The Amazing Flight of Darius Frobisher (7 page)

One night, in his dreams, Darius climbed on the newly repaired bicycle and pedaled madly. The frame had been painted the impossible turquoise of the ocean in the tropics. The bike went faster and faster, and then, suddenly, Darius was in the air, pedaling over the houses and roads, looking down at
the earth beneath him. It looked like an enormous map! The names of cities and rivers and countries were printed on the land he flew over. The word “Newfoundland” spread out below him across forests and plains. He remembered that Newfoundland was the last place his father had been seen before he’d disappeared over the ocean. Darius looked out across the horizon. Off in the distance he saw a balloon of blue and orange and red and yellow stripes. His father was in it—waving to him!

“There he is!” someone behind him said. The bike had become a tandem bike, and Miss Hastings was on the seat behind him, pedaling.

“Let’s go get him!” she shouted.

“Dad, here I am!” Darius yelled. “I’m coming, Dad. Wait for me.”

And then he woke up on his thin mattress in the basement.

Finally, the bike was all ready, except for the tires. They were still as flat as could be. Darius pushed the bike up the stairs and out the back door, and walked it down the driveway. He planned to take the bike to the gas station on the corner, fill the tires, and then ride back to the house. He would be back in plenty of time before Aunt Inga woke up and turned on the television.

But when Darius reached the gas station, he discovered that the air pump was broken. He remembered another station several blocks away, so he pushed the bike there. But he ran into another problem—to make the air pump work, you had to put in two quarters. He didn’t even have a dime.

Now he began to worry about the time. Darius certainly didn’t want Aunt Inga finding out about the bike when he had just gotten it ready to use.

“Excuse me,” Darius asked the man inside. “I don’t have any money and I really need to fill up my tires. Is there any way of making the pump work without putting money in?”

The man looked at Darius like he was crazy. “What do you think this is, kid, a place for free handouts?”

“How can you charge fifty cents for air?” asked Darius. “Air should be free!”

“Get outta here, kid,” said the gas station attendant. “Go get some money from your mom.”

Darius didn’t bother to explain that that was impossible. He went back outside, sat down with his bike on the curb, and thought. He remembered one other service station, but it was all the way over by the library. Darius looked at his watch. If he hurried, he might be able to fill the tires and ride back before Aunt Inga got up.

I know what you are thinking. It would have been more sensible to go back to the house and wait until the next morning. But if you had been working patiently on a bicycle for days and days, what would you have done?

I bet you couldn’t help yourself, and neither could Darius.

He set off, moving as quickly as he could. It wasn’t easy pushing a bike with two flat tires.

And it was further than he thought. By the time he got to the third gas station, it was 9:45. Darius had fifteen minutes to get the tires filled and get the bike safely hidden away.

Little beads of sweat began to run down his back as he thought about what would happen if Aunt Inga found him gone. He dragged the bike over to the air pump and put the nozzle on the tire valves one at a time.

“Hsssssssss,”
screamed the air hose.

“Clang, clang, clang,”
rang the air pump’s bell.

As the tires swelled with air, the bike seemed to rise up off the pavement. Darius hung the air hose back on the rack and looked at the bike. It was ready to ride. He hopped on and took off down the street. The gears clicked and whirred as he pushed the pedals faster and faster. Darius felt like a million bucks.

“YEEE-HAAAAH!” he screamed as he turned a corner. “This is a piece of cake! I’ll be back in no time!”

And that is when the most horrible thing happened.

7
Enter Daedalus

S
uddenly Darius’s feet spun on the pedals and he heard a grinding, clanking sound, as if something were scraping on the pavement. He looked down. The bicycle chain had broken and was caught in the teeth of the sprocket. Sparks flew up as the chain dragged and bounced along the street. The bike veered to the side and the front tire hit the curb. Darius flew head over heels above the handlebars and landed on someone’s lawn. The bicycle careened into the gutter, teetered for a moment on one wheel, then slowly tipped over into the street.

Darius waited until his head stopped spinning, then got up and brushed himself off. He’d scraped his arms and elbows, but he wasn’t really hurt—it was the bicycle that worried him. His heart was pounding as he ran over to the bike. He pulled it onto the sidewalk and looked at the damage. The rim of the front wheel was a little bent, but it still turned. Some spokes were twisted. Worst of all was the chain. He huddled over the bike, holding the greasy chain in both hands, trying to figure out how to make them go together.

“Oh no,” he moaned, “Aunt Inga will eat me alive.”

Tears welled up in his eyes.

“She’s going to kill me,” he wailed. “She’s going to—”

“Broken chain?” boomed a deep voice just behind him.

Darius looked up from the bike. His heart almost stopped.

An old man holding a black skateboard helmet in one hand was staring at him. He was dressed in baggy clothes—wrinkled khaki pants and an oversized white shirt. A long, sky-blue coat hung down to his shoes. Even the man’s hair seemed baggy: although the top of his head was bald, long shanks of white hair streamed down over his ears. His eyes were crystal blue, and his nose was long and a little red around the edges. The odd-looking man was sitting on an old three-speed bicycle. A large basket attached to the handlebars held vegetables and a loaf of bread, as if he had just been grocery shopping.

Darius knew exactly who this was. It was the man who had flown over his house on the bicycle! “I’ve seen you before,” he said. “You were riding a flying bike.”

