by Sean McGowan
Chapter 7:
Paradise Gate
As the posh tour bus sped along the lakeside mountain range, its passengers knew nothing of the stowaways beneath their seats. In the luggage bay on the bus’s underside, Harold and his companions lay about the bags, enjoying their momentary respite.
Doug glanced at Winston, who was absorbed in his video game as usual. “I probably shouldn’t even ask this, but is there any chance I can try your game? I mean, when you’re done with it.”
“Yeah, you can see it when I’m done,” Winston mumbled from the side of his mouth.
“Really?” Doug was taken aback. “Cool.”
Wayne pressed his face up to the thin strip of transparent plastic along the top of the door to the luggage compartment and watched the passing lakeshore. “You know, come to think of it, this probably isn’t the safest thing we could be doing.”
“Come to think of it, no,” said Harold.
Samson’s eyes widened as he examined a travel bag which was slightly bigger than him. “Hmm... I have a safer idea.” He unzipped the bag, jumped in amidst some clothing, and closed it on himself. “Wake me up when we arrive,” came his muffled voice.
“I’d tell him that’s not a good idea,” said Harold, “but then, this whole thing’s not really a good idea.”
Winston closed his Gamebu and reached for Samson’s—rather, Lorne’s—backpack. “Let’s see what’s on this laptop, anyway.” He pulled the computer out of the bag and booted it up.
“A-hem!” Doug coughed.
Winston raised his eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Can I play your game?” asked Doug.
“Yeah, I told you, when I’m done with it.”
“You are done with it.”
“No, ‘when I’m done with it’, as in ‘after I beat it and don’t want it anymore.’”
“Dude, really?”
“And of course, after I beat it, I need to play it again in challenge mode.”
“Fine! I don’t need your stupid game. I’ve got my own stuff to play with, like...” Doug opened his backpack and shuffled through its contents. “ Spare clothes and... Wait a second...” He pulled out the envelope that Mr. Melvin gave him.
“What’s that?” asked Harold.
“It’s my recommendation to be a junior counselor next year,” said Doug. “I need to have my parents sign it and send it back by next week. I was gonna just take it home, but now I figure I should probably mail it to be safe.”
“You mean you should probably mail it to be paranoid,” said Winston.
Doug nibbled his nails. “Do you think they’ll have a mailbox at Paradise Gate?”
“I think it’s safe to assume they do,” said Harold. “Shouldn’t you know this?”
Doug shrugged. “I don’t mean to be a worrywart. It’s just that Mr. Melvin’s on vacation, so he won’t be able to write up another one in time if I lose it.”
“‘Worrywart’—that’s a good word,” said Winston.
Wayne gave voice to a question that had been bugging him. “Hey, do you think Lorne bribed Mr. Melvin into telling our parents that we’d be staying an extra week?”
“Nah, it was probably that kid impersonating him,” said Harold. “Never know, though.”
Wayne nodded. “I like to believe that the counselors at the Lost Woods are too reputable for that.”
Harold shrugged. “We are talking about the same place where Lorne is a junior counselor.”
“I’ll make sure the camp is reputable when I’m a counselor,” said Doug. “... Lord willing.” His grip tightened on the envelope.
“Hmm...” Winston was busy poking around on the laptop. “The rumors may be true.”
Wayne sat up straight. “You mean about the Prodders?!”
“Yessir, yessir.” Winston nodded. “The police could really do a number on them with the information on here.”
“Wait, I don’t get it,” said Harold. “That computer can’t be the only place where they’re keeping that data.”
“Well it’s not, strictly speaking, on this computer,” said Winston.
“What do you mean?” asked Harold.
Winston pressed the eject key and pulled a disc out of the computer’s disc slot. “It’s on here.” He waved the disc. “The Colonel’s history shows that the files were only opened once, on the same day that it was stolen. The bulls must have gotten hold of it before the Colonel had a chance to copy the information. Rotten lucky timing, I say.” He popped the disc back in.
“Ok, but what would the laptop do for the Prodders?” asked Harold.
“There’s all sorts of information on here they could use, just on Colonel Seward alone,” said Winston. “That knucklehead needs to be more careful where he keeps these things in the future.”
