Dormia, p.8
Dormia, page 8
Once Shamus was gone, Hill sat on a bunk bed and took off the top hat.
"What's the deal with that big ol' hat yer wearin'?" asked Bilblox. "It ain't too practical for this voyage. Why don't ya throw it away?"
Alfonso and Hill looked at each other.
"What's goin' on?" Bilblox asked.
"It's all right," said Hill. "I think we have to tell Bilblox. I mean, after all, he is making this journey with us. He's going to find out sooner or later."
"Okay," said Alfonso. He opened the glass panel on the top hat and pulled out the Dormian bloom. The plant's flower was currently changing color from bright pink to a deep custard-yellow.
"What in the name of Ivan Magrewski is that?" asked Bilblox.
"It's our contraband," explained Alfonso.
"I suspected that ya were smugglin' somethin'," said Bilblox. "I mean, I knew ya were deliverin' contraband to Barsh-yin-Binder, but this is it? Some kind of gimmicky trick plant that changes colors? Ya gotta be kiddin' me!"
"This is no gimmicky trick plant," said Hill sternly. "This is a Dormian bloom—perhaps the rarest and most powerful form of organic life on the planet. Now sit down and pay attention." Hill went on to explain the entire story of how they'd rescued the plant from World's End, fended off the Dragoonya plants of war, fled to Fort Krasnik, and committed themselves to finding the ancient city of Somnos. Bilblox listened patiently, occasionally nodding in amazement.
"So you see," concluded Hill, "there's just one of these little plants on the whole planet! It must arrive at its proper destination in Dormia."
"So," said Bilblox with a mischievous smile, "we're not going to tell the vice admiral about any of this?"
"There's no point in doing that," said Hill. "Besides, we're not going to cause her any trouble. It's not like we're being followed. There's not another person in the whole world besides Judy and Pappy who knows what we're up to."
Alfonso cleared his throat and looked about rather uncomfortably.
"What is it?" asked Hill.
"Well, um, that's not exactly true," Alfonso reluctantly said. "There's someone else." Alfonso told them about his two encounters with Kiril. He described what Kiril looked like and what he had said. "The guy really gives me the creeps," said Alfonso. "And I'm pretty sure he's following us."
"Hmm," said Hill with a heavy sigh. "Are you absolutely sure that this happened? I mean, perhaps these were just nightmares. Both times you met this Kiril right after waking up."
"This was no dream," protested Alfonso. "And I have the ring to prove it."
"The ring?" inquired Hill.
"I pulled it off his finger by accident," explained Alfonso. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the gold ring. Hill grabbed it and inspected it carefully. "Hmm," he said. "This is just as I've feared. Well, there's no doubt about it now."
"What?" asked Bilblox.
"Here, have a look," said Hill. He walked across the windmill and picked up a tattered canvas duffle bag that he'd been carrying with him. He pulled out his copy of McBridge's Book of Mythical Plants and quickly flipped through the pages until he came to the entry for the Dragoonya plant of war. The entry included a highly detailed picture revealing the plant's muscular jaws, its yellow fangs, its tortoiselike outer shell, and its dangling roots, which served as its feet.
Alfonso stared at the picture, remembering Pappy's screams as the plant broke his leg in two. He glanced down at the writing below the picture, which he had skipped in the rush to their greenhouse:
Renowned for their seeming Ability to predict the future, the Dragoonya are a fierce and cruel people. At different points in history, they dominated the Asian steppes behind the leadership of their knights who, according to legend, had eyes that shone like the fog. They enslaved or killed everyone they encountered. The origins of the Dragoonya are unknown, but many speak of their capital, named Dargora, hidden in the far north deep within a petrified forest. According to legend, it is visible only from a distance at twilight. Those who ventured into the growing darkness to catch a glimpse of it never lived to tell.
Alfonso felt a shiver travel up his spine. He looked at Hill, who had been reading along with him. "Don't worry about all that," said Hill. "I've got no intention of taking us to Dargora. Come on now, let's focus on the picture of this plant. If you look closely, you'll see something like a dog collar around the plant's neck. There's a metal tag on that collar."
Alfonso and Bilblox both studied the picture carefully.
"Yeah, I see the tag yer talkin' about," said Bilblox. "So what's the big deal, huh?"
