Bad Luck

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  Leira nodded solemnly and held out the flaming bamboo stick.

  After she left, Clay paced back and forth, fretting. Was it possible Brett had been in on his father’s plans all along? Brett could be irritating, sure—very irritating—and the whole bow tie thing was a little weird, but he didn’t seem like a liar… or a dragon thief. Clay considered himself a good judge of character. Then again, he’d fallen for simple tricks before. Take that game of Capture the Flag, for instance. Maybe he was just a gullible guy.

  To give himself something to do, he walked the perimeter of the cave, bamboo torch held high, examining the darker recesses more closely than he had before. Most of the paintings were near the cave entrance, but on his second circuit Clay noticed a peculiar symbol—three red lines joined at the bottom—painted on the wall.

  “What the—” He reached out to touch the rough stone, and a dot of red pigment flaked off onto his finger.

  The symbol looked like a downward-pointing arrow—or maybe an upside-down volcano?—and he looked at his feet to see if it was directing him to something on the ground. He didn’t see anything except rock and sand. However, when he looked up, he noticed an identical symbol about three feet away. And then another and another.

  They were markers, or road signs, painted at regular intervals, directing him deeper into the mountain.

  The cave was about fifty feet long and descended so steeply toward the back that he had to dig his toes into the ground to slow down. The symbols continued almost the entire way, then stopped, for no apparent reason, before the cave ended. Clay held the torch close to the wall where the next symbol should have been, but he didn’t see even a trace of paint.

  The cave trail had gone cold. Maybe the markers had been directing him toward something that was no longer there.

  Just as he was about to turn around, Clay stepped on something squishy, and his foot slid a few inches.

  Ick.

  What had he stepped on? Bear poop? A frog?

  He looked down and laughed; it was a banana peel, and he’d almost slipped on it, like in an old cartoon. No doubt Brett had left it there.

  What a slob, Clay thought.

  And then he thought, Wait a second.…

  A slob was the one thing Brett wasn’t.

  What had made such a fastidious guy drop a banana peel on the ground like that?

  Why had Brett come down all this way, and where had he gone?

  Clay shivered. It struck him that he was totally, utterly alone. If something should happen to him, he might never be found. That is, unless somebody else followed the trail of red symbols.

  Moving his torch around, he examined the area around him once more. This time he saw it:

  Near the banana peel, there was another red symbol painted on a rock—but this one much larger and much closer to the ground than the others. Next to the symbol, half-covered under a layer of sand, was a fossilized footprint like the one Brett had shown Clay and Leira earlier, although this one was even bigger and seemed to be embedded in solid rock.

  Clay moved his torch closer and looked from the footprint to the three intersecting red lines painted next to it. Then he thought about the painted creatures on the upper cave walls, the ones with the tongues that were not tongues but flames.

  The red lines were a symbol, all right, but only now did he understand what they represented: not an arrow or a volcano but a footprint.

  And not just any footprint.

  A dragon footprint.

  His mind reeling with the implications, Clay put his own foot where, a millennium ago, the dragon—if it had really been a dragon—had put its foot. The footprint was so big Clay could almost have sat down inside it. He could only imagine how large a beast would make such a footprint.

  As Clay’s weight bore down on it, the rock in which the footprint was embedded began to sink, like a giant stone button. There was a groaning sound and the screech of rock scraping against rock.

  Above him, the cave wall was moving.

  FROM Secrets of the Occulta Draco; or, The Memoirs of a Dragon Tamer

  Most Dragon Tamers feel deep empathy for animals of all kinds. Long before meeting a dragon, the future Tamer will likely have had a special connection not just with a cat or a dog or a horse, but with a wilder animal as well. An owl, perhaps, or a deer or a bear. This person and this animal—it will have felt as though they were speaking to each other. In fact, they were speaking to each other in the ways that count most.

