Seven Wonders 3-Book Collection by Peter Lerangis
I peeked inside. Shelley had been folded up into a curved trapezoid.
“Go directly to the Hanging Gardens and deploy Shelley immediately,” Bhegad instructed us. “It has been designed so that even a Torquin can activate it.”
“Simple tap,” Torquin said, poking Professor Bhegad so hard that he stumbled away.
“Perhaps with not so much . . . verve.” Bhegad removed his glasses, wiping them on his shirt. “As for the method of approaching the Loculus, I will leave that to you. So if everything is ready . . . Godspeed, my children.”
Cass turned to Torquin. “Take good care of Leonard,” he said.
“Like he was my own son, but a lizard,” Torquin said. He put one of his fleshy hands on my shoulder, another on Cass’s. “Have fun. Chisel us a postcard.”
He snorted and wheezed in his Torquinian version of a laugh, and I knew he’d been practicing the joke all day.
I turned toward the Euphrates. Aly squeezed my hand briefly. I checked my pocket and felt the outline of a small hand mirror. It was a present I’d made my mom in second grade, lacquered on the back with a photo of her, Dad, and me playing in the snow. Since my conversation with Aly on the tennis court, I’d decided I wanted it with me at all times. Seeing the photo gave me hope and strength.
We ran until the water was too deep. I closed my eyes and jumped.
“Haaaa!” Marco yelled, tumbling out of the river on the Ancient Babylon side. He reached in and pulled Cass ashore. “Getting better at figuring where to come out!”
Cass was gasping for breath. “I don’t know . . . how many more times . . . I will be able to do this.”
Aly and I swam to the bank. The trip through the portal had been smooth. Much quicker than the last time. Marco was right. We were getting good at this.
I sat on a rock to catch my breath. It was dark but the moon was bright, and it took me a moment to remember that even though we’d been gone four days, only a little more than an hour had passed in Ancient Babylon.
Marco was running around, collecting rocks the size of his biceps. He pushed each one into the sand until the rocks formed a large lambda shape. “I know Brother Cass can memorize this stuff, but ordinary Immortals like me need a marker.” Marco paused to look proudly at his handiwork, then began pulling the uniforms out of his pack. “Okay, campers, remember the drill. We find Daria and tell her how important this mission is. How we are trying to help the rebels by preserving Babylon. We talk her into going to the royal gardens with us. We wear some kind of disguise. We’re her cousins who don’t speak Aramaic. If Crag-face is gone, we’re in. If he’s not, we get him with the darts and then go for the Loculus. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.”
“That is such a dumb expression,” Aly said.
Cass, Marco, and I walked off behind a dense thicket to change into the tunics. I folded my clothes up and put them in a pile. At the last minute, I fished out the mirror and took a long look at the photo. Carved into the wood below it was my happy birthday message. Dad had inscribed the back of the photo, and over time his message had started to bleed through.
Martin, Anne, and Jack—Happy McKinleys!
Marco was looking off into the bushes. “So. Guys. You get a head start. I’ll follow. I—I think I just ate too much for lunch.”
“You have got to be kidding,” Aly said. “Again? What’s with you?”
“What do you mean, again?” Marco asked.
“This happened at the palace,” Aly said. “The time shift affects your digestive system and no one else’s.”
“I’m human, all right?” Marco said. “Just go. Now. Trust me, you guys won’t want to be downwind of me for about a hundred yards.”
“Good point,” Cass said.
We bolted. Marco was Marco.
It was a short trek out of the wooded area and onto the side of a large field of grain. The moon had sunk toward the horizon, and the sky had a predawn glow. I caught the comfy whiff of a wood-burning fireplace, which reminded me of home—until I realized it may have been the lingering scent of Kranag’s destroyed cottage.
Even in the dim moonlight I could see signs of the earthquake damage we’d caused—gullies running through the field, cracked earth, a wooden hut caved in on one side. People were running in and out of the city via the moat bridge, under the watchful eye of the tower guards.
