“Well, no wonder she left if you paid her up front,” said Lady Sibba. Gwenla gave her an icy look, and she realized her mistake. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right. That was foolish. The new one is starting tonight, and we won’t make the same mistake. The truth is, we’re desperate.”
“I understand that,” said Gwenla, “but I don’t know why you think I’ll have any more success. I haven’t taken care of children in decades, and never full time. And we have a business venture to take care of.”
“I’m not asking you to take care of children. Just one child. He’s a good lad. Quiet, studious. Just turned eight. He’s the best behaved of the lot.”
“Then why him? Surely you’d want me to take on one of the more difficult children.”
Yordin sighed, looking off into the next room towards the sounds of laughter and tears, which were punctuated by the occasional crash or dread-inducing crunch. “He’s not like us. I can’t give him what he needs. He’s like you. Always sneaking off to the surface, running around up there alone. It's dangerous up there. I only go up when I have to. He needs someone to guide him. Someone who can teach him what things up there are. Someone who can keep him safe.”
Yordin looked at Gwenla, his tired grey eyes touched with tears. “Please, Gwenla. Do this for us, and I’ll build you any type of machine you want.”
Just then, a little blonde dwarf boy stumbled into the room. He was watching something moving in a jar, paying so little attention to where he was going that he would have collided with Lady Sibba had she not seen him coming. Instead, she gently reached for his shoulder, guiding him around her.
“We have room in the school,” said Lady Sibba. “The term is starting when I get back. It’s good timing.”
Gwenla scowled at the elf.
“What’s that you have there, boy?” said Gwenla. She held out her hand.
“Finnli, show it to her. There’s a good lad,” said Yordin.
Yordin had so much love in his eyes for the child despite his exhaustion that Alison couldn’t imagine saying no to him. But Gwenla’s face was impassive.
“This is my green critter,” said Finnli, holding up the glass jar. Inside was a caterpillar of impressive size. It was nearly as long as one of Alison’s fingers and at least twice as fat. “He likes to eat green stuff.”
Gwenla took a quick look at the caterpillar and nearly tossed the jar. “It’s a hornworm. Terrible pest. They nearly destroyed my tomatoes the year before last. Take that thing out of the jar and step on it.”
“No!” shouted Finnli, snatching the jar back from Gwenla. “I will not! He’s my friend.”
The little boy’s face was going red. He jutted his chin out at Gwenla, defiant.
Gwenla gave Yordin a stubborn look as if to say, “This was your best idea?”
But when she turned back to Finnli, something changed. There was something so sweet about his little face, as angry as it was. Alison could see what Yordin had meant—he did have quite a bit of Gwenla’s determination in him at the very least.
Gwenla’s expression softened. “What’s his name?”
“Mortimer. It’s from a human story I read once.”
“If Mortimer is coming with us, he has to stay in that jar. I won’t have him ruining my plants. But we should put some holes in the top so he can breathe.”
“Oh, thank you, Gwenla. Thank you,” said Yordin. He reached out to shake her hand, but she held her hand up.
“If,” she said. “I think I ought to stay here for a few days. Let’s see how we get on before we make any major decisions. That is, if the rest of you think you can manage without me?”
“Of course,” said Alison. “We’ll handle the rest of the plans.” Alison recognized what Gwenla was doing for Yordin—how she had seen that she was needed, and it wasn’t Gwenla’s way to refuse someone who needed her help.
And while Gwenla may have left the mountain for a reason, Alison knew that she had been missed, and she was glad for her friend to have the opportunity to spend time with her family.
It also gave her a pang of guilt. She didn’t have a large family left in Arcas Dyrne, but she owed her mother more than the couple of letters she’d sent so far.
That was a problem for another time, though.
“Come, everyone,” said Yordin. “We’ll get you settled for the night in the guest rooms—don’t worry, the kids don’t have access to that floor. Marna and I are making our special roast supper tonight, assuming the new nanny arrives.”
Alison followed the others upstairs, dodging toy rail-wheelers and looking forward to finding out what made the roast “special.”
