Dormia by Jake Halpern Page B

gravel. But, in this case, the
Nyetbezkov's
hull was filled with hundred-pound cannon balls. On the day of Fort Krasnik's annual ballast match, the two teams of longshoremen gathered on the beach in front of the
Nyetbezkov.
Each team climbed up onto the ship via the ropes dangling from either end, crept through the utter darkness inside, located the cannon balls on the lowermost level, and then brought five of them back to the beach. The team to do this first was the winner. Each team was led by someone who was light, flexible, and comfortable navigating in complete darkness. This person was known as the mole rat. Five brawny longshoremen followed closely behind and were linked to the mole rat by rope. The game had many pitfalls. Perhaps the most serious of these was that the floors inside the ship were all rotting away and, if you took a wrong step, you could easily fall to your death.
    "I thought you said this game wasn't dangerous," Alfonso said.
    "It's not dangerous if you're a good mole rat," replied Hill. "And I feel certain—deep in my bones—that you're going to be the best mole rat there ever was."
    Alfonso gave his uncle a very unconvinced look.
    "Listen," whispered Hill urgently, "if you don't want to do this, just say the word, but I believe you can do it. Remember: you're no ordinary sleeper.
For heaven's sake, you grew a Dormian bloom!
All you have to do is trust yourself."
    "But that's the problem," said Alfonso. "I can't trust myself. I might go to sleep intending to play ballast, and then end up building a sandcastle instead."
    "No," said Hill sternly. "You have to focus. Before you fall asleep, you must picture yourself climbing the rope ladder onto the ship—again, and again, and again, and again—until your brain gets the idea. That's what I do whenever I need to do something in my sleep. Then, when you doze off, you'll be on your way."
    "I don't know," said Alfonso. "You flew the wrong way around the world—maybe I'll get it backwards too!"
    "You won't!" said Hill.
    "You really think I can do this?" asked Alfonso.
    Hill clapped Alfonso on the shoulders. "I've only just met you," said Hill, "but I believe in you with all my heart."
    ***
    A few hours later, every single able-bodied person on the entire island of Fort Krasnik had gathered in front of the
Nyetbezkov
to watch the annual ballast game. Most of the spectators were longshoremen, sailors, or the kind of sketchy-looking characters who had to be thieves or outlaws of one kind or another. There were also a great many gamblers. Most of the fans
seemed to be brandishing fists full of dollars (American and Canadian) and calling out various odds on the match.
    "I'll bet two hundred smackeroos on the Magrewskis if ya give me ten-to-one odds," yelled one short, pudgy sailor.
    "I'll bet five hundred on the Magrewskis if ya give me fifteen-to-one odds," yelled another sailor.
    "I'll take both yer bets," announced a tall longshoreman. "There's not a chance in the world that the Magrewskis will win. Yer money is as good as mine."
    "I heard the Magrewskis got a new mole rat," added an old woman with a patch over her eye. "They say he's Leif's son. Still, I'm bettin' my money on the Popovs. You'd have to be nuts to bet on the Magrewskis."
    As the spectators continued to bet and speculate on the outcome of the match, Judy and Pappy—laying in a movable bed—watched on nervously. Neither of them was happy about Alfonso participating in this event, but it was too late to object now.
    Meanwhile, Hill and Alfonso were walking to the place where the Magrewski team had gathered. Along the way, however, they were stopped by a small, impish man with white hair, reddish eyes, and tiny hands.
    "The name is Timmons, mole rat for the Popovs," said the man. "I heard yer the new mole rat."
    Alfonso nodded.
    "Yer a bit young, ain't ya?" asked Timmons.
    "He's old enough," replied Hill.
    "They say yer Leif's son," said Timmons. "I knew yer old man. They