The Peregrines

Chapter 8

{ Edited - 19th August, 2021 }
{ Edited - 5th May, 2024 }

The Gypsies welcomed me into their midst, and we gathered around beautiful, intricately crafted carpets. Engrossed in conversation, we relished a delectable stew, its aroma mingling with the flickering light of twin campfires. My table etiquette was long forgotten as I abandoned the spoon and savoured the rich broth, allowing it to trickle down my chin.

Bekhir and his wife, Kezia, have now joined us. They are both awake and feeling well. As they walked among us, they made sure that every unique child was comfortable. They asked if we had eaten and drank enough, and they apologized several times for the condition of the children's clothes, which may now be covered in dirty pieces of hay from the cage.

"I'm very sorry for the way you were treated," he said, lowering himself onto a cushion between the fires. "When it comes to the safety of my people, I must take every precaution. There are many strangers wandering the roads these days—people who aren't what they appear to be. If you'd only told me you were syndrigasti . . ."

"We were taught never, ever to tell anyone," said Emma.

"Whoever taught you that is very wise," Bekhir said.

"How do you know about us?" Emma asked. "You speak the old tongue."

"Only a few words," Bekhir said. As he stared into the flickering flames, a succulent piece of meat slowly cooked on the spit. "We have an old understanding, your people and mine. We aren't so different. Outcasts and wanderers all—souls clinging to the margins of the world."He grabbed a chunk of meat from the rotating spit and pondered over it as he chewed. "We are allies of a sort. Over the years, we Gypsies have even taken in and raised some of your children."

"And we're grateful for it," said Emma, "And for your hospitality as well. But at the risk of seeming rude, we can't possibly stay with you any longer. It's very important that we reach London quickly. We have a train to catch."

"For your sick friend?" Bekhir raised an eyebrow at Hugh, who had abandoned his act long ago and was now happily gulping down stew while bees buzzed around his head.

"Something like that," said Emma.

Bekhir was aware that the children were keeping something to themselves, yet he decided to respect their privacy. "There won't be any more trains tonight," he said, "but we'll rise at dawn and deliver you to the station before the first one leaves in the morning. Good enough?"

"It'll have to be," Emma said, her brow pinched with worry.

The kids quickly became close pals with the Gypsies. All were excited to put behind them the recent strange incident between the Gypsy and the peculiar boy. Bronwyn attempted to say sorry to the boy she had held captive, but he waved it off as if it was no big deal. The Gypsies kept feeding us generously, filling up my bowl repeatedly—topping it off even when I declined more.

It had been ages since I last saw Miss Peregrine, the bird. But when she suddenly emerged from Bronwyn's coat and let out a loud screech to express her hunger, the Gypsies didn't hesitate to feed her. They joyfully threw chunks of raw meat into the air, celebrating as she gracefully leapt up to catch them. With her sharp talons, the bird effortlessly tore apart a pig knuckle.

The Gypsy band began playing a new song, and Emma grabbed my hand, leading me away from the crowd. "I feel like there is something you should know," she said.

After I left the group, she proceeded to share the entire story. The wights had discovered the peculiars, and unfortunately, Claire fell ill. It was during their search for a peculiar menagerie that they encountered Timone.

The group encountered a remarkable talking dog. They introduced the Ymbryne to the dog, only to uncover a distressing truth. Miss Peregrine was facing a condition that required urgent assistance from another Ymbryne within three days.