Arcade Catastrophe
Page 43

“No tricks,” Nate said, holding out the pepper spray.
The Hermit held up a box, his lips quivering with pain and anger. “This is not the Gate,” he explained. “Nor is it a trick. You’ll find the Gate in here.”
Wincing and clutching his shoulder, the Hermit rose to his knees. He peeled open the box, and it promptly unfolded into a large barn made of dark wood. Nate took a step back, staring at the impossible structure.
“How do you do that?” Lindy asked.
“I have my secrets,” the Hermit said. “Same as any magician.”
“I need to tell you something,” Nate said. “Will you listen?”
The Hermit sneered. “Long as you’re holding that attack spray, I’m all ears.”
“You don’t want Jonas White to have the Gate,” Nate said.
“Of course I don’t,” the Hermit said. “But thanks for rubbing it in.”
“Neither do we,” Nate pledged earnestly. “I’m serious. He kidnapped our friends. We’re only helping him until we can rescue them. I don’t want him to find Uweya.”
“Handing over the Gate will move him a major step toward that end,” the Hermit cautioned.
“We’re taking it for now,” Nate said firmly. “But we don’t want it permanently. Before this is over, I’m going to take it back from Jonas, and then I’ll return it to you.”
With one eye squinted more than the other, the Hermit regarded Nate. “Then you’re playing a dangerous game, boy. Jonas White is a magician of no small talent. He’s made a simulacrum of you, I can see that plain as sunrise. Crossing him won’t be as easy as you suppose.”
Nate shrugged. “I’m not expecting it to be easy. But I’m going to do it. And I want to return the Gate to you afterward. We’re only taking it to help our friends.”
The Hermit sighed. “Much as I despise what you’re doing, I hear no falsehood in your words.” He extended an arm. “Travel that way some miles, and you’ll find three hills of nearly equal height. For the next fortnight, I’ll be in a cave on the north side of the farthest.”
“Fortnight?” Nate asked.
“Two weeks,” Lindy supplied.
“Bring back the Gate, and I’ll no longer count you an enemy,” the Hermit said. “But don’t fail. If Jonas gets his hands on Uweya, not much else will matter.”
“I’ll do my best,” Nate said.
“Want to really do your best?” the Hermit asked. “Let me go. Tell Jonas I got away. I’ll run. I’ll take the Gate beyond his reach.”
“He has other helpers,” Nate said. “And he found some way to track you. I have to do this.”
The Hermit bowed his head. “Into the barn, then. You’ll find the Gate in a trunk in the loft.”
“Lindy,” Nate said, “go get it. I’ll watch him.”
The Hermit frowned. “You should both go. You may need to help each other. It’s quite heavy.”
“Then you come too,” Nate said.
“I can’t enter,” the Hermit insisted. “If I go inside, the barn could collapse.”
“If we leave you out here, I’m sure it will collapse,” Nate replied. “With us in it.”
The Hermit folded his arms.
“I hit you with a dart,” Lindy said. “I see it in your back.”
“I felt the sedative in my system,” the Hermit replied. “I’m good at countering such things. The burning spray? Not so much. Nothing has hurt me like that in a great while.”
“We could tell,” Nate said. “Lindy, I’ll watch him. Use the Finder’s Dust.”
“I’ll be right back,” Lindy said, flying off.
Nate watched the Hermit steadily until she returned. The Hermit seemed fidgety and displeased, but he made no aggressive move.
“Wasn’t hard to find,” Lindy said. “It’s kind of heavy. Not more than I could manage.”
“Solid stone,” the Hermit said.
She held a rectangular block of light-colored stone the size of a hardcover book. Set into the stone was an elaborate gate locked with a crossbar on either side.
“What do we do with it?” Nate asked.
“Burn me if you wish,” the Hermit replied, “but I honestly hope you never find out. Sadly, I fear Jonas White already knows.”
Chapter Thirteen
Prisoners
Pigeon cruised through the water like no creature under the sea. He didn’t need to kick his feet or stroke with his hands. The effort never tired him. His inexplicable propulsion seemed much like the flying he saw the Jets do, except it worked only in the water.
The temperature felt perfect, neither too warm nor too cold. In the open water, he could reach impressive speeds that were impossible in the close confines of the training center pool. The water was too dark for him to see anything, but he could feel for miles using a sense that seemed a blend of touch, sight, and hearing. He could feel the surface of the water above, the ground below, the shorelines at either side, and the multitude of fish and plants around him. He could sense the wreckage of the sailboat and the bulky presence of the Striker in the distance, and he could clearly discern the three other Subs around him.
“Do we try to head them off?” Drew asked. “Maybe we can steal the Gate from them last minute, just before they enter Arcadeland.”
Speaking underwater felt just as natural as speaking in air. Better, actually, because their voices seemed to carry farther.
“We swim faster than the Jets could guess,” Pigeon said. “But they’re still faster than us. If we ambush them outside of Arcadeland, we’ll be out of our element, and they’ll be flying. Our chance was when the Hermit was in the water. We blew it. It’s over.”
“Are we sure they got it?” Mindy asked. She had been temporarily stunned when she was clobbered by the boom. Steven, the fourth Sub, had stayed behind to tend to her. She claimed to feel fine now.
“Sure as we can be,” Pigeon replied. “The Jets were in the air, hot on his trail. The Hermit was unarmed. No way Nate blew an advantage like that.”
“The Hermit might have had more tricks in his backpack,” Steven said. “Like the sailboat.”
“Possibly,” Pigeon conceded. “Even if the Jets fail, it just means they’ll lose their stamps along with us. Either way, the party is over.”