“They’re not working right!” he called as he zoomed past me. I glanced at his back.
Seriously? Penguin wings? They flapped uselessly against his hairy back.
I sighed. Sometimes I felt like the Universe was just messing with me.
A nearby enemy plowed into me and I lost my balance, rolling downhill like the big snowman that had chased us. My poles flailed on their straps, accidentally knocking back another snowman.
I skidded to a halt on my back like a turtle, straight legs and arms sticking helplessly in the air. From this ungainly position, I saw the polar bear catch some air on a jump, his ski slicing through a snowman’s head. He landed, turning to stop in a spray of snow. By my estimate, the two of us were about as far apart as our tether would allow. But we still had a ways to go before we reached the vault entrance.
“Come on, Ace!” Ridge shouted. It was really quite humorous to hear his squeaky voice coming from the slobbering mouth of a massive bear. He spun, his paw reducing another snowman’s head to powder.
A particularly large snowman with a baby carrot nose suddenly loomed over me. His arm lashed out like a cracking whip, and I saw that it seemed to be made of a flexible willow branch.
It wrapped around one of my upright legs and yanked me into the air, releasing me at the apex of my flight. I soared over half a dozen angry snowmen, my scream cutting through the thick falling snow.
“RIIIIIIIIIIDGE!”
Have you ever been caught by a polar bear? It was a first for me, too. I landed in Ridge’s cradled arms as he made a sharp turn through some moguls.
“You’re so soft!” I said, my cheek brushing against his fur.
“Don’t announce it,” he said. “These guys already want to turn me into a rug.” If that happened, he’d get pulled out from under me.
“We’re almost to the sign!” I yelled. “You’re doing great, Ridge!”
He lowered his blunt head and knocked aside another snowman. “You know, I’m really getting the hang of skiing! I haven’t even crashed yet.”
We crashed.
Ridge must have crossed his skis, or something. One moment, I was nestled securely in the arms of a friendly polar bear, and the next, I was tumbling recklessly through icy snow.
I popped my head up like a snowshoe rabbit looking for spring. I scanned the area, only to realize that Ridge had made it to the vault entrance!
There he was, maybe thirty feet downhill. But his shaggy white form was lodged under the lodge sign! Those broad polar-bear shoulders were too big to fit between the metal poles, penguin wings flapping. In fact, the supports were bending as Ridge tried to wrestle his way through.
“Balaclava!” I shouted.
In the blink of an eye, Ridge transformed into a boy again, tumbling easily under the sign. Gratefully, I could stand upright now, although I quickly found myself alone against the few snowmen remaining between me and the entrance.
“Yarrrr!” called a voice from uphill. “Ye can’t shake me so easily, scurvy landlubbers!”
Oh, great. Thackary had caught up to us, skiing between snowmen like an expert on the slalom course.
A snowman leaped at me. Instinctively, I whirled, grasping one of my ski poles like a sword and blocking his stick-arm attack. Hey! These poles were actually pretty useful.
I blocked his other arm and then used my left pole to swing, severing the snowman’s head and causing him to slough downward in a lifeless heap of snow.
I sprinted a few feet, slipping my wrist out of the strap and hurling one of my poles like a javelin. It skewered an approaching snowman, knocking him back and staking him to the hillside.
Ducking. Blocking. Thrusting. I ran. Ridge was shouting at me from below, but I was too focused on fighting to hear his words.
A snowman blindsided me, knocking me flat on my back. I raised my pole as he leaped at me, the pointy end ramming all the way through his middle snowball. I rolled aside as his weight came down, bending my pole in half.
I slipped out of the wrist strap, checking the distance to the lodge sign. Ridge was waving at me desperately. From the corner of my eye, I saw Thackary carving around, closing on me with a nautical insult.
I dashed a few steps downhill, my speed and the slope’s steepness proving too much. I tripped on my heavy ski boots, flopping onto my stomach and landing right on one of my lost skis. Headfirst, I slid down the mountain on my stomach, shooting between the bent metal supports and passing beneath the lodge sign. I slammed into Ridge and the two of us tumbled into darkness.
