by Brandon Mull
“Give it half an hour or so,” Todd said, lifting Pigeon off the dolly and setting him on his feet. “Then do yourself a favor and sit tight.”
Pigeon was left facing away from the door. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all bare concrete. A primitive toilet awaited in the corner. A flimsy cot paralleled one wall, blankets folded at the foot. Pigeon heard Todd wheel the dolly out, close the door, and lock it.
Standing still was not tiring, but whenever he attempted to move, Pigeon found it infuriating. He tried to focus on the things he could do. He blinked. He breathed. He opened and closed his mouth.
Pigeon worried about his friends. He worried about himself. How could they fight a magician who could immobilize them like this? What chance did they have against this kind of power? He thought about the button in his pocket. Hopefully the Battiatos could use it to track him here. Jonas probably didn’t have simulacra of them. Maybe they could mount a rescue. Unless these cells somehow muffled magical tracking. Lindy hadn’t been able to see several parts of Arcadeland.
Pigeon didn’t have many assets. He didn’t have his tranquilizer pistol. He had doubted whether the weapon would survive extended submersion, so it was home in his bedroom. He had brought no magical candy because he couldn’t use it with the sub stamp. Katie probably would have taken it from him anyway. All he had was his mind—and the button stuffed in his pocket.
Pigeon guessed it hadn’t been more than ten minutes when he began to regain control of his body. It started slowly—his fingers could twitch, his eyeballs could shift, his toes could stretch. Then all at once the other frozen parts of his body abruptly thawed.
His limbs felt sore and rubbery, so Pigeon walked over to the cot and sat down. He removed the button from his pocket. The Battiatos had told him that in an emergency, he could break it and they would come running.
But shouldn’t he wait? It seemed likely that if Jonas White held John and Mozag prisoner, they would be down here someplace. The underground holding area seemed plenty big and secure.
He held the button in both hands. What if he snapped it and the Battiatos couldn’t sense it? What if this underground complex was shielded against magical transmissions? Would the Battiatos at least have a sense of where and when the tracker had stopped sending a signal? It was all speculation because Pigeon had no clue how the button actually worked.
The button felt brittle in his hands. He was no Hercules, but he doubted whether he would have trouble breaking it. Wouldn’t such a move be a little hasty, though? They had wanted to get inside to do reconnaissance. He could be a bigger help to the Battiatos if he found out more about this holding area before he called them. Presumably he would get to shower occasionally, or get some exercise. He might get a chance to learn the layout of the hallways. He could try to ascertain how well the place was defended. He could even try to discover where John and Mozag were imprisoned.
Pigeon placed the button back into his pocket. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep in his own bed. He didn’t want to remain in this dingy cell, bored and uncomfortable. But he could always snap the button later. First he would see what information he could uncover from within this secret prison.
Chapter Fourteen
The Graywaters
As Nate followed Cleon through an EMPLOYEES ONLY door to get his stamp refreshed, he couldn’t stop worrying
about Pigeon. After bringing the Gate to Jonas the night before, Nate and Lindy had gone to Pigeon’s house and waited for him to show up. But Pigeon had never made an appearance.
Today, none of the Subs had visited the training center. Nate supposed that might be expected if they had been stripped of their powers, but it still added to his unease. During their lunch break, Nate had returned to Pigeon’s house, and Lindy had gone looking for the Battiatos.
After feeding Diego Brain Feed, Nate learned that the dog hadn’t seen Pigeon since the day before. Lindy found that the Battiatos had also heard nothing from Pigeon, and that they were having trouble pinpointing his tracking button. She had set up another meeting with the Battiatos for the evening.
The purpose of spending time at Arcadeland, the point of earning stamps, the idea behind joining the treasure hunt, had all been to find John and Mozag. Nate felt no closer to finding John than when they had started, and now they had lost a member of their rescue team.
When he returned to the training facility, Nate had filled in Summer and Trevor about Pigeon. They had kept the conversations short—it was getting hard to talk to each other at the training center as tensions increased between the rival clubs.
