My foot is caught in something beneath the leaves. Kurt tries to knock me out of the way, but we don’t make it and we’re hoisted into the air in a thick, itchy net.
“A fishnet?” I shout. “Really?”
This is a lot closer to Kurt that I’ve ever been before.
“I think it’s safe to say the historian is alive.”
“Watch the hands!”
“I don’t have anywhere else to put them, do I?”
A door slams open and someone shuffles out. Every breath he takes comes back out in a heavy wheeze. The net spins with our weight so all I can see is a mane of white hair and a cane.
“By King Karanos,” Kurt says, “you will let us down this instant!”
“Yo, stop poking me.”
The old man laughs. He holds out his hand to stop us from spinning. Muddy green eyes squint at us. “You’re in no position to be making threats.”
“We’re looking for someone,” I say. Then add, “And we have presents.”
“What kind of presents?” He gets close up to my face and looks into my eyes. His eyebrows are like fuzzy white caterpillars crawling in opposite directions. He gasps like I’m the ghost instead of him. “You’re the son of the king.”
“No. I’m his grandson. Are you Gregorious?”
He shakes his head. “No one calls me that anymore.”
“What do they call you?”
He shakes his head, tsk-tsk-tsking away. Hand pushing hair back, cane tapping dry dirt. He makes to turn away, then hunches down to our faces once again. “Nope. No court politics. Not on my doorstep.”
“Please,” I say. “You’re a historian, right? Aren’t you supposed to, like, keep track of important things? You must know of the championship to the throne. I have the quartz scepter.”
“And, Lady Maia made you breakfast.” Kurt says “breakfast” like it’s the eighth wonder of the world, which in our house it pretty much is.
The old man taps his finger on his thin lips thoughtfully. “Very well. But you’ll have to cut yourselves down. I’ll put on the kettle.”
“Is he serious?” I whisper.
Kurt is trying his best to sit up, but his foot slips and his weight crushes my sensitive areas. “Your hand is closer to my dagger.”
“Can’t. Breathe.”
“Swear by the seas you will not utter a word of this to anyone.”
“My pleasure.” I manage to pull out his dagger and start cutting our way out until the net rips open enough and we fall on the dried branches on the ground.
The back door is open. Stringy broken cobwebs hang from the door like a curtain.
“Come on.” Kurt pulls me up. “Before he changes his mind.”
The back door leads to a kitchen that smells like bath salts and moldy library books.
Flowery wallpaper fades in splotches. Naked bulbs hang from nests of red and blue wires. Every step we take seems to rattle the foundation. The table is a plastic patio set complete with an open umbrella. Stacks and stacks of brittle paper cover every surface, even the floors leading to the living room. I thumb through a stack right in front of me, and the old man smacks my hand away.
“Sit.”
NoOneCallsMeThatAnymoreGregorious sets down three chipped china cups, a tiny blue flower bulb at the bottom of each.
I point to the umbrella. “That’s bad luck, you know.” “What does an old man like me need luck for, anyway?” When he pours in the steaming water, the flower blooms. Blue bleeds from the petals into the water and releases a whiff of mint.
“Where did you find blue poseidonia?”
The old man gets up close to Kurt’s face until Kurt is so uncomfortable that he leans back. “I have my ways. Now, where is my gift?”
I take out the plastic containers, one full of a stack of pancakes and another with bacon. His white eyebrows wiggle as he opens the container and dives right in with his twiggy fingers.
As soon as I take a sip of the tea, I gag. “This tastes like feet.”
Gregorious smacks the back of my head. “Bah. It’s the best tea for healthy, slick scales. Drink up.”
I do, just to keep him quiet. “So, if your name isn’t Gregorious, then what is it?”
“It’s Greg. I’ve assimilated to this shore. Now. Tell me why you’ve come here. I’ve paid my tithes, if you’re here collecting.”
I burn my tongue on a big sip. “You weren’t on Arion’s ship last week with the others.”
“Because this visit isn’t real.” He jabs my chest with his bony finger.