The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) (25 page)

CHAPTER 27

THE ELEVENTH DIMENSION

Standing in the doorway of Columbus’s cabin, Blake glanced back at the man who was about to change the world. “Take care, Admiral,” he murmured.

Erica looked across the purplish-blue grass. “I’ve seen this place before.”

“The sapphire fields?”

“Yeah, when I thought you were shark food.”

“This is how the Parabulls got me here.” Blake leapt onto the spongy ground, flattening some of the blades. “Let’s go. We gotta find Guinevere and MacArthur.”

Erica dabbed her foot in the boggy mush. “This stuff’s weird.”

“Don’t worry. It’s totally cool.”

She followed hesitantly, several steps behind. A brilliant yellowish light appeared in a nearby clump of grass.

“The membrane’s healthy here again, thanks to you, Blake.” The feminine voice was kind. “I wish it was all like this.”

“Who said that?” Erica asked.

Blake spun around. “Guinevere!”

The bulldogs waddled into a clearing, gleaming brighter than ever.

Blake plowed toward the pair. “Am I glad to see you
guys!
”

“Are you hurt?” Guinevere scanned his bruises.

“Nah, I’m all right.” He waved his sister over. “Ricki, these are the Parabulls!”

Erica’s eyes widened. “You’re the source of our magic.”

“Magic?”
MacArthur let out a hearty belly laugh. “Forgive me, please, but you kids remind me of things I haven’t heard in centuries.” He regained his composure. “You merely harnessed science.”

“You mean everything that happened to us was--”

“Physics, plain and simple,” he answered, and dropped to his haunches.

“I saw you trying to--”

“Save the Rellium’s membrane,” Guinevere informed her. “We couldn’t keep up. The holes were appearing too fast.”

MacArthur looked away and sighed. “Blakemore, the damage is severe.”

“Worse than we thought,” Guinevere added.

“I thought we fixed it,” Blake said.

“You did. You repaired a vital part of the membrane. For that we are truly grateful,” Guinevere said.

“But Dagonblud is relentless.” MacArthur scanned the field.

“I saw a place where he messed it up really bad.” Erica reached into her pocket. “Uncle Leopold showed me when we were in the dungeon.” She pulled out a rock that sparkled like a small star and held it out to the Parabulls. “You wouldn’t believe what this little thing can do.”

Guinevere smiled.

“Do you . . . want it back?” Erica asked shyly.

“No, keep it, but you must protect it,” she said, gazing at the stone.

“Know that you’re holding but a centillionth of the membrane,” MacArthur said.

Blake snagged the rock and examined it with new admiration. “So this is what it looks like.”

Guinevere stared at the stone.
“Only during times of great stress.
The membrane changes in response to its environment.”

“How big is a centil . . . whatever you said, anyway?” Blake asked.

“A one with hundreds and hundreds of zeroes.”

“Whoa.”

Guinevere raised her brow. “Imagine the power when all the pieces are together.”

“That’d be one super-huge explosion,” Blake said, handing the rock back to his sister.

“The biggest,” MacArthur added, and then looked at Guinevere. “What are they calling it these days?”

“The Big Bang,” she said.

“Right, right.
That one’s rather catchy.”

Blake felt the chronicle wiggling under his arm. It squirted out, then floated in front of him and spoke. “I thought I’d never see Saphir Pré again.”

“It talks?”

“She’s not
an it
, Ricki.”

“Oh.”

Blake turned to the text and lowered his head. “I let you down, big-time, Book. I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll never sell you out again--no matter what.”

“That’s very noble of you,” the book answered.

“What’s Saphir Pré?” Erica circled the hovering chronicle.

“Here, my home, the eleventh dimension of the universe,” Guinevere responded.

Erica cocked her head. “But I thought there were only three dimensions.”

MacArthur shook his head. “You both have much to learn.”

Blake looked over his shoulder, where the admiral’s cabin used to be. “What happened to our dad?”

“We don’t know, exactly,” MacArthur said. “Dagonblud is masterful at hiding him in his world.”

“I know where he is,” his sister said, her eyes welling with tears.
“In the dungeon.”

“Your father is a very brave man, Erica. He has defended the Rellium with great honor and courage. You should be very proud of him.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t so proud of me.” Blake felt a boring pain in his stomach as he relived the near disasters. “I almost really screwed things up--didn’t I?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Guinevere said. “You did what you thought you had to do--just like Nura, Leopold, and your father.”

“I know you can feel your father’s strength, Blake,” MacArthur joined in. “Can’t you?”

Blake nodded. His thoughts raced to his dying father using the last of his power to help him and Erica close the membrane.

“All of our lives are intertwined,” Guinevere said, “our past, the present, and our future. What happens to one of us affects all of us.”

Blake stared at his ring. “Yeah, but everyone was counting on me. I almost messed up America’s history before it even started!”

“But you didn’t.” Guinevere locked eyes with him. “You succeeded because of determination.”

“Columbus said something like that, too,” Blake conceded as he gently moved his hand over the glimmering text. “So did the chronicle.” He looked at Guinevere. “I did the best I could. I mean . . . I know this was supposed to be my dad’s mission.”

