“Because Bobby forces him to deal,” Courtney said. “He’s all over Saint Dane.”
“Yeah, Bobby and the Travelers keep messing up his plans, but Saint Dane keeps giving him opportunities. I don’t think anything that happens is by coincidence. I think Saint Dane has orchestrated everything, and part of it is to go head-to-head with Bobby whenever he can.”
“Even when he lost his cool and beat Bobby up on Zadaa?” Courtney asked. “And tried to kill Loor?”
“Especially then,” Mark answered. “Did he really lose his cool? Or was it just one more strand in the web he’s weaving to mess with Bobby and keep him off balance?”
“You’re making my head hurt,” Courtney said. “And thanks for nothing because it’s the only body part I’ve got left that doesn’t ache.”
“Sorry,” Mark said.
Courtney asked, “So you think Saint Dane cares more about messing with Bobby than about ruling Halla?”
“No,” Mark said. “Just the opposite. I believe that for Saint Dane, the road to Halla goes through Bobby. Until Bobby is defeated, he can never truly win. Just killing off the Travelers won’t be good enough for him. Everything he does has a bigger purpose.”
“Including setting up the Traveler from Quillan to die?” Courtney asked.
“Yeah, it’s sick, but that’s what I think,” Mark said with confidence.
Courtney glanced at the yellow pages of Bobby’s journal from Quillan. “You make it sound like it’s all one big game,” she said.
“It kind of feels that way,” Mark said. “With very big stakes.”
Courtney looked out the window again and said, “The more we learn, the less sense it makes.”
“I’ll make it even more confusing,” Mark said. “If I’m right about all this, then the really big question is, why? If this is all some big cosmic game, who made up the rules? What’s the point? Why is Bobby so important? What is Saint Dane trying to prove? And-“
“And who’s he trying to prove it to?” Courtney finished Mark’s thought.
“Exactly,” Mark said. “There’s nothing in Bobby’s journals that gives me a clue, other than what Gunny said-“
“Right,” Courtney interrupted. “He thinks that somebody out there chose the Travelers.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know who it might be and neither does Bobby. Which means all he can do is keep playing the game and hope for the best.”
“Courtney! Mark!” Mr. Chetwynde called from downstairs. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“Coming!” Courtney shouted.
“So what do we do?” Mark asked.
“What do you mean?” Courtney shot back. “It’s not like we can jump into a flume and hop over to Quillan to tell him our theory.”
“No, I mean about you. Saint Dane nearly killed you. We both agreed that Bobby should know.”
Courtney stood up. “I changed my mind,” she said with finality.
“But-“
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if we wanted to tell him, how could we? We don’t know if the Traveler from Quillan had an acolyte. Who would we send the message to?”
“We could send it to one of the other acolytes, like Saangi, and she could tell Loor and-“
“And Loor would go to Quillan and do what? Tell Bobby that he’s gotta get home because Saint Dane is messing with poor Courtney? What if that’s exactly what Saint Dane wants? I’ve had a lot of time to wonder about why he came after me, and all I can come up with is that he wants Bobby to run home to protect me.”
“Yeah, I thought about that too,” Mark agreed.
“Look,” Courtney said. “We can’t travel to another territory, that’s a fact. We’re stuck here. But you know what? That’s a good thing. Saint Dane is going to come after Second Earth. What he did to me might be part of his plan for this territory, or maybe he was just trying to distract Bobby. We don’t know. But the fact remains, Second Earth is in play. It’s not our job to go to other territories and interfere. Our job is to help Bobby protect Second Earth. I say we hold off on telling him anything about what’s happened until the turning point on Quillan passes, no matter which way it goes. The battle isn’t on Second Earth right now; it’s on Quillan. That’s where Bobby belongs, and it would be wrong for us to distract him.”
Mark nodded.
“Now let’s eat, I’m starving,” Courtney said, and walked stiffly for the door. Conversation over.
