Dragon Sword Read online

  Mom is arguing with the soldier, and while she does, I take the cap out of my pocket and begin rubbing the Thickskin off, right around the area that DiMaggio signed for me — right over the D.B.

  I start to feel the cap tingling against my skin. I pull it on.

  “I love you, too,” I tell her. And in case it’s already morning, I add “Merry Christmas.” By the time she and the soldier turn around, I’m gone.

  Hopefully she’ll worry less, thinking I have the compass. I didn’t want to tell her it all fused together on my trip back here.

  I’m really not sure where I’ll wind up.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eli: Lake Arrivals

  Somewhere in Old England…

  I’m completely soaked again.

  I stagger, coughing, out of the lake and flop down. Two guys in costumes are staring at me. They both have beards. One is wearing…not a crown, exactly, but a ring around his head, with a small jewel in the center over his fore- head. His robes and vests are kind of greasy, his hair’s a little matted, and he’s holding a sword. “Merlin, is this one of yours?” the jewel wearer asks.

  Merlin? Couldn’t be. Then the one asking the question is probably…

  “Arthur?” I sputter it more than say it. I guess they aren’t costumes after all.

  “What a bold lad, to appear out of the ether and address his king like an old friend.”

  I can’t worry about the ground rules for talking to some ancient king right now — the trip across the Fifth Dimension has made me sick, and the waterlogged Seals cap is already beginning to tingle on my head, but I’m not ready to be jerked back into the time stream yet.

  I was lucky enough to get here without being able to use the chrono-compass. I don’t have anything from King Arthur’s England that would have taken me back here. Rolf is the one with the White Stag’s antlers…

  Which he scratched me with. Is there something in my blood now? Some secondhand body-memory of this place? Do I have stag WOMPERs in my veins?

  I don’t know. Thinking about it gives me a headache, along with the tingling. I snatch the cap off and toss it toward Merlin for safekeeping. “Could you hold that, please?” Then I bend over and throw up.

  “A most peculiar lad, indeed. Methinks he mocks his king.”

  I glance up between heaves to see that Merlin has my cap in his hands, and he’s chuckling a little as he examines it. Then he points to a spot over the lake, where I appeared. “Did you see how he came out of the very air like that, Arthur? You may not be his king at all.”

  “Then who is he? Is this one of your tricks, you senile wizard, to try and make me keep this bloody sword?”

  “No one can make you keep Excalibur, Arthur, if you no longer feel worthy of it.”

  “Bah! Another of your tricks, you goblin, with your prodding words. This has nothing to do with my worth.”

  I can still remember, before WOMPERs and Mom’s disappearance, that I had a regular life. Part of that included seeing my mom and dad fight sometimes. I can still remember how ridiculous I thought some of their arguments were, how I could see their fights starting, like a long, slow fuse on a cherry bomb. But they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be able to stop or see what they were doing, and soon they’d be shouting at each other. Eventually someone would slam a door, and there’d be silence for a while until someone made up.

  Merlin and Arthur sound like they’re starting one of those married-people fights right now. Over Excalibur. The Dragon Sword.

  “In fact, you haunted, spell-casting toad, I cannot wait to hurl this infernal scrap of metal into the water right now and let her worry about keeping it out of the hands of every throne-smitten young buck who comes wandering down the road.”

  “Apparently, Arthur, she’s not waiting too much longer to accept the privilege.” I look over the lake, in the direction Merlin is nodding.

  There’s a woman hovering there, and she’s practically naked— the only thing covering her is the long, flowing hair floating around her body.

  Who is she? How does she stay out there like that? She’s waving now at Arthur, at Merlin.

  “The Lady of the Lake will disappear, Arthur. She won’t wait forever.” Merlin doesn’t seem very concerned. He’s still giving my cap the once-over.

  Maybe the Lady of the Lake is time-tangled, too. Maybe there have always been people like me, throughout history, who can fade in and out of different “whens”— and maybe that explains a lot of ghosts and spirits and magic beings.

  Maybe I’m not the only Danger Boy.

