Part 6 (1/2)

And I don't have time for distractions.

I don't bother calling Joe's name again. I don't go looking for him upstairs. Ten bucks, he's probably already forgotten why he even went up there, or is puking in a bathroom, I tell myself as I slip out the front door.

With my guitar case hitched over my back and my tote bag secured in the basket of my white and lemon yellow cruiser bike, I set off to find that grove to rehea.r.s.e.

Alone.

chapter nine.

haden

I have been told to wait. So that is what I have been doing, but I don't know how they expect me to do so for much longer.

After making introductions, the overly enthusiastic man-who told us his name was Simon Fitzgerald, but that we should call him Simon-brought us to a house. It was a short walk from the grove, but between the aching behind my eyes and Simon's insisting on pointing out and naming everything in English that we pa.s.sed, the journey was as tedious as Sisyphus's toils up the mountainside.

Simon's cheery commentary of ”This is a road. This is a bridge. This is a mailbox. This is a doorbell” doesn't let up like I hope it will when we enter the house. ”This is a refrigerator. This is a microwave. This is a coffeemaker. Have you ever had coffee? No, you other two wouldn't have, would you? You simply must try it! This is a fabulous roast. Here, take a cup. . . .” He hands me a cup full of hot, brown liquid. It smells acrid and acidic to me. I pa.s.s it to Garrick. He sniffs it and his face goes from pale to green. ”This, over there, is a plasma TV. It's simply wonderful, isn't it?” He looks at Garrick. ”Oh no. Oh boy. And this, over here, is a toilet . . . ,” he says, grabbing Garrick and ushering him down the hall and through a door. I wince at the sound of vomiting.

”Can we dismiss this Simon guy yet?” I ask Dax. The pain behind my eyes has swelled into the rest of my head, and I am starting to worry about getting sick, like Garrick. ”I haven't forgotten that you've promised to fill me on what you know. I need to get started on my quest. I don't have time for this fool to name every object in this house.”

Dax holds up his hand to quiet me. ”Do not let his disposition deceive you,” he whispers. ”Mr.

Fitzgerald is not your servant, he is not your friend, and he certainly isn't a fool. It is best not to cross him, understand?”

I nod, thankful all over again that Dax is here to guide me. ”Ah, now. No worries,” Simon says, coming back into what he'd labeled the ”breakfast nook,” wiping his hands on a towel. ”Our young friend is going to spend some time getting acquainted with the bathroom facilities. I am afraid some folks don't pa.s.s through the gate as easily as others. How are you feeling, my lord?” The smell of the coffee Garrick left on the table makes my stomach swim, but I don't want to give away any signs of weakness. ”Fine,” I say.

”I'll give you boys the rest of the tour later. We have many arrangements to make. You don't fit the description of the Champion I was told to prepare for. . . .”

”There was a change of plans,” Dax says.

”Very well. That happens.” Simon pulls a flat, rectangular device from his pocket. ”Remove your sungla.s.ses,” he says to me.

I realize he means my spectacles and I pull them off. Simon sticks the device right in front of my face.

It flashes a bright light in my eyes with an artificial-sounding click.

”Harpies!” I clasp my hands over my face, my eyes burning even more.

”Sorry about that,” Simon says. ”But I'll be needing a photograph of each one of you. I didn't expect to see you again, Dax. What a pleasant surprise.” I hear the weird clicking sound again and a.s.sume Simon used the device on Dax. ”I was afraid they might chop off your hands or something equally unpleasant when you returned the way you did-”

”It's nice to see you again, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Dax says, politely cutting him off. Dax never talks about his time in the Overrealm. I wonder what I might be able to learn about it from this Simon guy-if I ever dare to ask.

”Yes, yes, reunions are always wonderful,” Simon says. I am still seeing a bright white spot in my vision as he looks me over from head to toe and scratches his chin. ”We will need to make some . . .

er . . . adjustments. Dax, you will help me. In the meantime, Lord Haden, my house is your house, so make yourself at home.”

”This is your house?” I ask. This place can easily fit inside the king's quarters of the palace back in the Underrealm, but from what I could make out from behind the dark lenses of my sungla.s.ses with my halfblinded eyes, the house is one of the largest of the dwellings we pa.s.sed on our walk here. ”What exactly do you do for a living?” I remember from my lessons that people in the mortal world have different jobs that they perform and are then compensated for-not compulsory a.s.signments required by the king. Whatever it is that Simon does for a living, he is compensated well-in mortal terms- for it.

