Alex squeezed her fingers, more to assure himself than her that they were still together. He sucked in a breath but couldn’t answer.

Another moment later the white melted and color emerged. The small, desolate lot had transformed into a huge world so full of color, Alex could hardly see.

The sun shone in a cerulean sky. The cement turned to a lush carpet of grass, and water fountains emerged from the earth. A thousand trees sprouted and grew to full height, scattered far and wide. The boiling lake softened into a calm sea of blues and greens, and the single gray building expanded into an enormous, sprawling fieldstone mansion. The gnarled weeds at the children’s feet wavered and transformed into wide-eyed animals, both common and fantastic.

Even the Eliminators transformed. Their black cloth coverings disappeared, and all four grew even taller, with animal-like heads and sleek, long necks that melded into huge, stout, strong bodies like the Unwanteds had never seen. The newly transformed Eliminators were covered in a fine layer of shimmering black hair that reflected the sunlight, and their previously frightening red eyes grew kind and intelligent, a rich amber-brown.

As the Unwanteds gawked, the shackles on their arms unbuckled and fell to the ground. They took in a collective, awed breath, rubbed their sore wrists, and checked to see if the others were all still there.

The tall, thin figure that had emerged from the gray building—now mansion—was a man dressed in a flowing multicolored robe. He strolled toward them. A fluffy shock of white hair stood up on his head as if he had just been struck by lightning.

“Greetings, friends,” said the man. His voice, warm and clear, pealed like a pleasant-sounding bell. He opened his arms wide. “I am Marcus Today. Welcome to Artimé.” He paused, touching a finger to his lips, and then he smiled brightly. “Tell me, children. How does it feel to be eliminated?”

Mr. Today

It was as if Alex and the others were mute. And indeed the colors of this magical place alone would have been enough to shock any Quillen, for Quill was a bland world whose brightest color was the green of the leafy trees in the nursery. In Quill all the trees were confined to one place so that no one would get notions about introducing such a bright color into the housing quadrants.

But here in Artimé, all of the colors felt warm, from the deep, foresty greens of plants to the soothing blues of the sky and sea. The strand of beach was not a dingy gray like the cement walls around Quill—it was clean and white with tiny bits of silver and gold sparkling in the sunshine.

A cool breeze whisked away the odor of burning oil from the children’s noses and replaced it with the musky fragrance of the sea and the woods. The children breathed the wonderful scent, hesitating at first at its strangeness, and then nearly gulping it in, for several of them had been holding their breath for quite some time.

Not one of the Unwanteds could even look around and ask, “Is this a joke?” because Quill was a serious place, and it was doubtful that any of the twenty even thought a joke possible. Most likely nineteen of them had never known the word “joke,” and the one that had known it most surely had been reported to the governors and thus ended up here. Whatever “here” was, if not the Death Farm.

Puzzled, Alex and the others could only stare at this man so brightly adorned. And some were frightened, perhaps, not of Mr. Today himself, but rather for him, since his smile was so animated, his delight so obvious, that it surely meant he would be reported to the governors and sent to the … well. Sent to here.

But beyond all of that was the pure shock of seeing a winged tortoise (which at the moment sported a droll smile), the transformation of the land and lake (so inviting that in a different situation one might entertain a thought of a swim on such a warm day, even though such imaginative thoughts were not allowed), and the—what would the Eliminators be called? No one had ever seen a creature like them. Whatever they were, their deep, heavy breaths made up the bulk of the noise for the moment. It was all so stunning that it was almost, nearly but not quite, uncomfortable.

And so the Unwanteds stood blinking, and the man called Mr. Today stood smiling, and the Eliminators stood panting, and the winged tortoise stood drolling, all of them in a sort of lumpy circle.

When they began to walk about the property, Mr. Today pointed out little fanciful combinations of creatures—rabbitkeys and beavops and squirrelicorns and owlbats—which hopped about the grounds looking for a snack, or strolled down footpaths together deep in conversation, or hung upside down from trees, twisting their necks about this way and that. Soon a queue of humans and creatures streamed from the mansion and appeared to go about business as usual, which was all the more shocking.

For a child of Quill, who might have been sent to his death for merely drawing something completely ordinary with a twig in the dirt—like a square, perhaps, or, good heavens, a rhombus—the shock of it all felt a little bit like a form of torture. And truly, more than half of the Unwanteds thought, We are all still about to die.

The tortoise cleared its throat and spoke to Mr. Today. “You may,” it said slowly, “re … mem … ber, Marcus, what happens”—it yawned—“ev … er … y year.”

Mr. Today, who had been gazing and smiling and taking in the sights of these new and wonderful people, watching their faces and eyes and noticing if they had long fingers or short ones, and taking note of how each one stood exactly so, startled when the tortoise spoke. And he jumped, quite, making everyone else just that much more edgy.