by Tony Abbott
But they did not bow.
“The next time you see us, you won’t believe our powers,” said Ungast.
“Powers beyond your wildest nightmares,” said Sparr.
“The conquest of Droon is at hand,” said Gethwing. “And after Droon, I have my sights on another goal!”
Sparr’s thin lips curled into a cruel smile. “Soon the Upper World will be ours, too!”
Neffu stepped forward. “And this will help,” she said. She tore the pouch of magic dust from Keeah’s belt. “This makes the staircase appear. Kee-kee, you don’t mind if we use it just this once, do you?”
Gethwing laughed. “Send the Kindu!”
“Send them?” said Julie. “Where?”
“Where do you think?” said Ungast.
“But Eric’s mother! The Upper World!” cried Neal.
Laughing, Neffu cast the powder far and wide until — whoosh! — the staircase appeared over the summit of Barrowbork.
The three dark hunters who had accompanied the prince to the treasure fortress bowed once and tramped up the stairs, carrying their stolen treasures in a sack.
“Bon voyage!” said Sparr.
“No, no, no!” shouted Julie. “You can’t!”
“We just did,” said Neffu with a scowl.
Keeah watched Prince Ungast. She could see the photograph inside his cloak.
But something was wrong.
She had put it in his left pocket. She knew she had. But now it was on the other side.
Had Ungast seen the photograph?
Her eyes grew wide. Eric … ?
There was no response.
“We are about to leave my fortress,” said Gethwing. “My secret hideout. My —”
Bumblebee, said Keeah silently, watching Ungast’s face intently. Then … there it was. The barest hint of a smile. It disappeared almost instantly.
“— Barrowbork,” said the dragon.
Keeah saw Ungast survey the Dark Lands below. He rubbed his eyes. His forehead wrinkled. He squinted. Then his fingers reached to his temples as if to grasp something.
He dropped his hand, but it was enough for Keeah.
Eyeglasses! she said to herself. He reached for his glasses!
Eric? she spoke silently. Are you there?
She waited, waited, hoping against hope. There was no response.
Until … soft words sounded in her mind.
Hush, Keeah. I’m here.
It was the voice of Eric Hinkle.
Eric! she said. Is it really you?
Five days, he said. I can hold them off for five days. Bring me the Moon Medallion. It’s the only way to save Droon. If you can’t … then it’s over.
Gethwing flapped his four giant wings and rose above the summit. “In five days, we meet at Jaffa City!” he boomed. “To claim our true throne!”
And the four dark figures — Neffu, Ungast, Sparr, and Gethwing — soared up together. They disappeared in the smoky distance.
At the dragon’s command, the armies joined one another, the largest mass of beasts, wraiths, Ninns, and wingwolves ever known. And they moved across the land toward Jaffa City.
In a matter of moments, Julie, Neal, Keeah, and Galen were left alone at Barrowbork’s summit.
Keeah blinked away her tears. “Eric is not gone! He is there. I heard him. He’s fooling Gethwing! We have five days to help him stop Gethwing. All is not lost. It’s not. There is hope!”
“Yet I must leave you,” Galen whispered. “Anusa the genie will come for me, and I must journey from you. Soon. Very soon.”
“Let’s find Max and race to Zorfendorf,” said Keeah, gently holding Galen’s hand. “There we’ll decide what to do next. We have to hurry now.”
“And we need to find the hunters!” said Neal.
With that, Neal and Julie charged up the stairs, as Keeah helped the old wizard away from Barrowbork to join the distant king.
“Hurry!” said Julie, leaping up the steps as fast as she could go. At the top step, she and Neal jumped up for the basement light.
Click!
They charged into the basement, then stopped.
They saw footprints.
Thin, sharp, ghostlike shapes, the prints were barely noticeable except for a faint silvery glow on the cement. They led upstairs and into the house.
Neal gulped. “The hunters are here!”
