Crown Phoenix: Night Watchman Express

By Alison DeLuca

An underground factory, a terrifying laboratory, and the eerie whistle of The Night Watchman Express...

Miriam and Simon are enemies from the start. But they must find a way to trust each other, or they will end up on the sinister Night Watchman Express.

Full of danger, suspense, betrayal, and a hint of romance, this steampunk adventure is for readers of all ages.

"...this is the type of story that will appeal to readers who enjoy immersing themselves in a fictional world. The pacing is slow, but the characters are bold. They almost seem to jump off the page and grasp you by the wrist so that you may live their lives alongside them...."

“Alison DeLuca is a master storyteller who deserves much more recognition than she gets. I would not hesitate to recommend not only this book, but the entire series. This is Steampunk adventure at its best!”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alison DeLuca
• Release date: Aug 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476269566

Alison DeLuca

Alison DeLuca is the author of several steampunk and urban fantasy books. She was born in Arizona and has also lived in Pennsylvania, Illinois, Mexico, Ireland, and Spain.Currently she wrestles words and laundry in New Jersey.

Book preview

Part One: The Night Watchman Express

Chapter 1: The Intruders’ Arrival

MIRIAM LOOKED UP from her book. Furnace, the butler, was in the middle of a speech about her guardians. …and their room must be the largest bedchamber in the house, and it must face due South. They said that was very important.

The largest room? That was Mrs. Williams speaking. Something serious was going on if she had left her kitchen. That could only mean…

The master’s room. I’m aware of that, Mrs. Williams, Furnace replied calmly.

Miriam closed the heavy book. It was a volume of Arabic tales. She hadn’t been allowed to read it before her father died; Miss Osbourne, her last governess, had forbidden the book because of its ‘objectionable elements’. She rested her chin on one fist and pushed back a tangle of black hair out of her eyes with the other.

The idea! Mrs. Williams said. To waltz in here, without a by-your-leave, and the master not dead but three months, and to demand his own room for their private use. It makes me that angry, Mr. Furnace. And to think of that poor child!

Miriam scowled. ‘That poor child’ was herself, of course. She remembered her father dimly as a dark presence behind his desk, holding a fountain pen and waving it about as he gave orders for this office to be contacted or those letters to be sent. He had worked hard, when he was alive, and built up his business to be a large, profitable company.

Once he had died, several months ago, it hadn’t affected Miriam’s life very much. She hardly ever saw her father before in any case. And now she could read whatever books she found on the shelves.

Mr. and Mrs. Marchpane were the people Furnace was talking about. Miriam had an idea that Mr. Marchpane had been Father’s partner or something like that. Everything that Father owned - the house, his business - would be held in trust by the Marchpane people. She wasn’t sure what ‘in trust’ meant, but she had heard Mr. Fortescue, Father’s lawyer, say it after Father had died.

And now, she supposed, she herself would be held in trust.

Well, when do the Marchpane people arrive? Mrs. Williams asked.

Their letter said to expect them any time after eight this evening.

That means a good dinner wasted, like as not. There was a loud snort from the cook. The master’s own room! Due South! Such nonsense!

That’s none of our business, Mrs. Williams, Furnace replied. Our task is not to ask questions, but to see that orders are carried out, as usual.

Miriam waited, but there was no further conversation. She heard Mrs. Williams’ shoes clack on the floor as she retreated back to the kitchen, and after a moment, it was followed by Furnace’s measured tread.

The Marrrrrch-panes, she said to herself, stretching out the name with distaste. She opened her book to the place where she had stopped reading, but she had lost interest in flying horses and Arabic princesses. She scowled and slapped it shut. It was a large, heavy book, so it made a nice, loud thwack.

Miriam wandered over to one window and sat on the ledge. She breathed on the glass and wrote her name on the glass. There was only enough space for MIRIAM PEARS. She wiped the window with her sleeve, smearing the glass and her shirt in the process.

It was dark outside, and dark clouds huddled over the moon. The Marchpanes. Why did they have to come here? She certainly didn’t want them. Mr. Marchpane had been Father’s partner, so now he must be the new owner of Pearsons’, her father’s company.

Along with the clouds, the wind increased. The tops of the hedges that grew over the garden walls were flattened by its violence, and Miriam was certain that if she went down the path to the sea, the waves would have white caps. Of course, it was far too late to attempt such a thing, and in case, she was never allowed to go down to the sand. Slowly, she breathed on the windowpane again and wrote again: I AM PEARSON.

