Chapter One

The Little People of the City of Warm Windows

In a magical land called Eliria, there was a small city.

It was called the City of Warm Windows.

And why was it called that?

Here is why.

In other cities, windows glow because people light lamps inside their houses. But in the City of Warm Windows, the windows shone all by themselves.

Whenever someone said a kind word, a window began to turn golden.

Whenever a mother kissed her child goodnight, the window grew truly warm.

And if someone in a house was baking a pie, and everyone was waiting for supper, the window shone so brightly that passers-by would stop and say:

“Now that is a proper home! I can tell that pie has not only apples in it, but love as well.”

It must be said that the people who lived in this city were not mighty heroes or fearsome wizards.

They were small, cheerful, and terribly busy.

One of them was always making something. Another was always writing something down. A third was always eating something. And a fourth was always explaining that he was not eating at all, but conducting an important investigation.

In this city lived a girl named Mira Spark.

She was called Spark because little sparks were always dancing in her eyes.

If Mira saw a puddle, she immediately thought it was a tiny lake.

If she saw an old button, she decided it was a wheel for some future machine.

If she saw a hole in a fence, she did not think it was a hole at all. She thought it was an invitation to see what was on the other side.

Mira had a backpack.

Inside this backpack were things that grown-ups called “useless,” but Mira called “not useful yet.”

There was a blue button, three pieces of string, a bit of glass, a feather, a pebble shaped like a heart, a cracker of determination, and a note that said:

“Do not throw away!”

Nobody knew exactly what was not to be thrown away.

So, just to be safe, Mira did not throw away the note.

Next door to Mira lived Tim Quiet.

He was quiet.

But that did not mean he was boring.

He simply listened first and spoke afterward.

Tim could hear the way a kettle sighed, the way a gate grumbled, and the way a person’s smile became sad.

Tim had a notebook.

On the cover it said:

“For Important Things.”

In this notebook, Tim wrote down different thoughts.

For example:

“If Bombo says he is not hungry, it means there is no food nearby.”

Or:

“A brave person is not someone who is never afraid. A brave person is someone who is afraid, but does not run away at once.”

Their third friend was Bombo Round.

Bombo was round, fluffy, and very kind.

He looked like a little cloud that had once tasted a bun and decided to stay on earth.

Bombo loved pies, cheesecakes, buns, biscuits, cakes, crackers, and, in general, anything that could be eaten respectfully.

But he was very offended when anyone called him greedy.

“I am not greedy,” Bombo would say. “I am a rescue worker for baked goods. If a little pie is lying there all alone, it feels sad. And I cannot bear to see anyone sad.”

Also living in the city were a brother and sister named Tinka and Coggy.

They were inventors.

Their pockets were always full of screws, springs, spoons, keys, bits of wire, and objects whose names even they did not always know.

One day Tinka said:

“This is not rubbish. This is a future machine.”

And Coggy added:

“It simply does not know it is a machine yet.”

Their greatest invention was the Bubble-Mobile.

It was a small cart that ran on lemonade bubbles.

If the lemonade was cheerful, the cart went quickly.

If the lemonade was sour, the cart snorted and turned sideways in the middle of the road.

But that happened later.

On that day, the City of Warm Windows was preparing for a great celebration.

It was called the Day of Shining Windows.

From early morning, all the people decorated their houses.

They hung wreaths of herbs on their doors.

They placed little cups of berries on their windowsills.

And in the square, they set up the Great Lantern of Gratitude.

This lantern only lit up when someone said an honest “thank you.”

Thomas the Baker was kneading dough for the holiday buns.

The dough was so puffy that one little boy said:

“I think it is planning to run away.”

“Never mind,” said Thomas. “Good dough always wants to travel first. Then it becomes a bun.”

Bombo heard the word “bun” and immediately appeared nearby.

“I can help,” he said.

“With what?” asked Thomas.

“With checking whether any ready ones have already escaped.”

“There are no ready ones yet.”

“Then I shall wait,” said Bombo. “I am very patient when it comes to future food.”

Meanwhile, Mira was helping her mother hang paper stars.

One star kept hanging crookedly.

“Stand straight,” said Mira.

The star turned sideways again.

“Well then, stand however you like,” said Mira. “Crooked stars are useful too. Otherwise the sky would be much too strict.”

The window of their house blinked merrily.

Tim was passing by and immediately wrote in his notebook:

“Crooked stars are useful for a cheerful sky.”

