The Battle for Urth

by Lee Bacon

“Right here.” Neal points to the floor. “My mom’s setting up an air mattress.”

  Prince Fred frowns. “Well, it’s certainly…cozy.”

  The prince might’ve found a place to stay, but he still needs some new clothes. Since all of Neal’s things are too small, that leaves him with only one choice. I lead him into my room and open the dresser.

  “You’re gonna have to borrow some of my clothes,” I say.

  Prince Fred huffs in disbelief. “First you cram me into a tiny, foul-smelling bedchamber with your brother. And now you expect me to wear your drab, unsightly clothing? This must be a cruel joke!”

  I glance at the open doorway to make sure my mom and brother aren’t listening in. Lowering my voice, I whisper, “Don’t forget—you followed me through that walk-in refrigerator. I’m doing you a favor here. So don’t go around talking smack about my clothes. Got it?”

  Prince Fred sighs. “I apologize. I don’t mean to be a rude houseguest. This is all just such a tremendous change for me. Thank you for sharing your hideous clothing with me.”

  It’s not exactly the nicest apology in the world, but at least it’s something.

  “For as long as you’re here, you’ll have to go to school,” I say. “Otherwise, people will get suspicious. We can try to enroll you tomorrow. And you’ll need a backpack. I think there’s one in here somewhere.”

  I open my closet, searching through clothes and old stuffed animals. In the back corner, the edge of a shoe box pokes out from beneath a pile of laundry. Faded, worn at the sides from being opened and sorted through a million times.

  Before Fred notices it, I nudge the box out of sight.

  Then I find what I’m looking for. My old backpack. I stopped using it in the second grade. It’s bright purple, covered with sparkles, and decorated with cartoon unicorns. Most guys wouldn’t be caught dead wearing such a girly backpack, but Fred actually looks excited to try it on.

  “At last! Something with style!” His eyes land on the sparkles. “And it’s festooned with such interesting jewels.”

  “Oh.” Surprise fills my voice. “I thought you might want to trade, but—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Fred struts in front of the mirror, admiring the backpack. “I shall wear it with pride.”

  While he’s busy examining cartoon unicorns and sparkles, I dig out a few T-shirts and socks. I know my jeans aren’t big enough to fit him, but luckily I have some sweatpants with an elastic waist. They’re bright green with stripes down the sides.

  I press the clothes into his hands. Prince Fred just stares at them.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “It’s just…” He pauses. “Usually, my servants dress me.”

  My jaw might’ve just fallen to the ground. “Don’t even think about asking me to help you with that.”

  “Very well.” He hesitates. “Now what?”

  “Um…you’re pretty dirty from the fire. Before you change, you might wanna shower off.”

  By the blank stare the prince gives me, I’m guessing they don’t have showers in his kingdom, either. I lead him into the bathroom that I share with Neal.

  Once again, the prince is clueless.

  This is definitely not the way I expected to spend my afternoon. Giving a prince from another world a step-by-step tutorial in Bathroom Basics 101. But what choice do I have? It’s not like we can check the guy into a Holiday Inn for the night.

  I leave the prince alone to do his thing. Back in my bedroom, I open the closet door. Pushing aside some laundry, I reach into the back corner of the closet and remove the shoe box.

  Settling onto the floor, I pull the top off the box. Inside is a collection of papers and trinkets. A faded plane ticket from over twenty years ago. A broken calculator watch. A half-empty bottle of cologne.

  To most people, the things inside the box would probably look like random junk. But to me, they’re memories.

  Memories of my dad.

  The plane ticket is for a flight from Buenos Aires to Los Angeles. The first time Dad ever came to the United States. The calculator watch is the one he wore for years, until the digital numbers faded and the calculations came out all wrong (2 + 2 = 17). The cologne came from Dad’s side of the medicine cabinet in my parents’ bathroom. The one he wore on special occasions.

  After Dad disappeared, I went through the house, collecting his things. I was like a detective looking for evidence. There had to be a clue somewhere. A hint. Anything that could tell me why.