We fell in with the crowd and snuck through the gate. I’m not sure if the tower guards saw our faces or not, but there was more than enough chaos to keep them busy.
The streets of the outer city were still damp. Some roofs had been blown off, and carts lay broken and abandoned. In and out of alleyways, people chased animals that had run loose during the storm. We trudged for about a half hour before we reached the higher gate—the one to the inner city and Etemenanki, the Tower of Babel. The air had the silvery glow of early morning now, and I was starting to worry about Marco. “Should we wait here for Superman?” I asked.
“He probably took a shortcut,” Cass said. “I bet he’s at the cottage already.”
Aly nodded. “Any reason to gloat.”
The rising sun showed a market in chaos, with people passing buckets of water. The souk stand where the guards had eaten lamb earlier was a smoldering pile of charred wood. I hoped desperately that no one had been hurt. I felt guilty. We’d caused this.
The burning smell hurt my eyes as we walked up the sloped street toward Etemenanki. I thought we might be stopped at the entrance to Ká-Dingir-rá, the palace grounds. But to our relief, the guards nodded politely as we entered. Aly led the way, charging up the street. Cass and I nearly collided with three wardum children who ran out of an alleyway chasing some kind of bird that looked like a chicken.
Aly stopped short at the corner to the road that led to our guest house. She held up a finger and mouthed, “Wait!”
We came up beside her carefully. Up the road, a clutch of soldiers had gathered out front of the guest house, with Daria in their midst. Marco was nowhere to be seen.
Daria caught a glimpse of us and shook her head in a way that meant stay away. We backed down the road, out of sight of the house. Quickly I led us into the alley where the little kids had emerged. “I don’t like this,” Cass said. “Those guards were mad. We’re fugitives. We caused mass destruction!”
“They don’t know we did it,” Aly reminded him.
“Right, but they know we escaped,” Cass said.
I spotted a blur coming around the street corner. Daria’s face peered out of a shawl. She waved. She ran to us, her features taut with concern. “Where is Marco?” she asked.
“He went to the bathroom,” Cass said.
“He is taking bath?” Daria asked.
“Long story,” Aly said.
Daria nodded. “But you—why are you here? I left you at Mother’s Mountain. Were you caught in the earthquake?”
I glanced at Aly. “Sort of,” I said. “We ran away.”
“It is bad here,” Daria said. “Bab-Ilum needs much fixing. King wants all guards to help. He sent his men to get your house guards. They do not remember the darts that put them to sleep. But they are angry you left. Did you get what you needed?”
“No,” I replied. “We have to go back.”
“Go back?” Daria said. “This is not possible.”
“We have no choice,” I said.
“Please, get it another place!” Daria pleaded. “Did the guards at the garden see you? If they know your faces, they will be cruel. They will not let it happen twice.”
“Daria, I don’t know how to say this,” I said. “I know this is hard to believe. But we’re sick, and we will die unless we get something from that garden. Something we can’t get anywhere else.”
Daria’s eyes softened. “You are sick?” she asked. “Marco, too?”
“We do not have long to live,” I said. “Unless we accomplish our task.”
Daria looked away. “Yes, well . . .” she said softly. “The Garden is full of wonders. I, too
“So you understand,” I said. “You’ll help us?”
Daria tightened her shawl. She glanced toward the guest house, her face showing a mixture of fear and uncertainty. “Stay here. Do not let the guards at the house see you. I will return.”
As she ran off, Aly and Cass sank to the ground, exhaling with relief.
I looked back the way we’d come. I could see through the gate and down a long, sloped path to the city plaza.
Marco was nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HIS JACKNESS
“GOOD EVENING FROM WBAB news,” Cass whispered. “We have reports of a small stink bomb near the Euphrates that nuked all wildlife within a hundred-yard radius.”
“Har . . . har . . . har,” Marco drawled, rowing us slowly across the river toward the Hanging Gardens. The sun was now above the horizon, giving us a hint of the sweltering day to come.
