Bad Luck

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  Leira frowned. “Wait, back up. Does that mean you think dragons are real?… Or were?”

  “Who knows,” said Mr. Bailey. “But why would there be so many stories about them, in so many different cultures, if they never existed?” He raised an eyebrow, as if daring the campers to contradict him.

  “As a matter of fact, the builder of this library, Randolph Price, believed there were once dragons on this very island.”

  “Dragons… here?” Clay felt a prickling sensation in his neck. He tried not to look at Leira.

  “Why not? One imagines they might like volcanoes.” Mr. Bailey smiled. It was hard to tell how serious he was. “A thousand years ago, a group of Pacific Islanders landed here—we know this from archaeological evidence. Why did they not survive? Randolph’s theory was that they tried to hunt the dragons, and in return the dragons hunted them.” He waved his hand, as if to indicate a dragon picking off the islanders in one fell swoop.

  Mr. B checked his watch again. The second hand was going berserk. “Now it’s really time for our meeting, but later, if you’re interested, there’s a shelf full of dragon lore upstairs. Under the painting of St. George and the dragon.”

  “St. George?” Clay echoed, his head spinning. That was the name of Brett’s father’s “operation.”

  “Surely you know the story of St. George,” said Mr. Bailey. “The first knight to slay a dragon for a princess…?”*

  The bottom floor of the library had filled up while they were speaking. Most people seemed to be thinking about the meeting ahead, but a few looked at Clay and Leira with open curiosity. Clay could tell that Mira was especially interested in what they’d been talking about. Leira, of course, gave away nothing. She just looked blankly back at her sister.

  Buzz was the last to arrive. As soon as Buzz entered, Mr. Bailey asked the campers to quiet down, then turned back to the beekeeper. “Well, what news have you? Is it a search party?”

  Buzz nodded gravely. “Yes. A boy fell off the boat, and they say currents may have swept him here. I offered the camp’s assistance.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Bailey.

  “Every minute counts,” said Buzz. “If the boy was lucky enough to make it ashore alive, he is probably very weak and dehydrated. He may be unconscious.”

  Or just in a really bad mood, Clay thought.

  Mr. Bailey nodded vigorously. “We must all help with the search! But please, friends,” he said, addressing the campers, “no funny stuff. I know, in an emergency like this, the rule might seem trivial, but the likelihood that magic will help us find the boy is slim. And the risk of outsiders discovering the true nature of this place—it’s too great. There are certain books here that if people knew they existed… well, they would stop at nothing to get them. And the consequences! It’s not just that they would wreak havoc with love potions, or even that sudden piles of gold would upend the economy. Think of the mass hysteria when the public learned not only that Isaac Newton was a practicing alchemist but that the laws of physics are subject to other laws entirely! And then there are those craven people—monsters I should say, not people—who already know of magic but misunderstand its meaning. If they were to find this library…” He shuddered at the thought. “I’m sorry to go on at such length, but I hope I make myself understood.”

  Mr. Bailey scanned the crowd for nodding heads. They all knew which books he was referring to: the grimoires. But only Clay and Leira knew that he was thinking of one in particular.

  “Good,” said Mr. Bailey. “Now, I have a feeling some of you are better acquainted with this island’s hiding spots than I am—don’t ask me why.”

  The campers tittered. There was an invisible Wall of Trust that surrounded the camp, which campers were not supposed to cross without permission. Eventually, however, most ventured out into the island wilderness at one time or another—only to find themselves playing a game of hide-and-seek with the bees.

  Mr. Bailey smiled. “It seems you know what I’m talking about. So, does anyone have an idea where to look? Somewhere the boy might have gone, seeking water or shelter? A spring in the bamboo forest? A cave among the rocks?”

  Squirming, Clay did his best to avoid looking at Mr. Bailey. Between the book in his backpack and the boy in the cave, he was beginning to feel downright deceitful.