Hill reached back into his duffle bag, rummaged around some more, and finally pulled out a leather case containing a small magnifying glass. He handed it to Alfonso. "Go ahead," said Hill. "Take another look."
Alfonso did so and gasped. When he looked through the magnifying glass, he could see—as clear as day—that the metal tag was emblazoned with a picture of a Dormian bloom in front of a setting sun. It was the exact same image as the one on Kiril's ring.
"Whoa!" said Bilblox. "That's pretty spooky! It's the same picture as on the ring. What does it mean?"
"It means that we're in serious trouble," said Hill. "That image is the emblem of the Dragoonya and I'd wager this Kiril fellow is a Dragoonya henchman."
"Who in the heck are the Dragoonya anyway?" asked Bilblox.
"They're the eternal enemies of Dormia," said Hill gravely. "And they're a very powerful and nasty lot."
"So," said Bilblox, "if the Dragoonya are so powerful, why ain't they captured ya yet?"
Hill shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I've been wondering that myself."
As Bilblox and Hill continued to chat away, Alfonso took hold of Kiril's ring and began to study it with the magnifying glass. He stared at it intently without blinking. The plant carved into the ring's coat of arms was clearly a Dormian bloom. The stem, the leaves, and the flower itself were a perfect match to his own plant. This was no surprise. He'd noticed this even without the magnifying glass. What was surprising, however, was the image behind the plant. Initially, it seemed that this image was a setting sun whose fiery rays were casting light onto the plant. But, as Alfonso examined the image closely, he realized that the sun was in fact not a sun at all, but a bonfire whose leaping flames were actually burning the plant. Odd as it seemed, the image on this coat of arms was clearly of a Dormian bloom on fire.
Alfonso sat up and then called over Bilblox and his uncle. "Look what I've found!" he whispered urgently. "It's not a setting sun—it's a bonfire!" Both Hill and Bilblox looked through the magnifying glass. Alfonso was right: the Dormian bloom was being consumed by fire.
"Strange, isn't it?" asked Alfonso. "Why would it be on fire?"
"I think it means we ought to torch this plant and see what happens," said Bilblox eagerly. "It may unlock some kind of secret."
"You brawny, cargo-lugging imbecile!" retorted Hill. "That's the stupidest, most dangerous, and irresponsible idea I've ever heard. You all listen to me and listen good: we are delivering this plant to Dormia—unharmed—and that means you should forget this business about flames right now, before I knock both of your heads together!"
"What about burning off a single leaf?" asked Alfonso. "We could just do it as an experiment."
"Absolutely not," replied Hill.
The matter was settled. Or so it seemed. Yet throughout the remainder of the day the possibility of burning a single leaf continued to linger in Hill's thoughts, for he was a curious man—not well suited to playing the role of the disciplinarian—and he had lived much of his life by doing things on a whim. Now, thanks to Alfonso, a clue had fallen into his lap. Could he really afford to ignore it? Besides, what harm could come from such a small experiment? All trees occasionally lost a leaf or two—this was a natural occurrence—so what would it matter if they burned a single leaf?
Chapter 9
VICE ADMIRAL PURCHEEZIE HOLDS COURT
JUST BEFORE ten o'clock that night, Hill, Alfonso, and Bilblox left the windmill and headed out along the upper deck of the Success Story toward the ship's bridge. The night was dark and the sky shimmered with thousands of stars shining brilliantly. The ship itself was heading almost due north and the wind was already frosty with gusts of polar air. When the three arrived at the bridge, they encountered Shamus, who was standing at the wheel of the ship. The room was a mess of scattered maps, old sailing books, heavy rubber boots, ashtrays overloaded with used lumps of tobacco, and an old phonograph that was playing marching-band tunes from the 1920s. "Good evening," said Shamus wearily. "Sorry for the mess, but I pretty much live in this room. We're a wee bit short on help these days. Don't get much sleep, but who's complaining? Not me. Oh, not me. Just head down that set of stairs and dinner will be served shortly."
"Thanks," said Alfonso.
"Don't thank me yet," he muttered. "If you can eat the slop that Hellen cooks then you've got a hardier stomach than I do."
"Who's Hellen?" asked Alfonso.
"You'll see," Shamus replied.
