Chessmen of Doom by John Bellairs Page A

and then Johnny and Fergie slowly pulled themselves to their feet. Johnny's neck ached, and he felt dizzy. He turned to look at Fergie, who was still acting woozy and shaking his head, like someone who has just been awakened out of a sound sleep.
    "What—what happened?" asked Johnny in a thick, groggy voice. He could not figure out why the two of them had been on their knees, facing away from the cottage.
    Fergie rubbed his hands over his face. "John baby," he said slowly, "if I knew what happened, I'd tell you. Somebody must've hit us on the head—that's the only explanation I can come up with. But who did it? And how come my head doesn't hurt?"
    Johnny paused and looked around at the dark, menacing shadows of the trees. "I think we better get out of here," he said in a worried voice. "We might get murdered if we hang around much longer."
    Fergie did not need any more encouragement. He grabbed Johnny by the arm and shoved him ahead and soon they were trotting along, double time, toward the dock and the boat that still bobbed on the choppy water. Quickly they piled in, and Fergie seized the oars. Johnny pulled the rope free of the post, and they glided away, driven by Fergie's strong strokes. The dark shadow of the island got smaller and smaller, and the fear that had gripped them melted away. But neither said anything. They both knew that they had had a strange and frightening experience, and they were still struggling with their feelings. There was a blank spot in their lives, time they couldn't account for, and this bothered them very much.
    Back across the lake water they slid. Fergie rowed grimly on, and Johnny glanced absentmindedly about. Then he happened to look up at the starry sky. Suddenly he let out a sharp, loud exclamation.  
    "My gosh, Fergie! Look!"
    "Huh? Look at what?"  
    "Up overhead! In the sky!"
    Fergie looked, and his mouth dropped open. A bright, long-tailed comet was burning in the sky. "Holy Toledo!" he gasped. "How about that! I didn't know there was one of those comin' our way, did you?"
    "We wouldn't have known about it," said Johnny sourly. "The professor keeps turning off the TV news at night because it depresses him, and we aren't getting any newspapers." He bent his head back and stared some more. "That really is something, isn't it?" he went on in an awestruck tone. "I've never seen one before, have you?"
    Fergie shook his head. "Nope. Well, now I guess I've seen everything! We'll have to tell the prof about this when he wakes up."
    "If he isn't already waiting for us down by the shore," said Johnny gloomily.
    When they got back to the island where they were camping, Johnny and Fergie were relieved to see that the tent was dark and still, with its flaps tied shut. Carefully Fergie nosed the boat in, and then he and Johnny dragged it up onto the sand as quietly as they could. They put the oars in the brackets and tiptoed back to the tent, lifted the flaps, and crawled inside. Their sleeping bags were ready for them, and the professor was in his, snoring peacefully. The little night-time adventure had turned strange, but they were lucky to have returned safely.
    The next morning, as they were eating breakfast, Johnny cautiously brought up the subject of the comet. "Uh . . . professor? You know what?"
    The professor swallowed a mouthful of eggs and turned to Johnny. "No, I don't have the slightest idea what, John," he said, grinning. "Tell me what."
    Johnny squirmed. He was afraid he might accidentally tell the professor where they had been last night, and this made him jittery. "I . . . uh, well, Fergie and I were sitting up late last night after you went to bed, and—and we saw a comet!"
    The professor nodded knowingly. "Yes, I knew that there was one on the way. I read about it in a newspaper at the library the other day. And for your information, there are two more coming, though they won't be visible till later this summer. The astronomers are all worked up because we