It seemed to Wylder that every time he turned around, he was inside a different scene, each more fantastic than the last. A steam train with robotic servants, a secret lab with an evil scientist, a hotel lobby with a MilkshakeMobile and Flynn Goster himself. And now alligator wrestling! It was like a video game with different levels. Each page of this comic book took you to a new level, only instead of slouching on the couch at home, you got to be one of the action figures racing around. Fun? Definitely. Addy wasn’t as much fun to play with as Jerry, but the game—the comic—was fantastic. And when things got too scary, you could escape by turning the page. It was real and magical at the same time.
Wylder shrugged out of his backpack, settled in his grandstand seat, sniffed the salty air and vowed not to let Addy bug him too much.
“Stop pulling at me,” he said. “Gator wrestling sounds fantastic! And seats in the front row! Oops, sorry, sir.”
He had bumped against a man with a pointed beard and a crisp white suit. The man looked down his nose at Wylder and said, “Quite so.” Whatever that meant.
“Sure,” said Wylder. “Quite so to you too.”
The man shifted a fraction of an inch away from him.
“Come on!” Addy was on her feet, looking around. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“You know, home? Toronto. In the real world?” She tugged the VaporLink from her pocket and waved it in his face. “My uncle has a serious problem with missing comics, and I want to be there!”
“Okay, it’s an emergency for your uncle,” he said. “But why do you have to be there?”
Addy closed her mouth firmly and took in a deep breath.
“We’re not supposed to be here,” she said, clearly and slowly—not being mean, just being calm, working stuff out. “My uncle drew this comic, and he didn’t put us in it. It’s like—” She waved her hand. “It’s like we wandered into a stranger’s apartment. Sure, it’s a great-looking apartment, and there’s a party going on, but we can’t stay here, eating snacks and watching the stranger’s TV. It’s wrong. We weren’t invited. We have to leave.”
“Where’s the portal, the … the door to this party?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we have to find out.”
“But I don’t want to go.”
His words hung in the air for a second. He wished he hadn’t put it that way.
“You know what you sound like?”
“Yes,” he said. A little kid whining about bedtime. “But I still don’t want to go.”
“Where’s the comic?”
“In my back pocket.”
She put out her hand, but he shook his head.
“Look, I know it’s yours. And you can have it. But if you turn the page now, you might be missing the way back. Maybe the portal is here in this stadium. There has to be a bathroom, right? Maybe that’s where the portal is. Or over there behind the striped tent. Why don’t you go check the ladies’ room?”
He could see her thinking about this.
A man in a top hat trotted out of the tent on the far side of the pool. He wore a tuxedo jacket over an old-timey bathing suit. He looked like the ringmaster at a circus, and the show was beginning! Wylder jiggled with excitement, knocking the guy beside him again. He apologized once more. The guy ignored him.
The ringmaster came close to where they were sitting and began to speak through a silvery funnel that made his words bounce around the small stadium.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to an evening you will never forget! And a most special welcome to our distinguished guest, all the way from England—the Duke of Tooting.”
Wylder laughed. He couldn’t help himself.
“Tooting!” he said to Addy.
“Uncle Vim thought it was funny too.”
“You know, tooting. Like—”
“Yes, I know.”
With a flourish, the ringmaster gestured toward the man sitting next to them.
“You’re the Duke of Tooting?” Just the name was enough to start Wylder giggling again.
“Quite so,” said the duke.
Meanwhile, the ringmaster was walking up and down the pool deck in front of them, calling his carnival enticements through the horn. “Ladies and gentlemen, in just a moment you will behold the biggest alligator in captivity! Teeth like razors, tail like a thunderbolt—a deadly marvel to behold! Bring him out, boys!”
Four men rolled a cage from behind the tent. Inside was a gigantic alligator. Gigantic! As big as a dragon! Straining and sweating, the men pushed the cage up a ramp beside the pool. One of them leaned around with a long stick to flick open the barred door. The beast lumbered out of the cage and splashed into the pool to swim in angry circles, its tail frothing the water like a blender. Wylder happily noted that the walls of the pool were slick and vertical—the animal was not going to be able to climb out on its own.
“Isn’t that amazing! Are you amazed, Duke?” The ringmaster’s pacing brought him to stand next to the duke with an arm around his lordship’s shoulders. Wylder caught a glimpse of the ringmaster’s wrist—he wore a cool watch shaped like a key. The duke squirmed away. The crowd shouted and whistled and stomped.
