The Holmes Brigade

by F. C. Shaw

  Chapter 1

  Dodie Rue threw a glance over his shoulder. He slipped down a grungy alley between the village bakery and the butcher shop. The stench of stale bread and rotten meat trimmings was as thick as the desert heat and kept everyone from using this alley as a shortcut to the open-air market. But Dodie had grown accustomed to the smell.

  He picked his way over splintered crates and soggy garbage. On tiptoe he neared a clay bowl he’d swiped from his kitchen and propped up with a stick, though now the bowl was turned over on the ground. He heard the scuffling and squeaking of a desperate rat trapped under the bowl. When the rat had scurried into the bowl’s shadow to gnaw on a moldy roll, it had tripped the stick and brought the bowl down over itself. It couldn’t chew its way out or move the clay bowl—a good trap.

  Dodie slid a thin clay roof shingle under the bowl so he could pick up the rat inside. Judging by the weight, he guessed this was a good-sized rat he had trapped. His employer would be pleased. Once a week Dodie set traps for the rats that infested the alley. He could have caught whole tribes of rats easily, but his employer needed only one rat a week.

  “Sorry, bud, not your lucky day,” murmured Dodie as he tried not to think of the rat’s fate.

  He carried the rat, trapped between the shingle and the bowl, out of the alley where he turned down the street. He looked around, hoping no one was out this early in the morning yet. His heart sank when he spotted a boy drifting toward him on a magic carpet. Dodie dodged under a shop awning and moved quickly down the street, hoping the other boy wouldn’t notice him.

  “Hey, Rue!” the boy called. He sidled up to Dodie, his emerald green and gold carpet slowing down. “What are you up to this early?”

  “None of your business, Atallah,” muttered Dodie as he kept walking down the street.

  Atallah Hadi came from the richest family in town and acted like he was superior to everyone else. Though he was only thirteen—a year older than Dodie—Atallah was the best flyer after Dodie’s brother. He noticed what Dodie was carrying and smirked. “Oh, your job. Guess every village needs a rat catcher and you’re perfect for the task. You’re practically a street rat yourself.”

  “Shut up.” Dodie quickened his pace.

  Atallah chortled. “If you’re hungry my family put out the garbage last night. You’re welcome to it.” He zoomed away before Dodie could come up with a retort.

  Dodie hated that Atallah, of all people, knew he caught rats for extra income to help make ends meet.

  At the next corner an old man spread a mat on the ground. He had unkempt gray hair and a long grizzly beard. His skin was as tan and rough as weather-beaten leather, and he wore a green turban. He sat cross-legged on his mat polishing a long oboe-type instrument, a wicker basket with a lid on the ground next to him.

  “‘Bout time ya showed up,” he barked at Dodie. He jerked his head at the wicker basket. “She’s hungry.”

  “Pretty sure it’s a big one today.” Dodie held out the clay bowl with the trapped rat.

  “Be my guest.” The man nodded at the basket again.

  Dodie gulped. “Nah, I gotta get back home.”

  The man’s face broke into a grin of missing teeth as he cackled. He took the clay bowl from Dodie. The rat inside squeaked. “Sounds like a lively one.” He opened the lid on the basket.

  Dodie stepped back a few feet.

  The man slid the shingle out from under the rat. It was a large rodent with a bright green, scaly tail. With a terrified squeak, the rat dropped into the basket. Quickly the man put the lid back into place. Dodie caught a small glimpse of the white cobra inside the basket. There was a squeal, a hiss, and then it was all over. The snake charmer gave the trap back to Dodie with another cackle.

  “Did ya see that tail? That rat’s been mussed with.”

  Dodie looked at him quizzically.

  “Rotten alchemist again,” the old charmer muttered. “Until next week then.” He tossed a copper coin to Dodie.

  Dodie caught it and scampered away. He earned one shek a week catching rats for the village snake charmer’s cobra. One shek couldn’t purchase anything except for maybe four beans, and that’s if the bean merchant was in a good mood. But in a month Dodie could save four to five sheks, and buy two freshly baked pita loaves to share with his family. It was always a good day when he ate bread instead of the usual herb soup his grandfather made, which in reality was just hot water seasoned sparingly with salt and pepper.

