“Banish them,” hissed Mrs. Needle. “Send them away. They are traitors, all of them-Ragnar, the boy, the girl. They are all trying to steal the farm from you!”
“Steal my farm?” Now Gideon was fighting to get out of bed, his face almost purple with rage as he waved his arms like a drowning man, but he seemed bleary, slow, as if he truly were underwater. “Out! All of you, out! Out of my room, off my farm! I trusted you, but you betrayed me!” He turned his mad, staring eyes on Tyler and Lucinda. “And you children,” he said with what looked shockingly like actual hatred, “have done nothing but try to destroy what I’m doing here. Go away, all three of you traitors-get out of my sight! And never come back to Ordinary Farm! ”
Chapter 21
Automatic lights all over the farm were flickering on as the sunset dwindled, their orange glow only a shade lighter than the sky. Tyler stood in the front doorway, his heart beating so fast he felt dizzy, wondering if he would ever see this wonderful, shocking place again, as Ragnar appeared from the Snake Parlor carrying Lucinda cradled in his arms as though she were a small child.
“How is she?”
The big man shook his head. “I do not know. Not well. We will ask Hector Carrillo to help us.”
“Hear that, Luce?” Tyler asked. “The Carrillos will help. Everything will be okay.” She opened her eyes and did her best to smile, but it was not the most convincing show of confidence Tyler had ever seen.
Pema and Sarah thumped down the stairs, each dragging one of the children’s suitcases. Both women were crying.
“Everything is in them,” Sarah told Tyler. “Pema swept under your beds and your closet.” She suddenly began to sob again.
“Where will you go?” Pema kept saying. “Where will you go?”
“To the Carrillos, I think, if they will have us.” Ragnar nodded, considering. “At least for one night. Lucinda must have rest and a comfortable bed.”
“What if they don’t want us?” Tyler asked, worried by Lucinda’s pale, listless features. “Mr. Carrillo was pretty mad at us the last time we saw him.”
“Not at you,” Ragnar said grimly. “Mad at Gideon, and the witch who gives him such bad counsel.” He scowled. “Where is Simos? I wish I could speak to him before we go.” He turned to Sarah. “Tell Walkwell what has happened. He will know what to do.”
“But what’s going on?” Tyler still felt as though the world had abruptly turned upside down. “Why is Gideon acting so strange?”
“I know not,” Ragnar said. “All is strange today. This is like the day that was my death-day.” He waved to Sarah and the other women, then to Caesar in the kitchen doorway, then he led Tyler out of the front door. The sky was a curtain dark as pencil lead.
“Death-day?” It took Tyler a moment to understand. “The day you almost died, but instead you came here to our time? But Gideon saved you. You didn’t die!”
“I was ready. I had sung my death song.”
They fell silent as Ragnar led Tyler across the property to the nearest automatic gate. Mr. Carrillo was parked on the other side, his truck running, belching little puffs out of its tail pipe. He looked up as they approached. “Where is Mr. Goldring?”
Ragnar stopped beside the truck. “Gideon is not coming. In fact, he has thrown me and the children off the farm.”
“What?” Hector Carrillo stared at Lucinda where she lay, limp and barely conscious in the big man’s arms. “What’s wrong with her?”
“No one knows-something in the garden made her sick. But she needs a safe place to rest.”
“My wife will know what to do,” Mr. Carrillo said. “Get in. You too, son,” he told Tyler. “I’ll call her when we’re off the property-I can never get a good signal here.”
A few moments later they were bumping slowly across the open spaces beyond the farmhouse and inner buildings, the two men in the front, Tyler and his sister in the back seat. Lucinda was half-asleep, leaning on Tyler’s shoulder.
“Did all of this happen because you let me onto the property?” Mr. Carrillo asked.
“It is not the cause,” said Ragnar. “But it is a part.”
They stopped at the gate that led out of the middle zone and into the outer part of the farm. Ragnar got out and walked to the control box, then punched numbers into it. Nothing happened. He frowned, then did it again.
“Did they change the codes already?” Tyler asked. “That’s pretty stupid-we won’t even be able to get out… ” But even as he spoke something long and low and as big as a tiger stepped out of the shadows only a few yards from Ragnar. When it turned its pale, hairless face toward them, Tyler saw the orange smolder of its eyes reflecting the truck’s headlights.
“Oh, jeez,” he said. He was having trouble getting his breath. “R-Ragnar! On your left, it’s one of those… those…!”
“Manticore,” said the Norseman softly. “Hammer of Thor, that thing should not be out of its pen so early- someone has made a mistake. Keep your voice calm and none of you move.”
Mr. Carrillo squinted through the windshield. “What in hell… what in hell…?”
“Quiet,” said Ragnar. “Drive away, Hector. Drive back to the house.”
“I don’t know how to get back through the other gate,” said Mr. Carrillo. “And I’m not leaving you here.”
Hearing his voice clearly excited the manticore: it sat up straight and swiveled its dead stare between Ragnar and the truck.
“Do either of you have a knife?” the Norseman asked.
“A knife?” Mr. Carrillo didn’t quite understand. “Not in the truck … ”
“Here.” Tyler pulled out his jackknife. His heart was pounding like a marching band, a thousand terrified thoughts ping-ponging through his mind. He slowly rolled down the window and tossed it toward Ragnar. At the movement the manticore let out a strange bark and jerked back a step. The knife bounced in the dirt and landed near Ragnar’s feet.
“A very small blade indeed,” the Viking frowned as he squatted slowly and picked it up. “But that can’t be helped.” The manticore watched him intently, its tail rattling back and forth through dust and dead leaves like a hissing snake. It was all Tyler could do not to shout for help-but who would hear them, anyway?
“Get back in the truck, Ragnar!” Mr. Carrillo said.
The bearded man only shook his head. “No. If I move he’ll come after me-he will strike soon in any case. Get the children away.” He began moving in a wide slow circle, trying to pull the manticore’s attention away from the old pick-up.
Lucinda stirred beside Tyler. “I’m sick,” she moaned. “I want to go home.” She didn’t seem to have any idea of what was happening. An instant later the manticore struck at Ragnar, reaching for him with a speed that utterly shocked Tyler. Even Ragnar was barely able to avoid the creature’s clawed fingers-as he danced back the front of his shirt flapped open, torn to tatters.
“Drive, curse you, Hector!” Ragnar shouted. “Get these children away from here…!”
But even as he spoke the manticore leaped toward him, snarling in a curious, high-pitched way. Ragnar fell back but the thing was faster than he was, and although he hacked at the creature with Tyler’s knife, whatever blow he dealt it did not stop it or even slow it down. Man and monster went down in a struggling heap, arms and legs and lashing tail. A moment later one of them rose. The snarling noise had been replaced by something else, something closer: Mr. Carrillo was desperately trying to restart the stalled truck, but the engine turned and turned without catching.
The manticore, limping and snarling, began to circle Ragnar’s motionless body, examining him before beginning to feed. An instant later the pick-up’s engine fired.
