The Legend Thief (17 page)

With an exasperated sigh, Sky swung at Chase. Chase flicked his sword away, barely moving. Sky feigned right and then lunged. Chase sidestepped, thrust Sky past with his elbow, and then swatted him on the rump as he fell.

The hunters laughed and Chase took a bow, soaking up their adoration.

Sky climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. Then he likewise took a bow. T-Bone and Hands whooped it up, cheering, and Chase laughed, but the other hunters went silent, suddenly realizing he was mocking them.
As
the laughter
died ,
Sky berated himself yet again: He needed allies, not enemies, but he kept making things worse.

Sky attacked and Chase parried. Then, wanting to put on a good show for his audience, Sky attacked wildly.
Swing.
Thrust. Hack. Dive. Hack. Roll. Hack, hack, hack. He knew it was a stupid way to fight, but he wasn't trying to win.

Chase parried everything and then stepped to the side and swatted Sky across the arm. Sky rolled past Chase's next swing, coming up behind him.

Sky swung. Chase stepped to the side.

Then Chase let loose with a series of blows that left Sky reeling. Chase gave him one final smack and Sky fell hard.

"Well, that was entertaining," Chase observed, staring down at Sky.

Morton's hunters cheered.

"Come now, Chase," Morton chortled, "it appears our 'farce,' as Winston put it, is over. There's no need to
humiliate
the boy. We'll have plenty of time for that later." Morton's hunters laughed and cheered some more. Chase offered Sky his hand and Sky took it.

"No hard feelings?" said Chase, sounding sincere.

Sky leaned forward so that Chase could hear him over the cheering. "I know you put the monocle in my pocket-where did you get it?"

''I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Chase replied. He turned and walked away to join Morton and his hunters in their celebration and mockery.

Sky threw down his sword. He was tempted to take another how-he'd just put on a wicked show, after all-but this time he stopped himself before he messed up his advantage.

Winston appeared, along with a worried-looking Dad, several smiling friends, and a small gathering of grim-faced hunters from Exile. Winston looked him over. "We'll have to work on your swordplay, I suppose."

And they did. For the next two hours Winston, Dad, Beau, and a few of the other Exile hunters drilled him over and over again. Even Hands and T-Bone joined in. They seemed so sincere in their efforts that Sky didn't have the heart to tell them he'd thrown the fight. He might have lost anyway-probably would have-but he hadn't even tried to win. He'd fought for al1 different reason entirely.

In a matter of seconds he'd moved from public enemy number one to a weak boy hardly worth noticing. For the moment, at least, he'd earned a breather from the hunters. Now he could turn his attention to more important things, like finding Alexander's blade and stopping Bedlam.

He'd come here to lose, and that's precisely what he'd done, and by losing he'd won.

The office door hung from a single hinge, like a loose tooth waiting for a strong belch. Warily, Sky crept into the room, watching the shadows. Bits of wood from the doorframe littered the floor immediately around the door
and ,
farther in, Sky saw toppled bookshelves, broken furniture, and holes in the walls-artwork hanging askew or tossed upon the floor. Black, white, and gray Piebald feathers were scattered everywhere and bits of Marrowick wax clung to shattered glass fragments of the window.

"Miss Terry," Sky whispered, using Ursula's "school" name.

"Are you here?"

He pulled out the note he'd gotten from Fred and double-checked it to make sure he wasn't missing anything.

BEING WATCHED.
MEET IN MISS TERRY’S OFFICE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU.

That was it.
Nothing else.

Sky stepped gingerly around the scattered books and papers. He lifted the corner of a bookshelf, peering underneath to make sure she wasn't buried. Had Ursula been in here when this had happened?

He hadn't seen her for ... how long had it been?
Certainly not since the last full moon.
He'd had subs in gym class since then, though he'd never heard why and he'd been too busy to c heck.

He dropped the bookshelf and walked across it to get to the desk. He'd spent many hours in this office over the last year, enough hours that Ursula had actually stuck an old recliner in the corner for him. He could see it there now, lying on its side, the stuffing ripped out. Ursula was the only adult who knew he was a Changeling, and while Crystal and the others were very understanding about it all, they still didn't
understand
what it was like. But Ursula, on the other hand, was a monster like him; she understood perfectly.