They parted ways with Shamus and headed down a narrow flight of stairs that led into a dining room of sorts. Actually, it was a small room with a billiards table in the middle that had been converted into a dining room table. Above the billiard table hung a crystal chandelier that looked as if it had belonged in an opera house. It was enormous—far too big for the small space—and the lowermost crystals actually touched the surface of the billiards table. Dust lay everywhere. The place smelled of rotting fish, stale books, mildewed wood, and burned cooking oil. As Alfonso took a seat at the billiards table, a small mouse scurried into the corner pocket.
"Hello, boys!" said a large, matronly woman who emerged from a door at the far end of the room. She wore an apron that nearly covered her entire body, a filthy-looking chef's hat, and a pair of large rubber gloves. "The name is Hellen. I am the cook, though I occasionally do the navigating as well. I expect you met Shamus already, and of course you've met the vice admiral, so now you've met the entire crew."
"The entire crew?" asked Bilblox with a dumbfounded look. "Ya mean there are just three of ya runnin' this whole ship?"
"That's right, honey," said Hellen. "The vice admiral doesn't take a liking to folks too quick. She prefers to operate with a bit of a skeleton crew. Keeps costs down. Of course, there have been other members of the crew over the years, but they never seem to last."
Bilblox raised his eyebrows. "I see," he said.
"Anyway," said Hellen, "what can I get you fellows to eat?"
"What's on the menu?" asked Hill.
"Fried seal—that's all we ever serve."
"We'll take three of those," said Hill.
"Three fried seals coming up!" said Hellen cheerfully. "Do you want any hot sauce with that? It helps kill the taste and the germs as well."
Alfonso, Bilblox, and Hill all nodded.
While they were waiting for their fried seal, they heard the vice admiral's peg leg poking its way down the stairs. "At ease, gentlemen," she said as she entered the room. "How are my passengers doing?"
"We're doing just fine, Vice Admiral," said Hill.
"Good," she said. "Now tell me, Hill, do ya remember yer way around the ship at all? Last time ya were on board, when ya were just a little feller, ya and yer brother played around all day in every nook and cranny of this ship."
"I don't remember much," explained Hill. "But there are some things, like playing hide-and-seek with Leif in the Success Story's cargo hold or climbing ropes on the deck. But other than that, my memory gets pretty hazy. It's like I've got amnesia or something."
"Pity," said the vice admiral as she sat at the billiards table and lit her pipe. "Then ya've got no memory from before I found ya in the Urals?"
"Hardly any," said Hill. "In fact, I have no memory of leaving my parents at all. I've tried everything to remember what they look like, but nothing works..." He let out a painful, drawn-out sigh.
"Well," said the vice admiral as she puffed on her pipe and sipped her beer, "it was really the oddest thing. I'd hired a fellow I knew in Barsh-yin-Binder to take me on a huntin' trip into the Ural Mountains. They have great big bears in those parts, a good bit bigger than the grizzlies in North America, and I was aimin' to shoot one. We must have traveled almost a week, passin' through some wild mountain passes, until we came to the edge of a fearsome forest known as Straszydlo. I'd have to say that it's just about the spookiest place I've ever visited. Anyway, we were aimin' to venture into them woods, when we found ya in an old horse-drawn sled. Not sure where the horse was. Ran off, I guess. Anyway, ya and yer brother were all by yer lonesome and fast asleep to boot. I couldn't believe it. Of course, I'm not much interested in kids—never have been—but I couldn't leave ya there to freeze and die. So we cut the huntin' trip short, hooked yer sled up to our horses, and took ya back to Barsh-yin-Binder."
"I don't remember—" began Hill.
"Figures," interrupted the vice admiral, who seemed slightly annoyed. "I go to the trouble of savin' yer life and ya don't remember a moment of it. And now here I am doin' ya a favor again. I must be the most generous vice admiral on the seven seas—"
Rather suddenly, a loud coughing echoed down the stairway from the bridge above. Then came the sound of Shamus's muttering.
"What's that ya say?" yelled the vice admiral.
"Nothing, madam," yelled Shamus. "Just something stuck in my throat."
Vice Admiral Purcheezie shook her head and took a puff on her pipe.
"What happened in Barsh-yin-Binder?" asked Alfonso. "What did you do with my dad and Uncle Hill once you arrived there?"
"Well, as ya can imagine, there are no proper orphanages in Barsh-yin-Binder so I took 'em back to Fort Krasnik where I entrusted 'em to Dusty Magrewski. And from there, well ya know the rest." She turned to look at Hill. "So ya still haven't told us why yer so eager to go back. Homesick, are ya? Tryin' to find yer family?"
