Discover the Destroyer

by K. A. Applegate

  "The market's closer," Jalil pointed out. "A lot closer."

  "See? I always said you were a genius, Jalil," Christopher said.

  "Three miles, half a mile. E equals MC squared."

  "My point was that we need food. We could use some clothing.

  We could use a bath. If the market is one place and the city is another, maybe that means we can't get anything in the city. I'm just guessing. Besides, everyone is going to the market. Look."

  He was right. The slow foot and wagon and sheep traffic was all turning off toward the market.

  "I told the guy we were going to the city, it seemed to fit with the whole minstrel cover story."

  April said, "He didn't believe that anyway. Jalil's right, maybe we need a trip to the mall."

  "Should we take a vote or is David going to do his Moses thing?" Christopher asked. "Hey, Senna? What's David going to say?"

  I bit back the first angry shot that came to my mind. As calmly as I could I said, "I agree with Jalil and April." Senna, thankfully, said nothing.

  We turned right at the fork. Long before we reached it we saw the marketplace. It was, to put it mildly, different from the fastidiously neat, well-ordered Fairy Land we'd gotten used to.

  "That is the biggest damn garage sale I've ever seen,"

  Christopher said.

  It covered acres. Maybe a square mile but forming a rough, unkempt circle. At the center was an open space, a traffic circle with avenues radiating out in every direction. Connecting the paved avenues was an irregular network of unpaved streets. And within each pie wedge and trapezoid thus formed were buildings ranging from lean-to stalls covered with red-, green-, or yellow-striped canvas, up through one-story shops, and here and there a few genuinely large buildings, two, three stories tall, ornately faced with rococo moldings and roofed in a sort of pale blue tile. Not always but generally the more low-rent places were farther out toward the boundaries of the market. The bigger places predominated at the center, giving the impression of a scale-model cityscape, with "skyscrapers" defining the

  "downtown."

  If there was any other organization to the place it seemed to involve keeping most of the beasts, the sheep, cows, pigs, and horses, in what could be considered the northeast quadrant.

  The road we were on led to the market. Another road led out, presumably heading off to the unseen city.

  Within the market the avenues and streets were choked with people. From this distance it was hard to be sure what type of people, but even at a distance I could see that they ranged widely in size, shape, and color.

  The beet wagon was gaining on us again. We started moving.

  I was feeling better. We all were. Hard to imagine anything very terrible happening at the mall.

  To our relief there was no gatekeeper charging an entrance tax for the market. We pushed through a knot of dwarfs bargaining with a pair of Coo-Hatch and headed down the avenue.

  The late-afternoon sun was hot without being brutal. Shadows were long and cool. We were walking by a long row of prepared food and drink. It made sense, of course; people just getting in from the road would want to eat and drink. We did.

  "Little problem. General," Christopher said to me. "We have no money."

  "Actually, we do," Jalil said. "I don't know about you guys but I still have the pocket change I had when we first got here." He dug the money out of his pockets, along with sand and a dead beetle.

  "What's that, a snack?"

  "Eleven bucks in paper, a quarter, a dime, and five pennies,"

  Jalil reported. "But I doubt U.S. currency is going to be worth much here."

  "Should have picked up a few things while we were standing around on Nidhoggr's treasure."

  "Yeah, that would have been a good idea," April said with unusual sarcasm. "It's not like he notices anyone stealing from him.

  Why are we on this stupid trip? Because he wants some bowl he lost."

  "I have a suggestion," Senna said quietly. "How about watching what you say? We're in a public place."

  I looked around, suddenly aware that she was right. No one seemed to be within earshot, or to have overheard, but who could tell for sure? Nidhoggr was not a name a person was likely to confuse with something else.

  We were on a mission, a possibly dangerous mission, and I'd already made a mistake. It made me mad. At Christopher and April.

  "Both of you keep quiet," I said with more heat than I'd intended. "Jalil, let's try and buy some food."

