Part 11 (1/2)

”No-I mean in the real world. The place that matters.”

Quinn looked around furtively, then leaned in close, so that no one else could hear. ”Don't ruin this for me!” he said. And I saw, behind all the glitz and dazzle Quinn had surrounded himself with, that hollow desperation that was always there. ”You have your life,” he whispered, ”your grades, your scholars.h.i.+p. Let me have this.”

How could I argue against that craving in him, that bottomless need for something more? ”Quinn . . . whatever you think is happening here, you're wrong. No matter how empty you feel inside, this place won't fill you. It's like . . . cotton candy, and in the end it'll destroy you.”

Quinn looked around at his court, where dozens of subjects filled the great hall, ready to bow to his every whim. ”If I have to spend my life trapped on a ride, then I'm fine with this one.” He leaned back on his settee and motioned to one of the slave girls, who fed him more candied dates. ”The mighty Tutankhamen moves for no man,” he said, loud enough for his subjects to hear.

”The mighty Tutankhamen was killed by his adviser!”

”That's never been proven,” said a familiar voice. I turned to see Ca.s.sandra step out from behind a pillar.

”Meet my adviser,” said Quinn.

She looked beautiful, with her painted eyes and gilded robe, exotic and invincible. But I had seen the fear in her. No amount of glamour could hide it now.

”If you're going to crash our party, at least have something to eat.” She waved her hand at the elaborate spread of sumptuous dishes and the courtiers who had filled their plates with food-although none of them were actually eating. They were all watching us.

”Why don't you tell him how the ride ends?” I said. I had a pretty good idea how it did.

”Gloriously!” She winked at me. ”An interment in the Valley of the Kings.”

Quinn beamed. ”See? And you were worried.”

”That's a funeral!” I informed him.

At that moment one of the courtiers near the throne collapsed to the ground like a rag doll. No one seemed to care.

”Who was that?” I asked.

Now Quinn looked a bit concerned. ”Uh . . . the food taster.”

I looked around at the courtiers in attendance, who were still not eating from their plates.

Quinn brought his hand to his stomach. ”I don't feel so good.” He stumbled back onto his settee. A girl tried to feed him another date, but he pushed her hand away. ”Why do I feel so dizzy?”

”The nature of the ride,” answered Ca.s.sandra.

I tried not to sound as desperate as I felt. ”I'll make you a deal: Let my brother go, and I'll stop right here, on the sixth ride.”

A chorus of murmurs broke out behind me.

”Sixth ride, sixth ride, sixth ride, sixth ride . . .”

The crowd's whispers dropped into silence, and courtiers were even more attentive than they had been before. They were clearly impressed by how far I'd gotten, and that fact was not lost on Ca.s.sandra.

”Self-sacrifice . . . I like it! But why should I bargain now, when I already have you both?”

Quinn fell to his knees, gripping his stomach. ”Blake . . . help me.”

I lunged toward him, but the guards held me back. Even if I broke free, what could I do?

”You can't save him,” Ca.s.sandra said. ”You couldn't save anyone ten years ago, and you can't save your brother now.”

Ten years ago? My anger flared. ”You caused that accident, not me!”

”But you were the one who let them die!”

”That's not true!” It was as if I were shrinking down to be that child again, smas.h.i.+ng, smas.h.i.+ng, smas.h.i.+ng against her accusations, like I smashed against the unyielding emergency exit door. . . .

The angrier I got, the calmer she became. ”They died because you didn't try hard enough to open that door.”

”I was seven years old!”

Quinn fell over groaning and curled up like a baby. Ca.s.sandra was right; I couldn't save Quinn. Maybe I never could. But was it too late for him to save himself?

”There's a way out of every ride, Quinn,” I shouted to him, hoping he was still conscious enough to hear me. ”There's a way out of every ride!”

But as the guards dragged me out Ca.s.sandra shook her head and said, ”Not for the king.”

The Egyptians did not have dungeons-at least not in the medieval sense-but they did have plenty of tombs. The place they dumped me was every bit as nasty as one of those medieval dungeons where people got tossed in the Dark Ages and were left there to rot. An oubliette, that's the word. It sounds French, but five'll get you ten it was invented by ancient Egyptians.

The guards said nothing as they threw me in. They merely ripped my watch from my wrist, figuring I'd have no further use for it. It was the one thing that had stayed with me from ride to ride, an ever present reminder of the pa.s.sing night. Then they heaved a heavy stone over the opening, which sealed me in with an echoing boom. It didn't seem like Ca.s.sandra to leave me here to die; but perhaps I had her so scared, she just wanted to be rid of me.

I heard something move in the cell just a few feet away from me, and I froze. Instantly my mind ran through all the things it could possibly be. Rats. Cobras. Scorpions.

There was a narrow slit in the roof, not wide enough to climb through but wide enough to bring in a small shaft of light from high above. My eyes adjusted to the light, and I strained to see what nature of creature I'd been entombed with.

It wasn't a creature, but a person. Another prisoner. He was chained to the tomb wall and looked weak, as if he had been in this place for a very long time. Yet he didn't seem surprised to see me.

”h.e.l.lo, Blake,” he said. ”d.a.m.n, you've grown.”

It was like being smashed in the head with a pole again.

”Dad?”

”So here we are,” he said. ”At least you didn't get chained to the wall.”

I closed my eyes. This was not possible. It was just another trick of the ride. It had to be. ”You're not really here!” I said through gritted teeth. ”You're a fake. My real father is somewhere in Oregon with his new family.”

”Idaho.”

”Shut up!” I opened my eyes again, trying to will the vision away, but it didn't work. If there was anyone in this world I didn't want to see-let alone ride with, it would be him. This man whom I locked out of my mind so long ago. This man whom I barely remembered.

”Are you real?”

”How the h.e.l.l should I know?”

A whole host of unwanted, unhelpful emotions began to cloud my focus and reasoning. I didn't need this. I had enough to face without facing him.

”Too bad. You've got me, whether you want me or not,” he said.