Sky slipped around the desk. The drawers had been pried open, the folders and papers thrown out. He found a personal calendar on the floor and saw that she'd marked out the entire month with the word "Vacation." Sky sighed in relief. She had been gone for over a week-she couldn't have been here when this had happened. But he had to wonder: Where did a Whisper, who could change into anything over the three days of the full moon simply by biting it, go for vacation?

More important, who sent the note?

Sky looked around the room but didn't see anything obvious, nothing he could've imagined the sender of the note whoever that was-wanting him to have.

He stood back, examining the desk. It was large and thick, old, made of some ornamented dark wood. He knew that old desks such as this sometimes held secret compartments; Phineas had even made him build a few to see if Sky could create a compartment Phineas couldn't find.

Of course, whoever had torn apart Ursula's office probably knew about secret compartments as well. But had they had time to look?

Sky circled the desk, looking for movable parts. As he ran his hands along the surface, he noticed discoloration in a few spots, areas lighter than the rest where the lacquer had worn off from rubbing. He found six knobs, only three of which were discolored and moved when he pushed them. Next, he found two hidden latches. He clicked these and the sides of the desk popped open. Empty.
Already cleaned out.

He pushed the three worn knobs and another compartment opened on the back-also cleaned out. He tried pressing the other knobs, but they either wouldn't move now that the desk was open, or pressing them had no effect.

Sky felt frustrated. He stared at the desk, imagining it as a giant trap ... no, not a trap, an
anti-trap:
a device meant to repel rather than snare. Sky started walking through the situation in his mind. How would thieves react when they saw this desk?

First, they would start with the drawers-the obvious. If they were persistent, they would find the latches and open the sides. Most would stop there, believing they'd found the secret, but anything stored there would be a misdirection, something that looked important, but wasn't. The truly clever would keep searching. They'd find the knobs and the second compartment, which only opened after the first. They'd press the other knobs and search some more, just as Sky had, and then, finding nothing, they'd conclude they'd found everything of value and leave. But if the builder was truly clever, he'd understand the psychology of the thief, know that the thief would find those "secret" compartments, and hide the real treasure elsewhere.

A careful thief would open one drawer at a time. A thief in a hurry would open everything at once. But only someone who wasn't a thief at all wouldn't open anything.

Sky closed all the drawers and compartments.

He pressed the discolored knobs again. They locked into place and the sides popped open.

'That's not right
... ,
"said Sky, closing the sides again. He stared at the knobs. Something wasn't ... and then it occurred to him.
More misdirection.
Those weren't discolored by rubbing they were d is colored on purpose!

He pressed the three colored knobs that wouldn't depress before, and the knobs locked into place. Catches released and the entire desktop lifted up a smidge.

Sky pushed on a side and the desktop pivoted a few inches, revealing a narrow compartment underneath.

Inside, he found a letter and a few pictures. Sky flipped through the pictures: photos of the hunters who'd escaped the prison last year, a policeman, a bagger at the grocery store, .1 bowling alley
manager
, his parent's accountant, his parents!

Some, he knew, were hunters. Others were just random people. He flipped through a few more, stopping on a picture of Mr. Dibble, his music teacher.

"Weird
... ,
"said Sky. He flipped the picture over. On the hack, he read: "Alistair Dibble: Tuba Lover."

"Really weird."
Sky returned the picture to the stack, which he shoved in his backpack. He could find out why Ursula had these the next time he saw her. For now he needed to figure out what the note sender planned to give him and, somehow, he didn't think weird pictures of random people in Exile was it.

He pulled out a stack of letters bundled together with red yarn. He opened one, realized it was a love letter from Beau, and quickly shut it. He found several pictures tucked between the letters: Beau eating alone at a cafe next to a river; Beau dressed in odd clothing and riding a camel; Beau sitting alone on a mountain ridge watching the stars. And in each picture Beau didn't seem to notice the camera.