"Something like that," replied Hill. "Plus, I want to show my nephew the Ural Mountains."
"It sounds to me as if yer lookin' for Dormia," replied the vice admiral as she took a long drag on her pipe. "Ya and Leif kept mutterin' about that imaginary place."
"You've heard of Dormia?" blurted out Alfonso.
"Of course!" said the vice admiral. "Every visitor to those parts has. It's the greatest wives' tale in all of northern Asia. People lookin' for adventure or people with no past, like yer uncle here, get caught up in it. They buy some cheap, dime-store book on fantastical places, like Atlantis or Dormia, and believe every last made-up word of it. Well, lemme tell ya—it's just as foolhardy as lookin' for the Fountain of Youth, and much more dangerous. The mountains and woods over there are filled with nasty beasts and dangerous sorts of men an' women."
"That's enough now," said Hill sternly. "I don't want you scaring Alfonso."
"He should be scared!" growled the vice admiral. She slapped the table with her meaty fist, stood up, and stared fiercely at Hill. "A boy of Alfonso's age has no business in those parts. And I ain't sure what kind of uncle would take him there either. Alfonso may trust ya—he's just a gullible young feller—but not me. Not for a minute! What are ya really up to anyway, Hill? How about ya come clean?"
Hill stared back at the vice admiral defiantly, but said nothing.
"Suit yerself," she grumbled. "But don't expect me to come to yer rescue if ya get into trouble in the dark woods of the Urals. I already done that once and ya can bet yer life I ain't gonna do it again."
"We'll be just fine," said Hill with a rather forced smile.
Chapter 10
A PILE OF PURPLE POWDER
BACK IN THE windmill, Alfonso, Bilblox, and Hill prepared for sleep. Bilblox lit a fire in the small stone fireplace, Hill found an extra stash of wool blankets in one of the closets, and Alfonso discovered an old music box that played a soothing Irish lullaby. When it finally came time to go to sleep, Alfonso noticed that his uncle had taken a clock off the wall and placed it on the nightstand by his bed. He was staring at it with fierce intensity.
"What are you doing with that?" Alfonso asked.
"It's broken," replied Hill sleepily. "I am going to repair it."
Bilblox looked confused. "Repair it when?" he asked.
"When I'm sleeping," said Hill with a yawn. "That's when I repair things."
Bilblox simply rolled his eyes. He had heard so many crazy things today that he no longer had the energy to ask questions.
"So you're focusing?" inquired Alfonso. "You're doing the same thing that I did before the ballast match?"
"More or less," replied Hill. "Only I'm using a slightly more advanced technique. It involves meditation. I'll stare at this clock and, all the while, I'll block out all other thoughts. I do this by repeating a sacred phrase—what the Hindus call a mantra japa. The mantra that I use sounds like this: Aum namah Shivaya. Basically, I just keep repeating this mantra—for exactly one hundred and eight times—and, afterward, I fall asleep almost right away. The next thing you know—presto!—my sleeping-self is doing exactly what it is supposed to be doing. Well, most of the time anyway."
"Why do ya do it one hundred and eight times?" asked Bilblox skeptically.
"Oh that's easy," said Hill. "It turns out that one hundred and eight is a magical number. Didn't you know that? I've read quite a few books on this subject matter and let me tell you the facts: the Hindu gods have one hundred and eight names. There are exactly one hundred and eight sins in Tibetan Buddhism. Chinese astrologists believe that there are one hundred and eight sacred stars. The number of stitches on a baseball is, yes, one hundred and eight. The number of episodes of my favorite TV show—Dr. Who—that were accidentally destroyed in the nineteen-seventies, once again, one hundred and eight."
"Wow," said Alfonso. "So all this helps you control what you do in your sleep?"
"My dear, dear nephew," said Hill with a laugh. "The power of sleep is a very mysterious thing. There is no guaranteed or certain way to control it. Goodness knows, some nights I've gone to sleep meditating on the image of a broken watch, but as soon as I drift off, my sleeping-self overrules this and heads across town to get a burrito. That's the way it was with those copies of American Botanist that I kept buying. I didn't intend to do that. My sleeping-self just did it. But the things that we do in our sleep almost always have a reason behind them. After all, those copies of American Botanist led me to you."
