Lost Places (9 page)

“P
LEASE, PRINCESS,” THE LARGE
dragon begged Molly. “Come admire my hoard for a while and let me admire you.”

“I've told you before, you great dolt,” Molly snapped. “My name isn't Princess, and I'm not responding to any remarks including that loathsome title.”

She sat with her back to the huge beast, huddled in a corner of the strange cave that the book had sucked her into.
I guess that stupid dollhouse wasn't torturous enough,
Molly thought. The enormous dragon stood between her and the cave entrance, but Molly had already discovered that outside was a sheer drop of about a thousand feet. She wasn't going anywhere, not just yet, anyway.

Molly couldn't figure out why she wasn't afraid of the gigantic dragon. He was a creature straight out of a fairy tale or a movie, complete
with scales, wings, large teeth, sharp claws, and smoke coming out of his nostrils. Maybe it was the fairy tale-ness of it all. More likely it was because he was so disgustingly solicitous. He was practically slavering to do her bidding.
Gross.
He was more annoying than scary. His obvious devotion to her confused her even more. Had she been brought to this weird world to be mooned over by an obsessed monster? It's not like he was doing anything to actually harm her. Still, it was creepy, and she figured the best thing she could do was to not give in and torture him right back!

She glanced behind her. Yup, he was still there, gazing at her with big, dumb cow eyes. He loomed over a towering mountain of treasure: gold coins, jewelry, boxes of more jewelry, crowns, tiaras—anything a fairy-tale dragon might be protecting. He wanted her to be impressed by his hoard.
Hah!
She didn't care about any of that junk. Give her a good pair of work boots like the ones she was wearing, a CD player, and a soccer ball, and she was happy. Also Tim. Tim made her happy, too.

Tim was out there somewhere, Molly figured. He got sucked into this nightmare of a fairy-tale farce, too.

The question is, who is supposed to rescue whom?
Molly wondered.
I'm the one trapped in a
cave with a dragon, but Tim can really be clueless sometimes.

Molly thought of the times in the past when she had to stick up for Tim at recess so Bobby Saunders would back down. Not that she would ever remind Tim of that. But it did make her question what she should do. The dragon might be acting all sweet and servile with her now, but that snout of his came equipped with major fire action. The creature just might use it on Tim if he tried to get her out of there.

She slowly wiggled herself around so that she faced her scaly host.
Tim wanted me to meet some interesting types,
she thought.
Well, I've met the narls, some demons, some dinos, and now a dragon. I really hope that's it on my social calendar for the day.

The dragon's shoulders were slumped, if a dragon could be said to have shoulders. Then he noticed that she no longer had her back to him. His eyes brightened. “As you please, then, prin—er, Molly. I'll try to keep that in mind in the future. The last thing I want is to distress you, fair—”

Molly cut him off. “Don't call me damsel, either. Or lady or maiden,” she warned, “unless you want me to start throwing your precious treasure off the cliff.”

“I'm sure that won't be necessary, prin—
Molly,” the dragon said hastily. His long, heavy tail flicked over his pile, resting protectively on top of it.

Molly smirked.
That's useful to know,
she thought.
He loves his glittering doodads enough to do as I say. This bit of info may come in handy.

“I must say, you are looking lovely,” the dragon said. “Perhaps you'd care to change out of those scruffy clothes you're wearing?”

Molly stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. She planted herself a few feet away from the dragon's snout. “I like my clothes,” she declared. “You got a problem with that?”

“Why, of course not,” the dragon replied. “Anything that makes you happy makes me happy.” He used his short front legs to rummage through his treasure collection. He opened a trunk and pulled out a sparkling white gown covered with lace, pastel ribbons streaming from its puffy sleeves. Tiny flowers were embroidered around the neckline. “But look. Isn't this dress pretty?”

Molly gazed up at the cave roof in exasperation. “Are those ears of yours just for decoration? Didn't you hear what I just said?”

“Of course I heard you, prin—Molly. But the dress is so lovely, so perfect. So
you
.” He dangled the dress from his talons inches from Molly.

