Dreamtreaders

  Archer surfed to the outskirts of Kurdan and leap-walked the rest of the way. By ten tolls, Archer found the marketplace absurdly busy, ten times more than usual. In the central market, a mob of people gathered to make a mad run for some product being sold. Archer leaped from rooftop to rooftop until he could get a better look at what was happening. From the ledge of a bell tower, he saw that there was someone speaking on a huge platform that was piled high with small chests.

  “Step right up, do not be shy,” said the speaker. “You too can patch up breaches if you’re willing to try. Ten golds are all you need for one of these kits of mine!”

  It was Bezeal, of course. Who else spoke in rhyming triplets?

  “Unbelievable,” Archer muttered. “What a con artist.”

  “You’re not going down there, are you?” Razz asked.

  “Of course I’m going down there,” Archer said. “He’s ripping those people off. Ten golds? Are you kidding me?”

  Razz’s face reddened. “I don’t think I want to be here for this,” she said. “But call me if you need me.” She vanished in a squiggly puff of purple smoke.

  Archer leaped off of the bell tower and floated slowly downward until he came to a soft landing right behind Bezeal on the platform.

  “A plague of breaches is upon us, you see?” Bezeal was saying. “And the Dreamtreaders aren’t doing enough to help us stay free. So that means it’s up to people like you and me!”

  The crowd cheered heartily, but apparently it wasn’t the roar Bezeal was expecting because he warily turned to look behind him. He jumped and his eyes flashed when he spotted Archer. “Whu-whu-what? Archer, why you . . . you’re here. Look, good people, a Dreamtreader has come near! Now we know we have nothing to—”

  “Save it, Bezeal,” Archer commanded. The crowd gasped. “What are you selling these people for ten golds? Huh? What kind of scam are you running?”

  “Shrewd as I am, I am not the heartless kind. I’ve invented a dream fabric patch that is so sublime. With it, anyone can mend a breach in very little time.”

  “Prove it,” Archer demanded.

  Bezeal’s ultrawhite toothy grin appeared, and suddenly Archer felt as if he might have just become part of Bezeal’s new advertisement campaign.

  The small hooded merchant fished around in his robe pockets and at last removed a sealed glass jar containing a frantic scurion. He held it up for the crowd, causing titters of discussion. When Bezeal broke the seal and opened the jar, the customers standing closest to the stage drew back hurriedly.

  Bezeal dumped the scurion onto the stage. It wasted no time, but arched up on its tail section and leaped into the air. It caught hold of dream fabric with its front mandibles and began to chew. Slowly, its head disappeared and light plasma began to flow. A breach had been opened. A small one, but a breach nonetheless.

  Bezeal waited until the scurion’s head poked back out. Then, with a pair of strange forceps, he grabbed up the wriggling, snapping scurion and tossed it back into the jar. He sealed it immediately and dropped it into his robe.

  He raised his little green hands on either side of the breach, and the crowd responded with an appreciative muttering. “Now watch and be amazed,” he said. “Do not avert your gaze. For we shall now subdue the blaze!”

  He took a chest off the mountainous pile, opened it up, and removed two objects: a phial of some opalescent liquid and something that looked like a wire hairbrush.

  Archer laughed openly and crossed his arms. “This ought to be good,” he muttered.

  Bezeal unstoppered the bottle, held it up just above the breach, and began to pour out its contents. The liquid sparkled as it drizzled over the breach, but it didn’t pour through. Not a drop. It pulsed and surged and began to coat the breach. Bezeal emptied the rest of the liquid and then went to work with the brush. Lo and behold, the brush spread the liquid like spackle on drywall.

  The enthusiasm of the crowd rose as Bezeal finished up. They cheered when he put down the brush and held up his hands victoriously. They pressed toward the stage with wads of golds in their fists.

  “Me first!” one cried out.

  “I’ll take three!” someone else shouted.

  “You aren’t going to run out, are you?” came a third.

  Archer bent at the waist and stared at the seemingly mended breach. There was still a tiny strand of leaking light plasma, but other than that, the breach was sealed. “I don’t believe it,” Archer said. “Bezeal, you evil little genius, you’ve done something extraordinary here!”

