Heir Apparent

by Vivian Vande Velde

  "That's not a physical problem," Uldemar told me. "As you're moving, the boots pass through solid objects." Which explained how, in the previous game, Xenos had walked through the wall but then was not seen by Penrod's men outside. Uldemar continued, "But it would be unsettling to those seeing you. Out of fear, they might harm you."

  "What if I land inside a tree?"

  "You can't. You'd land on top of it. I'll try to keep you away from trees."

  We decided it would be best not to have the boots take me directly into the dragon's cave. If the creature was home, it might kill me before I had a chance to get my bearings.

  "This route will take you to a flattened area between the summit and the base of the mountain," Uldemar said. "It should be climbable."

  Should be. Don't you love it?

  It was getting to be dusk, but I decided to start, anyway. Once I got to the mountain, I could make up my mind if it would be better to continue up at night or wait there till morning. Dragons, Uldemar told me, were like cats, taking a lot of little naps throughout the day and night so no time was better than others to try sneaking up on it.

  I tucked the hat I had riddled for into the bag that held my evening meal and Orielle's potion, and I looped the bag over my belt.

  "Good luck," Uldemar said. "Remember to always walk straight in the direction you're feeing." He'd already said that about seven times. "Don't try to take big strides—-just walk normally. The boots will take care of themselves." That he'd said about nine times.

  "Will you be all right?" I asked him. Maybe I'd asked him once or twice before but I felt guilty leaving him.

  "I'll be fine," Uldemar assured me.

  So I took a deep breath, said, "Seven leagues," and put my right foot forward.

  When I'd tried to make too big a jump on Xenos's father's front walk, I'd felt as though a rubber band had yanked me back. Now I felt like the rubber band itself, all stretched out, with my vision a meaningless blur and an awful rushing-of-air sound so intense I was sure my eardrums were about to burst. I was tempted to bring that right foot back, canceling the seven-league step so that I could try again later. But I knew it wasn't going to get better. I moved my left foot forward.

  And found myself in a totally different place from where I'd just been.

  Instead of Xenos's father's hill on an otherwise flat area bordered by woods, I saw gently rolling hills coming down to an immense lake.

  Thank you for not landing me in the lake, I thought to Uldemar.

  I took another step and found myself in yet another landscape: farm country, with fields of barley and rutabaga.

  And another, this time landing in a rocky, desolate place. That was where I was supposed to turn ninety degrees to the left to avoid the unpredictable kitchen. I stepped onto a seashore.

  Step after step I took until finally, as the sky turned dramatically pink, I found myself partway up what had to be Old Hag Mountain.

  Amazing! I had never, in my heart, actually believed it would be so easy.

  I left a whole bunch of broken sticks so I would be sure—if I survived my encounter with the dragon—to be able to start my return trip from the exact right spot.

  Next was climbing up.

  It should be climbable.

  Yeah, right.

  I had to find handholds and toeholds and trust my life to an anemic tree that didn't have the sense to grow out of horizontal ground.

  This would be a lot easier, I told myself as my arms began to ache, if I was stronger.

  Which was when I remembered Orielle's potion.

  One hour of being as strong as Abas, followed by two of being as weak as Dusty at her arthritic worst.

  Should I take it now? I looked up the remainder of the way I had to go. It was getting dark, so I wasn't able to see clearly. I thought that if I was stronger I could make it up in less than an hour—if I didn't fell off the mountain first from not being able to see. But what then? Then, with night coming on, I would have to find my way into the lair, avoid the dragon, locate the crown, and hope that my two hours of total helplessness didn't strike while I was still in there. It was the same thing I would have to do if I waited until morning, but my chances had to be better if I could see what I was doing.

  I found a cozy little crack in the stone, and I settled in for the night, hoping the catacomb ghosts wouldn't think it a good joke to roll me out and over the side while I slept. Thinking about the ghosts, I suddenly realized I had no sensation of them around me. They weren't able to keep up to those seven-league steps, I thought. Ha!

