “But?” Flick prompted, knowing there was more.

  “But,” Jonathan said, “if you were to try to step through it, the schism would help itself to every single drop of magic from you, to heal itself.”

  Flick shuddered. “That’s… evil.”

  “They’re not deliberately malicious,” Jonathan said. “They’re like sponges. They absorb magic they come into contact with and living things have a great deal of it. If you tried to step through, the schism would close, seal up, and you would be gone.”

  “Dead?”

  “Not only dead. Erased from existence. Your atoms, everything that holds you together, everything that fuels your memories would be gone. There would be nothing left of you. A gap in the multiverse, where you ought to be.”

  An icy silence followed.

  “But I saw a man in the street brush against one,” Flick said after a moment. “He didn’t… disappear. But… it did glow brighter, after he touched it.”

  “There is a difference between touching a schism and trying to cross through one,” Jonathan said. “There’s more to magic than accident. Whatever schisms are, they know our intentions. And to try to cross through one is to invite catastrophe.”

  Flick swallowed. “People have tried it, then?”

  “Yes. In the past.” He shrugged. “I wanted to warn you and now I have.”

  Flick contemplated the precious world around her. “So, this is what you do? You show people other worlds?”

  “Correct,” said Jonathan. “I send people traveling all over the worlds. Worlds like this. The Strangeworlds Travel Agency doesn’t sell holidays. We sell wonder.”

  Flick badly needed to sit down. She did so, folding her legs up and parking herself against the nearest tree trunk. It was surprisingly warm. “But why me?” she asked. “I’m just… me.”

  Jonathan sat down as well and stroked a patch of crystal. It lit up bright white under his touch, then faded quickly back to a subtle glimmer. “Just? Felicity, you can see magic. You can see schisms. You couldn’t be just anything if you tried. And as for the why…” He sighed. “Being part of the Strangeworlds Society means taking care of what we have. We look after other worlds and the connections between them. We are Custodians. We are Cartographers.”

  “Cartographers?”

  “Mapmakers. We map the routes through the suitcases. No one wants to lose their way home.”

  “Can that happen?”

  “Not if you still have your suitcase in your hand.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t lose your luggage.”

  Flick had an urge to take the suitcase out of his hand, just to be sure she had it safe. Instead, she turned her face to the dark blue sky. “You said you had to look after the worlds. What does that mean?”

  “My father told me what I know. There is a balance of schism and magic. Like two weights on one of those brass scales. In most worlds, the weights are equal, or slightly in favor of magic. But”—he took a breath—“there have been instances, on occasion, of people taking more from a world than they should.”

  “Taking what?”

  “Magic,” Jonathan said bluntly. “Like all other energies, it can be used. And it can be used up.”

  A queasy feeling lodged itself in Flick’s stomach. “And what happens if it’s used up?”

  “World collapse.”

  Flick didn’t need to ask what this meant. Even the sound of it made her feel sick. “Can’t you stop them?” she asked.

  “How can you stop anyone whose greed is destroying their world?” Jonathan asked. “If you can’t convince them of wrongdoing, the only course would be direct action. In one of our history books, there’s an account of a Society member trapping a villain inside a suitcase. Remove the problem at the source, you see. Can you imagine what might happen if these cases were to fall into the wrong hands? The sort of carnage you could unleash if you brought back a creature from another world? Or a weapon? Or a person?” He shuddered.

  Flick swallowed hard. “That’s…”

  “Nothing like that has been necessary for many, many years,” Jonathan said quickly. “Which is probably why the Strangeworlds Society has become almost obsolete. A long time ago, there were dozens of members, and they worked for the agency, helped to map the connections between the worlds, monitor the flow of magic to and from schisms. But now things have changed. It would be all too easy to let the whole enterprise go; but how can I, when it’s my responsibility to look after everything?” He raked his fingers over his scalp.

  Flick felt a jolt of sympathy. “What would happen if you just quit Strangeworlds?” she asked.

