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  “Yes, sir.” Marcus nodded, shifting in his wheelchair. His stomach was in knots. He was nearly positive the man who claimed to be a state lawyer had no intention of taking him to his family. But if not, what was the point of going to all the trouble of making up such an elaborate hoax?

  What did Marcus have that the man could possibly want? It couldn’t be money. There was only about thirteen dollars hidden under the lining of his suitcase—money he’d saved up over the years doing odd jobs. It was a lot of money to Marcus, but not enough to interest a man like Mr. Linstrope.

  What if Linstrope was the man who’d kidnapped Marcus in the first place? Maybe he’d come back to erase the evidence of his crime. But Marcus was a baby when he’d been found. He couldn’t even remember his real name, and he certainly couldn’t remember any kidnapper. If Linstrope was involved in the abduction, Marcus wouldn’t be a threat to him.

  None of it made any sense, but Marcus had only two choices—he could go with Mr. Linstrope and hope for the best, or he could try to escape before the attorney got his hands on him. It wasn’t a very hard decision.

  Leaning protectively over his suitcase to block the principal’s view, Marcus removed his cash and the only other important possession he owned—a creased picture of Elder Ephraim. After a moment’s hesitation, he also grabbed an extra pair of underpants and stuffed them into his pocket. If he somehow managed to escape, at least he’d have a change of underwear.

  Snapping his suitcase shut, he glanced toward Principal Teagarden and past him at the open door that led to the stairs. Somewhere below was the man who claimed to be from the state. But he’d worry about getting past Linstrope if and when he got that far.

  “Finally,” Principal Teagarden said, snatching the suitcase off the bed. “Let’s go.”

  Marcus searched desperately around the room. He needed some kind of distraction. His eyes landed on the doorway at the back of the dormitory.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” he lied.

  “What?” Teagarden growled, his cheeks turning purple. “There’s no time. You have a plane to catch.”

  “I have to go bad.” Marcus leaned forward in his wheelchair, faking a pained look. “I think it’s the pork and beans we had for lunch today.” In truth, lunch had been peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but he knew the principal never went near the cafeteria, much less ate anything served there.

  “Well . . .” Teagarden’s eyes darted toward the door, and Marcus realized the principal was as scared of Mr. Linstrope as he was.

  “If I can’t go to the toilet right now, I’m gonna . . .” Marcus leaned forward in his wheelchair, clenched his arms over his stomach, and gave a loud moan.

  Principal Teagarden jumped backward as if he’d just stepped on a scorpion. “Hurry up then,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Anything to get you out of here.”

  Checking to be sure the principal wasn’t following him, Marcus wheeled his chair into the bathroom at the end of the dormitory. Once he was out of sight, he climbed up on his knees, pushed open the window and peeked outside. Under the full, silver moon, the field behind the school was empty. He wished he could climb out the window and scale the wall. But even if he’d had a rope—which he didn’t—he wouldn’t be able to climb down with only one good hand.

  Glancing toward the door, he slid onto the cold tile, released the locks on his wheelchair and folded it closed. It had survived one fall today already; he hoped it would survive a second. Marcus leaned the chair against the wall and tried to push it up to the window. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as he strained against the heavy, old-fashioned chair with his good arm. It rose an inch or two, but then one of the handles caught on the ledge of the window, and it dropped back to the floor with a thud.

  “What’s going on in there?” Principal Teagarden called from the other room.

  “Cramps!” Marcus shouted back, giving out a deep groan. Panic-stricken, he looked around the small bathroom. The wheelchair was too heavy. The bulky contraption would ruin any chance he might have of escape, but he wouldn’t get far without it once he left the school. He spotted the wooden ramp Mr. Finley, the school custodian, had built so Marcus could reach the sink.

  Quickly he scooted across the bathroom, put his back against the ramp, and pushed off the wall with his good leg. For a moment nothing happened, and he worried the ramp might be attached to the floor somehow. Then, all it once, it slid across the tiles with a loud screeee.

  “What was that?” the Principal shouted.

