At noon, with the sun hammering down and the smog and humidity thickening, the bugler from the Dukes climbed onto the platform and played the first few bars of “Food, Glorious Food.”
“That is the signal for lunch!” the microphone crackled.
Everybody flopped on the grass or clustered around picnic tables under the trees at the McNairn Avenue edge of the field, where it was not so hot. Bruce from the doughnut shop supervised a dozen volunteers from local restaurants at serving tables under a long awning. There was pizza, hamburgers, grilled panini sandwiches, back bacon with fried green pepper and onions on a bun, beef-and-veg samosas, falafel in a pita, a dozen kinds of dim sum, and buttered corn on the cob.
“This is all right!” Ike said with his mouth full. He added, “Why are you passing food under your arm?”
“I hope nobody else saw that.” Simon looked around at the noisy crowd. He and Ike were sitting side by side on the grass next to the big chestnut tree. Amelia and Ty were the centre of attention at a long, crowded table at the far end of the lunch area, where Ty was impressing everybody by pretending to catch and eat wasps. Or maybe not pretending.
With that to watch, nobody was looking this way. Simon lowered his voice, even so. “Pier’s back there, on my other side.”
Ike leaned back to look behind Simon. He straightened up, shaking his head. “I’ve got news for you, Hammer. Nobody’s there.”
“I am so here.” Pier’s voice came from the empty space between Simon’s left shoulder and the tree. “Please, may I have another of those spicy meat pastries, then? They’re good.”
“But …,” Ike said.
“She’s very good at hiding.” Simon passed back a samosa and it left his fingers and vanished.
“Way cool! Can she teach me that?”
“No,” Pier said from out of the air. “When will you win the Prism Blade? Soon?”
“There are two small events after lunch.” Ike started on his third pan-fried dumpling. “Light digestives, Mr. Manning calls them. Then at two there’s the final event. The Double Mystery Race!”
“Nobody knows what to expect,” Simon told her. “We’ll really have to think fast for that one.”
“Your brains are good, and your heart also,” Pier said. “I know that you will win.”
“Um ….” Simon raised a slice of pizza to his mouth, then set it down. He’d been having so much fun, even when they didn’t win, that he’d almost forgotten what was at stake for Pier. But now that she’d reminded him, something that had been lurking at the back of his mind all day pushed forward and demanded to be heard. “Uh,” he said.
Ike wiped his chin. “Problem?”
“Yeah. What happens if we win?”
“When we win, you mean. Well, that’s easy.” Ike swallowed his mouthful. “Mr. Manning hands us the Hec Manning Trophy and everybody cheers and Dad takes our picture and we take the thing away and then we give it to Pier — right, Pier? — and she goes home happy. And next day they deliver the Spacer 9800 to my place, or maybe yours, and we spend the next month customizing it.” He popped the rest of the dumpling in his mouth.
“It can’t be that easy. Even if we win we won’t get the trophy right away because they have to engrave our names on the base.”
“That is fine,” Pier said. “We have nineteen days, yes? Time to spare.”
“Um.” Simon looked at Ike. “Didn’t you tell Pier about the time difference?”
“No.” Ike stared back at him. “Why me? I thought you would’ve.”
“No, I never did. I, uh, I forgot.”
The air moved behind him. Small patches of grass flattened to his left and then in front. Pier popped into view. Ike choked on his fourth dumpling.
“What did you forget?”
It wasn’t all that hard to explain to Pier about the time difference. Perhaps knowing about the many worlds, and the gates between them, prepared you for other strange things. She listened hard, then nodded. “So there is until tomorrow at noon. That is enough. All you need do is put the trophy in my hands. Two minutes and I am gone.”
“Okay, but ….” How could he make her understand? “Even if we win it, it still won’t belong to us. Not really. It belongs to the whole town. You see? We can’t just give it to you, because that would be like — like stealing it from next year’s winner.”
Pier’s eyes went wide. “Stealing?”
“Yes!” He looked at her hopefully.
“Stealing? What is stealing compared to the death of all my people?”
“Well, I ….” How could he answer that? But he still felt wrong about it. No matter what I do, it’ll be wrong.
Pier looked Simon over, frowning, as if she wasn’t sure who he was, after all. Then she shook her head. “I will do it myself, then.” She turned and was halfway to McNairn Avenue before Simon was able to untangle his legs and get up. “Pier!” he yelled. “Pier! Wait!”
Heads turned. People stared. Simon saw Amelia rolling her eyes, and Ty with his head perked up like a greyhound, and over there near the serving tables, Celeste talking with Mr. Manning, both of them turning and looking as Pier flew at them. Celeste said something and reached out, but Pier dodged and flitted away like a sparrow.