  Jonathan looked rather grim. “There must always be a Head Custodian. There must. Can you imagine what some people would do if they had access to multiple, unguarded worlds to exploit?”

  Flick’s stomach clenched. She nodded. It was all too easy to imagine the sort of greed that would be inspired by the magical suitcases.

  “I need help,” Jonathan said softly. “I can’t take care of Strangeworlds on my own.”

  Flick glanced at the suitcase in Jonathan’s hand. It suddenly looked extremely heavy.

  They walked steadily through the woodland, the slippery smoothness of the trees’ boughs making them take small, careful steps. Occasionally, one of the shimmering birds would fly across the path. As they walked, the quartz in the trees took on a pale blue hue, some of the crystals sporting little caps and rivulets of gold. The trees’ leaves shrank as they climbed upward. They were still great fanning things, the size of encyclopedias, thick as cardboard but pliable as rubber.

  “So, some people know about the agency, don’t they?” Flick asked. “The ones who pay to travel.”

  “There are enough Society members to pay the bills, and that’s about it. They help keep the records updated—I insist they take the book that corresponds to the suitcase they’re using, so they can make notes about it. But there are so few of them, and so many worlds…” Jonathan rubbed absently at the curls at the back of his neck. “My biggest worry is that someone will put something on the internet and one day I’ll wake up in a tiny room with a two-way mirror staring at me.”

  “Do you have a family?” Flick asked. She held tight on to the thought of her own. It was both comforting, and something she didn’t want to mention. A mom, a dad, a baby brother… they seemed too normal to invite into this conversation, or even into this strange world.

  “Until very recently, I had my father.” Jonathan stopped walking. “However—” His mouth shut, as if he was afraid something would escape from it.

  Sympathy welled up inside Flick. The little bubble of resentment she felt over Jonathan’s obvious poshness went “pop.” When it came to things that were really valuable, she had a lot more than he did. “I’m sorry. Did your dad…?”

  “He’s not dead,” Jonathan said fiercely. “He’ll come back to me. I know he will. I…” He stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  “It’s okay.” Flick looked away as Jonathan gave his glasses a furious clean. She wanted to ask a lot more questions—about where Jonathan’s dad had gone in the first place, for starters—but she knew now wasn’t the time.

  She looked back as Jonathan forced a smile.

  They went a little farther. The world was quiet, though not silent—the quietness seemed to come from the stillness of the air and the soft glow of the crystals.

  Flick sat down on a hump of tree branch and a butterfly the size of a Labrador came and perched on her knee. It weighed almost nothing. The insect had wings like wafer-thin slices of a geode; the white crackle of the center fanned out into mirrored, ever-increasing circles of color.

  No one in her world would believe her if she told them. She could take the butterfly home, of course, and be rich… but that was what Jonathan meant. Just because something was full of riches, didn’t mean you had to try to take them for yourself. The suitcases did need looking after.

  Jonathan pushed his glasses up his n
ose and checked his watch. “Are you ready to go back?”

  Flick stood, and the butterfly took off, flapping its wings in a slightly disgruntled way before vanishing beneath the twinkling trees. “If we have to. I guess we just step in again?”

  “Correct.” Jonathan opened the case. He looked at Flick and made an “after you” gesture.

  She took a breath and stepped back into her own world.

  * * *

  When they were back, Flick borrowed Jonathan’s magnifying glass again, and looked around at the soft glittering glow of the travel agency. The suitcase they had traveled through seemed especially bright.

  “I’ll make us some tea,” said Jonathan.

  Flick looked around the front room of the travel agency again while Jonathan rattled around in the kitchen. She gave a smile at the photographs on the wall, feeling a sort of camaraderie with the explorers—the Strangeworlds Society members—who looked proudly out of their frames. Though the pictures were in black and white, one or two of the subjects looked familiar. They must be Jonathan’s family.

