Free Windblowne by Stephen Messer

imagined was possible.
    In fact, this entire treehouse was the product of skills and materials stranger than anything Oliver had ever seen.
    The front door slid open smoothly. A figure strode out—Great-uncle Gilbert.
    But it wasn’t Great-uncle Gilbert, Oliver realized. Yes, this man had the same wild hair, and the same piercing blue eyes, and something like the same face. But unlike Great-uncle Gilbert, this man was wiry and trim, and instead of a robe, he wore a strange-looking outfit tailored to fit his body closely, all white with long sleeves and pants, and shiny shoes.
    Another difference between this man and Great-uncle Gilbert was that he seemed deliriously happy to see Oliver. His face wore an expression of immense pleasure, with a smile that lit his face from ear to ear, revealing a perfect set of completely white teeth. He had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back and forth on his heels excitedly.
    The other boy, who was standing at the foot of the steps, spoke. “I’ve caught—I mean, I’ve brought him, Great-uncle Gilbert.”
    “Now, now,” admonished the man severely. “You are to use my new title at all times.”
    The other boy swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Gr—I mean, Lord Gilbert,” he said shakily.
    Lord Gilbert nodded, satisfied, then fixed his attention on Oliver. “Welcome, Oliver, welcome!” he proclaimed happily. “Welcome to your new home!”

8
    “My new home?” said Oliver .
    “My new home?” said the other boy.
    Lord Gilbert frowned. “This could get confusing.” He pointed at Oliver. “You shall be known as One.” He pointed at the other boy. “And you shall be Two!”
    “Why am I Two?” said the other Oliver, looking wounded. “I was here first.”
    “You failed in a crucial assignment,” sniffed Lord Gilbert. “You’ve been demoted.”
    Oliver, utterly dumbstruck, did not participate in this argument. He gaped at all of the metal piled up in that smooth, shining treehouse. And then to the side there were enormous gates—more metal!—from behind which a metallic shaft emerged and rose straight up, tallas an oak. All of the black strings from the giant oaks twisted into this shaft and wove down through it until they disappeared behind the gates. Whatever was behind the gates hummed and throbbed. Oliver could feel it vibrating in the ground and smelled a putrid odor.
    Then came wind, blowing rattling leaves around his feet, and then the persistent headache that had plagued him since he had landed stabbed back, now many times worse. The world spun, and Oliver cried out, staggering, holding his head in his hands.
    “Goodness!” cried Lord Gilbert. “Oliver One is unwell. Take him inside, Two, and put some breakfast in him. The trauma of his arrival has overwhelmed his primitive brain!”
    Two hurried Oliver inside. Lord Gilbert strode behind. The front door opened for them with a faint
whir
. Oliver stumbled, the pain in his head leaving him unable to resist. The pain stopped abruptly when the door
whirred
shut behind them, sealing them off from the outdoors. Oliver found himself in the kitchen. He blinked stupidly.
    The whole room was filled with bright light, but there was not a lamp or a window to be seen. Instead, lightglared from flat panels in the ceiling. A low, whining hum came from all directions. In his great-uncle’s treehouse, this room would be the kitchen, and there would be a woodstove, an icebox, and other comforts. But here, everything seemed to be made of cold, shining metal, with polished and curved surfaces, or else a kind of white surface resembling candle wax that had been melted and shaped. But it had to be the kitchen, as there were some gray cubes frying on a counter—without a fire!—and though Oliver was not sure what the cubes were supposed to be, they did have a baconish smell. Oliver’s stomach rumbled.
    While he stood there, rumbling and dumbstruck, Lord Gilbert began to pace, babbling gleefully. “I, of course, am Lord