“The river reversed course, and the leaves shriveled and fell from trees,” Cass continued. “The soil was declared a toxic waste site—”
Marco flipped up the oar and splashed Cass with water. “Whoops.”
“Will you two grow up?” Aly hissed.
Cass was trying not to giggle. “Sorry, I just never saw anyone take so much time to—”
“I got lost, all right?” Marco said. “I wasn’t born with a GPS inside me.”
“There must not be much of anything left inside you now,” Cass said.
But Marco didn’t answer back. He was looking intently at the shore. The boat made a gentle shhhh as it scraped against the sandy bottom. Cass’s smile vanished as he stared up the slope toward the Hanging Gardens. I jumped out in the shallows and pulled us onto the sandy soil.
Daria stood slowly, glancing nervously at us. “I must convince them you are here to help with the earthquake damage. Hide your faces.”
She had brought us shawls, and we each pulled them over our heads. Daria scurried up the hill. The gate looked abandoned, but immediately a guard appeared. His face was sweaty, his arms dirty. He’d obviously been working on repairs.
We watched quietly as she spoken to him in a language that didn’t sound Aramaic. “How does she pick up so many languages?” Aly whispered. “She’s a genius.”
“Like you with tech,” Cass said. “Not to mention me with directions, and Marco with sports, and Jack with . . . his awesome Jackness.”
I ignored the comment. I didn’t want to think about how lame my Jackness really was. At the moment I was too scared to start feeling sorry for myself.
“You still have Shelley?” Aly asked.
“Locked and loaded,” Marco replied, patting his shoulder bag.
That’s when I noticed Marco’s tunic was on wrong. “You put that on backward,” I said.
“Huh?” Marco answered.
“Wait, you actually removed your tunic?” Aly asked. “You couldn’t keep it on while you—?”
“Aly, please . . . TMI!” Cass whispered.
The guard was raising his voice at Daria. He gestured angrily toward the Hanging Gardens. I could see that the upper level had been badly damaged by the quake. Its beautiful stone-columned crown was now rubble. Maybe half of the trellises on all levels were still intact. But Daria was talking calmly, nodding. I could see a tear running down the side of her face.
As she turned and walked toward us, she began singing softly. Beautifully.
The guard’s body seemed to sag as he listened.
“She’s a good actress, too,” Marco said.
“I think the word is manipulative,” Aly said.
“But it’s for a good cause,” I pointed out.
Looking exasperated, the guard came stomping toward us. Daria looked levelly at him, then let out a whistle—the three-note rebel signal.
The guard paused as he reached us. He peered curiously at our faces, then reached out and pulled off my hood.
His impassive face grew angry-looking. He muttered something I couldn’t understand, then pulled off Cass and Aly’s hoods.
As he reached toward Marco, Marco grabbed the guard’s hand. “Say ‘please.’”
The guard’s eyes grew wide. He shouted back to the other guards.
“He recognizes you,” Daria called out. “He saw you, when you left during the earthquake. He is angry that you sneaked in, even more angry that you ran away without helping. And Marco—”
“Sorry,” Marco said. “That guy bugged me.”
At the gate, two guards with long spears stood tensely.
“What do we do now?” Aly said.
“My favorite thing,” Marco said, crouching into what looked like a football stance. “Charge!”
I couldn’t believe it. He was running up to the gate, shouting wildly. He was also unhooking his pack—the pack that contained the emergency weapons Professor Bhegad had given us.
One of the guards chuckled. Both of them raised their spears and threw. The shafts bulleted toward Marco. He let go of the pack. But instead of falling to the ground, he stood, chest out.
“Duck!” I shouted.
I flinched as the spears converged toward Marco’s torso. At the last moment his right hand lashed out. Then his left. He turned, stumbling backward from the impact. I was sure they’d skewered him.
Dropping to one knee, Marco straightened his back and lifted both arms over his head.
He’d snatched the two spears in midair. “Two outs,” he announced.
Aly gasped. “That boy is going to give me a heart attack.”