  “Jonathan,” she called, “can I ask what happened to your dad?”

  Jonathan peered around the doorframe from the kitchen. “You can ask.” He came through, drying his hands, having washed out a couple of mugs. “I was at boarding school by then and he was working at the agency, as Head Custodian. I had a call from the bookshop next door. They hadn’t seen my dad in a while. I came home to find out what had happened, and… he was gone.” He trailed off. “He won’t have left me.”

  “How long has it been?” Flick asked quietly.

  Jonathan paused, turning back to the kitchen area. “A couple of months.” He disappeared into the back of the shop.

  Months? Even Flick knew that was a long time for someone missing to come back.

  Jonathan came back through, stuffing a handkerchief into his sleeve. “Kettle’s on.”

  Flick decided to change the subject. “Are all the worlds linked?”

  He brightened slightly. “In a way, all the worlds of the multiverse are linked. The trick is knowing how to get where you want to go. We wouldn’t get far without a map.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned on the desk in what he probably hoped was a casual way. “Now that you’ve made a journey through a suitcase, I don’t suppose you feel like taking a pledge, at all?”

  Flick’s smile twisted into an uncertainty. “You said it can be dangerous.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “So’s crossing the road.”

  Flick had to agree. “But what if—”

  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—

  “Oh, rats, that’s my alarm.” Flick fished her phone out. “I need to get back, I’ve got to pick Freddy up.”

  “Freddy?”

  “My baby brother.”

  “Oh, so you’re not an only child,” Jonathan said. “Well, that’s good. For your parents, I mean.” He went to hold the door open. “Don’t stay away too long,” he said as she darted past. “You’re needed.”

  Flick stayed up late that night, reading more of the Study of Particulars by the pink agate-light of her bedside lamp.

  The previous contributors to the book (and there were clearly many based on the variety of handwriting) had treated it like a scrapbook, sticking in drawings and photographs and tickets. There were three names jotted neatly on the first page:

  PROPERTY OF:

  Anthony Mercator, 1900

  Juliet Mercator, 1970

  Aspen Thatcher, 1982

  And there were scribbles and inky fingerprints here and there in the margins. There was even a very faded and brown photograph of the front of Strangeworlds, with a dozen people standing outside it in what Flick thought was Victorian dress. They weren’t smiling, though one of the gentlemen had his hat raised in apparent cheerfulness.

  Flick only realized how late it was when she heard her dad’s alarm go off at 3:30 a.m. She hid the book under her pillow and fell asleep instantly, dreaming of the worlds she had read about.

  When she woke up later, she felt as if her head was rather stuffy, filled to the brim with other worlds and other people’s adventures.

  She wanted one of her own. And if she could help Jonathan, even better.

  “Afternoon,” her mom said dryly, as she came down the stairs. “What time do you call this?”

  “It’s still morning.” Flick waved at the wall clock. “Just.”

  “Put some bread in the toaster, will you? Freddy’s ready for his lunch.”

  Flick felt resentment bubble up inside of her. Yes, Mom, she thought. I know you’ve been down here on your own with Freddy and I’ve been selfishly sleeping, but he is your baby, not mine. She shoved four slices into the toaster and clicked the kettle on.

  “Why did you sleep so late? Are you growing or something?” Her mom followed her into the kitchen and started the process of wrestling Freddy into his high chair. It was like watching someone trying to get a cat into a carpetbag.

  “I hope so.” Flick poured the boiling water into the teapot, swished it around and emptied it into the sink before adding teabags. Warming the pot in the Hudson household was almost a legal requirement.

  The toast popped up, and Flick’s mom started buttering a couple of slices and applying peanut butter and jam to the others. “Was any of this for you?”

  Apparently not, Flick thought, grumpiness hovering over her head like a dark cloud. “I’ll have cereal.”

  “Good. You can help me shop, when you’re dressed. There’s nothing for tea. Again.”