When Simon reached the spot, Celeste caught him by the arm and reeled him in.
“Simon! Who was that girl?”
“Uh ….” He shook his head and tried to see past her.
“She looked a lot like that homeless child we found yesterday. Except for the hair.”
“She … she did, didn’t she?”
“Maybe that was her,” said Ike, at his elbow. “Maybe we should go and look for her.”
Mr. Manning looked at his watch. “Don’t be long. Five minutes and it’s Charades. And then it’s the Synchronized Gum Chew and Spelling Bee!”
Once away from the field and all those people, Pier circled back around the big brick building they called a school, though it looked more like a fortress. She scrunched herself against the wall, too flurried to work her baffle spell. When she was sure nobody was looking, she slipped forward and crawled underneath the platform into the warm, earthy-grassy-smelling dimness behind the vinyl skirting. She found the spot right underneath where the Prism Blade stood disguised, and curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees.
Safe, she thought, for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long. Nothing could harm her here, bathed in this soft, rainbowy glow.
There was a thin gap in front of her where two sheets of vinyl didn’t quite meet. Scraps of colour and blurred movement whisked across the gap. People farther away appeared whole but very small. She caught a glimpse of Simon on the far side of the sandy place, looking back and forth, searching.
Seeing Simon brought her sadness and anger flooding back. She’d thought she could depend on Simon. She’d trusted him.
That will teach me! I cannot trust any of these people, not one. Not even Simon.
Amelia suddenly popped into view in the gap, reeling and clutching at her heart as if she was dying.
This must be the game that they call “charades.” Look at them, running around like madmen and making silly faces!
Pier breathed a scornful laugh. What did Amelia know of dying? What did any of them know of real danger — of fire by night, a sudden burst from the black sky. Or worse: by day. Of coming back up the hill in the morning, singing, with a bowl full of wild cloudberries, of getting a whiff of the stink from half a mile away, of dropping the bowl, of running, running, running home. Of crawling through the tall bracken and the mud. Of finding the village. What was left of the village.
Nobody left alive. Nobody but me. Why me? There must be a reason.
“Pier.” Hands pulled at her wrists. She had covered her eyes, uselessly. Simon was trying to fit himself under the platform beside her. Funny Simon, he never knew what to do with his arms and legs.
“I’ve been looking all over!” he said.
“You can go away again, then. I don’t need you.”
“So, how will you get the Prism?”
“I will wait until someone wins it, and then I will take it.”
“Um … how?” He peered at her as if he really wanted to know.
“See, I will follow them. They cannot watch it always. When they aren’t looking, I will take it.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good plan. And how will you get back? By then the gate will be gone. It’s probably gone already.”
“No need to worry. I will find a way.” She had her escape route mapped out. She wasn’t going to tell him what it was, though, or where it was, in case he told dragon-friend Amelia. It seemed she, Pier, was the only one who knew about this other gate, and that was the way it would stay.
And she had the key to the gate. She slid a hand into her pocket and touched it for the hundredth time to make sure it was there: the stone from Mythrin, with its star of dragon’s blood, safely wrapped in a scrap of linen.
“Pier, look. I’ll find a way to help you. I will!”
“Never say what you don’t mean. That is lying.” She closed her eyes to shut him out and to let the rainbow shine of the Prism weave its warmth around her. When she peeked through her eyelashes a minute later, he was gone.
Pier didn’t understand much of the event that followed, shredded through the gap as it was. Synchronized Gum Chew and Spelling Bee, they called it. Judging by Ike’s joyous leaping about, he and Simon did well. Pier couldn’t help feeling pleased. Maybe they would win the trophy after all.
Finally, the big event began: the Double Mystery Race. Pier inched forward so she could get a better view through the gap. I have no interest in this, she told herself. Not really. Whoever wins is no matter. I’ll follow and follow until my moment comes. I will never give up.
All the same, she was watching so closely as Ike started off on that strange wheeled machine, with Simon trotting beside him, that she failed to notice when someone crawled under the skirting at the other end of the platform. She did notice, though, when they came creeping towards her through the dimness.
“Okay, straight ahead!” Simon yelled as he ran. “Hold steady — go more right — no, not — yaaah!”
Simon was being Ike’s eyes, and not doing very well at it. Ike kept pouring on the speed, which made it hard for Simon to tell him, in time, where he was going. Outfitted with knee pads, elbow pads, a helmet, and a blindfold, Ike flew around the obstacle course on a bicycle with training wheels that he’d borrowed from his six-year-old cousin Rhea. “A vehicle with three or more wheels and no motor.” That was what this event required. And a blindfold.
