Free Bookweirdest by Paul Glennon Page B

the old countries. Father doesn’t believe you, but I do. I want you to take us with you.”
    When Norman looked into her glossy brown eyes, he didn’t know what to say. She seemed so hopeful, so expectant. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but he couldn’t count on his ability to control the bookweird. He’d brought Malcolm with him once, just that once. It didn’t work every time he tried, and he couldn’t imagine how he would transport a whole village with him. It was the sort of thing he seemed to be able to do only by accident.
    He wiped the crumbs from his lips and surveyed the three expectant rabbits. “I’m not sure, but I can try.”
    The rabbits could not control their joy, and there is something impossibly cute about smiling rabbits. Norman half expected them to break into song.
    “I’ll need some paper and some sort of pen or pencil.” He paused to think if there was anything else that would help. It was more than a year since he’d been to Lochwarren, long enough for him to wonder whether he could describe it accurately, or whether his dreams had started to dilute his memory. “And any books you have that describe the Highlands, especially the lands around Lochwarren.”
    “Is that where you think the passage is?” Brother Timothy asked.
    Norman nodded, not knowing any way to explain it better.
    “Are you going to draw us a map?” asked Esme.
    That was a harder question to answer. “Sort of,” he replied. “It’s something the fox abbot taught me—a way of moving between this world and the world of your ancestors.”
    The rabbits hopped away to fetch the writing materials. They emerged from the scriptorium with several blank scrolls, an inkpot and a tiny quill. To Norman, who had been looking for pencils and paper for two days, it was almost as welcome as the food. He took the quill between his thumb and his forefinger. Only a tiny fraction of the feather stuck out. It was worse than the shortest mini-putt pencil.
    Esme laughed when she saw it. “We could make you another one, but you’d have to wait until tomorrow, when we can find a bigger bird.”
    Norman made a face. He didn’t like the idea of waiting.
    “Is it hard to draw?” Esme asked. “If you drew the map in the dirt, I could copy it for you.”
    “It’s not actually that kind of map. It’s more like directions.”
    “Well, we can take dictation,” she suggested. “Ambrose is the expert. He works in the scriptorium.”
    At that moment, Timothy and Ambrose returned carrying a stack of books. At a nod from Timothy, Ambrose rolled out a reed mat. The older monk separated a few volumes from the pile for Norman. “These are the ones you’ll want,” Brother Timothy said. “They’re the oldest chronicles of our arrival here.”
    They were tiny books. Norman opened one gingerly, afraid of ripping a page. The dim light made it difficult to read. Even squinting, Norman had trouble picking out the words. Timothy brought an oil lamp and held it over the boy’s shoulder, but Norman still struggled. He shook his head.
    “It’s too small. I can’t read it.”
    “I’d heard this. You humans don’t see well in the dark,” Timothy said. “Ambrose, you read it.”
    The younger monk had hardly said a word all night. Now he stood back, some steps away from them, and shook his head slowly.
    “Ambrose has heard too many campfire stories about two-leggers eating up little bunnies,” Esme teased. “Never mind, I’ll do it.”
    It didn’t take them long to find the right passage. The Undergrowth rabbits were obsessed with the details of their arrival inEngland. It was a huge mystery to them, and they’d been trying to puzzle it out for centuries. They went over the story again and again, trying to retrace their path and figure out where they went wrong.
    Esme had a very sweet reading voice. She read like his mother with a bedtime story, with just the right pace and emphasis, as she related the first accounts of the Rabbit