The Pilgrims of Rayne (42 page)

We all felt a little better when we reached the snow. Rolling across packed snow was much smoother than grass and rocks. Finally the terrain leveled out, and I saw the mouth of the gate. It had been a grueling journey, but we'd made it.

“How do we do this?” Alder asked. “Do we drive right into the flume and out the other side in Ibara?”

“No,” I answered. “We'll have to make several trips. I'll go
with the dygo first and clear out the gate area. You guys stack the crates near the flume and wait for me.”

We unhooked the sled, and I drove the sphere into the cave. I rolled right into the flume and called out,
“Ibara!”

Moments later I was swept up and away. I had to trust that the flume would continue to send me where I needed to be, when I needed to be there. If it started messing with me now, well, I didn't want to think about that. There was nothing I could do about it, so I focused on the task ahead. It was a moving job, nothing more. Okay, a
dangerous
moving job, but still a moving job.

When the dygo reached Ibara, I engaged the drill. The moment the sphere bobbed to the water's surface I started digging. I blasted up and out of the stone pool that was the mouth of the flume, destroying a section of the circle and spewing water all over the floor of the cavern. I didn't stop to worry about it and kept moving across the wet sand. The next step was to bore a new tunnel through the rocky wall of the cavern. We needed to get thirty heavy containers of tak out of there. Dragging them through the winding labyrinth of tunnels would take weeks. We didn't have weeks. The time for being secretive was over. I drilled straight through the rock, and didn't stop until I saw sunlight on the beach of Ibara.

Spinning the dygo around, I saw that I had created a tunnel that led straight back to the flume. It was a hundred yards long. No twists, no turns, no subtlety. If anybody wandered by, they'd find the flume. I didn't care. After the battle, there was no telling what this area was going to look like anyway. All bets were off. I rolled back through the tunnel to the shattered pool, got out of the dygo, and stepped up to the edge of the flume.

“Denduron!”
I shouted, and dove in headfirst. As I traveled
along, I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see the images of Halla staring back at me. In no time I was back in Denduron, where Alder and Siry were waiting. I shouldn't have worried. The flume did its job. The crates were stacked high, ready for transport.

Alder held one of the metal weapons I'd brought from Quillan. “What is this?”

I took it from him, spun it expertly, and jabbed at Siry. “Dado killers. From Quillan.”

“How did they get here?” Siry asked.

“I went there a few days ago. Is that a problem?”

Alder said, “Not if mixing the territories is no longer a concern.”

I dropped the weapon on the pile with the others. “It isn't. Not anymore. We're playing by Saint Dane's rules now, remember? It wasn't my choice.”

Alder gave me a grave look. He touched one of the crates of tak. “I remember. But you should remember that we always have a choice.”

“And we made it,” I snapped at him. “We'll take one crate each and travel to Ibara. Taking more would be too awkward, and we don't want to go dropping these things. After we've moved them all, I'll come back for the weapons.”

Alder nodded. Siry shrugged. I went first. I grabbed a heavy crate and backed into the flume.
“Ibara!”
I called, and was on my way.

The tricky part came on the other side. The crate floated, but it was difficult pushing it up and out of the break in the stone circle I'd made with the dygo. The crate was heavy, and it was hard getting enough leverage to lift it out while treading water. But I did it, and placed it a safe distance from the flume.

The others arrived shortly after. I helped them take their crates out of the water and placed them near the first. After that the three of us dove into the water with a shout of
“Denduron!”
and started back the other way.

It was a tiring, grueling, boring process. None of us let down our guard though. There was always the possibility of a slip and a drop and a boom. It took us a couple of hours, but all went well. When we were done, thirty crates of tak were stacked up on the territory of Ibara.

Alder, Siry, and I sat on the edge of the flume to get a much-needed rest. It wouldn't last. It couldn't last.

“We're back on the clock,” I announced.

“What does that mean?” Siry asked.

“It means we're on Ibara time again. There's an invasion coming, remember?”

 

I'll end this journal here, Courtney. I'm getting too antsy to write any more. I'll tell you about our preparations in my next journal. Assuming there is a next journal. Alder is here with us, and I'm glad. He's already proved to be an incredible help, and knowing he'll be by my side during the battle gives me confidence that we actually have a chance. How good a chance? I don't know. At least I can say that we've done all that we can.

