The Passage to Mythrin 2-Book Bundle

by Patricia Bow

  “Pier, look. I’ll find a way to help you. I will!”

  “Never say what you don’t mean. That is lying.” She closed her eyes to shut him out and to let the rainbow shine of the Prism weave its warmth around her. When she peeked through her eyelashes a minute later, he was gone.

  Pier didn’t understand much of the event that followed, shredded through the gap as it was. Synchronized Gum Chew and Spelling Bee, they called it. Judging by Ike’s joyous leaping about, he and Simon did well. Pier couldn’t help feeling pleased. Maybe they would win the trophy after all.

  Finally, the big event began: the Double Mystery Race. Pier inched forward so she could get a better view through the gap. I have no interest in this, she told herself. Not really. Whoever wins is no matter. I’ll follow and follow until my moment comes. I will never give up.

  All the same, she was watching so closely as Ike started off on that strange wheeled machine, with Simon trotting beside him, that she failed to notice when someone crawled under the skirting at the other end of the platform. She did notice, though, when they came creeping towards her through the dimness.

  “Okay, straight ahead!” Simon yelled as he ran. “Hold steady — go more right — no, not — yaaah!”

  Simon was being Ike’s eyes, and not doing very well at it. Ike kept pouring on the speed, which made it hard for Simon to tell him, in time, where he was going. Outfitted with knee pads, elbow pads, a helmet, and a blindfold, Ike flew around the obstacle course on a bicycle with training wheels that he’d borrowed from his six-year-old cousin Rhea. “A vehicle with three or more wheels and no motor.” That was what this event required. And a blindfold.

  Simon was trying so hard to see for Ike that he forgot to watch where he was going himself, and tripped over a squashed water bottle. He fell for about the tenth time, rolled, and staggered up again. Raced to catch up. Ike was way ahead.

  Amelia swooped past on a skateboard, blindfolded, flashing a smile. That green-haired punk loped along beside her, weirdly light-footed in those heavy boots. She veered and banked so smoothly you’d almost think she was telepathic, seeing things through Ty’s eyes. And maybe that’s just what she’s doing, Simon thought. Not fair!

  Amelia flew past Ike, who was whooping like a maniac as he tore along. He must have thought Simon was right alongside and not saying anything because he was riding straight. He was riding straight — straight for an inflated plastic pool full of water.

  “Left, Ike! Left!” Simon pounded after him. Ike swerved away with half an inch to spare. But he’d headed too far left. In two seconds he’d hit that tarp slathered with blue finger paint.

  “Go right!” Simon gasped. “Not that much! Okay, get ready to go left again! Balloon post coming up! Two more seconds and — no, one more second and — left now! Go left now! And grab!”

  Ike wheeled around the last post, clawed free a balloon, and shot ahead.

  “Yes! Now turn right and — okay, straighten out! Now keep going straight! Nearly home, now! Get ready to stop — in about — four seconds — three — two — one — stop!”

  Ike stood on the brakes. The bike stopped right on the finish line. He somersaulted over the handlebars and landed flat on his back in the sand pit — the same one where they’d been throwing watermelons earlier. As he sat up, pulled off the blindfold, and brushed sticky sand from his hair, Dinisha rolled across the finish line on a tricycle, with Kevin trotting beside her.

  “Hey, snails!” Ike laughed. Dinisha gave him a sour look as she unfolded her legs from the trike.

  “Looks to me like Amelia won this one, too.” Simon looked around and saw Amelia with Ty. Now she was dancing and waving her fists above her head. He was standing with his hands in his jeans pockets, bits of metal winking all over him. Still in that heavy leather jacket. The heat didn’t seem to bother him at all; he wasn’t even sweating.

  “Where you going?” Ike said.

  “Enough’s enough,” Simon said. He walked over to Amelia. Before he got there she turned, just as if somebody had whispered in her ear, and grinned at him. “Hey! Don’t look so gloomy! Winning isn’t everything.”

  “Just almost everything,” Ty added in his rough-around-the edges voice.

  Simon planted his feet and crossed his arms and looked Amelia in the eyes. “You cheated!”

  “What?” Her mouth dropped open. Then she went bright red. “I did not! Take that back!”

