Ralfagon’s eyes were closed. If anybody walked into his office, they’d assume he’d fallen asleep and would wonder about the blue glow coming from the Book beneath his hands. Such an intrusion wasn’t likely—the door to his office was closed and sealed with a force that few living beings on the planet (or off it) could break. And Ralfagon wasn’t asleep; he was in a meeting.
“Now, Gilio, I thought we’d covered this: the problem is everyone’s, and we must all do our part to help fix it.” Ralfagon was using the Book to commune with the rest of the Council of Sciences: the Keepers of the various other Science Orders who were seated in their own private places, resting their hands on their own Books. “No, Allobero, there’s no need to be so nasty to him.” Ralfagon spoke aloud through force of habit, but it wasn’t necessary; the Books linked the Keepers’ minds. He listened quietly for a moment. “I agree with you on that, Gilio. I don’t like the way that Board member handled matters. It seems foolish to split up. I don’t think it’s paranoia; I, too, have felt something unusual and unpleasant brewing.”
He listened for several moments, his mouth turning down at the corners. “Isn’t there any way to change your minds? A way we could work together on this?” A long pause. “Very well. We’ll resume talks in a month or two.”
The blue glow cut off; Ralfagon’s contact with the other Keepers was terminated. He sighed and rested his head on his hands, speaking directly to his Book. “That’s it, I suppose; we’re on our own. I only hope Gilio’s wrong. If there is darkness brewing, it could mean the end of the entire Union. Maybe even the universe itself.”
CHAPTER 7
THAT FRESH VACUUM CLEANER SCENT
If you went back far enough through history, long before the invention of the chain saw, you’d find all of Lawnville and its neighboring towns covered in forest. The trees—then just average maples, elms, and oaks—had nothing better to do than shed their leaves every autumn and debate soil quality. Until centuries ago, when the Dutch settled the land. Many trees were chopped down, and the vast forest land was reduced to a relatively small patch of woods. Needless to say, the trees weren’t too happy about this.
The Order of Physics, then led by Keeper Peteretep Van Silasalis, moved their base of operations from Amsterdam to the New World. Peteretep settled in the area that would one day be called Lawnville because, quite frankly, the grass really was greener there.
Peteretep chose a forest as a meeting place, since trees provided natural shelter from prying Outsider eyes. He chose those woods in particular for the same reason that, long before, the Druids had chosen to build Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain, England: the region naturally welcomed, even amplified, the use of powerful energies. In other words, it would be a good place from which to control the universe.
The Order worked hard, establishing long-lasting formulas to keep Outsiders from finding their woods. Soon the woods became completely isolated from non-Union members. Its hidden nature led the Order to name the woods Dunkerhook, meaning “dark corner” in Dutch; besides, the Order thought it sounded better than Treehenge.
Over time, Dunkerhook Woods soaked up much power from the formulas protecting it, as well as those practiced by the Order inside its borders. Every speck of dirt, every plant, and even the air became charged with qualities that made these woods unique among other forests. The trees, once ordinary, became sylvan behemoths. Although the woodland animals that lived there remained average in size and shape, they acquired a know-it-all demeanor that would seem downright snooty to animals dwelling in Outsider lands.
It’s often debated if Dunkerhook Woods truly had a mind of its own, but at the very least, it had developed an attitude. It started generating the Breeze, using it to welcome the Order members whose presence had brought it such positive change. It apparently also developed the willpower to ignore the Order’s protective formulas so it could extend its Breeze to whomever it wanted.
Thus, it used the Breeze to lure Simon to its border and invite him in. It allowed him to bring Owen along, and once inside, they felt the weight of Dunkerhook Woods. The Breeze embraced them, and every breath acted like a super-megadose of caffeine and sugar, only without the shakes or tooth decay.
The boys eagerly bounded down the path, marveling at the skyscraper-size forest. They veered off to explore, finding such wonders as a copse of bushes that grew naturally to resemble a pile of apples or a single tree with more trunks than a herd of elephants.
Finally, they reached the clearing, the focal point of all the Order’s efforts, and stared at the ring of stumps.
