They spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out, drinking lemonade, teasing Kynder, and acting like normal kids on summer vacation.
If kids playing with a medieval magical sword could be called normal.
Qwon left shortly before dinner. The Kingfishers ate and turned in early. They had a big day ahead of them.
The ride to Peebles the next morning was pretty boring, except for the weather. It was like the sky was schizophrenic: it alternated between bright sun and ominous storm clouds that looked as though they were about to unleash a cascade of fierce, earth-cracking lightning.
But the lightning never came.
They arrived at Serpent Mound State Memorial after lunchtime. They parked and got out their picnic stuff. Artie slung Cleomede over his shoulder, and they searched for a place to eat. The weather had decided to stay nice, and by the time they dug into their sandwiches, it was a steamy summertime afternoon.
The plan, arranged between Artie, Merlin, and Thumb on the Otherworld message boards, was to rendezvous at five o’clock in the woods just north of Serpent Mound’s head. Merlin had assured Artie that Kynder would be sleeping on account of being full and happy—but also on account of a little magic.
Right on cue, at precisely four forty-five, Kynder said, “Guys, I’m pooped. Do you think it’d be okay if I conked out for a few minutes?”
Kay, unable to contain her anticipation, said excitedly, “Oh sure, Kynder!”
Kynder gave her a sidelong glare and, for a brief moment, seemed to be completely aware of what was going on. Then his face softened and he smiled. Artie thought he looked like an amnesiac who’d remembered and then forgotten his own name. It made both Artie and Kay a little sad—they wanted their old Kynder back as soon as possible.
Kynder settled against a tree and said, “Great. Thanks, guys. Just fifteen minutes or so, all right?”
“You got it, Kynder,” Artie answered.
“Yeah, don’t worry about us. We’ll stay out of trouble!” added Kay, knowing she was definitely lying.
Kynder closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep.
Artie grabbed Cleomede, and they made their way to the serpent’s head along a paved walkway.
A small brown river to the west of the mound babbled along pleasantly. Beyond that was a large cornfield. All around was postcard-perfect rural America—big old oaks and maples and ashes and beeches dotted rolling hills with small farms. It was picturesque countryside, and the last place one might expect to find a portal to earth’s sister world.
They got to the snake head and milled around while they waited for a family of four to clear out. When the family finally left, it was just past five. Artie and Kay exchanged a look of mutual assurance and moved into the woods to the north.
The woods were very thick and dark. They hadn’t walked ten paces before the snake-head clearing was out of sight. The little river had gone totally silent. And the light in the west was weak and orange among the trees.
“So where’d the little guy say he was supposed to meet us?” asked Kay.
Artie concentrated on his feet. He said, “Five more paces if I’m counting right.”
They took five steps and stopped. They found themselves in a little depression, the ground choked with gnarled roots. The air was still and heavy.
“Thumb? You here?” Artie asked of the trees.
No response.
“Mr. Thumb?” Kay called.
Still nothing.
A branch snapped to their right. Artie jumped and swung Cleomede from his shoulder in a smooth motion. He gripped it loosely, as the book had instructed, and held it slightly to his side, point up, ready to strike.
Then a high-pitched wail echoed through the undergrowth. They looked in its direction, where they saw a large brown jackrabbit hopping from behind a birch trunk. It reared like a mighty stallion and wailed again. Neither Artie nor Kay had ever heard a rabbit before.
The small beast settled, and that was when they noticed something wrapped around his head.
Kay pointed and asked, “Are those reins?”
Before Artie could answer, two miniscule hands parted the jackrabbit’s long ears and there, framed between them, was the beaming face of little Mr. Tom Thumb. “Hello, good sir and madam!” he proclaimed.
Kay chuckled nervously and said, “Tom, you scared the you-know-what out of us!”
“Aha! Not too often you get spooked by a screaming jackrabbit, is it?”
Artie said, “Nope.”
“Well, this is my steed, Vorpal.”
In addition to the battle-ax, Artie’s video game character Nitwit had a vorpal blade in Otherworld, and he found the contrast pretty funny. “A vorpal bunny, huh?”
“Quite, lad. He’s got vicious teeth—”
“—and he can jump!”
This voice came from behind them, giving them a start. Artie twirled around, Cleomede at the ready in front of him.
Standing in the trees was someone who looked vaguely familiar to Artie. He wrinkled his brow and asked, “Who are you?”
The young man cleared his throat and said, “Victor X. Lance, cab driver and archer, among other things.” He bowed as he added, “And I am at your service.”
“No offense, but you look pretty ridiculous!” Kay blurted.
And this was the honest truth. Victor Lance, who looked to be about twenty, wore high-top leather moccasins, leather and chain-mail pants, a camouflage hunting shirt under a black bulletproof vest, and a green felt Robin Hood–looking hat with a big pheasant feather sticking out of it.
The silly hat wasn’t the only merry prankster-ish thing he had, either. In his right hand was a huge compound bow that was all strings and pulleys. It was decorated with a patriotic motif, like American flags and screaming eagles. Slung over his back was a quiver of very long arrows with very ornate feather fletchings, and strapped to his waist was a commando-style buck knife.
Artie still couldn’t place him. “Where do I—”
“Cincinnati. I was your cab driver. I tried to be friendly, but you were pretty preoccupied.”
Kay turned to her brother and asked, “Artie, you know this guy?”
“Not really. But I remember him now. He’s who he says he is.”
Artie lowered Cleomede, and Kay shook her head. To the list of crazies they’d met over the last week, they could now add a militiaman taxi hack from Cincinnati. Why not? Weirder things happened. For instance, they also knew a miniature man who rode a rabbit.
Thumb interjected and said, “Artie, Kay, Mr. Lance is a friend and ally to myself and Merlin, and he will be the same to you. Quite a resourceful chap. He knows a little about you and a fair bit more about the Otherworld.”
“It’s, like, one of my hobbies, you know? Along with archery, I just can’t get enough of the Otherworld. It’s a long story, but I kinda found out about it on my own. Got pretty obsessed. Did a bunch of arcane research all over the place, and that led me to the Invisible Tower and old Lyn—I mean Merlin. Still getting used to calling him that.”
“You’re telling me,” Artie said. Kay nodded.
Lance continued, “Anyway, I’m a tough kid and good in a fight. Was in Iraq with the Hundred and First before getting an honorable discharge two years in. Can’t hear in my right ear and I only got one lung. I can’t travel with you to the Otherworld. We can’t figure out why, but for now only kids and people like Thumb, who’s originally from the Otherworld, can go back and forth. So my job is to stay here and watch the portal to make sure no one messes with it.”
Artie and Kay looked at each other and shrugged. Sure, why not?
“I won’t let you guys down.”
As they were hashing this out, Thumb had arranged a strand of silver thread in a wide circle on the ground. Inside the circle were him, the rabbit, Artie, and Kay. Outside the circle stood Lance.
Thumb bounded over to their new friend and handed him the free end of the thread. Lance removed an arrow from his quiver, tied the thread to it, and nocked the arrow to his bowstring. He pulled the string to his shoulder and aimed into the canopy.
He let go, and the arrow zinged through the air. It hit its mark with an impressive thwack.
Suddenly there was a sparking electrical sound, and then a pale see-through curtain encircled all but Lance. The archer said, “I’ll be here when you get back! Good luck!”
And before they knew it, the dark forest was no more.