”A little bit of everything.” Simon's grin stretches far across his face. ”I guess you could say my specialty is procuring things for people.” He opens the thing he called a refrigerator and pulls out a gla.s.s of green liquid and takes a swig. ”Gotta keep the ole immune system up. Especially with so many teenagers living in the house again. Want some? I'll make you all some smoothies if you want. I just got a new Blendtec.”

He holds the gla.s.s up. It smells like fermented weeds. My stomach churns. I shake my head. ”Is there a place I can put my things?”

”Oh yes, yes. I forgot to show you to your rooms.”

After that, Simon escorts Dax and me up the stairs to our bedchambers. To my surprise, my room is much larger than the one I had been rea.s.signed to in the palace after my father expelled me from the royal living quarters.

Simon names a few of the things in the room, and then with his most enthusiastic expression yet, he says, ”This room is fantastic. The best room in the whole house. I trust you will be comfortable waiting here while Dax and I finish our arrangements?” His smile is so wide and his teeth gleam so white, I almost don't catch the true meaning of his words. I am being ordered to stay here and wait, something I am not comfortable agreeing to.

”But when can I get started? How do I find this Daphne girl?”

”Be patient,” Dax says from behind Simon in the doorway. ”Lord Haden, I know you feel anxious. I know you're eager to begin your quest, but it's imperative that you don't do anything until the arrangements have been finalized. Take this opportunity to rest from your journey. Wait here.” Simon's eyes narrow slightly as he looks at me. ”Say yes,” he says in a way that makes me feel compelled to agree whether I want to or not.

”Yes,” I say.

”Fantastic!” he says. ”You and I are going to get along just peachy.” He closes the door behind him and Dax. I hear the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock, and panic wells up inside of me. The feeling increases with every moment that pa.s.ses. I listen by the door for some time. At one point, I hear Simon escort Garrick to his own room across the hall. A few minutes later, I hear another voice in the house that sounds distinctively female. This sets me to pacing the floor, from door to window and back again. At another point, I think I hear Dax and Simon leave the house.

But when will they be back? How long will these arrangements take?

I find myself pacing again, biting my fingernails-another trait of my mother's that I unfortunately inherited. It feels as though several hours have pa.s.sed since Dax and Simon left me. I have done as I was told. Heeded Dax's warning not to be impulsive. But every moment that pa.s.ses and I am stuck in this room is a moment that I am not working toward accomplis.h.i.+ng my quest. Waiting is not acting.

And not acting is akin to failing. How can I wait anymore?

I clutch at my hair and sit on a chair in the room. There's a bed here, too. Dax told me that I should take this opportunity to rest. He knows I didn't sleep last night. Rest is a luxury. Being alone is, too.

Especially in the middle of the day. I guess I could collapse on the bed. Let myself stop thinking, for once. Take pleasure in a few moments of solitude-of not being watched or judged by anyone. No one expecting me to do anything for the moment. Rest is what I need. I should give into the fatigue that pulls at my body. I should let it all go for now. . . .

But I don't know how anyone can sleep when it's so cursed bright.

The sun has s.h.i.+fted much higher in the sky, causing the light that pours in through the window to grow even brighter. I have to wear the dark gla.s.ses even inside the house, which should be a deterrent to wanting to venture outside, but the muscles in my body ache from inactivity. The queasiness that plagued my stomach before has s.h.i.+fted into a weight that sits in my gut like a heavy stone. It feels as though I have been waiting for hours, but I have no idea how long it has really been.

It strikes me that I do not know how time moves here in the mortal world, compared to the Underrealm. What feels like hours to me could only be mere minutes. Or perhaps days? Could the rising of this sun signify the pa.s.sing of whole days before my very eyes? Why didn't Master Crue cover this in my lessons? What other gaps are there in my education? Perhaps I am even less prepared than I thought I was.

I have been told that I have six months to complete my quest, but what if, here, six months are a matter of weeks in comparison?

I know that if I wait and be patient, I can ask Dax or Simon when he returns to explain how time works here, but I can't bear not knowing any longer how much time I have left, nor how much time has been wasted-by waiting.

I can think of one way of checking the time. The gate is supposed to be active for twenty-four hours. If I can trace my way back to it and it is still active, then I will at least know that it has only been hours.

Not a whole day or possibly even a week-or maybe more- that has been wasted.