Molly smacked the dress away, knocking it to the floor. “For the last time, get that awful gown away from me. Sheesh! Even a Lacey doll would be embarrassed to wear that poofy thing.”

“Molly, I'm worried about you. You simply aren't yourself.”

“How would you know?” Molly snapped. “You only just met me.”

Now the dragon lay down and gazed at her sadly.

“Princess. Oh, my poor lost princess,” he moaned. “How is it that we have grown so far apart? Please, won't you put on your gown? For me?” Tears welled up in his eyes. “For all we've meant to each other.”

Molly was taken aback by the creature's emotions. “Oh, all right, if it means that much to you,” she muttered.
Don't want to wind up drowning in a pool of dragon tears, after all.
She picked up the dress, then narrowed her eyes at the weepy dragon. “But only if you promise to tell me why you act like you know me.”

Molly pulled the glittering dress on over her jeans and sweatshirt. At least the heavy work boots she wore gave her enough of a lift that she wouldn't be tripping over the hem of the long, flowing skirt.

Molly was surprised to find the dress had a
zipper, but it did. The moment she zipped it up, she felt a strange change come over her. She turned around to face the dragon.

“Molly, you look so beautiful,” the dragon exclaimed.

“Fie, sir,” Molly said. “A captive I may be, but I will not be spoken to with such wanton disrespect. You will address me as princess. Though I'd sooner you spoke to me not at all, other than to fulfill your promise.”

She fought the falseness growing inside her, fought it with all her might. She refused to let the power of this fairy-tale costume get the better of her, despite the fact that she now radiated with a pale pink glow.

“Yes, princess,” the dragon said.

So spill all,
she wanted to say. But the words that came out of her mouth were quite different. “Sir, we have entered into an exchange. I have fulfilled my part.” She smoothed the ruffles on the layered skirt. “Now you must fulfill yours, or you are no gentleman. Tell me the reason you address me with such familiarity. How could you possibly know me?”

This is weird,
Molly thought,
but as long as the meaning is basically the same, I guess I don't care that my words come out all fancy. I have to be careful, though. This place has major mind-twisting power.

“I can't blame you for not remembering, princess,” the dragon said. “You probably don't want to. I was so cruel to so many of you. And for so long.”

So many of me? Okay, this is one psycho dragon. How many of me does he think there are? Stay on your toes, O'Reilly.

“When did we meet, if meet at all we did?”

“It was in the past,” the dragon explained. “Well, actually,
my
past,
your
future. Let me see…. I gave the first version of you to Vuall when you were nearly seventeen.”

“Vuall?” Hearing the name of the horrible old crone made Molly's skin tingle.
Vuall was trying to train me to be a proper wife for some powerful magician. Could this dragon be working for the same magical guy? Is that why I'm here? Have I been kidnapped again for that old creep?

“The most recent Molly I tried to train when she was about twenty-six or so,” the dragon continued.

“The first Molly? The most recent Molly?” Molly shook her head. “None of this makes any sense, knave.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't,” the dragon agreed sadly. “Though it did at the time. Perhaps it all still can.”

Molly gazed into the dragon's huge eyes and
shuddered. The more he spoke, the more familiar he seemed, and the more danger she knew she was in.

 

Tim stumbled through the forest, tying to get around without his glasses. At least he knew where he was going now. He had spotted a castle looming above him, high atop a mountain.
If this world wants me to be a knight, and I'm trying to find a girl, stands to reason that she'd be stuck up there in that castle.

The landscape had changed around him, as if it were helping him to his destination. It worried him a bit: If the world wanted him to get to the castle, then he was playing right into its evil plans. But if that was the only way to find Molly, then so be it. He'd figure a way out of all this once they were back together.

He reached the bottom of the mountain. He nearly had to bend over backward to see the top of it. Wispy clouds obscured most of the castle, but he could still make out the turrets, poking out of the mist.

