Balance Keepers #1: The Fires of Calderon (2 page)

I
f there was one thing Albert knew for certain, it was the look of his dad’s handwriting.

It was sloppy script, so terrible it looked like a chicken had discovered a pencil and decided to take up writing. So when Albert opened the envelope, he knew at once that the letter inside was from Bob Flynn.

Hey, Kiddo,
the letter said. (Or at least, that was what Albert guessed it said. The letters were so wacky he couldn’t be 100 percent sure.)

Albert’s face broke into a smile. His dad had never, ever, no matter how many times Albert had begged,
ever
let him deliver actual mail before, let alone do it completely on his own. He looked down at the dog, which was well on its way to eating the entire fruitcake.

“I’ve been promoted!”

He read on.

“Farnsworth?” Albert looked at the dog. The animal scratched his head, opened his mouth, and burped.

“My dad has a dog and I don’t even know about it? You gotta be kidding me.”

He looked back at the letter and his eyes widened.

At the very bottom, in bold chicken scratch, was a final warning.

“Well, that’s not fair at all,” Albert said to Farnsworth. His fingers itched to open up the letter and see what secrets were inside of it. But Albert had a job to do, and he wanted to do it right.

The bottom of his dad’s note had a map. It was made up of little stick images of the forest outside of Herman. (Bob Flynn’s artistic abilities were on par with his penmanship.)

“The woods?” Albert said to Farnsworth. Albert
loved
the woods. There was fishing in there, trees to climb, and trails to explore.

The map his dad had drawn was simple. Walk right out of the post office, take Main Street down to the edge of the woods, and walk straight until he passed a tree that looked like a giant slingshot. Fork left there, hop the trout stream, and climb up the hill until he came to his destination, marked with an
X
on the map.

“This Mr. Hermit guy must live in a cabin out in the woods. This just gets better and better!”
Especially if it gets me out of this dead letter office,
Albert said to himself.

He looked at Farnsworth again—the dog was licking his lips, having just finished off the last of the fruitcake.

“You’re a big eater for such a little guy,” he said. “Good luck digesting that thing.”

The little dog thumped his tail on the dusty floor. Albert grabbed the envelope and tucked it safely into the back pocket of his cords. If he left now, he could deliver the letter way before sunset and be back in time for dinner with his dad and Pap. He turned to Farnsworth.

“Okay, wait here. I have to tell Pap.”

Albert slid around the maze of piled-up letters, holding his breath so as not to knock them over, and peered out the half-open front window of the back office.

Pap was sitting on the porch of the post office with two other old men, their balding white heads leaning over a game of Tiles. It was this way every hour of every day. Three old men and a game that looked an awful lot like dominoes that no one ever seemed to win, because, well, it just didn’t ever end. Maybe the old men couldn’t remember
how
to finish it.

“What’s the progress report in there?” Pap asked without looking up from his Tiles.

“A dog came by and visited me,” Albert said.

“Wiry hair, pink nose?” Pap asked. Albert nearly fell over backward when he heard the words. Pap always had a way of surprising him. One of the other old guys elbowed Pap in the ribs as he picked up two Tiles with matching symbols.

“Uh . . . yeah,” Albert said. “I guess so. And blue eyes. It brought me a letter from Dad. I’m delivering a piece of mail.”

“To the woods, eh?”

Farnsworth let out a little whine from behind Albert. Albert sighed. He just wanted to get out of there and deliver the letter.
Why so many questions from Pap?

“How’d you know? Actually, it doesn’t matter. I gotta go!”

“Don’t get lost,” Pap said.

Albert thought he heard two of the old guys grumble about something, but it was hard to hear what they were saying. Albert shrugged his shoulders and walked to the back door of the old post office, Farnsworth right on his heels.

The main road was just as familiar to Albert as slicing open the top of an envelope. They went a few blocks, passing by a crack in the road that looked like a smile. An old woman on a bike rode past.

“Hello, Virginia!” she said to Albert. “You’re looking lovely today.”

Luckily she didn’t stop, because that would have almost certainly led to a major chat session with someone who thought he was a girl, and that was a conversation he didn’t have time for. Albert double-timed it to the edge of the woods and stared into the maze of trees. The wind blew, making the branches of the trees shiver. It almost looked like they were waving Albert in.

Farnsworth raced onto the path, leaping over a small boulder and ducking under a fallen tree in nothing flat.

“Doggy sugar high,” Albert surmised, and though he couldn’t say exactly why, he had a feeling an adventure was about to begin. “So this is what it feels like to deliver mail. Cool.”

Albert followed, breathless, as Farnsworth leaped over tree roots and uneven patches in the ground. It was dangerous work, running through these woods, but Albert was good at this stuff. In gym class, he’d beaten all of his schoolmates in the mile run, and then, right after, he’d climbed the tall rope in the gym in just twenty-four seconds.

Albert kept up a good pace, following Farnsworth’s wagging tail through the trees. Every so often, the animal would stop, sniff the ground, and bark. They hadn’t crossed paths with the slingshot tree yet, and the dog seemed to understand where he was going, so they kept on.

Farnsworth was small and could slip beneath thorn patches without gaining so much as a scratch, while Albert had to stop and find a way around. It was exciting running through the woods, crashing through little streams that soaked Albert’s shoes. He felt like he was Indiana Jones about to stumble onto some hidden cave with gold piled high to the ceiling. It was infinitely better than sorting through dead letters.

They finally passed the first marker on the map Albert’s dad had drawn—a tree that did, in fact, look like a giant slingshot without the string, its limbs split into two branches spreading outward. Albert imagined himself shooting massive rocks into the sky, knocking down forest zombies and wildebeests.