  “You have him.” He tipped his head towards Ty, who was poised on his steel-capped toes, bright-eyed and ready to fight.

  “He never cheated, either!”

  “Just being a dragon is cheating. It’s not fair.”

  Something clicked and buzzed behind him. “Being a dragon?” said Oscar, when they all turned to look. “That’s a new one on me.” He squinted into his picture viewer. “What’s it mean?”

  “It’s just a thing you say, Dad,” said Ike from his other side.

  “Yeah, like when you say somebody’s a rat,” Simon added. “Or a weasel.”

  “Or a tiger!” Amelia laughed. She’d bounced back from her fit of anger. “It means somebody really strong and fierce and smart.” Ty grinned, showing all his pointed teeth.

  “And tricky,” Simon said. “And dangerous.”

  “You’ve been listening to our little friend too much.” Amelia pulled Ty away.

  Oscar had been taking pictures as they spoke. “And impossible to photograph, too, apparently. Look.” He held out his camera. When Simon looked at the viewer where the last picture showed, he saw himself glowering at a laughing Amelia. Next to her was a vaguely person-shaped greenish smudge.

  “Um,” Simon said.

  Ike said, “Cool!” He winked hugely at Simon.

  “It’s driving me crazy,” Oscar said. “I have a whole series like that. Just can’t capture that kid’s image. It wouldn’t be so strange if it was a random flaw, but he’s almost the only one who gives me that trouble.” He held out his hand for the camera.

  “Any idea what’s doing it?” Ike looked fascinated.

  “Not a clue.”

  Oscar set off towards the platform. Simon frowned after him, then ran to catch up. “Mr. Vogelsang! Wait! You said he — Ty — he’s almost the only one who does that. Who else does it?”

  “Some guy.” Oscar stopped walking and looked around the field. “Big guy. Sort of grey all over. Never see his face. Never see him come or go.”

  He hesitated, then crooked a finger at Ike. “Over here, kid.” His voice went low. “Now, listen, you two. An event like this, delightful though it is, attracts all kinds. All kinds. I may be only a small-town newspaperman, but I’ve seen some stuff.” He scowled at them. “I know bad news when I see it. I’m going to ask the police to keep an eye out for that guy. If you see him, steer clear of him!”

  CHAPTER 14

  AND THE WINNER IS …

  Ike and Simon stared after Oscar.

  “Another dragon?” Ike wondered aloud. “Extra muscle for Ty?”

  “If it is, we’d better think how we’re going to protect the trophy. If we win it.”

  “Oh, we will.” Ike tried swaggering the way Ty did. “I mean, probably. We’re in the top two or three, at least. Depends who gets bonus points, and how much.”

  Everybody was drifting towards the platform. Simon kicked at tufts of grass as they crossed the field. “I still don’t feel right about giving it away.”

  ”Tell you what,” Ike said cheerfully. “We can save up and buy a new one. Then it’ll be all right.”

  “Yes, but ….” Simon was still trying to put his finger on what bothered him. “I mean, no. We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was made specially. It didn’t just come from a factory. Even if we could get one that looked the same, it wouldn’t be the same. What about all those name plates?”

  “Simple! Give Pier the cup and keep the base. Stick another cup on top.”

  “No.” Simon pulled Ike to
a stop. He had his finger on it now. Here it was, the really bad thing: “See, that trophy is special to Mr. Manning. He had it made for his father. And for the kids in Dunstone. And that cup is the one that his grandfather dug out of the lava. It’s sort of part of him.” He took a breath. “If we steal it, it’s like we’re … I don’t know … hitting him in the face.”

  Ike scratched his head, scattering sand. “You’re making this awful hard.”

  “I’m not making it hard. It is hard.” Simon looked past Ike to where Mr. Manning was huddled with the scorekeepers on the platform, sorting through score sheets. “There’s no way I can help Pier without hurting Mr. Manning. I don’t know what to do.” He set off again towards the platform.

  “Well, you’d better make up your mind fast!”

