The Quillan Games (15 page)

The ride was a very long three hours. Courtney wasn't used to sitting up for so long, let alone on the hard seat of a car. Their Volvo was many years old, and to Courtney the seat felt like it was carved out of rock. She didn't complain though. She was too happy to be going home. They arrived back in Stony Brook before dinnertime. Mrs. Chetwynde asked Mark if he'd like to stay and eat.

“C'mon,” Courtney said. “Let's keep the party going.”

Mark called his mom to say he wouldn't be home for dinner, and helped bring Courtney's luggage into the house. The first thing Courtney did when she got inside was call out, “Winston! C'mon, Winnie.”

Instantly Courtney's cat came running. Winston was a short-haired tortoiseshell, and in Courtney's opinion, more dog than cat. Winston jumped into Courtney's arms, purring like a lawn mower. Courtney buried her face in the kitty's belly.

“Hmmm, I missed you, purr-face!” Courtney said.

She walked slowly through the house, looking around like she hadn't been there in months. Which she hadn't.

“Hasn't changed a bit,” she declared. “Same furniture, same smells, same crummy old computer that we all have to fight over.” She said this last while pointing to an old monitor that was on a table in the living room. Mark noted that it looked to be about five years old, which in computer years is ten lifetimes.

“You know, Dad,” Courtney said. “If I'm going to be homeschooled for a couple of months, I'm not going to be able to sit on that hard chair down here, in front of that archaic old bucket of bolts you call a computer. I think we're going to have to—”

Courtney stopped short when she saw that her father had lifted up a cardboard box from behind the couch that, by the look of the markings on it, contained a brand-new laptop.

“Wow,” Mark said. “That just came out!”

Mr. Chetwynde said, “And if Mark is impressed, I think you better be too, young lady.”

Courtney broke out in a smile and hugged her dad.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said.

“Welcome home, baby,” Mr. Chetwynde said.

It was at that exact moment, the moment when everything felt right again . . . that Mark's ring began to twitch. He quickly clasped his hand over it and ran around behind Mr. Chetwynde so Courtney could see him.

“Uhh,” Mark said. “C-Courtney? Wh-Where's the bathroom?”

Courtney said, “Same place it's always been. Over by the—” She stopped short when she saw the look in Mark's eyes. He
held up his ring so Courtney could see that the gray stone had gone crystal and was starting to fire out light.

“Use mine upstairs,” she said quickly. “Bring my bags up with you, okay?”

“Y-Yeah, no problem,” Mark stammered. He ran for the entryway to the house, nearly tripping over Courtney's bags. He grabbed one and stumbled for the stairs. He was about to turn up, when Mrs. Chetwynde appeared from around the other side of the stairs. Mark instantly turned his back to her, shielding the glowing ring.

“Need some help?” she asked sweetly.

“N-No, I got it!” Mark said quickly as he tripped up the stairs.

Mrs. Chetwynde shrugged and turned back toward the kitchen to start dinner. Mark made it up the stairs, hurried down the hallway to the last door on the left, which he knew was Courtney's room, and dove inside. He had long ago gotten over the rush of actually stepping into a girl's bedroom. Life had gone way beyond that. He dropped Courtney's bag on the floor, closed the door, took off the ring, and put it on the floor. The ring had already begun to expand. It quickly grew to the size of a Frisbee, with flashing light spewing from the center and the familiar jumble of musical notes that Mark knew meant he was about to receive a delivery from another territory.

He had long ago gotten over the rush of seeing this, too.

It took only a few moments for the event to be over. The lights disappeared, the music ended, and the ring returned to normal. Sitting on the rug next to it was a journal. Like the journal before it, the rolled-up pages were bright yellow and tied with a purple ribbon. Mark stared at it on the floor. He may have gotten used to the ring opening up a pathway to the territories and depositing Bobby's journals, but there was no way to be prepared for the news a journal would bring.

“Mail's in,” Courtney said. She had made it to her room and poked her head inside the door. “Just like old times.”

Mark picked up the yellow pages. “Looks like it's from Quillan,” he announced.

“The circus clown territory,” Courtney added. “I have no idea what's up with that twisted place.”

“I think we're about to find out,” Mark said. “Should we read it here? Now?”

Courtney entered the room, closed the door behind her, limped over to Mark, and grabbed the roll of pages. “I've been out of the loop for too long,” she said while pulling off the ribbon and unrolling the pages. “No way I'm going to wait.”

Mark smiled. They were together again. They had always read Bobby's journals out loud to each other, except for when Courtney was hurting so bad. This felt good, for all sorts of reasons.

“You want me to start?” Courtney asked.

“Absolutely,” Mark said with a smile as he sat down on the bed.

Courtney hobbled over to the cushy easy chair that her father had moved up to her room, and settled in. She looked at the pages, ready to read.

“Courtney?” Mark said.

“Yeah?”

“Welcome back.”

Courtney smiled and began to read, “ ‘Journal number twenty-four. Quillan. I like to play games. Always have. . . . ' ”

SECOND EARTH

(CONTINUED)

“Dinner's ready!” called Mrs. Chetwynde from downstairs.

Courtney had already finished reading Bobby's journal aloud. She and Mark were busy sitting there, not moving, staring at each other, trying to digest the news from Bobby's latest entry. Courtney broke the silence first.