Chapter 8
We hit the floor—an actual hardwood floor. What happened to the snow? The mountain? The daylight?
Ridge and I stumbled to our feet, quickly studying our surroundings. I had assumed that the vault would feel ancient and magical, but I must admit, it wasn’t at all what I’d expected.
It was an airport baggage claim. If you’d never flown on an airplane before, then it might have seemed unfamiliar. But I recognized it from my brief trip through the San Antonio airport after Tina’s private jet had accidentally flown us to South America.
The vault room was very wide, with a high ceiling. There must have been twenty luggage carousels, positioned side by side. Each one was made up of a conveyor belt that came out of a hole in the wall. The mechanized belt made a wide loop, like a racetrack, before disappearing into another hole in the wall.
Usually these carousels were used to display luggage from the flight. Passengers would stand around with bored expressions, waiting to snatch their bags, while workers behind the wall continued to throw more items onto the conveyor belts. The carousels that I’d seen moved at a creaky, slow pace.
But not here. The twenty carousels in the vault were on overdrive! And instead of luggage, the conveyor belts carried a random assortment of items, moving so fast that my eyes could barely make them out.
Among the countless items, I saw a unicycle, a blender, a beach towel, a bottle of soda pop, a measuring tape. . . . At least, I think that’s what I saw appearing from one hole in the wall, whirring along the conveyor, and disappearing behind the wall again.
Jathon and Vale were standing to one side, zipping out of their snow gear and discarding it in the corner next to their skis and snowboard.
“I thought you guys weren’t coming,” Jathon said.
“We would have been here sooner,” I answered, “but your dad slowed us down.”
“My dad?” Jathon’s eyebrows raised. “He’s here?”
I looked around the room. “Well, not here,” I said. Thackary probably didn’t know about the secret vault entrance, and he must not have seen us go under the sign. Understandable, since he was being attacked by snowmen in a blizzard. He probably thought Ridge and I simply disappeared.
“But I’m sure this means he’ll be waiting for us when we get out,” Ridge said.
“What happened to your boots?” Jathon gestured at Ridge’s ski boots. The hard plastic was shredded and the clasps hung loosely, barely keeping his feet in place.
Ridge easily stepped out of the clunky things. “My polar bear feet were a lot bigger than my human feet,” he said, as though that answer should make sense.
“Welcome to the vault of trinkets.” The sudden announcement caused the four of us to whirl around in surprise. No one had magically appeared, but the disembodied voice sounded like it was right behind us. “I hope you enjoy your visit.” The voice didn’t sound evil or scary. In fact, it sounded like a little girl. Which was actually kind of creepy in its own way.
“Did you hear that?” Ridge asked me.
“Who are you?” I asked the voice.
“Where are you?” asked Jathon.
“I’m the speaker of the vault,” answered the voice. “I’m here to answer any questions you might have.”
“Okay.” I slipped the backpack from my shoulder. “The Trinketer gave us a bunch of trinkets to deposit. Where are we supposed to put them?”
“Oh, just toss them
on the conveyor belts with all the others,” said the voice.
“Those things are all trinkets?” Ridge exclaimed.
Not only were there more items than I had suspected, but they didn’t seem to be very carefully stored. For some reason, I had imagined that the vault would keep each trinket securely locked in its own case.
I stepped up to the nearest luggage carousel. An illuminated sign marked this one as number 10. I couldn’t figure out how the trinkets were staying on the conveyor belts. At this speed, they should have all flown off.
I cautiously unzipped my backpack and peered inside. Time to see what Ms. Gomez had packed.
“Don’t worry about accidentally setting off any of the trinkets,” said the voice. “None of them work inside the vault. That’s sort of the whole reason the Trinketer keeps them here.”
That made me feel a little better about sticking my hand into a backpack full of unknown magical items. I pulled out the first trinket.