Farnsworth barked, reminding Albert of the mission they had. The dog took off again, forking left around the slingshot tree. Albert followed, running down what looked like a worn trail in the ground, as if someone had passed through here many times before. Albert wondered how many times his dad had come down this way to deliver mail. And why, after all this time, hadn’t he told Albert there was a person living in the woods?

As he ran, Albert’s shoelace got caught on a stray root. “Wait!” He called to Farnsworth to stop, but the dog was fast, and by the time Albert had released himself, the mutt had disappeared into the trees.

“Farnsworth!” Albert yelled, but the dog didn’t return. He looked back in the direction from which he’d come, and saw that the ground was thick with leaves and roots crisscrossing one another like a maze. He shivered, but then stood up straight.

“Dad’s counting on me to deliver this letter,” he said to himself. “I can do this.” He looked down at the hand-drawn map again. “The stream is next.”

He walked on, swerving around big trees and under branches, until he reached a rise in the trail. He climbed up, grabbing exposed roots and pulling himself along, until he reached a shelf. There he found the stream, like a silver scar in the ground. And sitting patiently, wagging his tail, was Farnsworth.

“There you are,” Albert said. He stooped down and placed his hand on the dog’s head. Farnsworth licked his hand, turned around, hopped right into the stream, and then across to the other side. Albert followed after him, leaping across the stream. The opposite bank was steep, and by the time he’d scurried up it on all fours just like Farnsworth, the dog had already raced off again through the trees.

“Wait up!” Albert shouted, and this time, he followed even closer, keeping his eyes on Farnsworth instead of the map. After all, his dad had said the animal knew exactly where to go. He couldn’t lose him again, not if he wanted to make it to his destination before sunset. Speaking of destination . . . his dad hadn’t said
where
he would end up. Albert guessed it was a house sitting in the woods, with an old man like Pap waiting for him on the front porch. He decided that no matter what, he’d deliver the letter in time, then cut out quick and make it home before it got dark. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his dad’s face when he told him he’d done the job right, all on his own.

His dad was gone the whole day, delivering mail, and at night, they always ate the same frozen dinners in front of the TV. They talked about fishing and hiking and all the things Albert wished they’d spend their summers doing, but never really did much of. Bob Flynn wasn’t remarkable, by any stretch. But he was Albert’s
dad
. And that was enough for him to be Albert’s favorite person in the world. He never wanted to disappoint him.

After a while, Farnsworth barked again, drawing Albert away from his thoughts. They had almost reached the bottom of the big hill, just like his dad’s map said they would.

“You want to race the rest of the way, don’t you?” Albert said, as he bent down to scratch behind Farnsworth’s velvety ears.

The dog’s ears perked up, and he took off in a flash, faster than Albert had ever seen him run before. It was a wild chase, both of them running through the forest as fast as their legs would carry them. Just when Albert was about to pass the little dog, his foot got caught on a thick vine.

Albert’s feet went out from under him. He flipped through the air and landed in a cloud of dust on the hard ground. It was
awesome.
He’d felt like he was flying.

“Did you see that?” Albert shouted. He’d expected Farnsworth to be at his side, wagging his little tail.

But Farnsworth was gone,
again.

It was then that Albert realized just how dark the woods were becoming. He looked up at the sky. It was barely visible through the tops of the trees, but Albert could see the deep-pink-and-orange swirls overhead. Sunset was here, and by the looks of it, it was almost over. How long had he been in the woods? Time passed quickly, Albert realized, without a clock to measure it by.

“So much for delivering this letter before dinner.”

Albert called out, hoping for the dog to come running back with a stick in his mouth. He looked down at the map again. The directions ended with the top of the hill, right where he was standing.

Albert spun around, searching for a house, or a tent, or
something
in the woods. But there was nothing. Just trees, trees, and more trees.

A half hour later, with darkness coming on fast, Albert felt like he was trapped inside a maze. He sat with his back up against a tree and really thought about his situation for the first time since he’d left the dead letter office.

He hadn’t found the house or the person. He hadn’t delivered the letter, and by now, his dad had probably figured out that Albert had failed. But the really troubling thing, the thing that was starting to make him afraid like he hadn’t been in a long time, was that he was lost.

The map was no help anymore, Farnsworth was gone, and no matter how hard Albert tried to make sense of the woods, it all just looked the same. Every time he got close to finding his bearings, the ground itself seemed to have changed around him, and Albert was sure he’d walked in a thousand circles.

“What now?” he said to himself. He picked up a rock and tossed it as hard as he could. It landed against a tree trunk with a loud crack that echoed through the woods. Albert wished he had a friend with him right now, someone to help figure this all out. He could feel the letter in his back pocket, just waiting for him to deliver it.

His dad had said not to read it, not under
any
circumstance.

But Albert had made it all this way, followed all the directions right, and now . . . nothing. These were pretty dire circumstances, as far as Albert was concerned. Surely, if his dad knew he was lost, he’d want him to read it for a clue. . . .

Albert pulled the letter out of his pocket.

The writing was barely readable in the fading light. At first, Albert thought there was nothing on the paper at all. But as he tilted it, sure enough, there at the bottom of it, scrawled in his dad’s chicken scratch, was one simple message:

The letter slipped out of his fingertips. It was about
him
? Maybe he’d read it wrong. He picked it up again and spent the next thirty seconds reading it over and over until the message sounded like it was screaming inside of his head.
Albert’s time has come.

“My time?” Albert said. “What time?”

He looked in the direction of Herman. Or at least he thought he did. How far into the woods was he?

“Farnsworth?” he called halfheartedly.

He took one more look at the letter, shook his head, and started down the hill for home.

“I give up,” he said.

His timing was perfect, for right then, a shadowy figure moved in the trees, coming his way.