I'm scared and I'm excited. Now that we can look back on all that's happened, it's pretty clear that Saint Dane's plan has been leading to this all along. He thinks Ibara is going to be the first domino to fall in the toppling of Halla. I say he's got a very big surprise coming. I wish I could see his face when we blow his army to oblivion. Even if we lose, I'm going to make sure we take as many of those dados with us as possible. I'm playing by his rules now. He's
mixed the territories to try and crush Halla. I've mixed the territories to try and stop him.

Only one of us will prove to be right.

And so we go.

 

END OF JOURNAL
#31

Courtney crumpled the pages of Bobby's
journal and tossed them against the wall. She was frightened and angry. Angry at herself. She had let Bobby down. Because of her failure, the final boundaries between territories were about to come crashing down…on Bobby's head.

Making it all the more dire was the fact that the more she learned about the situation with Mark, the less she understood. How could his parents be alive? She left Second Earth
after
history was altered. She knew how the changes that Mark made on First Earth would affect Second Earth. They did
not
include his parents being saved from dying in that plane crash.

Yet, they were alive and well.

Courtney thought that maybe one of the Dimonds might have been Saint Dane in disguise. Then who was the other person? Saint Dane could do a lot of things. He couldn't split himself in two. Since Nevva Winter was with Mark's parents, Courtney figured that unless another Traveler with shape-shifting abilities had suddenly entered the story, those people really were Mr. and Mrs. Dimond. She hated herself for being upset that Mark's parents were alive, but it made no sense to her.

Worse. Courtney knew that Bobby and the Travelers often had to make horrible choices for the greater good. She couldn't think of a single time when any of them had to make a choice as difficult as the one Mark had faced. He had to decide whether or not the people he loved the most should live or die. He chose to save them, and Nevva Winter delivered on her promise. By going to First Earth, Mark saved his parents. Courtney didn't think there was any way to convince Mark that he had been tricked. He would introduce Forge to First Earth, starting a chain reaction that would lead to the creation of the dados, the fall of Ibara…and his own murder.

Courtney decided she didn't like ocean voyages.

There was a knock on the door, followed quickly by the screech of the lock opening. Sixth Officer Hantin poked his head in.

“Time for a little supper, miss,” he said warmly.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Now, now,” the ship's officer cajoled. “Don't want you to become a patient in this hospital ward, do we?”

He was followed quickly by a steward wearing a white coat, pushing a rolling table that was draped with a white tablecloth. Silver domes covered plates of food that Courtney had no intention of eating. She rolled over in her bunk.

The steward cleared his throat and said, “Come now, miss. Me thinks you're gonna be liking this, I do!”

Courtney had heard that strange accent before. She looked up in time to see the steward stand straight up, wink at her, then spin and swing a punch at Sixth Officer Hantin. He landed a haymaker that was so unexpected, it sent Hantin sprawling back against the bulkhead. Hantin tried to push off, but the steward nailed him with another punch that straightened him up. He hung there for a second, then crashed down onto the rolling table, unconscious, sending food and plates flying everywhere.

“Now I
know
I'm going to be sacked from the hotel,” Dodger said as he shook his aching hand.

Courtney stared at the little guy with her mouth open in shock.

“Don't look so surprised,” he said, insulted. “I was a Golden Gloves champ three years running.”

Courtney jumped off the bunk and threw her arms around him. “I can't believe you found me!”

“I told you, this is nothing more than a floating hotel.” He pushed away from Courtney and went to work. First he cleaned up the overturned cart. “Word of a stowaway travels fast. I know how to listen. Alls I did was pinch this outfit from the linens, grab a tray like I owned the place, and brought it right here. Easy-peasy.”

“Yeah, right. You are awesome.”

“Agreed. Now, we've got to be crafty. Once they figure out you're gone they'll be looking for a scruffy tomboy, not a beautiful young society lady.”

“Know any?”

Dodger reached under the cart and pulled out a sparkling white evening gown and matching shoes.

“I do now,” he said with a smile.

Courtney's eyes lit up as she grabbed the dress. “Where did you get this?”

“Went shopping on Regent Street,” Dodger answered casually.

“You stole it.”

“Nah.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “This was charged to a Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Galvao, suite twelve-twelve, cabin class. They won't see their bill until we dock. That should be interesting.”

