“We could talk with you for hours.” Micaiah pushed her long green hair off her shoulder and wound a strand around her finger. “Or days.”
Any other time, Hudson would have liked sitting at the water’s edge and talking with two beautiful mermaids. Now all he could think about was Charlotte, clutched helplessly in an owl’s talons. “I need the boat,” he snapped.
Both mermaids straightened their shoulders, offended.
Hudson cleared his throat and spoke again, this time in a calm, friendly voice. “I’d love to talk to you while I row the boat across the lake.”
Micaiah and Marissa leaned together, conferring, then disappeared back into the water. They’d barely left a splash to show where they’d been.
Hudson waited and watched the water, searching for them. Were they getting the boat, or had they gotten mad and stomped off? Well, stomped off as much as a creature with fins could.
Pokey watched, too. “They liked me,” he said. “I have a way with women. You, on the other hand, sucked mackerels.”
Hudson clenched his hands and paced restlessly back and forth by the water’s edge. Bits of pebbles crunched beneath his feet. Should he give up on the boat and start swimming across?
Although Hudson never saw the mermaids surface near the island, the boat slipped away from the shore and made its way across the lake. The oars dangled from the boat’s side, bumping against the water’s surface.
When the boat was a couple of feet away, Hudson picked up Pokey and his bag and then waded the rest of the way to the boat. He was in too much of a hurry to even care that he was soaking his shoes. “Thanks,” he said, climbing in. “You all are the best.”
“Hey,” Pokey said, flapping his wings and straining to reach the lake. “I want to swim.”
“Nope.” Hudson put the penguin on the bench beside him, then grabbed the oars. “I might need you later.”
Pokey sat on the bench sullenly, his two webbed feet poking out beneath his white belly. He sent a dissatisfied glare in Hudson’s direction.
Hudson pulled on the oars, pushing through the water as quickly as he could. Marissa glided alongside the boat, her purple hair floating around her shoulders. “We’ve got lots of ways to entertain boys.”
Micaiah joined her at the side of the boat, swishing her tail fin back and forth lazily. “You can pretend to do all sorts of things here without ever even leaving the lake. Do you want to be an adventurer or a warrior? You could join a mermen’s guild.”
“I don’t have time.” Hudson missed the gratitude boat and the way it made rowing easier. His hands ached with each stroke. “I have something important to do.”
Marissa giggled, then dove underneath the water. Hudson was half afraid she would think it was funny to tip the boat over, and he yanked the oars extra hard. She popped up at the back of the boat, draped her arms across the stern, then lay her chin on her arms. “Important things are always waiting to be done. I’ll bet you never bothered doing them before.”
Hudson hadn’t seen Micaiah disappear from the side of the boat, but now she appeared next to her sister, flicking water onto him with her tail. “Boys from the Land of Banishment spend lots of time playing games. They never worry about doing anything important.”
“That’s not true,” he said, then thought about the money sitting in his sock drawer. He was saving up for a gaming system. “I mean, we do important stuff, too. Sometimes.”
The island wasn’t far away now. The water beneath the boat grew light blue, getting shallower. Just a couple more minutes and he would be to the shore. He could see the trail leading to the exit box.
A jolt at the end of the boat snapped his attention back there. Marissa and Micaiah had moved to one side of the boat and pulled it in that direction, turning the boat around. “If you won’t play with us,” Marissa said mischievously, “we’ll play with you.”
“Hey, stop it!” He put his oar into the water to turn the right way.
Micaiah dove for the oar, grinning. Hudson quickly pulled both oars inside the boat so the mermaids couldn’t take them.
Marissa laughed, then gave the boat a push to spin it. The boat twirled in the water, rocking back and forth.
Hudson was stuck. If he tried to use the oars again, the mermaids would take them. But if he just sat there, the mermaids would drag him wherever they wanted. He couldn’t jump in and outswim them, even the short distance to the island.
“Just one game,” Micaiah said, appearing at the side of the boat. “It will only take a day or two.”
A day or two? He didn’t want to wait even two more minutes. The daylight was already almost gone.
