Ian wanted to laugh, until it occurred to him who might be writing to Carl. “It’s from Océanne, isn’t it?” And even as he said it, he got a bitter taste in his mouth.
Carl looked away. “Maybe.”
Theo laughed. “Oh, Carl,” she scolded, “so many girls to choose from.”
Carl blushed even more, and Ian furrowed his brow. He glanced at Theo, wondering what she was going on about. She motioned with her head toward the yard, and when he looked, he saw Eva playing tag with Vanessa and a few other children, though the Polish girl was clearly eyeing Carl every now and again.
Ian exhaled and stood up. “I’m off for a walk,” he announced, moving away.
He’d taken no more than a few steps when he realized that someone was walking next to him. “I’d prefer to take this walk alone.”
“I know,” said Carl. “But I’d prefer to go with you.”
Ian stopped to glare at him. “You’re impossible!”
“I know that too,” Carl replied, his face opening up with a huge grin. “Come on, mate, let’s go find a new tunnel or something. Do you have your map on you?”
Ian reflexively felt his shirt pocket, where he’d tucked his trusted map. Several nights earlier he’d been about to mark the new tunnel under the keep when Theo had warned him not to, telling him only that she’d a strong feeling he shouldn’t. He still desperately wanted to alter his map in some way, then have a look at the twin map still at the professor’s to see if it mirrored the alteration, but for now all he could really focus on was the letter Océanne had written to Carl. He couldn’t help it, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if anything would ever turn out in his favor again.
“What’s the matter?” Carl asked. “And this time, I’m not settling for anything less than the truth, Ian. You’ve been a right sour chap ever since we got back from Anglesey.”
Ian kicked at the dirt moodily. He’d never admit to Carl that he was jealous of his courtship with Océanne, so he only confessed part of his troubles. “I am glad that I gave the wisdoms of the mist over to Theo,” he said, only when he was sure she was out of hearing range. “But a part of me wishes I’d taken the chance to find out about my own parents.”
Carl nodded and the boys began walking again. “It’s too bad we’ve never been able to find the gardener,” he told Ian, almost as if he’d read his thoughts. “I’d wager there’s even more to the story than he first told the earl.”
Ian hung his head and kicked at the dirt again. “Yes,” he agreed. “But we’ve asked everyone we can think of who might have known him and no one remembers where he might have gone.”
Carl stopped abruptly, and when Ian looked back, Carl’s face was alight with excitement. “Perhaps we aren’t going about it the right way?” he said. “What I mean is, perhaps we shouldn’t be asking a person.”
Ian’s brow furrowed again. “What?”
“Perhaps we should ask a thing, Ian!”
And just like that, Ian’s mind flooded with understanding. He hastily thrust the box at Carl so that he could dig into both of his pockets, and with fingers shaking in exuberance, he pulled out the sundial, held it up to the sun, and said, “Sundial, point the way to the gardener who took me as a babe from my mother.”
A moment later a small thin shadow formed on the dial’s surface and both boys gave a triumphant shout. “Well then,” said Carl, “shall we be off to find your gardener, then?”
Ian looked back at the keep and saw Theo still sitting on the front steps. She waved to him and nodded, as if she knew exactly what they were up to. “Yeah, mate,” he said. “Let’s have a go at it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thirty years ago, my sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Lindstrom, practiced something quite unconventional for the time. Every morning from eight to eight-twenty, he would read to us from J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit.
Even now I clearly recall Mr. Lindstrom in his starched white shirt, striped tie, and polyester pants standing at the front of the classroom, holding his book aloft, and delighting us with his many character voices. Those were the days when I would go to school even if I felt sick, because I couldn’t wait to hear what would happen next.
And that was the moment I fell in love with fantasy. I’d never heard a story quite like The Hobbit before, and even my unsophisticated twelve-year-old mind understood that Tolkien was a true master.
So it is appropriate, I think, to begin these acknowledgments with a humble nod to both Mr. Lindstrom and Mr. Tolkien for delivering the marvelous Mr. Bilbo Baggins to my young, impressionable mind. It was love at first hobbit.
I would also like to thank my phenomenally talented editor, Krista Marino, who—I state without any hint of exaggeration—is quite plainly the best children’s editor in the business. (No kidding. She really is.)
Krista, thank you so much for your encouragement, your kind praise, and most of all, those tough questions you raise throughout the editing process. You really do pull the very best out of me, and I’m really, really grateful.
Of course, I must also give my profound thanks to the very best agent in the biz, one Mr. Jim McCarthy. Jim, there simply aren’t words to describe how appreciative I am to you not only for giving me the best representation an author could ask for, but for being my good and faithful friend too. I adore you head to toe, sugar, and I thank you for always looking out for me.
Special thanks should also be given to my publicist, Kelly Galvin, who works tirelessly on my behalf. Kelly, this “nice” is for you!
And thank you also to my publisher, Beverly Horowitz, whose faith in this series has meant the world to me. I must also give praise to the marvelous artistic talents of my designer, Vikki Sheatsley, and cover artist Antonio Javier Caparo. Antonio, this latest cover knocked my socks off!
Personal thanks also go to my friends and family, but if I may single out just a few here who have graciously given their support or supplied some form of inspiration to this particular series, they would be Carl and Ruth Laurie; Mary Jane Humphreys; Elizabeth Laurie; Hilary Laurie; Betty and Pippa Stocking; Nora, Bob, and Mike Brosseau; Katie Coppedge; Dr. Jennifer Casey; Ingrid Brault; Thomas Robinson; and Karen Ditmars. I humbly and profusely thank you all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When Victoria Laurie was eleven, her family moved from the United States to England for a year. She attended the American Community School at Cobham, and one day, while on a class field trip, she caught her first glimpse of the White Cliffs of Dover. Her trip to the cliffs, the year abroad, and her grandfather’s stories of his childhood as an orphan left such an indelible impression on her that when she turned to a career as an author, she was compelled to write the Oracles of Delphi Keep series. The Curse of Deadman’s Forest is the second book in this series. The first book, Oracles of Delphi Keep, is available from Delacorte Press.
You can visit Victoria at www.oraclesofdelphikeep.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Victoria Laurie
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/kids
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Laurie, Victoria.
The curse of Deadman’s Forest / Victoria Laurie. — 1st ed.
p. cm. — (Oracles of Delphi Keep)
Summary: According to prophecy, a trip through the magical portal near the Dover, England, orphanage where Ian and Theo live will bring them to the
third Oracle, a child with extraordinary healing powers to help defeat a great evil, but it will also lead to Ian’s death.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89649-1 [1. Oracles—Fiction. 2. Prophecies—Fiction. 3. Orphans—Fiction. 4. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 5. Space and time—Fiction. 6. Dover (England)—History—20th century—Fiction. 7. Great Britian—History—1936–1945—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L372792Cu 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2010008424
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