“Impossible,” said the man, his eyebrows working up and down as he spoke. “Inconceivable. It was probably your imagination.”

“I don’t think so,” said Darius, shaking his head.

“Your bicycle is broken.” The man seemed eager to change the topic of conversation.

“Yes, sir,” said Darius, remembering the desperate spot he was in. He tried to push the chain together. “My dumb chain broke and there’s no way to fix it. I’ll never get back in time now.”

“Well,” the man said with a strange grin on his face, “let’s see what I have here.”

He reached into a pouch strapped around his waist and fumbled through it. “Ah, here we are,” he said, pulling out a little tool that glinted in the sunlight. “Chain wrench. Works wonders,” he cackled.

He bent down and took the chain from Darius’s hands. He
slipped the contraption on the chain, wound it tight, popped the chain back together, and tightened it. He pulled the chain on the sprocket and stood the bike up.

“All fixed now. You can ride it, but you’d better get the rim fixed soon.”

Darius looked up in wonder. “Who are you?”

“Daedalus.”

“Deh-dah-lus?”

“That’s correct. And your name?”

“Darius. What kind of name is Daedalus?”

“Ancient Greek. I’m not really ancient, though. Old, but not ancient. And I’m not Greek, either. You’d better get going if you don’t want to get eaten by this Aunt Inga you were moaning about. She sounds like Hera on a bad day.”

“Hera, I think I’ve heard that name,” said Darius. He seemed to remember his father reading to him about her.

“Hera was queen of the gods! She was married to Zeus. He was the big cheese of all the gods, but he wasn’t very dependable. Hera was always getting mad at him. Just like Aunt Inga—whoever she is—will be, if you don’t get going.”

Darius looked at his watch. It was 9:54. His heart jumped.

“Thanks, Daedalus.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he hopped on his bike. Darius took off, the pedals clanking and the chain whirring.

“Fix the rim,” Daedalus called after him. “And get a helmet. One bump on the noggin and you’re kaput.”

Darius pumped the pedals madly, turning to the right at the first intersection, then to the left at the next corner. Time was running out. The bike was moving, but the front wheel wobbled and
would not turn freely. As he swerved onto his own street, with one hundred yards to go, the bell in the church at the end of the street began to ring the hour. It was ten o’clock.

Aunt Inga was getting up!

The television was about to go on!

He was about to be eaten alive!

Darius tore up the driveway and flung himself off the bike. Standing outside the back door, he tried to calm down and catch his breath. He opened the door quietly and listened. There was no sound. As carefully as he could, he pulled the bike through the doorway and onto the basement steps. Halfway down, he heard his aunt’s footsteps as she walked over the floorboards. He scooted down the last few steps and paused, listening again. All was quiet. Then, from the top of the stairs, he heard Aunt Inga’s voice.

“Darius! Darius! Are you down there?” she called.

“Yes, Aunt Inga.”

“Well, what are you doing?”

Darius tried to quiet his breathing. “Nothing,” he called up the stairs.

“Then why is the back door open? Where have you been? I’d better come down there and see what you’re up to.”

Darius heard Aunt Inga’s foot hit the top step.

“No, wait!” Darius screamed. If Aunt Inga came down now, his goose was cooked. Darius frantically kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shorts. He ran to the bottom of the stairs and stood there in his underwear, looking up at the gaunt figure of Aunt Inga silhouetted against the light from the open door.

“Don’t come down just yet, Aunt Inga,” he begged. “I’m in my underwear.”

Aunt Inga looked away. “Oh, what a disgusting creature. Put
your clothes on this instant. Have you no decency at all? Look what I have to put up with!” Aunt Inga turned away and pulled herself back into the hallway. “You’ve got me so upset I’m going to be late getting my breakfast, and I’ll miss the beginning of
Moneymania.”

“Yes, Aunt Inga, I’ll be right up.”

Darius stood motionless as he listened to Aunt Inga’s footsteps over his head, going into the living room. He was sure that if his aunt stopped to listen, she would hear his heart beating, leaping, catapulting out of his chest. Then he heard the television go on. Darius let out a long, loud sigh. He was safe in the basement.

And so was his bicycle.

8
Remote Control

T
hat very afternoon, Darius made a very useful discovery. Aunt Inga had gone shopping, and he was alone when he heard a knock.

When Darius opened the front door, Anthony walked right into the house without being asked.

“Hi, you little worm,” the boy sneered.

“Hello, Anthony.”

“My mom sent me over here to be nice to you,” Anthony said, pushing his way past Darius.

Darius hurried after him into the kitchen, where his rude neighbor was already opening and shutting cupboards.

“Where are those cookies your aunt is always eating? Ah, here they are.” Anthony took down a bag, tore it open, and pulled out a handful. He stuffed three cookies in his mouth.

“Wait, Anthony,” Darius said. “You can’t do that. She’ll know there’s some missing.”

“And whose problem is that?”

“She’ll kill me.”

“Exactly. Like I said, not my problem.” He took out another handful, then handed Darius the near-empty bag. “If you’re going to die, you might as well have some.”

Darius put the bag on the counter and went back into the living room. Anthony followed, his mouth and hands filled with cookies, and hovered inches away from Darius—much too close for his liking. “What were you doing?” Anthony asked. “Probably something stupid.”

“I was reading a book.”

“Something stupid, just like I thought,” said Anthony. “At Crapper Academy we don’t have time to read. There are too many important things to do.”