“Hey, look at those!” Owen said. “How do you think that happened?”
“Looks like somebody made it,” Simon said, “maybe for a meeting place.”
Owen frowned. “Why would people meet in the middle of a forest?”
“People?” Simon said. “Maybe not. But aliens? Yeah. It could be where they shed their human disguises and make plans for world conquest.”
Simon smiled and jumped onto Ralfagon’s stump. “It’s springy. Like a couch cushion! Owen, you’ve got to feel this!”
Owen shuddered. “What-if-it’s-rotten-you-know-mushy-because-it’s-filled-with-poison-or-something?”
Simon shook his head. “C’mon. I promise you, tree stumps don’t bite.”
If Simon knew more about the world, he might not have been so sure.
Owen walked over to a random stump and pushed down on it. “Spongy; cool.”
Simon bounced some more. “Yup, just the way the aliens made ’em. No, not just aliens…alien wizards! Yeah, I’ll bet this is where the most powerful alien wizard makes speeches from. And he waves his hands in the air while he casts his spells, wiggling his fingers.” Simon did just that, unknowingly mimicking the gesture Ralfagon made while conducting the Order’s ceremony.
Simon was about to learn an important lesson: never stand on an unusual tree stump and wiggle your fingers in the air in a place overflowing with such power and energy. In those types of places, anything could happen.
The Breeze suddenly whipped wildly around Simon. The air above his head shimmered, then glowed, and finally, it ripped.
The sound of air ripping is nothing like paper or fabric ripping. Try to imagine the noise of one hundred high-powered fans blowing at top speed. Add in the sound of several hundred pandas biting into several hundred stalks of bamboo while thousands of basketball fans stomp their feet, clap their hands, and cheer loudly. Toss in the pop of a single can of soda being opened, and the combined effect would not be that of air ripping. But it’d be close enough.
Simon was squinting at the glowing air when the rip happened. He gaped as a two-foot-diameter hole opened, revealing complete darkness inside, as if he was looking into a bottomless pit. For a split second, he smelled something musty and dry, like a rupturing vacuum cleaner bag filled to the brim with dust. He didn’t recognize it, having never encountered the stink of time and space bending.
Simon was so surprised by the hole that he didn’t have time to react as something fell from it. That something was a thick blue book—actually, a Book. The very same Teacher’s Edition that belonged to Ralfagon Wintrofline, Keeper of the Order of Physics.
Two thuds followed: one from the Book conking Simon on the head and one from Simon plopping to the ground. (The Book hit the ground, too, but that sound was more of a thunk.)
As the two lay side by side on the path, the universe quietly trembled.
THE UNIVERSE WASN’T THE ONLY THING TREMBLING
There is nothing worse for a Narrator than the sound of space-time bending: it means the story’s about to get confusing (what do you expect from things moving in time and space?). I watched in total disbelief as the Book of Physics appeared, and I almost fell off my chair when it hit Simon on the head.
What had happened? How could the Book, the Teacher’s Edition, be there in Dunkerhook Woods when it had just been in Ralfagon’s office? Backing up, why was that stupid forest letting those two boys se
e, much less enter it? And what would happen now that they had the Book to themselves? Surely they wouldn’t be able to open and use it? No, that privilege was reserved for the Order of Physics’ Keeper.
But what of that Keeper? Ralfagon never went anywhere without his Book; for it to appear on its own implied terrible things. Could this be related to Mermon Veenie and his mysterious hooded ally?
There were clearly dark things afoot, and it was up to me to understand them.
So I turned back to my Chronicle and took a sip of tea. Nobody should study the fate of the universe without a cup of tea in hand.
CHAPTER 8
A BOY AND HIS BOOK
I watched as Owen rushed to Simon’s side. He’d seen movies and TV shows where doctors gave first aid, used electrical paddles, and even did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He shook his head. Nope, he wasn’t going to do any of that.
Instead, he grabbed Simon’s shoulder and shook him. “Hey! Simon, are you okay? Are you dead?” He shook him harder and, getting no response, panicked. “Come-on-don’t-be-dead-this-is-no-fair-I-don’t-know-what-to-do.”