  Alas, dragons themselves do not have much empathy for other animals. It is well known, for example, that dragons don’t like cats. Tradition has it that this is because dragons are related to birds, however distantly. I have another interpretation. I think dragons don’t like cats because cats remind dragons of themselves. Like cats, dragons are inscrutable creatures, indifferent to others, and their predominant trait is laziness. A dragon’s preferred activity at any given moment is to lie in the sun, and if there is no sun, to lie near something warm. When they move, dragons tend to move very slowly. It is only when forced that they move fast, and then, of course, they move very fast indeed.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  UNDER SIEGE

  Leira stopped short about fifty feet from the library tower.

  Something was different. The teepee—that was it. The teepee had disappeared. Either Mr. Bailey had left, which seemed very unlikely, or the teepee had escaped on its own, which seemed even more un—No, there it was. It was just that it had come unleashed and was now hovering behind a boulder, as if it were hiding.

  Perhaps it sensed danger.

  Three more uniformed guards from the ship were standing at strategic points around the perimeter of the building. They carried walkie-talkies on their hips and rifles over their shoulders. They looked like they were protecting the place.

  But from what? Whom were they keeping out?

  Unless they were keeping people in.

  Leira’s heart started thumping. She should have known. They weren’t guarding the library; they were laying siege to it. She could tell by the way they kept looking into the library windows instead of surveying the landscape.

  Her instincts told her to run away, but she couldn’t. She had to tell Mr. B what she knew about Brett and his father.

  The only tower entrance that wasn’t kept locked was the front door. Unfortunately, that was also the most visible point of access. The one place the guards were certain to see her.

  If the guards had been carrying keys to the tower, she simply could have pickpocketed the keys and let herself in. Or perhaps not simply (as a rule, pickpockets prefer crowded spaces with lots of places to hide; here, the conditions were the exact opposite), but you couldn’t always choose your battles. Alas, the guards were interlopers, not janitors. They had no keys.

  Was there another way she could use her skills?

  Yes! Leira allowed herself a small smile. No doubt about it, she was a criminal mastermind.

  She hid behind a bush, waiting. As soon as one of the guards walked by, she crept out behind him. It occurred to her that she’d never stolen anything from somebody carrying a rifle, or any kind of weapon at all, but she squelched the thought. There was no reason the rifle should make her job any more difficult—assuming, that is, that the guard didn’t see her.

  Quietly, she matched the guard’s stride and then pulled his walkie-talkie out of its holster, replacing it immediately with a small stone she’d picked up. The guard never looked over. Or down. Or any way but forward.

  A second later, Leira stepped out of view and exhaled. Hopefully, she’d never have to come so close to a gun again.

  Pressing down the talk button, she spoke into the walkie-talkie in a deep, low voice. “Quick! There’s somebody at the back of the library. I think it’s the boy. Go! Now!”

  She released the button, and there was a burst of static.

  The two guards who still had their walkie-talkies immediately started running to the far side
of the tower. The other guard looked around in confusion, then started running as well. Not quite believing her success, Leira tossed the walkie-talkie into the grass and walked straight through the front door. She would have laughed if she hadn’t been so nervous.

  The first person Leira saw inside the library was Nurse Cora. Or, more precisely, the first head of hair. Nurse Cora was exceptionally short, but her hair, which was straight and silver, was exceptionally long, making her look a bit like a walking wig.

  “Nurse C!” Leira whispered in her ear, or near where she thought the ear might be.

  “Leira?” The nurse pulled her hair aside and looked up at Leira. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask!” said Leira. She kept her voice low, as one did in hostage situations and, of course, libraries. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yes, I think so. Why wouldn’t they be?” Cora scratched a spot that might have been the back of her neck. “Except for that poor boy from the ship. Nobody seems to be able to find him. I’m afraid he may not have made it.”

  “So you’re not all, like, prisoners, then?” asked Leira awkwardly.