It was a little two-pound dumbbell weight—the kind I’d seen old folks carrying on their morning walks. I held the weight above the luggage carousel and dropped it. The dumbbell struck the conveyor belt with a thud and was instantly whisked away, moving so fast that I immediately lost track of it.
Next up was a small journal. I resisted the urge to see if anything was written inside, instead donating the mysterious trinket to the conveyor belt.
It didn’t take long to empty the backpack. There was a stapler, a jump rope, a lemon, a paintbrush, a little bottle of pink soap, a shoelace, a candle, a spoon, some fingernail clippers, and a ping-pong ball. I wondered what each trinket did, knowing that behind each seemingly ordinary object, somebody had made a wish and accepted a consequence.
I swung the empty backpack onto my shoulder once more, Ridge’s peanut butter jar now the only thing inside. Glancing over, I saw that Jathon had just finished emptying his backpack onto luggage carousel number 9.
“Your deposit is greatly appreciated,” said the voice, sounding like a little girl who had memorized words that were too big for her. “Thank you for keeping unclaimed trinkets off the streets. You may exit out the door behind you. It will lead you back to the ski resort.”
“Wait a minute!” I shouted. “What about our withdrawal? We came here to get an important trinket.”
“That’s fine,” said the voice. “You may take one trinket off the conveyor belt.”
“We want the spool of string,” said Jathon. “The one that makes a tether become visible.”
The voice giggled. “Good luck grabbing it!”
“We’re just supposed to snatch it off the conveyor belt as it passes?” I shrieked. “This thing’s moving way too fast!”
“We should spread out and see if we can spot it,” Ridge suggested, positioning himself at carousel 12.
We each watched a different conveyor belt, my eyes trying to take in the blur of objects. It was giving me a headache. And what was I supposed to do if I did manage to see a spool of string? My reflexes weren’t nearly fast enough to grab it before it was whisked away.
“Oh, forget it!” Jathon cried after several minutes. He turned to his genie. “Vale,” he said. “I wish to know which luggage carousel the spool of string is on.”
“If you want to know where the string is,” said Vale, “then anytime someone says a word that rhymes with belt, you will have to spin around in a circle.”
“Luckily, there aren’t too many words that rhyme with belt,” he said.
“Belt, felt, dealt,” Ridge started to rhyme, “melt, pelt, welt, smelt, knelt.”
“How long will this last?” Jathon asked, ignoring my genie.
“A year,” said Vale.
“What about the word belt itself?” Jathon asked.
“That counts, too,” said Vale.
“Helt, relt, velt,” Ridge went on, “jelt, zelt, telt . . .”
“Those aren’t even real words!” Jathon yelled.
“She didn’t say they have to be real words,” I pointed out. “Just anything that rhymes with belt.”
“You guys aren’t making this very easy,” Jathon said.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s a good wish. I think you should do it.” I shivered.
Jathon shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “Bazang!” His eyes snapped open. “It’s on carousel six!” he shouted. “No, wait. It’s on seven.”
Ridge and I turned to the one he had indicated when Jathon cut in again. “Now it’s on eight!”
“Make up your mind!” I shouted.
“It’s just moving so fast,” he answered. “All the conveyor belts must be connected behind the wall.” He spun in a quick circle. “It’s making its way through. Now it’s on eleven!”
Ridge and I scrambled forward, eyes darting across the trinkets. But by the time we were in position to grab anything, Jathon said it had moved on to carousel 12.
The four of us raced across the vault as Jathon continued to call the numbers. There was no time to stop and search. We could barely keep up while running along.
“It’s on number twenty!” Jathon cried. “The last one!”
I sprinted around the side of the carousel, my eyes fixed on the spot where the conveyor belt disappeared into the wall. Rubbery plastic strips hung over the opening, blocking my view of whatever was beyond.
“Oh, come on!” Jathon shouted. “It’s gone!”
“What do you mean, gone?” Vale asked.
“It must have gone behind the wall.”
“Well, is it coming back?” I asked.
It was the little girl’s voice that answered. “Yep! It’ll circle back around in about a minute.”
