by Brandon Mull
“How’d you break your leg?”
Mr. Dart studied him. He reached into a pocket of his coat and put a toothpick in his mouth. “I’ve been around long enough, my weakness is no big secret, although I’m never anxious to draw attention to it. I receive any injury that I directly inflict upon another. I punch you in the face, my nose bleeds. I break your leg, mine breaks too. I kill you . . . I die.”
“Whoa,” Nate said. “So you broke the dwarf’s leg with the crossbow, and your leg broke! What about when the dwarf jumped into the wall?”
“That didn’t count. He stored up and released the energy himself.”
“Were you born like that?”
“I used to be an enforcer for the mob,” Mr. Dart said. “We’re talking back in the twenties. One time, we leaned on a guy who happened to be a magician. Not just any magician—pretty much the cream of the crop. We had no idea. He got the upper hand and killed the two guys I was working with. I was next. But he held off. He looks at me strangely and says, ‘You’ve never killed a man.’ I say, ‘That’s right.’ He says, ‘You’ve been using your gifts for unworthy purposes.’ I say, ‘Maybe.’ He says, ‘I killed the killers, but I’ll offer you a way out. Not an easy way out, but a chance to live, a new life.’ I ended up agreeing to his terms.”
“What were they?” Nate asked, fascinated.
“He cursed me so that I would suffer whatever physical harm I inflicted on others. The curse slowed down my aging process—I age more gradually than most magicians, even. And the curse sped up how fast my body heals. This leg will be perfectly mended in a couple of days, even though the dwarf will be lame for months. After placing the curse, the spell caster introduced me to a person in charge of policing magicians, and I have done this job ever since.”
“You went from criminal to policeman,” Nate said.
“Something like that. I’m not proud of my unlawful background. True, I never killed a man, but certain memories make me cringe. I may have been raised wrong, but I should have known better. The curse was just. I try to make up for my past errors by doing this job right.”
“Why did you chase us the night we broke into the museum?” Nate asked.
“As far as I knew, you were in league with Belinda. I was just trying to gather information. You’ll notice, I didn’t hurt any of you. I could have.”
Nate stared at him. “I’ll admit, you’re starting to convince me.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Mr. Dart said. “I can tell you more, but you need to meet me halfway. I need to know we’re on the same side. I can’t have the info I share with you leaking back to my enemies.”
“Okay, we’re getting close to the treasure,” Nate said. “A guy named Hanaver Mills left clues.”
“Hanaver is how my organization knows about the treasure,” Mr. Dart said. “We believe he found it, but chose to help keep it hidden. He did not share exactly where it was located, although he told us what it was. Since my organization is run by magicians, we left the treasure alone. To claim it, even to hide it, would have been a conflict of interest. But somehow word finally leaked out. Now I have to plug the leak.”
“You better hurry,” Nate said. “Mrs. White stole the map to the treasure from me last night.”
“You had a map!” Mr. Dart said, losing his composure for the first time. “Do you know the location of the treasure room?”
“The map was supposedly hidden inside a model ship built by Hanaver,” Nate explained. “We stole the ship from the town library, but before we could investigate it, Mrs. White used a wooden Indian to steal the ship from my house.”
Mr. Dart scrawled something in his notebook. “She may already know the position of the treasure. Are other kids still working for her?”
“The four of us who you chased that night at the museum quit working for her and started helping Mr. Stott,” Nate said. “But she recruited three bullies from our school who are now helping her.”
“Who are they?” Mr. Dart asked.
“Denny Clegg, Eric Andrews, and Kyle Knowles.”
“Could you point them out to me?”
“Sure.”
“What about the others working for Stott? How loyal are they?”
Nate glanced over at Summer. “We should bring them in on this. One is trapped as a reflection. The others are in this room, and, like me, they just want all of this to be over. If we help you, we need you to help us get our friend out of the mirror realm.”
“I’ll try my best,” Mr. Dart said. “I had no idea anybody still knew how to access the space where reflections dwell.”
“I’ve been there,” Nate said.
“Well, yes, I’ll do everything in my power to rescue your friend, and I’ll not be claiming the water from the Fountain of Youth, or any of the other treasure. You would be welcome to destroy it. If there is gold, you would be welcome to keep it. I’m just here to stop the magicians from acquiring it.”
“Hold on a second,” Nate said.
He walked to Summer’s desk and waved Pigeon over. “What’s his story?” Summer asked.
Nate took a deep breath. “First off, I have something to confess. I lost the Stargazer. The wooden Indian from the candy shop broke into my house and stole it. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong.”
“Then Mrs. White has the map,” Pigeon said.
“I’m sorry,” Nate said.
“That must have been scary,” Summer said.