  Bezeal’s eyes flashed. He grinned, and strange pink glows appeared just where his cheeks would be . . . if he ever lowered the hood.

  Archer continued, “I mean, this stuff won’t hold indefinitely. It does let some plasma through, but . . . but this is genius. Can you repeat the recipe? Can you make it in great quantities?”

  Bezeal grinned again. “Yesss, yess, as long as the golds keep flowing, my pocket to feed, I’ll take some time off from my usual greed, and work hard, to make as much as you need.”

  “That is the best news I’ve heard in a very long time, Bezeal,” Archer said. “But the price of ten golds is far too much, especially since it is no trouble to make more.”

  “But—”

  “No, no, Bezeal,” Archer said. “I’m already part of your show here. Let me do the talking.”

  “But I—”

  “People of Kurdan!” Archer cried. He used his Dreamtreader creativity to both deepen and amplify his voice. The crowd hushed. “Bezeal here is a true patriot of the Dream!” Cheers from the audience. “For he has come to all our aid in this time of great need!” More cheers, growing dizzy with joy. “This brilliant invention may not completely mend the breaches that beset us, but they will bind them tightly until a Dreamtreader can permanently weave them shut! And you, good people and your neighbors in the other fiefdoms, must take up the fight against the breach plague!” Hysterical cheers. “And Bezeal, may his eyes ever shine brighter, has agreed to lower the price to two golds per kit!” The crowd erupted.

  “T-two?” Bezeal spluttered. “But—”

  Archer held up a hand. “No, no, Bezeal,” he said. “I won’t let you make the price any lower!”

  “L-lower?”

  Archer ran to the piles of small chests and began tossing them out to the crowd. “Here’s yours!” he cried. “And yours!” One after the other, he launched kits to the villagers. “Razz, you won’t want to miss this.”

  Poof! Razz was there in a puff of smoke. “What’s up?”

  Archer told her. She glanced mischievously at Bezeal. “Right,” she said. “I’ll help!”

  Bezeal ran back and forth across the stage and collected golds from the people’s willing hands. In less than an hour, Bezeal was completely sold out.

  Back in Bezeal’s rented cottage, he and Archer sat across a table and glared at each other for several minutes before either spoke.

  “You just cost me a fortune,” Bezeal said, his lack of rhyme obvious.

  “Nonsense, Bezeal,” Archer said. “I believe I just made you a fortune. I stopped counting golds in the thousands.”

  “It might have been tens of thousands,” Bezeal hissed.

  “Think of it this way,” Archer said. “Do you know anyone who gets around the Dream like I can?”

  Bezeal’s bright eyes widened.

  “I didn’t think you’d take long to think it through,” Archer said. “Now, this breach patch you’ve created is incredible. Like I said, it’s not permanent, but it could be the key to stopping a full-scale rift. With your leave, I will carry news of your invention to every kingdom in the three districts.”

  Bezeal leaned forward and knocked over his tea. “All . . . all three?”

  “Yes, Bezeal. Can you see the profits mounting now? If you want, I’ll even tell them that each district must send you a brick of chocolate every moon.”

  Bezeal clapped his green hands. “Yes, yes,” he said. “A thousand tim
es, yes! Chocolate and golds unending sounds good, I confess!”

  “Now, Bezeal,” Archer said, reaching into the deepest inside pocket of his leather duster. He placed the silver puzzle box on the table and slid it across the surface. “As per our bargain, I have brought your coveted relic.”

  Bezeal reached for it, but it leaped into the air just out of his grasp.

  “What?” he gasped.

  “For this, as well as for my services today, you owe me.”

  Karakurian’s Chamber slowly dropped into Bezeal’s hands. The merchant clutched it to his chest and howled with joy. Archer had never seen his white smile so wide. “At last, at last!” Bezeal exulted. Then slowly, he eased the box back onto the table. His fingers roamed it instinctively, and the puzzle box’s panels began to shift and move. The silver sailing ship popped up, and the nine sails seemed to ripple and shimmer as they had when Kaylie had activated them.

  “Now, more than ever,” Archer said, “I need you to tell me how to destroy the Nightmare Lord.”

