The Book of Dares for Lost Friends (21 page)

The two stared at each other.

“Why do you want the bowl anyway?” the Captain said.

“To bind the demons,” Tasman whispered.

*   *   *

Val counted to two hundred. Twice. Then she counted fifty more. The lights of the lobby only emphasized the obvious. The dark was getting darker. She couldn't wait any longer. She had to go whether or not Tasman showed up. Too much depended on it. She picked up the bag and went outside.

She walked slowly toward the park. She froze when she heard footsteps running behind her.

A jogger passed by.

Val watched the bounce of the girl's orange shoes. She set her shoulders and walked on. She didn't look right or left. She couldn't worry that something had happened to Tasman. Or that she wouldn't know what to do without him. Worrying wouldn't help. She was all by herself in front of the goal, defending a penalty kick. Her arms could only reach so far. Her legs could only jump so high. She didn't know where the kick would come. None of that mattered. She would hurl herself across the goal. And if she failed, at least she would know she had tried.

Then someone came up behind her and grabbed the handle of the canvas bag.

Val tugged back and stuck out her foot to trip the thief.

Tasman sprawled at her feet.

“Oh, no!” Val said.

“I'm okay.” Tasman gingerly felt whatever was inside his battered backpack. He sighed with relief. “Everything is okay.”

He got to his feet.

“I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you,” Val said.

“I was so late, I was running to catch up. I thought I should help you.” He took the canvas shopping bag.

She was glad he didn't grab her sleeping bag or her pillow. That would have been weird—even though the pillowcase was clean so it didn't have any slobber spots.

“You have a lot of baggage. I don't mean the emotional kind. You have very little of that. You seem to be traveling down the interstate of life without carrying any cargo. You lack even the burden of being grateful you have no burden.”

“You talk more when you're nervous,” Val said.

“You're right. Now my baggage is different from yours. I have very few actual objects. Instead I carry my history, my knowledge of my history, and my efforts to rationalize my knowledge of my history. And since I can't, I can try to mitigate.” He spread the fingers of one hand over the round shape protruding from his backpack.

“What's ‘mitigate'?”

“To ameliorate.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Sorry. To make it better.”

She placed her hand on the backpack, too. “So you got the bowl.”

“Yes.”

“Was the Captain mad? Are you in trouble?”

“I don't care. I had to have it. Look at the world we live in.” He pointed to the enormous colorful orbs that seemed to float inside the Museum of Natural History. “An evil mischief maker has imprisoned some moons inside that gigantic box.”

She smiled and pointed to the shadowy trees that hovered above the dark gray wall. “And there? What about there?”

He stopped. He had nothing to say about the park.

The sun had set. The city streets were brightly lit. The distant buildings glowed. The path they must take, however, was marked by only a few flickering globes.

They stopped when they reached the wall.

“We could go in the entrance,” Val said

“We could read abridged books. We could drink decaffeinated coffee. We could listen to Muzak versions of Beatles songs.” Tasman put the bag on top of the wall and climbed up, taking care not to bump his backpack against the stones.

Val threw the sleeping bag over and joined him on top of the wall. They stood side by side. And then, without saying a word, they jumped down into the darkness of the park.

The city sounds faded as they followed the curve of the path. He was silent, as if listening for something in the dark. The squish of her shoes. The jingle of her backpack. The sound of her breathing. The sound of his breathing. They came to the theater where Shakespeare plays were performed in the summer. He paused to stare at a statue of Romeo and Juliet embracing.

“Is something wrong?” Val said.

“No, no. I just was wondering.” He glanced at Val, and then back at the statue, and then at Val again.

“What?”

He lifted the bag higher. “Might there be food in here?”

“I guess you don't know my mom. Are you hungry?”

“Always. You should be, too. Hungry for knowledge, hungry for justice, hungry for truth, hungry for…” he paused.

“Cookies?” she suggested.

“Yes.”