It was the end of a long school day, it was sweltering in the classroom, it was the final minute of math review, and it was so boring that Neal Kroger had to close his eyes.
Just for a second, he said to himself. A tiny rest. It’s not like anyone will miss me.
The instant Neal’s eyelids drooped, his desk, his friend Julie, the entire classroom around him, and the whole bustling school seemed to vanish.
Even he vanished, because when he closed his eyes, he wasn’t Neal Kroger anymore.
He was Zabilac, supreme high leader of the magical Genies of the Dove!
And he was on a mission.
“We have one goal, and one only!” he intoned, his voice echoing thunderously across the sand dunes of the Crimson Desert. “We must save Eric Hinkle!”
“Yes, Zabilac!” his six genie companions replied.
Neal was daydreaming, but he truly was a genie. In fact, Zabilac, as he had named himself, had turned out to be the legendary First Genie of the Dove, head of a league of seven time-traveling magicians who were among the most powerful of all of Droon’s magical folk.
Powerful, yes. Magical, yes.
Although …
Neal hadn’t performed very many real spells yet. He was still learning the hundreds of spells in his genie scroll, and so far he’d mastered only the easier tricks all genies could perform.
He wished he could learn true genie powers soon.
He needed them.
Droon needed them, too.
Not long before, Neal’s oldest and dearest friend, Eric Hinkle, had been wounded, poisoned, cursed, and magically transformed into the evil Prince Ungast.
As Ungast, Eric was now in the service of Gethwing, the fearsome moon dragon and leader of the beast armies of the Dark Lands.
Real genie powers were needed to stop Gethwing. Real genie powers could save Eric.
And that, in the final minute of math class, was Neal’s single mission — to save Eric.
“Genies, are you with me?” he boomed as the desert winds wafted across his sunlit face.
“Now and forever, Zabilac!” said Hoja, the clever Seventh Genie, his plump face peeking happily out from under a giant red turban.
“Then follow me over the dunes —”
“Except,” Hoja interrupted. “Shouldn’t we find the Moon Medallion first?”
The Moon Medallion?
Three days earlier, Eric had asked his friends to find the legendary Moon Medallion. Eric said he needed it to defeat Gethwing.
“I nearly forgot about the Medallion,” said Neal. “Of course we need it. So, fine. We locate the Medallion and save Eric. Are we ready?”
“With all respect, Zabilac, we can’t forget Galen,” said Anusa, the beautiful Second Genie. “We need him in this battle.”
Of course Neal hadn’t forgotten Galen! Galen Longbeard was the greatest wizard in the history of Droon and a dear friend to Neal, Eric, and the others. After Galen had hidden the Medallion, he had been kidnapped and spirited away by a mysterious woman pretending to be Anusa.
Neal nodded. “So we’ve got three goals. Rescue Galen, find the Moon Medallion, save Eric. But that’s all. Genies, get ready to fly —”
“But Lord Sparr is attacking Zorfendorf Castle!” said Jyme, the long-gowned, white-haired genie who was sometimes old, sometimes young, and always beautiful. “We must discover why.”
Neal grumbled, but he knew that Jyme, too, was right. “Fine. We have four very big goals. Does anyone else —”
Fefforello, a genie with a thick mustache, raised his slender hand. “Excuse me, Master Zabilac. Droon�
��s magical cities are falling to Gethwing one by one. Which city shall we save first?”
Neal cleared his throat. “Are there any more goals to add to the list —”
“Snibble-ibble? Plim-plum?” The twin baby genies, River and Stream, giggled in unison.
Neal sighed.
Even in his daydreams, things were never easy.
“Yes, of course, but we have to save Eric!” cried Neal. “And we’re doing that first!”
“Zabilac has spoken!” said Hoja. “Everyone, prepare! Doves, assemble!”
At Hoja’s command, hundreds of white doves fluttered like a giant warbling cloud over Neal’s head. Meanwhile, a vast army of fearsome beasts was marching across the valley below.
