Two Renegade Realms

  Bridger doubled the two facing pages in half, tucking the outside edge into the center binding. “Sometimes it only takes one fold, but this puzzle is trickier.”

  He folded the top of the left side down to make a triangle of that part of the page, then did the same thing to the bottom of the right side. Dukmee took the book back.

  The lines on the folded pages now lined up to make a new drawing, a perfect drawing of the rooms around him.

  “Well done, Bridger.” Dukmee marched through a doorway, turned right, and hurried down a narrow stairway. He stopped at a heavy wooden door.

  “This is it?” asked Bridger from behind him.

  “This is it.”

  Dukmee read for a moment, then examined the right side of the doorjamb. He pressed in a square tile, then found a matching design on the door itself. When he pressed on that square, a loud, complicated clicking clattered beneath his fingertips. The door moved, and he was able to push it open.

  A waft of stale, damp air hit them in the face.

  “Light,” said Bridger.

  He plucked a torch from its holder on the wall and breathed on it.

  Under its glow, Dukmee stepped into the gloomy room. “We pass through this room, and two more, then come to the one containing the materials we seek.”

  A fine settlement of dust coated the floor. No tracks, not even a rodent or insect. The stone walls had been smoothed by men who excelled at their craft.

  Bridger cringed.

  Dukmee noticed. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t like having all that rock on top of us.”

  “You were all right in the mountain.”

  “Well, yes. Primen made the mountain. Men made these buildings.”

  “Look at the beams in the ceiling. The men were master builders.”

  “Still not Primen.”

  Dukmee tsked. “We’re fine. These walls have stood for thousands of years.”

  “The ones outside didn’t.”

  “That’s because they were exposed to the elements — rain, wind, hot, cold.”

  Dukmee took the last steps to the next door quickly. He didn’t want to give the dragon time to work up a stronger case of nerves.

  Since he had a good idea of what he was looking for, he managed the mechanical trips for the following two doors easily. Each room consisted of the same smooth rock walls and beamed ceiling. Each progressive room smelled mustier than the one before.

  Dukmee paused in the last chamber. This final door had a different set of instructions. He pushed three right side tiles in the proper order, then the corresponding left side tiles in the reverse order. A lever eased out from the adjacent wall.

  Dukmee grabbed hold and pulled, but it required more strength than he had available.

  “I can’t do it one-handed, Bridger.” Dukmee nodded to the metal rod. “Push that down, if you will.”

  Bridger grasped the lever with his free hand and smoothly moved the rod from a forty-five degree angle upward to a position much closer to the wall downward.

  The heavy door grated against its frame and rose into the wall above. The air in this room was no more unpleasant than the last. In fact, the atmosphere was less dank and gloomy. Dukmee ducked under the lifting door, and Bridger followed.

  The sound of metal grinding against metal reached their ears as the door finished its ascent.

  Bridger lifted the torch and turned slowly. The room appeared to be much like the others, perhaps bigger. And along the opposite wall where another door would have been, round ceramic pipes thrust out from the wall at regular intervals.

  “I wonder what those are.” Dukmee took a step forward.

  The section of floor beneath his feet sank with a suddenness that upset his balance. He fell forward and dropped the book, which skidded across the floor. The thud of his impact and the scraping of the leather binding across the fine grit on the floor sounded strangely loud in the isolated chamber.

  “Are you all right?” Bridger came to his side and bent to examine him, poking and prodding and irritating Dukmee.

  Dukmee did a quick check. He’d knocked his chin on the hard floor, slamming his jaws together, but none of his teeth wiggled. One palm had lost a bit of flesh. He’d barked his shins against the side of the hole made by the falling segment of stone. He stood and the front of his legs protested.

  “I scraped my shins, but other than that I seem fine.”

  He eyed the recess he stood in. One square had fallen, but by design, he was sure. Three foot by three foot, perfectly square, and with the sides made out of identical material.

  He took Bridger’s outstretched hand and climbed out of the knee-deep depression.

