Bad News

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  With not a moment to spare, they dropped to the ground and rolled in the dirt. Scrambling to get away, they looked back just before Bluebeard unleashed a fireball at the tower. The dragon hung in the air, blasting the tower again and again, until the scaffolding buckled and the structure burned to the ground. Then, just as quickly as the dragon had turned on Satya, it was off—in the direction of the castle.

  “Well,” Clay wheezed, “I guess the dome is down for good. And now the collars on the dragons are useless.”

  “Actually, there’s a backup,” Satya said, panting. “But it’ll take them a while to boot it up.”

  “Where’s Cass?” asked Clay.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “You think she’s still with Schrödinger?”

  “Unless the dragons got her.”

  “Or the Midnight Sun…”

  Clay and Satya sprinted along the dark path to the castle and tents. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of crackling flames and people shouting, and above it all, the roars of dragons. Clay hoped that Cass and Schrödinger were somewhere safe. In hindsight, splitting up had been a very bad idea.

  All of it had been a very bad idea.

  The path wound around the laboratory building, which miraculously was still standing. They rounded the corner, approaching the bridge that separated the lab from the castle. Both Clay and Satya stopped in their tracks at a loud crash.

  The AUTHORIZED VISITORS ONLY sign that marked the entrance to the Keep hadn’t escaped the dragon’s wrath. It had collapsed onto the bridge in a heap of burning rubble, blocking the path entirely. Clay was about to suggest that they walk under the bridge and take their chances wading through the shallow river, when he caught sight of a long green twitching tail. Snowflake was crouched beneath the bridge and, judging by the tail, was a little agitated.

  “Great,” said Clay under his breath.

  Then came an ominous vibration in the ground beneath them.

  “Don’t look now, but there’s somebody behind us,” Satya whispered.

  Clay gulped and glanced over his shoulder. Rover was approaching on foot, the dragon’s plodding steps rumbling the ground.

  “Which way?” Satya asked.

  Clay tried to think quickly. They couldn’t cross over the bridge because of the burning sign, nor could they run under it because of the dragon lurking there like an oversized troll. But they had to cross somehow, and soon, or else be trampled by the even bigger dragon that was approaching from behind.

  What to do? The simplest thing would be to push the burning sign aside, but it was too big and the flames too hot.

  Wait—the exploding gum! All he had to do was chew, throw the wad at the wreckage on the bridge, and two seconds later—kablam!—the way would be cleared for them. Unless the whole bridge collapsed. In which case, Snowflake would be forced to flee.

  Anyway, it was worth a try.

  Clay unwrapped the gum and stuck it in his mouth.

  “Is now really the time to worry about fresh breath?” Satya asked, looking at him askance. Then her eyes widened like she’d just had an epiphany.

  Clay pointed at his mouth and started to pantomime an explanation. If he stopped chewing, the gum would blow up right between his incisors.

  Satya stopped him, grabbing his hands. “Wait—I think I know what you’re going to say,” she said. Her dark eyes were big and round. There was no hint of her usual sarcasm.

  Clay struggled to remember to keep chewing.

  “We’re toast, right?” She squeezed his hand “And this is really cheesy, but… well, I don’t want to die before I ever get to kiss anyone.” Lifting herself up on tiptoe, Satya leaned in to give Clay a kiss.

  Clay nearly choked on the gum. Of course, he was no expert in kissing, but he knew enough to know that chewing while a person is trying to kiss you is rude at best, and mortifying at worst. Especially when it’s that person’s very first kiss ever. And, to be honest, your very first kiss, as well. But he couldn’t stop chewing or they’d both be blown to smithereens!

  “Clay!” Satya pulled her head back and wiped her hand across her mouth. “What are you doing? Stop chewing already!”

  Shaking his head vehemently, Clay put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back.

  “Jeez!” exclaimed Satya, insulted. “Sorry, forget I ever—”

  Clay took the wad of gum out of his mouth and threw it on the flaming wreckage of the sign.

  “Get down!” He pulled Satya to the ground by the arm, and they crouched with their backs to the bridge.