“I’m sure he will be,” said Wayne. “But now that I think of it, shouldn’t there be something in the computer that allows the police to track it?”
“If there was, it’s obviously not in here anymore,” said Winston.
“I just can’t believe Lorne would sell it to such a vicious gang,” said Harold. “People could die because of this.”
Winston shrugged. “He’s a stinker, Harold. Stinkers do stinky things.”
“Do you think there’ll be a mailbox where we get off?” asked Doug.
Winston shook his head. “Here, Doug, I’ll solve this problem for you.” He snatched the envelope from Doug’s hands. “I’ll just email your letter!” He placed the envelope on the keyboard and closed the laptop over it. He shook the laptop. “BZZZT! There, all done!”
Doug reached for the laptop. “Gimme that back!”
Harold grabbed the computer. “Here.” He handed it to Doug. “Just take the whole thing. It’d probably be safer with you than Samson.”
“Yeah, alright.” Doug placed the laptop in his backpack and zipped it up.
“Hey Wayne,” said Harold, “check outside and see if we’re getting close.”
Wayne leaned toward the door again and looked out. “There’s a sign that says ‘Welcome to Paradise Gate’. I suppose that might mean we’re close.”
“Huh?” Harold pressed his face to the clear strip to see for himself. Indeed, the bus was pulling to a stop in front of a welcome center much larger than the one from Camp. The building, constructed on the outside with flat wood and log beams, was only two stories tall, but stretched about a quarter-mile wide.
Harold was shocked. “We’re here already? Guys, we’d better get off before the passengers find us!” He rushed over to the suitcase that contained Samson and started shaking it. “Samson, get out! We’re here!”
Wayne, Winston, and Doug burst out of the luggage bay and ran for the pavilion that stood over the entranceway. Behind them sat the huge parking lot, closed in by a steep hillside covered in evergreens. The door to the tour bus swung open and people began to pour out, led by an older gentleman in a fine suit and a bowler hat. Within a few seconds, Harold rolled out of the luggage bay, pulling Samson by the hand.
“Afternoon, Governor!” Samson waved at the older gentleman, who stood with his mouth agape.
Harold and Samson caught up with the others as they passed through the entrance into a spacious lobby filled with people of all ages. The ceiling rested two stories high over the walls of wood and stone. Long hallways full of shops and eateries stretched away from either side of the lobby. One corner of the lobby held a restaurant and bar, while the opposite corner held a lounge adorned with soft chairs and fancy rugs situated around a large stone fire place. Its most distinguishing feature, however, was the giant row of windows which covered the entire back wall, stretching from just a few feet above the floor all the way to the ceiling.
“Now, we need to be careful, guys,” Harold whispered. “Any one of the kids here could be part of The Order.”
Winston waved dismissively. “Don’t get your knickers in a bundle!”
Wayne jumped up. “Hey, what’s that outside the window?”
&nbs
p; “Oh, you can see the whole resort from there,” said Doug. “Come check it out!”
All of the crew but Harold ran straight to the window-wall. Trailing behind, Harold hunched forward, shuffled over, and dove behind a large chair in the lounge area. He popped his eyes over the chair, glanced left and right, then broke away in a soft-footed sprint to join the others. “Guys, I’m serious,” he said as he approached the window. “We need to keep a low profile.” If the other boys heard Harold’s warning, he wouldn’t know it, as they stood transfixed on the view.
When Harold looked for himself, what he saw was much grander than he imagined. The window granted a view to the entire resort, which was nestled along the edge of a huge mountain range, which swooped down in a half-crater shape into the shore of the lake. In the center of the crater sat what looked like a small, vibrant city. Most of the buildings appeared sleek and modern, but with a classic texture which gave the feeling of an old European village. Boats sailed in and out of docks on the shore. As Harold looked from his vantage point, which was up in the mountains, slightly left-of-center on the surrounding crescent shape, he was amazed to find such a majestic location so close to home. Of course, it wasn’t quite as close as he would like.
“This is pretty nifty-neato!” said Wayne.
“Yesum,” Samson agreed. “It’s like the lost city of Shambalaya.”
Doug looked proudly at his friends as if he had built the place with his own hands. “You guys have never been here before, huh?”