  Why did he leave us? Why didn’t he tell us where he was going? Why has he never written or called?

  Why?

  But the weeks turned into months, and the months turned into years. And Dad never came back. Somewhere along the way, I realized, the shoe box wasn’t going to help me find him. But it still helped me remember him. Now I pull it out at times when I feel alone and scared. When the world gets too big, too crazy, too whatever.

  Times like this.

  The doorway to another world, the witch assembling her evil army, the prince using my shower. Things can’t possibly get any crazier. And it’s not like I can tell Mom or Neal about it. I can’t call a friend or post about it on Facebook.

  So instead, I plop down in front of the shoe box. I reach into my pocket and run a thumb over the owl necklace. Closing my eyes, I imagine that Dad’s here right now.

  What would he do in a situation like this?

  I’m still puzzling over this question when I hear footsteps headed in the direction of my room. I slide the box into the corner of my closet. In the next moment, Fred appears in the doorway. His shirt’s inside out and his sweatpants are backward. Around his neck, he’s wearing his towel like a cape.

  “Look!” He grins proudly. “I got dressed all by myself!”

  Returning to Kneel’s bedchamber, I stand in the doorway, dumbfounded by my new surroundings. The place is horribly messy. It smells like it’s inhabited by an ogre with digestive problems. And yet…it is filled with all kinds of remarkable and exotic objects. Something called a “laptop” grants access to an enchanted portal known as “the Internet.” Through this portal, people can obtain all the knowledge of all the libraries on Urth. Although in Kneel’s case, he mostly uses it to rewatch a “YouTube video” of a cat getting its head stuck in a pickle jar.

  He has an incredible box of endless entertainment known as “video games.” He carries thousands of songs in his pocket and can listen to any of them whenever he wants.

  Kara says that there’s no magic on Urth, but from what I have seen, there’s magic everywhere.

  When it comes time for dinner, I join Kara’s family at the dining room table. But instead of our food being served on silver platters, like in my palace, dinner arrives in two flat boxes.

  They call it “pizza.”

  Despite my growling stomach, I’m hesitant to try it. Honestly—what kind of food comes in a box? Kara’s family doesn’t even use silverware. Instead, they devour their pizza with their hands. Like common trolls.

  But I’m a visitor in this new world. And so I cautiously take a bite. And another. And another. Soon I’m eagerly stuffing my mouth.

  I slam a fist on the table. “I declare pizza to be the most delicious cuisine in the world!”

  Kara’s family looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I reach for another piece.

  After dinner, Kara introduces me to yet another new discovery. Toothpaste. In Heldstone, we brush our teeth with herbs that have been crushed into powder by dwarfs. Here the paste simply squirts out of a tube.

  We stand together in the small bathroom as I brush back and forth. The toothpaste drips down my chin.

  “Dissus kite dayddy,” I say.

  Kara squints at me in the mirror. “What?”

  I spit, then repeat myself. “This is quite tasty.”

  “If you say so.”

  While I brush, Kara reaches into her pocket and removes a necklace. The same necklace she was determined to rescue at Le
gendtopia. A memory springs to mind: Kara attacking a witch, snatching the silver owl from the witch’s pointy hat.

  The silver owl twirls and dangles in the light.

  I point at it with my toothbrush. “Rurrey rreggluss.”

  “What?” Kara asks.

  I spit another glob of toothpaste. “I said, ‘Lovely necklace.’ ”

  “Thanks.” She holds the silver chain in front of her. “My dad gave it to me.”

  “Your dad? Is he…?” I hesitate, unsure how to phrase the question. “I mean, did he—”

  “He’s not around,” Kara says.

  “What happened?”

  All the air seems to leave the room. I watch Kara’s reflection in the mirror. She watches the floor.