  “Three… two… one…” he whispered.

  The explosion scattered the flaming pieces of the wooden sign, clearing a narrow path across the bridge.

  Behind them, Rover roared and took off into the air.

  Beneath the bridge, falling debris conked Snowflake between the eyes. The dragon swung woozily back and forth in the riverbed.

  Satya looked at Clay in amazement. “Who are you—James Bond?”

  Clay smiled. “Funny, that’s just what I said to Pablo when he gave me that gum.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind—time to run!”

  Clay jumped to his feet, dragging Satya after him. They bolted across the bridge, not daring to look back. Or below.

  As Clay and Satya ran down the path toward the tents and the castle, they could see security guards sprinting back and forth in the distance. Air horns blasted around them.

  Suddenly, Satya grabbed Clay’s wrist and pulled him behind a shrub.

  “What is it?” Clay whispered, hoping he was going to have another chance to kiss her, though questioning the timing.

  Satya pointed. Approaching one of the tents, without much stealth, was Rover. The dragon had taken off when they blew up the bridge, but hadn’t gone far. And now it had set its sights on something—or someone—in one of the tents.

  Satya and Clay watched in horror as Rover lifted a claw and sliced through the tent like it was a soft cheese, revealing the sight of a scraggly gray-haired man standing at the ready, a ten-gallon hat firmly affixed to his head.

  With a cry of “Yeehawww!,” Schrödinger launched himself at Rover, grabbing the dragon’s tail with all his strength.

  And yet, as remarkable as it was to see an old cowboy attempt to ride a giant dragon, something inside the tent drew Clay’s attention away from the spectacle. There, behind Schrödinger’s desk, Cass was crouching low, trying her best to avoid becoming the dragon’s next meal.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  THE MAN WITH THE TEN-GALLON HATS

  One hour earlier*

  With so many security guards running all over the Keep looking for her, it had taken Cass a frustratingly long time to reach the tents, but as soon as she did, she could tell which one was Schrödinger’s: The array of ten-gallon hats hanging from the post in front was a dead giveaway.

  She found the craggy old man at his desk, scribbling furiously on a stack of papers. Instead of the Midnight Sun’s traditional white gloves, he wore calfskin riding gloves, which were stained with dirt and ink. Yet another cowboy hat sat beside him.

  “Excuse me,” Cass said, shutting the tent flap behind her. “Mr. Schrödinger?”

  She had to repeat his name several times before he looked up, his eyes wild and unfocused.

  “Schrödinger… Schrödinger… I know that name!” he said excitedly.

  “It’s not yours, then?”

  “What’s not mine?” He smiled broadly, lifting his huge mustache up at the ends. “Never mind, young lady. Whatever it is, take it. I have no use for material things anymore.”

  “I was talking about the name. Schrödinger.”

  “Schrödinger? Yes, I remember. He was a sheriff. Or was he that snake-oil doctor who sold me that worthless hemorrhoid cream?”

  Cass tried a different tack. “What are you writing… sir?”

  “Oh, this—?” He looked at the pages in front of hi
m as though surprised to find them there. “Am I writing?”

  He held up a page. Instead of writing, there was a line drawing of a great dragon with a large snowflake on its snout, its wings spread wide in flight. And in the corner of the page, Schrödinger had drawn a dark gash in the sky.

  “That line again…” Cass muttered, her brow furrowed. “Mr. Schrödinger, did you go somewhere on one of the dragons? Is that why the Midnight Sun is breeding them—to get to this place?”

  Schrödinger nodded. A light seemed to switch on behind his eyes. “So fast the dragons fly. Faster and faster. You ain’t seen nothing like it. And then… it stops… and there you are.… She thinks I want to go back, but I don’t.”

  “You mean Ms. Mauvais thinks you want to go back?”

  He stared at her, twisting his mustache. “Antoinette, yes.”

  “Where? Where does she think you want to go back to?”

  “The place where I am! That’s what the lady doesn’t understand. I’m still there.” Schrödinger shook his head, as though Ms. Mauvais were being exceptionally thick. “I told her, I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to come back.”

