“S-So what about th-them?” the nervous gangster asked.

The guy in charge looked us over. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. He didn’t exactly seem like a rocket scientist, so they must have been very small wheels. I wondered if they hurt when they turned.

“You!” the guy barked at me. “Gimme that ring!”

I couldn’t believe it. He wanted my Traveler ring! This was serious. You guys know how badly I need that ring. It shows me where the flumes are, and it’s the only way I can get my journals to you. Without this ring, I’m lost.

“It’s not worth anything,” I said in a feeble attempt to talk him out of it.

“Don’t matter,” the gangster snapped back at me. “All I want is proof to show you two are real.”

“Then take us with you, mates!” said Spader, trying to be friendly. “We’re all the proof you need, in the flesh!”

“Those ain’t my orders,” he snarled.

“Really? Whatareyour orders?” I asked.

“Just hand over the ring,” the boss commanded. He raised his machine gun to prove he meant business. What could I do? I took off my ring and tossed it to him. He caught it and jammed it into his pocket.

“Let’s step outside, nice and easy,” the guy said.

This was good. It meant they weren’t going to gun us down right that moment. Maybe there was a way out of this after all. The nervous gangster threw the wooden door open, then both stepped aside and motioned with their weapons for us to go through. I looked at Spader. Spader shrugged. We had to play along. With our hands up, we both stepped out of the gate and into the dark subway tunnel.

Everything was familiar, so I made a sharp right, knowing it was the way to the abandoned subway station.

But the gangster had other things in mind. “No, you don’t,” he ordered. “Keep walking.”

We had to walk straight ahead, away from the door. Three steps later we stepped over the rail of the subway track. This was beginning to look bad again.

“Stop! Turn around.”

Oh yeah, this was bad. We were both now standing on the train tracks. ”You move, you die,” said the first gangster.

Yeah, right. We move, we die. If a train comes along, wedon’tmove, we die. Not a lot of wiggle room here.

“Where are we, Pendragon?” whispered Spader.

His answer came in the form of a far off whistle. We both looked to our right and saw the headlight of a subway train rounding the bend, headed our way, on our track.

“What is that thing?” asked Spader nervously. Being from a territory that was covered entirely with water, he had never seen anything like a train before.

“That,” I said, trying not to let my voice show the fear that was tearing at my gut, “is a pretty big tum- tigger.”

“Hobey,” said Spader in awe. “We just got here and we’ve already lost.”

We had been on First Earth for all of two minutes, and we were staring death right in the eye.

Welcome home, Bobby Pendragon.

That’s a taste of how our adventure on First Earth began. I don’t want to get too far ahead because there was a whole lot that happened between the time I finished my last journal, and when we landed here. But I wanted to explain to you how I lost my ring. This is serious because as I write this journal to you, Mark and Courtney, I’m not really sure if you’re ever going to read it. If I don’t get that ring back, I’ll never be able to send this to you. The only thing I can do is keep writing, hang on to the journals, and hope that I get the ring back soon.

Now, let me rewind to where I finished my last journal and get you guys back up to speed.

I spent my last few days on the territory of Cloral in a haze. We’d defeated Saint Dane, but I didn’t feel rnuch like celebrating. That’s because Uncle Press was gone, and I kept replaying his last moments over and over in my head. Saint Dane had escaped through a flume and Spader tried to chase him. But a storm of bullets came back at him. Uncle Press realized what was happening, knocked Spader out of the way… and took the bullets himself.

He died in my arms. It was the absolute worst moment of my life. The only thing that kept me from totally losing it was that just before he died, he promised me we’d be together again. I know this sounds pretty loopy, but I believe him. If being a Traveler has taught me anything, it’s that nothing is impossible. My eyes have been opened to so many new worlds and levels of existence that the idea of hooking up with Uncle Press again doesn’t seem all that far-fetched.

Of course, I have no clue how it might happen. That’s because I’ve only scratched the surface of knowing all there is to know about being a Traveler. I wish there were an instruction manual I could buy through Amazon. com that would spell out all the rules and regulations. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. I’ve got to learn things as I go along. And now I’ve got. to do it without Uncle Press.

Welcome to my life as a Traveler, phase two.

In those last days on Cloral, I knew what my next move had to be, but I was putting it off because, well, I was scared. Things were different now. I was alone. It was a whole new ballgame and I wasn’t sure if I was good enough to play in it.

When Saint Dane flumed out of Cloral, he was headed for a territory called Veelox. I knew I had to follow him, but the idea of going after him alone was about as appealing as setting my hair on fire. All things being equal, I think I’d rather have set my hair on fire. So I made a decision that I hope I don’t regret.

I asked Vo Spader to go with me. Don’t get me wrong, Spader is a great guy. He’s the Traveler from Cloral, after all. He saved my life more than once; he’s an incredible athlete; he’s about as brave as can be; and most importantly, he’s my friend. So why should I be worried about asking him to come with me?

It’s because his total, blind hatred of Saint Dane is dangerous. Saint Dane caused the death of his father and for that, Spader wants revenge. Big time. Hey, I don’t blame him. But there were a few times on Cloral where Spader got so completely wrapped up in Saint Dane-hating that he nearly got us all killed. Truth be told, Spader’s anger toward Saint Dane is one of the reasons Uncle Press is dead.

Since then, Spader promised me he would control himself, and his anger. I can only hope that when we come face-to-face with the demon again, and I guarantee we will, Spader won’t do anything stupid. These were some of the conflicted thoughts that were banging around inside my head as I finished my last journal.

“Hobey-ho, Pendragon,” Spader said as he strode into my apartment the morning of our departure.

Spader had almond-shaped eyes that looked sort of Asian. They turned up slightly and made him look as if he were always smiling. The truth was, most of the time hewassmiling… when he wasn’t obsessing over Saint Dane, that is. His long black hair was still wet, which meant he had been in the water. Spader spent a lot of time in the water, playing traffic cop with the boats and barges that came and went from Grallion. He loved his job, and his life there. At least he loved it before he found out he was a Traveler. Things had changed a little since then.

“It’s time,” I said.

“For what?” was his quick response. ”Cloral is safe. Uncle Press is gone. And I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to go after Saint Dane.”

Spader gave me a devilish smile. “Now you’re talking, mate! I’ve been waiting to hear those words for weeks! What if the trail’s gone cold?”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I answered. “Uncle Press always said that time between territories isn’t relative.”

Spader frowned. “You lost me.”

I had to laugh. This didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me either, but I had to trust Uncle Press.

“Look at it this way,” I explained. “Saint Dane flumed to Veelox a few weeks ago, but since then he may have spent five years there. Or a minute.”

“Now I’m totally lost,” Spader said in frustration.

“Bottom line is, we’re not too late,” I said. “It doesn’t matter when we go after him, because the flume will put us where we need to be, whenwe need to be there.”

“O-kay,” said Spader tentatively. “I’ll trust you on that.”

I’d already said good-bye to our friends on Grallion, and I’d sent my last journal to you. I had explained the importance of journals to Spader and he had already started his own. The person he chose to send them to on

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