“My parents brought me once when they were together,” said Winston, “but I was just a wee lad.”
As they spoke, a large aircraft, which looked like a mix between a jet and a tropical bird, flew overhead and descended towards the lake.
Wayne squealed. “Holy smokes, no way!”
“We’re being invaded!” cried Samson as the ship landed behind a large amphitheater that rested on the lakeshore.
“What the heck is that?” asked Harold.
“Are you kidding?” Wayne looked at Harold in disbelief. “It’s the Tucana!”
“Who-cana?” asked Winston.
“It’s the Synth Sages’ spaceship,” said Wayne. “They use it to get everywhere. It’s also how they travel between dimensions.”
Doug sneered. “Wayne, you know they don’t actually do that, right? It’s just something they make up as part of their image.”
Wayne frowned. “Did you see the spaceship, Doug?! It’s not like we’re talking about the freaking Tooth Fairy here!”
Harold decided to change the subject before Wayne punched Doug in the face. “So Doug, where’s your condo?”
Doug pointed to a cluster of townhouses on top of the mountains at the opposite end of the resort. “It’s part of that group of houses over there.”
“Guess we’ll have to cut through town, then.” said Harold. “That should be the fastest way there.”
“If you want to go into town, that ski lift will be the quickest way.” Doug pointed to a ski lift that came out of the welcome center, to the right of the lobby. It led all the way down the mountain to the edge of the town.
Within minutes, the boys were riding down the lift. Harold and Wayne sat together in one chair with Samson between them, while Doug and Winston shared a chair behind them.
Wayne held tightly to the safety bar on his lap as he watched the grassy ground passing dozens of feet below him. “You know, it’s quite unnerving that this bar is the only thing between me and certain death.”
“I don’t know if it’s certain,” said Harold. “If you fell, you’d probably break all of your bones, but you might live.”
“Mostly certain death,” Wayne corrected himself.
Harold shrugged. “But that’s life, right? Your heart could stop beating at any moment and you’d be dead. The only difference here is that the illusion is gone.”
Wayne sulked. “Thanks, Harold. You just ruined my outlook on life.”
“What does ‘unnerving’ mean?” asked Samson.
“It means it makes me nervous,” said Wayne.
Samson scratched his chin. “Then shouldn’t it be called ‘nerving’?”
Soon, the boys began to nearly brush the tops of the buildings at the edge of town. While cars could drive in the streets below, most of the roads were devoid of traffic due to the heavy number of people walking on them.
Doug looked at Winston, who was engaged with his Gamebu like always. “You know, Winnie, it would be a real shame if you dropped that. It’s a long way down.”
Winston lifted an eyebrow. “Do tell, Duggles, just how long is it?”
“This long...” Doug proceeded to hock up a huge loogie and release it on the unsuspecting crowd below.
“Oh man! You almost nailed that lady!” Winston pointed down. “Think I can hit that guy in the top hat?”
“Go for it.”
Winston spat.
“Bull’s-eye!” cried Doug.
“He’s furious!” cheered Winston.
Doug looked to the chair ahead. “I don’t think Harold would like us doing this.”
Winston shook his head. “No, I don’t think Harold would like it at all.”
“What wouldn’t I like?” Harold looked back.
“Getting chewed to death by a crocodile,” said Winston.
“Oh yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t like that.”
In a short time, the five boys found themselves walking from the landing station onto the crowded stone street.
“You guys should see this place in the winter,” said Doug. “It’s really cool.”
“Oh yeah?” Wayne nodded. “I’ll bet, because... you know, winter... Winter’s cool. And ‘cool’ is a synonym for—”
“Yeah, funny,” said Harold.
“Hey, who wants to go to church?” asked Winston as they came upon an enormous cathedral with a clock tower that loomed over the resort.
“Doesn’t look like we can get in,” said Harold.
Up a short flight of steps, the front door had two boards nailed across it in an X shape, along with a sign which read, “Condemned”.
“Condemned? It doesn’t look condemned,” said Wayne.
“Huh. Must be apostate,” Winston shrugged.
Doug craned his neck to look at the tower top. “Clock’s still ticking.”
