BY THE TIME ARCHER MADE IT TO LUNCH WEDNESDAY, HE was already exhausted. The meeting with Master Gabriel the night before had rattled him to the point where sleep had come in fitful, unproductive spurts. And almost every time he hit even a little REM sleep, the kind of sleep needed for Dreamtreading, Kaylie had woken him up screaming from nightmares. Each time he’d rushed bleary eyed to her room to comfort her until she’d drifted off again. The Nightmare Lord had apparently declared war on Archer and his family.
“If I could only get that relic,” Archer seethed under his breath, “then I’d get your secret, and then we’d see.”
The Nightmare Lord had certainly won the first couple of rounds. As a result, Archer had nodded off during American Lit and made a ridiculous calculation error (on screen for the entire class to ridicule) in Math. A tired mind was bound to lead to mistakes, Archer knew, but it galled him.
I must look as awful as I feel, he thought with a sad chuckle. Grandma Cho had been extra generous with portions. His tray looked like an otherworldly landscape: a mountain of tater tots, a forest of broccoli, a vast lake of cheese sauce, an avalanche of chicken nuggets, and rolling hills made of, well . . . rolls.
He munched a cheese-dipped nugget and grumbled, I am a Dreamtreader. I am supposed to go where the danger is. I’m supposed to solve problems in the Dream. There’s something serious going on here, and I can’t do anything about it? That’s just . . . well, it’s just stupid.
Archer had been in his third season of Dreamtreader service when he first caught wind of the legendary Lurker. But he had never taken the stories seriously. They had always been ominous rumors. Tales of bogeymen, spooks, or other assorted horrors. But Archaia was in Duncan’s district, and the fiery red-beard never said much about it. And yet, Archer thought, Duncan and Mesmeera had apparently gone hunting for the relic in Archaia, right to the Lurker’s door.
What was the relic, anyway? A puzzle box? What good would that be? If Master Gabriel had known something about it, he sure didn’t share. Whatever it was, Duncan and Mesmeera clearly thought it was worth the risk of tromping around the Lurker’s backyard. And Bezeal wanted it so fiercely that he would give up the secret to bringing down the Nightmare Lord.
Could Bezeal be trusted? Not likely. But if there is a chance, even an infinitesimally small chance, to put away the Nightmare Lord for good, don’t I have to take it? No, apparently not. Master Gabriel had, in fact, forbidden it.
Ten tater tots later, Archer had worked himself into a frustrated state, but the bell rang: time to head to Chemistry. He scarfed down a substantial portion of the tray’s contents and reluctantly dumped the rest. As he slid the tray into the drop-off window, he watched a crowd pass by. It was Rigby, of course. And in his train, Kara Windchil . . . and even Amy Pitsitakas.
Archer shook his head and trudged out of the cafeteria. But once in the hall, he noticed that someone else was watching Rigby Thames’s procession. Guzzy Gorvalec stood in the shadows next to a bank of lockers. It was hard to see the features of his face . . . except for his eyes. Guzzy’s eyes glistened with venom. It was then that Archer felt a pang of responsibility. Being new at Dresden High, Rigby had no clue what might be coming his way.
I’d better tell him, Archer thought. Maybe during lab in Chem. Maybe.
Dr. Pallazzo held a book-sized, orange-brown rock up over his glistening bald head and snapped it in half. “Is this unnamed compound most likely ionic or covalent?”
Archer swallowed. He vaguely remembered reading something about one of the compounds being pretty brittle. “Uhm . . . co—”
“Do not guess, Mr. Keaton,” the teacher said. “At this point you should know. Mr. Thames, can you tell me?”
Rigby didn’t sit up straight. In fact, he seemed distracted by something outside the classroom window. Without looking directly at the teacher, he said, “It’s ionic.”
“Correct,” Dr. Pallazzo said. “And how do you know this?”