"What's the deal with that big ol' hat yer wearin'?" asked Bilblox. "It ain't too practical for this voyage. Why don't ya throw it away?"
Alfonso and Hill looked at each other.
"What's goin' on?" Bilblox asked.
"It's all right," said Hill. "I think we have to tell Bilblox. I mean, after all, he is making this journey with us. He's going to find out sooner or later."
"Okay," said Alfonso. He opened the glass panel on the top hat and pulled out the Dormian bloom. The plant's flower was currently changing color from bright pink to a deep custard-yellow.
"What in the name of Ivan Magrewski is that?" asked Bilblox.
"It's our contraband," explained Alfonso.
"I suspected that ya were smugglin' somethin'," said Bilblox. "I mean, I knew ya were deliverin' contraband to Barsh-yin-Binder, but this is it? Some kind of gimmicky trick plant that changes colors? Ya gotta be kiddin' me!"
"This is no gimmicky trick plant," said Hill sternly. "This is a Dormian bloom—perhaps the rarest and most powerful form of organic life on the planet. Now sit down and pay attention." Hill went on to explain the entire story of how they'd rescued the plant from World's End, fended off the Dragoonya plants of war, fled to Fort Krasnik, and committed themselves to finding the ancient city of Somnos. Bilblox listened patiently, occasionally nodding in amazement.
"So you see," concluded Hill, "there's just one of these little plants on the whole planet! It must arrive at its proper destination in Dormia."
"So," said Bilblox with a mischievous smile, "we're not going to tell the vice admiral about any of this?"
"There's no point in doing that," said Hill. "Besides, we're not going to cause her any trouble. It's not like we're being followed. There's not another person in the whole world besides Judy and Pappy who knows what we're up to."
Alfonso cleared his throat and looked about rather uncomfortably.
"What is it?" asked Hill.
"Well, um, that's not exactly true," Alfonso reluctantly said. "There's someone else." Alfonso told them about his two encounters with Kiril. He described what Kiril looked like and what he had said. "The guy really gives me the creeps," said Alfonso. "And I'm pretty sure he's following us."
"Hmm," said Hill with a heavy sigh. "Are you absolutely sure that this happened? I mean, perhaps these were just nightmares. Both times you met this Kiril right after waking up."
"This was no dream," protested Alfonso. "And I have the ring to prove it."
"The ring?" inquired Hill.
"I pulled it off his finger by accident," explained Alfonso. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the gold ring. Hill grabbed it and inspected it carefully. "Hmm," he said. "This is just as I've feared. Well, there's no doubt about it now."
"What?" asked Bilblox.
"Here, have a look," said Hill. He walked across the windmill and picked up a tattered canvas duffle bag that he'd been carrying with him. He pulled out his copy of McBridge's Book of Mythical Plants and quickly flipped through the pages until he came to the entry for the Dragoonya plant of war. The entry included a highly detailed picture revealing the plant's muscular jaws, its yellow fangs, its tortoiselike outer shell, and its dangling roots, which served as its feet.
Alfonso stared at the picture, remembering Pappy's screams as the plant broke his leg in two. He glanced down at the writing below the picture, which he had skipped in the rush to their greenhouse:
Renowned for their seeming Ability to predict the future, the Dragoonya are a fierce and cruel people. At different points in history, they dominated the Asian steppes behind the leadership of their knights who, according to legend, had eyes that shone like the fog. They enslaved or killed everyone they encountered. The origins of the Dragoonya are unknown, but many speak of their capital, named Dargora, hidden in the far north deep within a petrified forest. According to legend, it is visible only from a distance at twilight. Those who ventured into the growing darkness to catch a glimpse of it never lived to tell.
Alfonso felt a shiver travel up his spine. He looked at Hill, who had been reading along with him. "Don't worry about all that," said Hill. "I've got no intention of taking us to Dargora. Come on now, let's focus on the picture of this plant. If you look closely, you'll see something like a dog collar around the plant's neck. There's a metal tag on that collar."
Alfonso and Bilblox both studied the picture carefully.
"Yeah, I see the tag yer talkin' about," said Bilblox. "So what's the big deal, huh?"
Hill reached back into his duffle bag, rummaged around some more, and finally pulled out a leather case containing a small magnifying glass. He handed it to Alfonso. "Go ahead," said Hill. "Take another look."