We all took off running across the room, finally positioning ourselves beside the first luggage carousel, gasping for breath from our sprint.
“Now what?” Ridge said. “We just keep chasing it around? I don’t think we’re going to get any faster.”
“Not without a wish,” Vale seconded.
The genies were right. Jathon had done his part to locate the spool of string, but it wasn’t enough. Now it was my turn to make a wish.
“Ridge,” I said. “I wish that the conveyor belt would slow down.” I shivered and Jathon spun in a circle.
“Good one,” Ridge encouraged. I would have rather wished for the spool of string to fall into my hands, but that was too direct. Slowing down the conveyor belts would still require effort to retrieve the right trinket.
“It’s back!” Jathon shouted, his focus returning to the conveyor belt. “Already on carousel three!” Jathon and Vale moved after it, but I stood still, waiting to hear the consequence attached to my wish.
“If you want the conveyor belt to slow down,” Ridge said, “then time outside the vault will speed up until we leave.”
“How fast will it go?” I asked.
“Well, every minute that passes in here will be an hour out there.”
I thought about the usefulness of my wish. Once the conveyor slowed down, we could grab the string and leave. At most, we’d be inside the vault for another five minutes. That would be five hours outside, but it seemed totally worth it to me.
I nodded at Ridge. “Bazang.”
Beside us, the conveyor belt slowed significantly. It was still moving way faster than the normal airport luggage claim, but at least I could see the items gliding past. A potted plant, a fake bird, a little toy drum, a toilet plunger . . .
“Hey!” Jathon shouted from the middle of the room. “What just happened?”
“I made a wish,” I said, feeling another shiver down my back as Ridge and I jogged over to them.
“The spool of string just came onto carousel nineteen,” Jathon said. The four of us fanned out, actually feeling hopeful. But there were still a lot of trinkets to sort through. Maybe I should have wished for the conveyor belt to come to a full stop.
“Nope,” Jathon said. “It’s on twenty now.”
We hurried into position, Jathon and I racing tow
ard the last stretch of conveyor belt.
“There it is!” Vale stood at the bend in the carousel track, pointing. “It’s coming your way!”
Jathon and I spotted the trinket at the same time, gliding swiftly toward the opening in the wall. The spool of string looked old and weathered. The whole thing was about the size of my fist, wrapped around a short piece of wooden dowel.
“You’ve got this, Ace!” Ridge shouted. “We’ll be back to the ski resort before the snow even has a chance to melt.”
At the sound of a word that rhymed with belt, Jathon performed a quick spin, knocking me back. My knees struck the floor as Jathon steadied himself. But it was too late. The spool of string had passed through the opening in the wall.
The minutes passed like hours—quite literally for everyone outside the vault.
Last time the string had gone behind the wall, it had taken only a minute or so before cycling back around. But my wish had slowed down the conveyor belt, and now there was nothing to do but wait. I tried not to think about how much time was passing outside, and I certainly didn’t tell Jathon and Vale what my consequence had been.
“I wish the conveyor belt would speed up again,” Jathon finally said, spinning in a circle as we all sat around carousel 1.
“Can’t wish that,” said Vale, her voice bored. “That would be wishing to undo a wish that Ace made.”
So we waited. It was very boring with nothing to do. We watched the assortment of trinkets go by. The weird little-girl voice shared some poems with us. We felt bad that she didn’t have a name, so Ridge and I decided to call her Beatrice.
After what seemed like forever, Jathon leaped to his feet. “It just came out on carousel one!” he announced. I saw him stoop down, and when he stepped away, Jathon was holding the much-desired trinket.
“Aha!” said the voice. “You picked the spool of string.”
“Duh!” Jathon said. “We’ve been sitting here talking about it for at least an hour!”
“Thank you for visiting,” said the voice. “Come again soon.”
“Before we go, I’ve actually got a couple questions for Beatrice,” Ridge said. “Do you talk to yourself when no one is in the vault? Do you go into a deep sleep like how I do between quests? Is it possible for you to get a sore throat?”
The Wishbreaker Page 6