Finally, after racking his brain, Owen cocked his hand back and walloped Simon’s cheek. Simon’s eyes flew open, and he screamed.
“Owww! Owen, are you crazy?”
“Am-I-crazy-I-don’t-know-you-tell-me-I-saw-a-book-come-out-of-nowhere-and-it-looked-like-it-killed-youand-you-were-lying-there-so-what-am-I-supposed-to-doit’s-not-like-my-mom-lets-me-have-a-cell-phone-so-I-could-call-for-cops-or-an-ambulance-or-anything.” He sucked in deeply, having exhausted his air supply.
All Simon could say to that was, “Oh.” He saw Owen refueling for another blast of words and quickly held up his hands. “I’m okay, I think. My head hurts. And there’s a big book that just popped out of nowhere.” He sneezed, which only made his head hurt more. “Was someone vacuuming?” he asked, sniffing the air.
Owen didn’t know how to answer that. “Can you sit up?” he asked. It was one of the shortest sentences he’d ever spoken.
Simon did. He winced as he touched the small bump the Book had left. Then he leaned toward the Book. Owen shrank back.
“Come on, Owen, it’s just a book,” Simon said.
Owen shook his head, his anxiety building. “It’s not just anything. It-came-out-of-nowhere-and-attacked-don’t-go-near-it!”
Simon ignored him and examined the Book. He read the plain white lettering: Teacher’s Edition of Physics. There was nothing else on the cover except a thick, locked metal clasp keeping it tightly shut.
“What’s physics?” Owen asked. Another short sentence; he was calming down.
“It’s a type of science. Laws of the universe: light, heat, electricity. You know, like a rock falls when you drop it because of gravity. Stuff like that.”
“Is it someone’s schoolbook?” Owen asked.
Simon shook his head. “I don’t know. It says Teacher’s Edition; that’s what teachers use. You know, with all the answers in it. Let’s open it.”
Simon reached for the Book but almost fell over.
Owen steadied him. “Simon, you don’t look so good. You’re pale and-maybe-you-have-a-concussion-and-you’re-going to-pass-out. We should get you home.”
Simon sorted out Owen’s words. “Okay,” he finally said. “But I’m taking this.” He picked up the Book. “Wow…it’s so light!”
(Indeed, although most of the Books were a foot tall, eight inches wide, and, in the case of physics, almost three inches thick, they each weighed the same as a medium-size paperback.)
Once Owen helped him to his feet, Simon put the Book into his backpack.
“You’re taking it?” Owen asked. “It’s-not-yours-it-came-out-of-nowhere-it-could-be-dangerous.”
“It fell on me!” Simon exclaimed. “Finders keepers, right? Besides, it’s just a book. How dangerous could it be?”
(If the universe had trembled before, it was probably snickering now.)
Owen made Simon walk slowly; it took them ten minutes to go a block and a half. Owen kept bringing up things he’d seen on medical shows. “Put some ice on your head and keep your feet elevated and drink plenty of fluids.”
“Okay, I’ll do all that; thanks, Owen. See you tomorrow in school.”
“If you last that long! Be sure and tell your parents about your head so they know to call the doctor if you pass out or anything.” Then Owen scampered off.
Inside his room, Simon put on a baseball cap to cover his bump and closed the blinds. He placed the Book on his desk and stared at it cautiously; it was probably magical. What did that mean? Was he stupid to touch it or, worse, to try to read it? “Probably,” he whispered, “but I’m going to anyway.”
Simon examined the metal clasp that kept the Book shut; there was no keyhole, and it looked sturdy enough to break a hammer. The second his fingers touched it, though, the clasp popped open.
A faint humming began; it sounded like it was coming from the Book. “Are you humming?” Simon whispered. The humming noise stopped, and Simon smiled nervously; either his imagination had just gotten stronger, or he was on the verge of something incredible. He held his breath as he opened the front cover, expecting all kinds of dangers or wonders.