  Then she winks. Right at me. I swear it. And then she’s gone.

  The water where’s she vanished is still churning.

  “The lad has scared her off.”

  Lad. At least it’s not kid. Lad, like Laddy. King Arthur and Laddy.

  I’m in a cartoon.

  But cartoons are supposed to be fun. And not so sad.

  I finally feel less nauseated, and I stand up. The water in the lake begins bubbling again, and I turn, thinking maybe she’s come back. But it’s not her.

  It’s dragon-jerk Rolf.

  He’s surprised to find himself in water, just like I was, and starts splashing around, letting go of the antlers.

  “Look, Merlin,” King Arthur says, pointing at them. “The horns of the White Stag are back.”

  “They’re sinking in the lake. With the new boy.”

  “Well, do something magic to get them back! Send this other airy lad”— Arthur points at me —“into the lake to fetch them!”

  “It’s not my place, your majesty, to go ordering boy warlocks around.”

  “What if it’s a magic attack? A trick by Morgan Le Fey? It’s your job to protect your king, Merlin.”

  “Pardon me, sire. I thought you were done being king.”

  As Merlin and the king bicker, Rolf turns out to be a pretty good swimmer. He heads toward us and eventually pulls himself ashore.

  He stands and leans over to spit out water, and I think he’s going to be sick, too. But it’s worse than that. Time travel’s harder on him: His hair is all white.

  Though that doesn’t stop him, once he catches his breath, from declaring we’re all his prisoners.

  Then he asks Arthur to hand over the sword — Excalibur, the Dragon Sword — in the name of the Reich.

  Worst of all, King Arthur does.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eli: Dragon Hunt

  Somewhere in Old England…

  “You cannot give away Excalibur!” Merlin has lost the amused look on his face. “You’ve gone batty after all! It must be hidden away! For the next true king to claim!”

  “Oh, you were right, magician. I’m done being king. So let him have it. Who cares? He’s claiming it in the name of this…‘Ryck,’ this King Ryck, whoever that is.”

  Rolf the showoff keeps trying to lift the sword over his head but seems to be having a hard time controlling it. “I…” he huffs out, “Rolf Royd…do hereby claim this magic object in the name of the Reich . . .”

  “You see?” King Arthur says to his wizard. “I’ve never even heard of this Ryck. They’re coming out of the woodwork, now that they think I’m weak.”

  “You cannot transfer power to this boy!”

  “Don’t be so alarmed”— Arthur points at Rolf —“he can hardly lift it.” The sword seems to be pulling him, like someone tugged along by a dog on a leash. “The lad will have to give up in a few minutes.”

  But Rolfie seems determined. “And in the name of the Drachenjungen…”

  “Did he say something about dragons?” Arthur asks. “Is he going to hunt dragons with it?”

  Rolfie-the-hunter grips the sword, but it moves on its own, spinning him around. “I would like another dragon hunt,” Arthur says.

  “You have already killed them all, sire,” Merlin says with a trace of scorn.

  “Ah. Right.” Just as he was starting to brighten up, the king looks depressed again. Then he turns
to me. “I suppose you will want a turn with the sword, too, young pup?”

  “No. But you can’t let him have it, Mr. …King Arthur, sir. He wants to use its power to do bad things to people.”

  “Boy, I, too, once believed I could stop bad things from happening in the world.”

  “Oh, really! Must you always be so glum? Ever since Queen Guinevere left”— and I realize that Merlin is addressing this comment to me —“he has been so hopelessly bleak. That’s the danger of love. Look”— his attention shifts back to Arthur —“this boy is right. You’re being absurd. We have to stop this before that one learns how to wield it.”

  At that moment, the sword goes flying out of Rolf’s hands, like a hammer toss, and plows tip-first into the ground, just missing my foot.

  “There, you see, Merlin? That blade is like a wild horse. You told me the sword itself chooses who wields it. Which makes it practically useless, anyway.”

  “You never felt that way before.”

  “I have changed, old wizard. You pretend not to see it.”