  “The day after he gave me the necklace, my dad just…left.” In the reflection, Kara’s brown eyes search the bathroom floor, as if the memory is printed there. “This was three years ago. He went to work one day and never came back. We haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Perhaps something happened to him,” I suggest. “Perhaps he didn’t intend to leave for such a long time.”

  Kara shakes her head. “He packed his suitcase. He planned it all out ahead of time. And never told anyone. Just snuck away one day. Since then, he hasn’t contacted any of us. No phone calls, no letters. Not even an email.”

  I have no idea what an “email” is, but I sense that this isn’t the right time to ask.

  Kara continues: “My dad moved here from Argentina. That’s another country, far away from here. Back in Argentina, he was an electrical engineer. But he couldn’t work the same kind of job in America. He didn’t have the right degrees. People thought his English wasn’t good enough. Mom says that must be why he left. To move back to Argentina. She figures he was sick of people assuming he wasn’t smart because of his accent. Instead of an engineer, he was stuck working as an electrician—”

  The toothbrush drops from my mouth. “An electrician?”

  “Yeah. People would, like, call him if their electricity wasn’t working. Or if they needed something rewired.”

  A memory stirs in my brain as I mutter the strange syllables under my breath. “E-lec-trish-ian.”

  By this point, Kara’s giving me an extremely odd look. “Uh…why do you care so much about my dad’s job?”

  “I have something to show you.” My voice quavers. “Something that might be very important.”

  A glob of toothpaste hangs from my chin, but I have more important things to think about now. I rush out of the bathroom.

  Kara calls after me, “Would you mind explaining what’s going on?”

  I don’t reply. Instead, I hurry into Kneel’s room. Kara follows.

  By the time she steps into the messy room, I’m digging through the pockets of my old clothing.

  “Seal the door!” I say in a frantic voice. “We can’t risk your brother overhearing us.”

  “He’s watching TV with my mom,” Kara replies. But she closes the door anyway. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or not?”

  Rather than an answer, I let out an excited gasp. In the pocket of my waistcoat, I find what I’m looking for.

  The scrap of parchment.

  “What’s that?” Kara asks.

  I tell her about the poem. How it was intercepted by my father’s spies. How I found the Royal Tutor studying its meaning. And how I stole it from the old geezer.

  Kara looks back at me like I’m speaking Elvish. “Great story. But what does any of that have to do with my dad?”

  I hold up the scrap. “This poem may tell us what happened to your father.”

  “What does a poem from another world have to do with my dad?”

  The prince shakes his head. “I don’t know exactly. I hid it in my pocket. But with all the excitement, I forgot all about it. Until you mentioned that your father was an electrician—”

  “So?”

  “This poem mentions a similar word.” The prince scans the tattered scrap until he finds what he’s looking for. He begins to read aloud: “ ‘People flocked, far and wide, to listen to the fantastical tales of the Elektro-Magician.’ ” He looks up at me with wide-eyed excitement. “Do you see now? What if there’s a connection? What if this poem contains a clue about your father’s disappearance?”

  “But my dad isn’t an Elektro…” I stumble over the word. “Elektro-Magician.”

  “Perhaps not in your world. But if he visited Heldstone? If he stumbled through the miniature door, like you—”

  “Just stop it!”

  My voice comes out louder than I’d expected. Fred suddenly goes quiet. He stares at me, confused. For a long moment, the only sound comes from the living room. The muffled rumble of the TV.

  “Please,” I say in a croaked whisper. “Please—just stop talking about my dad like…like…”

  I can’t get the words past the lump in my throat. Instead, they echo inside my head.

  Stop talking about my dad like he’s still around.

  Three years ago, when my dad first disappeared, I was sure he would return. Any day now, I thought. Repeating the words to myself again and again, as if they could bring him back.

  Any day now, he’ll step through the door. Any day now, I’ll hear the sound of his heavy boots clomping next to the washing machine. Any day now, his voice will call out to us in his accent that turns every sentence into music. Any day now, I’ll run to meet him. Any day now, he’ll wrap his strong arms around me, and I’ll smell the mixture of oil and charred wires that always clings to his clothes after work.