“Yeah, the clock’s still ticking.” Harold nodded then turned to keep walking.
The others followed Harold a few steps before they found themselves in front of a lavish eighteen-story hotel next to the church. Large letters, which spelled the name Stinkerton, rested over the entranceway. The boys stopped to gawk.
Wayne squinted. “Stinkerton?... Really?”
“The family that owns it—It’s their last name,” said Doug. “I guess they’re too proud to admit it’s lousy. But the place is actually really nice. I imagine the Sages are staying there.”
“Why don’t we stay here instead of the condo?” asked Wayne.
“Because The Order of the Butt is probably staying there too,” said Winston.
“I think they are,” Harold nodded. “Besides, Doug’s place is free.” He waved the others on and walked a little further before the others stopped to admire a tavern that intrigued them.
“‘The Yak’s Nose?’” Wayne repeated the words on the wooden sign that sat over the door, arched around a big replica of, fittingly, a yak’s nose.
Harold spun around. “Oh for Pete’s sake! What now?”
“It’s like a pub,” said Doug. “It’s got an arcade and stuff.”
“We must go in,” said Samson.
Harold began to grind his teeth.
“Come on Harold,” said Doug. “We just need a little breather. Play a couple games.”
“And maybe a few drinks courtesy of Mama and Papa Holmes,” added Winston.
Doug nodded until he realized what Winston said. “Wait, what?”
Harold quickly resigned and followed the others into the pub. The place, wh
ich was about one third full since it was only mid-afternoon, had an Olde English look about it. Wooden tables and chairs covered most of the floor, except for the section on the right-side wall, which was lined with arcade stations. The other walls were adorned with the heads of various beasts.
Within twenty minutes, the boys sat slouched around a table with empty glass mugs. A waitress returned Doug’s credit card, along with a receipt and a pen.
“Here you go,” said the waitress. “You boys have a good day.”
“Thanks, you too,” Doug replied as he begrudgingly signed the bill.
Winston tapped his finger on the receipt. “Make sure you leave a nice tip.”
“See, Harold?” Wayne indicated his surroundings. “We’re fine. No bulls to be seen.”
Harold nodded as he looked around. “This place is pretty cozy.” He looked at his empty mug. “I think I’m gonna get another soda.”
Winston grabbed Doug’s credit card and held it out to Harold.
“No, that’s all right,” said Harold. “I have a couple bucks in my pocket. I’ll get it myself.” He stood up and walked over to the bar.
Wayne looked at the others with a smile on his face. “Time to hit the arcade?”
“I’m game,” said Samson.
“Hey, it’s funny you say that,” Wayne chuckled, ”because—”
“We know, Wayne,” Doug interrupted.
Winston looked over at a game with fake rifles called “Wild Bull”, which appeared to involve shooting ravenous wild bulls. “Ooh, I like the look of this one!” In a very short time, Winston swiped Doug’s credit card on a change machine and watched coins pour into a tray. Winston and Samson then began to play Wild Bull, while Wayne and Doug competed in a driving game.
Harold sat down on a stool at the bar, set his mug on the counter, and laid his backpack on the stool to his left. A husky man in his mid sixties approached.
Harold glanced up. “Hey, Barkeep.”
“Afternoon, son. What can I do for ya?”
“Just a cola.”
“Can do.” The bartender grabbed Harold’s mug, stepped away, and quickly returned with the drink.
Harold slapped a bill on the counter without making eye contact. “Thanks.”
“It won’t help your heartache, but I hope it tastes good.”
Harold lifted his eyes. “Huh?”
“It’s all over your face, kid. You’re lovesick.”
“How can you tell?” Harold took a sip.
“I’ve been there,” said the bartender, scratching his bare left ring finger. “More than once.”
Harold shook his head. “Her family’s moving to Nepal on Saturday and I don’t know if they’re ever coming back.”
“That’s rough... But you’ll get over it in time.”
“That’s not really my aim.”
“I know.” The bartender watched empathetically as Harold continued to drink his cola. “I don’t know why I said that. I always hated when people said that to me.”
Harold nodded.
“Just make sure you stick to soda.” The bartender looked at Harold’s backpack, which had the letters “H.E.H” stitched on the back. “‘H.E.H.?’ What’s that stand for?”
