CHAPTER
NINETEEN

THE MAN WITH THE TEN-GALLON HATS

One hour earlier^*

With so many security guards running all over the Keep looking for her, it had taken Cass a frustratingly long time to reach the tents, but as soon as she did, she could tell which one was Schrödinger’s: The array of ten-gallon hats hanging from the post in front was a dead giveaway.

She found the craggy old man at his desk, scribbling furiously on a stack of papers. Instead of the Midnight Sun’s traditional white gloves, he wore calfskin riding gloves, which were stained with dirt and ink. Yet another cowboy hat sat beside him.

“Excuse me,” Cass said, shutting the tent flap behind her. “Mr. Schrödinger?”

She had to repeat his name several times before he looked up, his eyes wild and unfocused.

“Schrödinger… Schrödinger… I know that name!” he said excitedly.

“It’s not yours, then?”

“What’s not mine?” He smiled broadly, lifting his huge mustache up at the ends. “Never mind, young lady. Whatever it is, take it. I have no use for material things anymore.”

“I was talking about the name. Schrödinger.”

“Schrödinger? Yes, I remember. He was a sheriff. Or was he that snake-oil doctor who sold me that worthless hemorrhoid cream?”

Cass tried a different tack. “What are you writing… sir?”

“Oh, this—?” He looked at the pages in front of him as though surprised to find them there. “Am I writing?”

He held up a page. Instead of writing, there was a line drawing of a great dragon with a large snowflake on its snout, its wings spread wide in flight. And in the corner of the page, Schrödinger had drawn a dark gash in the sky.

“That line again…” Cass muttered, her brow furrowed. “Mr. Schrödinger, did you go somewhere on one of the dragons? Is that why the Midnight Sun is breeding them—to get to this place?”

Schrödinger nodded. A light seemed to switch on behind his eyes. “So fast the dragons fly. Faster and faster. You ain’t seen nothing like it. And then… it stops… and there you are.… She thinks I want to go back, but I don’t.”

“You mean Ms. Mauvais thinks you want to go back?”

He stared at her, twisting his mustache. “Antoinette, yes.”

“Where? Where does she think you want to go back to?”

“The place where I am! That’s what the lady doesn’t understand. I’m still there.” Schrödinger shook his head, as though Ms. Mauvais were being exceptionally thick. “I told her, I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to come back.”

“Come back where?”

“Here!” he said, exasperated.

Cass stepped closer, pressing her finger against the gash in the drawing. “This line in the sky—does it lead to the place where you were—I mean, where you are, Mr. Schrödinger?”

Schrödinger’s mustache twitched. “Schrödinger… Schrödinger… I know that name.… Cattle rustler, wasn’t he? Terrible man, but what a charmer…”

He scratched his head until his gaze landed on Cass. “Hello, young lady. Who are you?” he asked as though she had just arrived. “Can I get you some coffee? I make a mighty fine brew.” He looked around, confused. “Darn it! My campfire must have gone out.”

“That’s okay, I don’t need coffee, Mr. Schrödinger. Thanks.”

“Schrödinger! Now, there’s a name with a story.…”

“Please concentrate,” said Cass, putting her hand on his shoulder. “This place you’re talking about, this place where you are—does it have anything to do with this line?” Once again, Cass pointed to the line in the sky. “Does the line lead the way?”

But Schrödinger wouldn’t or couldn’t focus on anything in front of him. Then, just as Cass was thinking she should run and meet Clay, the old cowboy at last seemed to understand what she was asking him.

“Oh, that line in the sky?” he said, as if she had only just mentioned it for the first time. “That’s what is left after a dragon flies there, of course. So fast the dragons fly.…”

Cass glanced at Schrödinger’s pocket watch, lying on his desk. The dome was going to be turned off in exactly one minute, but she was finally getting somewhere with Schrödinger—she couldn’t leave yet. She was on the verge of solving the mystery that had brought her to the Keep.

“You mean the line is like a trace of the dragon’s flight?” she asked.

Schrödinger nodded vigorously. “A rip in the fabric.”

“The fabric?”

“The fabric between the sides.”

“What sides? Do you mean this side and…” She didn’t like to say it aloud, but he probably wouldn’t remember a word she said anyway. “Do you mean this side and the Other Side? Have you been to the Other Side?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were starting to glaze again.

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Cass persisted. “The Midnight Sun wants the dragons to fly the members to the Other Side? They think going there will make them young again, don’t they?”

“They think it is the Fountain of Youth,” Schrödinger whispered. “It is not.”

“What is it, then?” Cass asked urgently. “What’s on the Other Side, Mr. Schrödinger?”

Schrödinger sat up straight. “Schrödinger? Now, that rings a bell!”

“Yes, it’s a very familiar name, isn’t it?” said Cass, gritting her teeth. When was she going to learn not to say that name?

She pressed him several more times before admitting defeat.

Finally, she looked at Schrödinger’s pocket watch again. Fourteen minutes late. For his sake, she hoped Clay had left without her.

“Thank you, Mr. Schrödinger—you’ve been a lot of help.”

Before she left, she saw something behind Schrödinger’s scraggly-haired head: A shadow was growing against the canvas side of the tent.

“If I’m not mistaken,” he was saying, “that poor old sot Schrödinger landed in Truckee during the gold rush.…”

“Shh,” Cass hissed. “Mr. Schrödinger, look behind you!”

The shadow loomed ever larger and began to take shape. Long neck… jagged back… big talon-pronged wings…

“Never found much gold, did he?”

“Shush, please,” Cass pleaded, whispering.

Confused, Schrödinger turned around. A grin spread beneath his mustache. “Well, I’ll be—my pony is here!”

As the dragon’s shadow grew so large it darkened the interior of the tent, Schrödinger reached for his hat. “You’ll have to excuse me, ma’am—it’s time for me to go home,” he shouted gleefully, clicking his spurred heels together.

With a heart-stopping rrrrrrrip, the side of the tent sagged. A razor-sharp talon was cutting through the canvas, exposing Schrödinger and Cass to the outside, and to a row of shining dragon teeth.

It was the big gray dragon with the lolling tongue—Rover. The dragon’s eyes rolled around the shredded tent and then fixed on the two humans.

With most wild animals, as Cass knew better than anyone, the trick is to wave your arms and make yourself look as big as possible so that the animal leaves you alone. But with something as big as this dragon, Cass thought, arm waving might seem more like a dinner invitation. Another approach was needed.

Cass was about to urge Schrödinger to stay absolutely still, when Schrödinger raised a hand, shouted, “Yeehaww!,” and leaped right for the dumbfounded dragon—

Only to trip and land on the dragon’s tail.