The Pilgrims of Rayne tpa-8

by D. J. MacHale

  She found nothing. The big news item of the day was the mysterious subway derailment in the Bronx. Courtney read that the engineer swore he saw a man jump in front of the speeding train, but no body was recovered. It would forever remain a mystery.

  Finding no news of Mark was frustrating and reassuring at the same time. With nothing in the papers, Courtney hoped the news about Mark’s Forge technology hadn’t been released yet. She brightened. Maybe there was still hope of pulling it back before the damage was done.

  The train pulled into Stony Brook Station. Courtney stepped onto a wooden platform that had been torn down three decades before she was born. She was tempted to take a tour around Stony Brook to see what her hometown looked like so many years before, but decided she didn’t have the time. She was there for a very specific purpose. The quicker she got back to New York, the better. It was a short walk from the train station to the main street of Stony Brook, which years later would come to be known as “the Ave” to all the kids. Courtney actually recognized some of the older buildings that no longer looked that old. There was an ice-cream soda fountain that on Second Earth would become a bicycle shop; a barbershop that in her day would become an art gallery; and a vegetable market that one day would be the Apple store where Courtney’s parents would buy her an iPod. It was a fascinating and odd trip through the past.

  Her destination was the National Bank of Stony Brook. It was the bank where Bobby set up a safe-deposit box to keep the journals he wrote on First Earth. Sixty-some years later on Second Earth, Mark and Courtney would open up that vault to find them. It became the place where Mark kept all Bobby’s journals. Now they were entrusted to her, and she wasn’t going to do any less of a job than Mark. She had the key on a chain around her neck and she had memorized the account and box number. With absolute confidence she presented the information to the stuffy bank manager, who led her into the vault and left her alone. Inside the safe-deposit box were Bobby’s journals from his earlier adventure on First Earth, waiting for her and Mark to discover them on Second Earth.

  She had been carrying around a large cloth purse since she left the hotel. In it was Bobby’s Journal #28. Courtney added it to the earlier ones and locked the box back up. For a moment she wondered if she and Mark would find this new journal when they opened up the box for the first time on Second Earth. Was that possible? She decided that worrying about how monkeying with history might change the future made her head hurt. She needed to get out of there and back to New York to find Mark.

  A few hours later she was back in Manhattan, walking up Park Avenue toward the Manhattan Tower Hotel. It was midafternoon, but the November shadows were already growing long. It would be dark soon. Courtney’s plan was to go back to the hotel, eat something at the restaurant, then hide under the covers in Gunny’s bed and try to come up with a brilliant plan to find Mark. She got as far as the entrance to the garden in front of the Manhattan Tower, when she felt an odd sensation. She didn’t know what it was at first, so she stopped short. Her every sense was on alert. A second later she realized what it was.

  Her ring was activating.

  She looked around quickly to make sure nobody was watching. Dumb thought. She was in midtown Manhattan. Everybody was watching. The dark stone in the ring was already melting into crystal. She slapped her other hand over the ring to hide it and ran onto the hotel grounds. Frantically she looked about for a place that would give her some cover. She found it among the perfectly manicured trees and bushes. She leaped off the sidewalk into the dense foliage. The ring was growing. She came upon a small clearing that had a marble bench in front of a pond full of gold fish. Nobody was there, which was good, because whether she liked it or not, the ring was about to open up.

  She put it on the ground and watched as the silver circle grew to Frisbee size, revealing a tunnel to the territories. Shafts of sparkling light shot from the dark hole, as did the sweet music. Courtney didn’t watch. She kept glancing around to make sure nobody else was witnessing this impossible, magic event. It was over in a matter of seconds and Courtney was finally able to breath. Her fear turned to curiosity as she jumped at the ring, ready to grab Bobby’s first journal from Ibara. She knelt down to see…

  It wasn’t a journal. It was a gray envelope. Courtney curiously turned it over in her hands. It looked like a regular, old, everyday letter. Why would Bobby send her a letter? She quickly put the ring back on her finger and anxiously ripped open the mysterious envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper with printing. Courtney read it once. Twice. A third time more slowly, making sure she understood every word.