  A screech rent the air, and the heavy door dropped, slamming against the floor. For one moment Dukmee and Bridger stood balancing as the room reverberated.

  “Master builders,” said the dragon.

  Behind them, trickles of water fell from each of the pipes.

  Dukmee’s stomach clenched. “Indeed, they were, Bridger. This is a well-designed trap.”

  A FLOOD AND A GLOBE

  The pipes’ trickling flow increased. Dukmee snatched up the tome before the water could reach it. The pages fell open to the puzzle folds. He turned the page and read on.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Bridger fidgeting, shuffling his huge feet, twitching his long tail, drumming his clawed fingers against his sides, rotating his head every which way, and darting glances here and there.

  The dragon twisted his lips. “I don’t suppose knowing how to swim would be helpful, since there’s no place to swim to.”

  More interested in the book than Bridger, Dukmee muttered, “Probably not.”

  His fingers fumbled through manipulations of the next two book pages. None of his experiments worked.

  “Let me try.” Bridger took the book. This time he made triangles of the upper edges, then folded each page in half lengthwise. He handed it back to Dukmee. “The pages after this have been torn out.”

  Dukmee sighed. Things just weren’t going smoothly at all.

  As he bent over the book once more, Bridger waded through the ankle-deep water to inspect the pipes. His swishing tail sent small waves splashing against Dukmee’s legs.

  He held the book higher.

  “Whoa, this water’s cold,” Bridger complained.

  “Mountain snow melt-off collected somewhere. Brilliant builders,” said Dukmee. He held up the book. “It would have been prudent to have read ahead before entering this room.”

  Bridger gave him his attention.

  He tapped the bit he’d just skimmed. “These paragraphs explain how to avoid triggering the trap.”

  Bridger grunted. “And the pages telling how to get to the next chamber are missing?”

  “That’s right.” Dukmee closed the book and turned in a circle, looking closely at all aspects of the room. “No windows, of course. The scholars would not have wanted their work to be submerged in water — soaked, sodden, and unsalvageable. This is not the last room, but how do we get to the next level? And where is it?”

  “Up.” Bridger tilted his head to survey the ceiling. “Up, because the water would go down if we opened something in the floor.”

  “Could you fly up and get a closer look?”

  The dragon placed the torch in a holder on the wall. “I’m not built to hover. I’ll stretch my neck instead.”

  After only a minute, Bridger announced, “I don’t see anything.”

  Dukmee stood in water up to his knees. “How about along the top of the walls, just under the ceiling?”

  Bridger eased his head over to the side and began a studious search along the walls. He sidled through the water. As he approached the closed door, Dukmee remembered the hole in the floor.

  “Be care —”

  Bridger fell into the pool.

  Dukmee dodged, unsuccessfully avoiding the splash of cold water. He managed to protect the book with his body.


  Bridger’s neck telescoped back to its normal length as he thrashed awkwardly.

  “Calm down,” said Dukmee. “Just put your feet under you.”

  Bridger stood, looking sheepish.

  The water now covered Dukmee up to his waist. He held the book out from his soaked shirt. He was almost as wet from the dragon’s splashing as Bridger was from his dunking.

  “Come on, hoist yourself up. We need to find a way out of this predicament.”

  Bridger lurched but didn’t gain higher ground. “My foot’s stuck on something.”

  Dukmee pushed his way through the water to Bridger. “There was nothing in that hole when I was in it.”

  “Something has my foot.”

  “Something alive?”

  “No.” Bridger struggled.

  “Well, at least that’s good news.” With a sigh, Dukmee took Bridger’s arm to help him balance.

  The dragon twisted, his tail popped up for a moment and managed to knock the book out of Dukmee’s grasp. Dukmee clamped his teeth on biting words of annoyance and only let out a heartier, blustering sigh. If they drowned in this trap, the book wasn’t going to do him any good, anyway.

  With both hands wrapped around Bridger’s skinny arm, he tugged. His feet slid across the smooth floor toward the hole. He quit pulling and the dragon surged upward.