Pokey snorted. “It looks like they’ve already won the game. You might as well admit to them that you’re a loser.” The penguin put a wing to his chest. “I can vouch for you.”
Hudson might not be able to outswim the mermaids, but a penguin could.
Hudson let out a sigh, as though conceding to the mermaids’ demands. “All right. I guess I could play penguin ball for a while.”
“Penguin ball?” Marissa bobbed up and down in the water. “What’s that?”
Hudson feigned surprise. “You’ve never played?”
Pokey folded his wings in front of his stomach and shook his head. “It isn’t nice to throw your shabtis.”
Hudson ignored him. “It’s a simple game, really. See my penguin here?”
The mermaids nodded and drew closer to the side of the boat.
“I’m going to throw him into the water, and you’ll try to catch him. If you can catch him before a minute is up, you win. If you can’t, I win.”
Marissa tilted her head so her green hair spilled across her shoulders. “Why would it take us a minute to catch him? How far do you throw?”
“Really far.”
He picked up Pokey, who squawked and pedaled his feet as though running through the air. “Don’t throw me! It will hurt!”
“No, it won’t,” Hudson said. “Besides, you’re a bird. Haven’t you always wanted to fly?”
Micaiah lazily swam back away from the boat, positioning herself to catch the penguin. “Does your bird even know how to swim?”
“Sure,” Hudson said. “Sort of.”
Pokey humphed indignantly at this.
Hudson lowered his head toward Pokey and whispered, “I know how well you swim. Now show these fish-cheerleader hybrids who’s boss. We’re doing this for Charlotte.”
Before Pokey could make further comments, Hudson hurled him into the air. The penguin soared across the lake, letting out a screech that indicated that no, he’d never actually wanted to fly. The mermaids dove into the water, zipping in the direction Pokey would land.
Hudson grabbed the oars and dug them into the water. “One,” he called out. “Two.” He pulled with all his might, heading toward the shore. “Remember, if it takes you longer than a minute, I win.”
The penguin landed in the water with an impressive splash. He didn’t surface. Penguins were slow and awkward on land, but in water they were as fast and nimble as the fish they caught.
Hudson rowed to the island, reaching it in only a few more strokes. The mermaids didn’t appear again. Apparently, Pokey was giving them a good chase. That made Hudson the undisputed champion of penguin ball.
He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Pokey behind, but the bird would probably prefer to swim around in a lake than be shoved into a bag anyway.
Hudson sprang from the boat and ran up the trail toward the exit box. He had to find Mr. Fantasmo and bring him back to help Charlotte.
* * *
For all their oddities, the Fantasmos had as many pots and pans in their cupboards as the Browns had in theirs. Hudson banged through several frying pans, ignoring their clangs of complaint, until he spilled out onto Charlotte’s kitchen floor. Before he even pulled himself upright, he called out, “Mr. Fantasmo! Are you here?”
No one answered.
Hudson got up and went into the living
room. His shoes were damp and cold, and they squeaked with every step he took.
The living room was empty. The tree’s blue leaves were wilting from the branches like falling tears. Limp yellow blossoms lay scattered on the floor. Tiny red flowers had taken their place on the branches. He wondered what the red flowers meant, but he didn’t have time to think about it.
“Mr. Fantasmo?” Hudson yelled, then headed down the hallway. He pulled the compass from his pocket. “I need to take you back to Logos. Charlotte is in trouble.”
The only sound that answered Hudson was his own hurried footsteps. He flipped on lights and peered into each room he passed. The first was Charlotte’s. A lacy green blanket lay on her bed. A mural of flowered fields covered the walls—Logos flowers in their odd varieties. Two falcons flew near the bed’s headboard, suspended in the wall’s sky.
The bedroom door had been closed when he and Charlotte left the house. That meant Mr. Fantasmo had been here since then.
Hudson moved down the hallway to the next room. A bathroom. He tried the door at the end of the hall and found the master bedroom. “Mr. Fantasmo!” Hudson called again, even though he knew no one was in the house. Charlotte was right about hope. It’s sturdy even against obvious bleakness.