  Inadvertently, Clay’s eyes landed on Flint, who had slipped into the meeting after it started. Flint was biting his lip, and Clay could see that he was thinking of the cave, too.

  “Don’t worry, he’s not going to say anything,” Leira whispered in Clay’s ear. “Flint doesn’t care about some boy he’s never met; he only cares about himself.”

  She was right. Flint didn’t say a word as Mr. Bailey finished talking, and a moment later the campers were being divided into search teams. All teams were to return to the library in an hour’s time.

  While everyone else poured out of the library, Clay pulled Leira upstairs.

  It took them a few moments to locate the painting because it was very small—not much more than a foot wide—and very dark, with swirling gray smoke covering most of the canvas. But when they looked closely, the dragon was unmistakable, deep red and scaly, with a twisting tail and sharp talons.

  Above the dragon, a knight in shining armor—St. George—sat astride a rearing white horse. The knight held a long spear that drove straight into the dragon’s mouth and out the back of his neck, making blood spurt in all directions. A gruesome image.

  Clay stared. “That is…” He shook his head, his eyes focused on all the blood.

  “Gross?” finished Leira.

  In the background, a beautiful woman in a gauzy dress—the princess—was chained to the front of a rocky cave. Clay could tell he was supposed to feel grateful that the knight was protecting her. And yet there was something about the dragon’s eyes—the way they showed pain and anger and pride all at once—that made Clay sympathize more with the fearsome beast than with the demure princess.

  At the bottom of the painting was a brass plaque:

  ST. GEORGE FIGHTING THE DRAGON, CIRCA 1610 (PAINTER UNKNOWN)

  “I thought knights were supposed to be the good guys…” Clay muttered.

  “Yeah, right.” Leira laughed. “So were cowboys, but ask the Native Americans how they felt.”

  “I’m serious. It’s messed up that we’re supposed to think he’s a hero.”

  “C’mon,” said Leira, already walking away. “If we don’t get going, somebody else is going to find Brett before we do. Then we’ll all be in trouble.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Clay, studying the shelf in front of him. It was full of books about dragons—from the dragons of Arthurian legend to the dragons painted on Chinese vases. He had planned to slip Secrets of the Occulta Draco in among them, to avoid having to give the book directly to Mr. B, but now that he was here, the plan seemed to make less sense. What if Mr. B never found the book and it just stayed there forever? Or, worse, what if it flew away?

  Besides, he wasn’t done reading it.

  As he hurried to catch up with Leira, he glanced back at the painting of St. George. He felt almost as though the dragon were looking at him, beseeching him for help.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  MISSING

  Even if Flint hadn’t told anyone about the cave, it was no longer a safe place for Brett to lie low; there was too much of a chance that he would be discovered by somebody from camp—or, worse, somebody from the ship. Clay and Leira knew they had to warn him, but how to get back to the cave without anyone seeing them?

  As soon as they left the library, they were accosted by Mira.

  “Oh, so cute,” she teased. “Look at the little search buddies. You better hold hands so you don’t lose each other.”

  Leira looked like she wanted to retaliate, and for a second Clay feared they would break into an all-out fight. Instead, Leira ignored her sister and pushed ahead without looking at her—or Clay.

  “Whatever.”
Mira sniffed and turned back to join her own teammates.

  The other Worms—a team of three—walked up to Clay, grins on their faces.

  “You got your hands full with the ladies, huh?” said Kwan.

  Clay shrugged. “Yeah. What’s up with them? They’ve been like that for days. I keep getting caught in the cross fire.”

  Pablo laughed. “What’s up with them? Like you don’t know.”

  Clay stopped walking, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Seriously, you don’t know what they’re fighting over?” said Jonah.

  “No…”

  Jonah flicked Clay in the chest. “You, you doofus.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because they like you. Duh.” Jonah grinned evilly.