Alfonso did so and gasped. When he looked through the magnifying glass, he could see—as clear as day—that the metal tag was emblazoned with a picture of a Dormian bloom in front of a setting sun. It was the exact same image as the one on Kiril's ring.
"Whoa!" said Bilblox. "That's pretty spooky! It's the same picture as on the ring. What does it mean?"
"It means that we're in serious trouble," said Hill. "That image is the emblem of the Dragoonya and I'd wager this Kiril fellow is a Dragoonya henchman."
"Who in the heck are the Dragoonya anyway?" asked Bilblox.
"They're the eternal enemies of Dormia," said Hill gravely. "And they're a very powerful and nasty lot."
"So," said Bilblox, "if the Dragoonya are so powerful, why ain't they captured ya yet?"
Hill shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I've been wondering that myself."
As Bilblox and Hill continued to chat away, Alfonso took hold of Kiril's ring and began to study it with the magnifying glass. He stared at it intently without blinking. The plant carved into the ring's coat of arms was clearly a Dormian bloom. The stem, the leaves, and the flower itself were a perfect match to his own plant. This was no surprise. He'd noticed this even without the magnifying glass. What was surprising, however, was the image behind the plant. Initially, it seemed that this image was a setting sun whose fiery rays were casting light onto the plant. But, as Alfonso examined the image closely, he realized that the sun was in fact not a sun at all, but a bonfire whose leaping flames were actually burning the plant. Odd as it seemed, the image on this coat of arms was clearly of a Dormian bloom on fire.
Alfonso sat up and then called over Bilblox and his uncle. "Look what I've found!" he whispered urgently. "It's not a setting sun—it's a bonfire!" Both Hill and Bilblox looked through the magnifying glass. Alfonso was right: the Dormian bloom was being consumed by fire.
"Strange, isn't it?" asked Alfonso. "Why would it be on fire?"
"I think it means we ought to torch this plant and see what happens," said Bilblox eagerly. "It may unlock some kind of secret."
"You brawny, cargo-lugging imbecile!" retorted Hill. "That's the stupidest, most dangerous, and irresponsible idea I've ever heard. You all listen to me and listen good: we are delivering this plant to Dormia—unharmed—and that means you should forget this business about flames right now, before I knock both of your heads together!"
"What about burning off a single leaf?" asked Alfonso. "We could just do it as an experiment."
"Absolutely not," replied Hill.
The matter was settled. Or so it seemed. Yet throughout the remainder of the day the possibility of burning a single leaf continued to linger in Hill's thoughts, for he was a curious man—not well suited to playing the role of the disciplinarian—and he had lived much of his life by doing things on a whim. Now, thanks to Alfonso, a clue had fallen into his lap. Could he really afford to ignore it? Besides, what harm could come from such a small experiment? All trees occasionally lost a leaf or two—this was a natural occurrence—so what would it matter if they burned a single leaf?
Chapter 9
VICE ADMIRAL PURCHEEZIE HOLDS COURT
JUST BEFORE ten o'clock that night, Hill, Alfonso, and Bilblox left the windmill and headed out along the upper deck of the Success Story toward the ship's bridge. The night was dark and the sky shimmered with thousands of stars shining brilliantly. The ship itself was heading almost due north and the wind was already frosty with gusts of polar air. When the three arrived at the bridge, they encountered Shamus, who was standing at the wheel of the ship. The room was a mess of scattered maps, old sailing books, heavy rubber boots, ashtrays overloaded with used lumps of tobacco, and an old phonograph that was playing marching-band tunes from the 1920s. "Good evening," said Shamus wearily. "Sorry for the mess, but I pretty much live in this room. We're a wee bit short on help these days. Don't get much sleep, but who's complaining? Not me. Oh, not me. Just head down that set of stairs and dinner will be served shortly."
"Thanks," said Alfonso.
"Don't thank me yet," he muttered. "If you can eat the slop that Hellen cooks then you've got a hardier stomach than I do."
"Who's Hellen?" asked Alfonso.
"You'll see," Shamus replied.