  But I’m staring at Rolf, who seems to have changed a lot, too, even if he is still a dragon jerk. Not only is his hair white, but the skin around his face is…patchy. Something happened to him out in the Fifth Dimension. He might have landed somewhere else and stayed there for years, for all I know, before he wound up here. Which could explain his late arrival. There are no guarantees of anything coming out the way you think it will when you duck in and out of time. And something certainly has gone wrong for Mr. White Hair.

  But his attitude hasn’t changed any.

  “Look out!” I yell. Rolf has reached under his waterlogged jacket and pulled out the pistol strapped to his leg.

  But Merlin’s on top of it, and just as Rolf’s gun CRACKS!, so does a wand from under Merlin’s robe.

  The bullet stops in midair. And so does Rolf.

  Or at least his legs do. He can’t move them. But his eyes are open wide.

  “What is that?” Merlin asks, stepping up to examine the bullet more closely. “You had better move, Arthur. This little sword pellet is heading right toward you, and I can’t hold it forever. I’ve warned you, magic’s fading from the world.”

  “Then talk to these boys who seem to know how to appear out of thin air! And let the little flying dagger come, you overgrown leprechaun. I am tired of fighting boys who think they need to be king. Let the little pellet come, and let me rest.”

  Merlin shakes his head at me. “Many seasons back, the queen and one of the king’s knights thought they were in love with each other. And I have had to listen to Arthur go on about it ever since. It’s not as if people aren’t sorry, but it scarcely matters to him. The king would be gone a year or more at a time in those days. And the queen was young! What did he expect? ’Tis hard on people to be apart like that.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I know.”

  The lake is starting to churn again. “You see, Merlin. The Lady isn’t finished with us yet,” Arthur says. “The time has come to be rid of this infernal thing.” He pulls Excalibur out of the ground.

  “Such a waste,” Merlin sighs to me. “I should never have agreed to conjure her again. He is determined to give his Dragon Sword to the Lady of the Lake.”

  “But why?”

  “So she can hide it. I am afraid he really is through being king. I am afraid that this is the end, at last, of Arthur’s kingdom. Of Camelot.”

  “But you’ll always know where Excalibur is, right?” I ask. “No matter where she puts it?”

  “She will not hide it in another place, but another time, lad. I don’t know where — or when — she comes from. ’Tis a time-altering spell that allows her to appear at the lake.”

  But time isn’t being altered by the Lady of the Lake.

  It’s the Saurian ship that appears.

  Merlin is so shocked, he drops his wand. The bullet is freed from its spell and goes whizzing right past Arthur — who luckily has moved to get a better view of the craft.

  Rolf is cut loose, too, and falls to the ground, before getting up and bolting away into the forest.

  “Hey!” I yell after him. But I don’t want to chase him. I want to see if my friends are all right first.

  After circling around overhead, the ship lands in a grass clearing inside a ring of oaks.

  The entrance panel slides open, and Thea once again pops her head out. She looks around, a little cautiously — to make sure no one is shooting at her this time — then sees me with King Arthur and Merlin.

  “A most remarkable sorceress!” Merlin exclaims.

  She says something, but I can’t understand it. The heavily accented English of Merlin and Arthur is bad enough — but without a lingo-spot, I don’t have a chance of figuring out Thea.

  Just like in Alexandria, she dabs a little of her own spot behind my ear. It tingles, too, like a milder version of my Seals cap.

  “I said,” she repeats, “that I am tired of being called a sorceress.”

  “I understood you the first time!” Merlin says, coming up to us. “I recognize that tongue from desert lands.”

  Thea smiles at him, then turns her attention back to me. “And you, Eli the Boy Wizard, are a hard person to track down.”

  “Well, at least I’ve been on the same planet the whole time,” I tell her.

  “So you are all wizards, then!” Merlin exclaims. “Magic is coming back into the world!”

  “I am an astronomer,” Thea says, “a mathematician, and a librarian. Who are you?”

  But I cut off Merlin’s answer with another question. “Thea! If you’re here…then Clyne…when he jumped off the bridge…?”