“Genies,” said Neal, “into battle!”
Raising his arms like wings, he launched himself over the dunes. No sooner had he dipped into the desert valley than a band of gray-furred wingwolves swooped down from the clouds, clawing mercilessly at him.
Neal spun like a top, moving his arms like propeller blades. “Take that! And that!” he cried, fending off their stinging claws until they scattered in disarray.
“What, is that all you’ve got?” Neal cried.
It was not, for next came the green-faced Goblins of Goll. They slithered from the sand as they had long ago, when they first battled young Galen upon his arrival in Droon.
Standing his ground, Neal sent forth rapid blasts of icy sparks, and the goblins shrieked and slunk back into the sand.
“But hey, I’m just getting started,” said Neal.
“That’s good,” said Hoja. “Because here come more!”
The Seventh Genie was right. After the goblins came the Warriors of the Skorth, skeleton creatures whose bones clattered with every step. After them, swarms of snakelings and hordes of jungle foxes led the way for galloping packs of lion-headed beasts.
And there at the crest of a massive red dune, Neal saw Eric chained to a boulder.
“Eric!” he cried. “Hold on. I’m coming —”
Suddenly, Neal’s toes twitched, and his scalp tingled. A dark beast was darting over the dunes.
It was Gethwing, the moon dragon.
The great creature’s four wings flapped, and dark air trailed him like a foul cloud.
“It was only a matter of time before he showed up,” Neal breathed.
With the other genies busy quelling the beast armies, it was up to him.
Securing his enormous blue turban to his head, Neal planted his feet firmly on the ground and refused to move. He had to stop the dragon there and then, or all their battles would mean nothing.
Can I defeat the dragon and free Eric?
As Gethwing approached, that was the only question on Neal’s mind.
That was the question this fight would answer.
That was the question, the only question that meant anything at all, until Gethwing opened his jaws and asked another….
“What is the ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle?”
Neal blinked. “What is the what of the what to the what?”
At once, the Crimson Desert disappeared. In fact, everything disappeared — the genies, the black-winged moon dragon, the giant blue turban, Eric, Droon, and the entire daydream.
Neal found himself at his desk in school, looking up at his teacher, Mrs. Michaels.
“Would you like me to repeat the question?” she asked.
Neal cleared his throat. “Uh … yes, please. In English this time.”
As Mrs. Michaels repeated her question, Neal glanced over at Julie for help. Julie, however, was staring past him at the whiteboard on the front wall.
Neal, take a look! she said in the silent way the friends had learned in Droon.
“Neal?” said Mrs. Michaels.
“I’m thinking,” he said. He stroked his chin and pretended to think, while really glancing at the whiteboard behind her.
He nearly fell off his chair.
Large letters were appearing one by one on the board as if traced by an invisible hand.
Whoa, Julie! he murmured.
I know! she replied.
The first letter was … W.
This was quickly followed by … O.
Then … N.
Then … no more.
W … O … N …
Neal’s heart raced as it had in his daydream battle against the dark forces of Droon. Had the battle been won? Was the coming war in Droon already over? Had Eric been saved, Galen freed, and the Moon Medallion found?
Was Gethwing finally vanquished?
Then his heart sank.
He remembered that Princess Keeah always used a code when she sent written messages from Droon to the Upper World.
The letters were to be read backward.
Her message was not WON, but NOW.
Keeah needs us, Julie said silently. Right now!
“Neal, the answer?” said Mrs. Michaels, growing impatient. “I’m waiting.”
Suddenly — brnnnng! — the dismissal bell rang, and everyone jumped from their seats.
“Saved by the bell!” Neal said, leaping to his feet.
“Not so fast, Neal,” said Mrs. Michaels. “I’d like you to stay after school today. You’ll need to know the answer for tomorrow’s test.”
“Stay after?” said Neal. “But the bus —”
“You can catch the late bus,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.”