The guards’ mouths hung open in astonishment. I was too focused on them to notice Daria’s guard, who had unsheathed a sword and was rushing Marco from behind.
“Marco!” Daria cried out.
Marco turned quickly. Too quickly. The spears he was holding clacked against each other behind his back. They were pointed in the wrong direction. He dropped one and struggled to turn the other around.
The guard was on him in an instant. He raised his sword and swooped it in a sidearm swing—directly to Marco’s neck.
“No-o-o-o!” Aly screamed.
I dived. I wasn’t going to make it. A scream ripped from my throat, and my eyes averted instinctively away from the horror. But not before I saw something black hurtling from the left toward the guard. A sharp clank. A spark.
In mid-stroke, the sword flew from the guard’s hand. It clattered harmlessly to the ground, far from Marco. The man shouted out in shock. He turned toward where the missile had come, the grove of trees by the river.
I saw a flash of green. Then another. Then two more, heading up toward the gate.
The guards all fell to their knees, clutching their necks.
Footsteps crunched over the rocky soil. Zinn emerged from the undergrowth, followed by Shirath, Yassur, and a small group of lean, strong-looking wardum. “Whoa,” Marco said. “Thanks, guys.”
They nodded toward Marco, but their eyes were on Daria. Zinn seemed full of questions. Daria spoke to them quickly. Her voice became tight, as if she were arguing. Finally she turned to us. “They do not understand what you are doing. It is dangerous to try to go to Mother’s Mountain. If you are on the side of the rebels, why do you do this alone?”
I took a deep breath. “Zinn has a point, Daria,” I said. It didn’t make sense to hide the truth anymore. “Okay, there is something inside Mother’s Mountain. It’s called a Loculus and it was stolen from a place called Atlantis. Its magic cut you off from the rest of the world and created Sippar. But what was stolen must be returned, Daria. Its absence has caused many people to die young. We will be next, if we don’t succeed.”
“We tried to remove the Loculus,” Cass added. “But that’s what caused the earthquake. Now we have a new plan. An empty Loculus of our own. We need to get it near yours, to connect the two. We will take some of what’s inside. Just enough. That’s what we really need. So the Loculus will stay. It w
Daria contemplated what we’d said. She turned toward the rebels and explained. They listened impassively, skeptically. Zinn especially seemed to have a lot to say.
Finally Daria turned to us and asked, “Zinn would like to know if Sippar is in your world.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head toward her and toward the rebels. They murmured among each other, and Yassur blurted something out.
“They want to know,” Daria said, “if we help you, will you allow us to see your world?”
“I can’t promise that—” I began.
“Yes!” Marco chimed in. “Yes, we can. Get us in there, guys. Daria, tell them to help us. And we’ll do whatever you want.”
Cass, Aly, and I gave him a baffled look, but his eyes were intent on Daria. He smiled as she turned to the others and explained once again.
“How could you say that?” Aly hissed.
Marco shrugged. “How could I not?”
CHAPTER FORTY
MISSILES OF SPIT
I STOOD AND followed the others at the entrance gate. Zinn and the rebels ran inside. “Wait here,” Daria said. “Zinn must be sure there are no more guards.”
“Arrr . . . !” came a guttural cry deep in the garden. Then a sharp whistle.
“All clear,” Daria said.
We sprinted over the lazy, winding paths. Daria led us to the inner wall, just inside which I could see a giant tree bowed with plump fruit. “When we are inside, Marco, take one of the pomegranates,” Daria said. “They are magic and will heal you when you’re sick.”
Marco boosted us all up and over. He climbed last, snatching a pomegranate off the tree as we began to run.
The screaming of the vizzeet hit us like a fist of sound when we emerged into the plaza of the Hanging Gardens. They spilled from among the fallen columns and the cracked-open walls, arms flailing, teeth gnashing. Missiles of spit hurtled toward us like poison rain.
“Yeeeeah!” cried Yassur, dropping to the ground, his hand clutching his eye.