  It wasn’t from Bobby. It was from Patrick. It was from Third Earth. It was trouble.

  Bobby and Courtney,

  I am sending this letter to First Earth in hopes that you are there, and that the flume sent you back to a time where you can still affect what happened. After you left Third Earth,

  I continued my research into what may have happened to Mark Dimond. When you were here, we learned that he disappeared sometime in November. I now know more and must share it with you.

  First, I learned that the company KEM Limited was based in London, England. KEM stood for Keaton Electrical Marvels. Company officials there were the first to have reported Mark Dimond missing. He was due to meet with them in London on November 13, 1937. He didn’t attend that meeting and was never seen again. There is no mention as to what may have happened to him. Foul play was suspected, but there was no proof of that.

  I also found a small article that ran in a newspaper published in southern New Jersey. On November 20, 1937, a body washed up on shore in Atlantic City It was a male who was so badly decomposed it was impossible to identify him, though the cause of death was clear. He didn’t drown. He was shot. Oddly enough, he was wearing a tuxedo. In his pocket was a silver spoon that was engraved: RMS Queen Mary.

  Bobby, Courtney, I found a record that stated Mark Dimond booked passage and left for London aboard the ocean liner Queen Mary on November 7. The implication is frightening. The coincidence is too great. I’m afraid that Mark Dimond never made it to London. I fear he was killed aboard the Queen Mary and his body dumped overboard.

  If that’s the case, then your goal is clear. You’ve got to get to Mark before November 7 and stop him from boarding, because somebody on that ship means him harm.

  If I learn any more I will send it to you. I hope you’ve received this. Good luck.

  Patrick Mac “So that’s how it works,” came a voice.

  Courtney jumped and yelped. Somebody had been watching her. She quickly crumpled Patrick’s note, shoved it in her pocket and stood up to face… Dodger.

  “Y-You’re spying on me,” Courtney said angrily, her voice cracking. Her head was spinning. Too much was happening too fast.

  “Sorry,” Dodger said. “I saw you walking toward the hotel then suddenly get all snaky and run into the bushes. What can I say? I was concerned.”

  Courtney froze. How much had he seen? Dodger seemed troubled. He looked at her as if wanting to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. She decided the best way to deal with him was to get away.

  “Don’t spy on me,” she said sharply, and started to walk.

  “Wait!” Dodger exclaimed.

  Courtney stopped, waiting for him to make the next move.

  “Gunny’s my pal,” he said in the voice of a frightened little boy. “He’s one of the good guys. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

  Courtney didn’t respond. She didn’t know where Dodger was going.

  “Before he left for wherever it was he went, he asked me for a favor. He never asked favors of nobody, so I figured it had to be important. He told me there might come a time when he’d need my help. He wasn’t specific or nothin’, he just said he had an important job to do. Him and Pendragon and Spader. You know what he was talking about?”

  Courtney did, of course, but she didn’t say.

  “Anyhow, he said he was gonna leave
for a while, but there might come a time when somebody came here looking for help. He asked me to do what I could for ‘em. Of course I said I’d do it. I’d do anything for Gunny. But when I asked what it was all about, he said he hoped I’d never have to know. Now I’m thinking it’s time I know.”

  “Why’s that?” Courtney asked.

  Dodger lifted his hand. He was wearing a silver band around one finger. He twisted it, showing Courtney that he was wearing it backward. When he spun it around, Courtney gasped.

  It was a Traveler ring.

  “He asked me to be his acolyte. I got no idea what that means, but I’ve been wearing this ring ever since. Then all of a sudden Pendragon comes back with you, and you’ve got one of these rings, and I just saw yours spew out sparks like it was the Fourth of July. I’m thinking it’s time I found out what Gunny was talking about.”

