Dormia (10 page)

As he took in the view, Alfonso said a silent goodbye to his mother and Pappy. He would miss them, to be sure, but at least they were in good hands. Dusty had invited them to stay in the warehouse, in the little bunkroom, until Alfonso and Hill returned. The only problem was, of course, that no one could say exactly when they would be returning.

"So," said Hill, "where should we bunk up?"

"Oh right," said the vice admiral absentmindedly. "Me first mate, Shamus, will show ya to yer quarters."

Seconds later, a very small man with a shock of bright red hair appeared. He wore overalls, rubber boots, and a plaid wool hat. He seemed to be muttering quietly to himself, but he spoke so softly that it was impossible to hear what he was saying.

"What's that ya say?" asked the vice admiral.

Shamus cleared his throat and said loudly in a thick Irish brogue, "Nothing madam, just reciting the Lord's prayers."

"Take our guests to their quarters," she ordered.

"Aye, madam, and where would that be?"

"In the windmill, Shamus," she replied. "They should be plenty comfortable there."

"Aye, aye, madam," said Shamus loudly. He then muttered very softly—so Alfonso, Bilblox, and Hill could barely hear
him—a bit of additional commentary: "Anything you say, madam, you blasted, senile blowhard, calling yourself a vice admiral and ordering me about like we was the Royal Navy."

"What's that ya say?" demanded the vice admiral. "Blast it all, speak up! Ya know I can't hear ya when ya mumble."

"Nothing, madam," said Shamus. "I'll just be showing our esteemed guests to their quarters."

"On the double!" ordered the vice admiral.

Shamus promptly led Alfonso, Bilblox, and Hill down the length of the upper deck toward the bow of the ship, where they would be staying. The upper deck was stacked with open cargo, most of which looked to be at least a hundred years old. Lashed to the deck with thick ropes were horse-drawn buggies (without the horses), old potbelly stoves, massive iceboxes, several large cannons, fifty or so foot-powered sewing machines, a case of old swords, a small, steam-powered tugboat up on cinder blocks, and, at the very end, an ornately carved, twenty-foot-high mini-windmill with a bright red door. The freshly painted door looked to be the only thing on the ship that had received any recent attention.

As he walked past all the cargo, Alfonso stepped along carefully, since the entire ship was rocking back and forth with the sea. At one point, he almost lost his balance altogether.

"You'll get used to this," said Hill assuredly. "It's just the natural rocking of the sea."

"Yeah right," muttered Shamus with a dark chuckle. "Wait till the sea gets rough. Truth is this ship shouldn't be rockin' like this already. We're barely out of port. The problem is that the
Success Story
is overloaded. Dangerously overloaded! The
vice admiral shouldn't be putting all this cargo on the deck. The boat is so top-heavy it rocks like a drunk old man carrying a case of whiskey on his back. One good storm, or a rogue wave, and all this stuff is going overboard including this here windmill. Of course, I told the vice admiral that. Told her more than once, I did! After all her great-great-grandpappy was Nils A. E. Nordenskjöld. Bloody idiots, all of them! I only hope—"

"Why are ya fellas draggin' all this junk across the ocean?" Bilblox interrupted impatiently.

"A good question," replied Shamus. "The truth is that the vice admiral—in her infinite wisdom—is determined to honor her illustrious past by continuing to navigate the waters of the Arctic Ocean in the same ship and along the same route as her forebears. Mainly we do the route from North America to Barsh-yin-Binder."

"And they actually want this junk in Barsh-yin-Binder?" asked Bilblox.

"Absolutely," replied Shamus. "There is a great demand for antiquated technologies in the Barsh-yin-Binder area."

"Antiquated technologies?" asked Alfonso.

"Yes, all of this junk—antique merchandise—is valuable in Barsh-yin-Binder," explained Shamus. "As I'm sure you know, Barsh-yin-Binder is a lawless, backwards place at least a century behind the times. So this old stuff, which you couldn't give away in North America, is worth quite a bit over there. Of course, we can't rely on the local Barsh-yin-Binders to keep us in business. Though the city is a dump, it's a haven for a number of 'business associates' of the vice admiral. We ply this route, do some tradin'..." He leaned in closer. "'Course it's the
high-value smugglin' that pays the bills, but you won't hear me talkin' about it. No sir, I won't say a word about all those
borrowed
goods."

"Borrowed?" asked Alfonso.

