The Crown of the Bandit King
The Compendium of Curious Collectibles: Book One
Matti Lena Harris
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
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Copyright ©2017 by Matti Lena Harris. All rights reserved.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. The Finder's Penny
2. The Ragman
3. The Librarian
4. The Professor’s Map
5. Forbidden Books
6. The Detective
7. The Book of All Words
8. The Magic Eight Ball
9. The Gold Doorknob
10. The Black Umbrella
11. The Sidewalk Chalk
12. The Viking Ship
13. Fish Food
14. The Artisans' Carnival
15. The Fortune Teller
16. The Finder’s Duel
17. The Red Kazoo
18. Midnight
19. Future Uncertain—Ask Again Later
20. The Professor’s Study
21. The Last Journal Entry
22. Skeleton Canyon
23. The Garden Trowel
24. Richard the Third
25. The Critic’s Typewriter
26. The Hitchhiker
27. The Bandit King
28. John Ketter
29. The Theater Tickets
30. Opening Night
31. King Richard
32. The Higher Authorities
33. A Solid, Dependable Name
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
A Sneak Peek
Also by Matti Lena Harris
Chapter 1
The Finder's Penny
The only thing I could remember was a penny.
Last I checked, pennies are not that special. Most people don’t even bother to pick them up off the street, as if a penny isn’t worth the effort it would take to bend over. But for some reason, I was clutching this penny in my hand like it really mattered. Not sure why. Maybe I picked it up because I thought it’d bring me good luck like that one rhyme says.
Find a penny, pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck.
Worst advice ever.
This particular penny made my skin prickle and my fingers tingle. I stared hard at the coin, trying to figure out what was so weird about it, when I heard a man’s voice behind me.
“Brilliant! Clearly, you’re a lad of exceptional talent! You’ll do splendidly!”
Strange penny. An even stranger man approaching me. Right about then, I started to wonder if I was dreaming. And really, with the sudden darkness that engulfed me afterward, dreaming was a distinct possibility.
“New kid’s wakin’ up!” a boy hollered nearby. “Better get in here, Sweet Pea!”
Then curtains were flung back, filling the space with light and stirring the dust motes in the air. I was in some sort of living room, with a green velvet sofa, a blackened fireplace, and a bunch of faded pink Persian carpets on the floor. Besides a whole lot of other junk. This wasn’t my living room, though. I was pretty sure of that.
I groaned.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where am I?”
The words came out garbled. Sounded like I’d asked where the gerbils were going. The shabby sofa I lay sprawled on poked at me with its springs and lumps, but when I tried to sit up, that didn’t work out too well. The more I tried to lift my head, the more it pounded.
Finally, I gave up and kept still.
Beside the sofa’s armrest stood an Asian girl, about thirteen or fourteen, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a fuzzy, red hoodie. I didn’t recognize her, but at least she seemed friendly.
“We’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” she said. “I’m Sweet Pea. How do you feel?”
I blinked. “Like I got hit by a truck.”
She leaned over to touch my forehead, her hand cool and soft. Then she looked into my eyes.
“You probably have a headache,” she said. “Don’t worry. It will fade soon.”
She was staring at me, so I stared back until she blushed as red as her hoodie and glanced away. I felt jumpy deep down inside as if someone was creeping up to scare me from behind.
“I think…I think I’ve lost something,” I said.
The room was so quiet. Sweet Pea shrugged.
“Don’t worry. You won’t miss it,” she said, “after a while.”
Then I really did jump because this other kid vaulted over the sofa. He wasn’t very big, but that didn’t stop him from landing next to me like a cannonball. At first, he was a blur, but after a few seconds my eyes focused. Crazy black curls. Light brown skin. Missing front tooth. And a T-shirt so orange it made me dizzy. He smelled like pancakes and peanut butter.
“So you’re the new boy,” he said. “What’s with your hair?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I brushed my fingers over my hair—short, brown, and kind of spiky.
Did I style it that way?
“And your clothes.” He frowned. “You just come from a funeral?”
I touched the hem of my coat sleeve. Everything I wore was black—black jeans, black t-shirt, and a black coat. Were these my clothes? My heart started pounding harder.
Why couldn’t I remember my own clothes?
“Man, don’t need any gothy-punky-emo poser helpin’ us out,” the boy said. “Don’t need any new kid. I could’ve told the Ragman that. Sweet Pea and me, we’re doing fine without help.”
Help doing what?
“Quiet, Deeter,” Sweet Pea said. She turned to me. “I know you’re probably confused, so let’s start at the beginning. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“This living room. Waking up, I guess.”
“There’s more. You have to think harder.”