  Flick thought about the box full of cookbooks on the landing that still needed to be unpacked, and decided not to mention them. “I was going to go down the main street,” she huffed, annoyed that her mom seemed to be drafting Flick into her operations without even asking if Flick had plans.

  “To do what? You’ve hardly been home since we moved in. What’re you up to?”

  Well, actually, Mom, I’ve decided to take a pledge to become part of a secret society that explores other worlds through magical suitcases, Flick thought to herself. “Just stuff,” she said out loud.

  Her mom looked unimpressed, and put the plastic plate of toast in front of Freddy. As soon as her back was turned, Freddy emptied it onto the floor with all the precision of a scientist conducting an experiment. “Stuff or not, there’s things that need doing here, as well. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

  Flick thought she didn’t so much need a plate as a three-tier cake stand for all the things her mother expected her to be doing. “You can’t expect me to stay inside all summer and—”

  “Oh, FREDDY,” her mom wailed, turning around to see the baby gleefully laughing at the pile of toast on the floor.

  Flick rolled her eyes and went to eat her breakfast in the living room.

  * * *

  In the end, Flick didn’t manage to escape from her mother until the next day.

  Everyone had gone out before she was even dressed, so Flick left the house without saying a word to anyone. She only had to double back once, when she remembered she was supposed to take some chicken out of the freezer.

  Sometimes, Flick thought she couldn’t wait to be a grown-up if it meant getting away from other people telling her what to do all the time. But then all adults seemed to do was complain and cook and wipe things (surfaces, faces, babies’ bottoms), so that didn’t exactly appeal, either. And their lives were so boring. But they secretly liked it like that. It made them feel safe. That was the reason her parents had moved them here. In the city, there had been rolling 24-hour news projected on the side of the shopping center. In Little Wyverns, a shed had once fallen down in a night of strong winds. People were still talking about it.

  She got to Strangeworlds right as the sky started to darken, threatening a summer downpour. She darted across the road, pushed at the door—

  —and it didn’t move. Flick’s face almost banged into it. She stepped back and tried it again. It was locked fast.

 
She went around to the window and peered in, cupping her hands to the glass to see through it. She could see the armchairs and the suitcases sitting neatly in their pigeonholes and the desk at the back, which looked to have a pile of laundry on it.

  No. Wait… Jonathan was the pile of laundry.

  A few drops of rain started to spit down onto the pavement.

  Flick banged on the window. “Jonathan! JONATHAN!”

  Jonathan sat bolt upright like someone had shoved a handful of nettles down the back of his neck. His hair was on end like a beehive and he cast around wildly for the source of the noise.

  Flick banged again. “JONATHAN!”

  He caught sight of her and staggered over to the door, unlocking it just as the rain started in earnest, emptying out of the sky in a hot wash of steaming downpour. “Come in, come in.”

  Flick shot past him like an arrow. “Thanks.” She put her damp backpack down close to the fire, though it was out. “What were you doing? Were you asleep?”

  “I don’t know. What day is it?”

  “Wednesday. And it’s like eleven in the morning.”

  “Only by your clock.” Jonathan yawned so widely he could have swallowed one of the suitcases. “Do excuse me. Difficult night. I was working.”

  He yawned again, shaking with tiredness. “A Society member came in, you know, and I don’t like to say no. I was making a note of something, and then… I must have nodded off. What can I do for you? Did you want to discuss the pledge?”

  Flick had been about to declare that she was ready to take the Strangeworlds pledge and start jumping into suitcases left and right, but the exhausted expression on Jonathan’s face made her swallow her prepared speech back down again. “You look too tired to discuss anything.”

  “I am.” He didn’t bother to lie. “I am sorry. I know you made a special trip in, but I feel as though my brain is full of dead bumblebees at the moment. Apologies.”

  “You don’t have to say sorry,” Flick said quickly. She tried to cover her disappointment. “I should have texted you or something, not just turned up.”