Miss Miriam! Nelly, the maid, came into the room and pointed at the window. Look at that muck on your dress and the doings. I’ll have to wash those windows again, now.

Miriam shrugged and turned back to the window. Splatters of rain hit the panes of glass, and Miriam could see her face reflected there, like a weeping watercolor painting.

Go on and ignore me, Nelly continued. But it’s high time for you to have your supper and get to bed.

Not hungry, Miriam replied.

And how did I know that you were going to say just that? Nelly spoke with a broad country accent, and she was well used to handling what she called young ones. While she talked, she guided Miriam off the seat and over to the door with one firm hand on the girl’s sleeve. Now, off to the room with you. Your supper is waiting.

Miriam suddenly stopped and gripped the doorknob. No. I don’t want to go to bed. I won’t!

Ah, sure, that’s enough of that, Nelly said. I’ll not hear any of your lip this night. I’ve lit a fine fire in the grate upstairs, so there’s no reason to kick up a fuss. Many a child would be happy for a warm bed and supper to eat, Miss Miriam, so away with you.

Miriam considered whether to scream and throw things, as she sometimes did. However, Nelly had a bony hand and was not afraid to use it. Miriam shrugged again and turned to the stairs.

She climbed up to her room as slowly as she dared, watched by Nelly with her fists on her hips. When Miriam reached the top landing, she turned back, thrust her tongue out as far as she could, crossed her eyes, and banged her door closed behind her. The maid shook her head, frowned, and slammed the sitting room door shut in return.

Upstairs, Miriam found her nightgown was laid out on a chair in front of the fire. Miss Osbourne would have helped her get undressed, but now she had to do it by herself. Maybe I’ll just stay in my clothes, she thought. Yes, that might help her stay awake. And she wouldn’t eat. Hunger would help too.

She took the tray of food – a leg of chicken and some tapioca pudding - and put it in the closet. As she closed the door, she reasoned that no one would ask about it until the morning, and she wouldn’t be tempted to try a bite. There was a glass of milk by the tray; she considered for a moment and poured it into the tin chamber pot under the bed.

There, that would take care of that. She locked her door so no one could come in and rattled the door to make certain it was shut tight.

There was a large trunk at the foot of the bed that she intended to explore. Nervously, she looked around the room again. Miriam unlocked the trunk with a large key, reached inside, and pulled something out.

She grunted with effort. It was a heavy, strange-looking machine, made of brass. Its base upheld a curved frame that supported a sheet of white paper; the frame itself was like a cylinder that had been cut in half lengthwise.

The most distinctive feature of the machine, however, was a ‘ball’ that rested over the curved piece of paper. Up from the ball sprang small keys, also made of brass, which had the letters of the alphabet printed on them. On the side facing away from the typist, there were two words written in swirling, ornate letters: CROWN PHOENIX.

Miriam plopped the machine on the floor. She poked at one of the keys, and the corresponding letter appeared on the paper held fast by the curved cylinder. She peered at the letter (it was an S, printed in brownish ink) and smiled with satisfaction. Her father’s Writing Ball, which she had purloined from his study right after his death, had always fascinated her. Now it was all hers.

She poked at a few more letters, and settled into a cramped position on the floor in front of the machine. With a scowl concentration, she tapped the keys. Slowly, she filled the white page with words.

As the day ended, the rain began in earnest and blew nearly sideways from the wind. Downstairs, there was a loud rap on the front door. Furnace opened it to reveal four people at the top of the marble steps.

A thin woman made up of bony elbows and sharp features pushed her way into the house, followed by a man with a narrow mustache carefully carrying a leather bag with handles. Mr. and Mrs. Marchpane, Furnace said.

Two boys followed the man and the woman into the house. They looked as if they were about the same age. One was rather tall with blond hair that curled on his neck and an athlete’s body. The other was slender and dark, and he wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses.

Don’t keep us waiting in the hall, numbskull! the woman snapped at Furnace. She tugged at her husband’s arm. Come in, Virgil, Simon; why are you both just standing there? She flicked her gaze over the dark-haired youth but did not address him. My son, Simon. She indicated the first boy with the blond hair. You might as well know who your new masters will be, she added.

And this is my friend, Neil. Simon’s voice rose in volume.

The darker boy flushed, and he edged towards one of the shadows cast by the candles in the wall sconces.