  Mr. Manning stepped up to the microphone. Everybody, kids and parents and onlookers, was squashed together below him. Ike and Simon stood in the back. Dinisha and Kevin were front and centre, Simon guessed. Ty’s sea-green mohawk flared in the sun, inches above most of the rest of the crowd, but Amelia was almost out of sight next to him, just the top of her head visible. Celeste stood off to one side with Bruce. She caught Simon’s eye and waved. Oscar was there, too, camera in hand.

  The three punks were nowhere to be seen. They must have finally got bored and gone home, Simon thought.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys,” Mr. Manning said into the mike. “We now come to the naming of names. Laurels to the victors! We begin by honouring our junior competitors.”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Simon muttered in Ike’s ear. “Pier’s right. If her people are going to be killed, we don’t have a choice.”

  “So you’re going to hand it over.”

  “Yes, if we win. If somebody else wins, I’ll have to ….” His voice sank to a whisper. “To steal it from them.” His stomach hurt.

  “Which won’t be easy, especially if it’s Amelia. Her with her dragon bodyguards.”

  “Yes. But I’ll have to do it. And then, once Pier’s found out how to get back to Mythrin, which is a whole other problem …,” he took a deep breath to settle his stomach, “then I’ll go to Mr. Manning and confess.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll have to.” Simon was cold despite the heat. He wondered if he’d be thrown in jail. He already felt stone walls rising around him.

  “Yikes!” Ike was white. Freckles stood out all over his face.

  “It’ll be just me. You stay out of it.”

  “No way!”

  “Can’t argue now. I’ve got to tell Pier before she gets herself in trouble.”

  He thought he’d never get near the platform without people spotting him. But it turned out to be easy. Mr. Manning was gearing up to announce the senior prizes, and all eyes were on him. The two of them eased through the north end of the crowd until they were right up against the platform.

  “And now!” the mike crackled. “The moment you’ve been waiting for!”

  Nobody saw Simon crouch down in Ike’s shadow and duck under the vinyl skirting.

  “Pier?” It was too dark to see much, at first, after the brightness outside. But somebody was here. Something rustled. He thought it might be Pier’s jeans as she changed position.

  As his eyes got used to the dimness, he made out a clot of deeper darkness farther along, near the middle, under where Mr. Manning must be standing. He crawled closer. “Pier?” he whispered.

  “Bugler, sound the fanfare!” Boards creaked overhead. A string of brassy notes rang out.

  Simon sniffed something sharp and spicy. A strange, not quite human smell. It made him think of Ty. Mixed with it were familiar human odours of sweat and leather.

  And now he could see what he was looking at. His heart thumped. Not Pier at all.

  So that was where the three punks had got to. There they sat all in a row, crouched with their chins on their knees. They were so close he could have reached out and touched the nearest one on his leather sleeve.

  Simon opened his mouth to ask them what they were doing, then closed it again. They had to know he was here, but they didn’t even glance at him. Didn’t move a muscle. A chill walked up his backbone.

  “Our top three teams are the following.” Mr. Manning cleared his throat theatrically. “Kevin Purcell and Dinisha Rajeev. Amelia Hammer and … ah …”

  “Ty!” That was Amelia’s voice.

  “Last name?”

  “Jones!”

  “Ah, good. Ty Jones. And Simon Hammer and Isaac Vogelsang. A big hand for our champions!” Laughter, cheers, a storm of clapping.

  On the far side of the punks, the darkness moved and a darker shadow lifted. Breath hissed through teeth. Simon caught a whiff of sulphur.

  “Gentlemen, bring forth the Hector Manning Trophy!” Heavy footsteps made the planks shake.

  Two narrow, greenish lights opened at the top of the shadow, pointed shapes with the mica sheen of cats’ eyes. Simon’s heart pressed up into his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “And this year’s winner, I’m delighted to say, has set an all-time record for total points won in the Dunstone and Area Weird Games. Fifty points!”

  Simon crawled backwards, eyes down and away from that shining gaze, to the place where he’d come in. He wormed out from under the skirting. As soon as he was out, he shot to his feet and backed away from the platform.

  “You tell her?” Ike said.

  “No! Listen, we’ve got to warn them!”

  “Who? What?”