Instead, he was faced with nothing but a column of crossed-out words. Only the last line was legible: it said Ralfagon Wintrofline.
Of course, the name Ralfagon Wintrofline wouldn’t look too normal to anyone outside the Union. To Simon, it sounded like a type of bathroom cleaner or a brand of all-weather tire. But he somehow sensed that this was a name. In fact, the column reminded him of the list of names found on the inside covers of school library books. For one horrifying moment, Simon envisioned an alien librarian coming after him and demanding an extraterrestrial quarter as payment.
Simon wondered if he should add his name to the list. As if in response, a pen appeared, rising up out of the cover like it was surfacing from underwater. The words Please sign in appeared above the column in glowing blue ink. Simon’s mouth dropped open, and without thinking, he grabbed the pen. It was clear, with blue ink inside that bubbled like a fresh glass of soda.
Why not? Simon thought. Numerous reasons, most of them involving extreme danger or deepening insanity, sprang to mind, but he ignored them. This was just too amazing to pass up.
He wrote his name beneath Ralfagon’s, and the letters glowed brightly for a moment. The page now read This Book is the property of Simon Bloom. The words Welcome, Keeper appeared on the opposite page, and the humming started up again, even louder than before.
Simon returned the pen to the front cover and gasped when it melted back into the Book and vanished.
“And just what am I the Keeper of?” Simon whispered. He took a deep breath and turned the first page. And the next, and the one after.
Then he groaned.
It was a physics textbook. There was a title page, a table of contents, formulas, definitions, diagrams. It just looked like a more complicated version of the science books he read in school. He flipped to the chapter on gravity and groaned again. How, he wondered, could something magical be so boring?
He frowned at the thrumming Book. “Oh, be quiet.”
The noise died away, but then bright blue words appeared. Turn the page, they said.
Simon did as he was told. He squinted, unsure of what he was looking at. There were several blue shapes and squiggles unlike anything he’d ever seen, but he somehow knew they meant something. As he stared, he felt something click in his brain, and though the symbols hadn’t changed, they suddenly made sense to him. He realized that it was a language. A language that explained gravity.
Even Simon, with the little science he knew, could tell that the blue symbol language didn’t quite match the regularly typed textbook material; there were some contradictions. It was, Simon thought, as if the usual textbook information only explained one part of things, but the language of blue shapes and squiggles had the full story. As he read on, he gasped. If he was read
ing it right, those symbols described how to control gravity!
Simon flipped back and forth between the pages and glanced over the laws of gravity. He already knew that on Earth, gravity pulled everything down toward the center of the planet (the reason why apples fall from trees or people fall when pushed off cliffs). Without it, everything would be weightless.
Simon looked at his picture of astronauts bouncing on the moon’s surface. They could do so because the moon’s gravity was one-sixth that of Earth. Then he flipped back to those squiggles in the Book. “Could I do that?” he wondered aloud. “Could I do more than that?”
As if in answer, the Book started its thrumming again. Simon realized there was only one way to find out. He cleared his throat, found the right symbols, and read them aloud. The words sounded like pure nonsense (even to me, and I’m the Narrator). It was that backward, forward, peanut buttery sound that, when I heard it, made me either want to clean my ears or get Simon a glass of milk.
The thrumming cut off abruptly. Simon looked around and frowned: there was no miraculous change in reality. He forced himself to laugh; it was his way of covering his disappointment. Then he realized his body did feel a little different, as if someone had just stopped pushing down on his shoulders.
Puzzled by this, Simon absently rubbed at the bump under his cap. The cap slid upward and he felt it pop off his head. He looked up in surprise as the cap floated away, turning end over end until it tapped the ceiling and gently bounced downward.
Startled, Simon flinched, and his left arm hit a cup on his desk. He groaned, expecting the soda inside to spill everywhere. Instead, the cup zipped away, smacked into the wall, and rebounded up. Most of the soda flowed out in a big blob as the cup spun toward the ceiling.
Simon leaned toward the amoebalike soda floating over his desk. He blew at it, making it quiver and break into globules that drifted off in different directions.
The Gravity Keeper Page 4