“Come on.” She led the way. Just past the entrance to the theater, a pier jutted out into a small pond. He put down the bag and sat on a bench. She got out a large plastic container and offered it to him.

He selected a cookie and devoured it in three bites. “These are good.”

“And good for you.”

“I can tell.”

He smiled at her. She wasn't used to his silence. It was unsettling. She looked across the pond, where the tall castle rose up from the great rocks. Lanora loved to have adventures there. She was never a princess who dwelled within. She was the leader of the Mongolian hordes who stormed the ramparts and conquered it all.

Val wondered where Lanora was at that moment. Was she packing for her trip tomorrow? What would she think about what Val and Tasman were doing? What
were
they doing? They shouldn't be sitting there, in the near darkness, at the edge of someone else's fairy tale.

“Let's go, okay?” She stood up.

“Wait.” He pulled her back to the bench.

She landed clumsily on his leg. She quickly slid off.

“Can I have another cookie?” he whispered.

She offered him the container again. He took two. He ate more slowly than she had ever seen any kid eat. He was acting so unlike himself, she wished she could see his eyes. Maybe then she would know why he was lingering on the bench. Was there something he wanted to say? “Is something wrong?” she said.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You're acting so weird. I mean, you usually do. But now you're acting different.”

“You mean normal?” He slipped out from the straps of the backpack and carefully placed it on the bench beside him. He touched the shape briefly. Then he turned toward her. She could feel him thinking something so intensely; she could almost hear the gears grinding in his skull. Suddenly she knew what that was. “It's not going to work, is it?”

“What?”

“That's what you're trying
not
to tell me. The ceremony isn't going to work. We're wasting our time. Lanora is doomed.”

He shook his head. “I wasn't thinking about Lanora.”

“Isn't that why we're here?”

He took hold of her hand and squeezed her fingers. His skin wasn't soft.

She couldn't untangle all the emotions in the air. The dread. The dark. The distant glow of the city. The glitter of the skyscrapers in the distance. The fairy-tale castle above the dark lagoon. The future wasn't as far away as she thought.

She heard something rustling in the bushes. She glanced over her shoulder and then turned back to see if he had heard it, too.

“Taz?” she said.

He smiled. “I have achieved Taz.”

He leaned in to kiss her.

 

Thirty-five

Lanora pushed a few leaves out of the way so she could see. Were they really kissing? Was Val letting her lips touch a boy's lips? Was Tasman choosing Val as the recipient of his kiss? Yes. Yes. Yes. Here it was—this most momentous of moments. Lanora was so excited.

Then she remembered. This was Val's kiss. The moment from which there could be no return belonged to Val.

Lanora shut her eyes. Watching other people kiss was the worst. No, the worst was watching when you wanted to be kissing. When you desperately wanted something good to happen to you, but instead you got a front-row seat for someone else's happiness.

Now she was sorry she had followed them. Now it seemed like she had chosen another wrong path. Another road to misery. Why had she been curious? Why had she even gone into the park? Why had she wanted to say good-bye to the Bower? She groaned a little. Then she covered her mouth.

They stopped kissing and turned to look toward Lanora's hiding place.

Lanora held her breath. There was something worse than watching people kiss—being caught in the act of watching people kiss.

“We should get going,” Tasman said.

“Yes,” Val said.

They kissed again. This time their lips touched in a different way. This time they seemed to claim courage from each other.

Val shouldered the sleeping bag and the pillow. Tasman slid his arms through the straps of his backpack and picked up the canvas bag. Then they joined hands and walked deeper into the park.

Lanora was shocked. Where did they think they were going? Deeper meant darker. And darker meant that anything could happen—most likely any bad thing. She decided to go back home. Her mom would be so upset if she discovered Lanora had snuck down the fire escape. But Lanora couldn't leave her hiding place yet.

Tasman and Val had stopped in front of a statue of a king riding into battle. The king held two crossed swords high in the air, one in each hand.