Simon was trying so hard to see for Ike that he forgot to watch where he was going himself, and tripped over a squashed water bottle. He fell for about the tenth time, rolled, and staggered up again. Raced to catch up. Ike was way ahead.
Amelia swooped past on a skateboard, blindfolded, flashing a smile. That green-haired punk loped along beside her, weirdly light-footed in those heavy boots. She veered and banked so smoothly you’d almost think she was telepathic, seeing things through Ty’s eyes. And maybe that’s just what she’s doing, Simon thought. Not fair!
Amelia flew past Ike, who was whooping like a maniac as he tore along. He must have thought Simon was right alongside and not saying anything because he was riding straight. He was riding straight — straight for an inflated plastic pool full of water.
“Left, Ike! Left!” Simon pounded after him. Ike swerved away with half an inch to spare. But he’d headed too far left. In two seconds he’d hit that tarp slathered with blue finger paint.
“Go right!” Simon gasped. “Not that much! Okay, get ready to go left again! Balloon post coming up! Two more seconds and — no, one more second and — left now! Go left now! And grab!”
Ike wheeled around the last post, clawed free a balloon, and shot ahead.
“Yes! Now turn right and — okay, straighten out! Now keep going straight! Nearly home, now! Get ready to stop — in about — four seconds — three — two — one — stop!”
Ike stood on the brakes. The bike stopped right on the finish line. He somersaulted over the handlebars and landed flat on his back in the sand pit — the same one where they’d been throwing watermelons earlier. As he sat up, pulled off the blindfold, and brushed sticky sand from his hair, Dinisha rolled across the finish line on a tricycle, with Kevin trotting beside her.
“Hey, snails!” Ike laughed. Dinisha gave him a sour look as she unfolded her legs from the trike.
“Looks to me like Amelia won this one, too.” Simon looked around and saw Amelia with Ty. Now she was dancing and waving her fists above her head. He was standing with his hands in his jeans pockets, bits of metal winking all over him. Still in that heavy leather jacket. The heat didn’t seem to bother him at all; he wasn’t even sweating.
“Where you going?” Ike said.
“Enough’s enough,” Simon said. He walked over to Amelia. Before he got there she turned, just as if somebody had whispered in her ear, and grinned at him. “Hey! Don’t look so gloomy! Winning isn’t everything.”
“Just almost everything,” Ty added in his rough-around-the edges voice.
Simon planted his feet and crossed his arms and looked Amelia in the eyes. “You cheated!”
“What?” Her mouth dropped open. Then she went bright red. “I did not! Take that back!”
“You have him.” He tipped his head towards Ty, who was poised on his steel-capped toes, bright-eyed and ready to fight.
“He never cheated, either!”
“Just being a dragon is cheating. It’s not fair.”
Something clicked and buzzed behind him. “Being a dragon?” said Oscar, when they all turned to look. “That’s a new one on me.” He squinted into his picture viewer. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s just a thing you say, Dad,” said Ike from his other side.
“Yeah, like when you say somebody’s a rat,” Simon added. “Or a weasel.”
“Or a tiger!” Amelia laughed. She’d bounced back from her fit of anger. “It means somebody really strong and fierce and smart.” Ty grinned, showing all his pointed teeth.
“And tricky,” Simon said. “And dangerous.”
“You’ve been listening to our little friend too much.” Amelia pulled Ty away.
Oscar had been taking pictures as they spoke. “And impossible to photograph, too, apparently. Look.” He held out his camera. When Simon looked at the viewer where the last picture showed, he saw himself glowering at a laughing Amelia. Next to her was a vaguely person-shaped greenish smudge.
“Um,” Simon said.
Ike said, “Cool!” He winked hugely at Simon.
“It’s driving me crazy,” Oscar said. “I have a whole series like that. Just can’t capture that kid’s image. It wouldn’t be so strange if it was a random flaw, but he’s almost the only one who gives me that trouble.” He held out his hand for the camera.
“Any idea what’s doing it?” Ike looked fascinated.
“Not a clue.”
Oscar set off towards the platform. Simon frowned after him, then ran to catch up. “Mr. Vogelsang! Wait! You said he — Ty — he’s almost the only one who does that. Who else does it?”
“Some guy.” Oscar stopped walking and looked around the field. “Big guy. Sort of grey all over. Never see his face. Never see him come or go.”
He hesitated, then crooked a finger at Ike. “Over here, kid.” His voice went low. “Now, listen, you two. An event like this, delightful though it is, attracts all kinds. All kinds. I may be only a small-town newspaperman, but I’ve seen some stuff.” He scowled at them. “I know bad news when I see it. I’m going to ask the police to keep an eye out for that guy. If you see him, steer clear of him!”