  “Sorry. Guess I had a little gas,” Marcus called back, blushing furiously.

  Careful to keep from making any more noise, he finished pushing the plywood ramp until it rested against the wall, just beneath the window. Silently he wheeled his chair up the ramp and got out. Holding his breath, he tipped the chair and pushed until he could feel it begin to slide forward on its own. “Bombs away,” he whispered, and let go.

  A dull thump came from outside the window as the chair landed on the grass. He waited a moment to be sure Principal Teagarden hadn’t heard the fall, then tugged the window shut. There was no time to do anything about the ramp, but hopefully he’d be gone by the time anyone discovered it.

  Now came the hard part, when his plan either succeeded or failed. He was counting on one of the abilities that had gotten him in the most trouble at other schools. It had worked for him this morning against Chet and his friends, but the problem was, it didn’t always work. And unfortunately, he wouldn’t know for sure whether it had worked or not until he was actually in the dormitory.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured himself sitting on the bathroom floor, and began to whisper.

  “Nobody came to see me today. Nobody saw him arrive.” It was a silly little rhyme he’d made up years before. He felt stupid saying it, but it seemed to help him gain the concentration necessary to make his trick work.

  “Nobody saw him walk away. Nobody knows he’s alive.”

  Concentrating on the image of himself in his mind, he imagined himself beginning to fade.

  “Nobody knows when he comes and goes. Nobody seems to care.”

  With his eyes still closed, he pictured his body getting dimmer and dimmer, until it was really nothing more than a shadow.

  “Nobody, take me away with you. Take me into your care.”

  Marcus Nobody was now Marcus Nowhere. And as long as he was silent, no one would notice him passing by. At least he hoped so.

  Praying his trick had worked, he opened his eyes and leaned around the edge of the door jamb. Principal Teagarden was pacing the floor, alternating looks between his watch and the hallway. Marcus couldn’t help smiling as he imagined how long it would take the principal to finally work up the courage to come anywhere near the boys’ toilets.

  Ready or not, here I come, he said to himself, and scooted out of the bathroom into the dormitory. Trying not to make a sound, Marcus scooted to the side of the room as far away from Principal Teagarden as possible. Using his good hand and foot as leverage, he slid under the first bed and peeked out. Principal Teagarden wasn’t even looking in his direction.

  The second bed was Chet’s. Its unmade blankets smelled like mashed peas and old sweat socks. The next two—Pete’s and Beaver’s—were only a little more tolerable. He was almost halfway down the room, and Principal Teagarden hadn’t looked in his direction once. Marcus allowed himself to hope he was going to make it out after all.

  With his eyes fixed on the principal, Marcus didn’t see the baseball until he bumped it with his elbow, sending it rolling across the dormitory floor.

  “What’s that?” Principal Teagarden said, spinning around. Marcus froze in place. From experience, Marcus knew his trick only worked about half the time, and only then when people weren’t looking directly at him. It didn’t seem to be invisibility exactly—which would have been far more useful—but more like camouflage. When people glanced in his general direction their vision seemed to deflect off him.r />
  But now Principal Teagarden was walking directly toward the bed he was hiding under. Marcus pressed himself against the wall, as far beneath the bed as he could get. What would he do if the principal saw him? He couldn’t let himself be caught, and yet, how could he manage to escape? Three feet from the bed, Principal Teagarden bent and picked up the baseball. Turning it over in his hands, he glanced curiously toward the line of beds and then at the bathroom door.

  “Marcus!” he shouted. “Are you playing some kind of game?

  Without waiting to see if the principal would turn back in his direction, Marcus shimmied under the last of the six beds and slipped out the door. Skipping the elevator, he slid down the stairs on the seat of his pants. Three-fourths of the way down, he paused and peeked into the lobby. He was sure Mr. Linstrope would be waiting for him. But the hallway was empty.