  “Prisoners? What do you mean?” Nurse Cora frowned.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Behind the nurse, campers and counselors were congregated in groups, talking about the search. Certainly, nobody seemed unduly alarmed. Maybe she’d only imagined that the camp was being held hostage. Leira felt a little silly for having taken such dramatic measures in order to gain entry.

  “Where’s Mr. B? I have to talk to him about something.”

  The nurse pointed down to the bottom floor. “That way, but I wouldn’t bother him unless it’s very important.”

  “It is.”

  The nurse, or rather her hair, nodded.

  As Leira made her way down to Mr. Bailey, the library doors opened again, and a suntanned, barrel-chested man barged in. Two men accompanied him, rifles at the ready.

  “Who’s in charge in here?” he demanded, smiling wide. “I want to speak to the commander in chief. Mano a mano.”

  “I suppose that would be me,” said Mr. Bailey jovially from below. “Although I wish these campers would treat me like it. Being a commander in chief isn’t what it used to be!”

  Leira tried to attract his attention as he walked past her on his way to greet their visitor, but he appeared not to notice.

  “Glad to meet you.” The visitor clasped Mr. Bailey’s hand and shook vigorously. “Brett Perry, at your service—”

  “You’re the father? Oh my, you must be frantic.” Mr. Bailey clucked sympathetically while simultaneously extracting his hand from Brett senior’s viselike grip. “What a terrible thing to happen!”

  “What? Oh, yes… terrible.”

  He doesn’t sound very worried about his son, thought Leira, listening from a safe distance. Maybe Brett’s father really was as heartless as Brett made him out to be.

  Brett senior glanced at the shelves around them. “Crikey, that’s a lot of dead trees! Guess nobody here ever heard of an e-book?… Kidding!”

  He slapped Mr. Bailey on the shoulder. The camp director cringed.

  “But seriously, this Randolph Price character, he was a smart man,” Brett senior continued. “Must have been, to make so much money. I should know, right?” He chuckled modestly. “You can’t tell me he spent so much time and capital building this place just to throw a bunch of old books inside.”

  Mr. Bailey reddened. “Some of these old books are very—” He stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

  “Very what? Valuable?” Brett senior laughed. “Don’t worry, they’re safe from me.” He picked a book off a shelf and gave it a pat. A cloud of dust billowed from it. He tossed the book over his shoulder. “You couldn’t pay me to take one of these old piles of dust.”

  “Well, I’m grateful for that,” said Mr. Bailey drily.

  Brett senior smiled affably. “Now, tell me, square biz, what did Price really want with this island?”

  Mr. Bailey shrugged. “To get away from it all, I suppose? Peace and quiet.”

  “So he builds himself a house in the path of a volcano?” Brett senior scoffed. “That sounds real peaceful.” His smile disappeared, and his voice lowered an octave. From where she stood, Leira had to strain to hear. “You know what I think? I think there’s another reason he came to this island, and I think you know what it is.…”

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” said Mr. Bailey, stone-faced.

  “Don’t be coy,” Brett senior snapped. “Where is it?”

  Everybody in the library seemed to stand up straight at once. Did he mean the Tree Room? Leira wondered. Had Mr. B been right to worry about the grimoires after all? Is that what Operation St. George was about?

  “Where is what?” said Mr. Bailey, casually stepping between Brett senior and the banyan tree that hid the Tree Room. “I thought you were searching for your son.”

  “My son? I know where my son is—at the bottom of the ocean! And unless you believe in miracles, that’s where he’s staying.”

  Leira winced.

  “Now, tell me where the nest is, old man!”

  “Nest?” said Mr. B, keeping his voice level. “We have quite a few parrots on the island.…”

  “I didn’t come all this way to get pooped on by some noisy little bird.” Brett senior’s eyes flashed angrily. “I’m talking about the biggest, baddest beast this world has ever seen, and I’m the knight in shining armor who’s going to bring it to its knees!”

  A dragon! thought Leira. Clay was right—he’s hunting a dragon!