“It was the worst,” Nate said. “My dad was watching and didn’t even get what was happening. He thought I was roughhousing with friends. He just wanted me to quiet down.”
“I’m sure you tried your best,” Pigeon said. “I’m just glad the Indian wasn’t in my house.”
“I think this guy is for real,” Nate said, tilting his head toward Mr. Dart. He recapped all the information John Dart had told him. “I know it’s hard, but I don’t see that we have any options except to trust him.”
“Wow,” Summer said. “I’d say we’re lucky he found us. He may be our only hope.”
“That’s what I think,” Nate said. “If it’s a trick, it’s the best one yet. He might actually be able to get us out of this.”
“You really think Mr. Stott is a bad guy?” Pigeon asked.
“Mr. Dart said that Mr. Stott isn’t bad like Mrs. White, but that he could become dangerous if he drinks from the Fountain of Youth. Considering that Mr. Stott didn’t tell us what the treasure was, my guess is he plans to drink it. I think Mr. Dart is our safest bet.”
“I’m in,” Pigeon said. “Let’s talk to him.”
“Is that Denny?” Summer said, staring at a window near the door.
Nate turned and made brief eye contact with the bully. Nate, Summer, and Pigeon hurried to the window in time to see Denny running off. They shared a worried look.
“What was he up to?” Pigeon asked.
“I don’t know,” Nate muttered.
The three kids approached John Dart’s desk.
“What was that about?” Mr. Dart asked.
“One of the bullies working for Mrs. White was peeking in the window,” Nate reported. “Denny. Do you think he could have heard us?”
“No,” Mr. Dart said. “But it would make sense for Belinda to spy on you. I doubt he could have recognized me, but we’ll have to be careful.”
“This is Summer and Pigeon,” Nate said.
“The Japanese girl and the black kid,” Mr. Dart said. “I’m John Dart. Call me John if you like. What other leads do we have?”
“The other big one is a clue left by Hanaver Mills,” Nate said. “The House of Haag holds the key.”
“That is a big lead,” John said. “What do we know about the Haag family in Colson?”
“Mr. Stott said there are at least twenty Haags in town,” Nate said. “He’s been working on narrowing down the list.”
“Does Belinda know about the Haags?” John asked.
“No,” Pigeon said.
“So Sebastian knows about the Haags but lacks the map, while Belinda has the map but knows nothing about the Haag family,” John summarized.
“Right,” Nate said.
“What about henchmen?” John asked. “Who’s working for Sebastian?”
“All I know about is a weird mutant called the Flatman,” Nate said. “Mr. Stott called him an engineered apprentice.”
“I’ve heard of the Flatman,” John said. “Sebastian never worked with many associates. What about Belinda?”
“Obviously the dwarf,” Nate said. “She also has a fat guy who can spit orange jelly. And maybe a guy with a huge birthmark.”
“Engineered apprentices,” John said. “We call the fat guy a Gusher, or a Slopgut. He has a symbiotic relationship with the gel inside of him. He can expel it in order to entrap or smother victims. The man with the birthmark is a Fuse. Every Fuse has different magical specialties. Each time he calls on his power, the birthmark spreads. When the mark covers his entire body, he dies. Hence the name. I actually captured the Fuse a few days ago. He won’t talk, but at least he’s out of play. What else can you tell me?”
Summer, Nate, and Pigeon exchanged glances. “That’s about it,” Pigeon said.
“We still have some candy from both of them,” Nate said. “You might find us more useful than normal kids. We’ll do whatever it takes to get Trevor back.”
“I’ll be honest, I’m not much of a babysitter,” John said. “I’ve always liked the idea of children a lot more than the reality. But you three seem okay. I can definitely use your help to gather information. I’ll try my best to keep you out of harm’s way. Our first step will be to nab one of your bully friends and find out what he knows. I’ll need you to point them out to me at the first opportunity. For now, go back to your desks. I look forward to working with you.”
Nate returned to his seat.
Heather Nielson leaned over and whispered, “Is he as weird as he seems?”
“You can’t imagine.”
*****
Fourth, fifth, and sixth grade kids flocked to the lunch tables. Seagulls wheeled and plunged overhead. One of the few clouds in the sky moved in front of the hot sun, providing temporary shade.
Nate, Summer, and Pigeon waited at one side of the lunch area. Beside them John Dart took a long drink from a bottle of Dr. Pepper. They had failed to spot Denny, Eric, or Kyle during first recess, and had begun to worry the boys might have ditched school. Just because they had seen Denny earlier did not guarantee that he had stuck around.
“It’s convenient that you’re a substitute teacher,” Nate said, making conversation.
“I’m not,” John said.
“How’d you get in here?” Pigeon asked.