The dinner that Mark shared with the Chetwyndes was a lot of fun, in spite of all that was bothering Mark and Courtney. They did their best to put their concerns about Bobby aside and focus on the celebration to welcome Courtney home. It was a warm, wonderful time. The tension between Courtney and her parents that existed before she left for summer school had evaporated. Courtney realized that her brush with death went a long way toward putting her priorities in order. Not being the best girl on the soccer team suddenly seemed trivial. Her parents were just happy that she was alive. Courtney kind of liked that fact too. If Saint Dane had accomplished anything, it was to bring Courtney and her family back together.
For Mark and Courtney there was an added reason to celebrate: They had survived Saint Dane’s plot to hurt Courtney. Courtney’s body may have been worse for wear, but their resolve was stronger than ever… and their confidence. It truly was a time to celebrate, in spite of the sad and scary news from Quillan.
Mark and Courtney decided to go about their lives as normally as possible, which meant Mark started his junior year at Davis Gregory High, and Courtney continued the grueling process of physical therapy. Both knew they had to stay aware, in case Saint Dane made another appearance, though neither knew exactly how to do that, or what to look for. Of course they were wary of strangers or anyone new who came into their lives. Courtney wasn’t about to let another Whitney Wilcox weasel his way into her confidence. At least not until Saint Dane was done for good.
Mark brought Bobby’s latest journal to the National Bank of Stony Brook, where all of Bobby’s journals were kept in a safe-deposit box. Every day he would check the newspaper and the online news services, searching for any hint of something that might lead to a turning point on Second Earth that Saint Dane could exploit. After a week of sleepless nights spent online, he realized it was futile, because everything seemed like it could lead to a turning point. There was no shortage of stories about strife in other countries as well as at home. There were countless reports of terrorism and border disputes and sickness and crime and any number of things that Mark could easily imagine blossoming into a full-blown turning point. It was making him crazy. He began to realize that even if he ran across the right information, he’d never recognize it and make the connection to Saint Dane. He had to accept the fact that he’d never come across an item on Yahoo! that read: stranger appears out of nowhere to offer prosperity but really plans disaster. Short of that, he knew he was spinning his wheels, so he reluctantly gave up doing research.
Courtney’s mom dropped her off every day at the High Point Rehabilitation Center, where she spent a solid two hours being tortured. She worked right alongside many elderly people with various problems. One man had suffered a stroke and had to learn to use his legs again. Courtney found herself being a cheerleader and coach for the guy, encouraging him to keep trying. She also helped a young boy who had injured his hand so badly, he had trouble holding a fork to eat. Courtney sat by him, telling him jokes and getting him to focus. Many times the older man was nearly in tears out of frustration, but Courtney was able to get him to think ahead to where he would soon be, as opposed to dwelling on where he’d been. In the few weeks that Courtney was there, she saw great improvement in both the old man and the kid. The therapists told her she played a big part in their recovery, which made Courtney feel great.
Her own recovery went very well. Most of the patients there would have to be coaxed and cajoled into exercising, since exercise usually meant pain and frustration. With Courtney it was the opposite. The therapists ha
d to caution her to back off, for fear she’d hurt herself again. The term “back off” was not in Courtney’s vocabulary. She had a deadline. She wanted to play soccer that spring. But more than that, she was driven by her hatred of Saint Dane, and what he’d done to her. It fueled her and it healed her.
The investigation continued in Derby Falls as to who the stranger named Whitney Wilcox was, who showed up at Courtney’s summer school, pretended to be a student, nearly killed Courtney, and then vanished. Courtney spoke many times with the local detectives and with school officials, answering the same questions over and over again. But it was all for show, because she knew they were wasting their time. They’d never find the guy. At one point she wanted to blurt out, “Look, Whitney Wilcox was actually a demon named Saint Dane who is trying to crush all of humanity, and the reason he tried to kill me is because my friend Bobby Pendragon is off in another time and territory trying to stop him, and I think he wanted to get Bobby to come home and protect me. Does that clear things up for you now? Have a nice day.” She didn’t say that.