Mrs. Marchpane clicked her tongue with annoyance at Simon’s determined introduction. Show us the drawing room right away, fool! She looked around the hall and pinched her lips together.

Furnace bowed again. Certainly, he said. This way, Sir, Madam. Young gentlemen, if you will follow me.

The entrance led to a sitting room that was lit by a cheerful fire. Long curtains covered the many windows on the far walls, flanked by pedestals that held potpourri bowls and vases filled with sea grass. Comfortable cushions lined a long settee. Although Miriam’s father hadn’t believed in giving his daughter many gifts, his one large expenditure had been his huge house by the sea and its furnishings.

A tray lined with a white cloth rested on a low table in front of the sofa. The firelight winked off the amber liquid in the glass decanters on the tray, as well as a steaming coffee urn and tiered plates of cakes and biscuits.

Virgil entered the room and a pleased smile appeared on his face. He rubbed his hands together and approached the tray. Oh, I say! That looks quite the thing, doesn’t it, Theodosia? Eh? He put down the bag, sat on the low couch, and picked up a wineglass and a decanter. His nose wrinkled, and he sniffed the liquid inside before he poured himself a large glass.

The two boys’ eyes brightened at the sight of the food, and Simon sat as close as possible to the tray. He picked up a plate and poised a hand over the plate of sandwiches. Neil, however, remained on his feet.

Shall I have your bag sent upstairs with your other luggage, sir? Furnace asked.

Mr. Marchpane picked up the bag again. Don’t touch that! he said in a loud voice. That is, I’ll hold onto it myself for the moment.

It’s no trouble, sir, Furnace replied with an inquiring lift of one eyebrow.

Yes, yes, the man spluttered, but – have some important papers inside. Very important indeed.

Virgil! Theodosia said. Get hold of yourself. She turned and looked at Furnace up and down. You heard him, idiot – leave the bag alone.

Furnace bowed. Certainly, madam.

Ignoring this, Theodosia turned from her husband and looked at Furnace. Where is the girl? she asked.

Asleep.

Asleep! Wasn’t she made aware that we were coming? She should have been made to wait up for us.

She did wait, but your carriage was somewhat delayed. He turned as if to go.

Wait! I didn’t dismiss you!

Furnace turned back. Was there anything else, madam?

Theodosia frowned, thought for a moment, and said, No, nothing else. You may go. Somewhat unnerved, she sat beside her husband. He shoveled fingers of cake and sandwich into his mouth. In annoyance, she watched Furnace bow, step back, and close the door behind him.

Virgil, she said, I simply cannot put up with such impertinence from servants. It seems as if I shall have to train the staff to my own liking.

I leave it all in your very capable hands, my dear. He refilled his glass and sat on the settee where Miriam had been hiding earlier with a contented sigh. I thought the funeral and the legal arrangements would go on forever, but Fortescue came through as usual. Good man, Fortescue. Poor old Pearson – wonder what he would say if he were here tonight.

As he is dead, I presume he would say nothing at all. Her eyes darted over the plate of cakes, in the same manner as she had eyed the hallway. She stretched out one long arm and selected a biscuit. I really wanted to see the child tonight so we could get things straight on how life will go on from this time forward. I’ll have her know her position before very little time goes by, believe me, Mr. Marchpane.

Oh, I’m certain of that, my dear. He drained his glass, poured himself another large drink, and winked at her. And while you occupy yourself with the matters of the household, it’s back to business for Virgil, hey? Been on holiday long enough with Pearson’s funeral; time to remind everyone that we have a company to run and money to make. Eh?

She turned to him. Not now, Virgil! Hold your tongue. She turned to her son. Are you finished, Simon? Isn’t it time for bed, dear boy?

With his mouth full, Simon said, Neil hasn’t had anything to eat yet. And I could do with two more plates of these sandwiches. And I’m not ten years old.

His mother gave a thin little smile. Dear boy, why don’t you take some upstairs, and you and – your friend – can eat there. She turned to the table beside her and rang the bell on it.

Neil cleared his throat. He shifted his feet and turned red.

The door opened, and Furnace appeared. Show these boys to their rooms, Mrs. Marchpane commanded, and see that some more refreshment is brought to Simon’s room as well.

And Neil’s room! Simon scowled. Honestly, Mother –

Furnace motioned. If I might take the liberty, madam; the two boys will share a room.

What? Her eyebrows twitched.

Some of the upstairs rooms were closed off, due to the late masters’ orders, Furnace added.

