No questions were raised about him going to the Sunborns’ house. Elliot’s father was too glad to have him go to ask questions. Elliot caught his father looking at him measuringly a few times in the days before he left. He suspected that his father might be puzzled at the idea of anyone wanting Elliot’s company: that was fair.
Luke had drawn Elliot a map for how to get to the Sunborns’ ancestral home once Elliot came over the wall. Luke had offered to come get him, but Elliot had haughtily declined and said that he could certainly find his own way.
This meant it was absolutely crucial to Elliot’s pride that he not get lost.
It was meant to be half a day’s walk—walking the way you do, Luke had said, which was insulting and unkind—so Elliot started the walk early in the morning. That meant leaving his father’s house before his father was awake, which was a bonus.
Before he left, he packed a bag. He put in pencils, pencil sharpeners, pens, and highlighters. He gave it some thought, then added Sharpies, Post-Its, and a glue gun. Just in case. He considered bringing flash cards, but he knew he was going on holiday and not to a place of education, and he didn’t want to go overboard.
He had to double back when he realized he’d forgotten to pack clean underwear.
Elliot took a car down to the wall. He paid the cab driver, who looked dubious about leaving a child alone in a field, but Elliot had spun him what he felt was a very convincing story about rare rock formations and being a keen geologist. The cab driver certainly seemed convinced he did not want to hear any more about rare rock formations. Elliot put his hands in his pockets and watched him drive away.
Then he climbed the wall on his own, took the trip into the clouds and back down to the otherlands. It felt strange walking past the track that led to the Border camp: Elliot’s feet seemed to want to go there, against all reason.
He walked on through the woods nevertheless. He looked around for dryads and harpies, but found nothing. He darkly suspected Luke of plotting a boring route to his house, just to spoil Elliot’s fun.
Being annoyed at Luke was a good distraction from being nervous about going to Luke’s house. Elliot did not know how to be around a proper family. He might have managed all right at the picnic, but he was meant to stay here for days. They would all realize that he had no idea what to do.
He followed the directions, which came with helpful drawings of trees, almost mechanically. He was worried enough that he almost did not realize when he arrived.
In the midst of moors and woodland was a tower, in the same brief, round style as the towers at the Border camp, looking like nothing so much as the rooks in the chess set his father had gathering dust in a cabinet. There was ivy climbing up it in cascading green profusion over places where the stone was jagged and worn. Elliot stuffed Luke’s map into his pocket and climbed the broad, flat steps.
From within the Sunborns’ tower came the loud sound of swearing. Elliot broke into a run.
The swearing was coming from a cavernous kitchen, where Rachel Sunborn was wrestling a stewpot. Half the stew was already on the wall.
“Um, let me help you with that,” said Elliot, and grabbed the other handle. The pot tipped dangerously down to Elliot’s level, but they got it on the ground.
“Thank you, Elliot,” said Rachel. “I bloody hate cooking, but Michael’s on campaign, and what are you going to do? Welcome, by the way.”
“If Mr Sunborn is gone, aren’t we going to be a lot of trouble?” Elliot asked apprehensively.
“Oh no,” said Rachel. “We all go on campaigns, and the one on leave gets the kids. We always have Louise’s friends over, and this summer we have my sister’s boys, Adam and Neal, staying too. You guys can distract each other. And frankly, it’s my turn for a houseful of kids: Michael had Luke at the Northmark fortress from when he was nine to when he got sent off to camp. I was on an expedition to traverse the entire otherlands. It was meant to be a two-year mission, but it ran long.”
“The DeWitt mission, led by the explorer from my world,” said Elliot enthusiastically. “The one that improved all the maps! How was finding an entire lagoon full of mermaids? I wish I could meet a mermaid.”
“Kid, they drown people.”
Elliot waved this off. “Is it true that the river mermaids have a common tongue but the mermaids who live in lakes have all entirely separate languages, though they can usually speak the language of the people who live near the lakes, and the saltwater mermaids seem to only speak the languages most common to sailors? Do you think the sea mermaids do have their own language but only use it in the deep? Because that’s what I think.”
Rachel threw back her head and laughed. “How would I know, funnyface? But I can harpoon a mermaid at a hundred paces from a moving boat. Not bad for an old lady, eh?”
“How old are Adam and Neal?” asked Elliot.
Rachel frowned in thought. The expression was not made for her face: it slid off the golden surface like water. “Close to your age,” she said. “A year and two years older, about.” Elliot must have made a face without meaning to—he’d been hoping for as old as Louise, which was old enough to not bother with Elliot much—because Rachel laughed at it. “Don’t worry, you’ll like them!” she said. “They’re just like Luke.”
“Oh,” said Elliot. “That’s fantastic.”
“Bit more outgoing than my shy boy, but that’s all to the good,” said Rachel. “I think it’s nice for Luke to have his own friends here. You’re all going to have fun! Don’t let anyone dare you to jump off a tower, though.”
“Don’t worry,” said Elliot. “Luke’s not shy. Everyone likes Luke.” “Except me,” he would have added, but it seemed rude when he was a guest.
Rachel frowned again, this time more deeply, a woman even less used to explaining herself than frowning. “Maybe that was the wrong word,” she said. “But you know how he is. My point is, Neal and Adam are lovely lads. I’m sure you’ll all get on. And Serene, when she gets here. Luke’s crazy about Serene.”
“Serene’s not here?” Elliot asked. “Where’s Serene?!”
“Oh, her mother took her on a hunting party for a magical stag, or somesuch.”
This was a complete disaster. Elliot wondered if he could claim that he’d left the oven on at home and make his escape.
This fragile, beautiful hope was crushed when Luke barreled into the house, calling for his mother and attended by vicious animals.
“Mum!” said Luke. “When do you think he’ll get—oh. Hi.”
“Hi,” said Elliot. He should probably, as a guest, not insult Luke in front of Luke’s mother.
“Why are you wearing those clothes?” Luke asked. “They’re weird. The Border camp gave you proper clothes.”
“Because, A: these are my clothes,” Elliot said. “B: the Border camp gave me ridiculous clothes, and C: I cannot believe that you, a loser who I have literally never seen wear anything but leather, are setting yourself up to be some sort of fashion expert and critiquing jeans and a hoodie. Worst host ever!” He glanced over at Rachel. “Not you, you’re a very charming hostess,” he added hastily.