  When he wasn’t catching rats, Dodie worked in his family’s shop, Rue’s Rug Emporium, which had been selling magic carpets for centuries. Before Dodie was born, the shop had flourished, carrying an ample stock of magic carpets that drew customers from all the surrounding villages.

  But then several tragedies struck the Rues in a small amount of time. First, Dodie’s grandfather Nadar, who was a racing legend, was crippled in his last magic carpet race, which meant the end of his racing career and the end of prize money to help the family. Second, Dodie’s mother died giving birth to him, which left his father Gamal with an empty heart and another child to support. And third, a fire destroyed the shop and burned up nearly all the inventory. Gamal had no choice but to take out a loan to get the business back on its feet. They had been repaying the loan for the last twelve years, always barely making ends meet.

  But the Rue’s had one spark of hope: the Grand Flyer, a magic carpet race that occurred only every five years. Dodie’s older brother Taj was following in their grandfather’s footsteps and gearing up for his first race. As the Grand Flyer approached, Rue’s Rug Emporium became very busy selling racer rugs.

  “I was told Rue’s Rug Emporium was the best rug merchant in the region,” an elderly woman said, eyeing Dodie behind the counter. “You’re sure this is a genuine racer rug?”

  “Oh yes, madam. It’s been infused with stardust, and like all our rugs, comes with the KVB guarantee.” Dodie recited, “It’s been Kissed by a genie, Vexed by a sorcerer, and Blessed by the gods. I’m sure you’ll be very satisfied with this one, madam.”

  “Well, it’s not for me, now is it?” She opened a silk draw-string purse, dug inside, and counted out ten gold coins. The coins chinked as she handed them to Dodie. “My grandson is entering the Grand Flyer and he needs the very best to ride. He’s about your age. You will be racing, too, I suppose? You are a Rue, after all.”

  “Oh, uh, no, it’s not my thing,” Dodie said, casting his brown eyes down to the money in his palm.

  The old woman arched an eyebrow. “What a shame. You are Nadar’s grandson.”

  Dodie nodded. “Guess I didn’t get my grandfather’s racing genes.” He laughed politely.

  The woman shook her head, muttering as she left the shop, “Tsk, tsk, such a shame.”

  Dodie cupped the money tightly in his hand and headed to the back of the shop where there was a small room behind a green drape. He entered the purchase in the emporium’s ledger, and deposited the coins in a money box that was delivered to their lender every week. Dodie liked that his father trusted him with sales. That helped ease the guilt he felt whenever he heard things like “But you’re a Rue!” Dodie wished he could fly carpets without breaking into a cold sweat and puking, but it was no use. He was afraid of flying.

  “Hey, Dodes!” His sixteen-year-old brother Taj poked his head through the green drape. “C’mon, I gotta get some practice in.” He playfully socked his little brother’s shoulder. “Got your hour glass on you?”

  Dodie followed Taj upstairs. Taj was long and lean and practically all muscle, so he had no trouble bounding up two stairs at a time. They didn’t stop on the second or third floors where the Rue boys lived, but continued up to the roof. The flat roof, which doubled as the patio, was lined with empty vegetable planters and cluttered with straw mats, frayed pillows, and tarnished lanterns. Dodie took a minute to catch his breath from the hurried climb a
s Taj strode over to the edge of the roof where he had left his racer rug rolled up.

  “What’re you practicing today?” asked Dodie as he plopped down on a mat and crossed his legs.

  “Takeoff speed,” replied Taj, squatting next to his magic carpet. “That first takeoff when the race starts can make or break you.” He held his hand a few inches above his carpet and whispered, “Sand Surfer.”

  Immediately the magic carpet unrolled its blue and gold tapestry, and hovered a foot off the ground, waiting for its rider. Taj mounted the carpet, sitting on his knees and bending down so his chin grazed the front edge.

  “From here to that weather vane,” he called to Dodie. “Ready?”

  Dodie turned the hour glass over. “Go!”

  Taj shot off the roof and straight up into the orange sky. Dodie felt a gust of wind ruffle his shaggy dark hair, and he closed his eyes against the dust raised by Taj’s takeoff. He held up an arm to shield his eyes against the late afternoon sun. He saw Taj reach the weather vane mounted on a neighbor’s roof, and checked the hour glass. Two and a half seconds. A perfect takeoff.

