Odie and the Hum That Went Quiet

Hmmm-mmm-mmm. The hum came down the tower and into the velvet corridor, slow and round, like a bee the size of a pillow. Odie heard it in his ears and in his paws. Odie was a puppy, small and brown, with ears too big for his head and a tail that swept the floor like a broom.

All evening the candles along the corridor lit themselves, one, then the next, then the next, little gold flames standing up straight and still. The air smelled of beeswax and old books. Far down the hall, the tall clock by the stairs went tick, tick, tick, slow as a sleepy heart.

Ravi came along the corridor with his basket of wicks over one arm. Ravi lit the lamps in this castle, every one, every evening, and he always had a biscuit in his pocket and a song he only half remembered. "Hear that, Odie?" he said. "The tower's humming. That means the castle is nearly ready for bed."

Odie hummed along. He put his chin up and tried. "Squeak." That was all that came out. He tried again, deeper, from his chest. "Squeak." He tried once more, with his whole body, and his tail wagged so hard it thumped the floor. "Squeak, squeak." Ravi laughed and scratched the soft place behind Odie's ear. "One day that squeak will grow into a hum," he said.

Every evening it happened the same way. The tower hummed, Odie squeaked, Ravi laughed, and then the hum slid down the stairs and along the corridor and under all the doors, and the whole castle went soft and dim and quiet.

But tonight Odie's ears went up and stayed up. The corridor was quiet. The clock ticked. The candles stood still. No hum. Odie waited, and he counted his own tail thumps on the floor. Thump. Thump. Thump. Still no hum.

So Odie trotted to the middle of the corridor and did it himself. He lifted his chin and hummed as loud as he could. "Squeak." The candles did not even flicker. He tried again. "Squeak, squeak." The clock ticked, and the velvet runner lay flat, and the tower stayed quiet.

He trotted to Ravi and tugged at the hem of his coat. Ravi set down his basket and listened. "You're right," he said. "It has gone quiet up there." He picked up his little lantern, and the two of them went up the tower stairs together, Odie's claws going tik, tik, tik on the stone.

Up and around, up and around. The stairs smelled of beeswax and old books, the same smell as the corridor, only stronger, and the higher they went the warmer the wall felt under Odie's nose. At the top was a round room with one small window, and in the middle of the room sat a flat grey stone, warm as a fresh loaf, the kind of stone a cat would choose for a nap.

On the floor beside the stone lay Pom. Pom was a dragon no bigger than a cat, round as a teapot, with wings like wet leaves and a tail curled up in a question mark. Her scales were the color of warm honey. Every evening she curled on the warm stone and hummed, and the hum went into the tower and all the way down to the corridor. Tonight she had rolled off the stone onto the cold floor, and now she was too cool and too sleepy to hum at all.

"Oh, Pom," said Ravi softly. "You rolled off again." Pom blinked one slow eye and made a small sound, like a kettle thinking about it.

Odie knew what to do. He would put Pom back on the warm stone. He crouched and took the soft scruff of her neck in his mouth, the way he carried his blanket. But Pom was rounder than a blanket and heavier than a biscuit, and Odie's mouth was not big enough. She slid out, rolled down the little step, and came to rest against the wall.

Odie sat down and looked at Ravi. His ears drooped. "That was one way," said Ravi. "It wasn't the way."

Odie tried again. He put his nose behind Pom and pushed, careful and slow. But Odie's nose was wet and Pom was smooth, so she slid sideways instead of up, and then Odie's front paws slid too, and he sat down suddenly on his own tail.

Odie shook himself all over, from his nose to the tip of his tail, the way he did when he stepped in a puddle. Then he looked at the warm stone again.

He tried a third time. He rolled Pom like a ball, up and over the little step. She rolled, all right. She rolled right past the warm stone and bumped, soft as a pillow, into Ravi's boot.

Odie lay down on the floor with his chin on his paws. Ravi knelt beside him and rubbed the space between his ears. "Being wrong is how a puppy learns which way is right," he said. "So what else could you try?"

Odie looked at the warm stone. He looked at Pom on the cold floor. He couldn't carry Pom to the warm. But maybe he could carry the warm to Pom.

So he got up and padded over to her, and this time he did not lift or push or roll. He curled himself right up against Pom's cool little side and lay still. He was a warm puppy. His back was warm and his tummy was warm, and his breath made a small warm patch on her wing.

Pom's wings gave a little shiver and settled flat. She wriggled closer, till her nose was under Odie's chin. Then Odie did the only thing he knew how to do. He lifted his head and hummed.

"Squeak."

He tried again, softer this time, the way Ravi hummed when he was folding blankets and thought nobody could hear. "Squeak. Hmmm." And then, right under his chin, Pom's little chest went up and down and a hum came out of her, round and low.

"Hmmm-mmm-mmm."

The hum went into the floor. The floor hummed back. It climbed the walls of the tower and slid down the stairs and along the velvet corridor and under all the doors, and the whole castle let out one long, soft breath.

Ravi laughed his quiet laugh. "There it is," he said. "The tower just needed somebody small and warm."

The candles in the corridor dipped low, one, then the next, then the next, till each one was only a glow. The tall clock went tick, tick, tick. Ravi gathered Odie up in one arm, and Odie was warm and heavy and growing heavier, and his tail went thump, thump, thump, slower each time.

Behind them Pom curled on her warm stone and hummed on, soft as a bee the size of a pillow. Down in the corridor the last candle went dim. Odie's ears went flop over Ravi's arm. His tail gave one more thump, he let out one more small squeak, and then the hum and the clock and the puppy all went quiet together, and the castle slept.