A note from the author:
Sometimes you may think to yourself, ‘How unusual it is to be me; how preposterous life is!’ In such times, it is good to remember that it is altogether unusual to be a child at all, and that life is indeed preposterous, but it is delightful because it is so. That’s why this book is called a “preposterous fable for unusual children,” because it might help when you think such things.
EXCERPT FROM BOOK ONE — THE TOOTH FAIRY
Abigail wiggled her loose tooth with dread. She looked sorrowfully at Grandfather, who cocked his head joyously and hopped from foot to foot.
“Caw caw,” Grandfather said. “Carrak. Coo.”
Abigail sighed. It was clear to her now: She was truly alone in the world, for a grandfather who thinks he is a bird is no grandfather at all.
“Caw!” said Grandfather.
Slowly, a fire grew in Abigail’s heart. “I told you, Grandfather,” she said, gritting her teeth, “I'm not going home!”
She was, after all, The Girl with the Greatest Teeth in the World. She had a mission, and she would not falter: The Tooth Fairy must be stopped. “I'm going to the Tooth Fairy's castle!” she cried.
Grandfather blinked. With one swift motion, he grabbed Abigail’s collar and launched them both into the air.
“No! I won’t have it!” yelled Abigail. “Don’t take me home!”
But Grandfather was determined. The Tooth Fairy’s Castle was no place for a little girl....
EXCERPT FROM BOOK TWO — THE MAESTRO
Banished! And yet, with every step Hannah took, the bewitching music grew louder, even as the darkness closed over her, and the sun shone no longer on her passage. At last, deep within the river-cave, she reached the source of the glorious sound: a strange assembly of musicians, dressed in tattered tails and dirty collars, their faces grimy and their hair askew. All among them had their eyes closed as they played to the heavens with incredible concentration, swaying together as one fabulous creature made of rosewood and brass, string and ivory, wind and horsehair. And there, prancing and leaping before the orchestra, a terrifying sight: a wild-maned, mad conductor, stabbing the air fiercely with his baton.
Hannah was overtaken; her knees swayed. Perhaps her exile was a great thing after all. “I’m here to learn about music,” she cried out, bravely.
The orchestra ground to a halt. The conductor turned to face her.
“You’ve come to the right place, then,” he growled, his nostrils flaring.
“Welcome to the Pied Piper’s School of Music for Children. You may call me Maestro.”
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