Story's End Read Free Page B

he had been, everyone lost interest in what Peter had done.
    “Your brothers are going to think this is the best sleepover ever,” Una said as she unfolded a blanket. “I bet they’ll be up all night.”
    Peter shoved back an old steamer trunk and stacked two smaller chests next to it. This was as good a time as any to try and get her to talk. “Did anything else happen? Back in the exam?”
    Una fidgeted with the corners of the pillow she was holding.
    “You can trust me. I promise.”
    Una plumped up the pillow and tossed it on the floor. Tiny feathers floated through the air. “I told you what happened.”
    Peter shook his head. “I know there’s more.”
    Una brushed the down off her skirt. “Look, Peter. It wasn’t exactly a . . . nice . . . experience. I’m going to have to tell it all over again to every character who comes here today, so can you just give it a rest?”
    Peter didn’t want to. He wanted to keep asking questions until he could figure out why she looked so sad. Maybe after they’d finished here and rustled up some food, she’d feel more like talking. “Are the other kids still in the kitchen?”
    “Mmm-hmmm.” Una was dragging a dressmaker’s dummy out of the way, the unsewn fabric still pinned to the form. “Except for Indy,” she said. “He’s with the grown-ups.”
    “Figures.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest and slouched against a wardrobe. “The rest of us have to clean, but perfect Indy can join their meetings.”
    “It makes sense, Peter.” Una’s voice came from the far corner, near the growing pile of junk. “Indy’s done loads of things for the Resistance already. He knows what to look for and how to keep his mouth shut.” She dusted off her hands. “Besides, it’s better to have him there than here.”
    “Have who where?” Indy said as he walked into the room.
    Una’s face flushed red, and she looked at the rocking chair next to her as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
    “Um . . . my brothers,” Peter blurted. “It’s good they’re helping Trix with the food. Give me a hand with this, Indy?” Maybe if Indy was moving furniture, he wouldn’t talk about his marvelous adventures. Peter tugged on the end of a sofa that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. What did his parents want with all this stuff anyway?
    Indy came over and hoisted up the other side. “They’re not so bad, your family. It must be nice to have lots of kids around.”
    Peter snorted. “Yeah. Nice for getting pummeled in the night or ambushed with stupid jokes or sitting through dinners where you can’t get a word in edgewise. Very nice.”
    Indy grunted as he let the sofa fall with a thunk. “I guess that’s what I mean,” he said. “It was always just me and my dad.”
    Here we go again. Peter sighed and sat down on the nearest trunk. The only warning Peter had was a creak; then he fell through the lid, his feet poking up in front of his face.
    Una’s laugh sounded more like her old self at least. And then Indy was laughing, too.
    Great. Peter tried to heave himself up, but his bottom half was stuck solid, and his feet kicked fruitlessly. Indy gave Peter’s hand a brisk pull, and Peter tried to ignore his smile.
    “Thanks,” he said, and brushed himself off.
    But Indy wasn’t listening to him. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Come look at this.”
    There, in the ruins of the ancient chest, was a mass of gray feathers.
    “At least you had a soft landing, Peter.” Una pulled out a handful of feathers. “What would your parents want with a boxful of these?” She spun one between her fingers, so it made a gray blur in the air.
    Peter picked a sliver of splintered wood out of his pants and leaned over to get a closer look at the box.
    “Quills,” Indy said as he lifted one perfectly shaped feather. “From before the Unbinding.”
    “So these would have been used to write the old Tales?” Una ran the quills over her palm.
    Peter peered