Excerpt: Nonce

This had to be it. This had to be the correspondent. Here was her possibility, contained within the walls of an aging sideshow machine, pulled by horses that could hardly have been any horses bred from this tired reality.

She was elated. Her heart beat wildly once the caravan had stopped—the doors had opened.

Out stepped a weedy man of average height. He had orange hair and a top hat in his hands. Hands that were clad in worn, woven gloves without fingers. He had on a suit that no longer looked like a suit but was accented with a tie and sweater vest. His whole person seemed to be in great need of a dusting off, and as he walked forward, Isibél thought she could hear his bones creaking with lack of use.

“Isibél?” he asked. “Is that you?”

Was this the man? He hardly seemed like someone full of possibilities. He seemed instead as though a very strong wind would knock him over.

“Yes,” she said.

Three boys, minus Elijah, murmured, “Don’t.” It was a welcome enough reflex, but she wasn’t afraid.

The man cast a nervous look over the boys and then looked down at a small piece of paper. “Sigiswald is happy to know you. My name is Barnabas Creek. I’m Sigiswald’s assistant.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isibél said. “Who’s Sigiswald?”

“You’ll find out shortly.” Barnabas was more nervous than the four boys staring at the back of Isibél’s head. “Are you ready?”