They parted ways with Shamus and headed down a narrow flight of stairs that led into a dining room of sorts. Actually, it was a small room with a billiards table in the middle that had been converted into a dining room table. Above the billiard table hung a crystal chandelier that looked as if it had belonged in an opera house. It was enormous—far too big for the small space—and the lowermost crystals actually touched the surface of the billiards table. Dust lay everywhere. The place smelled of rotting fish, stale books, mildewed wood, and burned cooking oil. As Alfonso took a seat at the billiards table, a small mouse scurried into the corner pocket.
"Hello, boys!" said a large, matronly woman who emerged from a door at the far end of the room. She wore an apron that nearly covered her entire body, a filthy-looking chef's hat, and a pair of large rubber gloves. "The name is Hellen. I am the cook, though I occasionally do the navigating as well. I expect you met Shamus already, and of course you've met the vice admiral, so now you've met the entire crew."
"The entire crew?" asked Bilblox with a dumbfounded look. "Ya mean there are just three of ya runnin' this whole ship?"
"That's right, honey," said Hellen. "The vice admiral doesn't take a liking to folks too quick. She prefers to operate with a bit of a skeleton crew. Keeps costs down. Of course, there have been other members of the crew over the years, but they never seem to last."
Bilblox raised his eyebrows. "I see," he said.
"Anyway," said Hellen, "what can I get you fellows to eat?"
"What's on the menu?" asked Hill.
"Fried seal—that's all we ever serve."
"We'll take three of those," said Hill.
"Three fried seals coming up!" said Hellen cheerfully. "Do you want any hot sauce with that? It helps kill the taste and the germs as well."
Alfonso, Bilblox, and Hill all nodded.
While they were waiting for their fried seal, they heard the vice admiral's peg leg poking its way down the stairs. "At ease, gentlemen," she said as she entered the room. "How are my passengers doing?"
"We're doing just fine, Vice Admiral," said Hill.
"Good," she said. "Now tell me, Hill, do ya remember yer way around the ship at all? Last time ya were on board, when ya were just a little feller, ya and yer brother played around all day in every nook and cranny of this ship."
"I don't remember much," explained Hill. "But there are some things, like playing hide-and-seek with Leif in the Success Story's cargo hold or climbing ropes on the deck. But other than that, my memory gets pretty hazy. It's like I've got amnesia or something."
"Pity," said the vice admiral as she sat at the billiards table and lit her pipe. "Then ya've got no memory from before I found ya in the Urals?"
"Hardly any," said Hill. "In fact, I have no memory of leaving my parents at all. I've tried everything to remember what they look like, but nothing works..." He let out a painful, drawn-out sigh.
"Well," said the vice admiral as she puffed on her pipe and sipped her beer, "it was really the oddest thing. I'd hired a fellow I knew in Barsh-yin-Binder to take me on a huntin' trip into the Ural Mountains. They have great big bears in those parts, a good bit bigger than the grizzlies in North America, and I was aimin' to shoot one. We must have traveled almost a week, passin' through some wild mountain passes, until we came to the edge of a fearsome forest known as Straszydlo. I'd have to say that it's just about the spookiest place I've ever visited. Anyway, we were aimin' to venture into them woods, when we found ya in an old horse-drawn sled. Not sure where the horse was. Ran off, I guess. Anyway, ya and yer brother were all by yer lonesome and fast asleep to boot. I couldn't believe it. Of course, I'm not much interested in kids—never have been—but I couldn't leave ya there to freeze and die. So we cut the huntin' trip short, hooked yer sled up to our horses, and took ya back to Barsh-yin-Binder."
"I don't remember—" began Hill.
"Figures," interrupted the vice admiral, who seemed slightly annoyed. "I go to the trouble of savin' yer life and ya don't remember a moment of it. And now here I am doin' ya a favor again. I must be the most generous vice admiral on the seven seas—"
Rather suddenly, a loud coughing echoed down the stairway from the bridge above. Then came the sound of Shamus's muttering.
"What's that ya say?" yelled the vice admiral.
"Nothing, madam," yelled Shamus. "Just something stuck in my throat."
Vice Admiral Purcheezie shook her head and took a puff on her pipe.
"What happened in Barsh-yin-Binder?" asked Alfonso. "What did you do with my dad and Uncle Hill once you arrived there?"
"Well, as ya can imagine, there are no proper orphanages in Barsh-yin-Binder so I took 'em back to Fort Krasnik where I entrusted 'em to Dusty Magrewski. And from there, well ya know the rest." She turned to look at Hill. "So ya still haven't told us why yer so eager to go back. Homesick, are ya? Tryin' to find yer family?"
