The Legend Thief

by The Legend Thief (mobi)

  He hadn't seen her for ... how long had it been? Certainly not since the last full moon. He'd had subs in gym class since then, though he'd never heard why and he'd been too busy to c heck.

  He dropped the bookshelf and walked across it to get to the desk. He'd spent many hours in this office over the last year, enough hours that Ursula had actually stuck an old recliner in the corner for him. He could see it there now, lying on its side, the stuffing ripped out. Ursula was the only adult who knew he was a Changeling, and while Crystal and the others were very understanding about it all, they still didn't understand what it was like. But Ursula, on the other hand, was a monster like him; she understood perfectly.

  Sky slipped around the desk. The drawers had been pried open, the folders and papers thrown out. He found a personal calendar on the floor and saw that she'd marked out the entire month with the word "Vacation." Sky sighed in relief. She had been gone for over a week-she couldn't have been here when this had happened. But he had to wonder: Where did a Whisper, who could change into anything over the three days of the full moon simply by biting it, go for vacation?

  More important, who sent the note?

  Sky looked around the room but didn't see anything obvious, nothing he could've imagined the sender of the note­ whoever that was-wanting him to have.

  He stood back, examining the desk. It was large and thick, old, made of some ornamented dark wood. He knew that old desks such as this sometimes held secret compartments; Phineas had even made him build a few to see if Sky could create a compartment Phineas couldn't find.

  Of course, whoever had torn apart Ursula's office probably knew about secret compartments as well. But had they had time to look?

  Sky circled the desk, looking for movable parts. As he ran his hands along the surface, he noticed discoloration in a few spots, areas lighter than the rest where the lacquer had worn off from rubbing. He found six knobs, only three of which were discolored and moved when he pushed them. Next, he found two hidden latches. He clicked these and the sides of the desk popped open. Empty. Already cleaned out.

  He pushed the three worn knobs and another compartment opened on the back-also cleaned out. He tried pressing the other knobs, but they either wouldn't move now that the desk was open, or pressing them had no effect.

  Sky felt frustrated. He stared at the desk, imagining it as a giant trap ... no, not a trap, an anti-trap: a device meant to repel rather than snare. Sky started walking through the situation in his mind. How would thieves react when they saw this desk?

  First, they would start with the drawers-the obvious. If they were persistent, they would find the latches and open the sides. Most would stop there, believing they'd found the secret, but anything stored there would be a misdirection, something that looked important, but wasn't. The truly clever would keep searching. They'd find the knobs and the second compartment, which only opened after the first. They'd press the other knobs and search some more, just as Sky had, and then, finding nothing, they'd conclude they'd found everything of value and leave. But if the builder was truly clever, he'd understand the psychology of the thief, know that the thief would find those "secret" compartments, and hide the real treasure elsewhere.

  A careful thief would open one drawer at a time. A thief in a hurry would open everything at once. But only someone who wasn't a thief at all wouldn't open anything.

  Sky closed all the drawers and compartments.

  He pressed the discolored knobs again. They locked into place and the sides popped open.

  'That's not right ... ,"said Sky, closing the sides again. He stared at the knobs. Something wasn't ... and then it occurred to him. More misdirection. Those weren't discolored by rubbing­ they were d is colored on purpose!

  He pressed the three colored knobs that wouldn't depress before, and the knobs locked into place. Catches released and the entire desktop lifted up a smidge.

  Sky pushed on a side and the desktop pivoted a few inches, revealing a narrow compartment underneath.

  Inside, he found a letter and a few pictures. Sky flipped through the pictures: photos of the hunters who'd escaped the prison last year, a policeman, a bagger at the grocery store, .1 bowling alley manager, his parent's accountant, his parents!

  Some, he knew, were hunters. Others were just random people. He flipped through a few more, stopping on a picture of Mr. Dibble, his music teacher.

  "Weird ... ,"said Sky. He flipped the picture over. On the hack, he read: "Alistair Dibble: Tuba Lover."

  "Really weird." Sky returned the picture to the stack, which he shoved in his backpack. He could find out why Ursula had these the next time he saw her. For now he needed to figure out what the note sender planned to give him and, somehow, he didn't think weird pictures of random people in Exile was it.

  He pulled out a stack of letters bundled together with red yarn. He opened one, realized it was a love letter from Beau, and quickly shut it. He found several pictures tucked between the letters: Beau eating alone at a cafe next to a river; Beau dressed in odd clothing and riding a camel; Beau sitting alone on a mountain ridge watching the stars. And in each picture Beau didn't seem to notice the camera.

  Feeling like an intruder, Sky returned the letter and pictures to the stack and retied the yarn. He slipped the bundle into his backpack, intending to return all of these things to Ursula when he found her.

  Sky pulled the last letter from the compartment.

  U,

  Still hunting C. P and E are Slippery and in place. Give love and pictures to N. Look for the Marrowick delivery on the setter in the fit between the bedposts-sponsor is unclear…beware. C wants it, too; watch out for Harrow Wrights.