Over in the center of the living room was a table with a colorful tablecloth and four wooden chairs. Sweet Pea brought one of the chairs over to the sofa and sat beside me. Then she leaned closer.
“I know it’s difficult,” she said. “But try to remember.”
Remember what? In my head, there was nothing. Nothing at all. No, wait. There was one thing.
“That weird penny,” I said.
In the gutter by the side of the road, stuck in the mud with a bunch of wet twigs and trashed candy wrappers. Probably a thousand people walked by it that day without seeing it.
Then I came along.
Sweet Pea nodded. “That’s right. Tell me about the penny.”
What did a penny have to do with anything? But Sweet Pea was waiting for me to answer. So maybe it mattered.
“It didn’t look right,” I said. “Instead of President Lincoln, it had an Indian’s head. The date was weird, too.”
“The year said 1899, right?”
How did she know that? I glanced at her face. Who was this girl?
“This penny,” she continued, “you picked it up, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “Something was off about it.”
There’d been nothing wrong with the penny’s color—a dull, dirty bronze—and the penny’s size had been normal. Sure, it was really old, but it was still an American coin. What had made the penny seem so strange? S
o out of place?
“How did you feel when you picked it up?”
How did I feel? What did that have to do with anything?
I winced. Why wouldn’t this headache go away?
“Just humor me,” Sweet Pea said. “Please?”
“Jumpy, I guess,” I said. “The penny, it sort of….”
No. That was crazy. A penny wouldn’t do that.
“Go on,” Sweet Pea said. “Even if it sounds bizarre.”
“I felt like the penny had been calling me. Like that’s why I’d found it in the first place. Because I’d heard its voice.”
Stupid, but neither Sweet Pea nor Deeter was laughing or even smiling. Did they honestly believe me? I didn’t believe myself.
“You felt like you were destined to find it, didn’t you?” Sweet Pea asked. “And after that? What did you do?”
“Well, I….”
What did I do next? I tried to remember, but there was nothing else in my head. No memories at all. I couldn’t think of a single family member—no mom, no dad, no brothers or sisters. No friends. No school or hobbies. I couldn’t remember anything.
Not even my name.
This was wrong. All of it. This living room, these two strange kids. Nothing made any sense.
I jumped off the couch. Where was the exit? I had to get out of here.
“Uh-oh,” Deeter said. “New kid’s gonna explode.”
I scrambled to the window, but nothing outside looked familiar. A broad, dirt field surrounded the house as far as I could see, but there were no other buildings or people. There weren’t even any birds or trees.
“Where is this place?” I cried. “Who are you people?”
“Man, he’s freakin’ out more than the last kid,” Deeter said.
The last kid? What did he mean, the last kid?
It didn’t matter. Whatever he meant, I sure wasn’t about to stick around and find out. There had to be a door here somewhere. Once I’d escaped, I could find my way home. Except where was home? I couldn’t picture it. No street name. No address or house number. No city. And no telephone number to call.
No home.
I took a step forward and tripped over a cardboard box with a bunch of clutter inside it. Then I knocked over a stack of old books when I tried to brace myself. What a mess. The whole living room looked like an attic that had been filled with the remnants of a museum’s junk sale.
“The last kid,” Deeter said, “she didn’t even survive two days here.”
I froze. “What happened to her?”
Deeter grinned.
Which pretty much settled it. Deeter was one twisted kid. And I needed to leave. Now. I glanced at the wooden crates and jumbled shelves blocking my way. On the other side of the room, there was a door. Maybe that was the way out.
I tried shoving one of the crates aside to make a path.
“Don’t know what happened to her,” Deeter continued. “The Ragman took her away, and we never saw her again. Probably locked her in a dungeon with rats and stink and stale bread for food.”
“Enough, Deeter,” Sweet Pea said. “If the Ragman’s brought him here, then he doesn’t remember anything, and you know how scary that is.” She offered her hand to me. “Don’t be afraid. None of us remember who we are either. Truly, you’ll get used to it. And don’t mind Deeter. He’s only ten. He’s not mature like you and me yet.”
“I’m mature!” Deeter yelled.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the Ragman’s world now, Rookie,” Deeter started chanting, “and the Ragman is king in the Ragman’s world.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The Ragman,” Sweet Pea said. “We can talk about him later. I’d better tell him you’re awake. Are you hungry? Deeter, get him something to eat.”
As soon as Sweet Pea left the room, Deeter sighed.
“She’s so bossy. Deeter do this, Deeter do that. It’s not like you’re gonna survive here long anyway. You don’t have what it takes to work for the Ragman. Don’t know what he had in mind when he chose you.”
Deeter walked to the center of the living room and sat at the table.