“Harold Eutychus Hawkins.”
“‘Eutychus’? That’s an odd middle name.”
“I always thought so.”
The bartender looked behind Harold. “Hey, it looks like one of your friends is coming over.”
Harold turned and was startled to see Edmund Sprocket approaching.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” Sprocket slammed a bill on the counter.
“Yes sir.” The bartender went to fetch Sprocket’s drink.
Sprocket lifted Harold’s backpack, moved it one seat over, and sat down next to Harold. He grinned. “Hello, Harold.”
Harold looked around and saw several kids who weren’t in the tavern before, sitting among the tables. He turned back to Sprocket. “How the heck did you know I was in here?”
The bartender returned with Sprocket’s drink. “Here you go, son”
“Thanks.” Sprocket took a sip and turned to Harold. “I know all sorts of stuff that I shouldn’t be able to. I thought we established this.”
Harold glared back.
“If you must know, I saw you outside the hotel window.” He took another sip. “So where is it?” He looked at Harold’s backpack. “Can’t be in here because you let me move it without any resistance. In which case...” He looked over towards the boys at the arcade. “It must be in Doug’s bag.” He looked Harold in the eyes and squinted. “Yep. I’m right.”
“Are you gonna try to take it so you can go collect your blood money?”
“I’d feel better if you just gave it to me.”
Harold looked away. “Then you’ll have to settle for feeling worse.”
“Look, Lorne was mad at you about the balloon fight, but we’re all over that now. It’s water under the bridge.”
“Then leave me alone.”
Sprocket placed his hand on Harold’s arm and looked intently into his eyes. “Listen, Harold. There’s no point in harb’ring a grudge. Listen to me. That’s neither there nor here. Give this some thought. Turn it over in your head a little. It’s what we both want.”
Harold found himself in a daze.
Sprocket pointed to Doug’s backpack, which sat unattended on a table by the arcade. “Look, they don’t care. That’s why it’s just sitting there.”
“Yeah, alright.” Harold nodded. “I’ll go get it.”
Sprocket clapped his hands together. “Good show!”
Harold put on his backpack, then marched steadily across the room with nothing in his head but Sprocket’s voice guiding him. Once he reached the table, he put his hands on Doug’s backpack and began to slowly unzip it before Wayne looked back.
“Harold, what the heck?!” Wayne shouted.
Winston, Samson, and Doug all turned their heads.
“Hey, there’s a bull!” Samson spotted Sprocket at the bar. He and Winston pretended to fire their rifles at him, making loud gunshot noises.
Wayne ran over to Harold and stuffed the laptop back into the bag. Doug followed up and put the bag on his back.
“Hey, stop!” cried Harold.
Doug smacked Harold across the face. “Snap out of it!”
Harold shook and clutched his cheek. He turned to look at Sprocket as Winston and Samson joined his side.
“Alright, boys,” said Sprocket loudly, “it looks like we’re gonna have to do it manually.”
The other boys in the room, who numbered six, stood up with their gazes fixed on Harold and his friends.
“My bad,” said Harold with a faint laugh. He proceeded to shove Doug ahead as the others grabbed their bags and the five of them sprinted out of the tavern. Once they were out, they made their way up the street as Sprocket and his cohorts poured out of the door behind them.
As they turned a corner, Doug spotted a condensed crowd in a circle next to a nearby building. “In there!” he shouted, pointing to the crowd.
The others nodded in agreement then dove into the mass of people. They could hear everyone oohing and aahing around them.
“What’s all the fuss about?” Winston wondered aloud.
A kid spoke from the center of the circle with a familiar voice. “And for my final trick...”
Harold and Wayne pushed to the center of the crowd to find that everyone was gathered around Magnus Simmons, who was performing magic tricks.
“... I will disappear!” Magnus spun around swiftly, causing his trench coat to drop to the ground, leaving no trace of him.
The crowed gasped and Harold and Wayne stood frozen and astonished until Magnus popped up between them.
“Hello, lads!” Magnus grinned.
Harold grabbed Magnus and shoved him into the center of the circle. “He’s right here!” he shouted. “The trick was a bust!” He put his arms around his friends. “Awa
y, boys!”
