Perhaps you’ve got more of me than your mother in you after all.
Leo couldn’t shake the conversation he’d overheard between his father and Kiernan. The Pelagan man seemed to think the sprites were dead. If that was true, then why even bother with this search in the first place? And what did he want another Arboreal for? And what was that island he kept mentioning? There were too many questions, and Leo didn’t know if he’d ever get any answers.
What felt like hours later, just as the sun was beginning to kiss the horizon and the sky lit up in searing pinks and fiery oranges that might have been pleasant to look at if Leo’s ass didn’t hurt so much, Branson turned off the car engine. “All right, boys,” he said. “Everybody out.”
The relief Leo felt at standing upright was indescribable. He moaned with pleasure as his muscles unwound, raising his arms above his head and giving his back a good long stretch. Branson opened up a map and spread it out on the hood. Chewing Tobacco and Nose Picker gathered around him. Leo took a swig of lukewarm water from his canteen, wishing he could call on Swansea to bring him an iced tea.
The man in the supply truck came out to join them. He was a thin, nervous-looking fellow with a twitchy mustache. He lit a cigarette and glanced back at the truck as if he were frightened it might drive away on its own.
“Here,” Branson said, shoving a small, crumpled piece of paper into Nose Picker’s hand. “This is what them sprites look like. They light up at sunset, so this is the best time to find them.”
“Don’t much like looking for these bastard Pelagan creatures,” Nose Picker complained as he studied the drawing. “They shouldn’t even be in our country anyway.”
“They’re gonna make the boss money and that makes us money,” Branson said. “So shut your mouth and do your job.”
Nose Picker handed the paper to Leo. He stared at a crude drawing of a tiny creature who looked like . . . a blade of grass. Grass with tiny arms and legs and some kind of weird crown on its head. Leo looked up at the endless prairie stretching out in all directions.
This was going to be impossible. He didn’t know the first thing about how to find a sprite. He hadn’t known sprites were things to find until about twenty-four hours ago.
“Someone must stay and look after the car,” he said. “Right? And these sprites may be close by. Why don’t I, uh, search this area? And I will keep an eye on our belongings as well. Does that sound amenable to you gentlemen?”
Chewing Tobacco spit a long stream of disgusting reddish brown at his feet and Branson smirked.
“Good idea,” he said. Leo had the feeling he was being mocked. “We’ll see you back here around calamity’s hour.”
Leo had no idea what calamity’s hour was, but he couldn’t very well let these men know that.
“Excellent,” he said. “Calamity’s hour. And best of luck to you lads. We better get looking while there’s still some light.”
“Too true,” Branson said. “We’ll just grab a few things and be on our way.”
Leo spent just enough time kicking at tufts of grass and making a big show of looking for sprites until Branson and his crew faded to small dark specks in the distance. Then he threw himself down in the shadow of the car and promptly fell asleep.
He awoke in darkness, sudden and alert, aware of some figure creeping around nearby.
“Who’s there?” he called, his speech slightly slurred. His tongue was clumsy in his dry mouth. Blades of grass were poking at him through his pants.
The figure froze, and then a familiar voice muttered, “Crap.”
“Agnes?” Leo gasped. He was feeling completely out of sorts. The expedition, the sprites, it was all coming back to him in a rush.
“Where is Branson?” he demanded. The car and truck were still here, but there was no sign of the men. “They said calamity’s . . .” His stomach gave a loud growl. “Where—what are you doing here?”
“I hid in the supply truck and bribed the driver,” Agnes said unapologetically. Her hair was tucked up under a newsboy cap, and she wore boys’ clothes. “Calamity’s hour is midnight, by the way. It’s long past.”
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Leo said, scrambling to his feet. “Father is going to kill you for this.”
“He won’t if you don’t tell him I was here.”
He smirked. “Nice try. I don’t tell him and he finds out anyway and then I’m dead, too. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll just marry you off to some low-class Old Port boy and wash his hands of you.”
He knew that would touch a nerve—she seemed to deflate, turning away from him and gazing up at the sky. “There are so many stars here. It’s beautiful.”
Leo had no interest in stars or their numbers at the moment. But Agnes kept staring at them as she murmured, “I had to try.”
“Try what?” he asked. “Try melting in the back of a truck for an entire day?”
She glared at him. “You wouldn’t understand.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the area around them. “I don’t think the sprites are here. And even if they are, the plains are too big. But I honestly thought I would find one.” She snorted, like she was disgusted with herself.
“Kiernan thinks they’re all dead,” Leo said.
“What? When did he say that?”
“Last night. I heard him say it to Father.”
“Then why—” She stopped herself and shook her head, as if she’d answered her own question before finishing it.
Leo’s stomach gave another growl. “Have you eaten?”
“They took the food,” Agnes said dully.
“What? Why didn’t you stop them?” The thought of no dinner was a terrifying one.
“Why didn’t you?” she retorted. “You were supposed to go with them. And then I could have explored the plains on my own and no one would have been the wiser. But no, you have to be the sulky spoiled rich boy they think you are.”
“But they’re coming back, right?” Leo couldn’t even muster up irritation at his sister right now in the face of going without dinner.
Agnes shrugged. “I doubt it. I bet that was why they took everything with them. To teach the boss’s son a lesson. I wouldn’t be surprised if Father told them to.” She sighed and Leo shuddered. That truth hit a bit too close to home.
“But . . . but . . . what are we supposed to do, sleep out here? With no bed? And no meal?” He sat back down again and cradled his head in his hands. “This was a mistake,” he mumbled. “I’m not . . . maybe you’re right. Maybe this was what he wanted all along.”
The pain was there, like it always was, waiting just offstage. Not good enough, it said to him. Worthless. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never win his respect. Leo tried to focus on the quiet, and the sharp scent of the grass, but the fact was he would have to go home at some point and face his father empty-handed. After a moment, he heard Agnes sit beside him.
“Here,” she said. “I have a bag of peanuts we can share.”
Leo accepted the peanuts gratefully. They were good, crunchy and salty, and gone far too soon. Agnes didn’t seem to mind the lack of food, which made Leo’s irritation spike again. Instead, she lay back and started naming the constellations.