The Mapmaker's Sons (5 page)

Umbrey hesitated. He cast a glance at Professor Lost, whose already grim features tightened into a scowl of even greater displeasure. “Generally, yes.”

Although Umbrey's answer was affirmative, there was obviously more to it than he was letting on. The silent communication he'd shared with Lost spoke volumes. But before Tom could pursue it, Umbrey changed the topic. “What about you, lad? Tell me, how did old Mortimer do? Were you raised properly? Fed well? Taught right from wrong?”

Tom shrugged. “I guess.”

“And your studies? Did you get good grades?”

He cast about for a response that, while honest, wouldn't make too bad an impression. “When I tried,” he said.

Professor Lost, who'd remained silent until that point, snorted and shot him a sidelong glance. “Which wasn't very often, I can assure you.”

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Umbrey waved it aside. “Never mind. You'll be back with Mortimer within a week. He can drill all the facts and figures into your skull he wants to then. We have until Friday the thirty-first to find the sword.”

Tom looked up at him, surprised. “That's my birthday.”

Umbrey gave a grunt and glanced over his shoulder. “Not likely I'd forget the date. I met you the night you were born.”

Tom staggered to a stop, gaping at Umbrey. “Wait a minute. You were there? You knew my parents?”

“Of course I did.”

“But … how …”

A sharp snap, like the breaking of a twig, echoed off to their right. The three of them froze, listening intently. But there was nothing but silence. Tom looked from Lost to Umbrey; he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you think that's them? The guys in capes?”

Umbrey studied the darkness. He looked at Tom. “You know better than I do, lad. The Watch—do you feel them?”

“Feel them?”

“Up on the rooftop, before Keegan's men showed themselves. I saw you stop, look around. What did you feel then?”

Evil.
The word leaped into Tom's mind before he could control it. He'd felt a dark, evil presence creeping toward him, a presence so palpable that he would have given up his quest for the bells entirely if the threat of losing face in front of his friends hadn't prevented it. Tom was now cold and wet, and he didn't particularly like being in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night, but his heart wasn't pounding madly in his chest the way it had been moments before Keegan's men had appeared.

“They're not here,” he said.

A light of approval shone in Umbrey's eyes. “Excellent. You might not have had any formal training—curse Morty's cowardly soul—but you've got good instincts. Listen to them and you might just live long enough to see your fourteenth year.”

Not exactly a ringing endorsement for their little adventure. Before Tom could respond, Lost rapped his umbrella against his leg and glared at Umbrey. “My cowardly soul, you say? And what exactly would you have done in my place?”

“Taught the lad to fight! Showed him how to use his fists! That's what he'll need to know if he's to survive against Keegan!”

“Is that so?” Lost spun around, towering over Tom as he barked out, “Where would we find the North Star in the night sky? What are longitude and latitude? Define Manifest Destiny. What is pi? Why did the Roman Empire fall? How does the Earth's axis affect the seasons? What is osmosis? Name all the notes on a musical scale.”

Tom blinked under the barrage of questions. “Uh … you want me to answer them all?”

“Can
you answer those questions?”

Tom thought for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, I can.”

Triumph lit Lost's eyes. He wheeled back toward Umbrey, one bony finger extended in Tom's direction. “Ha! There, you see!”

“Useless facts and figures,” Umbrey grunted, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

“The boy can
think,”
Lost corrected firmly. “He's been taught to reason, to observe, to learn. His fists aren't the greatest weapon at his disposal—his brain is. That's what he'll use if he hopes to survive.”

Umbrey tilted his head and looked at Tom. He scratched the stubble on his chin. Slowly, he nodded. “Could be you're right.”

“Indeed.” Lost sniffed and stiffened his spine.

Umbrey waited until Lost wasn't looking, then leaned down and whispered gruffly in Tom's ear, “But I still say a swift kick in the groin will get you out of trouble faster than spouting some useless gibberish. Remember that, now.”

Tom looked from one man to the other. He cleared his throat. “Um,
if
I hope to survive?”

Umbrey shrugged. “An unfortunate turn of phrase. Not to worry, lad.” He threw out his arms and gestured broadly, simultaneously announcing, “We've arrived!”

Tom glanced around the surrounding woods, which looked identical to the woods they'd been tramping through for over an hour. Nothing spectacular. Sturdy pines rooted among a scrappy assortment of maple, chestnut, and elm. Moss-covered stones, fallen logs, and prickly bushes grew underfoot, tangled with vines, leaves, and ferns.