  I have visions of his body floating around the ocean, winding up in some fisherman’s net, and a headline in that Weekly Truth paper about someone finding a sea serpent.

  “At last a quiet time on Earth Orange! Let us kk-kk-dng! picnic here before getting back to studies!”

  “He’s a hard person to track down, too,” Thea says as Clyne bounds out of the ship, “especially when he’s falling from a bridge.”

  I’m so glad you’re okay, Clyne! That’s what I want to tell him, but I don’t get the chance.

  “Merlin!” shouts Arthur. “Merlin you old rascal, look! Dragons live, after all! You have brought one to me and I shall have at it! Sword”— and now he’s talking to Excalibur — “good times have come back to England! YAH-HHHH!”

  And with a roar, Arthur runs at Clyne, swinging his Dragon Sword, ready to cut my friend’s head off.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thea: Tintagel

  Merlin’s Time

  When I glimpsed forests and no cities, I thought we could rest in this world awhile. K’lion, Eli, and I are a small society: Unmoored in time, we have seen things most people in our homelands would never believe.

  Our friendship has been forged in fire and movement. We’ve had no time to really talk, play, or as K’lion says, “picnic.”

  I thought that time would be now. Instead, I find myself disoriented, surrounded by trees in a thick, dark woodland, the likes of which I never saw near Alexandria.

  I ran into these woods thinking I could keep K’lion from being hunted by this king, whoever he is. Alexandria is — was a port city where news of the world came to us regularly. And though I know of both Celts and Britons, I have never heard of this “Arthur.” Of course, I am not precisely sure when this is, either.

  I entered the forest, side by side with Eli. We were both yelling that K’lion was not a dragon. But the king was far ahead of us, chasing our friend, who at least outpaced his pursuer with great leaps.

  Eli seemed to think he could make the king call off the hunt if he could only explain about K’lion, but the king’s enthusiasm made it hard to catch up. And then, quite suddenly, Eli was gone.

  I do not know how, precisely. Perhaps all forests shift like this as you move through them, with paths closing off and new ones opening up, so that you can never be
sure exactly where you are. They are disorienting. Alexandria’s boulevards, its harbors, and the desert vistas outside the city were much easier to navigate.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, sorceress. ’Tis a magic wood. I designed it so that most would lose their way.”

  There was no warning, no sound — he just appeared. Merlin.

  His sleeves were wet, and he was holding a set of white antlers.

  “I am trying to keep your king from killing my friend,” I told him. “If I can ever find them.”

  “Unfortunately,” Merlin said with a shrug, “only the king can find his way through this wood. We nonroyals usually have to wait for the cry of a magical creature, like a dragon, to guide us out. But I think your dragon man will be safe. Arthur doesn’t quite have the blood lust he once did.”

  He ran a finger over the antlers. “He hunted the White Stag with his bare hands and cut the antlers off. I should never have told him the horns have power. Because the power never lasts, and the greater sadness is an empty forest.”

  “Thinking woods, magic horns, and spells! Are you really standing here talking to me, wizard, or is this another of your tricks!” The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I stopped, stunned to realize how much I sounded like Brother Tiberius, the falsely pious monk who stirred a riot against my mother and caused her death. He routinely accused Mother and me of witchcraft.

  “Do not doubt yourself, child. You see what you see.” He was pointing behind me.

  I turned and peered through a clearing, which spread out to bluffs overlooking the sea. Towering above the cliffs were the ruins of a once-great palace.

  “How could we be so near the sea? I didn’t hear it, or even smell it…and I always smell the water,” I said. And then softer, more for my ears than his, “My mother used to call me ‘Mermaid.’”

  “Ah, mermaids. Yes. I miss them,” Merlin said. “All of ours left some time ago. Swam off toward the Viking territories, I think — the shelter of all those deep fjords. I expect they’re terribly cold.” He shook the antlers again. “I believe I shall hang these up in the Great Hall. Why not come with me, lass? Perhaps your friends will come along.”