The Merchant of Death (20 page)

“I know, Pendragon,” she said. “The same thing happened to me. But there is a difference between you and me and it has nothing to do with fighting.”

“And what's that?”

That's when she let me have it.

“You saw how my mother died,” she said, trying to hold back emotion. “I would have done anything to save her. But you . . . I do not understand how you can only think of yourself when your uncle is about to die.”

Those words hit me hard. She was right. Uncle Press was in trouble. I knew it ever since that sled had landed us in the snow bank. Yet I was planning on leaving without even trying to help him. I had been so worried about saving myself that I didn't think for a second that Uncle Press needed me. Loor was right and I was ashamed.

“That is why you are of no use here, Pendragon,” she said with finality. “The Milago need someone to have faith in. You are not that person.” She turned and headed for the door, but just before she left she said, “After you get some sleep, I will
bring you home. You can go back to the life you miss so dearly and forget that any of this ever happened. I suppose in time you will also forget about Press.” And she left.

I had just learned something about myself and I didn't like it. Could I really be that selfish? Everything Loor said was dead on. Sure I cared about Uncle Press, but I convinced myself that there was nothing I could do to help him. But was that true? Or was it just an easy way to get out of trying? Did I even let my mind think of the possibility of trying to rescue him? I spent the next few hours questioning myself. Memories of the past few days played over and over in my head. I was haunted by the vision of the guy who was coldly thrown to his death because the Milago hadn't mined enough glaze. I continued to see the horror of Osa fighting for her life and ultimately losing to a shower of arrows. I remembered the look on Loor's face when she wanted to help her mother, but chose instead to protect me.

But most of all, I remembered Uncle Press. I thought back to my first memories of him. He was always there for me. It was sad testament that my last memory of him was going to be the sight of him dragged off by Kagan's knights. That wasn't right. That was not the way it should end. And that's why I need your help, Mark.

After I finish writing this journal, I'm going to put down some instructions on a separate piece of parchment. That way you can keep it with you. I think you should keep my journal separate and in a safe place. Osa was right. It's important that I write down everything that's going on. If I never get back, these words are the only record of what happened to me. Treat them like gold, buddy.

I don't know if it's fair of me to ask you to do this. I'm beginning to think that I don't deserve it. If you can't help,
I'll understand. No harm, no foul. I'm still going to do what I have to do anyway. I'm not even sure if the help I'm asking for will do any good. I'm winging it here. The real wild card is Loor. She may not give me a chance, and without her help the odds are going to be really against me. But you know, it doesn't matter. One way or another, with or without her, I've made up my mind.

Tomorrow I'm going after Uncle Press.

END OF JOURNAL #2

SECOND EARTH

Courtney finished Bobby's second amazing journal
and placed it down on the table. Mark had finished a few minutes earlier and was already looking over the additional piece of parchment paper that Bobby had included with his latest missive. It took a while for her to say anything. The story contained on the pages from Bobby was getting more fantastic with each new paragraph, and she had to let it sink in. Finally she looked at Mark and asked, “What does he want you to do?”

Mark stood up and paced Courtney's dad's workshop as his mind tried to work its way around the task at hand. On the additional piece of parchment, Bobby had outlined a job for Mark to do that was fairly simple, yet still dangerous.

“It's a list,” explained Mark. “He wants me to put together a bunch of stuff and get it to him.”

Courtney grabbed the paper and looked over the list. “Get it to him?” she exclaimed. “How?”

Mark grabbed the list back and shook it at her. “Th-That's the hard part,” he declared nervously. “He wrote out instructions. First I'm supposed to try and use the ring the way Osa did. But if that
doesn't work, which it shouldn't because I'm not a Traveler, then he wants me to find the gate to the flume in the subway station.”

“You mean the abandoned subway in the Bronx with the killer dogs?” asked Courtney in disbelief. “That's like . . . suicide.”

“Y-Yeah, tell me about it,” Mark exclaimed.

Courtney and Mark fell silent. It was a dangerous favor that Bobby was asking.

Finally Courtney asked, “But you're gonna do it, right?”

“Of course!” Mark answered quickly, as if he were insulted that she even had to ask. “You think I'd blow off my best friend? Gimme a break.”

“Then I'm going with you,” said Courtney without a hint of doubt.

“N-No way,” said Mark quickly.

“Yeah way!” Courtney shot back. “You need somebody to cover your butt.”

“Who'll cover
your
butt?”

“I can cover my own butt,” said Courtney with her usual cockiness.

It was hard to argue with that. Courtney
could
cover her own butt. But Mark doubted that she ever had to do it in a place like the badlands of the South Bronx against a pack of vicious quig-dogs and a demon killer by the name of Saint Dane. No, he was pretty sure Courtney hadn't encountered that particular challenge before. But then again, he didn't want to do this alone. The idea terrified him. He thought over the dilemma for a good five seconds and then asked, “You sure you want to help?”

“Absolutely,” she said as she grabbed Bobby's list back. She looked it over and then announced. “I get why he wants some of this stuff. . . a flashlight, a watch . . . but what's he gonna do with a CD player?”