She flitted a hand at him. Yes, yes, I remember now. Well, where does the girl sleep?

Furnace’s face remained as impassive as a stone. Miss Miriam is in her own bedchamber, down the hall from her father’s room.

Ridiculous, Mrs. Marchpane said. Rooms on the main floor for a young girl!

Shh, Theodosia, my dear! her husband whispered.

She continued in her loud voice as if he hadn’t spoken. I’ll have her moved upstairs to the attics, she said. Her present bedroom will be perfect for Simon.

Chapter 2: Three Dreams

MIRIAM DID NOT hear the Marchpanes’ arrival. She tried to keep awake, but when she looked at the clock, the numbers blurred and swam on the white face.

I’ll close my eyes for just a moment, she reasoned. Without knowing it, she slumped forward and rested her head on her knees. Her mouth opened, and she snored suddenly.

Beside her, in its holder, the candle guttered and went out. An hour or so went by. Footsteps went past her door – Simon and Neil had obeyed the order to go their temporary room.

Much later, other sets of footsteps came up the stairs. They paused by Miriam’s door before they went on. The Marchpanes, evidently, had decided to go to bed.

Downstairs, the large grandfather clock whirred, followed by twelve chimes. Midnight. Outside, there was a sound of rushing wind, followed by a long, drawn-out whistle from a passing train.

By this time, Simon and Neil had finished the sandwiches and were asleep. Miriam lay on the floor, not realizing that she would have to move to another bedroom soon. The boys were under silk quilts in a spare bedroom down the hall, but at the sound of the train, all three of them began to dream.

Miriam turned her head on her arm. She was in front of a pair of dark doors that were scraped and scarred with – what? Was it the marks of human nails?

The doors opened slowly. In the darkness behind it, there was a tall, forbidding woman whose face was hidden in shadows. On the other side of the door, a man stood. He was just as tall and forbidding as the woman.

The only thing in that terrifying place that gave her any comfort was the fooling of someone’s arm under her hand. He put his hand on top of hers, and she curled her cold fingers around his warm thumb.

You’ve got to believe me, she said to them, with the silent, rough desperation of dreams. I am not guilty! I should not be here! The woman merely stared back at her and pointed at the iron door, and somehow Miriam knew that she had to go in there, into the prison chamber, which was underground, and it would be more terrible than anything she had ever experienced.

No, she said, shaking her head, No!

The woman stared back, and raised something to her mouth. A long whistle began, rising like a scream, getting louder and louder.

Miriam tried to shout for Mrs. Williams, or for Furnace, or for someone, but no sound emerged. She drew in a deep breath and tried again. Her lungs cracked with the effort, but she was powerless against the lights and the whistle; she could not make herself be heard.

On the floor, Miriam shifted and murmured. In her sleep, she reached out one hand as if she searched for something or someone that was no longer there.

In the boys’ room, Neil was also lost in a nightmare. He stood on a long stretch of sand. Above him, the sky was black. When he looked down, his feet were crusted with soft sand. Beside him, a huge cliff stretched so far up that when Neil looked for the top, he felt dizzy.

He noticed a path that led around the cliff. It was white with more sand and powdered rock, and he knew he had to climb it.

As he climbed, the dust left marks on his clothes. He became aware that someone followed him, but he didn’t want to turn around to see who – or what – it was.

The path climbed up the cliff and led into a tunnel that burrowed right through the rock. Neil entered the hole and walked forward. He didn’t pause to see if his follower would enter as well.

The tunnel stopped at the other side of the cliff. It opened onto a ledge that stuck out over a dizzying height. Neil could faintly hear the waves below, but the night was so profoundly dark he could not see anything.

He heard another sound, a slight cry. He went to the edge of the ledge at the tunnel’s end, and tried to shout, Is anyone there?

No response. There was just another cry, as if for help. It seemed to come from below, but not from the beach… Neil lay down on the ledge, and looked over the side.

He saw a cage that hung from the bottom of the ledge. A huge chain was driven right into the rock. The cage swung slightly as he watched it, and he had to clutch the rock to keep his balance.

It swung again, farther this time, and as he watched in horror, he realized it was not empty. A woman was in the cage, and she looked up at him. She was a dark shape who screamed his name.

Help me! she shouted. You’ve got to rescue me!

The cage hung from the rock on a huge chain from the stone ledge. Neil looked down helplessly, and his head swam from the huge height.

