Free Curse of the Midions by Brad Strickland Page A

said with a worried nod. “But he’s a terror, he is. You can’t walk up and ask old Nibs how to use the thing.”
    â€œThere’s Lord Zoroaster.”
    Betsy shook her head. “He’s melted into air, it seems. Nibs ain’t found him, and none o’ the Free Folk have heard a whisper about him. Nor of any Americans. Sorry, Jarvey. I could’ve sworn we’d turn up Lord Z or your parents by this time.”
    â€œThen there’s only Bywater House,” Jarvey said.
    Betsy leaned forward, hugging her knees. “Tall order, Jarvey. Things here, well, I don’t think they’re like they were back where you come from. You keep talking about things that seem like art to me, tell-a-visions and movie and whatnot. Well, old Midion does use the art of magic. He’s likely to have guard spells up around his mansion to keep out the likes of you and me, and if not that, he’s got ranks of guards.”
    â€œI’ll have to take the risk,” Jarvey said. “Look, I was in Bywater House once, and I got out without Tantalus turning me into a frog.”
    Betsy frowned and shook her head. “Nobody in their right mind would try what you’re suggesting. It could be like walkin’ into a death trap.” In a thoughtful tone, she added, “’Course, he ain’t always in the house. When the Council’s not meeting, sometimes Nibs goes up the river to his country house. He likes . . . hunting.”
    â€œMaybe we could have a chance if we could get into Bywater House while he’s away,” Jarvey said slowly.
    â€œI’ll think on it some,” Betsy said. She handed the heavy book back to Jarvey. “Meantime, you keep this safe.”
    â€œI will.”
    For some days everything rested there. But then it happened.
    The blow fell early one morning, down by the wharves. Betsy, Charley, Jarvey, and half a dozen others of the gang idled by the docks where boats delivered cattle and sheep from somewhere upriver. Everything stank of manure and sweat, but Jarvey had learned to ignore the stench. Like the others, he concentrated on their target, a round-bowed green boat loaded down with huge barrels overflowing with speckled yellow pears and shining red apples.
    Charley was in charge of the raiding party, and at a nod from him, Puddler and Plum and two others jumped with him onto the boat. Instantly one of the men on the dock, a big thick-necked fellow, roared a curse and raised a threatening fist.
    â€œGet off there! Get off there!” Betsy bellowed, running up after Charley. “Oh, sir, my brother’s not right in the head, please don’t hit him!” She clung to the man’s arm, and real tears ran down her face.
    â€œGet off my boat!” the man yelled, shaking his free fist. “Here, let go of me!”
    â€œSomebody help!” Betsy shouted, dangling from the big man’s arm like a doll. “You lot, get him! Don’t hurt him, he’s not in his right mind!”
    Jarvey and two other of the boys jumped to the deck, and Puddler joined them in tugging at Charley. “Come on, come on,” Puddler urged with a wink at Jarvey. “We know you love pears, but these ain’t yours to eat.”
    The boys’ shirts, belted at the waist, already bulged suspiciously with fruit, but Charley grabbed two pears and stuck one more into his gaping mouth. “Gd!” he said in a fruit-muffled voice.“’S gd!”
    â€œDrop them!” the man yelled as the others pretended to hustle Charley back onto the dock. Jarvey saw that the boat owner wasn’t going to get any help from the other boatmen, who were pointing and laughing and clearly enjoying the show.
    Betsy pleaded, “Sir, let him keep them! I—I’ll run home and fetch you the money. Pray, sir, my mother is very ill, and poor Adelbert isn’t in his right mind, and—”
    The man finally shook her off and glared