  Dodie looked back up and searched the cloudless sky for Taj. Then he heard hooting and hollering in the alley behind their house. He looked over the edge of the roof and saw his brother standing on his carpet, his knees bent for balance, skimming the tops of the heads of the small crowd that had gathered below. Dodie couldn’t help smiling as he pocketed his small hour glass. He spotted Binni, his best friend, in the crowd and bounded downstairs.

  Dodie skipped down a narrow side alley to the wider alley where Binni was waiting for him amidst the crowd. Binni was small and skinny with wiry black hair. He always had fresh bruises and cuts breaking out on his face and arms. He claimed they were the price he paid for his alchemy experiments. He lived with his uncle, the town’s only alchemist, so had ready access to ingredients and tools.

  “Taj is amazing!” exclaimed Binni, giving his buck-toothed grin. “He’s the best racer in the region. Uncle’s sure he’s gonna win.”

  “Show off!” Dodie yelled as his brother whizzed past him.

  Taj, still standing on Sand Surfer, turned sideways to skim the walls.

  “He’s threading!” someone screamed ecstatically.

  “Oh wow! That’s so hard to do,” said Binni in awe.

  “Atallah’s here!” a voice shouted.

  Dodie and Binni turned and saw a second rider sailing into the alley.

  Atallah rode his emerald green and gold carpet on one bended knee. The crowd noticeably cleared out of his way. He cruised to a stop next to Dodie and Binni. His icy blue eyes landed on Dodie first.

  “Where’s your carpet, Rue? Oh wait, I forgot. You’re the one Rue who won’t fly,” Atallah smirked. “Not sure I could live with myself if my grandfather was a racing legend, and I wouldn’t set foot on a carpet. What’s your deal, you afraid of heights or something?”

  Binni jumped in. “He’s afraid of flying and pukes whenever—”

  “Shut up!” Dodie elbowed Binni in the ribs.

  “That’s right! Come up with any more potions for him? A waste of time—there’s no potion for fear,” said Atallah, finally acknowledging Binni. “I don’t know if it’s worth it, Rue. You don’t wanna get the runs again.” He snickered.

  “You know I’m sorry about that,” whispered Binni in Dodie’s ear.

  “What are you doing here?” Dodie asked Atallah, his eyes narrowing.

  “Just checking out the competition.” Atallah nodded at Taj who slid a quick landing next to them. “Not bad on the threading,” Atallah said in an amicable voice.

  Taj gave a sideways grin. “Thanks, how’s yours coming along?”

  Atallah shrugged in false modesty. “I’d appreciate a few pointers.”

  “Sure thing. Go for it,” Taj said, breathing heavily from his flying antics.

  Atallah bent down on both knees and sped off.

  “Don’t give him pointers!” yelled Dodie, rounding on his brother. “He’s a creep!”

  “And a bully!” added Binni.

  “He’s never given me any grief,” shrugged Taj.

  “That’s because he knows you could beat him up, and beat him in the Grand Flyer,” argued Dodie.

  They watched Atallah pick up speed down the alley, then suddenly turn sideways and skim the white-washed walls. At the end of the alley he swooped up, riding for a moment upside down, then turned over and zoomed toward them. He suddenly stopped inches from Dodie’s head.

  Dodie refused to duck, and tried his hardest not to even blink.

  Taj touched knuckles with Atallah and said, “Nice threading!”

  “Thanks.” Atallah grinned. “I haven’t tried threading standing up though.”

  “You’ve got plenty of time to practice before the race.” Taj hopped on his carpet and took off again.

  “So you really can’t fly, huh?” Atallah turned to Dodie.

  “I can fly,” said Dodie. “I just don’t like to.”

  “No, you can’t,” argued Atallah. “You’re afraid. You’re an embarrassment to the whole village.” He leaned in closer. “You’re just a poor rat catcher who doesn’t have the guts to fly.”

  Dodie felt his face heat. His heart hammered, and his chest tightened.

  “Come on, go for it,” taunted Atallah. “Prove us all wrong.”