  They were probably still at Xenos's father's house, riding down that slide. Double ha!

  I ate my meal of bread, cheese, and cold mutton, with an apple tart the castle cook had packed for dessert. For drink, I had warm water from a clay jar. I was happy for the tart, but a double-cheese pizza and a milk shake would have been even nicer.

  I HEARD the dragon several times during the night, moving about, snoring occasionally, once singing—I think it was singing—in its dragon language. To me it sounded like a recording of a cough, played backward at slow speed.

  Once it got to be light—my third day in this adventure (my, how time flies when you're having fun)—I ate the last of my bread and drank almost all of my water, saving a bit for just-in-case.

  I started climbing back up that mountain, but it wasn't any easier today than it had been last night. When I almost fell because my fingers cramped, I realized it was time to try Orielle's potion. Pressing myself onto a ledge big enough for about half of one foot, I got out the vial, took out the stopper, and downed the whole thing in one excruciating gulp. Not one of her best-tasting potions had Orielle said? Imagine a ninety-five-degree August day, and a construction worker slaving away on the melting asphalt. Then imagine licking toothpaste out of his armpit.

  But a moment later, that didn't matter. I had a hot flash that caused a tremor in the leg on which I was balancing all my weight. In another moment that was gone, leaving a warm, tingly glow all over, from toes to fingertips. That, and the foul taste in my mouth.

  I reached for a handhold, and pulled myself up as easily as an Olympic gymnast doing a chin-up.

  Up and up and up I went, so easily that I asked myself why I hadn't taken the potion earlier.

  Then I remembered why, for I'd come to right below the ledge of the opening to the cave where Uldemar's scrying glass showed the dragon lived.

  When I was securely positioned, I got out the hat so that I could slap it on my head at a moment's notice. I held it in my teeth, so that it wouldn't accidentally brush off as I swung myself up onto the ledge.

  Then I swung myself up onto the ledge.

  There, close enough to spit on—if I'd been a barbarian and inclined to spit—was the dragon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Dead Oxen and Gold

  Andreanna and Rawdon had been right: The dragon was enormous. Even though I'd been prepared for its size to stun me, its size still stunned me.

  The creature had its head on its paws, and its eyes were closed—which meant that it was either sleeping or trying to lull me into believing that it was sleeping, at which point it would jump on me and either eat me in one quick swallow (I could only hope it would be one) or incinerate me or squeeze the life out of me.

  I fought the inclination to seven-league my way straight out of there. I fought the inclination to slap Xenos's magic hat on my head and make time stop moving for the dragon.

  I knew both inclinations were stupid. After determining that I had to get the crown and struggling my way up that mountainside—what would running accomplish? If I didn't succeed in this, I would stay hooked up to Rasmussem's computer equipment until my brain fried. That made getting fried by a dragon look slightly ... well, not better, just less bad.

  And what if I put on the hat while the dragon was asleep? That would waste its power.

  Anyway, why would the dragon pretend to be asleep? If it saw me, wouldn't it simply kill me right
away?

  Except I remembered Uldemar explaining how dragons napped like cats. What if, like cats, they also played with their prey?

  But could the dragon have kept a straight face if it saw me, a girl dressed as a page, walking on the tips of my toes, looking as though I was about to eat a ski cap? I wondered if dragons shot flames put of their mouths when they laughed.

  The dragon didn't twitch.

  Scattered about this area were various bones. There was a gnawed-on ox over to one side, which explained that the awful smell was not entirely dragon bad breath. But not all the bones were animals—some still had scraps of clothing attached. I kept on moving. There was a second, bigger, cave beyond, and I could see the glitter of gold.

  Luckily, there was room to circle behind the dragon without having to climb onto it. I nervously kept my attention on the creature's eyelids until I realized I was endangering myself by walking backward. I could easily trip or knock something over, and the noise would surely awaken a catnapper.

  I turned my full attention to the piles of treasure.

  The piles and piles of treasure.

  The piles and piles and piles of treasure.

  How could I ever find one crown amid all that glittering hoard?