  Bezeal’s smile vanished. His eyes shrank to a tenth of their normal glimmering size.

  “No tricks, Bezeal,” Archer warned. “Your blood mingled with mine, remember? And no rhymes either. Tell me plainly . . . and tell me . . . right . . . now.”

  Bezeal’s fingers danced on the puzzle box, and it closed itself up. “Very well,” Bezeal said, his voice a clear, careful whisper. “Destroy his throne, not once but twice, but the one who does will pay the price, in blood and pain and sacrifice—”

  “I said no rhymes!” Archer’s voice was a thunderclap.

  Bezeal jumped, jarring the puzzle box. He caught it just before it fell. “I am sorry. The throne must be destroyed, Dreamtreader. It is the seat of his power. But you must destroy it twice.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “In his stronghold, he has a massive stone chair, his throne. Shadowy as night and dark as pitch. Destroy that first. But travel then to his courtyard. There is a second throne there between two very unique trees. You must utterly destroy that seat as well, but the only way you can do it is by burning up both trees.”

  “Two trees,” Archer muttered. “Does one have teardrop leaves; the other’s more like bat wings?”

  Bezeal’s eyes flashed. “Yes, yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

  “Just finish, Bezeal.”

  “Burn the trees, burn the roots,” he said. “Not one sliver of green wood or leaf may remain.”

  “Why?”

  “They are the Trees of Life and Death,” he said. “Leave one, the Nightmare Lord lives forever. Leave the other, and the Nightmare Lord can never be killed. But . . . once the trees are gone, the Nightmare Lord will be at your mercy. Now, Dreamtreader, I have revealed to you a secret known only to me, a costly secret. Leave me!”

  As if on cue, Old Jack struck out eleven chimes.

  Archer stood and pointed at Bezeal. “This had better be the truth, Bezeal.”

  Bezeal looked away and began to fidget with his silver prize.

  TWENTY-ONE

  CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL

  WHEN ARCHER GOT HOME FROM SCHOOL THURSDAY afternoon, he was surprised to see Amy Pitsitakas following him away from the bus stop.

  Maybe she’s taking a different route home, he thought. He kept walking.

  But when he turned the corner onto Allen Court, he knew something was up. Amy should have gone straight, across Pekoe Street and onto Earl Grey Road. Archer turned around in a huff. “Are you stalking me, Amy?”

  Her hands flew to her chin. “Why, yes, Archer Keaton,” she said. “You’ve caught me. But, in a way, it feels good that you finally know.” She ran to him suddenly and threw her arms around his neck. “Marry me, Archer Keaton!”

  Then she fell away, cackling. She even rolled on the ground. Archer got over his shock at last and erupted into a series of his own honking, nasal laughter.

  “Oh my gosh!” he said with a snort. “You freaked me out!”

  He helped her to her feet, and eventually the laughter diminished and they wiped their eyes.

  “But really,” he said, “what are you doing?”

  “Kaylie must have told you,” she said.

  “Uhm . . . no, she didn’t say anything to me.”

  “She said you were taking care of Rigby’s exotic animals,” Amy explained. “She texted me, I guess around lunchtime. She told me I should come. I asked Rigby. He said he didn’t care.”

  “Oh, well, that’s beautiful,” Archer said. “More hands make less work. I have to feed, water, and clean up, you know?”

  “That’s no trouble,” she said. “I love animals. Kaylie knew that. How come you didn’t?”

  Archer looked at his wrist. “Oh, look at the time,” he said, rushing toward his house.

  “No you don’t!” Amy ran after him.

  They charged up Archer’s front steps and into the living room. Buster and Kaylie were both already there.

  “Brosef!” Buster said. “I can’t wait to see these gnarly critters.”

  “Kaylie!” Archer said, pacing the living room. “This was supposed to be just you and me.”

  “I know, Archer,” she said, her pigtails bouncing. “But Buster wanted to come too. Besides, he plays too many video games!”

  “Dude,” Buster said, “so not cool.”

  “Well, she’s right,” Archer said.

  “Bogus,” Buster said.

  “So, can Buster come?” Kaylie asked.

  “I guess so,” Archer said.