  After another quick look in both directions, he crossed the cold, tile floor and pushed open the front door. Just like that he was outside, breathing in the cool night air. Up to this point, he hadn’t given a thought to what he’d do once he actually managed to escape. Now he realized that getting out of the school was only his first step. A boy rolling a wheelchair down the side of the road wouldn’t exactly be difficult to spot.

  Where would he go? How would he get there? What would he do for money?

  The difficulties were almost overwhelming. He was only thirteen. He shouldn’t have to be worrying about those kinds of things. He pulled the photograph of Elder Ephraim out of his pocket. If only the abbot was here to help him now. Elder Ephraim never seemed anxious or afraid.

  Don’t worry about what you can’t control, the old man’s gentle voice seemed to whisper into Marcus’s ear. The longest journey is but a series of small steps. Marcus nodded his head and took a deep breath. Okay, he would take it one step at a time. The next step was getting his wheelchair. After that, he’d deal with where he was going.

  As Marcus was putting the picture back into his pocket, he heard a familiar voice from inside the school doors.

  “Gimme one of them cigarettes, fungus breath.” It was Chet, probably with his friends. No doubt they were coming outside to smoke. Smoking was against the school rules, but Chet and his friends did it anyway. Usually behind the school—right where Marcus had left his wheelchair.

  With no time to waste, Marcus dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled around the bushes that ran along the side of the school to the corner of the building. Behind him, he could hear the sound of the school doors opening and closing, accompanied by the squawk of harsh laughter. Bits of rock and sticks bit through the soft leather gloves Marcus wore and into his palms as he scooted along the side of the school, but he took no notice.

  Although it was night, the moon was bright, and it would be easy for the boys to spot Marcus if he didn’t manage to get himself and his wheelchair around the building before they arrived. Rounding the back corner of the building, he started toward the spot where he’d dropped the wheelchair, then froze.

  His chair was gone. At first he thought he must have come to the wrong spot. But he could see the imprint in the mostly dead grass where he’d dropped it, and a little farther back, the square of light shining down through the glass of the bathroom window. But the silver gleam of metal which should have been there was gone.

  Something moved to Marcus’s left. He turned in time to see a dark figure slip from the shadows.

  A hand clamped around his wrist, and a voice whispered, “Now you’re mine.”

  Chapter 12

  The Boy in the Window

  Master Therapass looked like a madman. Muttering to himself, he paced back and forth across the room, his fingers combing grooves through his long beard. “They can’t be there . . . Yet clearly . . . If anything happens to him . . . All my fault . . .”

  “Master Therapass, what is it?” Kyja rose from her chair and tugged the old man’s sleeve.

  He looked down as though he’d completely forgotten she was there. Then his eyes seemed to clear. “The boy in the window. Have you ever seen him before?”

  Kyja shook her head. “No. Never. That is, I thought for a minute . . . But, no.”

  Bending down, he took her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Are you sure? This is important. The image of the boy came as a direct result of your looking into the window. Are you absolutely certain you’ve never seen him?”

  Kyja shut her eyes tightly, trying to replay the scene in her mind. She’d certainly never been in a room that looked anything like the one in the window. The people had been dressed so strangely, and she was sure she’d recall the silvery cart if she’d seen it before.

  Yet there was something about the boy’s face—the way his jaw was set and the way his eyes burned with intensity when he’d been so focused. “I don’t think I’ve ever . . . met him. But it feels as if I might have dreamed about him. Does that make any sense? Could I have imagined him?”

  “You didn’t imagine him. He’s very real.” Master Therapass released Kyja’s shoulders and gazed up at the bookcase where Riph Raph was watching them both intently. “I should have predicted that,” he muttered, his eyes far away. “Of course he’d try to find a way, whether he knew it or not. And she would be the most logical one to reach out to.”

  All at once, Master Therapass took Kyja by the arm and began pulling her toward the door. “If they’ve found him, they’re bound to come looking for you as well. Of course they’ll check the city first. But once they find you’ve left, they’ll spread out. They could even be here now.”

  Kyja set her feet, pulling her wrist from the wizard’s grip. “What are you talking about?”