  - M

  Sky stared at the hastily scrawled note. This looked more promising. And, with Fred's recent run-ins with the Marrowick, it seemed like just the thing someone- whoever sent him the note-might want him to have. He stored it in his backpack to examine later.

  He started to push the desktop back into place when a thought occurred to him: Could there be one more secret compartment, the place where Ursula stored her greatest treasures?

  Sky examined the desk once again, searching. As he ran his hand along the side of the compartment he'd just emptied, he felt a small catch. He pulled it, and a tiny door flipped open. He reached into the opening and found another small stack of pictures ... every one of which was of him. And they weren't just recent; they seemed to span his entire life! Sky at five at a park in Phoenix. Sky at nine eating corn on the cob. Sky at two waving at the camera.

  Dozens of pictures, all of him.

  Before Sky could process this latest discovery, he heard footsteps. He shoved the pictures into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Then he darted for the door.

  "All right, thanks for the help, Miss Terry," Sky called as he left, waving behind him. He slid the door closed, holding it in place as Mr. Dibble walked up.

  "Sky? What are you doing here?" asked Mr. Dibble.

  "Mr. Dibble! I was just coming to find you!" said Sky, diverting Mr. Dibble back the way he came.

  "You were?" said Mr. Dibble, sounding suspicious.

  "Of course!" said Sky, speaking loudly to cover the sound of the door falling to the floor behind him.

  Mr. Dibble glanced back, but Sky continued on, dragging Mr. Dibble with him. "I've been ... er ... thinking that I'd like to get better at that! tuba. Do you have time to teach me how to do the, er . .. that one thing I do poorly?"

  Sky wanted to get Mr. Dibble out of there. If Mr. Dibble entered Ursula's office, he'd accuse Sky of demolishing it, and Sky didn't have time to waste. Better a quick few minutes practicing tuba with Mr. Dibble than an afternoon spent talking to teachers and police.

  Probably.

  "Which one thing?" said Mr. Dibble. "You do it all poorly."

  "You know," Sky persisted, "the part with the buttons and all."

  "The valves?" Mr. Dibble offered.

  "Yeah-those!" said Sky. "So do you have time?"<
br />
  "Don't you have class right now?" asked Mr. Dibble.

  "Canceled," said Sky.

  "That doesn't happen," said Mr. Dibble. "Ever."

  Sky smiled nervously.

  "You missed my class this morning," Mr. Dibble pointed out. "And homecoming is tonight. You are planning to play, aren't you?"

  "Uh ..."

  "Your fellow band mates are counting on you," Mr. Dibble continued. "You're not thinking of letting them down, are you?"

  "Er ..."

  "Sky, clearly you're hoping to use me as an excuse to miss your next class," said Mr. Dibble. "I’m more than willing to help you. Nothing is more important than the tuba, after all. But first, you must help me. Can I count on you tonight?"

  "Ah ... sure," Sky lied. He wanted to support his band mates and Mr. Dibble-even if he did hate the tuba-but he suspected he would be busy with Bedlam's army tonight. "Now can we go?"

  "Well, I did have an appointment with Miss Terry. Perhaps if I told her ... ,"said Mr. Dibble, starting to turn back. "Already canceled," said Sky, steering Mr. Dibble down the hall.

  "Really?" asked Mr. Dibble.

  "No," said Sky. "But she'll understand. Fifteen minutes, Mr. Dibble. That's all I'm asking for. Fifteen minutes, and my tuba will sing your praises."

  ''I'd like to hear your tuba sing anything," said Mr. Dibble.

  "Great!" Sky exclaimed. "To the tuba room!"

  Mr. Dibble sighed heavily and rubbed his temples.

  Ursula's door gave one final crash as the last hinge broke free. Sky gave a nervous laugh, and then they were around the corner, heading for the music room.

  Chapter 15: Angry Ostriches & Cockroach Eyebrows

  That is quite the worst tuba playing I have ever heard," said Mr. Dibble.

  Discordant noise wafted through the band room like acid in vapor, slowly eating away at Sky's ears; the fact that he was causing it didn't make it any less acidic. Mr. Dibble stood at Sky's shoulder, watching him strangle his tuba. But no matter how much Sky tightened his fingers, he couldn't seem to kill it. Ignoring Mr. Dibble's criticism, Sky continued pumping his fingers and blowing into the mouthpiece, his eyes fixed on the clock.

  Once he'd committed, he couldn't think of a good excuse to back out.

  "It sounds like an angry ostrich searching for its babies," Mr. Dibble continued. "What are we going to do with you, Sky?"

  The bell rang and Sky sighed in relief as he began putting away his tuba.

  "Sorry, Mr. Dibble," said Sky. ''I'll practice more. I've just been sort of busy lately."

  "You're always busy," said Mr. Dibble. "How am I supposed to give you first seat at the homecoming game if you keep playing like that?"

  "I don't know," said Sky. "Maybe because I'm the only tuba player in Exile? To be honest, I don't really care."

  "Don't settle for mediocrity," Mr. Dibble retorted.

  "I don't settle for it," said Sky. "It settles for me."

  Mr. Dibble snorted and then gave Sky a disappointed shake of the head.