Help me! she screamed again. He heard urgency and terror in her voice.

He shook his head in utter frustration. He didn’t know how to even begin to save her, but somehow he did realize one thing. If he did not, he and his friends were utterly lost.

Simon also dreamed. Usually he was so tired from riding and playing tennis that he slept soundly all night, and barely stirred.

But now, he saw that he was in a small room, lit with only one small lamp. He tried the door, but it was closed. He rattled the handle, but nothing budged. It was locked.

As he shook the door, the bolt on the outside shot back. For some reason that he couldn’t name, Simon fell back on the floor and scooted backwards towards the hard bed in one corner. His heart thudded as the door opened.

A lady came in. She carried a tray with a bottle and two glasses on it. The lady put it down on the table with the lamp and turned to face Simon. Since she stood in front of the light, he couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she was beautiful. Her silhouetted waist was tiny, and her hair shone like copper in the glow of the lamp.

He smiled when he realized how lovely she was and was about to say something to charm her, or to get her to move into the light so that he could see the beauty of her face, when the music started. Somewhere outside the door a loud concerto played. It grew even more deafening until Simon thought that his eardrums would crack.

He pressed his hands over his ears and shouted, ‘Turn it off! Please!" The music was so loud that he could not hear his own voice.

The girl, however, did not move. She stood there and watched, faceless and nameless in her own shadow.

That is what the three children in the house dreamed, that first night, as the Night Watchman Express screamed by the house.

CHAPTER 3: What The Boys Discovered

ON THEIR FIRST day in the large house, Simon woke up early. He got out of bed and went to the window, which looked out over the side gardens. A light rain fell in a rather half-hearted way.

Neil was still asleep in the smaller camp bed that had been brought in by George the night before. A grin spread over Simon’s face. He picked up his own pillow and threw it at Neil’s face.

What? What happened? What?! Neil sat up in bed, looking wildly around the room.

Simon fell on the larger bed where he had slept the night before, overcome with his own wit. It was me, you idiot! he gasped. You should have seen – Words failed him, and he doubled over again.

Neil got out of bed, trying to look as dignified as one possibly can in pyjamas. "Oh, very funny – if you are six years old," he said.

Come on, twit. Simon threw his other pillow. Let’s get dressed and explore the house. And find some food. He rummaged through a drawer and found a shirt.

Neil looked around. Where are my clothes? I left them here last night –

Sent down to the wash, most likely. Simon pulled a jumper over his head.

Oh. Neil tried not to show his dismay. His luggage included two other shirts and some underpants, and that was it.

Simon threw some clothes at him. Here you are, idiot. I’ve got loads.

Neil frowned. Well, I can’t just take your stuff -

Simon threatened him with another pillow. Come on, Neil! I’d like to see the house before the parents get up and start ordering us about.

Neil gave up and struggled into Simon’s things. Your parents, and that girl, he said, his hair going every which way as he pulled a shirt over his head.

What girl? Simon demanded, trying to tame his own hair at the mirror.

You know – that daughter. Of the bloke who used to live here – Pearson, or Grayson, or whatever his name was. Pearson, I think.

Oh, her. Simon tossed the brush to one side. She’s just a kid; we won’t have to worry about her. She’ll try to tag along with us, maybe, but once we sit on her a bit she’ll give that up and we can do whatever we like. Look, I think the sea is just down the path at the back of the garden. Let’s grab some food and explore.

The house was a large one, built in the shape of a squared-off C. The long side of the house itself faced the drive and the front lawn, and the two side wings had been added by Mr. Pearson after buying the property years before, once his company had become such a success. They jutted out into the back garden and enclosed various stone courtyards adjoined by stairs and walkways to the back of the house.

Simon and Neil, clutching a napkin filled with buns and apples, opened a glass door and crashed onto one of the courtyards. A statue of a wilting female regarded them with a baleful stare, which they ignored.

I hear the waves, Simon announced. Come on, let’s try this way. See that path over there? Think that leads to the woods? Let’s see if it continues down to the sea.

Must do. Neil picked his way past various urns and pots of well-tended flowers and bushes. I think you’re right – the sound of the waves is in the direction. I can smell the salt in the air, too. He lifted his head and sniffed.

They ran across the back lawns and arrived at the wooded portion of the house. Come on! Simon plunged into the woods without hesitation.

