Everland (16 page)

“I
am
her guardian.” Pete turns and storms through the city center. I follow behind. “And I was defending you. You ought to be grateful,” he says over his shoulder.

“What guardian threatens banishment? And
I
should be grateful? For what?” I step in front of him, forcing him to stop abruptly. I wave a hand in the direction Bella has disappeared. “Protecting me from her?”

“She attacked you. I wasn’t about to let her get away with that.”

I roll my eyes. “She pulled my hair. Besides, what happened to ‘you’re no damsel in distress’? You don’t think I can hold my own against a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Look, I was bluffing about exiling her to Everland, but we have rules and I can’t have discord among the kids. The last thing I need is an uprising or, worse, anarchy.”

“She’s a child, Pete! They’re all children, not a bunch of rebels trying to dethrone you.” Incredulous, I stomp off in the direction of the building with a sign that reads
WEAPONEER
.

“Gwen, wait!” Pete shouts, hurrying after me.

Ignoring him, I dash up the steps, taking two at a time, and shove the door open. Inside, Pickpocket is testing out the scope on a rifle before placing it in the scabbard on his back. Mole holds a medieval-looking staff with spikes. Pyro attaches several grenades to a pouch on his hip. A string of firecrackers loops around his derby hat. Next to him, Jack clips random tools to his belt. Each weapon and tool that the boys hold is decorated with brass engravings and embellishments that reflect the flicker of an overhead lamp.

A boy with spiky black hair steps into the room from a closet in the back of the building. Leather and copper pistols are strapped to each of his wrists. Daggers and guns hang from his weapons belt.

“Hi, guys,” he says with caution as Pete follows me. His gaze darts between Pete and me. “What’s going on?”

“Gwen, this is the way things are run around here,” Pete says. “Don’t be mad at me because I’m doing my job. I have to do what I have to do to keep the peace.”

Ignoring him, I walk up to the spiky-haired boy. I pull my daggers from their sheaths and slam them on a table. “Are you Blade?”

“Yes,” he says hesitantly.

“I need replacements for these. Apparently, they are about as good as butter knives, at least according to that dolt you call a leader.”

Blade gives a sideways glance toward Pete before replying. “Sure, I’ll be right back,” he says. He hurries to the closet and pulls aside the sheet covering the doorway.

“Gwen, talk to me.” Pete places a hand on my elbow.

I jerk my arm away. “You know what? You are nothing but a bully. What you did to her was far worse than what she would do to me or anyone else.”

“What’s going on?” Pickpocket asks, placing his revolver in its holster on his back.

“What do you want me to do?” Pete says, frustrated.

I cock my weight to one hip. “You can start with an apology.”

“Apologize? Fine! I’m sorry!” Pete holds his hands up defensively.

He sounds insincere, although I’m not surprised. He doesn’t strike me as someone who would readily admit fault to anything.

“It’s not me you owe an apology to,” I say.

Blade walks into the room and places two matching knives on the counter. Brass trim wraps around the grips. They are the most impressive daggers I’ve ever seen. I snatch the blades from the counter and, without further inspection, I thrust them into the sheaths attached to my hips.

“I guess that means those will do?” Blade asks, picking up my old daggers and tossing them in a wooden crate.

“They’re perfect,” I say. I push Pete out of my way as I head to the door.

“What’s going on?” Blade whispers to Mole.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Mole says. The other boys snicker.

Pete bolts to the door, blocking it before I can go through. “You’re right. Maybe I was too harsh on her,” he says. “I’ll talk to her about it the next time I see her.”

“Do it now,” I insist. “Did you see the look on her face? She was devastated.”

The door bursts open, nearly knocking Pete over, and Gabs rushes in, breathless. “Pete, you have to come. You have to come right now. It’s a ’mergency and a really big, ginormous one. Well, maybe not that big or ginormous because she isn’t that big of a person …”

“What’s going on?” Pete asks, alarm evident in his voice.