  Courtney’s mind raced. What should she do? She definitely needed an ally, but was he telling the truth? She trusted a stranger once before and it nearly killed her. Was Dodger exactly what he said he was? An innocent friend that Gunny chose to be his acolyte? Or was there something sinister going on? Was this another disguise of Saint Dane’s?

  “I just want to do what Gunny asked,” he said sincerely. “I want to help you.”

  “Are you Saint Dane?” Courtney asked, point blank. “Not that I think you’d tell me if you were, but I figure I have to ask, just to let you know I’m thinking you might be.”

  Dodger gave her a puzzled look. “Saint Dane? You mean like the dog? Or is that Saint Bernard? Or Great Dane? I’m more confused now than a second ago.”

  Courtney didn’t know what to do. Confide in Dodger? Blow him off? Run away and never look back? She knew she needed to make a decision, but couldn’t.

  A second later the decision was made for her.

  ‘You’re telling me you have no idea what this is all about?” she asked.

  “Not a clue,” Dodger said.

  “Then here’s your first,” Courtney said, lifting up her hand. It was the hand with her ring. The stone was glowing again. Dodger’s eyes grew wide, “What the-” Bobby’s next journal was about to arrive.

  IBARA

  I hope you’re reading this, Courtney.

  And I hope you’re doing okay. I guess that’s an understatement. It killed me to leave you alone on First Earth. I wish there was another way, but I’m not smart enough to think of one. I’m glad that Dodger is still at the hotel. He comes on a little strong, but you can trust him. Gunny did. If you need anything, don’t think twice about asking him.

  In spite of feeling bad about leaving you alone to find Mark, it was a good thing I came to Ibara. I still haven’t pieced together what Saint Dane is doing here, but there’s one thing I’m sure of: The turning point is close. I don’t know what it is yet, but some of the things I’ve seen make me believe that this territory is in for a big change. Maybe a scary one. As I write this journal, I’ve been here for about a week. With every new bit of information I learn, five more questions pop up. Nothing is as it seems, but I think I’ve found a way to start putting the pieces of the puzzle together. I’m about to take off on an adventure and do something I never thought possible.

  I’m going to become an outlaw.

  I know, not exactly good way to put myself square in the middle of the conflict that will lead to the turning point of Ibara. That’s why I’m writing this journal now. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance, because tomorrow it’s all going to hit the fan.

  Let me get you up to speed with what’s happened since I left the Manhattan Tower Hotel. My trip to Ibara was nothing out of the ordinary.

  My arrival was.

  I left Gunny’s apartment before you woke up. We said our good-byes the night before, and I couldn’t go through that agony again. I traveled by cab to the Bronx subway station to find that the city transit workers had already cleared the wreck. Subway service had been returned to normal. I snuck down onto the tracks and made my way back to the gate quickly. I wasn’t worried about quigs or dados or anything else that might stop me from getting to Ibara. When Saint Dane wanted me somewhere, I got there. Without so much as stopping for a moment to think about what I might find on the new territory, I opened the wooden door, marched right into the flume and announced “Ibara!” I think I was afraid that if I hesitated, I’d change my mind. The door barely had time to close behind me before I was swept up and carried off.

  My head was in a strange place… along with the rest of me. Since I was once again on my own, I had the chance to think. That’s always a dangerous thing. I’m much better reacting to situations. When my mind wanders, my thoughts invariably go to the larger questions. The questions I have no answers for. On top of that list is the fact that Saint Dane told me the Travelers were illusions. Illusions. What the heck did that mean? I sure didn’t feel like an illusion, though I’m not exactly sure how an illusion should feel. Was he using the word as a metaphor, like we weren’t who we seemed to be? Or did he mean it literally?

  He said I wasn’t an advanced Traveler. Meaning I couldn’t shape-shift into other beings. People, birds, smoke. Yeesh. But Nevva Winter could. He said he taught her. Was it as simple as that? With a couple of lessons and a little homework could I learn how to become somebody else? That would be a handy little tool. But even without the ability to transform myself, there are a few realities about being a Traveler that I have no explanation for. We heal easily. Not instantly, but easily. We can influence people’s thoughts, though I have to admit, I was never very good at that. And of course the most disturbing truth of all is that Loor was killed, and through whatever force of will I possessed, I brought her back from the dead.