  I started pawing through mounds of gold. There were coins, there was jewelry, there were boxes, baskets, combs, and plaques. There were eating utensils, musical instruments, tools, toys, knickknacks, figurines, and a bigger-than-life statue of a Greek hero. (I could tell he was Greek, because he didn't have any clothes on, the way Greek statues never do.) There were even a pair of robes woven entirely of spun gold.

  But was there a barbarian crown? Not that I could see.

  I started unloading one of the overflowing treasure chests—there were seven or eight, probably more buried in that one corner where the gold was piled to within inches of the cave's ceiling.

  It can't be there, I tried to convince myself. THAT pile's been accumulating for generations, and King Cymric gave the dragon the crown only eight years ago.

  Unless, of course, the dragon had been moving things around, shifting stuff from one pile to another, handling the gold while gloating over it—and why bother amassing gold if you aren't going to gloat over it? Maybe the crown had been buried.

  No, I told myself. This was a crown that could turn things into gold. Surely that would gain it a special place. Or at least not a place at the bottom of a pile.

  I was putting things from the chest onto the floor so that I could get to the bottom, and there, finally, beneath a golden serving tray, was the crown.

  Oops, no, wait. Wrong crown.

  During our lunch King Grimbold had described his people's crown, and this wasn't it.

  Maybe, over the passage of years since his father had lost the thing, maybe Grimbold hadn't remembered correctly?

  Not likely, I knew.

  I set the crown on the head of a waist-high statue of a monkey. If I couldn't find the right crown, maybe Grimbold could be appeased by this one, along with whatever other trinkets I could stuff into my now-empty provision bag. And Andreanna. I very much hoped I could give away Andreanna.

  My teeth were sore from holding the hat for so long. I took it out to work my jaw. A watch would have been nice about now, to know how long since I'd taken Orielle's potion. My guess was about a half hour. I wondered if I'd have any warning, any sense of weakening, or if I'd just keel over.

  I went to put the hat back in my mouth and somehow brushed against the monkey statue. The thing must have been hollow for it wobbled. I grabbed it just in time to keep it from going over.

  But the crown fell off the back of its head.

  A golden crown hitting a cave floor doesn't make all that much noise. But enough.

  The dragon was awake and on its feet in less time than it took me to glance in its direction.

  For the moment, as I crouched beside the chest with the monkey statue between us, the dragon couldn't see me. But I could see it. I could see its nostrils dilate as it sniffed. Sniff, sniff. It took a step toward me, its massive belly dragging on the floor. Sniff, sniff. For a creature that slept next to an ox carcass that was at least a couple days old, surely it couldn't have a very well developed sense of smell. Another step. And then its huge head swiveled, and it was looking directly at me.

  I jammed the hat onto my head, pulling it so low it stretched beyond my earlobes. I felt no change, but the dragon wasn't moving. Was it?

  I peeked an eye open.

  No, the dragon wasn't moving.

  Slowly I got to my feet. I moved cautiously to the left.

  Its glittering eyes didn't follow me.

  I started breathing again. Then I started counting, "One Rasmussem Enterprises, two Rasmussem Enterprises, three..." I kept on counting as I hurled golden objects out of the chest, no longer needing to be quiet.

  At "fifteen Rasmussem Enterprises," I got to the bottom of the chest, and there was no other crown. I moved to another chest. That took me to "sixty Rasmussem Enterprises," with no sign of a crown. Four minutes left—less, because I hadn't started right away. Three hundred Rasmussem Enterprises was looming close.

  I kicked at a heap of gold sitting on the floor, scattering coins. A crown rolled out. I snatched it up. Then threw it down in frustration. Still not the right one.

  The next chest was a big one with clumsily shaped heavy objects I had to lift out one by one, and it took me to "one hundred forty-four Rasmussem Enterprises" to find there was no barbarian crown in there.