“You're asking me like I should know?” Mark said sarcastically. “None of this makes any sense to me.”

Courtney scanned the list again and then said, “Uh-oh, he wants some stuff from his house.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” said Mark. “But I can substitute other things.”

This raised another tough issue. Courtney threw a sober stare at Mark and said, “If we can get things to Bobby, that means we can tell him his family disappeared.”

Mark had to think about this. Courtney's instincts were right. Bobby had to know what was going on, even though they didn't really know themselves. The only thing they knew for certain was that the Pendragons had vanished.

“Bobby should know,” said Mark cautiously while still working out his thoughts. “But not yet. There's nothing he can do about it now.”

“But it's his family,” countered Courtney.

“I know,” said Mark. “But so is Uncle Press. I don't know what Bobby's got planned, but he has a shot at saving his uncle. I'm not sure there's anything he could do here to help find his family.”

Courtney realized that Mark was right. Bobby needed to do what he had to do on Denduron. There would be plenty of time after that to find his family. Besides, the police were already working on the case. What more could Bobby do?

“We'll tell him after he's back for good,” said Mark with finality.

“And what if he doesn't come back for good?” asked Courtney. “Mark, I think we should tell our parents what's going on.”

“N-No! We can't!” shouted Mark.

“Why? Maybe they can help!” said Courtney hopefully. “It would be much safer if we
all
went to the subway with the stuff! Right?”

Mark really wanted to agree. He wanted to dump this all on an adult who had more authority than he had. But he felt certain he knew what would happen if they did. He chose his words carefully and said, “Courtney, I'd love to tell our parents and get their help and go to this subway station with Captain Hirsch and armed cops from the Stony Brook Police. But you know what would happen if we told them? They'd stop us. They'd probably lock us up. Then they'd all sit around and try to logically figure out what's going on and by the time they came to any decisions it could be too late for Bobby . . . and for Press.”

Courtney let Mark's words sink in. The guy was kind of a dweeb, but he was a smart dweeb. If they told their parents it would be all over. They had to do this on their own. Mark quickly gathered up the parchment papers and started rolling them up.

“We can get this stuff together in a couple hours,” he said. “The trick will be to sneak out without our parents knowing—”

“Whoa, whoa,” interrupted Courtney. “You're not thinking of doing this tonight, are you?”

“Well, why not?” said Mark innocently.

Courtney spoke to Mark slowly and deliberately, as if he were a child. She wanted him to understand exactly what she was saying. “This is important,” she said. “But by the time we get this stuff together it'll be dark and something tells me that going where we have to go isn't too safe after dark.”

This made Mark think. They were headed into a rough part of town and rough parts of town got rougher after dark. They definitely had a better chance of pulling this off in the daylight. It was more important to get it done than to get it done fast.

“You're right,” said Mark. “I'm not thinking straight.”

“Yeah, you are,” said Courtney. “You're just excited. Let's split the list, get the stuff, and then meet back here tomorrow morning.”

That made sense. Tomorrow would be the day. Courtney
searched for a piece of paper and a pen so she could write them each their own list. She picked up the piece of parchment paper with Bobby's instructions and looked at the yellowed paper with the blotchy writing for a long time. Mark could see that something else was on her mind. He waited for her to pull her thoughts together. Finally Courtney turned to Mark and asked, “What was she like?”

“What was who like?” asked Mark.

“Osa. She gave you the ring, right? What was she like?”

It was true. Mark had almost forgotten. He had actually met one of the characters from Bobby's adventure. She was in his bedroom. Mark put the rolled parchment pages down and allowed his thoughts to drift back to the night before.

“She was like a dream,” he said softly. “But the thing I remember most is that when she looked at me, I felt . . . safe.” Mark looked down to the ring on his finger and continued, “And now she's dead. I guess she wasn't able to make things safe after all.”

The two took a moment to grieve silently for a woman they only knew through the pages of Bobby's journal. Then Courtney picked up her pen and began to write. There was work to be done. They went over Bobby's list and picked the items they felt they could each find most easily. Courtney made out the two lists, then with the plan of meeting back at her house at seven
A.M
. the next day, they split up and went to work.

Mark went home and brought Bobby's parchment papers with him. Bobby had asked him to treat them like gold and that's what he planned to do. Mark had a hiding place that no one in his family knew about. His attic was full of old furniture. Tucked way in the back was an ancient rolltop desk that hadn't been moved since before Mark was born. The drawers of the desk were locked and his parents never tried to open them because
they didn't have the key. But Mark did. He had found it hidden on a lip under the desk when he was eight years old. He never told his parents because they didn't really care, but for him it was the perfect place to hide his most treasured possessions. His special stash included mint condition
Mad
magazines; baseball cards for rookie Yankees Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams, and Mariano Rivera; some Star Wars action figures that were still in their original packaging; a report card from the seventh grade that had two Ds . . . just to remind him how easy it is to screw up; and an assortment of other small items that had special value to him alone.