“Did you bring a sword?” Val said.

Tasman hit himself on the head like he was an idiot. “Oh, gee. I completely forgot.”

“We'll have to save Lanora without one,” Val said.

Had Lanora really heard Val say that? Val had to be kidding. But she had sounded so serious. Like she really did want to save Lanora.

Val and Tasman took the left fork of the path and continued on into the park.

Lanora came out from the bushes. The wind tossed her hair, along with the branches of that tree. She twisted her hair with her hand to bring it under control. Why would they want to save her? She wanted to laugh. Save her? Yeah, right. She dared them to. She wondered just how they thought they could do that. What kind of crazy scheme had they invented?

She stopped in front of the king with his crossed swords. Nobody saved anybody anymore. That was ancient history.

And yet she, too, took the left fork and went deeper into the park.

*   *   *

A tall, narrow prism of gray stone rose up above the tops of the trees and pointed toward the sky.

“The obelisk,” Tasman whispered.

Val squeezed Tasman's hand.

The path curved through the woods. They lost site of the towering stone. Then there it was again, in a small plaza surrounded by groves of short trees and bushes. They climbed twelve steps and stopped. The obelisk was much bigger than she had expected.

In the center of the plaza was a large base about four feet high. On top of it was a massive cement cube. On top of that, much higher than Val could reach, four fierce metal crabs were ready to attack. The obelisk balanced uneasily on their backs.

The obelisk had been carved from one huge piece of granite. As Val's eyes traveled up and up along its sides, it seemed to lean ominously toward her. She moved closer to Tasman, who was studying one of the plaques between the railing and the monument.

“‘The Horus, Strong-Bull-Beloved-of-Ra. There is no-one who did what he did, in the house of his father.'”

“What are you reading?” Val said.

“A translation of what the Egyptians inscribed in the granite.”

Val could barely see the strange markings carved in each side of the stone.

“Most of the hieroglyphics have been worn away.” Tasman raised his hands above his head, up toward the stone. “And so we'll never know what Horus did, in the house of his father.”

Val raised her arms, as well. Her hands trembled. Tasman was close to her. She felt her heart pound. Something was going to happen, she thought. Here. Now. The clouds wheeled around the pointed tip of the obelisk. It seemed to hold up the entire sky.

“Horus was the son of Ra. Sons have always inherited from their fathers. Sometimes it's a kingdom. And sometimes…”

“Sometimes?” Val said.

“Sometimes it isn't.” He lowered his arms and took off his backpack to set it on the ground. He looked at the plaza. He pounded the bricks with his fists.

“What's wrong?” Val touched his shoulder.

“We can't do the ceremony!” Tasman grabbed her arms.

“Why not?”

“It won't be safe. We can't bury the bowl.”

Val rubbed the cracks between the bricks. Just a little grit came up. It would be impossible to dig a hole. She looked at the grove of short trees that surrounded the plaza. “What about over there? It's near enough, isn't it?”

They held hands and walked around the edge of the plaza, trying to adjust to the idea of the dark. There were four separate groups of twisted trees, one on each side of the plaza. The groves were dense. The twisted branches made a tangle of vegetation. But there was dirt below the leaves.

“It'll be okay.” Val walked into the shadows between two trees on the southern side of the plaza. She stamped on the dirt with her sneaker. “The ground is pretty hard. You didn't bring a shovel, did you?”

Tasman grabbed the backpack. “Maybe we can dig with a stick. Do you see any on the ground?” He took one tentative step into the grove.

Something rustled in the bushes.

They both ran back. They ducked under the railing and stood with their backs against the base of the obelisk. Tasman moved the backpack so that it was in front of him. Then he put his arm around Val so that he could protect them both.

There was a scuffling and a short screech.

Mau came out, carrying a small rat in her mouth. She laid the corpse at their feet.

Val looked at Tasman. “Maybe Mau cleansed the place for us?”

He shook his head. “We can't bury the bowl there.”