LITMIR.BIZ

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      INTO THE WOODS

       “What did she ever do to you?”

      — Theo Watson

      Five steps into the trees, Rosemary froze. Peter bumped into her. They looked up and around at the dense canopy and the little slivers of sky. Already they couldn’t see the beach that had been behind them. The scenery had changed as completely as if somebody had turned a page.

      Puck bounded ahead of them, not bothered by the dense forest. Peter started after, but Rosemary pulled him to a stop. “Wait! Where are we going? What do we do?”

      Puck stopped and came back, hunching down to Rosemary’s height, his hands on his knees. “The Land of Fiction is a patchwork of stories,” he said, “each with its own setting and its own challenge to face. We proceed through them until we find and rescue Theo.”

      “But where is Theo?” asked Rosemary.

      “That’s easy,” said Peter. “If he’s a prisoner in a storybook, then he is in a dungeon, right? How many dungeons are there in the Land of Fiction?”

      “Four hundred and sixty-two thousand, five hundred and ninety-three,” said Puck.

      Peter’s face fell.

      “But we will not find Theo in a dungeon,” said Puck. “Find one and you will find them all; it is too insecure. No, to find Theo, we must proceed to the centre of the island.” He waved them forward.

      Rosemary didn’t move. “Why the centre of the island?”

      “Because it is the highest point of land,” said Puck. “It is a goal to strive for. Once we reach the peak, we will come to the climax of our story, and you will find Theo.”

      “That’s kind of stupid,” said Peter.

      “Tsk, tsk! Trust your native guide!” Puck beckoned Peter and Rosemary forward.

      Peter and Rosemary glanced at each other, and then stopped in their tracks. They stared at each other, then at themselves.

      Their clothes had changed. Instead of jeans and a winter coat, Peter was wearing a medieval tunic and stockings, leather shoes, and a leather cap with a feather sticking out of it. Slung over his shoulder was a longbow.

      Rosemary was in a pink and white dress that stretched to her ankles. There was something on her head. She tried to yank it off. “Ow!”

      After pulling off the pins, she disentangled a cone-shaped storybook princess hat. “I look like a fairy godmother! A short fairy godmother!”

      Puck sighed and stepped back.

      “Why did our clothes change?” asked Peter.

      “To make you more suitable to the setting,” said Puck.

      Rosemary cast aside her cone hat. She poked her foot out from beneath the hem of her dress and peered at her cloth slippers. “How am I going to get through the forest in this?”

      “How come —” Peter’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no — we’re part of a story, aren’t we?”

      Rosemary looked up. “Peter?”

      He shivered. “Think about it: a storybook forest? Bad things happen in storybook forests! We could run into lions or tigers or bears —”

      “Lions live in grasslands,” said Rosemary.

      “I’m talking storybook forests!” Peter rounded on Puck. “What’s here? Goblins? Trolls? Evil trees?”

      Puck shrugged. “That, my friend, I cannot say. We must go on and find the way.” He linked their hands together. Peter and Rosemary looked at each other and let go. They grabbed hold again when Puck took Rosemary’s other hand and pulled her into the forest.

      Puck soon let go of their hands and darted ahead of them, prancing and leaping over fallen logs, looping back to them to make sure they weren’t left behind.

      “I had a dog like this,” muttered Peter, his arms folded and his shoulders hunched. “Maybe we could throw him a stick.”

      “I don’t see why you’re so worried,” said Rosemary. “Look at Puck. He seems at home here.”

      Puck turned around and paced them, walking backwards. “That is because this is my home!” He swung his arms wide. “And I am always happy to return to it! I am the forest and the forest is me. Remove me and a part is lost. Return me and I am whole!”

      He cartwheeled backwards, landing on his feet. “Dance with me, Rosemary!” He held out his hand. “Feel the joy of the forest!”

      Rosemary hung back, but Puck caught her hand. She sailed into the dance with a cry. Then, as Puck swung her around, she began to laugh and shriek with delight.

      Puck twirled her, and Rosemary, laughing, swung down the path towards Peter. She reached out her hand to draw him into the dance, but he ducked back. She stopped and looked at him sourly. “Why not?”

      He laughed. “I — I’m not the dancing type.”

      “You should be,” said Puck. “You seem most nimble and well-made. Doesn’t he, Rosemary?”

      “I — I just think we should be more careful,” stammered Peter.

      “How can you be afraid of this place?” said Rosemary. “With Puck so happy, what could possibly go wr—”

      Puck tackled her, clamping a hand over her mouth.

      Rosemary struggled free. “What?”

      “You tempted fate,” said Puck, his smile gone. “Never do that in the Land of Fiction.”

      “But this is your home!”

      “Sage Rosemary, look me in the eye. I am the forest and the forest is me. Would you trust me every moment of the day and night?”

      Rosemary looked at Puck. His eyes were bright as new leaves and deep as wells. They sparkled with energy and Rosemary was bathed in Puck’s compassion for her. But she also sensed a wildness in that gaze that could overwhelm her.

      She turned away, shivering. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking!”

      “My fault. You caught my happiness. You could not see my caution.”

      Peter cut them off. “I hear something.”

      A low and steady drumbeat rose at the edge of hearing and grew louder.

      Peter, Puck, and Rosemary dove for cover in the bushes. From there they watched the path and listened.

      The drumbeat grew louder, and as it did, other music, whistles and trumpets, entered the range of hearing. Then they heard the sounds of marching feet, and they could see shapes moving along the path.

      As the figures came closer, Peter and Rosemary realized that the shapes weren’t human, they were ... shapes. And they were singing.

      Two, four, six, eight,

       Find the greatest numerate!

       Three, six, nine, twelve,

       Through the forest we will delve!

       Four, eight, twelve, sixteen

       To catch the largest number seen!

       Five, ten, fifteen, twenty

       For our hunt to feed us plenty!

      Spheres, cubes, and pyramids, each barely two feet tall, were marching along the forest floor on legs as thin as pencils. Their hands were human, but barely an inch across. Their arms were as thin as their legs. They wore white sailor hats, white gloves, and galoshes and carried fountain pens for spears.

      Rosemary frowned. She stood

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