  With everyone else’s attention fixed on Brett’s brutish father, Leira slipped through the crowd, avoiding her counselor Adriana’s questioning glance, until she found her sister on the other side of the room. They squeezed each other’s hands; their earlier fighting was forgotten in the present crisis.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you with your quest, as noble as it may be,” said Mr. Bailey coolly.

  “Oh, I think you can,” said Brett senior.

  He jerked his head; his men raised their rifles. It was a threat, to Mr. Bailey and everyone else inside the library.

  Leira froze.

  “Put those things down,” Mr. Bailey said, sounding cross for the first time.

  “Oh, we’ll put things down, all right. How many people you got in here? That’s a lot of bullets, but I have plenty to spare. Unless you’ve already changed your mind?”

  Mr. Bailey didn’t flinch. “If you’re referring to the creature I think you’re referring to, you’re a bit late. There hasn’t been one spotted on this island for a thousand years, and even then—”

  “Then you’ll just have to turn back the clock, won’t you?” Brett senior interrupted. “Aren’t you some kind of wizard? That’s what they say.”

  Leira could feel the shock of everyone around her. An outsider knew there was magic on the island, or at least suspected it.

  If Mr. Bailey was equally surprised, he didn’t show it. “It would take a very powerful wizard to turn back time,” he observed.

  “Wait!” Brett senior raised a finger in the air and put a phone to his ear. Leira noticed that the phone looked identical to Flint’s. Her eyes narrowed.

  “What now?” He listened for a few seconds, and then a smile crossed his lips. “Okay, don’t move until I get there.”

  He clicked off and looked at Mr. Bailey. “I might be keeping those bullets after all. But nobody is leaving this building until we get what we came for.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Mr. Bailey.

  “My son, of course.” Brett senior beckoned to his guards. “You two stay here.…”

  As the doors closed behind Brett’s father, Mira tugged on her sister’s sleeve.

  Silently, Mira led Leira away from the crowd and into the library bathroom.

  “What are we doing?” Leira whispered. “I have to talk to Mr. Bailey.”

 
; “You want to be trapped in there with those guys pointing guns at you, or do you want to get out?” Mira whispered back. “Look—”

  Mira, who had spent more time in the library than any of the other campers, pushed on a section of the tile wall.

  After a moment it gave way, revealing itself to be a hidden door.

  Leira stared. “Are you kidding me?”

  Secrets within secrets within secrets—that was the Price Public Library.

  She shook her head and peered through the doorway.

  There was a dark, rocky tunnel on the other side.

  “It leads to the ruins,” Mira whispered. “There are matches and candles a few feet down. We’ll be fine.”

  Leira just looked at her.

  Mira shrugged. “Well, maybe not fine. But we’ll be okay. Maybe.”

  “What about everyone else?” said Leira. “We can’t just leave them.”

  “If those guys catch us leading anybody out, they’ll shoot. We can do more good outside.”

  Leira looked as if she were about to accuse Mira of being selfish. “You’re right,” she said instead. “Let’s go.”

  She ducked and entered the tunnel without another word.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  UNDERGROUND

  It’s not as unlikely as it might seem that Clay and Leira should enter tunnels at the very same time. In fact, a vast network of tunnels crisscrossed Price Island, some of them known to the campers, but most not. These tunnels, more properly called lava tubes, were formed by rivers of lava so powerful that they bored straight through solid rock; and they provided secret underground roadways for those who wanted to traverse the island without exposing themselves to skies—or eyes—above.

  It was wonderfully convenient. It was also nature.

  The lava tube in which Clay now found himself was not overly long, but it twisted and turned in a way that made for slow travel. Thankfully, the tube’s ceiling and walls had been chipped away in places to make passage easier, and footholds and handholds had been carved out of the rock where required. There were even a few spots that looked like they were designed to hold lanterns or to store food or equipment. Some very determined people had put a lot of time and effort into the tunnel—under the assumption, no doubt, that they would be using it for many years to come.