“I tried to stop her. I really did try, but she’s so much bigger than me so I guess that would make it a big problem. I said to her, ‘Bella, I don’t think this is such a fantastic idea,’ and she wouldn’t listen to me. Oh no. I knew it was a bad idea right from the start, or at least I wouldn’t do it, well, not until I was big and brave like you, but definitely not now and not even if I was as big as Bella.”

“Gabs, what’s wrong with Bella?” asks Pete, placing both hands on Gabs’s shoulders and giving him a slight shake.

“She’s gone,” the little boy says with wide eyes. “She’s in Everland!”

W
hat do you mean Bella’s gone?” I ask.

“Like gone-gone. She left the Lost City,” says Gabs. “Disappeared. Ran away.”

“Why would she do that?” Pickpocket asks.

Gabs puts one hand on a hip as he pitches his voice in a higher octave, mimicking Bella. “She’s all, ‘No one treats me like a real Lost Kid,’ and ‘I’m going to prove that I’m as good as any of you boys.’ ” He throws his hands in the air. “Seriously, I’ve never thought she was less important than any of us and I tried to tell her so, but she wouldn’t listen. She just packed her bag of gold dust, put on her wings, and left. I have no clue what she’s yammering about, all this talk about her not being a Lost Kid.”

“This is bad,” Jack says, his eyes darting to the other Lost Boys.

“Did she say where she was going?” I ask, kneeling in front of the small boy.

“She said she’s going after Hook.” Gabs’s eyes grow wide with fear.

“What is she thinking? She can’t take on Hook alone!” Pete exclaims.

Gabs mimics Bella again, waving a hand around. “She says, ‘I’m going to get Gwen’s sister by myself and then that girl can go back to her dump of a house.’ I don’t think she likes you much, Gwen. No offense.”

“Did you see which direction she went?” Pete asks.

“She left through the western tunnel,” Gabs says, pointing to his left.

I shove past Pete toward the door. “Nice job, idiot. So much for being Bella’s guardian.”

“We’ll get her back before she reaches Hook’s palace,” Pete says. His voice is less confident than usual.

Spinning, I scowl at Pete. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t thrown your authority around and acted like … like …”

“Like what, a leader? Which is precisely what I am.” Pete’s brows narrow.

“No,” I whisper, “like her father, and a very poor one I might add.” My stomach drops as I recall again my last conversation with Joanna.
You were a much better sister than you are a mother
, she said, and here I am repeating her statement. I wish I could take back everything I said to Joanna. I wish she were here, safe with Mikey and me. I gulp the stale air, trying to shake the weight of blame. Turning, I open the door and burst out, nearly crashing into Doc as he runs up the steps with his medical bag in hand.

“I just heard about Bella,” Doc says, brushing by me. “How long has she been gone?”

“Maybe ten or fifteen minutes,” Gabs answers. “But I wouldn’t know for sure because I still haven’t earned a watch yet even though I’ve cleaned the privies out at least a dozen times.”

“She can’t leave. We’ve got to stop her.” Worry lines crease Doc’s brow.

“I’m already on it,” Pete says, pushing past Doc. “I’ll get our supplies. Meet me at the western tunnel in five minutes, Lost Boys.”

“We need to find her right away,” Doc replies with urgency. “Bella sees me twice a day for medication. She’s already overdue for her second dose.”

“I only see you once a week,” Pickpocket says. “If she’s receiving medication twice daily, she should be fine for a while, shouldn’t she?”

“No, the virus progresses slower in males, but in Bella’s case it is extremely aggressive. You might experience mild symptoms a week after your injection, but she will show severe symptoms within twelve hours after her last dose if she’s not treated right away.”

“What are you saying, Doc?” I ask, feeling a growing sense of anxiety.

“I’m saying if we don’t get her back soon, she’ll be dead in a day. Two days at best.”

Pete’s expression goes slack with alarm. “Jack, Pickpocket, get our supply packs from Stock. The rest of us will meet you at the entrance of the western tunnel. Gabs, where’s Justice?”

“He’s already at the tunnel entrance. He tried to stop her, too,” Gabs says, bouncing on his toes. “He tried to stop Bella, but she was in turbo mode and flew out like a rocket ship. Cogs really ought to tinker with her wings and make a ’mergency shutoff button or something.”