“Was it?” the chronicle asked, floating closer to him.

“This has always been your journey, Blake,” Guinevere declared. “We would never interfere with a sapphire traveler’s mission.”

“So what happens to us now?” Erica asked.

“You’re going home.”

Her face lit up. “Awesome!”

“Follow this path.” Guinevere gestured ahead. “Your house is on the other side.”

Erica skipped ahead.

“One more thing, Blake.”
MacArthur lumbered toward him. “Before your father was captured by the Tolucan guards, he had discovered Dagonblud’s secret entryway into our world.”

“At the priory,” Blake guessed.

“Yes, that’s correct.” MacArthur replied. “Did he also inform you that connecting to the Rellium changed every cell in your body . . . forever?”
 

“Not really,” Blake answered slowly.

“As a sapphire traveler, you are now privileged to be able to move through all eleven dimensions of space and time.”

“Sounds cool to me.”

MacArthur looked at Guinevere.

“You have to tell him,” she said grimly.

“Tell me what?”

MacArthur took in a deep breath,
then
exhaled.

“Come on, you guys are freakin’ me out.” Blake fidgeted.

“With the Rellium’s power coursing through your veins
comes
the curse of Dagonblud’s obsession for your power. He will hunt you down at any time, in any place.”

The hair stood up on the back of his neck. “What about Erica?
And my mother?
Are they safe?”

“I’m afraid not,” Guinevere warned.

Blake lowered his head.

“Regardless of the danger, know that MacArthur and I will always guide you.”

Blake watched Guinevere and MacArthur turn to the field. As they walked away, the long purplish-blue blades of the sapphire grass parted for them.

“Use your powers wisely to preserve the past and protect the future,” MacArthur called back. “Serve the Wyatt legacy with pride and valor, and your missions will never fail!”

“How will I know what to do?!”

The bulldogs disappeared into Saphir Pré.

“Wait!” He started to follow but then stopped. “I’m not sure I totally get it.”

“You will,” the chronicle said. She tucked herself under Blake’s arm. “It’s all about time.”

CHAPTER 28

THE NEW WORLD

Mr. Mancuso made his way along the rows of desks and dropped off the students’ graded assignments.

Blake slumped in his chair and looked out the window. Steam from the cafeteria’s infamous upchuck bowl rose past the window. His football jersey felt itchy, and he wriggled against the back of his chair, scratching himself.

Mr. Mancuso returned to the front of the room, and then turned to face the class. He crossed his arms. “Someone in here did not get his composition back.”

The students looked around. Blake felt himself flush.
Great.
He was definitely going to fail this history class. That assignment would be twenty-five percent of his grade.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, can someone tell me the topic of that assignment?”

The smart girl with the greasy hair, whom he didn’t really know, raised her hand.

“Yes, Lenora?” Mr. Mancuso nodded at the girl.

Blake heard her suck in a deep breath. “Our assignment was to document the trials and tribulations of our Founding Fathers as they pertained to the formation of our country after the American Revolution.”

“That’s correct.” Mr. Mancuso picked up a single sheet of paper from his desk. “This, Class, is Mr. Wyatt’s report.”

Laughter ripped through the room as Blake squirmed in his seat. Here it comes.

“Mr. Wyatt took it upon himself to change the assignment.” He walked to Blake’s desk and held the paper aloft. “He ignored my guidelines. Obviously he thought it more important to write about determination. Please, Blake, read a bit for us.” He handed over the paper with a flourish.

“Out loud?”

“Yes, out loud.”

Blake cleared his throat and stared at the paper. The words looked like they all ran together. He could hear every kid breathing and feel them staring at him.

“Well, it’s just that--”

“From the beginning, please.”

Blake scanned the faces of his classmates, raised the page, and then read. “While the names and dates of the people who lived in the past are important, history is actually about what real people did to change the future. After reading the chapter on the American Revolution, I find that determination is what really shaped our country into the great place it is today.”

A knock at the door interrupted him.

“You’re not off the hook, Mr. Wyatt. I want the class to hear what you wrote about Christopher Columbus.” Mr. Mancuso opened the door.

Uncle Leopold stood in the doorway, a large, thick envelope in his hand.

Blake shot up. Uncle Leopold was alive!

“Yes?” Mr. Mancuso asked as though he had never seen the man before.

“A message, yes, yes, yes, an urgent message for Mr. Wyatt, please.”

Mr. Mancuso took the envelope. “Thank you, sir.”

He closed the door and walked over to where Blake was seated. “It appears that Mr. Wyatt thinks I’m his personal secretary.” The teacher dropped the fancy envelope on his desk.

Nura’s image, stamped in red wax, sealed the brownish-yellow cover. Blake tore apart the gummy wax and, holding the flaps open, yanked out the message inside.

Einstein must be stopped. Knowledge is the power.

Another message appeared below the first, in the same scraggy scrawl that had filled the chalkboard a couple of weeks before.

I intercepted this message.
Parabulls in trouble.

--Uncle Leopold

Blake confidently tucked the paper back in the envelope and grinned. It sure was a new world.