Then Todd and Cleon had shown up with a new assignment. As expected, this new challenge would pit the Racers against the Tanks. They were supposed to meet at the training center at five p.m. in order to go collect a map to an artifact called the Protector. Whichever club brought the map to Arcadeland first would retain their stamps and win the stamps belonging to the losing club.
Walking along a hall cluttered with pipes and wires, Nate felt like too much was happening too quickly. The challenge between the Tanks and Racers meant Summer and Trevor would miss the meeting with the Battiatos tonight. It also meant one or the other of them might go missing as well.
After rounding some corners, Cleon led the way to an elevator. He wore jeans, boots, and a creamy leather jacket with fringed sleeves. Cleon thumbed the button to call the elevator.
“This place has levels?” Risa asked. Jonas had already healed her by the time Nate arrived last night. The only remains of her arrow wound had been faint scars on the front and back of her thigh.
“You know when you hit a ball into the last hole out on the mini course?” Cleon asked.
“Sure,” Risa said. “The one you don’t get back.”
Cleon gave a nod. “Those balls have to end up somewhere.”
The elevator doors opened, and Cleon accompanied the Jets inside. He hit a button. Nate noticed that the elevator only had two levels. They were currently on 1, heading down to B. Either the elevator was very slow, or the basement was well below the ground level.
“You’re about to make a new friend,” Cleon announced as they exited the elevator. “She’ll take care of refreshing your stamps from here on out.”
“Who?” Lindy asked.
“A special guest,” Cleon said. “Jonas brought her here because of her particular talents.” He stopped in front of a door and knocked. “Her name is Tallah Brooks. You can call her Ms. Brooks.”
The door was opened by a heavyset woman with mocha skin. She had a broad, kindly face and wore a lavender scarf bound in her graying hair.
“Seems I have visitors,” Tallah said. “You may as well come inside.”
The woman stepped aside, and Cleon led the Jets into the spacious room. A pair of sofas sat at right angles to each other near a large coffee table. Thick carpeting covered the floors, and wallpaper softened the walls. Shaded lamps gave the room a pleasant glow. Three doors led to other rooms. The contrast between the comfortably furnished apartment and the bare concrete of the hall outside was so extreme that Nate felt like he had walked onto a movie set rather than into an actual home.
“These four need your services,” Cleon said.
“So young,” Tallah said, looking them over and clucking her tongue. “How did you kids get mixed up with these folks?”
“Arcade games,” Nate said.
Tallah rolled her eyes. “I don’t expect to see the day when any good comes from video games.” She gestured at the couches. “Have a seat, children. I’m Ms. Tallah Brooks. Call me Brooksie if you like. Or Tallah.”
“Or Ms. Brooks,” Cleon inserted.
“This is no schoolhouse, Cleon,” Tallah scolded. “Let them call me what they like. Anybody hungry?”
“We’re here for the stamps,” Cleon said.
“Shush,” Tallah said. “I know why you’re here. Jonas White already had a talk with me about that. Doesn’t mean an end to civility. Doesn’t mean kids no longe
r get hungry. I have chocolate peanut butter brownies.”
“That sounds good,” Nate said.
“Sure,” Chris chimed in.
Tallah smiled. “That’s more like it. Give me a moment.” She turned and bustled out of the room.
“She’s a magician,” Cleon murmured once Tallah had left. “Don’t eat the brownies.”
“She’d hurt us?” Chris asked.
“We have a specific arrangement with her,” Cleon replied quietly. “She can’t do anything harmful against your will. But if you eat something voluntarily . . . let’s just say I won’t be having one.”
Tallah returned to the room bearing a plate of gooey brownies. “These are a specialty,” she said warmly, offering the plate to Nate. He looked from the brownies to Tallah. He didn’t accept one. “Lost your appetite?”
Cleon hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “Can you assure us the brownies will have no side effects?”