“You hungry, Rookie?” he asked. “I can get you anything you want. But you gotta come to the table to get it.”
“I’m not staying here,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
The police, maybe they could rescue me. All I had to do was find someone who could help me get home again.
“Fine by me,” Deeter said. “But you may as well eat before you go. You’re gonna have a long walk. You’re in the middle of nowhere.”
Probably the food here was poisoned or drugged, but the table was easier to reach than the door. I squeezed around the wooden crate and stepped over a leather suitcase. A jar of plastic frogs. A set of dusty old encyclopedias. Elephant figurines and a deflated football. A bunch of carnival masks.
What kind of a living room was this?
Finally, I managed to sit in one of the chairs at the table. Its tablecloth looked like a stained glass window transformed into fabric. Deeter pressed his palm against the tablecloth’s surface.
“Hey, Seven-Course Tablecloth. Please make me a cheeseburger pancake, with peanut-butter fries, no pickles, no onions.”
A blue plate appeared on the table, with a cheeseburger pancake on it and a side of peanut-butter covered fries. But no pickles, and no onions.
He offered me a fry. “Want one?”
I was lying on the floor after that. I must’ve fallen out of my chair. I got a great look at the underside of the table, though, and it seemed completely normal. No secret panels or hidden compartments. No sounds or lights or anything. So where did the food come from?
I was losing it. No question.
But Deeter wasn’t done messing with me yet. He held up an orange plastic ring that looked like a toy prize from a cereal box.
“This ring,” he said. “Seems ordinary, right?”
Then he slipped it onto his thumb and vanished. No sound. No flash. No smoke. Just gone. When he reappeared, he was holding the ring again.
“What’d you think of that, Rookie?” He laughed. “They call this the Sneak’s Ring. Not even Sweet Pea has a Collectible like this, not even after finding the Kitchen Broom. The Ragman said this ring was made by the Illusionist himself. It was my reward for finding the Phone Book, and believe me, that was not easy. The Librarian really knows how to hide things.”
Who? What?
This whole thing was one sick joke. A prank. That had to be it.
“Deeter,” Sweet Pea said from the doorway, “stop freaking out the new kid.”
She came to the table and helped me sit in my chair.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Oooo,” Deeter said. “She likes you. She’s never been this nice to a newbie before.”
Sweet Pea rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Deeter.”
“Sweet Pea and the rookie sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N—”
“I said shut up!”
Deeter stopped singing, but he was grinning all over like he was still singing it in his head. From the pocket of her hoodie, Sweet Pea drew out a long, white swan feather. She pointed it at Deeter, waving it lightly in the air.
“Do you really want to duel right now?” she asked. “You know I always win.”
He sank down in his chair for an answer.
“Why are you scared of a feather?” I asked.
Deeter shook his head. “Man, you do not want to know.”
Sweet Pea sat beside us at the table. Then, she brushed the bangs from her face and folded her hands very properly in her lap as if she was about to make a speech.
“I’ll try to explain, though you probably won’t believe me. Not yet anyway. That penny you found, it’s called the Finder’s Penny. That’s how the Ragman works. He hides it and waits for someone to find it again. In this case, you. And that means you’re a Finder, like Deeter and me, because only Finders can find
the Finder’s Penny.”
“A Finder?”
“Someone who is good at finding magical items. Collectibles—that’s what we call them. Weird stuff that can do weird things, like Deeter’s ring that turns him invisible and this tablecloth that makes food. Like most of the stuff in this room. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how there’s something different about everything here? Something a little…off?”
In one corner of the room stood a purple pinball machine; next to that was a suit of knight’s armor and a coat rack filled with feather boas and women’s hats. She was right. They all felt different. Like the jumpy feeling I had when I was on the sofa. Or that tingling sensation when I found that penny. I could still feel it if I paid attention.
“The world is full of Collectibles,” she said, “but they’re usually hidden, and normal people don’t really know they exist.”
I laid my hand on the tablecloth, the skin on my palm prickling.
“Where do they come from?” I asked.
“The Artisans make them. I don’t know much more than that. No one does. Some say the Artisans are gods or angels. Others say they’re a bunch of whacked-out medieval wizards.”
“Mad scientists,” Deeter said.
Sweet Pea shot him a look. “Don’t interrupt. It’s rude.”
He sank even lower in his chair.
“There are more powerful Collectibles in the world than what you see here,” she continued. “And there are a lot of people who want them. Dangerous people, mostly. They call themselves Collectors. You were lucky the Ragman found you. He’s dangerous too, but he treats his Finders well. Other Finders aren’t so lucky. And if you’re a Finder, it was only a matter of time before some Collector caught you.”
The Crown of the Bandit King Page 1