Feeling like an intruder, Sky returned the letter and pictures to the stack and retied the yarn. He slipped the bundle into his backpack, intending to return all of these things to Ursula when he found her.

Sky pulled the last letter from the compartment.

U,

Still hunting C. P and E are Slippery and in place. Give love and pictures to N. Look for the Marrowick delivery on the setter in the fit between the bedposts-sponsor is unclear…beware. C wants it, too; watch out for Harrow Wrights.

- M

Sky stared at the hastily scrawled note. This looked more promising. And, with Fred's recent run-ins with the Marrowick, it seemed like just the thing someone- whoever sent him the note-might want him to have. He stored it in his backpack to examine later.

He started to push the desktop back into place when a thought occurred to him: Could there be one more secret compartment, the place where Ursula stored her greatest treasures?

Sky examined the desk once again, searching. As he ran his hand along the side of the compartment he'd just emptied, he felt a small catch. He pulled it, and a tiny door flipped open. He reached into the opening and found another small stack of pictures ... every one of which was of him. And they weren't just recent; they seemed to span his entire life!
Sky at five at a park in Phoenix.
Sky at nine eating corn on the cob.
Sky at two waving at the camera.

Dozens of pictures, all of him.

Before Sky could process this latest discovery, he heard footsteps. He shoved the pictures into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Then he darted for the door.

"All right, thanks for the help, Miss Terry," Sky called as he left, waving behind him. He slid the door closed, holding it in place as Mr. Dibble walked up.

"Sky?
What are you doing here?" asked Mr. Dibble.

"Mr. Dibble! I was just coming to find you!" said Sky, diverting Mr. Dibble back the way he came.

"You were?" said Mr. Dibble, sounding suspicious.

"Of course!" said Sky, speaking loudly to cover the sound of the door falling to the floor behind him.

Mr. Dibble glanced back, but Sky continued on, dragging Mr. Dibble with him. "I've been ...
er
... thinking that I'd like to get better at that!
tuba
. Do you have time to teach me how to do the,
er
.
..
that
one thing I do poorly?"

Sky wanted to get Mr. Dibble out of there. If Mr. Dibble entered Ursula's office, he'd accuse Sky of demolishing it, and Sky didn't have time to waste. Better a quick few minutes practicing tuba with Mr. Dibble than an afternoon spent talking to teachers and police.

Probably.

"Which one thing?" said Mr.
Dibble.
"You do it all poorly."

"You know," Sky persisted, "the part with the buttons and all."

"The valves?"
Mr. Dibble offered.

"Yeah-those!" said Sky. "So do you have time?"

"Don't you have class right now?" asked Mr. Dibble.

"Canceled," said Sky.

"That doesn't happen," said Mr. Dibble.
"Ever."

Sky smiled nervously.

"You missed my class this morning," Mr. Dibble pointed out. "And homecoming is tonight. You are planning to play, aren't you?"

"Uh ..."

"Your fellow band mates are counting on you," Mr. Dibble continued. "You're not thinking of letting them down, are you?"

"
Er
..."

"Sky, clearly you're hoping to use me as an excuse to miss your next class," said Mr. Dibble. "I’m more than willing to help you. Nothing is more important than the tuba, after all. But first, you must help me. Can I count on you tonight?"

"Ah ... sure," Sky lied. He wanted to support his band mates and Mr. Dibble-even if he did hate the tuba-but he suspected he would be busy with Bedlam's army tonight. "Now can we go?"

"Well, I did have an appointment with Miss Terry. Perhaps if I told her
... ,
"said Mr. Dibble, starting to turn back. "Already canceled," said Sky, steering Mr. Dibble down the hall.

"Really?" asked Mr. Dibble.

"No," said Sky. "But she'll understand. Fifteen minutes, Mr. Dibble. That's all I'm asking for. Fifteen minutes, and my tuba will sing your praises."

''I'd like to hear your tuba sing
anything,"
said Mr. Dibble.

"Great!" Sky exclaimed.
"To the tuba room!"

Mr. Dibble sighed heavily and rubbed his temples.

Ursula's door gave one final crash as the last hinge broke free. Sky gave a nervous laugh, and then they were around the corner, heading for the music room.