  Dodie tried to swallow, but his throat felt as dry as sand.

  “Give us a minute.” Binni pulled Dodie aside and said in a low voice, “I have a new potion if you wanna try it right now.”

  Dodie groaned. “I don’t know, Bin.”

  “If it works Atallah will eat your dust!”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Dodie looked worried.

  Binni shrugged. “That’s the chance you take.” He opened his palm to reveal a tiny bottle of maroon liquid.

  “Hey! Now or never, Rat Scat!” called Atallah, shifting his weight impatiently.

  “Fine.” Dodie took the tiny bottle, unstopped the cork, and drained the maroon liquid. It tasted extremely sour, as if Binni had squeezed a whole lemon into the potion. He returned to where Atallah waited with his carpet. “Ready!”

  Atallah grinned wickedly, held a hand over his rolled up rug, and said, “Sky Cleaver.” His carpet opened, and hovered a foot off the ground.

  Dodie gingerly placed one knee on the carpet. The carpet stretched tautly and held still. Dodie brought his other knee up and crouched down in a prostrate position. He gripped the two front braided loops, special handles found only on racer rugs. His chest tightened and burned until he realized he had forgotten to breathe. He inhaled deeply.

  Dodie stared down the alley behind his house. Lines of colorful laundry stretched across the alley above him. The breeze ruffled his dark hair. Somewhere nearby a donkey brayed. He felt sweat trickle down his cheek even though it was not a hot day. He noticed the crowd had suddenly hushed. Taj had disappeared around the corner.

  “Not too late to back out,” said Atallah behind him.

  Dodie gripped the loops tighter, and tossed a prayer heavenward.

  The thought to go was barely in his mind when the magic carpet responded and took off. He shot above the clotheslines and rooftops, then leveled out and zipped around a tower with an onion-shaped top. The carpet grazed a red-tile roof. Dodie looked down and his eyes crossed. He looked ahead at the village skyline and his chest tightened painfully. Below him he heard the crowd cheering, but he couldn’t go on. Clearly Binni’s potion was not working.

  He barely had enough of his senses to coax the carpet down with his thoughts, and he did so too abruptly. The carpet dropped like a stone. His stomach leaped into his throat, then plummeted down again. It felt like his insides were churning, then—

  He threw his head over the side and puked, showering the crowd with vomit. Every
one screamed and scattered.

  Just land, just land! Dodie pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.

  Finally, it all stopped. His eyelids fluttered open, and he saw the ground a foot below him.

  Binni rushed over and grabbed him by the arms, trying to help him up. Dodie shook him off. Atallah laughed. Dodie stumbled to his feet and hastily wiped his chin on the back of his hand. He didn’t look Atallah in the eye.

  “Don’t know what to tell you, Rat Scat,” started Atallah as he knelt on his carpet. “Embarrassing—”

  “Dodie!” Taj called as he slid to a stop beside them. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing,” muttered Dodie.

  Atallah shot off, and the crowd dispersed.

  “Atallah dared Dodie to prove everyone wrong,” Binni piped up.

  “Prove everyone wrong about what?” Taj looked confused.

  “That the village is embarrassed about Dodie,” continued Binni, “because he can’t fly.”

  “What?!” Taj jumped off Sand Surfer. “That’s not true. How would Atallah know how the whole village feels? You’re right—he is a creep! Ignore him. Remember what the Seer told you? Someday you’ll grow out of your fear of flying.”

  “That’s right!” Binni brightened. “And when that day comes you’ll be laughing in Atallah’s face.”

  “In the meantime, want me to beat him up or something?” Taj gave a lopsided grin.

  Dodie gave a small smile. “Nah, just make sure you beat him in the Grand Flyer.”

  Taj threw an arm around his little brother’s neck. “No worries there. You saw him, he can’t even thread properly!”

  Dodie chuckled as they headed back home.

  “Hey, and next time you try out flying,” said Binni, “do it far away from people. No one wants to get puked on.” He waved and crossed the road toward his house.

  When Taj and Dodie entered the emporium, they found their father deep in conversation with a tall man in long emerald robes. Gamal Rue looked up at his sons.

  “Ah, Taj, over here,” he waved the boys over to the counter where he and the tall man stood.