The Merchant of Death (10 page)

Mark's heart instantly leaped into his throat.

Courtney leaned closer to the desk, looked up at the cop and said angrily: “I don't care what your computer says. I know the Pendragons! Bobby is my—”

Mark grabbed Courtney by the hand and pulled her back with such force it actually made her stop talking.

“We gotta go,” was all Mark could say. In his pocket, the ring was starting to shake harder.

“No way! I'm not going until—”

“Courtney! Let's go!” He shot her a look that was so intense she got the message. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew Mark was serious.

Mark backed toward the door, pulling Courtney with him. But Courtney wanted the last word with D'Angelo.

“I'm coming back!” she shouted. “And you better hope those people are okay or it's going to be on your head!”

Mark pulled her out of the door, leaving Sergeant D'Angelo alone. The policeman sniffed, shook his head, and went back to reading the newspaper.

Outside of the station, Mark pulled Courtney into an alley to get away from the main street. Though Courtney was bigger and stronger than Mark, he would not be denied.

“What is your problem?” she shouted.

Mark dug into his pocket and pulled out the ring.

“This,” he said while holding it out in front of him.

The gray stone had already turned crystalline and rays of light once again shot from its center. Courtney watched in wonder as Mark placed the ring on the pavement and took a few steps back. The ring twitched, flipped over, and started to grow.

“Oh . . . my . . . god.” Courtney breathed, dumbfounded.

Within the growing circle was a black portal where the road should have been. From this portal came the musical notes that Mark had heard in the boys' room at school. The sparkling lights flashed against the walls of the buildings and even though it was daytime, they shone so brightly that Courtney and Mark had to shield their eyes. The musical notes grew louder, the stone gave off one last blinding flash, and that was it. The lights ended, and the music stopped.

“Is that it?” asked Courtney.

Mark walked cautiously over to the ring. It sat on the road, right where he had left it. It was once again back to normal size and the stone had returned to its original gray color. But something else was there too. Lying next to the ring was another scroll of parchment paper tied with a leather cord. Mark reached down, picked it up gingerly, and turned to Courtney.

“Mail's in,” was all he could say.

U
ncle Press is going to die tomorrow.

So much has happened since I wrote to you last, Mark. It's been strange, scary, confusing and sometimes even sort of—dare I say it—fun. But the bottom line is, Uncle Press is going to die tomorrow.

Right now I'm sitting in a small cavern that must be two hundred feet underground. I'm writing this by the light of a candle because there's no electricity. I'm looking around and all I see are rocks. Tons and tons of black rocks that look as if they might collapse on my head at any second. I better stop thinking about it because I'm freaking myself out. The cavern isn't going to collapse. I'm safe here, at least for now. The guy who is in trouble is Uncle Press.

I'm telling you this because I need your help. I'm going to ask you to do something for me that is pretty dangerous. Under normal circumstances I'd never ask you to do something like this, but it's the only thing I can think of that might help me save Uncle Press. I'd understand if you didn't want to do it, but before you decide I want to tell you all that's happened since the last time I wrote you. Once you know everything, then you can decide.

I ended my last letter right after Uncle Press was dragged off by Kagan's knights, and I blacked out. Have you ever blacked out, or fainted? It's not like falling asleep at all. When you fall asleep, you never know the exact moment it happens. You just kind of lie there, waiting, and the next thing you know, bang, it's morning. But when you pass out, you can feel yourself slipping away. It's not a good feeling. Waking up afterward isn't much better. There's a moment where you're not really sure where you are and what's going on, then suddenly everything rushes into focus and you're snapped back to reality. It's a pretty rude experience.