He went back down the hallway to the room with the magical supplies. Things had been pushed aside on some of the shelves. A few boxes and bottles lay on the floor as though hurriedly knocked to the ground. Someone had searched for something. Probably Mr. Fantasmo. And Hudson knew what he’d been looking for. The compass.
What had Charlotte’s father done when he found her letter? Where had he gone?
Hudson looked at the shelves, wishing he knew what all these things were. Could any of them help him rescue Charlotte? A couple of silver-coated four-leaf clovers would come in handy. He picked up the jewelry box that had held them. He’d been sure there were three left, but he found only one. He took it and hung it around his neck. The box with candy hearts was empty, too, along with several other containers. What had Mr. Fantasmo done with the things?
Hudson saw an iron bar lying on the floor halfway under the shelves and grabbed it. He was going to need all the strength he could get.
He went outside, holding his jar of hope up for light. He checked first the backyard and then the front for any sign of the wizard. While Hudson called Mr. Fantasmo’s name, he looked down the street toward his house. He wanted so badly to go see his mom and Bonnie, to ask for his mom’s help. He couldn’t. If he went home, his mom wouldn’t believe him about Logos, let alone allow him to go back.
He could prove to his mom that Logos was real by having her touch the compass and taking her there.
He immediately dismissed the idea. Bonnie was too young to be left alone for hours or days. And besides, if his mom was hurt—changed into a mouse or something—he would never forgive himself.
Hudson strode back into Charlotte’s house and looked around again, hoping to find a note, a phone number, some way to reach Mr. Fantasmo. A lead feeling pressed against Hudson’s chest, and every passing moment made it heavier. He had been depending on Mr. Fantasmo’s help. Now what would he do?
When he didn’t find any way to contact Charlotte’s father, he wrote a short note and left it on the tree. That way, if Mr. Fantasmo came back, at least he would know the situation.
Hudson went to the kitchen. It was after seven, long past dinnertime, but he was too worried to be hungry. He took a block of cheese from the fridge and some rolls from the counter to eat later. Then he pulled the knob on the compass. Before he could even let out a sigh of defeat, he stood on a dirt path in the Forest of Possibilities.
The night had dimmed the trees’ colors into dark silhouettes, and the birds had quieted, replaced by a chorus of crickets. Hudson checked the compass. The face showed directions instead of warnings, which meant nothing dangerous was around. Good. He hoped the unicorns would show up, but he needed more than speed. He needed magical help—so much help that by the time he paid the fairies, he might not remember his name anymore. He pulled the silver bell from his bag and rang it. “I need a fairy!”
A few dragonflies darted by, chasing one another with plumes of fire, but no fairies.
Where was magic when you needed it?
Hudson held up the compass. “Which way to Grammaria?”
The needle pointed to the direction behind him, and he headed that way, still ringing the bell. He had no idea where in the Forest of Possibilities he was. He might be closer to Grammaria than he had been, or farther away. He held up his hope jar and made his way around trees and bushes the best he could.
No fairies zipped out of the foliage. Maybe they could tell he didn’t have any muselings on him. Or maybe they didn’t live in this part of the forest. He gave up ringing the bell and called for Nigel and Cecil instead. They could take him to Grammaria, and he could pay the river fairy to help him.
He walked for a long time, occasionally bumping into branches and frequently tripping over tree roots, before he gave up calling for the unicorns. They must be too far away to hear him. He wouldn’t let himself think of the other possibility—that King Vaygran’s soldiers had killed them.
For a few more hours, Hudson fought through the forest, wondering if there was any possible way he could make it to Grammaria tonight.
Finally, exhausted, he admitted that no, he probably couldn’t. It would be better to sleep the rest of the night and start again at first light. In the morning, the unicorns might find him. Or at the very least, he would be able to see where he was going.
Nepharo had said King Vaygran would bring Charlotte in front of the people tomorrow, Hudson had until then to reach Grammaria and find a way rescue her.
