had messed up a lot recently, but that was one thing he wouldn’t fail on. The other was that Andy Mitchell was sitting on his toilet, reading the journals from Denduron. The thought made him shiver.
He didn’t want to risk going up to the attic to hide the newest journal, so he ditched it under his parents’ bed. The journal would be safe there until Mitchell left. Of course, at the speed that Mitchell read, it might take a week to get him out of there. But that was a risk Mark would have to take.
After stashing the journal under the bed, Mark went back to his room to begin the long ordeal of explaining every other word of the first four journals to Mitchell. He opened his bedroom door and saw that the bathroom door was closed. That was good. He didn’t want to catch a glimpse of Andy Mitchell sitting there with his pants around his ankles. Gross.
“Do me a favor, Andy,” Mark called out. “Finish what you’re doing and read the journals out here, okay?”
Mark didn’t want to risk getting the journals wet, with water or anything else.
“All right?” Mark called out.
Mitchell didn’t answer. Mark went to the bathroom door and knocked.
“You okay in there?” he asked.
Still no answer. Mark began to panic. Could Mitchell have fallen down and hurt himself? Could he have gotten sick? How would he explain any of this? He had no choice, he was going to have to go inside. But then he feared Mitchell was just being Mitchell and choosing not to answer. The last thing he wanted to do was open the door and catch him sitting on the toilet. But still, he had to make sure nothing was wrong. So he opened the door.
“Are you all — “
The bathroom was empty.
“Andy?” Mark called out in confusion. “Mitchell!”
Mark backed out of the bathroom, totally confused. What had happened? He looked around his bedroom, trying to see any telltale clue that would explain what was going on.
That’s when he saw it. His window was open. With rising panic he ran to it and looked out. The roof of the first-floor porch was just below the window. There were many times when Mark and Bobby used this route as a secret way to get in and out of the house. The roof led to a rose trellis on the far side of the house. Climbing down the trellis was like climbing down a ladder.
Mark went into brain lock. The evidence was all before him. He didn’t want to accept it, but he had to.
Andy Mitchell had just stolen Bobby’s journals.
CLORAL
It’s over.
I guess I don’t have to tell you guys that I made it, since I’m writing this journal. I’m back on Grallion now, where I’m feeling safe for the first time in a long time. But the sad truth is that not everybody was as lucky as I was.
As I sit here in my apartment reliving the events of the last few days, I’m feeling a little numb. Maybe this is what they mean when they say somebody is in shock. Everything that happened seems like it was a dream. Maybe that’s a good thing. When you feel as horrible as I do, then pretending it was all a dream makes it a little easier to handle.
Many people acted bravely, even in the face of death. I think that’s what I’ll remember most about the ordeal I’ve just been through. I have met some special people here on Cloral. I hope they think the same of me.
This is what happened.
Kalaloo led Uncle Press, Spader, and me along a winding path that brought us higher up on the mountain. The path ended at a giant outdoor shelter that was perched on a plateau near the peak. We walked up several marble steps to a large, round platform that had all sorts of tile work on the floor. We’re talking intricate stuff here. There were elaborate scenes of people building ships and swimming with schools of colorful fish, and even one scene that showed the dome being built over Faar mountain. I guessed this incredible mosaic showed the history of Faar. I hated to walk on it. It was like walking on art.
Around the perimeter of this platform were massive round columns that supported a giant, marble dome. It felt like we had just arrived on Mount Olympus! Above the stairs that led to the platform, attached to the dome was a large, marble symbol. It was the familiar symbol of Faar that Spader’s father had drawn for him.
In the center of the platform was a circle of bleachers that were also made out of marble. People were sitting there, gibbering with animation. I counted twelve in all. Men and women, all wearing the same tunic-looking outfits that everyone else on Faar wore. Of course, they were all bald, too. Even the women. Weird. I figured this was the Council of Faar that was waiting to meet with us. Kalaloo led us into the circle and everyone immediately fell silent. It was kind of creepy. We stood at the dead center, surrounded by all these bald people who looked at us with sour expressions, as if we were strangers intruding on their perfect world. The fact is, we were.
We stood there like dopes, not sure of what to say. Finally Kalaloo took the lead.
“We have news,” he announced to the group. “Not all of it is good. These brave voyagers are continuing the work of our good friend Spader, who died so tragically.”
He walked behind Spader and put a hand on his shoulder. “In fact,” he continued, “this is the son of Spader. We must welcome them all.”
The twelve members of the council applauded politely, but they didn’t have a whole lot of enthusiasm. It was all so stiff and formal. I really wanted to start screaming, “Wake up, people! Saint Dane is coming to kick your teeth in! Hel-lo! You gotta get ready!” But that wouldn’t have been cool.
Uncle Press then brought the council up to speed. He told them of the tragic mistake the Clorans made by creating a fertilizer that turned the underwater crops into deadly poison. He told them how thrilled we were to hear that the good people of Faar had the means to undo the harm and make the crops safe again. I have to admit, he was good. He strode around the circle like a lawyer presenting his case. Nobody could take their eyes off him.
Uncle Press then gave them the bad news. He told them that a raider had discovered the location of Faar, and was probably headed this way to attack them at this very moment.
This caused a big hubbub. Finally, the council was showing some life.
“How did this happen?” one woman demanded. “How could a raider learn of Faar?”
Uncle Press didn’t back away from the truth.
“I’m afraid he learned of Faar’s location at the same time we did,” he answered. “The elder Spader had a map to guide us here, and the raider pilot saw it.”
Spader dropped his head in shame, but I gave him a shove. He had nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t have any choice but to show the map to Saint Dane.
“Trusting the elder Spader was a mistake,” shouted one man angrily. “We should never have let him leave!”
This caused another uproar. The crowd was getting hostile. It was true, we were the ones who were bringing the boogeyman to their doorstep. I couldn’t blame them for being angry, but I was beginning to like them better when they sat there like boring, bald statues.
“Please!” shouted Uncle Press, trying to restore order. “There is a larger issue here!”
“Larger than the safety of Faar?” yelled a councilwoman.
“Yes!”
The crowd grumbled, but they wanted to hear what Uncle Press had to say.
“The man who is coming to attack Faar is the same man who poisoned the crops,” Uncle Press said. “He wants nothing less than the destruction of Cloral. Spader’s father realized that. If he didn’t come here, you wouldn’t have learned about the disaster until it was too late. Now there’s a chance to stop it.”
“But he brought the shark to our very door!” a man yelled angrily.
“The shark was already at your door!” Uncle Press shot back. “Did you think the people of Faar would be immune? You eat from the underwater farms, don’t you? How many of you would already be dead if you hadn’t been warned?”
No one said anything because Uncle Press was right. If Spader’s father hadn’t gone to Faar and sounded the
