“Ow! You little flea magnet, that hurt!” Ida rubbed her leg. “I was just being honest. If I’m wrong, then why don’t you say something, toad breath?” Fargus stared at her, defiant and ready to strike again, but then, just as quickly, he deflated like a balloon and dropped his eyes to the floor.
Ida spoke to Josephine in an exasperated tone. “Fargus has a temper. He thinks he’s Mr. Tough.”
Josephine put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Fargus. My father never speaks. I’m used to it.” Fargus stuck his tongue out at Ida and then beamed at Josephine.
“We’d better get going.” Ida stood impatiently at the foot of the stairs.
“What?” Josephine asked, panicking. “You just got here. Please don’t leave me alone again!” She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.
“We have to, or Stairway Ruth will see we’re out of bed.”
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here all night by myself!” She thought of the door shutting once more, the thick darkness surrounding her, the coldness of the cellar floor. Her hands shook at the idea.
“Fargus thinks he can get back to your house, but it will take him a while to find the way, so we have to wait until morning to try it.”
“Really?” Josephine smiled hopefully at Fargus. “Is that true, Fargus?”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded.
Josephine stepped to him and hugged him, relieved. When she released him, she said, “The morning? I guess I’ll be okay until then.” But deep inside she wasn’t so sure.
Ida turned to leave. “Good. Let’s go, Fargus. Hurry.”
And then the two of them tiptoed up the stairs, opened the door, and were gone.
Josephine loathed being alone again, and she dreaded the night that lay ahead, but at least she knew she would be going home soon. The thought of her room and her books gave her some relief, along with a bit of new bravery. Her stomach was knotted up in hunger. Surely it would take just two seconds to grab a little food from the kitchen?
SEVEN
Stairway Ruth was on evening patrol. There wasn’t much point these days with so few orphans left in the Institute, but Ruth was a staunch believer in routine. Every night at precisely midnight she grabbed her favorite lashing stick (which she thought made a particularly satisfying snap when it landed on the back of a child’s legs) and started her rounds of the building. She began with the sleeping quarters in the east wing, to make sure the children were in their beds. And then she moved downstairs to check the dining hall, the library, and the classrooms. Next, through the kitchen and up to the meat storage tower. She had done it for so many years, she could do it with her eyes closed.
Unlike Kitchen Maggie, Ruth was lean. Her pointy joints only seemed capable of moving at extreme angles. Children near her were always worried about getting an elbow in the eye or a knee in the back. When confronted with the pursed face of Stairway Ruth, orphans tended to tremble, cry, pee their pants, or all of the above. And Ruth cherished their fear—she fed off it.
She had just finished a sweep of the classrooms and was approaching the kitchen when she heard a noise—a scraping. Screet screet. She stopped cold and listened carefully. She heard it again. It was coming from the kitchen! Ruth’s heart leaped with joy. One of the little brats was most certainly trying to steal extra food, and she was going to catch him or her red-handed! Ruth savored these moments like most people savored a juicy roast.
On tiptoe, she approached the door to the kitchen, her lashing stick high above her head, ready to come crashing down on the tiny unsuspecting head of one of the children. She violently kicked open the door.
“Drop it, cockroach!” she cackled.
Josephine froze in terror, a meat pie halfway in her mouth.
Ruth was so shocked by the appearance of a new child that for a moment she didn’t move.
Taking advantage of Ruth’s surprise, Josephine leaped for the door. But Ruth came to her senses, threw her body in front of her, and yelled, “Maggie! Intruder!” She lunged to the wall and pulled a red lever. A deafening bell began to ring. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Ruth reached for Josephine, but the girl plopped to the ground and scurried under the kitchen table. Ruth raised her lashing stick and began sweeping it underneath the tabletop. It flicked Josephine on the arm and she cried out in pain. “Ach!”
Kitchen Maggie came bursting through the door. Her hair was wrapped around red curlers, and her huge mushy body was flimsily covered in a polka-dot nightgown. Ruth pointed under the table. “Under there!” Maggie knelt down and growled. From Josephine’s perspective, a huge terrifying beach ball was trying to eat her.
She jerked away, but Ruth was waiting and nabbed her from behind, dragging her across the floor and then onto her feet.
Josephine struggled like a trapped butterfly. “Let me go!” she squealed.
“What’s this? Where did she come from?” Maggie asked.
Ruth smiled. “Must be some runaway who broke in here to find food. The Master will be very pleased. I’d say you and I just got us a freebie!”
Maggie looked Josephine up and down while the girl glared back, ready to kick or bite if she had the opportunity. “Isn’t she a queer one? That’s some strange costume she’s got on.”
“Look at this rat’s nest on top of her head,” Ruth replied. “We might need to shave it off. Can’t have lice running around the place.”
Josephine bucked again, trying to get free. “Don’t you touch me!” she screamed, but Ruth’s grip was like a vise.
Maggie leered, showing several missing teeth. “Where should we put her?”
“I think a few nights in the meat room will take the edge off her. The stink in that place would make a soldier beg to go back to war.”
“No, please!” Josephine pleaded. “I just want to go home!”
Maggie laughed. She walked over to the red lever on the wall and pulled it back up, shutting off the alarm bell. Leaning into Josephine’s petrified face, she said, “But don’t you go messing with my meat, or we’ll have you for dinner instead!”
Maggie, satisfied that Ruth had everything under control, shuffled back to bed smirking, leaving Ruth to drag Josephine to a narrow door with a large bolt. She slid open the lock, threw open the door, and shoved Josephine inside. “Start climbing!”
“My father has money. He can—”
“Start moving, or you’ll feel my stick again,” Ruth threatened.
Josephine saw spiral stairs leading up and up into pitch-blackness. She felt tears burning her eyes, but she didn’t want to give Stairway Ruth the satisfaction of seeing her cry. So she steeled herself and walked up into the darkness.