Instead she bit her tongue, answered their questions as truthfully as possible, and secretly felt sorry for them because it was such a total waste of their energy.
By the time November rolled around, Courtney was itching to get back to school. Up until then she had been getting her assignments brought to the house. Her parents even hired a tutor to help her with math. (Courtney wasn’t big on math.) Her grades rebounded from the disaster of the year before, and after the first quarter she was back on the honor roll. As great as that felt, Courtney was still frustrated. She wanted to get back to normal, and normal meant going to school.
The final step was to get a clean bill of health from her doctors. The bones in her leg and arm were healing nicely. She could get around, though she still used a cane as a precaution. What the doctors were more concerned about was that she had recovered enough from her internal injuries to resume a normal, busy, tiring life. It was the week before Thanksgiving when Courtney had the examination she had been aiming for. She walked into the doctor’s office, sat on the crunchy paper that covered his exam table, and announced, “Just so you guys know, the Monday after Thanksgiving, I’m going back to school.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow and smiled. After asking a number of questions as to how she was holding up, examining her, ordering a few blood tests, and then checking over her chart, the doctor called Courtney and her mom into his office to say, “Congratulations. You are good to go.”
If there ever was a Thanksgiving when Courtney felt she had a lot to give thanks for, it was this one. Her life was back on track. She still had some pain and stiffness, especially after the weather turned cold, but Courtney was confident that in time any residual effect from the crash would be gone. She did feel a little nervous about going back to school though. She hadn’t been there since the previous spring. She knew there would be questions as to where she had been. Mark told her how there were all sorts of rumors flying around school. Kids were saying how she’d had a total nervous breakdown and had to be committed to an insane asylum and spent the last few months strapped into a straitjacket in a padded hospital room. That made Courtney laugh, because of course none of it was true, except for the breakdown part, but secretly she was nervous about what she would tell people. Courtney prided herself on being strong, so it was embarrassing for her to admit that during the previous semester, she’d had trouble coping.
It wasn’t like she could tell the truth about what had put her over the edge either. She couldn’t say how she and Mark had traveled to Eelong and caused the death of one Traveler and trapped two others. That wouldn’t fly, unless she really wanted to be put in a straitjacket and a padded hospital room.
Courtney wasn’t used to admitting fault, or weakness, so the worry about how to explain her absence to the kids at school caused her more anxiety than just about anything else. Eventually she came up with a story that was partially true. She decided to be honest. Sort of. She would boldly say how she was under a lot of stress and was having trouble dealing with it. So rather than forcing it and alienating all her friends, which would have only made things worse, she chose to take a timeout. Courtney wanted to show strength in discussing her weakness. Then, she decided, she would immediately tell people about how she was nearly killed up in Massachusetts. She knew that story would be way more interesting than the one about her being depressed, and hoped the kids would soon forget about why she was gone in the first place. With that plan in place, Courtney felt she was ready to reenter her life.
The day after Thanksgiving, before she returned to school, Courtney got a call from Mark, who seemed all sorts of excited.
“I’ve got to show you something,” he said. “Can I come over?”
“Is it-“
“No,” Mark said quickly. “No new mail. It’s something we’ve been working on.” “We?”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “Is it okay if I bring Andy Mitchell over too?”
Courtney hesitated, then said, “You know I’m still not used to you hanging out with that roach.”
Mark laughed. “I know. But things are different.”
“Fine,” Courtney said. “Just make sure he takes a shower first. And washes his hair. The guy’s disgusting. That hair always looks like the Crisco fairy just paid him a visit.”
“I’m not going to tell him that,” Mark said.
“And there’s no smoking in my house,” Courtney said. “And deodorant is good. So is a toothbrush.”
“Can I bring him over or not?” Mark asked impatiently.