  “It’s a party, then,” Amy said.

  “Starting to look that way,” Archer said. “I hope Rigby’s got enough cookies.”

  “Did you say cookies?” Buster asked. “Rock on!”

  With Doctor Who alert on his shoulder, Archer barked orders to his new helpers. At first, he had to repeat himself quite often due to the volume of gasps and explanations.

  “Gorgeous, yep! Just gorgeous!” This from Amy.

  “Righteous lizards!” Buster.

  And lots and lots of “Awwww!” from Kaylie. Eventually, everyone settled into actually feeding, watering, and cleaning. “Amy, put some extra bamboo into the red panda pen. He eats more than you’d think. Oh, and make sure the heat lamp is on medium.”

  “Medium,” she repeated. “Got it!”

  “Dude, these guys are crazy!” Buster said, tossing mealworms into the meerkat pen. “Archer, come look.”

  Archer wandered over and peered inside. To him, meerkats looked like big weasels or mongooses. Wait? What is the plural of mongoose? Mongeese? Archer had no clue, but the four of them were some cute little devils. They liked to stand up on their hind legs, and their faces, with dark brown eyes and constantly sniffing little pug noses, took on the most curious expressions.

  “Watch this!” Buster said. He tossed in a mealworm. A meerkat snatched the food right out of the air.

  “Whoa,” Archer said. “That is cool.”

  “Check it.” Buster tossed in several mealworms at a time. The meerkats bobbed and darted, snagging each one before it could reach the safety of the bedding below.

  “That is amazing!” Archer said. “Oh, and hey, did you try to take out the . . . uh . . .”

  “The poop tray?” Buster asked.

  “Yeah, the poop tray. Was it too heavy?”

  “Naw,” Buster said. “It’s all good.”

  Archer moved on to see how Kaylie was doing with the fennec foxes. He found her sitting on her knees, absolutely captivated by the big-eared desert dwellers. “I fed them the beetles like you said,” Kaylie explained. “They made a crunchy sound when they ate. Kinda gross, huh? I wouldn’t eat a beetle.”

  “I don’t know,” Archer said. “Probably high in protein.”

  “Ewww,” she said. Then her eyes traveled to Archer’s shoulder. “Oh, ohhh! Is that Doctor Who?”

  “Sure is,” he said. “She’s a barn owl.”

  “Tyto alba,” Kaylie said. “The common barn owl.
Wait, did you say she?”

  “Yeah, she’s a pretty little lady, isn’t she?”

  “Those black button eyes and the soft white feathers, and gosh, she has a heart around her face.”

  Archer cocked his head sideways. The owl did the same. Sure enough, Doctor Who had a very distinct, tawny-colored heart outlining her pure white face.

  The afternoon went on like that, and it wasn’t long before the crew finished its chores. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel like a chore to Archer. And given the way the others were chattering excitedly, it probably didn’t feel like a chore to them either.

  After making sure all the pens, cages, hutches, and tanks were secure, the group funneled out into the long part of the hallway. They turned at the stairs, but Archer lingered. “Hold up a sec,” he said. “Amy, c’mere. See that door?”

  “Yep,” she said. “I wear glasses but can’t hardly miss something like that. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But there’s something weird about it. Kaylie and Buster, head upstairs for a minute.” He led Amy over to within a foot of the door. “Do you hear anything?” Amy listened, slowly moving her head closer to the door. “I . . . don’t hear . . . Wait,” she said. She put her ear to the door and waited, her expression first curious, then uncertain, finishing out with a dose discomfort. “That’s kind of creepy.”

  “I know,” he said. “Wish I knew how to get in.”

  “Eww, really?” she said. “I don’t like that faint beeping sound. Makes me think of a hospital.”

  He shrugged, and they went back to the stairs to begin their journeys home.

  Archer lay in his bed and looked forward to a night of regular old dreaming. He’d done Dreamtreading two days running, so he needed at least a twenty-four-hour break. There was a faint knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  The knob slowly turned, and a pink fuzzy slipper appeared, followed by the rest of Kaylie. “Nighty night, Archer,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Night, Kaylie,” he said. “Thanks for what?”