  Sky put his tuba away with the other instruments. He had to get out of there. Fast. He'd wasted enough time. He needed to find Alexander's blade, not to mention that he had a riddle from a bird to solve.

  "The janitor will transport the instruments to the field later," said Mr. Dibble. "Assuming, of course, the fool can remember where it is. Hopefully, we won't get a repeat of last year when he lost Eugene's trumpet and the school had to pay to replace it."

  Sky stopped what he was doing. He felt a sudden surge of anger. "His name's Nikola," he growled, "and he's not a fool."

  "Whose name is what?" Mr. Dibble asked, seemingly distracted as he sorted through a stack of sheet music.

  "The janitor," Sky snapped. "His name is Nikola-don't make fun of him."

  Mr. Dibble stopped what he was doing and examined Sky, a curious expression on his face. Then his lip curled in the slightest hint of a smirk. "My apologies. I didn't realize the two of you were on a first-name basis."

  Sky snatched his backpack. "We are." He headed for the door. ''I'll be back this afternoon."

  "Why? We're not meeting here-we're meeting on the field this evening before the game," said Mr. Dibble, looking confused.

  Sky paused at the door. "Nikola will need help moving the instruments." And then he walked out, leaving behind a baffled Mr. Dibble. Sky knew it was stupid. Amidst all the horrible things happening around him, helping Nikola move a bunch of instruments was not the brightest idea. But once upon a time, when Sky was a baby and couldn't protect himself , Nikola had guarded him, and lost everything as a result. Now it was time for Sky to return the favor, even if the best he could do was tell off a snarky teacher and move a few instruments. And if Bedlam's army showed up, or Morton finally decided the time was right to kill Sky, then so be it. Nikola had put his life on the line for Sky; how could Sky do any less?

  Up ahead, Sky spotted Hannah talking to Derek by his locker.

  "Have you seen T-Bone or Hands around?" Sky asked when he reached them. It was only after he asked that he noticed Hannah was frowning.

  "Do I look like a member of the T-Bone and Hands fan club?" Hannah retorted.

  "They have a fan club?" Sky asked. "Always the last to know."

  Derek stared at Sky, brows creased.

  "Hey, Derek," said Sky.

  "Sorry, do I know you?" said Derek.

  Sky started to laugh, and then he realized that Derek was serious.

  "Oh , er ... that's not good," Sky opined. "No. It's not," said Hannah tartly.

  "What are you two talking about?" Derek asked, looking flustered . "Do I have something in my eyebrows?"

  Derek began weeding his thick blond eyebrows like a monkey looking for bugs.

  "There's nothing in your eyebrows Derek," said Hannah. "They're as gorgeous as ever." She sighed.

  "That's-that's good to know," Derek stumbled, sounding confused. "Sometimes, with the chlorine buildup in the pool , and the cockroach problem ... little buggers can swim fast ... like ... like an arrow ..." Derek shook his head, lost in thought. "Well, I'd best be running along," he said cheerfully, .1s if he hadn't just rambled on about having cockroaches in his eyebrows.

  Derek shut his locker, gave Hannah a winning smile, ignored Sky completely, and walked off down the hall.

  "Why does he have to have such gorgeous eyebrows?" Hannah muttered, watching Derek leave, not looking at his eyebrows at all, as far as Sky could tell.

  " Cockroach eyebrows, in case you weren't listening. And they are quite large," said Sky. "Almost too large ... Are you certain he's human?"

  "He doesn't even remember we were dating," Hannah muttered. She spun around and began walking in the opposite direction. Sky followed.

  "He had the nerve to ask me out all over again. Can you believe that?" Hannah said, sounding affronted.

  "Shocking," said Sky with feigned sympathy. "Of course, you did wipe his memory."

  "I know," said Hannah wistfully. "He's forgotten last night and everything he ever knew about anyone at our house. He's forgotten our first kiss. And our second one. And the one under the bleachers-"

  "I get the idea," Sky cut in. ''The fish-lipped cockroach boy has forgotten you."

  "This is all your fault, you know," said Hannah accusingly. "If you hadn't dragged that corpse in ..."

  "She's not a corpse," said Sky, "she's just life challenged. And I don't see how this is any fault. I couldn't just leave her there."

  "You shouldn't have been there in the first place! What kind of person wanders a graveyard dragging corpses around on their birthday? Tell me!" Hannah exclaimed.

  A few passing students glanced their way.

  "Maybe we should talk about this at home," said Sky.

  "My life used to be so normal," said Hannah, hanging her head. "Cheerleading practice. Boys chasing me. Now I've got creatures of the night chasing me, and none of them is the least bit attractive."

  "Normal. Right. Well, maybe not all of us have
that luxury," said Sky darkly.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" asked Hannah, apparently catching his tone.

  "Nothing," said Sky, regretting he'd said anything. Now wasn't the time for a heart-to-heart about his abnormality. "Just forget it. So have you seen T-Bone and Hands or not?"

  "In the commons, talking to their bros, no doubt," said Hannah. "But the bell's about to ring-they'll be on their way to class by now."

  "Since when do football players go to class?" Sky asked. "Good point," Hannah replied. "Of course, since when do you?"