Courtney laughed, jumped behind the bunks, and started pulling off her clothes. As she changed, Dodger went through Hantin's pockets. He pulled out keys, a pair of handcuffs, and finally his pistol. He dragged Hantin to one of the bunks and
hoisted him in. He handcuffed him to the rail, and pulled the blanket up to cover his face.

“Anybody peeks in, this is you, sleeping like a baby.”

“What happens when he wakes up?”

“He could scream his head off and nobody'll hear. We're fine until somebody comes to relieve him.”

Courtney stepped from behind the bunk. The dress fit perfectly. It was slim and silky, with short sleeves that showed off her muscular arms. Dodger whistled.

“Wowee. I knew there was a girl hiding in there somewhere.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Courtney said with a scowl, though she liked the compliment. “What about you? I don't think the stewards hang out with the passengers.”

“Right you are,” Dodger exclaimed.

He unbuttoned his white steward jacket and pulled it off to reveal he was wearing a tuxedo. It was perfect, right down to the shiny black shoes and slick tie. Dodger brushed his hair back and held his hands out for Courtney to appreciate him. “Not too shabby, huh?”

“Courtesy of the Galvaos?”

“They're a very generous pair,” Dodger replied. “Let's get out of here. I found out what suite Mark is in and—”

“He was here, Dodger.”

Dodger froze. “Uh…what?”

“He came here, to this cell. With Nevva Winter. I know her, Dodger. She's a Traveler. And she's a traitor. She helped Saint Dane win Quillan. It was Nevva Winter that got to Mark on Second Earth and told him that if he changed history he could save his parents from dying in that plane crash.”

Dodger blinked and scowled, taking a second to let the wave of information sink in.

“Wow,” he gasped. “It was simple as that? She flat-out lied and he bought it?”

“Not so simple. Mark's parents were here too. They're alive.”

“But—”

“Yeah, I know,” Courtney interrupted. “I don't get it either. Nevva delivered. It's hard to blame Mark for doing what he did.”

“Even if it meant giving Saint Dane an army to conquer Halla?”

“I don't think she mentioned that part,” Courtney answered sarcastically. “Mark didn't know Andy Mitchell is Saint Dane. I told him but he didn't believe me.”

Dodger scratched his head and whistled in wonder. “So Mark is still a good guy.”

“Yes, but we're going to have a hard time convincing him to destroy Forge.”

Dodger frowned. “Yeah, I'll say.”

“I can do it,” Courtney said with certainty. “Mark is my friend. My best friend. If we can get him alone, away from the others, I'll convince him.”

She went for the door. Dodger followed right behind. He took one last look to make sure everything seemed in order, then closed the heavy door and used Hantin's key to lock it. “Snug as a bug,” he declared.

The two walked quickly forward down a long passageway. Courtney did her best to tie her hair up, trying to make it look like it was actually an intentional hairdo.

“Where's his cabin?” Courtney asked.

“Not cabin, suite. Those people from England spent a pretty penny to bring him over. They must know how valuable his gizmo is.”

“Okay, where's his suite?” Courtney asked, getting impatient.

“Main Deck forward. But he's not there.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because there was a dinner reservation for five, the Dimond party, in the cabin-class dining room,” Dodger said proudly.

“You're amazing.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

The two moved quickly through the ship, up from the depths to the Promenade Deck and the same elegant restaurant that Courtney had sprinted through earlier. They forced themselves to calm down and walk slowly, pretending to belong. They got a few second glances, but Courtney was sure it was as much because her hair was a mess as anything. The two strolled casually, arm in arm, through the wide-open doors of the dining room.

Music from the big band filled the elegant room, which was now busy with diners. Inside the double doors was a sitting area with a huge fireplace and comfy chairs for passengers to sit in while waiting for their tables. To the right was a velvet rope leading up to a podium where a stiff-looking host with a slim mustache greeted passengers and showed them to their seats. Courtney and Dodger made a point to avoid that guy. They strolled past him into the sitting area. From there they had a view into the large dining room. Peering through a potted palm plant, Courtney and Dodger scanned for their quarry.

“There,” Courtney said, pointing.

Halfway across the room, toward the stage, was a table for five with Mark, Andy, Nevva, and the Dimonds. Nevva and Andy were laughing and having a good old time. Mark and the Dimonds seemed more reserved. Mark twiddled his spoon, not interested in the food in front of him.