  “I’m out,” he said, “but something is still wrapped around my ankle.”

  He leaned back, presumably on his tail, and lifted the entrapped limb. A chain dripped water as he raised it above the pool.

  “Now, what’s that hooked to?” Dukmee took hold of the chain and tested its strength. “Point your foot. I’ll try to slip it off.”

  Bridger tried, but it was a clumsy maneuver getting the foot out of the water and allowing Dukmee to manipulate the chain. He fell sideways with a splash. The chain jerked taut, then suddenly relaxed.

  Dukmee pulled it out of the water, revealing a large metal disk, while Bridger righted himself once again. The pool’s surface undulated with waves. Bridger shivered, and tiny droplets sprayed Dukmee’s face. He wiped a hand across his eyes to clear his vision.

  Dust filtered down from above. Both turned their faces upward, blinking the grit away as they watched a shaft open in the ceiling.

  “Look.” Bridger pointed. “There’s light up there.”

  “I see.” The water now touched Dukmee’s chin. “I also see some problems with this escape hatch. You’re too big to squeeze through, and the sides are smooth — nothing for me to hang on to as I climb.”

  Bridger smirked. “Obviously, these master builders weren’t expecting one of their captives to be a shapeshifting dragon.”

  The dragon changed swiftly. He propelled his head upward as he elongated his entire body. His top half had disappeared up the shaft by the time his tail left the water. The tail, now resembling a thick rope, wrapped snugly around Dukmee, pinning his arms to his sides. Bridger pulled him along and, once Dukmee popped out of the shaft at the top, put him down gently.

  Dukmee frowned as Bridger dipped his tail back down the shaft. He heard swishing, and just as he was about to ask what the dragon was doing, Bridger pulled his tail up. The dragon had retrieved the water-soaked book. He gave it a shake, sending a scattering of droplets around the room, then laid Dukmee’s treasured tome on the floor.

  Bridger returned to his normal shape and looked around. “Great. We’re in another room with no exit.”

  Dukmee grinned at the dragon’s doleful expression. “Except the one at our feet.”

  He shivered, still wet and cold. If they got to the surface, the warm summer air would be welcome.

  Bridger stood erect, pursed his lips, and blew. Dukmee cringed, but instead of a blast of fire, a pleasant, drying breeze issued from the dragon’s mouth. Dukmee turned, eyes closed, soaking in the luxurious warmth that chased away the goose bumps. His hair, no longer plastered to his scalp, responded to the tepid air with ripples like grass in a sundrenched glade. His clothes dried and undulated under the flow of Bridger’s breath.

  “Thank you, Bridger. I’m comfortable at last.”

  The dragon smiled, took in a deep breath, and sneezed. A spout of flame licked Dukmee’s arm, leaving a scorched stretch of sleeve.

  Dukmee flicked his fingers over the cloth. “No harm done. No harm done.”

  He turned away, avoiding eye contact with Bridger that might add to his embarrassment.

  A buzz of excitement quickened Dukmee’s breathing as he scanned the walls. Neat printing and pictures covered every inch of the floor, ceiling, and four walls. “This is it, Bridger. We found the mother lode.”

  “Can you read this?” Bridger peered at the words on the wall. “It’s different.”

  “It’s written in code, but I already broke the code in a volume I found in the Library of Lyme.”

  “So are you going to copy all this down? Or can you memorize it like Bixby can? And what good is it going to do if we can’t get out?”

  “Oh, there are bound to be instructions among all this. We’ll get out.”

  “I hope you have a hamper of food with you.”

  Without commenting, Dukmee removed a storage sack from his inside pocket and handed it to the dragon. Bridger sat and explored the contents, chomping on his favorite foods as he pulled them out, putting others aside.

  A companionable silence fell over them. Bridger contentedly eased his hunger. Dukmee strolled around, reading the words and examining the pictures inscribed on the walls so very long ago.

