The Island of Dr. Libris (9 page)

“Right.” Walter sat down. “Now what?”

“Read.”

“From the beginning?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just pick a page and start.”

“What’re you going to do?” Walter asked, looking up at Billy.

“Wait.”

“Really? Why?”

“It’s all part of the experiment.”

“Gotcha. Okay. Here I go. I’m going to start reading.”

“Great.” Billy walked back to the bookcase.

“The Three Musketeers,”
said Walter, reading the cover out loud. “Here I go. Picking a page.”

“Walter?”

“Yeah, Billy?”

“Just read, okay?”

“Right.”

And finally, Walter started reading. Silently, thank goodness. For ten whole minutes he read his book without saying a word.

Billy spent that same ten minutes straining his ears, listening for any strange voices or unusual sounds.

“Okay,” said Walter. “Now what?”

“Did you hear anything?” asked Billy.

“Nope.”

“Voices?”

“Nope.”

“Sound effects?”

“Nope.”

“Were there any in the story?”

“Oh, yeah. Lots.” Walter handed Billy the book. Billy skimmed the page.

Cardinal Richelieu’s guards were threatening the three musketeers—Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—plus a young guy named D’Artagnan, who wanted to become one of the king’s musketeers. Swords were about to start clanking.

Billy looked up from the book. In the distance he could hear the
WHISH-CLINK-CHINK
of fencing foils smacking into each other.

Then he heard voices, rich with thick French accents.

“Touché!”

“En garde!”

Billy turned to Walter, who was fidgeting with a pocket on his cargo shorts.

“You don’t hear that?”

Walter tilted his head. “Hold on. Wait a second. Okay. I hear it.”

“You do?”

“Yep. It’s a bird. Maybe a chickadee.”

Billy wondered, once again, if he was just imagining all this. Was he going crazy?

Billy needed to take Walter out to the island to see if he saw any of the stuff Billy had seen (or
thought
he’d seen).

Of course, it could be dangerous.

After all, the Sheriff of Nottingham was probably still limping around out there. They could both “diest.”

Then again, if Billy didn’t figure this thing out, his brain might explodeth.

He might also blow his shot at finding the treasure.

“So, Walter,” he said, “what if I told you that this bookcase key also opens the gate out on the island?”

“Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s go!” Walter raced out of the cabin and down the hill to the dock. Billy laughed and took off after him.

Without Poseidon’s help, it took about twenty sweaty minutes for Billy and Walter to row to the sheltered cove on the southern tip of the island.

The bobbing green bottle was gone, but Billy still had its message tucked in his pocket.

“Follow me.” Billy hiked up the trail. Walter hiked after him.

When they reached the dome flap, Billy flipped it up. The two boys stepped in and followed the path further into the forest. Billy could hear the frenzied clatter of dueling swords.

Walter slowed down. His ears perked up.

“Billy? Is this island like a sword-fighting camp?”

Billy could barely contain his excitement. “You hear that?”
Finally!

“Yeah,” said Walter. “So that’s why there’s a locked
gate. Does the bird sanctuary double as the top-secret training grounds for the U.S. Olympic fencing team?”

“Actually, I think these guys are from France.”

“Adieu!”
shouted one of the musketeers. “Run, you cowards. Run!”

“Run back to Cardinal Richelieu,” cried another, “and tell him that you have tasted the king’s steel!”

“Well played, Monsieur D’Artagnan,” said the third musketeer. “We could not have won this victory without you. Therefore, I will now kiss you tenderly upon both of the cheeks!
Mmwah! Mmwah!
”

“Wait a second,” said Walter. “D’Artagnan was the name of a guy in that book we were just reading.”

“Yup,” said Billy with a smile. “Welcome to the island of Dr. Libris!”

They dashed up the trail to the gate.

The clearing on the other side wasn’t a muddy field or Sherwood Forest anymore. It looked like a cobblestone square from old-time France. There was a signpost reading
“Bienvenue à Paris.”

Billy unlocked the gate.

The three musketeers and their young recruit, D’Artagnan, were drinking from metal mugs at an outdoor cafe, quenching their thirst after their duel with Cardinal Richelieu’s guards. All four men had long, curly hair flowing from under their feathered hats. They sported tiny chin beards and thin mustaches. They wore knee-high boots, baggy balloon pants, and short red coats, emblazoned
with a royal coat of arms, that hung over their shoulders like sleeveless ponchos.

And, of course, they all had swords belted to their hips.

“May I refill your tankard, Aramis?” said the musketeer with the biggest belly.

“No, thank you, Porthos. I must not ruin my exquisite physique.”

Porthos turned to the oldest musketeer. “And you, Athos?”

“No. I do not care for this beverage. Somehow, it makes me sad.”

“Billy?” Walter whispered. “Who are those guys? And why does that sign say ‘Paris’ when we’re in the middle of Lake Katrine?”

“You ready to meet your heroes?” Billy asked Walter.

“Huh?”

“You love their candy bar,” said Billy, squeaking open the gate. “Now it’s time to meet the men it was named after!”

“Whoa! One of those guys is Snickers? No, wait. Twix?”

