Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1

by V. L. Burgess

  An old map. That was all. Rolled tightly and tied with a bit of string. Working together, they smoothed the paper across Lost’s desk, using books to press the curled edges flat. Tom silently estimated its value, deciding it probably wasn’t expensive. He’d seen dozens of maps like it in antique shops, museums, even stuck in cheap frames and hung on walls in doctors’ and dentists’ offices.

  Hiding his disappointment, he scanned the badly worn document. It might once have been brilliantly colored, but the ink had faded to a dull suggestion of its former glory. The detail, however, was mildly interesting. Part of it depicted things he recognized: mountains and forests, lakes, oceans, ancient cities, fortresses, caves and volcanoes, warriors on horseback, and crude tribes bearing spears. But sprinkled throughout were foreign symbols and strange markings, coupled with the sort of mythical creatures ancient mapmakers used to draw when they had no idea what actually existed so they simply made things up: dragons and sea monsters, lions with the bodies of zebras, mermaids and reptilian birds.

  He pulled his gaze away and frowned at Umbrey and Lost. “So those guys in the belfry . . . were they after me, or this map?”

  “Yes.” Umbrey replied.

  Tom shook his head in annoyance. “Yes, what? Me? Or this?” He flicked a corner of the parchment. “It’s not even a real map.”

  “Not real?!” roared Umbrey, pivoting once again to glare at Professor Lost. “Not real! You never told him? You never trained him?”

  “You will not speak to me in that tone, Umbrey. I will not have it!” Lost shot to his feet, drilling his index finger into the ledger as he spoke. “The whole point of bringing the boy here was to avoid confrontation with Keegan. Give him a normal life in this world, not yours. No map reading, no exploring, no battle techniques. Keegan’s men were never meant to be here!”

  Umbrey studied him in silence for a long minute. Then he spoke. “The Watch was here. Somehow they’ve crossed over.”

  “They can’t cross over! That’s the whole point.”

  “I won’t argue facts. Keegan’s found a way. Just as you did and I did and Tom did. And now that they know where to find him, they will come again. With bigger numbers and greater force. Any safety the boy had here is gone. Our only hope is to get what’s at the end of this map before Keegan does. You know it as well as I do.”

  Lost opened his mouth as if to reply, then abruptly closed it. A muscle in his jaw working spasmodically. “I don’t like this,” he finally said. “I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Like’s got nothing to do with it.” Umbrey turned and looked at Tom. “I’ll speak plain, lad, because we don’t have much time. Your father was a cartographer,” he said. “A mapmaker. The best who ever lived. This map was his masterpiece. The problem is, it’s locked. That’s why Keegan’s men were after you. You can unlock it.”

  Tom frowned. “I don’t have a key.”

  “I didn’t say a key would unlock the map. I said you could unlock it. You are the key—or at least, part of the key.” Umbrey lifted his hand. He slowly drew it across the map, holding it a few inches above the surface. “See? Nothing. It’s the same when Mortimer does it. Watch.”

  Professor Lost slowly drew his hand, palm down, a few inches above the surface of the map.

  “Just as I said. Nothing. Now you try.”

  “Me? Why—”

  “Do it, lad.”

  With a shrug, Tom raised his hand and mimicked the motion. “There. You satisfied? Now what—”

  Umbrey’s hand shot out. He caught Tom’s wrist and held it still, locking it in a grip just shy of painful. All traces of warmth had left the pirate’s eyes.

  “I can’t fault you for not knowing your past. But I will fault you for turning your back on everyone who gave their life to keep this map—and you—safe.” He released Tom’s wrist. “Your father’s gift is in you, lad, whether you like it or not. Whether you want it or not. It may not answer our questions just yet, but the map will speak to you if you let it.”

  “I tried.”

  “Hog’s brains. You tried. Try harder. This time put a little heart into it.”

  Tom bit back a surge of annoyance and turned away. Having nowhere else for his gaze to fall, he studied the map. Really looked at it. As he did, a tremor of anticipation skittered through his belly. The same kind of nervous excitement he got when he reached the peak of a monster roller-coaster and was about to plummet to the ground. Then, slowly, his trepidation was replaced by something else. An odd warmth spread through him. Strange. As he studied it, the map seemed to shimmer, silently calling out to him, almost as though it were a living thing. He took a deep breath, centered his thoughts, and drew his palm over the parchment.

