scientists and their burden would be already out of sight. He exploded into the courtyard, looking about for a sight of Brom and his minions. The pigeons scattered, hooting their alarm. The clap of their wings sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.
Roan’s pupils contracted painfully in the hot sun as he squinted in every direction. The heat shimmer radiating off the stony ground made everything look as if it was moving. What a time for the courtyard to be deserted! Normally, it was heaving with people on business with the crown or one of the ministers: courtiers, lobbyists, merchants, ostlers, beggars, hangers-on, and servants. Where were they when the very existence of the Dreamland was in danger? Now that he thought about it, where were the sentries? The posts next to the castle doors were empty. He couldn’t even see the men who had challenged him on his way into the castle.
Roan dropped to his haunches and searched the ground for any sign that would show which way Brom and his Alarm Clock had gone. The light-gray gravel revealed hundreds of wheel ruts going in every direction. And not a single means of transportation anywhere. Brom’s attention to detail, again. Before they had left, the scientists must have scattered all the bicycles. Not one steed, not one carriage, nor any other conveyance remained. Brom had meant to delay pursuit as long as possible.
A slight breeze sprang up, and Roan got to his feet. He spotted a distant glimmer of color in the sky to the north, and strained to make it out. Could that be a hot-air balloon? An airship would be the simplest way to transport a heavy load a long way.
The rumble of an engine alerted Roan just in time. A white sports car screamed into the courtyard, heading straight for the palace doors.
“Hey!” Roan shouted, as the shiny chrome bumper missed him by a hair. At the wheel was a man wearing dark goggles. In the seat beside him was a dog, its face in the wind, its tongue lolling with foolish joy. The car described a tight circle. Roan waved his arms at the driver.
“An emergency, friend! Help, please!”
The car wheeled. Midway through its turn, it became a white charger pawing at the ground, wearing a gold-braided saddlecloth that bore the royal sigil. The man, clad now in shining plate armor, held aloft on his wrist a small hawk that had been the dog. Its tongue was still out.
“How may I be of assistance?” the man asked, raising his pointed visor. “I am a king’s messenger and a Night of the Dreamland. My name is Sir Osprey.”
Roan crossed to him in a few steps and caught hold of the horse’s bridle. “Sir Night, have you seen a group of people leaving the castle in haste in the last few minutes? Carrying a heavy burden? In the king’s name, it’s urgent. They could be endangering all of the Dreamland. They want to wake the Sleepers!”
“I’ve seen no one,” the Night said, his eyes wide with alarm. “Shall I go and try to find them?”
Roan nodded gratefully. “If you can just find their trail, return here and notify His Majesty. I thought I saw an airship just now, headed northward, but that may have been an illusion. They might be on foot.”
“I am on my way,” the Night said, and lifted his arm aloft. “My dog will go after this airship. We shall report back as soon as we may. Rely upon us.”
“My thanks, friend,” Roan said. He had to jump out of the way as the Night turned his steed to thunder out of the castle gate. The hawk bated, beating its wings on the air, and arrowed out of sight to the north. Roan watched after them with gratitude. He couldn’t catch Brom alone. He needed help, but time was flitting away. He strode back into the castle.
The great hall was in an uproar. Men and women clutched at Roan’s sleeves as he passed, asking anxious questions. He pulled away from them firmly but kindly, making his way to the throne.
King Byron leaned forward, his noble eyes full of concern. Roan shook his head, and the
Roan’s pupils contracted painfully in the hot sun as he squinted in every direction. The heat shimmer radiating off the stony ground made everything look as if it was moving. What a time for the courtyard to be deserted! Normally, it was heaving with people on business with the crown or one of the ministers: courtiers, lobbyists, merchants, ostlers, beggars, hangers-on, and servants. Where were they when the very existence of the Dreamland was in danger? Now that he thought about it, where were the sentries? The posts next to the castle doors were empty. He couldn’t even see the men who had challenged him on his way into the castle.
Roan dropped to his haunches and searched the ground for any sign that would show which way Brom and his Alarm Clock had gone. The light-gray gravel revealed hundreds of wheel ruts going in every direction. And not a single means of transportation anywhere. Brom’s attention to detail, again. Before they had left, the scientists must have scattered all the bicycles. Not one steed, not one carriage, nor any other conveyance remained. Brom had meant to delay pursuit as long as possible.
A slight breeze sprang up, and Roan got to his feet. He spotted a distant glimmer of color in the sky to the north, and strained to make it out. Could that be a hot-air balloon? An airship would be the simplest way to transport a heavy load a long way.
The rumble of an engine alerted Roan just in time. A white sports car screamed into the courtyard, heading straight for the palace doors.
“Hey!” Roan shouted, as the shiny chrome bumper missed him by a hair. At the wheel was a man wearing dark goggles. In the seat beside him was a dog, its face in the wind, its tongue lolling with foolish joy. The car described a tight circle. Roan waved his arms at the driver.
“An emergency, friend! Help, please!”
The car wheeled. Midway through its turn, it became a white charger pawing at the ground, wearing a gold-braided saddlecloth that bore the royal sigil. The man, clad now in shining plate armor, held aloft on his wrist a small hawk that had been the dog. Its tongue was still out.
“How may I be of assistance?” the man asked, raising his pointed visor. “I am a king’s messenger and a Night of the Dreamland. My name is Sir Osprey.”
Roan crossed to him in a few steps and caught hold of the horse’s bridle. “Sir Night, have you seen a group of people leaving the castle in haste in the last few minutes? Carrying a heavy burden? In the king’s name, it’s urgent. They could be endangering all of the Dreamland. They want to wake the Sleepers!”
“I’ve seen no one,” the Night said, his eyes wide with alarm. “Shall I go and try to find them?”
Roan nodded gratefully. “If you can just find their trail, return here and notify His Majesty. I thought I saw an airship just now, headed northward, but that may have been an illusion. They might be on foot.”
“I am on my way,” the Night said, and lifted his arm aloft. “My dog will go after this airship. We shall report back as soon as we may. Rely upon us.”
“My thanks, friend,” Roan said. He had to jump out of the way as the Night turned his steed to thunder out of the castle gate. The hawk bated, beating its wings on the air, and arrowed out of sight to the north. Roan watched after them with gratitude. He couldn’t catch Brom alone. He needed help, but time was flitting away. He strode back into the castle.
The great hall was in an uproar. Men and women clutched at Roan’s sleeves as he passed, asking anxious questions. He pulled away from them firmly but kindly, making his way to the throne.
King Byron leaned forward, his noble eyes full of concern. Roan shook his head, and the