Rigby didn’t hesitate, nor did he look particularly interested. “Most crystals are ionic compounds,” he said. “It’s because the ions stack into crystal lattices, right? In addition, you snapped the thing in ’alf with your ’ands. Ionic compounds tend to be rigid and brittle, so there it is. Besides, I recognized the compound as zinc sulphide, which is, of course, ionic.”
“Now that, Mr. Thames,” the teacher said with a sideways glance at Archer, “is what I call a confident answer. Correct!”
Archer sank down in his chair and fumed. It was the third time in the block Rigby had shown off his (admittedly stunning) intellect. By the time the lab started, Archer was so sick of Rigby that he completely forgot about Guzzy and his stooges.
Of course, Kara was paired up with Rigby. Everyone seemed to find partners right away, leaving Archer gazing around the classroom like some abandoned puppy in a pet shop window.
“Ready to get started?” Amy said, tugging on Archer’s black lab apron. “C’mon, this is an easy one, yep.”
Archer sighed in relief. Amy to the rescue. “Nothing’s easy in here, Amy,” he said. “But thanks all the same.”
“Sure it is,” she said, gesturing for him to join her at the microscope. “See, look at the crystalline structures, the little boxy shapes. That means it’s ionic.” She went on to explain more key differences between ionic and covalent compounds.
Archer listened intently to Amy at first, but soon Rigby’s smooth English wafted over. Archer glanced across the room and saw that, as usual, Rigby had a small crowd gathered around him. Dr. Pallazzo didn’t even say anything about the distraction. He just walked around nodding as if he were responsible for Rigby’s superior intellect.
Archer went back to the microscope. “So how come you’re not still following Rigby around?”
“I was never following him around,” Amy contested. “Not really. I mean, sure, he’s interesting, yep. And smart. And funny. And—”
“Forget I asked,” Archer said.
When the lab was over, Dr. Pallazzo ushered the students back to their desks and put a new slide up on the digital overhead projector: “Battle of the Brains.”
“What’s Battle of the Brains?” Garret McCormick asked.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Gil Messchek said.
“Quiet,” Dr. Pallazzo commanded. “As you know, your final exam will be on June 2. It is a significant part of your grade. So to help you study, we will engage in mortal combat. Intellectually, that is.” He paused and gave a stack of papers to Kara to pass out. “This is your list of topics. You will challenge one another on any three.”
“Great,” Archer muttered to himself. He knew Chemistry but . . . to be tested against another student . . . in front of everyone in the class? That sounded like a recipe for humiliation.
But as the opponents chose each other, things went horribly wrong. Kara chose Bree Lassiter. Emy Crawford stole Amy right before Archer was about to claim her. Two by two, the students all paired off. No one seemed to want to challenge Rigby Thames.
Archer looked around for anyone else to oppose. There was Gil Messcheck, but that would be a mistake; he was one of Guzzy’s crew. Who else? A little more desperate now, Archer bounced from person to person. The only other one left was that girl who always smelled like cigarette smoke and had a screechy voice. What was her name? Felicia? Felicia Dudka? Or was it Dooda? He couldn’t recall.
That wouldn’t turn out well, Archer thought. No. That vice would drive me up a wall.
Dr. Pallazzo said, “That’s almost everyone. But will no one challenge Mr. Thames? How about you, Mr. Messcheck?”
Gil had apparently found something riveting on the floor to look at. He gave only the subtlest shake of the head. No.
Wait, Archer thought. What am I afraid of? Someone’s got to put this new hotshot in his place. Why not me? If I’m going to take down the Nightmare Lord, I ought to be able to handle Rigby.
Before his brain caught up to his mouth, Archer said, “I’ll do it!”
“Mr. Keaton?” Dr. Pallazzo said incredulously. “Are you sure?”
In his periphery, Archer saw Amy’s wide eyes. For some reason that emboldened him all the more. “I’m sure,” he said. “I think I match up pretty well with Sir Rigby, actually.”
Archer ignored the giggling in the room. Wouldn’t that be the day? he thought. If he could show up Rigby in front of everyone—in front of Kara—that would be, well . . . epic.