  “Come back where?”

  “Here!” he said, exasperated.

  Cass stepped closer, pressing her finger against the gash in the drawing. “This line in the sky—does it lead to the place where you were—I mean, where you are, Mr. Schrödinger?”

  Schrödinger’s mustache twitched. “Schrödinger… Schrödinger… I know that name.… Cattle rustler, wasn’t he? Terrible man, but what a charmer…”

  He scratched his head until his gaze landed on Cass. “Hello, young lady. Who are you?” he asked as though she had just arrived. “Can I get you some coffee? I make a mighty fine brew.” He looked around, confused. “Darn it! My campfire must have gone out.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t need coffee, Mr. Schrödinger. Thanks.”

  “Schrödinger! Now, there’s a name with a story.…”

  “Please concentrate,” said Cass, putting her hand on his shoulder. “This place you’re talking about, this place where you are—does it have anything to do with this line?” Once again, Cass pointed to the line in the sky. “Does the line lead the way?”

  But Schrödinger wouldn’t or couldn’t focus on anything in front of him. Then, just as Cass was thinking she should run and meet Clay, the old cowboy at last seemed to understand what she was asking him.

  “Oh, that line in the sky?” he said, as if she had only just mentioned it for the first time. “That’s what is left after a dragon flies there, of course. So fast the dragons fly.…”

  Cass glanced at Schrödinger’s pocket watch, lying on his desk. The dome was going to be turned off in exactly one minute, but she was finally getting somewhere with Schrödinger—she couldn’t leave yet. She was on the verge of solving the mystery that had brought her to the Keep.

  “You mean the line is like a trace of the dragon’s flight?” she asked.

  Schrödinger nodded vigorously. “A rip in the fabric.”

  “The fabric?”

  “The fabric between the sides.”

  “What sides? Do you mean this side and…” She didn’t like to say it aloud, but he probably wouldn’t remember a word she said anyway. “Do you mean this side and the Other Side? Have you been to the Other Side?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes were starting to glaze again.

  “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Cass persisted. “The Midnight Sun wants the dragons to fly the members to the Other Side? They think going there will make them young again, don’t they?”

  “They think it is the Fountain of Youth,” Schrödinger whispered. “It is not.”

  “What is it, then?” Cass asked urgently. “What’s on the Other Side, Mr. Schrödinger?”

  Schrödinger sat up straight. “Schrödinger? Now, that rings a bell!”

  “Yes, it’s a very familiar name, isn’t it?” said Cass, gritting her teeth. When was she going to learn not to say that name?

  She pressed him several more times before admitting defeat.

  Finally, she looked at Schrödinger’s pocket watch again. Fourteen minutes late. For his sake, she hoped Clay had left without her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Schrödinger—you’ve been a lot of help.”

  Before she left, she saw something behind Schrödinger’s scraggly-haired head: A shadow was growing against the canvas side of the tent.

  “If I’m not mistaken,” he was saying, “that poor old sot Schrödinger landed in Truckee during the gold rush.…”

  “Shh,” Cass hissed. “Mr. Schrödinger, look behind you!”

  The shadow loomed ever larger and began to take shape. Long neck… jagged back… big talon-pronged wings…

  “Never found much gold, did he?”

  “Shush, please,” Cass pleaded, whispering.

  Confused, Schrödinger turned around. A grin spread beneath his mustache. “Well, I’ll be—my pony is here!”

  As the dragon’s shadow grew so large it darkened the interior of the tent, Schrödinger reached for his hat. “You’ll have to excuse me, ma’am—it’s time for me to go home,” he shouted gleefully, clicking his spurred heels together.

  With a heart-stopping rrrrrrrip, the side of the tent sagged. A razor-sharp talon was cutting through the canvas, exposing Schrödinger and Cass to the outside, and to a row of shining dragon teeth.

  It was the big gray dragon with the lolling tongue—Rover. The dragon’s eyes rolled around the shredded tent and then fixed on the two humans.