“He sounds bad,” she said.

“Can you blame him?” Mark asked. “He's only got the biggest responsibility in the history of all time on his shoulders.”

“I wish there was something we could do to let him know he's not alone,” Courtney lamented.

“But he
is
alone,” Mark said soberly.

Courtney looked out the window. She wanted to cry. Bobby was doing an incredible job battling Saint Dane. It hurt to hear that in spite of all his success, he was feeling so sad and lonely. It wasn't fair. It almost made her wish that when Bobby and Loor were together, that Loor had kissed him.

Almost.

Mark added, “And now he's even more alone, because the Traveler from Quillan is dead.”

“It's a weird feeling,” Courtney added glumly. “It's like hearing a relative died that you never met.”

“Really,” Mark said soberly. “I-I can't believe another Traveler is gone.”

“And Bobby's just getting started on Quillan!” Courtney shouted out. “He's being set up for something, I know it.”

“I think so too,” Mark said. He jumped up and started pacing nervously. “Why else would Saint Dane have sent him that invitation? And what about the loop and the challenger clothes at the flume? Saint Dane must have put them there.”

“Really,” Courtney said. “And those two weird people, Veego and LaBerge. They had something to do with putting on that fight. Bobby's being lured into that Toto competition.”

“Tato,” Mark corrected.

“Whatever,” Courtney snapped. “Bobby walked into a trap.”

“What else can he do?” Mark argued. “If he wants to find out what's happening on Quillan, he's got to be right where he is. Where Saint Dane asked him to be.”

Courtney took a deep breath. She knew Mark was right. But it didn't make her any less anxious about it. “I guess,” she said, pouting. “I hate getting the story in short doses, and I hate even worse not being able to help him.”

“Yeah, well, that's the deal,” Mark said.

Courtney tapped her foot on the floor. Her good foot. She was full of nervous energy. “There's something I don't understand,” she finally said. “Why doesn't Saint Dane just kill him?”

“What?” Mark shouted in surprise.

“Don't get all squishy,” Courtney countered. “It's a legitimate question. With all of Saint Dane's powers, you'd think he'd just swat Bobby down and be done with him. The same with the other Travelers. He's had plenty of chances. I mean, if he spent all that time trying to get rid of me, you'd think he'd at least give it a shot.”

Mark stopped pacing and sat back in the chair. “I have to admit, I've wondered that myself.”

Courtney said, “You think maybe it's because they can't be killed? Like with Loor.”

“But they
can
be killed!” Mark shot back. “There's a whole roster of dead Travelers as proof, and it's getting longer.”

“Then what about Loor?” Courtney asked. “She was dead and then she wasn't.”

“I don't know,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Maybe it's like Bobby said. It might have something to do with the power they have when they're together. Bobby was there for Loor, and she survived. The Traveler from Quillan was alone, and now he's gone.”

“So . . . could that be it?” Courtney asked nervously. “Is it finally happening? Is Saint Dane luring the Travelers to Quillan, separately, to kill them off one by one?”

The two shared a nervous look. The thought of a systematic Traveler execution was a grim one.

“Is this the Travelers' last stand?” Courtney asked, surprised by her own conclusion.

Mark jumped up and paced again. “No!” He shouted. “N-No way. It can't be that simple.” He was forming the ideas as he spoke. “I've studied every word of Bobby's journals. I know everything that's happened to him since he left home, and I see a pattern.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Saint Dane likes to play,” Mark answered. “He lures Bobby to a territory and gives him just enough information to get him thinking.”

“But the clues usually send him in the wrong direction,” Courtney pointed out.

“I think that's part of it,” Mark said. “Saint Dane challenges Bobby. He forces him to make tough choices. Bobby never has a clear path.”

“So what's the point?” Courtney asked impatiently. “Why does Saint Dane give Bobby any shot at all?”

Mark answered, “Because I think for Saint Dane, it's more than just trying to tip a territory toward chaos. I think he wants to beat Bobby. No, I think he
needs
to beat Bobby. If he didn't, why would he bother dealing with Bobby at all?”

“Because Bobby
forces
him to deal,” Courtney said. “He's all over Saint Dane.”

“Yeah, Bobby and the Travelers keep messing up his plans, but Saint Dane keeps giving him opportunities. I don't think anything that happens is by coincidence. I think Saint Dane has orchestrated everything, and part of it is to go head-to-head with Bobby whenever he can.”

“Even when he lost his cool and beat Bobby up on Zadaa?” Courtney asked. “And tried to kill Loor?”

“Especially then,” Mark answered. “Did he really lose his cool? Or was it just one more strand in the web he's weaving to mess with Bobby and keep him off balance?”

“You're making my head hurt,” Courtney said. “And thanks for nothing because it's the only body part I've got left that doesn't ache.”

“Sorry,” Mark said.

Courtney asked, “So you think Saint Dane cares more about messing with Bobby than about ruling Halla?”

“No,” Mark said. “Just the opposite. I believe that for Saint Dane, the road to Halla goes through Bobby. Until Bobby is defeated, he can never truly win. Just killing off the Travelers won't be good enough for him. Everything he does has a bigger purpose.”

“Including setting up the Traveler from Quillan to die?” Courtney asked.