  Knowing those few things makes me wonder if what Saint Dane said about illusions might somehow be true. I mean, I feel totally human. But humans don’t come back from the dead. Are we flesh and blood? Or something else? Trouble is, I have no idea what that something else might be. Maybe there are some people who think it would be cool to shape-shift and turn into other beings. I’m not one of them. The concept is way more interesting than the reality. I’m Bobby Pendragon. I was born on Second Earth. I have a great mother and father. I have a little sister. I’m normal. I want to stay normal. I don’t want to be an illusion.

  I try not to think about it too often. One thing at a time. One challenge at a time. One crisis at a time. Thinking about it all was making me too anxious. I was tired of thinking. I wanted some action.

  I heard the musical notes grow louder, signaling I was near the end of my journey. But there was another sound. One I hadn’t heard at the end of a flume ride before. It sounded like white noise that grew louder as I got closer to Ibara. I didn’t have long to wonder what it might be, because seconds after I heard it, I was underwater.

  There was no warning. One second I was sailing along, the next I was wet. The force of my landing shot water up my nose, as if I had jumped off a high dive, feet first, without holding my nose. The pain wasn’t my worst problem. I couldn’t breathe, because, well, I was underwater. I was about to drown. I actually wondered if the inhabitants of Ibara were fish and changed my mind about not wanting to be able to transform into other beings. Sprouting gills and turning into a flounder would have helped just then. I didn’t know which way was up, or how deep I was. I knew if I didn’t get my wits back, I’d be done in seconds. I relaxed, and let a little precious air out of my lungs to see which way the bubbles would float. They drifted past my eyes toward a wide circle of light. That had to be the surface. I kicked for it.

  I’m happy to say that I was only a few feet down. I quickly broke the surface, gasping for air. I was okay, except for the pounding headache from the nasal enema. I blew the water out of my head and took a quick look around. I was treading water in the middle of a round cauldron made from black rock in an underground cave. The big pool of water was about twenty feet across. I quickly kicked to the side and held on to the rocky edge to catch my breath. I was
safe. I had made it. I was on Ibara.

  The entire cavern was made out of the same black, volcanic-looking rock as the pool. The ceiling wasn’t high like the big gate on Cloral. This was a smallish cave, with a biggish vat of water taking up most of the floor. I had to conclude that this round pool of water was the flume. Yup, the flume was full of water. Was it possible that the inhabitants of Ibara were fish after all?

  I hoisted myself out of the pool. The sides were about two feet high, forming a ring of craggy rocks that made the pool seem like a minivolcano. I swung one leg up and over to discover the floor outside the pool was sand. Not dirt, sand. I sat down on the soft surface and took another look around. Light seeped in through long cracks in the cavern walls that were randomly spaced all around me. That meant this cave wasn’t far underground. Or underwater. My clothes from First Earth were soaked of course, but I wasn’t at all cold. If anything, I was feeling kind of hot and sticky. Glancing around I saw a small pile of colorful clothes not far from where I was sitting. There were a couple of pairs of shorts that looked like board shorts. They were longer than board shorts though. It looked like they would come down below my knees. I wondered if maybe they were actually supposed to be long pants and the people of Ibara were little. If so, I’d be a giant on Ibara. Or at least a really tall guy. That would be cool. I’ve always been kind of medium. I wouldn’t have minded being the tall guy for once. The pants were simple, with no zippers or buttons, just a drawstring. The material was light and cottonlike, with no tags inside. These simple shorts told me that on some level, the people of Ibara were civilized.

  There were three pairs, each a different bright solid color: red, orange, and green. After Quillan I never wanted to wear anything red again, so I peeled off my wet First Earth clothing and put on a pair of bright green shorts. They fit perfectly, of course. I debated about wearing my boxer shorts but figured they’d be too obvious. So I went jungle.