own.
“Have you ever been to any of them?”
“I’ve been to the Desert, the Woods, the Jungle, and I live in the Mountains. Mitzi is a Mountain Beast as well. All dragons are.”
“What about places that aren’t the Wilderlands? Do they have a name?” Barclay asked.
“The Elsewheres,” Viola answered, shrugging.
Well, that certainly sounded insignificant. Barclay felt a bit snubbed on Dullshire’s behalf.
Then Viola snapped A Traveler’s Log closed. “You know, I think I’ll buy this. I’m sure there’s loads I could learn about Gravaldor in here.”
She counted the number of coins left in her purse. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out another purse, also full.
Barclay swallowed down the urge to ask how rich she was, deciding that was rather rude. Instead, he examined one of the heavy gold coins—one side engraved with a dragon, the other triangular peaks of what he guessed were the Mountains, though a few of them had trees instead. He frowned. “What kind of money is that?”
“It’s Lore money—kritters, we call it. You probably just have Elsewheres money, don’t you?”
A sick feeling filled Barclay’s stomach. He hadn’t even considered that Sycomore would use different money than Dullshire.
“Don’t worry,” Viola told him. “I’ll pay for removing your Mark.”
“No, definitely not,” said Barclay quickly. He was used to working for what he needed. No work meant no food—no charity, no exceptions.
She gave him a pointed look. “It’s no trouble. And it will be hard to find a Lore Keeper willing to help you for free.”
“Then I’ll find one who will take my money.”
“No one will. Just let me—”
Barclay groaned as she jingled her purse. He might have been an orphan, but he still had his pride. He left her to her errands and stormed out of the shop.
Even though he didn’t know his way around Sycomore, it wasn’t hard to find the Guild. It was the largest building in town, with a massive, snowy tree jutting right out of its center. To Barclay’s surprise, several tiles on its roof were missing, its windows caked with dirt, and its wooden frame termite-eaten. A fraying banner hung from the awning.
WOODS APPRENTICE EXHIBITION
60+ LORE MASTERS IN ATTENDANCE
ALL LORE KEEPERS AGES 9–14 WELCOME TO REGISTER
Several kids his age crowded beneath it. They were dressed as outrageously as the rest of Sycomore: tip-dyed pelts, clothes embroidered with golden thread, swords slung over their shoulders—all so different from the plain styles of Dullshire. Several had young Beasts growling at their feet or cradled in their arms.
“I heard the Horn of Dawn and the Fang of Dusk will be there,” one girl said excitedly.
“That’s why you’re here, right, Tadg?” another asked.
“The Horn of Dawn and the Fang of Dusk nearly killed each other in a duel to the death. You think they’d both be anywhere at the same time?”
The boy who answered—Tadg, Barclay assumed—had an unmistakable sneer in his voice. That didn’t seem to stop the other kids from watching him with wide, awestruck expressions. Tadg looked about Barclay’s age, with fair skin and light brown curls that shadowed his cold, bored expression. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a golden Beast Mark that coiled and snaked across his hand and reappeared above his collar—so large it covered his entire arm.
Barclay didn’t know this boy, but he reminded him of Falk. Kids who only got to be leaders by acting smug and better than everyone else.
Barclay ignored the group as he strode toward bulletin boards covered in hundreds of pieces of parchment. They said things like LICENSED SURVEYORS NEEDED TO EXCAVATE VALUABLE LOST BEAST ARTIFACTS and KEEPERS TO HELP SAVE THE FELSNIPS FROM EXTINCTION and GUARDIANS NEEDED TO PROTECT TOWN FROM PACK OF MISKREATS.
Each of them offered a reward.
Barclay could put up a flyer of his own. With so many Lore Keepers in town for the Exhibition, surely someone would know how to help him. But he had one problem: he had no reward to give.
It was hard to concentrate on this problem, however, because the kids behind him had begun to chatter louder.
“The Fang of Dusk is the one who’s here,” said the last kid. “It’s why my parents let me travel to the Woods and enter a year early, even though next year’s Exhibition will be at home in the Jungle.”
“But the Fang of Dusk has never accepted apprentices before!” the first girl squeaked, and nearly dropped the foxlike Beast asleep in her arms.
“Maybe no one’s good enough for her,” Tadg said, shrugging.
The boy next to him looked shocked. “But you