* * *
Hudson woke when the birds began to sing. The gray light of dawn was returning the color to the trees and warming the cold ground. He packed his things quickly, calling for Nigel and Cecil every few minutes.
No response.
What time did King Vaygran address his people? Hudson hoped it wasn’t until late in the day.
He headed off in the direction of Grammaria, still calling Nigel’s and Cecil’s names.
Before long, a glistening white unicorn trotted out of the trees and onto the path. He could tell right away that this was a lady unicorn. She was smaller and sleeker than Nigel and Cecil. Her dark eyes had thick lashes, and she tossed her mane in a feminine way.
“You have come here on a quest, jes?” She spoke with an exotic-sounding accent.
“Yes,” Hudson said. “I need to get to Grammaria to save my friend.”
“Ah,” she said, taking a step closer. “An act of zee pure in heart.”
“Is it far from here?”
She bent on one knee to let him mount. “Only a couple of hours if I hurry.”
Relieved, he climbed onto her back. Even though he hadn’t found Mr. Fantasmo, his trip to Charlotte’s house had been a good thing. The compass had put him back in Logos closer to the capital than he’d originally been. The unicorn set off at a gallop. “My name is Genevieve,” she said with a flourish, as though her name were an expensive dessert. “And jou are?”
“Hudson.” Not wanting to be called Son of Hud, he added, “Although my father’s name is actually Jermaine. My mother just liked the name Hudson.”
Genevieve made tsking noises. “That was not nice of jour mother—telling everyone jou were another man’s son.” Then the unicorn said something in a different language that sounded disapproving.
Hudson didn’t ask for a translation. “In my land, names don’t mean anything. They’re just names.”
She gave a toss of her head so her mane swished around her neck. “Names have power. Jour people are foolish not to realize that.”
Genevieve ran as fast and as seamlessly as the other unicorns had. The trees rushed by in a jumble of rainbow colors. Black-and-white birds darted overhead, chiming their melodies.
“Jou asked for Nigel and Cecil,” Ge
nevieve called back. “Jou know them?”
“Yes,” Hudson said, and wondered if he should explain the whole long saga.
“They’re not in this part of the forest right now. They took a girl and her companion to the Land of Desolation. Poor children. From what I understand, it was a hopeless quest. But Nigel and Cecil, they cannot say no to children with brave hearts. There are so few of those around today, jes?”
“Yes,” Hudson said, hoping that number wouldn’t grow any smaller. He had to find the river fairy and persuade her to help him rescue Charlotte.
* * *
After Genevieve dropped Hudson off at the edge of the forest, he used some of the iron bar for strength and ran all the way through the farmland that led to Grammaria. When he neared the river, he saw a bird flying toward him from the city wall. A few moments later, Charlotte’s falcon swooped down and landed on his shoulder.
Hudson slowed to a walk. Panting, he asked, “Did you free Charlotte?” He hoped but didn’t think it was possible.
The falcon shook its head. “The owl used his magic to reach Grammaria ahead of us.” He ruffled his wings in agitation. “A gallows is set up in the courtyard, and a crowd is assembling there, waiting for King Vaygran to address them. They talk of a captured assassin who broke into the king’s chambers.”
Hudson’s stomach twisted. Plans for Charlotte’s execution were already under way. He ran down the path again, pushing himself to go faster. “Do you know where they’re keeping her?”
“The dungeon, probably. Bolt and I can’t get close to the castle. King Vaygran has set harpy eagles in the courtyard to chase off any birds that come near.”
At least the king hadn’t put Charlotte to death yet. “Are there any bloodhounds around?”
“Not ones in the city that we could see. The king must have sent them all to track you and Charlotte.”
That, at least, was good news. It meant Hudson could sneak into Grammaria without worrying about the dogs picking up his scent.
The falcon fluttered from one of Hudson’s shoulders to the other. “People from all over the kingdom have come to see Princess Nomira’s tree. In the past few days it grew taller, blossomed yellow, and then last night it blossomed red—although no one knows if the color means love, determination, or anger. Now the red blossoms are falling, too.
The Wrong Side of Magic Page 20