  “Yeah. It’s obvious,” said Kwan. “You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

  Clay looked like he was going to be sick. “No way, not possible…”

  There’d been gossip about him and Leira before, but he always discounted it; they were like squabbling siblings, nothing like girlfriend and boyfriend. And Mira was Leira’s actual squabbling sibling. So Clay and Mira were squabbling siblings by default.

  And there was a difference between liking and liking to squabble, Clay told himself. Wasn’t there?

  Pablo pointed ahead to Leira, who was beckoning for Clay. “Look—Girlfriend Number One wants you now.”

  “Seriously, you guys don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The last thing Clay wanted to do at that moment was go anywhere with Leira, but he had no choice. Blushing red and feeling like the whole camp was watching him, he ran ahead to join her.

  They were so concerned with staying out of sight of the other kids from camp that they almost didn’t see the three strangers patrolling Bamboo Bay. Just as Clay was about to step out onto the sand—and straight into the patrol—Leira tugged on his arm and dragged him behind a clump of bamboo.

  Unfortunately, there was no way to get to the cave without walking on the beach. They were stuck.

  “This way!” shouted a voice.

  Brushing the leaves out of their eyes, the nervous campers watched the island’s new intruders march past, not more than five feet away. With their black uniforms and assault rifles, they looked more like a SWAT team hunting for a terrorist than like sailors searching for a missing boy.

  “What do they think—that Brett is going to blow up the island?” Clay murmured.

  “Maybe they’re afraid of cannibals,” Leira joked in a whisper.

  “Maybe. Or maybe they’re not looking for Brett at all.”

  “What do you mean? What else would they be doing?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything,” said Clay, unwilling to voice his real suspicion.

  They had to wait several minutes before the path was clear. Even then, they could see the rifles gleaming in the distance; venturing out into the open still seemed like a risky move.

  “Don’t run,” warned Leira. “If they see us, we’re just looking for Brett, like all the other kids.”

  Clay nodded, and they began to walk quietly across the sand.

  One man turned back toward them, shading his eyes with one hand. Clay and Leira dove into the beckoning bank of bamboo trees, not a moment too soon.

  “He’s just looking at the volcano,” Leira said. She didn’t sound completely convinced, though, and they were both relieved when the man turned back around to join the others.

  Clay and Leira made it the rest of the way without encountering anyone else, armed or unarmed, but when they got to the cave, they were greeted by an unwelcome sight—something almost worse than running into another patrolman.

  Flint.

  He was talking into a phone and seemed even more startled to see them than they were to see him.

  Casually, he slipped the phone into his pocket, but it was too late. They’d seen it, and he knew it. Of all the rules at Earth Ranch, the no-technology rule was one of the most serious. No screen, no phone—or you go home.

  “What are you guys doing here?” he demanded, but the words didn’t come out with his usual cockiness. It was the first time Clay could remember Flint sounding flustered.

  “We’re looking for the boy—duh.” Leira looked him up and down. “What are you doing?”

  “Same,” said Flint. “He’s not here. Turn around. Everybody’s supposed to be back in fifteen minutes anyway.”

  Clay and Leira glanced at each other. Was Flint telling the truth?

  Clay pointed to the cave entrance. “What’s in there?” He tried to look like he didn’t know, which mostly meant scrunching up his nose and squinting as if he were trying to see something.

  “Nothing.” Flint shrugged.

  “Looks like a cave,” said Clay. “Can we look inside?”

  Flint stared hard at him. Apparently, Clay’s act wasn’t very convincing. “It was you, wasn’t it? You took the book. I should have known.… Give it back. Now.”

  “What book?” Clay could feel his leg starting to jiggle with anxiety. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Flint laughed, his confidence restored. “Sure you don’t. Then where were you after Capture the Flag?”

  “Nowhere. Lost.”

  “Yeah?” Flint’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Come here and say that to my face, Worm.”

  “Funny, speaking of faces,” said Leira, stepping between them. “Or not really faces, but heads. Or, like, the ears on them…”

  Flint looked at her like she was insane. “You know you’re talking out loud, right?”