  The light in the room never varied. It occurred to Dukmee that there must be an unusual source. No one object supplied the soft glow. The only oddities in the room were the hole in the floor and an orb stuck to the ceiling.

  “I wonder what that is.”

  Bridger, sated and collapsed against one wall, opened his eyes and squinted in the direction Dukmee pointed. “Is it important?”

  “It might be. Why don’t you go up and get it?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to read for a bit longer while I take a nap? Remember, I’ve been sick. If it isn’t urgent, I could get it after a restorative snooze.”

  “Be a good fellow, Bridger, and get it now.”

  He groaned and shifted to his feet. “All right.”

  A couple of flaps of his wings, and he plucked the orb from the stem that held it out from the ceiling. He settled down next to Dukmee and offered the prize to his companion.

  Dukmee’s skin tingled as he reached for the globe. He’d never seen anything like it. The smooth glass slipped from Bridger’s claws into his grasp. A shock sprang from his hand, traveled up his arm, and threw him to the floor.

  He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t move. On his back, with his arm outstretched, his head turned to one side so he looked over his shoulder and down his arm, he was incapable of the slightest movement. The thought rushed through his mind that he wasn’t breathing, but with concentration, he discerned that he did breathe with a shallow, steady rhythm.

  He could see.

  He could hear.

  Bridger shuffled back and forth, muttering, “You told me to get the globe. I got the globe. It didn’t do a thing to me. You told me to get it. I got it. You wanted it. Now you have it.”

  Dukmee felt Bridger poke his side. “Wake up. You have to read the walls. You’re supposed to figure out how to get us out of here. Wake up and do your job.”

  He poked Dukmee again. “This isn’t my fault. You said get the globe. I got the globe.”

  Dukmee concentrated on the hand holding the glass orb. If he could just get his fingers to relax and release the globe, he’d probably be able to move. If he could just communicate to Bridger to take the globe from his hand. He focused on forming a message to send to Bridger’s mind, but words didn’t leave his head and penetrate the dragon’s skull.

  His attention returned to the globe. It held the key.

  In a flash, he saw the purpose of the sphere-shaped instrument. Like
a library, it held all the information from the mountain and all the writings and pictures on the walls. Everything.

  As he peered into its center, the words spun as if suspended in a liquid. He could stop them at will and read. He could skip forward as if flipping pages in a book. He could return to a word or phrase he’d seen previously. He wanted to shout with triumph, but he couldn’t move.

  He swallowed.

  He blinked.

  He wasn’t going to die.

  Bridger’s poke redirected his thoughts. Would the dragon be able to get them out?

  “Wake up.” Bridger’s head came into view between Dukmee’s head and his hand. It was upside down. He frowned. “Hello?”

  I HEARD YOU COMING

  Standing under the shingled porch roof, Cantor tacked the last drawing on the outside wall of the house. Bixby and Neekoh had been gone on their search for Trout over an hour before, and he’d drawn for much of that time, stopping only when his hand cramped so badly he could no longer hold the writing instrument. He’d laid his work aside almost reluctantly and turned his attention to sifting through the piles of drawings he’d created and pinning the most relevant to the wall.

  The burro brayed in her paddock. She probably wanted her dinner. In the two days they’d been with Trout, Neekoh had taken over that chore. He got along well with all the animals, but the burro and the goats particularly liked him. The horses came when he whistled.

  Cantor had always had an affinity with the birds and small creatures of the mountains, but he’d never had at his feet a rabbit, a fox, a turtle, and a raccoon, all at the same time. To see Neekoh sitting on the stump by the garden, surrounded by these creatures, filled Cantor with amazement.

  They showed no fear of the human and no tension between animals prone to hunt or run from one another.

  Cantor frowned. In his mind’s eye, he could also see the young man sitting year after year in the dim caves of the mountain. What had been the purpose? Guardian of Chomountain? That was laughable. Generations of his family had gone through a ritual of sacrifice that kept no one and nothing safe. The wards had been sufficient.