  Jalil nodded. He looked around and chose a stall selling what were hopefully sausages wrapped in pastry. The vendor was a human. That seemed like a good start.

  "Be sure and get mustard," Christopher called after us.

  "What'll you have?" the vendor asked, sounding like any counterman at any Gold Coast Dogs back home.

  "Well, we'd like five of . . . those." He pointed.

  "What'll you give?"

  "Eleven dollars and forty cents."

  The vendor was a big man, with huge hairy Popeye forearms, slicked-back hair, and an arrangement of teeth that seemed haphazard.

  He picked up the single dollar bill and the two fives, plucking them daintily from Jalil's palm. He examined them closely, turned each over to look at the back.

  "Who is this fellow?"

  "That's George Washington. The other one is Abraham Lincoln."

  The vendor pushed them back. "You may trade those to the scribes up on Poseidon Street. No good here."

  "How about the coins?"

  The man sucked his several teeth. "Any fool can see that's not solid silver. And those are coppers. One meat pie for the lot."

  I called Christopher over and he and I dug for our own change.

  We produced five more quarters, a nickel, and four pennies.

  A few seconds later we were focused on the question of how to divide three meat pies among five people.

  "Some mustard, some relish, a big old dill pickle, some onions, hot peppers maybe, you'd have something," Christopher said as he finished his half plus a sliver of meat. "Fries and a Coke, too."

  April said, "Yeah, and then throw on a salad, and a lemon seitan from Blind Faith Cafe and you'd really have something."

  "You're going to tell me you actually fantasize about vegetarian stuff?" I said, trying to joke and make up for having dumped on April earlier.

  "Yeah, whenever I'm not fantasizing about not seeing you for a good, long week or so."

  "I'm still hungry," Christopher said. "We still have the junk in April's backpack. Poetry book, notebook, pen and pencils. The Discman. Her lame CDs. Got a bunch of keys and a couple of credit cards."

  "Advil," April said.

  "You have Advil?" Senna demanded eagerly.

  "Cramps?"

  "In a couple days," Senna admitted.

  April smirked. "What do you know? I finally have something you want."

  "We need a place to stay, more food, some clothing," Jalil summarized. "And we are in the middle of unrestrained capitalism here. We may be able to trade some of our stuff, but maybe we should be thinking more long-term."

  "We have five days," I reminded him. "Three and a half if you give us time to get back to . . . to Large and Crusty. We're not moving in here."

  But Christopher was intrigued. "What are you thinking, man?

  We go into business here?"

  Jalil gave his patented sidelong look and smiled his little smirk.

  "So much we know they don't know. These people are sitting around stuck in the first millennium A.D.; we're on the verge of the third."

  "Let's keep moving," I said, for lack of anything better to say. I was clueless, something I'd admit to myself but didn't want to admit to everyone. A stone, a sword, a spear, and a cauldron.

  That's what we were after. And they were somewhere in Fairy Land.

  But Fairy Land wasn't some Sleeping Beauty castle from Disney World, it covered a lot of ground, and finding four particular objects even in just this vast, end
less, open-air market seemed impossible. It would take years of searching. And that's if whoever had them wasn't hiding them very well.

  Wait. No. Of course. The fairies weren't hiding them. Jalil was right: These were capitalists.

  "Let's move," I said with more certainty.

  "Where the hell are we going?"

  "The center of this market. Before the sun goes down."

  Chapter

  XIV

  We passed blacksmiths. We passed butchers. We passed potters. We passed jewelers. Rope makers. Goldsmiths. Weavers.

  Cobblers. Armorers. Glassblowers. Coopers, carpenters, upholsterers, locksmiths, tanners, herbalists, fortune tellers, bakers, brewers, and some vendors, quite a few really, who defied any sort of sensible label.

  If we'd had enough money we could have bought unicorn colts, rocs' eggs, love potions, flying snakes, eight-legged horses all supposedly descended from the true Sleipnir, whatever that was. I spotted at least three allegedly genuine hammers of Thor.

