Taken by the Cowboy (36 page)

Callie’s heart sank.
She hadn’t had time to erase the message, and now it was going to
end up in Wanda’s hands.

Ms. Randall turned,
looking quite cross. “Yes, you may, Wanda, if you’ve forgotten your
eraser, too. And if there are any others in the class who need
erasers, I would ask that you all borrow one now so that we may get
back to work. After this, if there are any more interruptions, the
entire class will be staying after school to do a twenty-question
math quiz. Is that clear?”

Wanda looked as if the
wind had been taken out of her sails. She didn’t even bother to
say, “Yes, Ms. Randall.” Instead, she snatched the eraser out of
Callie’s hand and looked down at it. Then she sank back into her
desk like a snake coiling upon itself and smiled the most evil
smile she had probably ever smiled, which for her was pretty evil.
She gave Callie a look that said, “You’re so busted.”

Callie’s heart did
flip-flops. She didn’t think Wanda would say anything during class
because of Ms. Randall’s threat. But Callie knew Wanda would
somehow work this to her advantage. Callie and Lewis had been
passing notes on her eraser; the evidence was still there. No doubt
Wanda would try to blackmail her or something worse. She wondered
how much money it was going to take to keep Wanda’s mouth shut.

The rest of the lesson
passed in relative quiet. The class was subdued after Ms. Randall’s
harsh warning, and the sick feeling in Callie’s stomach grew worse.
Now she had another problem to deal with: Wanda Morris snitching on
her.

This day had gone from
weird, to bad, to worse! First the strange dream, then cryptic
messages in her cereal, then Wanda catching her passing notes. For
a birthday, it wasn’t going well. Callie wondered what else could
go wrong today.

They still had one more
class before recess-history. Thankfully, it was one of Callie’s
favorites. Maybe it would help keep her mind off everything. Ms.
Randall instructed them to take out their history textbooks and
turn to chapter five on the kings and queens of England.

Someone rapped on the
classroom door-“rapped” because that’s exactly what it sounded
like, not just an ordinary knock. “Rapping” is much more
important-sounding.

Ms. Randall furrowed
her brow. No one ever knocked or rapped on their classroom door
while school was in session-unless it was something serious, like
someone in your family was in the hospital. Callie knew this from
experience.

All eyes turned toward
the door as the children hoped their name wouldn’t be called.

Ms. Randall stepped
back into the classroom, looking very serious indeed. “Callie
Richards, come to the door, please.”

Callie’s heart did not
only a flip-flop, but a swan dive into cement.
Her Dad-what if
her Dad was hurt? What if her Dad was dead? She couldn’t lose
another parent…

Callie looked to Lewis
for strength, and he whispered, “It’ll be okay.”

She took a deep breath
and forced herself out of her desk, forced her feet to move,
walking slowly up to the front of the room. She could feel her
classmates’ eyes upon her, especially two pairs in
particular-Lewis’ and Wanda’s.

The closer Callie got
to the door, the more scared she got. She hated being scared. She’d
spent far too much time being scared in the past two years.

Ms. Randall held the
door open for Callie, her expression unreadable. “Come out into the
hallway, please. There’s someone who wishes to see you.”

Someone who wishes
to see you
…

Before she could stop
herself, Callie wished it was her mom. That would be the best
birthday present ever.

But it wasn’t her mom.
It was never her mom.

In this case it wasn’t
her dad, either.

It was a man she had
never seen before. He was an older man, and taller than most. He
had a strange, pointy-shaped beard which hung down off his chin
like a long triangle. His moustache curled up at the ends, and his
long gray hair was tied back into a ponytail. A gold brocade jacket
came down to just above his knees. He wore funny shoes with big
gold buckles on them, and white knee socks. His matching gold
brocade pants ended just below the knee. A long, thin sword hung
from his belt. A hat with enormous brim sat upon his head. A buckle
decorated the front, and a long white feather extended from the
side. A white ruffled shirt and a burgundy brocade vest topped off
the costume.

The strangest thing
about him, besides his choice in attire, was his eyes. They were
the most unusual eyes Callie had ever seen. They were not blue, or
green, or even brown, or a mixture of any of those. They were gold.
Shimmering gold. Like his suit. He almost looked like a special
effect from a movie.