"Something like that," replied Hill. "Plus, I want to show my nephew the Ural Mountains."
"It sounds to me as if yer lookin' for Dormia," replied the vice admiral as she took a long drag on her pipe. "Ya and Leif kept mutterin' about that imaginary place."
"You've heard of Dormia?" blurted out Alfonso.
"Of course!" said the vice admiral. "Every visitor to those parts has. It's the greatest wives' tale in all of northern Asia. People lookin' for adventure or people with no past, like yer uncle here, get caught up in it. They buy some cheap, dime-store book on fantastical places, like Atlantis or Dormia, and believe every last made-up word of it. Well, lemme tell ya—it's just as foolhardy as lookin' for the Fountain of Youth, and much more dangerous. The mountains and woods over there are filled with nasty beasts and dangerous sorts of men an' women."
"That's enough now," said Hill sternly. "I don't want you scaring Alfonso."
"He should be scared!" growled the vice admiral. She slapped the table with her meaty fist, stood up, and stared fiercely at Hill. "A boy of Alfonso's age has no business in those parts. And I ain't sure what kind of uncle would take him there either. Alfonso may trust ya—he's just a gullible young feller—but not me. Not for a minute! What are ya really up to anyway, Hill? How about ya come clean?"
Hill stared back at the vice admiral defiantly, but said nothing.
"Suit yerself," she grumbled. "But don't expect me to come to yer rescue if ya get into trouble in the dark woods of the Urals. I already done that once and ya can bet yer life I ain't gonna do it again."
"We'll be just fine," said Hill with a rather forced smile.
Chapter 10
A PILE OF PURPLE POWDER
BACK IN THE windmill, Alfonso, Bilblox, and Hill prepared for sleep. Bilblox lit a fire in the small stone fireplace, Hill found an extra stash of wool blankets in one of the closets, and Alfonso discovered an old music box that played a soothing Irish lullaby. When it finally came time to go to sleep, Alfonso noticed that his uncle had taken a clock off the wall and placed it on the nightstand by his bed. He was staring at it with fierce intensity.
"What are you doing with that?" Alfonso asked.
"It's broken," replied Hill sleepily. "I am going to repair it."
Bilblox looked confused. "Repair it when?" he asked.
"When I'm sleeping," said Hill with a yawn. "That's when I repair things."
Bilblox simply rolled his eyes. He had heard so many crazy things today that he no longer had the energy to ask questions.
"So you're focusing?" inquired Alfonso. "You're doing the same thing that I did before the ballast match?"
"More or less," replied Hill. "Only I'm using a slightly more advanced technique. It involves meditation. I'll stare at this clock and, all the while, I'll block out all other thoughts. I do this by repeating a sacred phrase—what the Hindus call a mantra japa. The mantra that I use sounds like this: Aum namah Shivaya. Basically, I just keep repeating this mantra—for exactly one hundred and eight times—and, afterward, I fall asleep almost right away. The next thing you know—presto!—my sleeping-self is doing exactly what it is supposed to be doing. Well, most of the time anyway."
"Why do ya do it one hundred and eight times?" asked Bilblox skeptically.
"Oh that's easy," said Hill. "It turns out that one hundred and eight is a magical number. Didn't you know that? I've read quite a few books on this subject matter and let me tell you the facts: the Hindu gods have one hundred and eight names. There are exactly one hundred and eight sins in Tibetan Buddhism. Chinese astrologists believe that there are one hundred and eight sacred stars. The number of stitches on a baseball is, yes, one hundred and eight. The number of episodes of my favorite TV show—Dr. Who—that were accidentally destroyed in the nineteen-seventies, once again, one hundred and eight."
"Wow," said Alfonso. "So all this helps you control what you do in your sleep?"
"My dear, dear nephew," said Hill with a laugh. "The power of sleep is a very mysterious thing. There is no guaranteed or certain way to control it. Goodness knows, some nights I've gone to sleep meditating on the image of a broken watch, but as soon as I drift off, my sleeping-self overrules this and heads across town to get a burrito. That's the way it was with those copies of American Botanist that I kept buying. I didn't intend to do that. My sleeping-self just did it. But the things that we do in our sleep almost always have a reason behind them. After all, those copies of American Botanist led me to you."