  Leira patted her pocket. “That thing in your pocket, it looked like a phone.…”

  “It’s a satellite phone,” said Flint quickly. “It’s the camp’s—not that it’s any of your freaking business.”

  “Oh, so it’s no big deal if I ask Mr. B about it?” said Leira.

  Glaring, Flint clenched his fists so hard that sparks started to fly out of them. Clay feared he would start throwing fireballs—which actually would have been pretty cool, as long as they didn’t happen to land on Clay or Leira.

  Leira smiled, almost but not quite sweetly. She knew she had won, at least this round. “Mind if we go look in the cave now?”

  Finally, Flint unclenched his fists. “Fine, but be quick. And don’t even think of telling anyone what’s in there. If you do, I’ll know—”

  “Thanks,” said Leira cheerily, although Clay could tell she too had been scared. A person really had to try hard to seem that composed. Especially when Flint was involved.

  “By the way, that bamboo stick by your feet—were you using it as a torch?” asked Leira. “Will you light it for us?”

  Flint gave her a look—she was pressing her luck—but he lit the stick on fire with a snap of his fingers.

  “Don’t burn yourself,” he sneered, handing it to her.

  Without another word, he brushed past them and headed down to the beach.

  “That’s not the camp’s phone,” said Leira, watching him go. “Wonder where he got it.”

  “I wonder who he was talking to,” said Clay.

  Leira snickered. “Probably some girl.”

  “I don’t know. It looked kind of serious.”

  “Yeah, I guess. You don’t know what book he meant, do you?” She looked at Clay. “Or why he thought you had it?”

  Clay shook his head, avoiding her eyes. “Beats me.”

  They waited in the cave for about five minutes, calling Brett’s name intermittently.

  “Maybe he saw Flint coming and found a new hiding place,” said Leira.

  “You don’t think his dad’s guys got him, do you?” said Clay.

  Leira shook her head. “Think about it: If they’d found him, why would they still be searching the beach?”

  “Yeah, unless—”

  “What?”

  “I just have a weird feeling, that’s all.” Clay looked at one of the dragon drawings on the wall. “It’s probabl
y crazy.”

  Leira followed his eyes. “Okay, I think I know what you’re thinking. But just because it’s called Operation St. George doesn’t mean they’re here to slay a dragon—”

  “Capture a dragon, then,” said Clay, relieved finally to be discussing it aloud.

  “Whatever. First of all, who really believes in dragons?” said Leira. “I mean, besides Mr. B. And believes in them enough to hijack a gazillion-dollar cruise ship?”

  “What about that footprint Brett found? Isn’t that proof… of something?” Clay couldn’t bring himself to say that it was a dream that was making him think the unthinkable.

  “Second of all, what about Brett?” said Leira, ignoring him. “Are you saying it’s just a coincidence that he got pushed off the ship and swam to the exact island where they happened to be coming to hunt dragons? That’s pretty unlikely, unless…” Leira faltered.

  “Unless what?”

  “Well, unless it was some sort of setup,” said Leira hesitantly.

  Clay looked at her in surprise. “You think Brett is in on it?”

  “I didn’t say that! I’m not the one who thinks they’re hunting dragons. All I’m saying is that if they were…”

  “A missing kid would be a good excuse?”

  Leira nodded.

  “So maybe that’s why his dad pushed him,” said Clay. “It doesn’t mean Brett knew about it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Leira. “You have to admit that his story was a little out there.… Either way, it’s time to tell Mr. B.”

  “But we promised—”

  “I know, but what if somebody from camp finds Brett? We don’t want them just to deliver him to the ship. I mean, if he’s not in on it… Forget about dragons—those guys have guns!”

  She had a point.

  “All right,” said Clay reluctantly. “You go find Mr. B. I’ll stay here a little longer. In case Brett comes back.”