  With most wild animals, as Cass knew better than anyone, the trick is to wave your arms and make yourself look as big as possible so that the animal leaves you alone. But with something as big as this dragon, Cass thought, arm waving might seem more like a dinner invitation. Another approach was needed.

  Cass was about to urge Schrödinger to stay absolutely still, when Schrödinger raised a hand, shouted, “Yeehaww!,” and leaped right for the dumbfounded dragon—

  Only to trip and land on the dragon’s tail.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  THE DESTRUCTION OF THE CASTLE

  About twelve yards away, Clay and Satya watched, aghast.

  Clay wanted to run to Cass, but there was a gigantic dragon named Rover in the way, and a crazy man was holding on to the dragon’s tail like he was riding a bucking bronco.

  “Giddyap!” Schrödinger shouted, now trying to pull himself onto the dragon’s back.

  Roaring angrily, the dragon thrashed this way and that. Schrödinger’s legs flew into the air.

  “Easy, boy!” he cried, sounding like he was having the time of his life. “Easy!”

  The dragon thrashed around for a moment longer and then finally spread its wings and jumped into the air, throwing Schrödinger to the ground. The old cowboy bounced on his butt, clutching his back in pain.

  “Ouch,” said Satya, wincing on Schrödinger’s behalf.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” Clay said.

  They ran to the torn-to-shreds tent, where Cass was standing in a posture that indicated she was very ready to run but very uncertain about which direction to take.

  “You okay?” Clay asked her.

  “Never better,” said Cass drily. “But I have to admit I’m having second thoughts about flying home on one of those things.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Clay glumly. “They’re not too hot on us riding them, either.”

  Cass looked at him. “So no luck, huh?”

  He shook his head.

  “Let’s go find my dad,” Satya said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “I thought he worked for the Midnight Sun,” said Cass, furrowing her brow.

  Satya furrowed her brow in response. “My dad works for the dragons.”

  Sure he does, thought Clay. By putting blinders, and ropes, and electric choke collars on them. But he figured it wasn’t the time to argue.

  “My dad and I have a
n emergency plan,” Satya explained as they started running toward the castle. “If something like this goes down, we’re supposed to meet by the fountain. He’ll be waiting there—I know it.”

  “And I’m sure he’ll be just thrilled to see you harboring a pair of escaped convicts,” said Cass, with a wry smile.

  The castle courtyard was flooded with people running helter-skelter: security guards, butlers, gardeners, cooking staff. Satya led Clay and Cass through the crowd, then stopped short and motioned urgently for them to back away.

  Standing next to the fountain was not Vicente but Ms. Mauvais, looking as imperious and unruffled as ever. If there was a storm raging at the Keep, then Ms. Mauvais was the eye of the storm—the calm but deadly powerful center.

  “Vicente! Somebody get me Vicente!” she commanded. “Satya! Where is your father?”

  “Uh, I’ll go get him!” Satya shouted nervously.

  Without waiting to hear more, Satya motioned to the others. They snuck around the periphery of the courtyard, out of sight of Ms. Mauvais, then ran up the steps and into the castle. “He’s probably in the emergency control booth.” She pointed to the Ryū Room. “Through there—c’mon!”

  They sprinted across the marble foyer, toward the Ryū Room. But as they passed the glass case containing DragonSlayer, Clay stopped and turned, skidding briefly on the marble. Unbidden, the ridiculous image of Kwan with a butter knife between his teeth had come into Clay’s mind. Always handy to have a weapon on you, right?

  “Wait for me!” he shouted at Cass and Satya, and he raced back across the room to the suit of armor that stood by the entrance.

  “Sorry, gotta borrow this,” he muttered. He grasped the double-sided ax held in the hollow knight’s metal hand and pulled.* The armor collapsed to the floor, loud clangs lost in the general din. Clay swung the ax, almost dropping it (it was quite heavy). Then he ran lopsidedly back to the display case.

  The sword inside looked like it hadn’t been touched since King Arthur’s time. But of course it had been touched, and very recently, too—not to slay dragons but to create them with the ancient blood caked on the blade. Reason enough to take the sword, Clay thought.