“I guess there's no elevator,” he muttered. He was glad the suit of armor had vanished—he wouldn't want to have to climb this mountain lugging around all that extra weight.

“Well, no sense dawdling.” He reached up and
gripped a rock sticking out of the side of the mountain. “That's strange,” he said. The mountain didn't feel quite real. He tapped several spots. “It's hollow!” He stepped back again. “It's like a huge arts-and-crafts project. Papier-mâché or Styrofoam or something. It's just an enormous stage set.”
All the better for us to act out our parts, I suppose.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Better get going,” he told himself. “Just because it's fake, that doesn't make it any easier to climb.” Or less high.

Tim grabbed a handhold again, lifted his foot, shoved it into a crevice, and pulled himself up. He reached up, feeling around for another rock or branch to grab. Without his glasses, the surface above him was hard to see, making it difficult to look for secure grips. He'd have to do it all by feel.

Lucky for you losing your glasses hasn't hurt your sense of touch.
He pressed himself against the mountain and slid his leg up until his foot found a spot to step onto. Pushing with his foot, he raised himself another few inches.

“Man,” he muttered, grabbing a thick branch jutting out of the mountain and pulling himself up again. “This is going to take forever.”

As he slid against the mountain, inching up its side, the surface felt papery. For a moment he
worried that it wouldn't hold his weight. But a few more steps up, and he decided the fake scenery was sturdy enough.

Reach, grab, pull, up. Reach, grab, pull, up. Over and over Tim repeated the actions. Sweat made his T-shirt cling to his back and plastered his hair to his forehead. His arms strained, his muscles ached.
I really hope Molly is up there,
he thought, gritting his teeth as pebbles scraped and chafed his hands.
I'd hate to think I'm getting all this physical exercise for no good reason. That would be like volunteering for extra gym classes.

His foot slipped out from under him, and he clutched the mountain. His misstep sent rocks and pebbles raining down. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths, forcing his heart to slow down. It was nerve-racking work, having to climb by feel.

Once he felt calmer, he started moving again.

“Come on, you handholds,” he muttered. “I know you're there.”

“Help!” came a voice above him.

Tim's heart pounded.
That sounds like Molly!
He yanked himself up and over a jutting ledge. He had come to a place where he could actually stand up, just below the top of the mountain. From where he stood, he could see the courtyard of the castle. The bright moonlight illuminated a shocking sight:
Molly, wearing a long, fancy dress, facing an enormous, winged dragon.

How am I going to fight this creature?
Tim wondered.
Maybe I should have kept that armor—or at least the sword that came with it.

“I'll just have to find a way,” he declared. “Molly!” he called. “Molly, I'm here!”

He saw Molly's head turn in the direction of his voice. “Oh, Timothy, at last you've come!” she cried. “To arms, my prince! Save me!”

Tim blinked a few times.
Why is Molly talking so funny? It must be some sort of spell,
he figured.
Just like this place tried to make me think I was a knight, it must be making her talk like a fairy-tale princess.

The dragon roared and sent a fiery blast from its nostrils and mouth. “At last, fair one,” it rumbled. “You are now mine.” It towered over Molly.

She shrank back from it. “Eeek!” Molly squeaked.

“Eeek?” Tim repeated. He had never heard a sound like that come out of her. He'd heard her holler, yell, shriek, cheer, shout, guffaw even. But squeak? Never.

“You have no champion to defend you,” the dragon rumbled. “You are at my mercy.”

Molly threw the back of her hand over her
forehead. “Ooooh,” she moaned in a singsong voice. She swooned and collapsed into the dragon's clutches.

“Oooooh?” Even in an enchanted world, Tim didn't think Molly was the type of girl to swoon. No way, no how.
It's all so phony,
he realized, dismissing it in disgust.
Just playacting, and badly at that. Like this dumb mountain.

“All right, that's it,” he declared.

He stood at the edge of the ledge and addressed the vast night. He knew whoever was running this little puppet show must be around somewhere, just waiting for him to take the bait. Not a chance.