“Walter? It’s the three musketeers!”

“Nuh-unh. There’s four of them.”

“Sure, if you count D’Artagnan. He’s not actually a musketeer. Not yet. But he wants to be.”

“Really?”

“Yup. It’s just like in the book.”

The three musketeers and D’Artagnan leaned back in their café chairs.

The melancholy older guy, Athos, propped his boots up on a barrel. The one who thought he was handsome, Aramis, studied his reflection in the side of his shiny mug. Porthos belched. D’Artagnan fumed.

“Come on,” Billy said to Walter. “I’ll show you how it works.”

Billy strolled across the cobblestone Parisian square. Walter followed him.

Then Billy made a big mistake.

He smiled.

D’Artagnan leapt out of his chair. One hand went to the hilt of his sword, the other to his hip. “You dare to insult
moi
?”

“No,” said Billy. “Sorry.”

“You must forgive D’Artagnan,” said Athos. “He takes every smile for an insult.”

“What is your name, boy?” asked Porthos, chomping off the end of a long loaf of bread.

“I’m Billy. And this is my friend Walter.”

Aramis squinted at the two boys. “Tell me: Be you for the cardinal or the king?”

“Mind you, think before you answer,” offered Athos. “For we have all sworn allegiance to the king.”

“Well, uh, this is America,” said Billy. “We don’t really have kings.”

“But,” added Walter, “this island is a bird sanctuary. So you might see some cardinals.”

All the musketeers leapt to their feet, their hands going to their hips and their swords.

“That was a joke,” Billy said quickly. “Heh-heh-heh.”

“You dare insult us once more with your laughter?” cried D’Artagnan. In a flash, he drew out his rapier, and after a few fancy swishes and swirls, he placed it in front of his face.

“
En garde!
I challenge you both to a duel!”

“B-B-Billy?” stammered Walter. “These guys are actors, right? And this scenery, it’s fake. Right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“All for one!” shouted Aramis.

“And one for all!” replied the others.

The musketeers raised and touched their four swords.

Walter wheezed.

“Use your inhaler,” said Billy.

Maybe coming back to the island wasn’t such a great idea
, he thought. Yes, there might be treasure, but there were definitely swords.

And arrows!

A shaft whizzed through the air. It landed with a tail-twanging
thunk
in a wooden keg. A purple geyser gushed out around the arrowhead.

Robin Hood and Maid Marian sprang from the shadows, their bowstrings pulled taut.

Hercules, now wearing tight green leggings, a green tunic bursting at the seams, and a green cap two sizes too small, trudged in behind them, swinging his cudgel.

“Fear not, good Sir William!” cried Robin. “We shall protect thee!”

“Aye,” said Maid Marian, aiming her arrow at Porthos’s belly. “For the portly one doth make a most excellent target.”

Walter tugged on Billy’s sleeve. “Are these guys friends of yours?”

Billy grinned. How cool was this? Some of the most famous characters ever were now his buds.

“Yeah,” he said modestly. “We met the last time I rowed out here.”

“You
imbéciles
!” shouted Porthos, staring down at the leaking barrel. “What have you done to my liquid refreshment?”

“What we shall soon do to thee!” laughed Robin.

“Now then,” said Maid Marian, pulling out a burlap sack, “if thou love thy lives, kindly give up all of thy gold!”

“You would dare to rob us?” demanded D’Artagnan.

“Indeed we would!” said Robin.

“We are merry people,” added Hercules. “We rob from the rich and pour it on the floor.”

“No,” said Robin. “We rob from the rich and
give
to the
poor.
”

Hercules nodded. “Right. Got it. Sorry.”

“Silence!” D’Artagnan said, seething. “Prepare to die!”

Flaring swords, aiming arrows, and swinging clubs, the seven fictional characters circled each other.

Billy and Walter ended up in the center of that circle.

“Oh, man,” said Walter. “Billy? Those weapons look super realistic.…”

“Hang on,” said Billy. “Let me think. There has to be a way out of this.…”

“We need the Junior Wizard.”

Billy was confused. “What? Who?”

“The Junior Wizard.” Walter yanked the trading card out of his pants pocket. “We need to somnificate these guys.”

“What?”

Walter flipped over the card and read what was printed on the back. “ ‘The Junior Wizard can cast a level-four slumber spell if he has collected enough snoozle powder.’ ”

Suddenly, a spry little man in a star-spangled robe and wizard hat appeared in the square and started wildly waving a wand.

“Wow!” said Walter. “It’s him. It’s really him! How’d I do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Billy. “Honestly. I don’t know how any of this works!”

Especially now that Walter had conjured up a character who wasn’t even from a book, let alone a book from Dr. Libris’s special bookcase.

The Junior Wizard reached into his twinkling robe and flung up a fistful of golden glitter.

As it fluttered down, Hercules yawned. “Oh, me. My club feels so heavy.”

“My bow and arrow, too,” added Maid Marian, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha,” mumbled Robin drowsily.

“I fear I ate too much,” said Porthos, dropping his sword and stretching like a cat. “I need a quick nap.”