Of course, in this case, even after I snapped back to reality I still didn't know where I was and what was going on. The first thing I saw was a face. A girl's face. For a second I thought it was Courtney. But once my brain started to click I realized this girl didn't look anything like Courtney. She was totally beautiful. (Whoa, that sounded bad. Not that Courtney isn't totally beautiful, but this girl was, well, different.) I'd say she was my age, maybe a little older. She had dark skin and eyes that were so brown they looked black. Her hair was dark too. It was tied in a long, tight braid that reached halfway down her back. She wore the same kind of weird leather skins that Uncle Press had made me put on, but on her they looked pretty good because she had an amazing body. She had to be an athlete or something. Seriously, this girl was cut like an Olympic sprinter. No fat, all muscle, totally awesome. And she was tall. Maybe a few inches taller than me. If I saw her at home I'd guess she was of African descent. But this wasn't home.

I lay flat on my back as she looked down at me with absolutely no expression. I couldn't tell if she was glad I was alive, or getting ready to finish the job the quigs started and kill me once and for all. We stayed that way for a few seconds,
with neither of us moving. Finally I swallowed to make sure my voice would work and croaked out, “Where am I?” No points for originality but hey, I wanted to know.

The girl didn't answer. She stood up and walked to a table that had a couple of wooden bowls. She picked one up and held it out for me, but I didn't take it. Who knows what she was trying to give me? It could have been poison. It could have been blood. It could have been some vile-tasting liquid that they consider a delicacy here, but would make me puke.

“It is water,” she said flatly.

Oh.

I took it. I was thirsty. The girl then walked over to the door and stood with her arms folded. I took a drink and looked around to get my bearings. I was inside what looked like some kind of hut. It wasn't big, maybe the size of my living room at home. There was only one room with six walls. Is that a hexagon? The walls were built of stones that were held together by dried mud. There were a few holes which passed for windows and one big opening for a door. The ceiling rose to a center point and was made of interwoven tree branches. The floor was dirt, but it was so hard it might as well have been concrete. I was lying on a low bench-thingy that was made out of lashed-together logs. The top was woven out of straw or something. It was comfortable enough, but I wouldn't want to spend a whole night there. There was a bunch more of these beds lined up in the hut, which made me think this might be some kind of hospital. It made sense. After what I'd been through, I belonged in a hospital.

It was like I had stepped into a time machine and been sent back a few thousand years to an age when people built their world out of anything they could get their hands on . . . and didn't care much for personal hygiene. Oh, yes, did I mention
the place smelled like a locker room for goats? It made me wonder if the mortar holding together the stone walls was really mud, or something disgusting that would make me retch if I knew what it was.

I looked over at this amazing girl. She stood there, staring back. Was she a friend? An enemy? A guard who was standing watch until one of those knight guys came in to drag me off like they did Uncle Press? A million thoughts ran through my head, but one thought stood out above all others.

I had to pee.

The last time I took a leak was before Courtney showed up at my house. When was that? A million years ago? Judging by how my bladder felt, it was at least that long. So rather than lie there and wet my leather pants, I started to get up.

“Hey,” I said. “I gotta—”

As soon as I moved, the girl flew into attack mode. She instantly crouched down and whipped out a wooden pole that must have been strapped to her back. It was about five feet long and well-worn from use. She held the weapon steady with both hands, and I saw that each end was stained shiny black from hitting things I didn't even want to imagine. Scarier still were her eyes. They were dead-set focused on her target, which happened to be me.

I froze. No way I was going to stand up or she would have whacked me so fast my head would hit the ground before my feet did. I didn't want to move at all for fear of setting her off. We both stayed that way, waiting for the other one to make the next move. One thing I knew for sure, it wasn't going to be me. And if she took a step toward me, I'd be off that bench and out the window headfirst.

Then a voice called from outside, “Buzz obsess woos saga!” At least that's what it sounded like; I'm not exactly
sure of the spelling. Someone stepped in through the door. It was a woman dressed in the same crusty leather clothes that apparently were fashionable in this neighborhood. She actually looked like an older version of the girl who was about to brain me. But as powerful as this woman looked, there was something about her that made me feel as if she could possibly be my savior. I think it was her eyes. They were kind eyes. No anger there at all. When she looked at me, I knew it was going to be okay. She looked familiar, though I can't imagine where I could have met her before. She gave the younger girl a stern look and the girl reluctantly responded by putting her weapon away. Whew. Disaster averted.