“May I help you two?” came a stern voice from behind.

Courtney and Dodger turned slowly to face the sour-looking host who loomed over them.

“No, thank you,” Dodger said. “Just looking for some friends.”

“Do you have reservations?” the host asked as if he already knew they didn't.

“No, we won't be dining here tonight,” Courtney answered.

The host gave them a skeptical look. Dodger went on the offensive. He stood up straight and snapped, “Is there some problem we can help you with?”

The host backed off.

“Forgive me,” he said apologetically with a deep bow. “If there is anything I might do for you, please do not hesitate.”

“We won't,” Dodger said coldly.

The host slinked off, chastised.

“That was great,” Courtney giggled.

“Hey, we're paying customers. He can't treat us like we don't belong.”

“Except we didn't pay and we don't belong.”

“Details.”

“So now what do we do?”

“No problem, I got this covered.”

Courtney gave him a doubtful look.

“What?” Dodger said, offended. “Have I ever let you down?”

“I barely know you.”

“But what you know, you like. Admit it,” he cajoled.

“Dodger! This isn't a game.”

“Sure it is, and I know how to play,” he said confidently. “Keep an eye on them. When you get the chance, pull Mark outta there.”

“What? How?”

Dodger smiled. “Trust me. Bring him to the stern. I'll meet you there.”

“Where are you going?” Courtney asked.

Dodger put a finger to his lips. “Shhh, trade secrets. Just be ready.”

He took Courtney's hand and gave it an elegant kiss. He then winked and backed away, headed toward the host. Courtney watched as he whispered a moment in the guy's ear and cagily slipped him something that could have been money for a tip. He
cuffed the host on the arm as if they were old friends, and left the restaurant. What was going on? The host left his post and walked casually through the dining room, headed for the band. There was a dance floor between the dining tables and the stage, where several people moved to slow music. The host approached the bandleader and whispered something to him. The bandleader nodded and the host left.

What had Dodger done?

It was time for Courtney to start doing her part. She had to get close to Mark's table without being seen. She slipped through the potted palms, nearly falling over a table where an elderly couple sat.

“Oops, sorry,” she said as she caught a bottle of wine that nearly fell to the floor.

“You!” the elderly woman exclaimed in anger. It was the same woman she and Dodger ran into, literally, when they first boarded the ship. The woman looked around for someone she could call to deal with Courtney.

“Sorry, ma'am, my fault,” Courtney said as she carefully placed the bottle of wine back on the table. “This wine is on me. Charge it to my room. Twelve-twelve. Galvao.”

“Why, uh, thank you,” the elderly man exclaimed.

The woman just looked sour. She gave Courtney an annoyed look and went back to eating her soup. Courtney got away from her and moved closer to Mark's table, always trying to stay shielded by other diners. She got as close as one of the wide, wooden columns that was only a few yards from Mark. She stood with her back to it, waiting for…what?

The answer came quickly. A young steward hurried through the dining room holding a silver tray with a note on top. He went right to Mark's table, where Courtney heard him say, “This came in on the wireless for Mister Mitchell. From London. Apparently there is some urgency.”

“Thanks,” Courtney heard Andy say. Her skin crawled, knowing it was Saint Dane.

Andy read the note and scowled. “Shoot,” he exclaimed angrily.

“What's the trouble?” Nevva asked.

“It's from KEM,” Andy shot back. “I gotta wire them back. Now. C'mon, Nevva.”

Courtney heard him push his chair back.

“Excuse us, please,” Nevva said politely.

“Is there a problem?” Mr. Dimond asked.

“Nothin' I can't handle,” Andy growled.

Andy and Nevva left the table and walked by the column where Courtney was hiding. They passed right by her on either side, inches away. Courtney held her breath. If they turned around, they'd see her. Courtney wanted to kick herself for getting so close. She watched as the two hurried away through the crowd without looking back. Courtney started breathing again. Now what? Was this her chance? Should she confront all three Dimonds? She liked Mr. and Mrs. Dimond. Maybe they'd listen to her. Or maybe they'd call the authorities, and she'd land back in the brig. She figured she had to take the chance. She was about to round the pillar when the band stopped playing and the bandleader stepped up to the microphone.