  Nothing. Feeling foolish, he began to pull his hand away when he felt a sudden tingling sensation surge through his fingertips. A sharp sting followed.

  “Ow!”

  He jerked back his hand and looked at it. A miniature spear, no bigger than a pin, pierced his thumb. His gaze flew back to the map. The tiny band of tribal natives shook their weapons at him, then went still.

  Tom blinked. He looked at his thumb. He looked at the map. He looked at Lost, at Umbrey. “But that’s not possible . . . ”

  He plucked the tiny spear from his flesh and traced his hand above the map again. Sparks shot from a volcano, saltwater sprayed from the ocean, a mythical lion roared. Tom gave a shout of laughter. “What is that thing? A game? How does it work?”

  Umbrey shook his head. “Not a game. A place.” He rubbed his fingers over the upper right corner of the map, brushing away a smear of dirt to reveal two bold words written in a large, ornate script: The Beyond.

  “After all those stormy nights prowling about on rooftops, don’t you recognize it when you see it? That’s the world you’ve been looking for.”

  Chapter Three

  ANOTHER WORLD

  “Umbrey? That’s it? Just Umbrey?”

  “If a single name’s good enough for God and the Devil, I reckon it’s good enough for me.”

  Tom trailed Umbrey and Professor Lost across the school grounds, toward the woods that bordered the soccer fields. Entry into the woods by the students of the academy was strictly forbidden. Which meant that Tom and his friends knew their way through them fairly well, having spent Sunday afternoons there engaged in epic battles of capture-the-flag (on the rare occasions when Professor Lost left the academy grounds and put Professor Warren in charge, a man who preferred long, restful naps to keen surveillance). But even Tom had never ventured this deeply into the woods before.

  “So you have a car parked somewhere back here, or what?”

  “A car?” Umbrey gave a sharp bark of laughter. “No four-wheeled contraption can get us where we’re going, lad.”

  “We’re walking, then?”

  “Walking, strolling, marching, pacing. Call it what you will, long as we get there.” He cast a sidelong glance at Professor Lost. “I suspect ol’ Morty here would be disinclined to skip. Though I for one would pay good money to see that.”

  Lost chose not to dignify the remark with a reply.

  The rain had temporarily abated, but their clothing grew damp as the wind whipped residual droplets from the leaves. Heavy clouds parted overhead, allowing just enough moonlight to guide their steps. The ground was slick beneath their feet, yet Umbrey, now back in possession of his wooden leg, moved without awkwardness or hesitation, his purposeful stride unhampered by darkness or weather.

  Even Lost, ancient as he was, appeared to have no trouble navigating the woods. Tom caught a glimpse of the professor’s profile: cheeks hollowed by age, peaked nose thrust out as though sniffing for trouble, his thin lips pressed into a line of staunch determination. He brought with him a furled umbrella and a leather-bound book, which he carried tucked tightly under his arm. Not exactly the kind of guy Tom would have picked for this sort of late-night escapade.

  Which brought him back to the whole reason they were there in the first pla
ce. The map. His fingers itched to touch it again, to watch it come to life beneath his hands. He’d barely had a chance to see how the thing worked, when it had been whisked away from him. Before he could object, he'd been hustled out of Lost’s office and thrust into their trek through the woods.

  Tom’s gaze moved to Umbrey’s peg leg, into which the parchment had once again been stored for safekeeping. “What happened to your leg?”

  “Accident aboard ship. Caught it under a beam.”

  “Oh. Um, sorry I asked.”

  Umbrey glanced over his shoulder at Tom. “Ask all the questions you want, lad. You’re in this up to your neck, much as I wish I could spare you from it.”

  “All right.” Tom thought for a moment. A thousand questions whirred through his mind. But first: “What does the map lead to?”

  Umbrey cast a glance at Professor Lost, whose already grim features tightened into a scowl of even greater displeasure.