The woman then turned to me and said, “Forgive my daughter. She often takes herself too seriously.”

New info. This was a mother-daughter team. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. They looked alike. I wondered what Dad looked like. He must have been a linebacker. I still didn't feel comfortable moving. This woman seemed cool, but after what I'd been through I wasn't taking any chances. She walked up to me, knelt down by the bench and gave me a kind smile.

“My name is Osa,” she said softly. “My daughter's name is Loor.”

“I . . . I'm Bobby and I'm not from here,” was all I could think of saying.

With a smile, Osa said, “Neither are we. And we know exactly who you are, Pendragon. We've been waiting for you.”

Whoa! She knew who I was! A million thoughts flashed through my brain, but one in particular jumped out. If they knew who I was, then why was amazon girl over there ready to beat my brains out? I figured I better not ask. I didn't want
to tick Loor off. She might decide to yank out her stick and start wailing on me anyway.

“How do you know me?” I asked.

“From Press, of course,” she answered. “He has been telling us about you for quite some time.”

That's right! Now I remember where I'd seen her before. Uncle Press had brought her to our house. We had met before! I remember thinking how beautiful she was, and how odd it was that she didn't speak. The mystery was over: She was a friend of Uncle Press's. But that realization was quickly replaced with another. Man, I'd almost forgotten. Uncle Press was in trouble. At least I think he was in trouble. Those knight boys who lassoed him and pulled him off didn't exactly look like his pals. A rush of adrenaline shot through my body and I sat up fast.

“He's in trouble!” I shouted. Bad move. Not the shouting part, the sitting up fast part. My body was one big black-and-blue mark from our bobsled crash in the forest. A wave of pain hit me like, like, well, like that stick would have hit me if Loor were taking batting practice on me. I don't know why I didn't realize it before, but I was really hurt. It felt like every one of my ribs was cracked. The pain was so intense it took my breath away. My legs went weak and I had to lie back down or I would have passed out again. Osa quickly grabbed my shoulders and gently lowered me back on the bench.

“It is all right,” she said in a soothing voice. “The pain will not last.”

How could she know that? Unless maybe she thought I was about to die. Nothing short of death was going to stop this burning pain anytime soon. But what happened next was nothing short of amazing. I lay there taking short quick breaths because deep breaths made the pain even worse. Osa
then reached out and gently put her hand on my chest. She looked into my eyes and I swear, Mark, it was like I melted. The tension totally flew out of me.

“Relax,” she said softly. “Breathe slowly.”

I did. Soon my heart stopped pounding and I could take a deep breath. But most amazing of all, the pain went away. I swear. A second before I was hurting so bad I couldn't even cry. Now it was gone. Completely.

Osa took her hand away and glanced over to Loor for a reaction. Loor turned away. She wasn't impressed. But I sure was. It was some kind of miracle.

“How did you do that?” I asked while sitting up and feeling my ribs.

“Do what?” was Osa's innocent reply.

“Are you kidding?” I shouted. “My ribs! I was like, dying. You touched me and poof, I'm off injured reserve.”

Osa stood up and said, “Perhaps you were not hurt as badly as you thought.”

“Yeah right”, I shot back. “I know what pain is, especially when it's mine.”

That's when Loor decided to join the party.

“We are wasting time,” she said in a peeved voice. “Press is being held by Kagan.”

I didn't care much for Loor's style, but she was right.

“Who is this Kagan dude?” I asked.

“There are many things you must learn,” said Osa. “Press was to begin teaching you, but until he returns the task will be mine. Come.”

She walked over to the hole in the wall that was a door and stood next to her daughter. They both looked at me, which I took as my cue to follow. I stood up, ready to feel the pain in my ribs shoot back. It didn't. Amazing. I then looked at Loor
to see if she would spring into attack mode again. She didn't. So far so good.