“Take me to Justice. I need to make sure he’s all set to be in charge of the Lost City,” Pete says, bursting out the door. “We’re leaving now!”

Within minutes, we are traveling through a dirt passageway. The western tunnel is crudely constructed and not very well lit. Without the overhead gas lanterns to light the way, we depend on our guide’s single lamp. Dozer, a boy whose skin is as brown as his eyes from the layer of dirt coating his body, leads us through a recently dug passage. Wooden beams crisscross along the tunnel, supporting the low ceiling.

“Watch your step,” Dozer says through a yawn. “My crew and I haven’t completed this channel yet.”

“Thanks for helping us out. I know you have your rules about non-Diggers in the unfinished tunnels,” Pete says, stepping over a plank of timber.

“It’s your neck,” Dozer grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You blokes take five while I go make sure the support joists ahead are secure.”

“We’re going with you,” Pete insists.

Dozer holds up his miner’s pick and looks Pete in the eye. “You’ll do no such thing. These tunnels are incomplete and my responsibility. You’ll be staying here or you won’t be going anywhere at all.”

Pete looks at the boy, his face pinched. “You have five minutes. After that, if you’re not back, we’re going ahead.”

“Correction,” Dozer retorts. “You woke me from my nap. You’ll follow
my
rules. I’ll be back when I’m good and ready and when I’m sure the lot of you aren’t going to lose a few more brain cells when the ceiling caves in on you.”

Shuffling toward me, he mumbles, “Not that it would do much damage to those thick skulls. Fools must have a screw or two loose to go into Everland.” He pulls a candle from his pocket, lights it, and hands the lantern to me. “Hold this. I’ll be back.” He disappears into the tunnel, still murmuring to himself.

“He doesn’t seem particularly happy about us being here,” I whisper to Doc.

“Can’t say I blame him,” he says. “I wouldn’t be happy if a bunch of kids were tromping through the infirmary. Haven’t you had a space that was all your own? A place where everything had its special place and every place had its special thing?”

“I suppose it would be my room at home,” I say. Memories of the pale aqua room lined with posters of horses come back to me: my equestrian trophies stacked two deep on a simple shelf, a closet full of school uniforms, and a family photo on my writing desk. My mother resting her forehead against my father’s as they peer at each other in a romantic gaze. In front of them, I sit with my arms around Joanna and Mikey with the picturesque, lush fields of Scotland in the background. Sorrow and loss threaten to choke me, but Doc speaks again.

“How would you feel if those twits were strolling through your bedroom?” he says, gesturing toward the Lost Boys.

Jack chuckles as he places a hand on Mole’s head, keeping him at arm’s distance. Mole swings blindly, landing a few weak punches. Leaning up against the dirt wall, Pete, Pyro, and Pickpocket laugh at the boys’ antics. Mole grabs the staff strapped to his back. He swings it just above the ground, making contact with Jack’s calves, knocking him on his hindquarters with a heavy thud.

“Never underestimate a short, blind boy,” Pete says, laughing. “Mole might seem like an easy target, but he has keen spatial awareness and great aim.”

The corners of Mole’s mouth twitch into a smirk.

“He might have ‘keen spatial awareness’ and ‘great aim,’ ” Pickpocket says, gesturing quotes in the air, “but I’ll bet he can’t beat me at wrestling.”

“Is that a challenge?” Mole asks.

Pete whistles and cringes. “Buddy, you’re asking for trouble. My money is on Mole.”

“Bring it,” Pickpocket says, lacing his fingers together and popping his knuckles.

Pyro digs trinkets out of the silk lining of his derby hat. “I’ll get in on this wager.”

Pyro, Jack, and Pete pull small trinkets from their pockets.

“A stick of gum, a screwdriver, and handful of bolts says Pickpocket will win,” Jack challenges. “What do you got?”

Pyro throws down the contents of his hat. “A book of matches, a flint, and a firecracker on Pickpocket. How about you, Pete?”

“A chocolate, a thimble, and a broken watch,” Pete says, laying out his wager.