  We could, had we wanted, have paid for prostitutes or bought slaves.

  We saw jugglers, mimes, tightrope walkers, sword swallowers, fire-eaters, bear wrestlers, python wrestlers, and troll wrestlers.

  We could have dined on everything from corn on the cob to cheese to chickens.

  If it existed in Everworld, I suspected it was here.

  And if it lived in Everworld it was here, too. Dwarfs, men, elves, trolls, minor gods, a dozen different types of little people, talking animals, giants, Coo-Hatch, and at least three other species of aliens.

  And all of them buying, selling, bargaining, threatening, cajoling, dealing, laughing, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, grasping arms, and spitting in palms.

  Everywhere, everywhere, fairies in neat, dark blue tunics moved among stalls armed only with leather-bound notebooks on which they took careful notes.

  "It's the fairy IRS, man," Jalil said. "They're getting a piece of everything."

  Other fairies, fewer in number and wearing black, sauntered along alone or in pairs. It didn't matter that they were four feet tall, or that their skinny legs were enclosed in yellow tights, or that their weapons were half-sized swords and short horn-and-hide bows: They were cops.

  We at last reached the center of the maze, beneath the welcome shade of tall buildings that reminded me vaguely of Mardi Gras in downtown New Orleans. Not that I'd been there, I'd just seen pictures. There were balconies running the length of each building, and the trading went on, fairies mostly now, yelling down to elves or men or dwarfs or aliens in the streets below.

  This was the nerve center. Here the trades were less tangible.

  Here they traded large quantities, thousands of bushels of wheat or hundreds of head of cattle. They were trading options and futures, betting on prices themselves.

  "This is the first place in Everworld I've ever thought I could be happy," Christopher said. "See, this is real. This is money. This is business. Damn it, this is America."

  "Don't get too comfortable," I said. I spotted a parked, empty wagon. I leaped up onto the back, formed my hands into a trumpet, and yelled, "We're here for the stone, the sword, the spear, and the cauldron of the Daghdha. We'll pay any fair price, and we —"

  The black-tunicked fairies appeared from nowhere, moving at a speed that defied belief. They weren't big. But when something not big hits you fast enough, it's big enough.

  I was off the wagon, on the ground, head ringing from the impact, sucking wind before I knew what had happened.

  Three slender arrows held quivering against three tight-drawn bows were within one foot of my heart.

  I thought the joke would be on them: I had no heart. But six other arrowheads were milliseconds from piercing my eyes, stomach, and elsewhere.

  Cautiously, carefully, slowly, I timed my head. The others were still standing. But they, like me, were a harsh word away from being pincushions.

  A fairy wearing buff-colored clothes and a green hat stood over me, looking calmly down at me, smoking a pipe. He carried a tall walking stick with a massive gold knob on the top.

  "I was just trying to do some business," I said respectfully.

  "No better place in all of Everworld. This is the place for business," he said, nodding. "But a very poor place to go saying things best left unsaid."

  "I . . . Sorry, but I . . . I can't say what I —"

  "No," he said. "You cannot."

  He swung the gold knob. I barely registered the blur of motion, then I was out.

  Chapter

  XV

  I spent an anxious hour in English comp, then suddenly I was back.

  Back in a mess.

  I was seated in a chair that would have been appropriate for a day-care class. I was slumped forward, head down between my knees.

  I jerked upward, felt a wave of dizziness and nausea sweep over me. The room swirled into view. I saw a throne on a dais. That had never been good news: Loki and Hel both had thrones.

  Huitzilopoctli had something close. Thrones were trouble; no one in this lunatic asylum was Prince Charles.

  Glanced left and right. The others were all seated on chairs similar to mine. All conscious. All looking grim.

  My sword was gone.

  A dozen or more black-clad fairies stood at attention. They had a tough, capable look. Anyway, as tough as they could look and be four feet tall.