  The trophy was out of its case. Two grinning football players were holding it up, while Mr. Manning waved a paper above his head. Kids were jumping up and down and cheering, parents were smiling and clapping. “Wait!” Simon yelled, but nobody heard him.

  “You’ve waited long enough.” Mr. Manning smiled at the crowd. “And the winner is …”

  “No, wait!” Simon yelled again, throwing himself forward. “Everybody’s got to get away!” He climbed up onto the platform and scrambled to his feet. “There’s danger!” But before he was halfway through the word “danger,” the other two football players took him gently, each by an arm, and turned him around and lowered him to the ground.

  Some people were laughing at him, some were jeering. “Simon Hammer! Shame on you!” “Sore loser!” “Get out, Simon!”

  Mr. Manning gave him a stern head shake. Then back to the mike: “And the winner is …”

  He never got to finish. At that moment, the platform tilted, the bugler yelled and leaped off, Mr. Manning flailed his arms to keep his balance, the mike toppled into the crowd, and the football players sat down and slumped together like four oversized stuffed dolls. The Hec Manning Trophy dropped with a clang.

  The three punks burst out from under. Mr. Manning fell to his knees and reached for the trophy, but one punk elbowed him aside. Another grabbed the trophy. He hoisted it as the other two flanked him, and away they ran.

  Everybody yelled. Everybody ran. Ty skimmed nearly off the ground. Pier dropped from the chestnut tree (So that’s where she’d hidden!) and threw herself into the chase. Oscar kept stopping to take pictures. Simon stood staring around. “Which way did they go?”

  “That way.” Ike pointed north, to McNairn Avenue.

  “I thought they headed west, but I couldn’t really see.”

  Horns blared on Queen Street, southward.

  When Ike and Simon reached the spot, they found traffic jams on both sides. Two punks sat dazed in the middle of the road. The third, the blond one, was missing. So was the trophy.

  CHAPTER 15

  INVISIBLE WINGS

  Within two minutes, this stretch of Queen Street was almost as crowded as the games field had been. The police were there right away and kneeling down beside the two punks. They asked questions, then Constable Nader looked at her partner and shook her head.

  Oscar came lumbering up. He took some pictures, then got down on the pavement with the punks, and in a minute Celeste was there, and Mr.
Manning, and soon there was a wall of people around them.

  Ty pushed out of the crowd, followed by Amelia. “They will find out nothing that way,” Ty said. “Their minds are torn.”

  “Their minds.” Amelia looked sick and pale. “Who would do a thing like that?”

  “Who could do it?” Simon looked at Ty.

  The amber eyes flashed at him. “They gave me their names! Jeff and Xenon. After that could I hurt them?”

  “Then who?”

  “Did you not see Zephrinarrinaden? Perhaps not. I was not sure of him myself until almost the last minute.”

  “Zeph … who?” Ike put in. “You mean, that’s the other dragon? The big, grey guy Dad couldn’t photograph? Why does that happen, anyway? Is it —”

  Ty set a hand on Ike’s head and dug his nails in just a little. Ike snapped his mouth shut.

  “He has the Bane,” Ty hissed. “And I know what he will do with it. He will take it back to Mythrin himself, all for his own glory. And he will kill Erwin in the doing! I must stop him!”

  Amelia grabbed his arm. “But how can he? The window’s gone by now! No way he can get to the gate!”

  “Is there another?” Ike asked eagerly.

  “Who knows?” Ty darted across the intersection and headed south on Dunning Street. Amelia raced to catch up.

  “Aha! I get it!” Ike stared after them. “If the gate’s there, he can get to it, no problem. Even if there’s no stained-glass window. ’Cause he can fly.”

  “And so can Zeph.”

  “Yes, but why would Zeph mess with the punks? Why not just grab it and go?”

  “Maybe he can’t,” Simon said thoughtfully. “It’s an anti-dragon weapon. Maybe that’s why he used those punks to steal it.” He had a very bad feeling about this Zeph person. He remembered the shining eyes in the dark under the platform.

  “You mean, he … sort of controlled their minds?”

  “Not just ‘sort of.’ And if Ty’s right, he plans to take Erwin and the Prism back to Mythrin. He’ll use the guy like, well …”