Placing the plate on the coffee table, Tallah shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Nobody trusts anybody these days. I suppose we should get down to business. What would you like blended?”
“Blended?” Lindy asked.
“I have a knack for reconciling different enchantments,” Tallah said. “I can help diverse types of magic function simultaneously.”
“She can make a jet stamp and a sub stamp work at the same time,” Cleon said.
“Is it safe?” Nate asked.
“I’ve studied your stamps,” Tallah replied. “The enchantment is complex. I should be able to coax any two of them to harmonize. Three would be too many.”
“You don’t have to blend your stamps,” Cleon said. “But I would generally recommend it. The other clubs will have this option as well.”
“We’ll be going up against Racer Tanks?” Nate asked.
“That’s the idea,” Cleon replied.
“Me first,” Lindy said. “Make me into a flying submarine.”
“Give me your hand, child,” Tallah said. She dipped a brush in a tube and spread a clear solution on the back of Lindy’s hand. Then she applied the jet stamp, followed by the sub stamp, one atop the other. Eyes closed, Tallah held Lindy’s hand and mumbled some words, then released her.
“Did it work?” Lindy asked.
“Success,” Tallah said. “Who’s next?”
Chris stepped forward. Nate got in line.
*****
Trevor sat up front with the driver on the way to Devil’s Shadow Mobile Home Park. He did not get shotgun because he was in charge—he was in front because he hadn’t gelled with his group.
Paige, Hailey, and Claire sat behind him. The girls had all completed sixth grade, and they knew each other from going to the same Walnut Hills school. They had two other friends who had been gunning for stamps but had failed to earn enough tickets in time.
“How much farther?” Trevor asked the driver.
The swarthy man checked his GPS. “Five minutes tops.”
Trevor was glad to be riding in a car. He and the Racers could move quickly, but with time slowed down from their point of view, they still had to run every step of wherever they went. The car would let them save their energy for when it mattered.
Trevor turned to face the girls in the back. “Do we have a strategy?”
Paige looked at him as though he had just asked the color of the sky. “Outrun them?”
“Right,” Trevor said patiently. “But we also have to find the Graywater family and get the map from them. It could take time. Those Tanks are really strong. If they catch up, we could be in trouble.”
“They won’t catch up if we hurry,” Paige replied.
“Even if they did, we just keep away from them,” Hailey said. “You can’t hurt what you can’t catch.”
“What if they corner us?” Trevor challenged. “How would we outrun them in a small room or narrow hall?”
“How about we don’t let them corner us like that?” Claire said as if the solution were obvious. “We run away before they pin us down.”
“Won’t we need a lookout?” Trevor asked.
“Good idea,” Paige said. “You can be the lookout.”
Hailey and Claire giggled. Clearly they thought it would be a good way to keep him uninvolved.
Trevor faced front, fighting down his frustration. The girls were seldom openly mean to him. They were just dismissive. And not very bright. He was pretty sure that Paige and Claire came from wealthy families, and he suspected that they had won their tickets by spending lots of money rather than by having much skill.
“You want to keep your stamps, don’t you?” Trevor asked.
“No, we want to give them away,” Hailey responded sarcastically.
“Nobody can catch us,” Claire said. “Stop stressing out so much.”
“This might not be as easy as you girls think,” Trevor insisted.
“Thanks for the twentieth warning,” Paige said. “We’re ready. Blabbing about it won’t change anything. We find the Graywaters. We get the map. We outrun the Tanks. We bring it to Arcadeland.”
“Whatever,” Trevor said.
The driver had a small smile. He rubbed his oily moustache. Trevor looked away. Todd had assured them that the driver would convey them back and forth between Arcadeland and Devil’s Shadow, no questions asked. They were free to speak about anything in front of him, but they shouldn’t expect any extra assistance from him. Trevor didn’t even know his name.
They turned onto a smooth dirt road and followed it across a field and around some oak trees. “Here we are,” the driver announced. “Up ahead.”