"Stolen!" said Shamus with a roll of his eyes. "Yee gads, do I have to spell everything out for you lugs?"

"Is this windmill where we'll be staying?" asked Bilblox.

They were all now standing in front of the thirty-foot-high windmill, which was, rather sloppily, tied down to the deck of the ship with several lines of rope.

"That's right," declared Shamus. He nodded reassuringly and then muttered to himself, "And I hope to goodness the whole thing doesn't go overboard 'cause I certainly warned the vice admiral that only a fool stacks a windmill atop the windiest part of a ship. 'Course even bigger fools decide to stay in such a windmill."

Shamus smiled brightly and opened the red door to the windmill. Inside, there was just one large room with old hardwood floors, a small stone fireplace, a few bearskin rugs, some old French leather club chairs, two bunk beds, a bookshelf packed with old leather-bound books, and a high ceiling with a lone light bulb. It was a very cozy space and suddenly the journey across the Pacific looked like it actually might be bearable—so long as the windmill stayed firmly planted on the deck of the ship.

"So here are your quarters," said Shamus. "Make yourselves at home." Shamus then cleared his throat and extended his hand. It was clear that he expected a tip. Alfonso looked about awkwardly. Bilblox rolled his eyes. Hill finally dug into his
pockets and placed a one-dollar bill in Shamus's outstretched hand. Shamus cleared his throat again. Hill reached back into his pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and placed it in Shamus's hand as well. "Much obliged!" said Shamus. "See you at dinner tonight, which will be around ten o'clock."

Once Shamus was gone, Hill sat on a bunk bed and took off the top hat.

"What's the deal with that big ol' hat yer wearin'?" asked Bilblox. "It ain't too practical for this voyage. Why don't ya throw it away?"

Alfonso and Hill looked at each other.

"What's goin' on?" Bilblox asked.

"It's all right," said Hill. "I think we have to tell Bilblox. I mean, after all, he is making this journey with us. He's going to find out sooner or later."

"Okay," said Alfonso. He opened the glass panel on the top hat and pulled out the Dormian bloom. The plant's flower was currently changing color from bright pink to a deep custard-yellow.

"What in the name of Ivan Magrewski is that?" asked Bilblox.

"It's our contraband," explained Alfonso.

"I suspected that ya were smugglin' somethin'," said Bilblox. "I mean, I knew ya were deliverin' contraband to Barsh-yin-Binder, but this is it? Some kind of gimmicky trick plant that changes colors? Ya gotta be kiddin' me!"

"This is no gimmicky trick plant," said Hill sternly. "This is a Dormian bloom—perhaps the rarest and most powerful form of organic life on the planet. Now sit down and pay attention."
Hill went on to explain the entire story of how they'd rescued the plant from World's End, fended off the Dragoonya plants of war, fled to Fort Krasnik, and committed themselves to finding the ancient city of Somnos. Bilblox listened patiently, occasionally nodding in amazement.

"So you see," concluded Hill, "there's just one of these little plants on the whole planet! It
must
arrive at its proper destination in Dormia."

"So," said Bilblox with a mischievous smile, "we're not going to tell the vice admiral about any of this?"

"There's no point in doing that," said Hill. "Besides, we're not going to cause her any trouble. It's not like we're being followed. There's not another person in the whole world besides Judy and Pappy who knows what we're up to."

Alfonso cleared his throat and looked about rather uncomfortably.

"What is it?" asked Hill.

"Well, um, that's not exactly true," Alfonso reluctantly said. "There's someone else." Alfonso told them about his two encounters with Kiril. He described what Kiril looked like and what he had said. "The guy really gives me the creeps," said Alfonso. "And I'm pretty sure he's following us."

"Hmm," said Hill with a heavy sigh. "Are you absolutely sure that this happened? I mean, perhaps these were just nightmares. Both times you met this Kiril right after waking up."

"This was no dream," protested Alfonso. "And I have the ring to prove it."

"The ring?" inquired Hill.

"I pulled it off his finger by accident," explained Alfonso. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the gold ring. Hill
grabbed it and inspected it carefully. "Hmm," he said. "This is just as I've feared. Well, there's no doubt about it now."

"What?" asked Bilblox.

"Here, have a look," said Hill. He walked across the windmill and picked up a tattered canvas duffle bag that he'd been carrying with him. He pulled out his copy of
McBridge's Book of Mythical Plants
and quickly flipped through the pages until he came to the entry for the Dragoonya plant of war. The entry included a highly detailed picture revealing the plant's muscular jaws, its yellow fangs, its tortoiselike outer shell, and its dangling roots, which served as its feet.