“Yes,” Courtney said. “I’m just giving you a hard time. But make sure he takes his shoes off before he comes in. No, wait, I don’t want to smell his socks. He can leave his shoes on.”
“Good-bye, Courtney,” Mark said with a laugh. “We’ll be there in an hour.”
Right on time, Courtney’s doorbell rang. She opened the door to see Mark and Andy standing there. Her first thought was, He didn’t wash his hair. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to embarrass Mark.
Courtney thought the two guys made an odd pair. Mark was shorter than Andy, with black hair that wasn’t so much long as it was curly and unruly. It always looked like he had been in a windstorm, even after he got a haircut. They were the same age, but Andy looked much older. Or maybe, Courtney thought, Mark still looks like a little kid. Andy had the red blotches from a bad bout with acne, which didn’t do much for his overall appearance. Courtney always thought that if he washed his face and hair a little more often, he might not have had to deal with so many skin problems. His dirty-blond hair always looked stringy and wet. He wasn’t a handsome guy either. Where Mark was cute in a kind of little-boy way, Andy looked like an older kid who had already seen too much of life.
“Hi!” Mark said brightly.
“Hey, Chetwynde, how you feeling?” Andy asked. “Great,” Courtney said. “Steal any good books lately?” “Courtney!” Mark chastised.
Andy shook his head and snorted. Courtney wanted to gag. “You’re hysterical, Chetwynde,” Mitchell said. “Anybody ever tell you that?’
“Sorry,” Courtney said. She meant it too. “Old habits. C’mon in.” She led the boys into the house and to the kitchen. “You guys want some leftover pumpkin pie?” Courtney asked.
“Sure!” Mark chirped.
“Did you make it?” Mitchell asked.
“Are you kidding?” Courtney answered. “No!”
“Then I’ll have some,” Mitchell said.
Courtney glared refrigerator. Mark and Andy sat down at the high counter across from her.
“So what’s going on?” Courtney asked.
Mark could barely contain his excitement. “The project Andy and I are working on got accepted for the eastern regional science exposition! Isn’t that awesome?”
“Uh, yeah,” Courtney said, though it didn’t sound like she meant it.
“Geez, Chetwynde,” Mitchell said. “Try to contain your
joy.”
“I’m sorry,” Courtney said. “That was rude. I just don’t know anything about it.”
“It’s leading up to the single biggest high school science competition of the year is all!” Mark explained. “The regionals are next week in Orlando. If we win our class, we go to the nationals in January!”
“Wow,” Courtney said. “That is pretty good.” This time she meant it.
“Pretty good?” Mitchell said. “It’s freaking awesome. You’re looking at a couple of geniuses.”
Courtney stopped and looked at them. Neither looked like a genius, but then again, she didn’t know what geniuses were supposed to look like. She could accept that Mark had the goods, but she still couldn’t get her head around the fact that Andy Mitchell could spell his own name let alone create something that would be honored by a national committee. She decided not to challenge them, for Mark’s sake. She put their pieces of pie down on the counter and said, “So what’s the big project?”
Mark smiled and said, “That’s why we’re here. Nobody outside of the club at school and the judging committee has seen it. We wanted you to be the first civilian to get a look.”
“Mark wanted you to be the first,” Andy corrected.
Courtney let the dig pass. Mark reached into his backpack while Andy picked up the piece of pie with his hands and bit off half. He could barely close his mouth to chew. Courtney stared at him in wonder. She held out a fork. “This works too” she said flatly.
“Nah, I’m good” Andy said through the mouthful of gooey pie.
Mark pulled a small metal box out of his backpack He opened it and reached inside, saying, “This is so revolutionary, Mr. Pike at Sci-Clops thinks we should get it patented.”
“Enough buildup, what is it?” Courtney demanded.
Mark took something out of the metal box and placed it down on the counter. It was a round dull-gray object about the size of a golf ball. It wasn’t perfectly round. It had facets and bumps, as if it were made of clay. To Courtney it looked like…
The Quillan Games tpa-7 Page 12