“This man has a
delivery for you, Callie,” Ms. Randall said. She bent down, gave
Callie’s shoulder a reassuring pat and whispered in her ear, “It’s
probably for your birthday.”

The strange-looking man
took off his hat with a flourish, extending his foot out in front
of him and making a formal bow. “Sir Reginald Abercrombie,” he
said, and when he said it, he rolled his R’s so much it sounded
like, ‘Sir R-r-r-r-r-r-r-reginald Aber-r-rcr-r-r-r-r-rombie.
Rr-r-oyal Cour-r-r-ier.” He pointed to a heavily embroidered badge
on his jacket that said exactly that: Royal Courier.

Ms. Randall smiled down
at Callie, obviously impressed. “I’ll leave the door open.” She
stepped back into the classroom and stood where Callie could see
her. Ms. Randall always knew exactly what to do.

Sir Reginald pulled a
package out from where it was tucked under his arm. It was wrapped
in brown paper, but it was a very strange, heavy brown paper that
looked like it was made from leaves. It was tied with a beautiful
blue velvet ribbon. Sir Reginald smiled, and even that was odd. He
seemed to have more teeth than the usual person.

“Package for Miss
Calandria Richards,” he said, still rolling his R’s. He placed the
package into her hands with an absolute grace of movement.

He knew her full
name-Calandria?

Callie was too stunned
to speak. She looked down at the package, which was long and
rectangular, but thin-like a tall hardcover book. It was also
heavier than one would have expected.

Callie looked up at Sir
Reginald. “Is this a birthday present?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Who is it from?” she
asked. There were no “To” or “From” addresses written on the brown
paper. In fact, Callie wondered how Sir Reginald had known where to
deliver it.

Sir Reginald said, “I
cannot say, Your Royal High-I mean, Miss Richards. If I were to
name the Personage who had sent this most Priceless Gift to you, on
this, the Twelfth Anniversary of your Magnificent Birth, I would be
forced to endure the most grievous torture, and finally death, that
you could ever imagine.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He
nodded.

Callie couldn’t help
but ask, “Like what?”

He waved his hand
around. “Oh, you know, the usual turn on the rack, a little
keel-hauling, and then being hung upside down by my toes until I
expire. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Yikes,” Callie
said.

“But that shall not
happen, Miss Richards. For I, Sir Reginald Abercrombie, decorated
for Hard-Headedness at the Battle of Tarif, and for Pig-Headedness
at the Battle of Gamaro, would not give you even a hint of the name
of the Royal Personage who has entrusted me with this most resolute
and honorious task.” Then, as if just realizing what he’d said, he
covered his lips with his long fingers. “Oops. I said ‘Royal
Personage.’ She’ll feed me to the dragons, now.”

“What royal personage?”
Callie asked.

Sir Reginald looked up
at the ceiling and hummed an off-key tune.

“Hey, I said what Royal
Personage?”

He covered his ears,
chanting “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you,” for a little while.
Then he took his hands away from his ears and said, “Promise you
won’t ask me who Her Royal Personage is anymore?”

Feeling sorry for the
guy, Callie said, “Fine.”

Sir Reginald let out a
huge breath in relief. “Oh, Miraculous Wonder! The honor of the
Abercrombie name is preserved! I am not used to being so torn by my
duty, Your Royal-I mean, Miss Richards. You see, the Abercrombies
have been serving as Royal Couriers for over nine hundred
years.”

As Callie tried to
comprehend what he had just said, she glanced into the classroom.
Ms. Randall looked back, tapping her watch.

“Uh, I have to get back
to class now.”

“Of course, my lady.
But first, may I impose upon you to sign this as proof of
delivery?” Sir Reginald took a parchment scroll out of his inside
jacket pocket, followed by a feathered quill pen.

Callie looked at the
scroll. Strange swirling letters covered the old parchment, but the
words were so small, Callie could barely read them. “What does it
say? The writing’s awfully small.”

Sir Reginald rolled the
parchment out further, squinting at it himself. “It says ‘I,
Calandria Richards, do hereby accept the aforementioned package,
delivered to me on this, the twelfth anniversary of my birth, et
cetera, et cetera….’”