“And now,” the ringmaster rumbled over the ruckus, “as the sun’s dying rays dapple the sea, we introduce our heroine—the first lady of adventure—as beautiful as she is dangerous: the one and only Isadora Fortuna!”
The tent flap parted and out she stepped. Wylder’s heart almost stopped—Isadora was so young! Of course, this was a flashback. Years and years ago. But she looked like a girl. A strong girl, mind you. Her bathing suit was old-fashioned, almost like a dress, but you could see the muscles in her arms and legs. She ran lightly to the diving tower and began to climb. The alligator’s tail churned the surface of the pool below her.
“I never liked this scene,” said Addy.
“Does something go wrong?” said Wylder.
“Isadora has this bit in her act where the alligator seems about to snap her head off, and the audience is, like, ‘Aaahhh!’ ”
“No kidding.” Wylder watched the bubbling water.
“Usually she whups the gator, and everything is fine. But this time she’s in trouble for real—as if, in my opinion—so Flynn jumps in to save her.”
“Wow!” said Wylder.
“Except she’s all, like, ‘My hero!’—which is so dumb! They have this romantic scene with moonlight and …” Addy glanced at the Duke of Tooting and then lowered her voice. “And they have a big smooch, and he gives her a present.”
“What kind of present?”
“A big fat jewel. I know—dumb, right? I told Vim, but he insisted. I think he’s kind of in love with Isadora himself. It’s not like my uncle is super popular with the ladies in real life.”
The cover said FLYNN IN LOVE? But this couldn’t actually be a love story, could it?
“And then he dumps her! After about a page.” Addy pounded her knees with her fists.
“Huh,” said Wylder. “Just like our dads, eh?”
She blinked—so he knew she’d heard him—but she didn’t say anything.
“Well, that’s lucky,” he said. “No happily-ever-after ending full of mush.”
Halfway up the ladder, Isadora slipped and caught herself. The crowd gasped in unison. Hanging on by one hand, she pulled herself back onto the ladder and waved. It was all a stunt. The crowd cheered.
“See? As if she needs Flynn,” said Addy. “When they meet in the hotel lobby, it’s ten years later. Flynn really falls in love this time, and he figures he’s still got it. But Isadora is all about revenge. And the gold.”
“So wait! Is Flynn here already?”
Isadora had reached the top of the ladder. She sidled to the end of the diving board and peered down at the turbulent water. The setting sun lit up her skin, making her look golden and mysterious.
“Don’t do it!” someone shouted.
“Trounce the beast!” cried someone else.
The duke, next to Wylder, made a snorting noise. His suit jacket was open and he peered into the inside pocket.
“It’s going to get mushy by the time the sun goes down,” said Addy. “You won’t like it. Let’s check the washrooms.” She held out his backpack.
The crowd was quiet, staring at the diving board. Water splashed up as the great gator swam in frenzied circles. Wylder did not want to leave and was considering how to say so when someone grabbed his arm.
“I’ve been robbed!” The duke’s voice broke the held-breath silence. He could be Flynn, thought Wylder. Was this part of the trick? “This boy took my sapphire!”
“What? No! I—”
“You kept bumping into me, you pickpocket!” the duke accused him. “Your technique puzzles me, but the Tooting Sapphire is gone!”
The word “tooting” did not make Wylder laugh this time.
“The Florida Museum of Gems is buying the stone tomorrow. It has been locked in its case and hidden in my pocket every minute.” He raised his voice again. “I shall have you arrested!”
Wylder wrenched free of the duke’s grasp and staggered back toward the edge of the pool.
“Addy!”
She nodded vigorously. Time to go! But as Wylder reached for the comic, something hard and heavy whacked him across the back.
Water is much wetter when you have your clothes on. Wylder’s shirt and pants, instantly soaked, ballooned around him, pulling him under. His feeble kicks didn’t bring him to the surface. He gagged and thrashed, his shoes as heavy as boulders. He … he … he couldn’t breathe …
He was drowning.
With every cell in his body, he pushed upward. His mouth met air just long enough to gurgle a scream and then fill with gator-flavored water. Down he went again, choking, flailing with his fists. Something crashed into the pool next to him, sending Wylder surging to the surface. A second later he found that his head was above water. He sucked at the air, chest fiery with relief. There was a hand under him, holding him so he could breathe. Twisting around, Wylder recognized the ringmaster …