Neil followed more slowly, pausing to note where they were heading from time to time. He saw that the tree trunks were large, much larger than usual for land near salt water. Look at that! He pointed to one especially huge fir.

What about it? Do hurry up. I’m hungry.

They followed the path down to where it emerged from the woods. The sea lay in front of them and sparkled in the early morning sun.

Fantastic! Simon whooped. Come on, there’s a way down over here!

They ran over to a break in the scrubby hedge on the cliff. A series of huge, smooth stones made a steep staircase that led down to the sand below. Iron stakes had been inserted into every other stair, and a rope ran through holes on top of the stakes. Neil thought it looked like giant’s cotton thread running through several huge needles.

Simon plunged down the steps in breakneck fashion, with Neil following more slowly behind. A stiff wind blew in their faces, but the sun promised a bright, warm day. The waves were retreating, leaving a long stretch of sand that lay wrinkled from the water. Simon bounded off the steps onto the sand, and raced over to one of the many rock pools filled from the recent high tide.

Gosh, come over here! Simon yelled. Neil climbed up beside his friend and peered into the water at a pair of crabs that threatened

Reviews for Crown Phoenix

[stephanieloves · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Night Watchman Express (The Crown Phoenix #1) by Alison DeLucaSource: Complimentary copy provided by author in exchange for an honest and unbiased review as part of the The Crown Phoenix Virtual Book TourReview: This is the first steampunk novel I've tried that's targeted for younger readers, and after reading, I can confidently say I love the flourishing, industrializing backdrop set to Edwardian England in The Night Watchman Express; there's something just so exciting about new inventions and innovative ideas when it comes to children's stories. With a fresh concept, eerie undertone, and unending action throughout, this first installment in The Crown Phoenix series is sure to be a hit among middle grade readers.The mysticism and mystery shrouding the phantom-like train Miriam hears every night is a creative, avant-garde approach to hidden universes, as well as to imagination, which is why I find the plot quite memorable. While in context, there is nothing magical about the strange, seemingly connected occurrences following the takeover of her father's company, Pearson's, from the perspective of children, they won't pass over without being thoughtfully contemplated upon. The characters and events were entertaining enough to keep me reading and just odd enough to stay in the back of my mind. There's plenty of speculative action as well, meaning, little hand-to-hand combat, but many jarring discoveries, many uncovered secrets, and many plot twists.The danger is less physical and more psychological, involving hidden schemes and betrayal—it's more of a "danger of the unknown" kind of thing, which I found rather thrilling. That's not to say there's a lack of physical action, however; eager protagonists and fateful journeys make for lots of exploration and many discoveries as well.The broad scattering of characters is a highlight of the novel. Each of them are distinct and well-depicted; it was very easy to like the heros and very easy to despise the villains. However, a balance of good and bad traits is portrayed in all of them, demonstrating that no matter how great or how evil people are, in the end, they are all human. I would have liked to see a little more dimension in terms of characterization, however. There's nothing personal about any of the characters, nothing exposed and nothing learned; I couldn't really connect with any of them individually, and I think this was mostly an issue regarding DeLuca's style:Lots of telling going on, hardly any showing, which makes for rather bland prose. The writing isn't bad, certainly not, but there's nothing terribly exciting about it. Had it been better in conveying emotions, implementing suspense, and maintaining the reader's interest, I would have enjoyed reading this book a lot more. I appreciated how the characters evolve under the tests of the book's prevalent themes such as manipulation, true friendship, and trust, and found it interesting how Simon, Miriam, and Neil, who are all merely grade school-age, responded to unfamiliar stimuli. Overall, the setting is charming, the action lively, and the conclusion satisfying, but because it wasn't one of those keep-me-on-the-edge-of-my-seat reads, it's not something I would read again.Pros: Dark concept, intriguing setting, lots of twists and turns, rich and diverse cast, open-ended so that it makes you want to try the next book, appropriate for all readers (rated PG).Cons: Rather plain in diction, too tame!, lame clean-cut ending, stale characters (although they're never boring, which is a plus), drags on a bit, may not be successful in capturing attention due to lack of "fun" style.Love: 'Old Walking Stick,' George repeated ... 'So-called because he looks like he swallowed a walking stick and it be coming out the other end.'Verdict: Recommended for more mature children (ages 9 to 12) for its dark humor, historical intrigue, and memorable plot, but not an urgent must-read. Not something you should stand in line to buy, but should try if you've already got a copy.7 hearts - Not without flaws, but overall enjoyable.