“Oh, this is so not good,” Neal grumbled.
“No kidding, Einstein,” said Julie, glaring at him as she gathered books from her desk. “You-know-who needs us in you-know-where at exactly you-know-when!”
Neal’s genie sense flickered. “Wait a second. I just read about a genie trick to help us zip back to a few minutes ago. I can use it to answer the question right the first time. Then, when the bell rings, we’re out of here!”
Julie blinked. “That might actually work.”
“Sure it will,” he said. “If you tell me the answer to … whatever the teacher asked.”
“We already studied this,” she said, pulling him into the hallway with her. “The ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter is called pi.”
Instinctively, Neal glanced toward the cafeteria. “Pie? Really? What flavor? Full crust or crisscross? With ice cream?”
Julie shook her head. “It’s about the dimensions of a circle, and the answer is pi —”
“I get it! Because a pie is a circle of food.”
“No!” said Julie. “Because they call the formula by the old Greek letter pi.”
Neal nodded. “Wait. Are you saying the pie is old? So what? Pie is pie. Wow, I’d love some gizzleberry pie right now. Which reminds me of Droon —”
“Which is where we need to be right now!” said Julie.
“Neal?” Mrs. Michaels called from the classroom.
“Coming!” he said. “Okay, Julie, hold on to your backpack and check out this cool genie trick.”
As soon as the hall emptied, Neal tugged his enormous blue turban out of his pocket and slipped it onto his head. He searched his scroll, found the charm, and spoke the words.
“Bolly-molly-hip-snoo!”
With a whoosh and a squeak, Neal and Julie were back at their desks, the classroom was full, and it was one minute before the bell.
As she had only moments before, Mrs. Michaels stepped over to Neal’s desk and asked, “What is the ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle?”
Neal grinned. “That’s easy. Cake!”
“Excuse me?” said Mrs. Michaels.
He glanced at Julie. Oh, no! I forgot!
It’s a foreign word! said Julie.
“Danish!” said Neal.
Mrs. Michaels sighed. “I don’t think so —”
“Napoleon!”
“Neal, I’d like you to —”
“Strudel!”
“— stay after today —”
Last clue �
�� gizzleberry! Julie hissed.
“Pie!” said Neal.
Brnnnnng!
The bell rang, Mrs. Michaels stepped aside, the classroom emptied, and Neal and Julie rushed for the bus.
“I can’t believe you pulled that off!” she said when they dived into their seats. “It must be such a mess inside that head of yours.”
“No, actually,” Neal said as the bus drove away. “It’s like a very neat counter display. The doughnuts are next to the muffins, which are next to the cakes, which are next to the pies. It’s very orderly.”
Julie shook her head. “That’s kind of sad.”
“Tell me about it,” he said. “Every time I think, I get hungry, so I have to stop thinking and find a snack. It’s a vicious circle.”
She sighed. “Too bad you don’t know the circumference of it. Here’s Eric’s corner.”
When the bus pulled to a stop and the door opened, the two friends jumped off into Eric’s yard and ran for his side door. They dashed down the kitchen stairs and stuffed themselves into the basement closet.
“I hope we can help today,” said Julie, reaching for the bulb and pulling the chain.
“No kidding,” said Neal. “It’s getting very dangerous. Not to mention complicated.”
Whoosh! The floor beneath their feet suddenly vanished. In its place stood the top step of a staircase coiling down through Droon’s sky. The stairway seemed made of light, each step shimmering up at them as they made their way down.
“So many things to do,” Julie said.
“I know,” said Neal, wondering if any of the goals in his daydream would be accomplished today. But it didn’t matter.
He knew which one was first.
Save Eric!
Text copyright © 2009 by Tony Abbott.
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Scholastic Inc.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
SCHOLASTIC, LITTLE APPLE, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, May 2009
Cover art by Tim Jessell
e-ISBN 978-0-545-41863-8
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.