An arched sign reading DEVIL’S SHADOW formed the entrance to the trailer park. Beyond the entrance, Trevor could see a number of mobile homes in various states of disrepair. The driver pulled off to the side of the road just shy of the entrance.
Trevor looked back at the Tanks pulling over in their car as well. “The Tanks are right behind us,” he warned.
“Not for long,” Paige said, climbing out of the car. She and the other Racers took off at superhuman speed.
Trevor jumped out as well and followed. He shifted into race mode, an adjustment that had already become second nature, as simple as concentrating to read the words in a book. Everything around him slowed down. He glanced back at the Tanks getting out of the car with unnatural slowness, then sprinted to catch up with the girls.
Right now he was moving three or four times faster than everything else around him. He felt normal until he noticed a butterfly fluttering sluggishly. Running still made him tired, but no more tired than ordinary running. He could increase his speed again by entering the second altered state three or four times speedier than the first, but it would make him tire rapidly and could lead to a headache. He would save that secret weapon for emergencies.
The girls were not running too quickly, so he caught up to them just beyond the trailer park entrance.
“Shouldn’t we slow down?” Trevor asked. “Won’t it look weird to people?”
“Aren’t you more worried about the Tanks?” Claire asked.
“We’ll slow up if we see people,” Paige said, still running hard.
Trevor had to agree that the trailer park didn’t look very lively. The outdated mobile homes were arranged haphazardly. There couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty total. Some appeared abandoned. Off to one side, a scrawny cat disappeared through a glassless window, the slow leap looking odd from Trevor’s quickened perspective.
Paige slipped out of race mode, and the others followed her lead. It took Trevor a moment to realize why she had slowed. As they came around the nearest mobile home, a man had come into view. He was in his fifties or sixties, with thinning hair, a white T-shirt, and a bulging round belly. He stood in front of a trailer watering the nearby dirt with a hose, his thumb over the nozzle to make the water fan out. Trevor didn’t see any plants or grass. Maybe there were seeds in the ground, or maybe the man was just trying to reduce dust.
&nbs
p; The girls jogged toward the man at a normal speed, and Trevor tagged along. The man looked up as the girls approached. “Evening,” he said.
“Hi,” Paige began in a bright, friendly voice. “We’re looking for the Graywater family. Could you help us out?”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What would you kids want with the Graywaters?”
“We have a present for them,” Hailey invented.
“Were you invited?” the man asked. “How do you know them?”
“They’re old friends of my family,” Claire said. “We’re bringing them a surprise.”
The man shook his head. “The Graywaters don’t like uninvited guests. I hope you kids know what you’re doing.”
“Are they mean?” Paige asked innocently.
“Not mean,” the man responded. “Just private. They own the park. If your family knows them, I expect it’ll go all right.” He waved an arm to indicate a direction. “Last unit in the back. Green with white trim. Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” the girls answered in chorus.
The man nodded, turning and flicking his wrist as he started dampening a new area. Trevor kept quiet and trotted away with the girls. Once they passed out of the man’s view they sped up again.
Trevor had misgivings about their strategy. If the Tanks were hurrying, the pause talking to the man had given them a chance to catch up quite a bit. If he and the girls didn’t get the map quickly, how long before the Tanks showed up and bullied their way to the prize?
Trevor did not want the Racers to lose. Summer was a Tank, but she had more capable people on her team. If they didn’t want Jonas White to reach his goals, they needed Hailey, Paige, and Claire helping him rather than the Tanks.
The girls slowed back to a regular pace as the green trailer came into view. It was by far the nicest trailer in the park—larger, newer, and better appointed. It had a neat lawn with a tidy fence. A small satellite dish perched on the roof, aimed skyward. Flowers bloomed in the window boxes. A large porch with glider chairs and a swinging bench provided a shaded sitting area. Trevor had a great aunt who had retired to a trailer park, living in a nice little place similar to this one.