Moving quickly through the shadows, Hoja darted into a narrow alley alongside the prison. “We need to stay out of the light,” he whispered.

“So we don’t get caught,” added Max.

“And because without my turban I get sunburned!” Hoja chuckled softly. “This way!”

Eric kept running over in his mind what had happened. The dreams. The bottle. The duke.

“Galen was sure right about Ut being a mystery. I mean, we found Hoja, but things got way complicated. And Julie and Galen are still gone.”

Keeah nodded. “And this rumbling under the ground …”

“I know!” said Neal. “I fell twice in the streets before I found you. You don’t know how many times that pickle fell before you saw it!”

Eric remembered what had been said about the Bottle of Ut. It would be useful against Sparr.

But not how they expected.

Right now, he thought, I expect just about anything!

“There it is!” said Hoja, putting up his hand. “The Museum of Magic. My turban is in there.”

They had reached the big, tiled square again. The museum stood nearby like a giant mushroom of purple stone. Two furry guards stood on each side of a high black arch. It looked dark inside the building, but everyone felt they had to go in.

“Maybe we can try an old trick to distract the guards,” said Keeah. She picked up a pebble from the street and threw it hard. It hit a distant wall with a loud smack.

“Over there!” cried one of the dog-headed sentries, pointing to the nearby alley. The guards rushed off to it.

“Cool move,” said Eric. “Now let’s go.”

Together the small group rushed up the steps, through the arch, and into the cool darkness of the museum.

Inside, they found one corridor after another leading to giant rooms filled with nothing but stolen treasure.

Eric felt his neck tingle as he saw the rows and rows of glass cases holding swords, scrolls, jeweled goblets, and crowns.

In some tall cases stood life-size mannequins wearing beaded robes and winged headdresses. The figures modeling them looked almost alive. One woman wore a mask with two noses. A man next to her had a bushy mustache and a belt hanging with golden pouches.

“Strange stuff,” whispered Neal.

“And magical,” said Keeah. “All magical.”

“My master would love it,” said Max quietly. “He would know what everything means.”

Eric wished he knew. Looking at all those magical objects, he felt as if he wanted to try them all.

“The magical urns of Parthnoop!” whispered Hoja. He pointed at several large pots standing together. Some were brown, some blue, some green. But all of them were decorated with circles and spirals and other designs. “I’ve read about these urns. But never mind. I must find my turban!”

Amid the treasures, Eric spotted what he knew right away was an enchanted object.

It was a globe of Droon, obviously made long ago. Eric could tell it was old because it showed great stretches of dark land under the rule of Emperor Ko, the ancient leader of the beasts.

Eric stared amazedly at the globe, not moving an inch.

But the globe did.

It turned slowly in midair, wisps of clouds drifting across its surface like smoke. In the seas that covered half the world, miniature waves splashed and spilled around tiny wooden ships.

It was like watching a movie.

As he stared at it, Keeah came up behind him. “Galen says that when Ko ruled, he was even more powerful than Sparr is today. Almost all of Droon was dark.”

He turned to her. “Sparr wants it like that again. That’s what he’s always wanted.”

“We have to hope that we can stop him.”

Stop him.

A sudden shiver tingled up Eric’s back. Sparr’s power was growing every minute. His lands were getting bigger all the time. Did the friends really have the power to stop him?

And what did Ut have to do with it all?

As the globe turned, the southeast of Droon passed before them, showing the Serpent Sea.

“The Doom Gate is there,” he said. “Where the Red Eye of Dawn is. Where I got my powers —”

“Turban! There you are, my old friend!” Hoja squealed suddenly.

At the sound of his voice, the genie’s enormous turban, wound of brilliant red cloth and studded with jewels, burst from its case. It began zipping around the room excitedly and singing loudly. Eee-ooo-eee!

Too loudly. The sound of stomping feet echoed down the halls.

“Guards!” hissed Neal. “They hear us —”

The turban let out a sudden shriek and shot up in the air.

“Get back here! And shhh!” said Keeah, leaping for it. She grabbed the turban, but it just flew faster, sweeping her up with it all the way to the ceiling.

“Uh-ohhh!” she cried. The hat spun her around the entire ceiling twice. Then it stopped and hovered in the air, quivering above them. Keeah dangled from the turban by both hands.

Thomp! Thomp! Four furry, dog-headed guards entered the room.

“Yikes!” Eric ducked under a display case next to Neal.

Hoja flew into a corner. “Neal, be the duke!”

“What?” asked Neal, whirling around. “Me?”

“Just yell a lot!” cried Max, scurrying to Hoja.

By the time the guards marched over, Neal was the only one there.

Shivering, but taking a deep breath, he frowned deeply.

The guards bowed. “Is everything all right?”

“Perfect,” he said. “I mean — PERFECT!”

The guards bowed. “Snorfo!”

“Bless you,” said Neal.

Eric whispered up to Neal. “Snorfo is your name!”

Neal blinked. “And what’s Julie called?”

“Dumpella,” Eric hissed. “Now get the guards out of here!”

Seeing Keeah dangling up near the ceiling, Eric wondered how long she could hold on to the turban.

Neal laughed loudly. “Oh, guards? I’ll stay here while you go to the palace cafeteria and grill me a DROONBURGER!”

Eric groaned. “Oh, not more food …”

The guards bowed again. “Yes, Duke Snorfo!”

“Medium rare,” said Neal.

“Yes, Duke!” The guards turned.

“With a side of fries!”

“Yes, Duke!” The guards marched away.

“Neal, stop it —” whispered Eric.

“And a pickle!”

The guards stopped.

“No … no …” groaned Eric.

“But …” said one guard, “but … Duke Snorfo … hates … pickles!”

“Hates pickles?” Neal snorted. “What kind of nut is he? I mean, am I? I mean — never mind. Hold the pickles!”

“You … you are not the duke!” the guards barked.

“No, he’s not the duke!” shrieked a high voice. “Because — I AM THE DUKE!”

Everyone turned to the museum door where a boy, looking almost exactly like Neal, came stomping into the room.

“I AM DUKE SNORFO!” he cried out.

No one moved. Nothing stirred in the large room.

Until a small piece of paper fluttered all the way down from the ceiling and settled at the duke’s feet.

Eric glanced up. As Keeah dangled, Quill was wiggling against the pad on her belt, its feather swishing and swatting at the princess’s nose.

The duke frowned at the paper at his feet, then stooped to pick it up. He read out the words.

“‘Whispers of doom,’” he said. “Whispers of doom? What in Droon’s name does WHISPERS OF DOOM mean?”

Eric winced. “Uh-oh …”

Quill stretched and wiggled in Keeah’s face. Once … twice …

Clack-clack-clack! At that point, a girl dressed in multicolored capes, with brown hair sticking straight out on either side of her head, and big red hearts painted on her cheeks, wobbled into the room on a pair of tall pink shoes.

“Dumpella,” said the duke.

Eric gulped from under the display case. “Julie?”

The girl leaned back to see under the case. “Eric?”

“Dumpella!” said the duke.

“Aaaaa — choooo!” Keeah sneezed suddenly. She and the magical turban fell to the floor, landing together with a soft thump.

“Guards!” barked the duke.

“Wooooof!” barked the guards.

“Run!” cried Hoja, grabbing the turban.

“Yeah, run!” cried Neal.

“Into the urns of Parthnoop!” cried Hoja.

“Yeah, into the urns of — WHAT?”

Clink-clank! The duke snapped his iron fingers.

And the dog-headed guards charged.