whispered his final plan, and the kite twisted urgently, quivering but resolute. Oliver felt a surge of love for the kite. He hoped they both survived the next few seconds.
The disc approached. Bursts of lightning from beneath the disc stabbed through the darkness, leaping from the platform to the wires. Lord Gilbert, on the platform, continued wobbling toward the crest, his fingers dancing on the HM IV. The tower of light from the treehouse threw everything into weird, broken shadows, and the winds screamed as they blasted against the crackling cage of lightning. The sounds should have stifled anything Lord Gilbert had to say, but his voice was amplified like thunder:
“OLIVER! RETURN TO YOUR MASTER!”
“Oliver One or Oliver Two?” shouted Oliver.
The voice made a sound of strangled rage. “BOTH OF YOU! OBEY ME AT ONCE, OR—”
Two broke from behind Oliver, running toward Lord Gilbert. The disc was hovering just above the ground now, thirty feet away from them.
“No!” shouted Oliver. “Don’t!”
Two made a hideous sound, unleashing years of misery and pain and humiliation into a single cry. He brandished a thick spar, whittled to a point. Oliver had not seen him take it from beneath his jacket.
Lord Gilbert laughed, and his hand twitched on the HM IV. Two froze, then fell, his arm still raised in defiance.
Oliver could only watch helplessly. If he got too close to Lord Gilbert, the HM IV would paralyze him, too.
“You ruined my plumbing!” screeched Lord Gilbert, pointing at Oliver.
“Why don’t you come and get me, then?” Oliver could see that the disc was having trouble with the gale. It bucked and swayed, requiring Lord Gilbert to continually adjust course with the HM IV.
“Having trouble?” Oliver taunted.
Lord Gilbert spat and made more motions on the HM IV. The disc made a strained hum as it fought its way uphill. Oliver felt a numbness creeping up his legs.
Oliver wobbled on the grass as he watched Lord Gilbert draw near. The winds coiled around him. The crimson kite held its sails wide open, gathering wind, ready.
Oliver could no longer feel his feet. He sagged to his knees.
“Go!” he shouted, and released the crimson kite.
The kite streaked toward Lord Gilbert, fast as the winds. As Oliver tipped over, now completely paralyzed, he saw Lord Gilbert raise an arm to protect himself—the arm that wore the HM IV. The kite smashed into the device at blinding speed. Lord Gilbert screamed, and the HM IV went tumbling down the mountain, sparking and bouncing. A crimson blur—the kite—went hurtling in another direction.
And the numbness was gone.
The cloud of hunters dispersed instantly, their cries fading into the distance.
Two rose shakily to his feet.
Oliver pushed himself onto his hands and saw Lord Gilbert jump free of the out-of-control platform, which crashed away at the mercy of the winds.
Then Lord Gilbert was stumbling after the HM IV.
The crimson blur came by. Oliver grasped the tail of his kite. They covered the distance to Lord Gilbert in a second. Oliver released the kite’s tail, and with the winds at his back, he leapt onto the old man, grabbing his arm.
“You’re coming with me,” said Oliver. He closed his eyes and stepped into the winds.
Oliver found that the journey from one world to the next was considerably more difficult when dragging a spitting, screeching, struggling great-uncle by one arm. He could feel Lord Gilbert’s thin wrist beneath his fingers, and he could feel a hand clawing at him, but he pretended those things were a thousand miles away. New worlds called to him from all directions, and Oliver told them,
Then he was stepping onto rocky ground, the soft murmur of the desolate desert winds all around him.
Lord Gilbert screamed, and Oliver released him in distaste.
The old man backed away, chest heaving, eyes bulging as he gazed wildly at the vast, moonslit distances of the desert mountain. “The hell-world! How did you do this?” he breathed.
Oliver shook his head. “This is not the hell-world. The hell-world is something you made for yourself.”
Lord Gilbert grabbed for Oliver, but Oliver leapt aside. “Stop it!” Oliver ordered. “Stop it or I’m leaving.”
Lord Gilbert’s eyes narrowed, but he came no closer. “You’re going to leave me here anyway, aren’t you? You intend this world to become my prison.”
“Whether it becomes your prison or not is up to you,” said Oliver.
“You can’t abandon me here,” snarled Lord Gilbert, stumbling backward onto a rock. “I’ll die.”
“No,” said Oliver. “You won’t die. And I’m not abandoning you.” He pointed down the mountain. “You’ll find a house down there. You’ll see that it’s been stocked with delicious roots and berries. There’s a spring nearby. Follow my great-uncle’s example, and you’ll see that you can live well.”
“No!” screamed Lord Gilbert. “I’ll find a way out! I’ll kill every one of these trees if I have to! I’ll make them give me their secrets!”
“Harm one of these trees,” said Oliver through gritted teeth, “and I will know. I’ll be back here the instant it happens. And I’ll take you to a world that will make this one seem like paradise.”
And with that, Oliver stepped back into the winds.
The broken halves of the riven oak still leaned away from each other, but they were nearly touching now, held in place by an ingenious system of splints and rope.
“Be patient,” Great-uncle Gilbert had told Oliver. “It will heal, but we mustn’t rush it.”
Oliver was astonished at the progress Great-uncle Gilbert had made in just two days. The machines and spikes and tubes were gone. The black wires had been stripped from the surrounding trees. Oliver’s head still ached when he came near the riven oak, but the pain lessened each day.
In Lord Gilbert’s former treehouse, Great-uncle Gilbert was still behaving as he had ever since Oliver had freed him. He was gleefully running about, maniacally pushing buttons and throwing switches. The place was in chaos as a result, and he had managed to blow up part of the kitchen. He couldn’t have been happier.
“Great-uncle Gilbert,” said Oliver, “I’m going home now.”
“Yes, yes,” said Great-uncle Gilbert. “You’ll be back with my chickens, won’t you?” He waved his arm in Oliver’s general direction but did not look up from the laboratory table. He had the disassembled HM IV laid out before him and was poking at it with a kite spar.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring the chickens. You’re sure you want to stay here?”
“Of course!” cried Great-uncle Gilbert. “No distractions, no fools meddling about—er, no offense.”
“None taken,” said Oliver mildly.
“And,” continued Great-uncle Gilbert, “I can fly my kites on the crest without that idiot mayor complaining about explosions! Without whimpering dolts whining about kites being devoured! I haven’t flown a kite on the crest in forty years.” He peered seriously at Oliver. “It took five Watchmen to carry me off, you know,” he said.
“I know, Great-uncle Gilbert, I know,” said Oliver, grinning. Some of his great-uncle’s stories were becoming quite familiar.
Oliver was about to depart when Great-uncle Gilbert spoke again. “Er, Oliver …”
“Yes?”
Great-uncle Gilbert drummed his fingers anxiously. “It would also be … acceptable … for you to, er, visit on occasion, you know.”
“I know, Great-uncle Gilbert. Don’t worry, I’ll visit often.”
He waved goodbye as his great-uncle smiled at him from the treehouse door.
Oliver hurried to the crest as twilight neared and the shadows lengthened.
