Things happened surprisingly quickly in the weeks following the mysterious letter's arrival. In it, a certain Professor Wilhelm Figglepot, Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, invited him to become a student, all expenses paid, at an exclusive boarding school. Despite never having previously shown an interest in his education, his foster-mother seemed very eager to get him set up to go to 'that far-off boarding school,' as she called it. The trouble was that the letter didn't actually detail the supplies he needed, what the 'witchcraft and wizardry' in the school's title meant, or even where the school was. Regardless, Mrs Dankmire had collected together stationery and clothing, and had even gotten her husband to repair a hole in the old travelling case hidden under a pile of miscellanea in their room. These tasks, taken in the last two weeks since the letter arrived, were really distractions from her primary frustration: she couldn't figure out how to contact the school.
Atlas found her one Saturday afternoon, after coming in from tending the goats, sitting on the couch, talking loudly into the phone receiver.
"No, not Hoddlesort, Hogwarts! No, you heard me correctly, Witchcraft and Wizardry! No, don't put me on hold! You've already..." Her fists clenched as her voice trailed off and her face reddened, her whole body quaking with barely controlled rage. Mr Dankmire saw the direction things were headed, and took a seat on the arm of the sofa, displacing several paper plates in the process. He patted her on the back by way of comforting her, and looked darkly at Atlas as thought his wife's catatonics were caused by his foster-son through some unspecified malice.
Mrs Dankmire was starting to calm down a bit, and started on the next part of her anger routine. "What kind of an education department are they? They don't even know the name of one of their schools! Yes, I should have known not to call them," she said, shaking her head. "I should have very well known." She continued to mutter along these lines, as Atlas found himself starting to despair. Despite hours of research on Mrs Dankmire's part, the school was not making itself apparent, and Atlas was beginning to think that it didn't exist. In fact, he was starting to feel like the letter was part of some big joke, and although he didn't know the joke's setup or why it would be funny, he was certain it must be a very cruel joke at his expense. Perhaps it was for one of those prank shows on telly, and people would soon jump out and laugh at him for believing in such thing as a magic school. Or maybe the setup for the joke was his life, and the punchline was that for one moment, he thought that something special might happen to him. His stormy thoughts were interrupted by a voice next to him.
"Hello Atlas," said Emily. She had a unique way of greeting when she saw someone that made it seem like the first time seeing her in a while, even if she'd been around the person for a while.
"Hey Emily," he said, dark thoughts still brooding in his head.
"How's your search for the school going?" She asked.
"Your mum has been calling every place she can think of for the last week and hasn't made any progress. It's almost like... the school doesn't exist."
Emily's brow furrowed a little at that. "I know that mum can't find the school. We can all hear that." Mrs Dankmire started muttering about ungrateful children, and Mr Dankmire turned and gave her a warning look, putting his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. Atlas led Emily away so she couldn't say anything more to upset her mother.
When they were a little down the hallway, Emily said, "I wasn't asking how mum's search for the school is going, I'm asking how your search is going."
Atlas paused and thought about this. "I haven't been looking for the school, I guess."
"Why not?"
"I don't know where to look. I suppose your mum has already looked through the phonebook."
She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, they invited you to the school with a letter, so maybe you should send a letter back."
"I don't know where to send it though."
She looked at him like the solution was obvious. "An owl brought you the letter, so you should send a letter back with an owl." Emily smiled, looking pleased with herself, and turned to walk down the hall.
Atlas was uncertain about this idea, and even more uncertain about where he would even find an owl. Any ideas about where to find one and whether it would even work were swept from his mind as roars of anger came from up the hallway.
"DO YOU THINK THIS IS SOME KIND OF JOKE?" At that moment, Mrs Dankmire's formidable lungs would make an opera singer jealous. "WE'RE TRYING TO SEND THIS BOY OFF TO SCHOOL, AND YOU'RE MAKING JOKES AT OUR EXPENSE!" She got up and started stomping around the lounge, which was when Atlas decided to make himself scarce. He slipped into the rarely-used laundry, but continued to listen to his foster-mother's ranting.
"How dare they! Lead me along... Say they found someone who knew about the school... tell me to write a letter... And then they tell me to go to those cultists down the road!" This piqued Atlas's interest. 'The cultists down the road', as Mr and Mrs Figglepot were fond of calling them, were a number of rather odd folk who lived nearby in the marshlands.
"They think they can get rid of me by telling me to go to some strange folk? I'll make sure whoever's in charge hears about this!"
The odd folk nearby, which most of the townspeople called the 'swamp folk' (A title the Dankmires did not like), had a reputation for being eccentric. They were known for their strange attire (long black robes), their antiquated technology (horse-drawn carts), and their bizarre shopping habits ("Do you sell frogs' eyes here?"). What interested Atlas was this: they were occasionally seen carrying caged owls around on their carts.
Mr Dankmire chose that moment to slip into the tiny laundry as well, in an attempt to escape his wife's fiery tirade. He looked seriously at Atlas for a moment, before nodding to him, as if in respect to their mutual survival instinct. He lit a cigarette and turned his attention elsewhere.
Ideas swam around in Atlas's head, and slowly started to coalesce into a plan. He didn't know if it would work, but he knew he would need help. He peeked into the hallway to see if the coast was clear, and dashed past some piles of boxes to get to Clara and Emily's shared room. The door was open, and revealed a space that was mostly tidy on Clara's side, and cluttered with sheets of paper and crayons on Emily's. Emily sat on her bed, looking out the window. Atlas closed the door behind him, and put on a hushed tone of voice.
"I need your help, Emily," he whispered.
"What did you say? And why are you whispering?" Atlas winced as she spoke loudly enough to be heard outside the room.
"I need your help," he said quietly, but feeling a little silly for being so dramatic.
"Did the goats get out again?" She asked. Atlas had to supress a sigh. Wasn't it obvious what he was going to ask? She'd just been talking to him about it!
"I need your help to find an owl," he said. "I need help to sneak in to the swamp folks' property."