Just as he was about to turn away, a clearing in the distance caught his attention. There, the woods parted unexpectedly, leaving a small hole of gaping darkness and utter stillness. Except it wasn't still. The darkness seemed to shimmer, undulating like pools of heat on August asphalt. As he watched, the hole expanded—or perhaps it was moving toward them, he couldn't tell. His stomach tightened, and his mouth suddenly went dry.

“What is that?” he managed to choke out.

Umbrey smiled. “That, lad, is your passage home. Doorway to the Five Kingdoms. We'll pass through, gather supplies, then use your father's map to travel into The Beyond. Clear enough?”

Clear? No. Not even close. Tom shot a glance at Professor Lost, waiting for the old man to protest, for him to call Umbrey a deranged fool and explain that a doorway to another world couldn't possibly exist. Instead, Lost eyed the darkness and muttered, “Hurry up, then. You don't have much time.”

”Wait a minute,” Tom protested. “Just … wait a minute.”

A bolt of lightning streaked through the sky. Sharp gusts of wind whipped through the trees, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm had returned with a vengeance.

“I should accompany you.” Lost had to shout to be heard over the howling wind.

Umbrey shook his head and shouted back, “You're needed at the academy, Mortimer! Guard the portal against Keegan's men!”

Lost looked as though he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Thunder rumbled. A bolt of lightning split a tree mere yards from where they stood. The tree crashed to the ground with a deafening crack, branches flailing against the forest floor. The skies opened up, and rain poured down in torrents.

The shimmering darkness crept closer, threatening to engulf them all. Tremors of alarm shot down Tom's spine. The earth felt softer beneath his feet, less firm somehow.

Lost removed the leather-bound journal he carried and thrust it into Tom's hands. “Study this, boy! Study it and memorize every word!”

Tom stared at him in horror.
“Homework?
You're giving me homework?
Now?”

Lost backed away, disappearing into the stormy woods. Umbrey scanned the heavens and gave a curt nod of approval. “You came into this world on a stormy night. I guess it's only fitting that you leave it on one.”

Tom wasn't sure what Umbrey's words meant, but they didn't sound promising. The reckless stupidity of following a one-legged stranger into the middle of the woods in the middle of the night suddenly impressed itself upon his brain. “Look, maybe I'll just head back to—”

“There's an old expression, lad, about life offering you windows of opportunity. Have you ever heard it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because you're about to be shoved out of one.”

Tom felt a light tap between his shoulder blades, then, before he could protest, the shimmering darkness surrounded him. The air was suddenly dense, almost too heavy to breathe—thick and humid and warm. He spiraled forward, feeling as though he were floating, falling, flying, all at the same time. His body felt wrong. Loose, somehow disconnected from his brain. His stomach somersaulted. He reached out to grab hold of something but felt only emptiness. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he slipped into quiet, comforting blackness.

T
om jerked awake, his head throbbing. The events of the previous evening rushed back at him. For a moment, he was sure it had all been a dream. Then his surroundings slowly penetrated his foggy thoughts. He was fully dressed, lying on a cot in a room he'd never seen before. A hut of some sort, with crude walls and a low ceiling. There were no windows in the room. The only light was provided by a small fire burning in an open hearth.

Beside the hearth stood a solitary figure. “You're awake,” the figure said, moving away from the fire to stand closer to Tom. “Finally.”

The disdain in the speaker's voice was unmistakable.

Some inner instinct told Tom he did not want to be at a disadvantage for this meeting. Ignoring the pounding in his temples, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood, coming face-to-face with a boy he guessed to be roughly his own age. The boy was the same height and shared the same lanky build as Tom, but that was where the similarity ended. The boy's eyes were icy blue and his pale blond hair grazed his shoulders, a stark contrast to Tom's own deep brown eyes and closely cropped, dark chestnut hair.

While there was nothing particularly menacing about him, neither did the boy exude any warmth or welcome. Instead, a quiet tension ran through him as he studied Tom with undisguised interest. Then, abruptly, the appraisal ended. The boy, having reached some sort of conclusion—a conclusion, Tom sensed, that was not favorable to him—let out a breath and turned away.

“Change your clothing,” he said, indicating a small bundle on the chest beside the bed. “Meet me outside when you're done.”

“Where's Umbrey?”

If the boy heard his question, he didn't show it. He parted the heavy cloth that draped the doorway and left without another word.

Tom scanned the hut's interior, looking for clues as to where he might be. His attention was immediately drawn to a small table, upon which sat the leather journal Professor Lost had given him. Remembering the professor's insistence that he memorize every word, he picked it up and flipped through the slim volume, scanning page after page of Lost's spidery scrawl. The writing was interspersed with astronomical renderings and sketches of ancient ruins, geographic landmarks, and improbable creatures. Interesting, but not immediately helpful. He tucked it into the waistband of his jeans to study later at greater length.