  The old man gave her a measuring look before taking her hand. “There’s no time to explain now. You must leave immediately. Do not tell anyone where you are going, except for Bella. She will give you food enough to last several days. Take one of Farmer Goodnuff’s horses—you’d be questioned if I provided you with a mount from the tower—and ride out of town as far and fast as you can. I’ll catch up with you when I’m able.”

  Master Therapass rubbed the top of his head. “The necklace I gave you. Do you still have it?”

  “Of course.” She slid the gold chain from inside her robe, revealing the ivory amulet.

  “Continue to wear it, but keep it out of sight,” the wizard whispered, glancing toward the open door. “Take the back passage through the kitchen. And don’t talk to anyone you don’t recognize.”

  “What about the boy?” Kyja asked, fingering her amulet and remembering the mark she’d seen on the boy’s shoulder in her dream.

  “He’ll have to fend for himself.” The wizard shook his head, and his eyes told Kyja how little chance he gave the boy. “There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  Before Kyja could ask anything else, Master Therapass was pressing her through the doorway. He turned to Riph Raph. “Fly high above the city and look for anything out of the ordinary. If you see any sign of danger, warn Kyja immediately. She must be outside the gates before they arrive.”

  Kyja wanted to ask who they were, but Master Therapass would allow no further questions. The next thing she knew, Riph Raph had flown out the window he’d originally come in through, and she was racing down the staircase with no clear idea of what she was running from or where she was going. What would the Goodnuffs think when they discovered she had not only neglected to milk the cows but had taken one of their horses as well?

  For a moment she considered asking Bella to let her hide in the kitchen. Nothing could threaten her in the tower of Terra ne Staric. The capital city had over two hundred guards and over ten thousand citizens capable of taking up arms. But then she thought about the look she’d seen on the wizard’s face.

  Master Therapass was old, but no one would ever accuse him of being a coward. Mr. Goodnuff once told Kyja that, in his prime, Master Therapass had been the most feared and respected wizard in all of Westland. Kyja didn’t doubt it. She’d seen the way
even the Captain of the Guard showed him deference. If Master Therapass believed there was something to be afraid of, she believed it too.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Kyja raced through the dimly lit hallway. Somewhere outside the tower she could hear the ringing sound of trumpets and wondered what they announced. At the kitchen doorway, she found Bella waiting.

  “Take this,” Bella said, handing her a bulging grain sack.

  “But when—”

  “Hush, child.” The stout cook placed a finger to her lips. “Too many big ears and even bigger mouths in this kitchen.”

  Bella clutched Kyja against her ample waist and pushed open a scarred wooden door. Quickly they hustled down a hallway Kyja had never used before. The downward sloping passage was much narrower than most of the tower hallways and covered with bits of straw. Kyja’s feet skidded on the slick stone floor. As they made their way along the passage, the air began to fill with the smell of cows and pigs.

  “This leads to the livestock pen,” Bella said in a low voice. “Shouldn’t be anyone using it this time of day.”

  “How did you know I was coming?” Kyja asked when they were safely out of the kitchen.

  “Never you mind. Master Therapass has his ways.” Bella looked down at Kyja with worried eyes. “What are you running from child? I’ve never seen the wizard so worked up.”

  “That’s just it,” Kyja said, trying to keep her footing. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how long I’ll be gone. Did he tell you anything?”

  “Only that I was to get you out of the tower as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  All at once, the passage leveled out and opened into a fenced yard. On one side, a dozen fat sows rolled and snorted in the mud. On the other side, a flock of turkeys huddled together as Bella lifted the metal latch and opened the long, wooden gate.

  “Hush your beak,” Bella warned as the largest of the turkeys gave his waddle a shake and spread his tail feathers, “or you’ll be on the dinner menu tonight.”

  “Come on,” she said, taking Kyja’s hand. They crossed the mucky livestock yard and passed through a second gate. A narrow dirt path, rutted by years of hoof prints, bordered a stone wall and led past the edge of an apple orchard. Although Kyja had never been this way, she understood roughly where they were.