Callie peered at it
again. It looked like the scroll said a whole lot more than that.
She regarded Sir Reginald. “I’m not signing anything I can’t read.”
That was the one useful thing she’d learned from Sharon, her Dad’s
lawyer girlfriend. Sharon had told Callie to always read the fine
print.

Sir Reginald seemed
close to scowling down at her, but somehow restrained himself. “Of
course, Miss Richards. Very wise of you, indeed.” He reached into
his jacket pocket again and pulled out a huge magnifying glass.
“Perhaps this will help.”

Callie didn’t bother to
think about how the oversized magnifying glass had fit into his
pocket. She just took it and tried to read the fine print.
Unfortunately, some of it was fine, fine, fine print.

“I can’t read all of
it. The writing’s still too small.”

Sir Reginald shrugged,
sadly. “Alas, that is the only magnifying glass I have. And I am
sorry to inform you that according to official ‘Royal Courier’
procedures, I cannot leave the package in your care unless I have a
receipt of delivery. I will just have to take your birthday present
back, I’m afraid.”

Callie sighed. She
really wanted to find out what was in the package, and who had sent
it to her. It had to be her dad-didn’t it?

But with everything
else that had happened today….

She took the quill pen
and signed her name on the bottom. “Okay, there. I’ve signed it.
Happy now?”

Sir Reginald smiled
down at her and said slowly, “More than you could ever imagine.” He
put his hat back on. “My duty is done. Thank you for choosing
‘Royal Courier.’ Good day.”

Sir Reginald walked
jauntily down the hallway, humming the same off-key tune, and
disappeared around the corner. Callie rejoined the class, taking
her seat while curious eyes looked over at her and her mysterious
package. She looked out the window to see Sir Reginald climb into a
delivery van that, sure enough, had the words “Royal Courier”
emblazoned on the side. But when he pulled away, the van shuddered
and bucked, careening sharply left and then right. It almost seemed
like Sir Reginald didn’t know how to drive, which was odd if he had
a job as a courier.

Lewis whispered,
“What’s in the package, Cal?”

“I don’t know.” Callie
shrugged.

Ms. Randall directed
her to put the package away in her desk until recess. Callie did as
her teacher asked, but as the history class went on and they
learned about the kings and queens of England, she couldn’t stop
thinking about what could possibly be in the package. Callie was so
excited about that, she’d almost forgotten about Wanda and the fact
that she still had Callie’s eraser. Unable to stop herself, she
glanced back at Wanda, and was shocked by what she saw.

A look of pure hatred,
directed squarely at Callie, burned in Wanda’s eyes. Callie
shivered. Then she remembered that Wanda’s own birthday had been
two weeks ago. No one had delivered any special packages to the
classroom for her birthday. She hadn’t worn any new clothes to
school the next day, either. Come to think of it, there was a rumor
that Wanda’s parents didn’t even celebrate birthdays.

The buzzer finally
sounded. Callie tucked the mysterious package under her arm as the
kids began shuffling outside. Lewis walked next to Callie. “I’m
sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean to laugh at your note. It just took me
off guard, you know?”

Callie gave a
half-hearted smile. “I know. It wasn’t your fault. It was a weird
message. And now we have Wanda to worry about, too.”

“Don’t worry about her.
Just tell me what happened this morning.”

Callie was just about
to tell him as they walked onto the playground, but waiting for
them outside the door was Wanda Morris. She squinted her beady eyes
at them and crooked her finger. “Over here, morons. We have a
little business to discuss.”

Callie and Lewis
exchanged a look. They knew they had no choice but to follow.

“Passing notes, huh?”
Wanda said imperiously. “I wonder what Ms. Randall would say if I
showed her this eraser?” She held it aloft, the words, We’ll talk
at recess, still written across it in pencil.

“What’s to say you
didn’t write it yourself?” Lewis asked.

Wanda made a face, as
if the two people she was talking to were obviously the stupidest
people on earth. “The fact that your writing looks like Egyptian
Hieroglyphs?”

Lewis pondered for a
moment. It was true. He was left-handed and had very distinctive
handwriting.

“No one else in class
writes like you, ding-dong,” Wanda said. “All I have to do is show
this to Ms. Randall-”