“Is this agreeable to you, Mr. Thames?” the teacher asked.
Rigby said nothing. He smirked and gave a subtle nod of the head.
“That leaves Mr. Messcheck and Miss Dutka.”
“Awww, mannnn!” Gil whined.
On the way out of Chemistry, Rigby Thames slid up close to Archer. “Oi, Keaton,” he said. “Bravo to you for challenging me. Better than most of the gutless wonders in there.”
“You’ll probably kill me,” Archer mumbled. He hadn’t expected any kind of approval from Rigby.
“Maybe,” Rigby said. “I do have advantages. I went to GIFT. And I had a semicrazy master chemist for an uncle. But you never know . . . underdogs are often fierce opponents. You seem like that type too.”
“Uh, thanks,” Archer said. “I guess.”
“So . . . what say we make this so-called Battle of the Brains a bit more interesting?” Rigby said, his voice friendly and eager.
“What do you mean?”
“A little wager,” he said. “Fancy that?”
“I don’t gamble,” Archer said.
“No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that. I had something in mind though. You have any chores you hate? I know I do. We have . . . er . . . quite a few pets. Feeding them and cleaning their cages is right vulgar, it is. Let’s say, if I win, you come over to my place, do that chore for me . . . for a week.”
“I dunno,” Archer said.
“Surely you’ve got some business your folks make you do, but you can’t stand it.”
One popped instantly to Archer’s mind. Ever since his mom died, there’d been a ton of new work for all of the kids. But one stood out as particularly hated. “Well, maybe . . .”
“That’s the spirit. What is it?”
“It’s laundry. I do the whole family’s laundry.”
“You don’t play around, do you?” Rigby said. “Right, then. You win, I’ll do laundry at your place for a week. I win, you’ve got my pet duty.”
“But not on Sundays,” Archer said. “We go to church on Sundays.”
“Church . . . how quaint.” Rigby rolled his eyes. “Ah, to each their own.” He held out his hand.
Remembering Bezeal, Archer hesitated for a moment. Stupid, he thought. Rigby’s not making a blood pact here. The two shook.
“Done and done!” Rigby started to walk away.
“Oh, hey,” Archer called, but Rigby held up a hand. He reached for his holster, yanked out his cell phone, and put it to his ear.
“What are you calling me at school for?” Rigby asked.
Archer had no earthly guess as to who might be on the other side of that call, but the way Rigby said the word you was nothing short of venomous.
Rigby turned sideways to Archer and walked away. Not meaning to eavesdrop, Archer couldn’t help but hear a little more of Rigby’s end of the conversation.
“. . . told you it’s going to cost a lot of money up front. Right, right. No . . . you don’t seem to understand. There’s nothing else . . .”
That was it. Archer heard nothing more. A few moments later, just before Archer disappeared into the gym, Kara caught up to him.
“Are you crazy, Archer?” she said. “Rigby will have you for lunch.”
“Thanks,” Archer said. “That’s nice.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”
“Look,” Kara said, “I know you’re probably tired of Rigby’s new-kid cool routine. I am too. Kinda.”
“Are you?” Archer asked. “Could’ve fooled me. Word is, you’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”
“Have you been asking around?” Kara shot back.
“I’ve seen you two, Kara,” he said. “Just the other day, you were walking away from the bus arm in arm. What’s that about?”
Kara put her hands on her hips. “Archer Keaton, you sound jealous.”
“Jealous?” he echoed as if the word had just beamed down from another planet. “Why should I be jealous? We’ve hardly talked since the storm.”
“Don’t worry, Archer,” she said. “I’ve still got your back. But listen: Rigby is really, really smart. What are you going to do?”
Archer stopped at the locker room door. “Actually, I know what I’m going to do,” he said. “I have an ace in the hole.”
Kara looked at him strangely. “Your ace better have a degree in Chemistry.”
“Close enough,” Archer said. “But it’s going to cost me a lot of candy.”