Harold and friends sprinted a short distance and then veered into an alleyway on the right. For the next few minutes, they wound their way through the buildings and crowds before they finally found themselves at the foot of a mountain on the edge of town, without any bulls in view. They stood between two ski slopes with a row of trees dividing them. A set of residences sat at the top of each slope—a considerable distance from where they stood.
Winston hunched over, wheezing. “This is not my cup of tea.”
“Did we lose them?” Wayne looked about feverishly.
“No time to find out,” said Harold. “Which way, Doug?”
“It’s in that group of homes,” said Doug, pointing to the top of the slope on the right. At that, he led the others up the hill in a jog—for anything faster was no longer sustainable.
They carried on at a constantly decreasing velocity until they were about a third of the way up the mountain, on all fours and barely moving.
“I’m glad we lost them,” said Harold, who was carrying Samson on his back, “but this hill is nearly killing me on its own.”
Samson looked back down the hill. “Oh we didn’t lose them. Here comes Magnus, running like a jaggerwocky.”
“Do you mean a jaguar?” asked Wayne.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Wayne looked back to see Magnus flying up the hill on all fours, wearing a backpack, with two cohorts following closely behind. The color fled from Wayne’s face.
Before anyone had time to react, Magnus pounced and grabbed Doug by the legs, pulling him facedown to the ground. In a split second, Winston stomped on Magnus’s face, sending him tumbling backward down the hill. Magnus crashed into his cohorts like bowling pins and sent them rolling away with him.
“That...” Winston paused for breath. “... is how it’s done.”
To their surprise, a half hour later, the five boys had made it to the top of the slope without further interruption. As they stood behind a row of condos, they took a moment to catch their breath and regain their bearings. They stared down into the crowded valley and realized how much they had overestimated their ability to walk discretely among that small metropolis. Once they were rested enough, they walked around to the courtyard in front of the condos.
“That stunk a bunch, but at least we made it,” said Harold.
“Actually,” said Doug with an apologetic tone, “we have a bit more walking to do.”
The others looked at him with impatient and puzzled expressions.
Doug pointed over the roofs of the condos in the direction of the lake. “It’s really part of the group of houses behind these ones.”
“And you just forgot?” asked Winston.
Doug shook his head. “I was misleading them.”
The others nodded to show they were impressed with his cunning.
Doug smiled. “Who has the last laugh now?”
Fortunately for the boys’ feet, it was only about ten more minutes before they found themselves in front of the Holmes family’s three-story condo.
Doug shrugged in the direction of the condo. “This is the place.” After he punched in the passcode, the garage door opened and the boys walked in. They walked up a couple steps and opened the door to the first floor, which had a kitchen at the back side and a carpeted area with soft chairs toward the front. A stairway in the middle of the house led to the second floor, which only covered the back half of the condo and opened to overlook the front side of the first floor. A railing blocked the opening in order to keep one from falling—though Doug and his brothers would often take their chances by climbing on the outer side. What the second floor lacked in surface area, it made up for in entertainment value. A gigantic sofa and a couple recliners lounged in front of a television which nearly covered the opposite wall. A small stairway corridor led to the third floor, which was out of sight.
“Now we have arrived,” said Doug with a huge sigh, before collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table.
“You’re right,” said Winston. “We have arrived. How come you never brought me here before?”
“Must have slipped my mind,” said Doug. He set his backpack on the table and eyed it curiously.
“This place is pretty fancy-pants,” said Wayne. “Are you ready to take a breather now, Harold?”
“I can barely move my legs,” Harold replied. “I can’t really do anything but take a breather.”
Doug unzipped his backpack and put his hand inside. “Oh crap...”
“What’s-a-matter, house man?” asked Samson.
Doug turned a few shades lighter. “It’s gone...”
“It can’t be!” Harold frowned.
“See for yourself.” Doug opened the bag toward the others to show its vacancy.
“That wizard...” Wayne stomped his foot. “It must have been one of his tricks!”
Winston cleared his throat. “Hey Doug, remember your question earlier about who had the last laugh?”
Doug slammed his fist on the table. “Shut up, Winston!”