  On the throne sat an old fairy, a leprechaun, I guess, since he looked like the guy at the gate. He wore a tall gold crown encrusted with jewels. In his hand he held a gold scepter, likewise covered in diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

  I didn't need a program to figure out that he was the king. A rich king. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the furniture all looked like Nidhoggr's treasure had exploded and blown gold, silver, diamond, and emerald shrapnel everywhere.

  Beside the fairy king, on a slightly smaller throne, sat the queen.

  She was a nice-looking older woman. No nymph or elf maiden.

  Just a size-extra-small, middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a downturned, frowning mouth.

  All of that was bad enough. But standing off in one comer was a creature unlike anything that had ever played a role in the collective unconscious of Homo sapiens.

  He was taller than the fairies but just as slightly built. His eyes were those of an exceedingly large fly. He had wings folded against his back. His mouth was ringed by three small, jointed arms that seemed never to stop reaching for and grasping invisible food from the air.

  "Hetwan," I gasped.

  We'd seen this Hetwan, or another just like it, in the court of Loki.

  The Hetwan were the adherents of Ka Anor. And Ka Anor was not good news for anyone.

  The truth jumped out at me in a flash. "It's all a damned setup."

  "Very good, David," Jalil said with a mixture of actual approval and savage, angry sarcasm.

  The fairy king spoke. "This is your leader?"

  Idiotic as it was, I was gratified. The others must have identified me as their leader. Pathetic. More pathetic still once I realized the fairy had just reached that conclusion based on the fact that only I had been carrying a sword.

  I spotted the sword leaning against a side door. I thought I also spotted a fairy guard nursing a burned hand. Galahad's sword burned any who took it without its owner's permission.

  Nice to know it was still within reach. But I'm a realist. I might beat a troll in a quick draw, but when it came to the fairies I was a snail. I'd have every arrow in every quiver in the room sticking out of me, and the fairies would be off having a smoke before I made it halfway to the sword.

  The fairy captain, the guy who'd nailed me with the gold-headed cane, must have seen me thinking it over. He raised one finger, shook it back and forth, and mouthed the word, "No."

  "I'm the leader," I said to the king. "My name is David Levin."

  "You are a spy."

  "No, your honor. I mean. Your Highness."

  There was the sound of blad
e hitting wood.

  I hadn't seen the archer move. I didn't see anything except the arrow that pierced the inseam of my pants and stuck into the wooden chair leg.

  I stopped breathing.

  "You are a spy," the king repeated. "Nidhoggr's spy."

  "I'm not Nidhoggr's spy, I —"

  An arrow appeared a quarter inch to the left of the first arrow.

  It took a few seconds for the pain to reach my head. Just a flesh wound, a superficial cut. But the message was crystal clear: These fairies could skin me alive if they wanted. They were that fast, that good. And I was that big, dumb, and slow.

  I was sweating. It was starting to roll down into my eyes.

  The king said, "You are —"

  I should have kept my mouth shut, or better yet agreed.

  "Dammit, you can shoot arrows into me all day, we were sent by Nidhoggr, yes, yes, but we aren't spies."

  "What he means is that while we are not spies," Jalil said smoothly, "we are thieves."

  The king looked ready to order a matched set of arrows for my eyes. But the queen put her hand on his leg.

  "Truth," she said.

  The king looked surprised but not skeptical.

  The queen leaned toward us and said, "The dragon sent you to steal the treasures of the Daghdha? Not to merely learn their location?"

  "He didn't say we should report back. He said we should get the stuff. Four things. Then we were supposed to bring them back to him."

  The Hetwan stared, unblinking, emotionless as far as I could tel . If it recognized us it didn't let on. Maybe all humans looked the same. Most likely this was a different Hetwan.

  The question was not whether he recognized us, but whether he knew who and what Senna was. Hetwan power had helped Loki bring Senna across the barrier between universes. The gateway was supposed to be Hetwan property. Loki had intended to doublecross them and use Senna himself.

  Give up Senna to the Hetwan and we could probably walk away free. I knew it. Jalil almost certainly knew it. April? Maybe.