“This morning at around five I went to Miss Doulin’s house, tied her up, and shut her in a closet. She’ll be fine. I grabbed her keys, skipped talking to anybody in the office, and took over her class. Helps that most of the faculty and office staff are on white fudge.”
“There they are,” Pigeon said, pointing out Denny and Eric. They had hot-lunch trays, and settled down together at a table full of sixth graders.
“No sign of the third one?” John asked.
They waited a few minutes, but Kyle did not join the others.
“Which of those two has the weaker will?” John asked.
“Eric,” Summer said. “The kid sitting on the left. The other one, Denny, is pretty tough.”
“You three go have lunch in the classroom. Here’s the key.”
“What are you going to do?” Nate asked.
“You’ll see,” John said.
Nate, Summer, and Pigeon returned to the classroom. They pushed three desks together and ate their lunches.
“I’m grounded,” Nate said.
“Why?” Pigeon asked.
“In my fight with the Indian I trashed the house. Smashed my bookcase, shattered the window in my room, pulverized the sliding glass door. Fortunately I was sucking on an Ironhide. My parents somehow decided I’d had friends over and we had vandalized everything. I’m supposed to go directly home after school.”
“You got busted even with them on the fudge?” Pigeon asked, sounding a little nervous.
“Yeah, but they had it all wrong,” Nate said. “It took me wrestling a wooden Indian in front of my dad and doing severe damage to the house to even get noticed.”
John entered the room. “You kids want to leave school early?” He walked to the front of the room, leaning on his cane. He erased DON’T TAKE CANDY FROM STRANGERS! and replaced it with STUDY QUIETLY UNTIL I RETURN.
“You’re not returning,” Pigeon guessed.
“Not very likely,” John admitted. “Hurry up, I have Eric in the trunk.”
“You’re kidnapping him?” Summer asked.
“Don’t worry, I took away all of his candy,” John said. “Trust me, we’re doing the weasel a favor. We’ll take him home safe and sound when this is over.”
Nate, Summer, and Pigeon collected their backpacks and followed John to the front of the school. He was driving an old Buick. The exterior was clean although the paint was chipped and scratched.
“Shotgun,” Nate said, climbing into the front seat and sitting on the dry, cracked upholstery.
“Nine-millimeter handgun, actually, modified to shoot darts,” John said, sliding in and starting the car. “Buckle up.”
“Mine doesn’t work,” Pigeon said.
“Sit in the middle,” John said.
Pigeon scooted over and buckled the lap belt.
“Where are we going?” Nate asked.
“The Paradise Inn,” John said.
“Isn’t that kind of a dump?” Pigeon asked.
“My third dive since hitting town,” John said, turning onto Oak Grove Avenue. “We may have to make an extra stop before then. You kids have a traveling eye monitoring you.”
“Traveling eye?” Pigeon asked.
“Some magicians can send a traveling eye to help them spy on distant events. This one looks like a bubble.”
“I’ve seen it before!” Pigeon said.
“It showed up in my room before the Indian took the Stargazer,” Nate said.
“Then the eye belongs to Belinda,” John said. “Reach under your seat.”
Nate reached under his seat and pulled out a crossbow. Instead of an arrow, the string held a small cup covered by a leather cap. It looked ready to fire.
“The weapon shoots forty silver pellets,” John said. “I typically use it for other purposes, but it should get this job done. Have any of you kids ever fired a crossbow?”
The kids were silent.
“How about a rifle?”
Nate and Pigeon shook their heads.
“I have,” Summer said. “My grandpa took me.”
“I can’t afford to shoot the eye myself,” John said. He pulled into a large parking lot adjacent to a supermarket and several smaller stores, including a tanning salon, a Chinese buffet, and a copy shop. He parked in a vacant area near the back of the lot. “Nate, give Summer the crossbow. Summer, the eye is above and behind us to the right. It may be hard to identify against the blue sky. Aim by putting the bead at the front of the crossbow into the notch at the rear and lining it up with the target. You’ll get only one shot.”
“Then I’d better use some of this,” Summer said, inserting a stick of Peak Performance gum into her mouth.
John reached back and released a mechanism on the crossbow. “The safety is off,” he said. “Ready? On three. One . . . two . . . three!”
Summer pushed open her door, stepped out, and aimed the heavy crossbow. The baseball-sized bubble hovered right where John had described, about thirty feet off the ground, barely visible. Holding her breath, she pulled the trigger. The cup lurched forward, the leather cap slid off, and a cloud of pellets were catapulted into the air.
The bubble burst, and a red smear appeared on the parking lot beneath it. John got out and took a look at the smear. “
Great job,” he said, patting Summer on the back. “You shot her eye out. She’ll think twice before sending the other one after us.”