Everything was fine.

But suddenly, something strange happened.

On the other side of the street, a window went dark.

It simply went and went dark.

At first, nobody was frightened.

All sorts of things can happen to windows.

Perhaps the window was thinking.

Perhaps it was tired.

Perhaps it was bored of shining alone.

But then a second window went dark.

Then a third.

Then, in Thomas the Baker’s shop, the window turned grey, like a wet little rag.

Thomas looked at his buns and suddenly said:

“Well, buns are buns. So what?”

Bombo dropped a crumb.

“What do you mean, ‘so what’?” he asked. “You cannot speak that way about buns. It is almost rude.”

Thomas shrugged.

“It does not matter.”

Tim quickly opened his notebook and wrote:

“The words ‘it does not matter’ are more dangerous than they seem.”

In the square, the Great Lantern of Gratitude flickered, sighed, and went out.

Now everyone was frightened.

People came running out of their houses.

“What happened?”

“Who is to blame?”

“Why isn’t the lantern shining?”

“Why don’t the buns smell right?”

“Why do I suddenly not feel like thanking anyone?”

Bombo sniffed a bun and said:

“It smells like bread. But it does not smell like a celebration.”

This was very serious.

Old El Mir came out into the square.

He was the keeper of the city’s stories.

His beard was white, but not simply white. It was the kind of white that looked as if moonlight had been resting in it all night.

“My friends,” said El Mir, “the Golden Spark of the Heart has disappeared from the Garden of Warm Windows.”

Everyone gasped.

“What kind of Spark is that?” someone asked.

“A small wonder,” answered El Mir. “While it shines, people remember that they love one another. Without it, they do not become wicked all at once. First, they become indifferent. And indifference is a kind of darkness that pretends to be ordinary greyness.”

Mira stepped forward.

“Then we must find the Spark.”

“We must,” said El Mir. “But it will not be easy. It cannot be brought back by force. It cannot be bought. It cannot be ordered to return. The Spark comes only where a kind deed is done.”

“And what if we do two?” asked Bombo.

“That would be better.”

“And what if we do one kind deed and one pie?”

“A pie does not count by itself,” said El Mir. “But if you share it, then it may count.”

Bombo thought about this.

“Your magic is complicated,” he said. “But fair.”

El Mir led Mira, Tim, Bombo, Tinka, and Coggy to the old lantern oak.

Under the oak stood a chest.

Inside the chest lay a Map.

The Map was blank.

Completely blank.

Only in one corner, something was written:

“I am not a piece of paper. I am Mapsy.”

“Polite,” said Tim.

“More like touchy,” said Tinka.

At once, the Map wrote:

“I can hear everything.”

Coggy took off his cap.

“Forgive us, respected Mapsy.”

The Map brightened a little.

El Mir said:

“Mapsy will show the road only to those who say whom they are going for.”

Mira placed her hand on the Map.

“I am going for my mother. So that her window will shine again.”

Tim placed his hand beside hers.

“I am going for my grandfather. So that he will tell funny stories again and not sit sadly by the window.”

Tinka and Coggy spoke together:

“We are going for all unfinished wonders.”

Bombo was silent for a long time.

Then he sighed and said:

“I am going for my friends. And for buns too. Because if people stop loving one another, buns will become just bread. And that would be a disaster.”

The Map rustled.

Golden lines began to run across it.

They jumped, argued with one another, got tangled, and then suddenly came to an agreement and formed a road.

The road led to the Cloud Meadows.

“Well,” said Mira, “shall we go?”

“We shall,” said Tim, although he was afraid.

“We shall ride!” said Tinka. “We have almost finished building the Bubble-Mobile.”

“What do you mean, almost?” asked Tim.

Coggy scratched the back of his head.

“It is already bubbling. We only have to persuade it to go where it should.”

Bombo straightened his little waistcoat.

“A good adventure begins properly: an unknown road, a touchy Map, an almost-ready machine, and no certainty whatsoever.”

“Are you afraid?” asked Mira.

“Of course,” said Bombo. “But if you walk with fear and friends, fear begins to feel crowded.”

Tim immediately wrote down:

“If you walk with fear and friends, fear begins to feel crowded.”

And so they set off.

Behind them, the grey city remained.

Ahead of them lay the road to the Cloud Meadows.

And at the very edge of the square, one small window suddenly blinked after them.

As if it were saying:

“Come back.”

“Only not without the light.”

End of Chapter One.