  There was a chest about the size of a two-drawer filing cabinet on its side. With my added strength coupled with the adrenaline of desperation, I held it upside down, scattering its contents on the floor. I threw the chest behind me and lunged for the crown I glimpsed, but it was the same one that had fallen off the monkey statue before. "One hundred sixty-seven Rasmussem Enterprises," and I was already looking twice in the same place.

  Ignoring the other chests, I began pawing through the huge pile, convinced the crown had to be in the single hardest place to get to.

  "Two hundred fourteen Rasmussem Enterprises ... two hundred twenty-five Rasmussem Enterprises ... two hundred thirty-seven Rasmussem Enterprises..." I kicked the Greek hero in frustration and glanced back at the dragon.

  Not moving yet, but it would be soon. How many "Rasmussem Enterprises" had I lost while shivering under the unseeing gaze of the time-stopped dragon? Five? Six?

  And what was the matter with me? I should have known better than to think other numbers while I was trying to count. Had I actually counted to "two hundred forty-five Rasmussem Enterprises," or had I skipped numbers because I'd been thinking the number five? I didn't actually remember saying, "forty-two," "forty-diree," or "forty-four Rasmussem Enterprises," but maybe I had, and meanwhile, trying to figure it out, I'd lost more time.

  Where was I? Never mind. I gave up counting entirely.

  Once again I looked at the dragon. I had to get out of there, save myself now, try coming back later, with a better plan.

  Yeah, right. If I was capable of thinking up a better plan, I wouldn't be here now.

  That wasn't the same as being willing to let the dragon lunch on me.

  I ran past the huge beast, back out onto the ledge, to the very edge overlooking the steep cliff with hand- and toeholds. I was going to have to go racing down there?...with my strength about to give out probably a few minutes after the hat spell gave out?...with a dragon sniffing after me?

  The other choice was to hang around and wait for the dragon to gnaw on me like it had been gnawing on that ox.

  I saw the gashes on the stone from the dragon's talons. I also saw two globs of gold on the ledge and realized what the dragon had done with its Midas touch—it had tried to turn Old Hag Mountain to gold, but instead had only gotten two golden rocks. No doubt it had been plenty ticked off.

  Just like it's going to be now, I thought, suddenly aware of the breeze in my hair: Good-bye, hat. Hello, dragon.
r />   I turned back to meet my fete.

  The dragon was in the inner cave, feeing the way it had been when, from its perspective, I'd disappeared. But now that I was on the ledge feeing this direction, I saw what I hadn't seen before. The crown. Out here. The dragon had been sleeping with it tucked safely in the crook of its elbow, like a kid with a teddy bear.

  I dove for the crown just as the dragon turned. A blast of flame frizzled the air at my back. I grabbed up the crown like an oversized bangle bracelet on my arm and looked over the nearest edge, which wasn't even the way I'd come up. How could I ever make it down onto flat ground with the dragon so close behind? Even now I could hear the grate of its scales as it heaved its massive body back out onto the ledge.

  Without even turning back to look, I said, "Seven leagues," and stepped forward, though the ground was a mountain's height below me—hoping the boots worked in thin air.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Home Sweet Home (Or Not)

  I found myself on someone's thatched roof. I turned hurriedly, said, "Seven leagues" hurriedly, and stepped hurriedly, because my foot felt about to go through. Now I was in the middle of a field of something-or-other—I didn't take the time to make out what. I turned, said, "Seven leagues," and took another step. Now I was in a wooded area, having just missed a tree, which was good, because I was in no mood to have to climb down.

  I'd just completed three sides of a square. One more and I'd be stepping back onto the mountain ledge I'd just stepped off of. Where the dragon might or might not still be sniffing around for the one who'd made off with its favorite crown. And even if the dragon had flown off, I'd have to climb back down. If my strength gave out while I was hanging from that cliff face, that would be the end of me. Instead I tried to estimate how to walk, in regular steps, to a point where after I turned and "seven-leagued," I'd be at the foot of Old Hag Mountain.

  But landing on iffy ground was a danger. I'd do best to walk farther than I thought I had to. So I walked and walked and walked. And then all of a sudden I collapsed.