  Umbrey said, “Hyster.”

  “What’s Hyster?”

  “Who’s Hyster,” corrected Umbrey.

  Lost said, “Drivel. Grammatically speaking, an ‘it’ is an object, and therefore a what. Much to my astonishment, the boy chose the correct interrogative.”

  “Wait. What?” Tom shook his head. “Hyster. Is it a what or a who?”

  “Exactly,” said Umbrey. “You’re finally catching on.”

  “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I didn’t answer—” Umbrey stopped abruptly and swung around, waving his arms in the air as though wrestling an enormous invisible snake. Then he heaved a dramatic sigh and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Is this what you two do all day? Waste time palavering? Yakety-yakking? Now’s not a time for flapping our tongues. Now’s a time for action. You ready, lad?”

  “Ready? For what?”

  “Were you not listening?! Ready for action, what else? For adventure! For blood to start pumping through your veins!”

  Tom looked over his shoulder, half-expecting Lost to intervene. When the headmaster didn’t, he said, “Um...sure?”

  “All right, then. So. How did old Mortimer do? Were you raised properly? Fed well? Taught right from wrong?”

  Tom shrugged. “I guess.”

  “And your studies? Did you get good grades?”

  Tom cast about for a response that, while honest, wouldn’t make too bad an impression. “When I tried,” he said.

  Professor Lost snorted. “Which wasn’t very often, I can assure you.”

  Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Umbrey waved it aside. “Never mind. You’ll be back with Mortimer within a week. He can drill all the facts and figures into your skull he wants to then. We have until Friday the thirty-first to find Hyster.”

  Tom looked up at him, surprised. “That’s my birthday.”

  “Not likely I’d forget the date. I met you the night you were born.”

  “Wait a minute. What? You were there? You knew my parents?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “But . . . How . . . ”

  A sharp snap, like the breaking of a twig, echoed off to their right. The three of them froze, listening intently. Silence answered them. Tom looked from Lost to Umbrey; he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you think that’s them? The guys in capes?”

  Umbrey studied the darkness. He looked at Tom. “You know better than I do, lad. The Watch—do you feel them?”

  “Feel them?”

  “Up on the rooftop, before Keegan’s men showed themselves. I saw you stop, look around. Something made you hesitate. What was it?”

  Tom considered that. So much had happened since then that he hadn’t really thought about it. But it had been more than the snap of slate that had caused him to stop and look around. He’d felt a dark presence creeping toward him, a presence so menacing he would have given up his quest for the bells entirely if the threat of losing face in front of his friends hadn’t prevented it.

  Now, Tom was cold and wet, more than a little confused, and didn’t particularly like being in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night, but his heart wasn’t pounding madly in his chest the way it had been moments before Keegan’s men had appeared.

  “They’re not here,” he said.

  A light of approval shone in Umbrey’s eyes. “Excellent. You might not have had any formal training—curse Morty’s cowardly soul—but you’ve got good instincts. Listen to them and you might just live long enough to mark your thirteenth year.”

  He might just live…? Not exactly a ringing endorsement for their little adventure. Before Tom could respond, Lost rapped his umbrella against his leg and glared at Umbrey. “My cowardly soul, you say? And what exactly would you have done in my place?”

  “Taught the lad to fight! Showed him how to use his fists! That’s what he’ll need to know if he’s to survive against Keegan!”

  “Is that so?” Lost spun around, towering over Tom as he barked out, “Where would we find the North Star in the night sky? Define pi. Why did the Roman Empire fall? What is osmosis? Spell the dinosaur pterodactyl. Name all the notes on a musical scale.”

  Tom blinked under the barrage of questions. “Uh . . . you want me to answer them all?”

  “Can you answer those questions?”

  Tom thought for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, I can.”

  Triumph lit Lost’s eyes. He wheeled back toward Umbrey, one bony finger extended in Tom’s direction. “Ha! There, you see!”

  Umbrey gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Useless facts and figures.”

  “The boy can think,” Lost corrected firmly. “A triumph of perseverance on my part if there ever was one. He’s been taught to reason, to observe, to learn. His fists aren’t the greatest weapon at his disposal—his brain is. That’s what he’ll use if he hopes to survive.”