  Any day now.

  But the days kept going by, and Dad didn’t come home.

  Until finally, I stopped repeating the words. I stopped expecting his return. It hurt too much.

  I drop onto Neal’s bed, my vision blurring with tears. I try to blink them away. I’m not going to cry. Not now. Not in front of Prince Fred.

  The mattress sags. Prince Fred sits beside me. Through the tears, I can tell he’s holding the scrap of parchment in one hand. His other hand comes to rest on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” he says. “But perhaps this message can tell you what happened to him. Perhaps if we read the poem in its entirety…”

  I let out an exasperated breath. Over the past three years, not a single day has gone by that I haven’t wondered what happened to my dad. I collected the things he left behind. I searched the Internet. I wrote to relatives. Not a clue. I seriously doubt that some stupid poem from another world is going to help.

  But if it’ll get Fred to leave me alone, then fine…whatever. Let’s have a poetry reading.

  “All right.” I sigh. “Show me the poem.”

  Prince Fred carefully holds the piece of parchment between us. The poem is written in a smooth, looping script.

  From a distant, unknown land came he.

  A Traveler he claimed to be.

  People flocked, far and wide, to listen

  To the fantastical tales of the Elektro-Magician.

  With him, he carried a box of enchantment

  Bringing great wonders to our remote encampment.

  His tools filled darkness with illumination:

  Flames and sparks and marvelous flotation.

  So beloved was the Traveler to our clan

  That we clasped heavy chains around the man.

  And now we take him with us everywhere we go

  To charge a handsome fee for his marvelous show.

  As I read the poem, a shaky unease comes over me. My first thought is This has to be some kind of practical joke. A trick. Except I know Prince Fred wouldn’t do something like that. This poem came from his world. And there are details in there. Details only my family knows about.

  When I glance up at the prince again, he’s staring at me. His blue eyes are filled with expectation.

  “This is…” I hesitate. The words feel thick in my mouth. “This is incredible.”

  Fred grips the par
chment a little tighter. “So you think perhaps this poem refers to…to—”

  “My dad? Yes.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “Lots of things. I mean, look at the first line.” I point at the beginning of the poem and read the line out loud. “ ‘From a distant, unknown land came he.’ That could be here. Earth. And the part about him being an…an Elektro-Magician. He’s not a magician, but sometimes he would put on little shows for me and my brother. And it was like magic. He would get out his toolbox—”

  “That could be his ‘box of enchantment’!” the prince says excitedly.

  “Exactly! Then there’re these two lines.” My finger moves down the rough paper. I read the lines in a shaky whisper. “ ‘His tools filled darkness with illumination, / Flames and sparks and marvelous flotation.’ That’s exactly the kind of thing he used to do with me and Neal. He’d, like, use wires and circuits to create mini-fireworks shows. Or he’d make magnets float.”

  I try to keep my breathing steady. Just when I’d given up hope of finding my dad, he suddenly pops up again—in a poem from another world. But if the “Elektro-Magician” really is my dad, how’d he end up in Heldstone? The prince says there’s only one entrance to his world. The miniature door. And if that’s the case, then maybe, just maybe…

  I jump up from Neal’s bed. Prince Fred looks confused. But I’m already bolting into the hallway. He stumbles after me, bringing the parchment with him. In my room, I throw open my closet and kick aside a pile of dirty laundry until I find what I’m looking for.

  The shoe box.

  The box is full of trinkets and clutter.

  “What are these things?” I ask.

  “My dad’s old stuff.” Kara removes a booklet. Slips of yellow and white paper covered in handwritten scribbles. “These are work orders. My dad filled one out for every job he did. After he disappeared, I stashed this away. I’ve looked through it like a million times. But I never knew what I was looking for. Until now.”

  Kara flips through the booklet. The dates written on each slip are chronological. She thumbs forward in time until the last work order with any of her father’s handwriting.