Alfonso stared at the picture, remembering Pappy's screams as the plant broke his leg in two. He glanced down at the writing below the picture, which he had skipped in the rush to their greenhouse:

Renowned for their seeming Ability to predict the future, the Dragoonya are a fierce and cruel people. At different points in history, they dominated the Asian steppes behind the leadership of their knights who, according to legend, had eyes that shone like the fog. They enslaved or killed everyone they encountered. The origins of the Dragoonya are unknown, but many speak of their capital, named Dargora, hidden in the far north deep within a petrified forest. According to legend, it is visible only from a distance at twilight. Those who ventured into the growing darkness to catch a glimpse of it never lived to tell.

Alfonso felt a shiver travel up his spine. He looked at Hill, who had been reading along with him. "Don't worry about all that," said Hill. "I've got no intention of taking us to Dargora. Come on now, let's focus on the picture of this plant. If you look closely, you'll see something like a dog collar around the plant's neck. There's a metal tag on that collar."

Alfonso and Bilblox both studied the picture carefully.

"Yeah, I see the tag yer talkin' about," said Bilblox. "So what's the big deal, huh?"

Hill reached back into his duffle bag, rummaged around some more, and finally pulled out a leather case containing a small magnifying glass. He handed it to Alfonso. "Go ahead," said Hill. "Take another look."

Alfonso did so and gasped. When he looked through the magnifying glass, he could see—as clear as day—that the metal tag was emblazoned with a picture of a Dormian bloom in front of a setting sun. It was the exact same image as the one on Kiril's ring.

"Whoa!" said Bilblox. "That's pretty spooky! It's the same picture as on the ring. What does it mean?"

"It means that we're in serious trouble," said Hill. "That image is the emblem of the Dragoonya and I'd wager this Kiril fellow is a Dragoonya henchman."

"Who in the heck are the Dragoonya anyway?" asked Bilblox.

"They're the eternal enemies of Dormia," said Hill gravely. "And they're a very powerful and nasty lot."

"So," said Bilblox, "if the Dragoonya are so powerful, why ain't they captured ya yet?"

Hill shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I've been wondering that myself."

As Bilblox and Hill continued to chat away, Alfonso took hold of Kiril's ring and began to study it with the magnifying glass. He stared at it intently without blinking. The plant carved into the ring's coat of arms was clearly a Dormian bloom. The stem, the leaves, and the flower itself were a perfect match to his own plant. This was no surprise. He'd noticed this even without the magnifying glass. What was surprising, however, was the image behind the plant. Initially, it seemed that this image was a setting sun whose fiery rays were casting light onto the plant. But, as Alfonso examined the image closely, he realized that the sun was in fact not a sun at all, but a bonfire whose leaping flames were actually
burning
the plant. Odd as it seemed, the image on this coat of arms was clearly of a Dormian bloom on fire.

Alfonso sat up and then called over Bilblox and his uncle. "Look what I've found!" he whispered urgently. "It's not a setting sun—it's a bonfire!" Both Hill and Bilblox looked through the magnifying glass. Alfonso was right: the Dormian bloom was being consumed by fire.

"Strange, isn't it?" asked Alfonso. "Why would it be on fire?"

"I think it means we ought to torch this plant and see what happens," said Bilblox eagerly. "It may unlock some kind of secret."

"You brawny, cargo-lugging imbecile!" retorted Hill. "That's the stupidest, most dangerous, and irresponsible idea I've ever heard. You all listen to me and listen good: we are delivering this plant to Dormia—unharmed—and that means you should
forget this business about flames right now, before I knock both of your heads together!"

"What about burning off a single leaf?" asked Alfonso. "We could just do it as an experiment."

"Absolutely not," replied Hill.

The matter was settled. Or so it seemed. Yet throughout the remainder of the day the possibility of burning a single leaf continued to linger in Hill's thoughts, for he was a curious man—not well suited to playing the role of the disciplinarian—and he had lived much of his life by doing things on a whim. Now, thanks to Alfonso, a clue had fallen into his lap. Could he really afford to ignore it? Besides, what harm could come from such a small experiment? All trees occasionally lost a leaf or two—this was a natural occurrence—so what would it matter if they burned a single leaf?