  Umbrey tilted his head and looked at Tom. He scratched the stubble on his chin. Slowly, he nodded. “Could be you’re right.”

  “Indeed.” Lost sniffed and stiffened his spine.

  Umbrey waited until Lost wasn’t looking, then leaned down and whispered gruffly in Tom’s ear, “But I still say a swift kick in the groin will get you out of trouble faster than spouting some useless gibberish. Remember that now.”

  Tom looked from one man to the other. He cleared his throat. “Um, if I hope to survive?”

  Umbrey shrugged. “An unfortunate turn of phrase. Not to worry, lad.” He threw out his arms and gestured broadly, announcing, “We’ve arrived!”

  Tom glanced around the surrounding woods, which looked identical to the woods they’d been trampling through for over an hour. Nothing spectacular. Sturdy pines rooted among a scrappy assortment of maple, birch, and elm. Moss-covered stones and fallen logs, prickly bushes underfoot tangled with vines, leaves, and ferns.

  Then, just as he was about to turn away, a clearing in the distance caught his attention. There the woods parted unexpectedly, leaving a small hole of gaping darkness and utter stillness. Except it wasn’t still. The darkness seemed to shimmer, undulating like pools of heat on August asphalt. As he watched, the gaping hole expanded—or, perhaps it was moving toward them. He couldn’t tell which. But it was definitely looming larger. His stomach tightened and his mouth suddenly went dry.

  “What is that?” he managed to choke out.

  Umbrey smiled. “That, lad, is your passage home. Gateway to the Five Kingdoms. We’ll pass through, gather supplies, then use your father’s map to travel into The Beyond and find Hyster. Clear enough?”

  Clear? No. Not even close. Tom shot a glance at Professor Lost, waiting for the old man to protest. For him to call Umbrey a deranged fool and explain that a portal to another world couldn’t possibly exist. Instead, Lost eyed the darkness and muttered, “Well. Best get on with it, then. You don’t have much time.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tom protested. “Just . . . Wait a minute.”

  Sharp gusts of wind whipped through the trees and thunder rumble
d in the distance. The storm had returned with a vengeance.

  “I should accompany you!” Lost shouted over the howling wind.

  Umbrey shook his head and shouted back, “You’re needed at the academy, Mortimer! Guard the portal against Keegan’s men!”

  Lost looked as though he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Thunder rumbled. A bolt of lightning split a tree mere yards from where they stood. The tree crashed to the ground with a deafening crack, branches flailing against the forest floor. The skies opened up and rain poured down in torrents.

  The shimmering darkness crept closer, threatening to engulf them all. Tremors of alarm shot down Tom’s spine. The earth felt softer beneath his feet, less firm somehow.

  Lost removed the leather-bound journal he carried from under his arm and thrust it into Tom’s hands. “Study this, boy! Study it and memorize every word!”

  Tom stared at him in horror. “Homework? You’re giving me homework? Now?!”

  “Study it, boy! Study it as though your life depends upon it!”

  Lost faded away, disappearing into the dark woods.

  “Professor!”

  “Too late, lad. He’s gone.” Umbrey draped a heavy arm over Tom’s shoulder. He scanned the heavens and gave a curt nod of approval. “You came into this world on a stormy night. I guess it’s only fitting that you leave it in one.”

  Tom’s heart hammered at triple time. The reckless stupidity of following a one-legged stranger into the middle of the woods in the middle of the night suddenly impressed itself upon his brain. “Look, maybe I’ll just head back to—”

  “There’s an old expression, lad, about life offering you windows of opportunity. Have you ever heard it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, because you’re about to be shoved out of one.”

  Before he could protest, the shimmering darkness surrounded him. The air was suddenly dense, almost too heavy to breathe, thick and humid and warm. He spiraled forward, feeling as though he were floating, falling, flying, all at the same time. His body felt wrong. Loose, somehow disconnected from his brain. His stomach somersaulted and he reached out to grab hold of something, but felt only emptiness. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he slipped into quiet, comforting blackness.