“But—” I protested.
“Just do it, Brother Jack!” Marco said.
Carefully I crouched down, reaching for the bow.
With a sharp thwwwwip, a dart threaded the space between my fingers and embedded itself in the dirt. As I jumped backward, a face peered out from behind a tree—a woman, her dark hair cropped short and a scar running from ear to ear, circling just below her mouth as though she had a permanent eerie smile. She crept forward, holding a blowpipe in one hand. Behind her was another woman, older, with a broken-looking nose, and a man with a long black beard. They were wearing tunics of the same rough material and design as the other Babylonian wardum.
“Look, I—I don’t speak your language,” I said, “but we have nothing to steal. My friend is hurt.”
They looked at us warily. Marco craned his neck to see them and then groaned with the pain.
The woman knelt by him, looked at his leg, and shouted something to the others. As the man disappeared into the woods, she took Marco by the shoulders. Although she was an inch or so shorter than me, maybe just over five feet tall, she easily held his weight.
I lifted his legs. Together we carried him to a flat place, soft with fallen leaves. After we laid him down, she brushed sand and dirt away from the wound. “I don’t think they’re thieves,” I said to Marco.
“They’re not MDs, either . . .” Marco said with a grimace.
The man came back with two crude clay pots. One was full of a greenish-gray liquid that smelled something like rotten onions, skunk, and ammonia. The other pot contained hot water, which he poured over the wound. As Marco’s leg instinctively kicked upward, the man held it down. Quickly his partner slathered the green-gray goo over three thin strips of bark, then placed them over the wound.
“Geeeeaahhh!” Marco cried out.
The man was sitting on Marco’s leg now. Tiny tendrils of smoke rose from the wound. Marco’s head lolled to the side, and he went unconscious.
From a distance I heard a sharp, piercing whistle. Three notes. The woman answered identically. A moment later I heard a thrashing through the wood. And a cry.
“Marco!”
I spun around at the sound of Daria’s voice. She raced over to the other three. She seemed to know them, talking urgently in a flurry of words. A moment later she knelt by Marco, her eyes brimming with tears. “Is he . . . ?”
“Dead? No,” I said. “These people saved him. Who are they?”
Daria took a moment to think. “Wardum. But . . . I do not know the word.” She pointed to her head.
“Very smart,” I guessed. “Um . . . scientists? Is that what you mean?”
“Scientists,” Daria said. “Zinn, Shirath, Yassur.”
Marco’s eyes fluttered open. “Maybe . . . they can invent anesthesia for next time,” he said through gritted teeth.
Daria leaned over and gave Marco a hug. “I hear the noise. I run here. Bel-Sharu-Usur not be happy with me. I cannot stay long.”
She carefully reached toward his injured leg to lift one of the pieces of protective bark. Underneath, the mushushu’s gash had become a raised red-brown welt.
I could barely keep my jaw from dropping open. “That’s . . . unbelievable.”
“You walk soon,” Daria said. “Zinn is best . . . scientist.”
“What the—?” Marco tested his leg, bending it. “Thanks, guys.”
“Thank you so much!” I said. “But how did they find us, Daria? If they’re wardum, why are they in the king’s forest? Shouldn’t they be in the palace?”
Daria looked nervously over her shoulder. “We are . . . how do you say? Push back. Defy the evil Nabu-na’id.”
“So you guys are like rebels?” I said.
“King Nabu-na’id maked Marduk to be angry,” Daria said. “King not go to Akitu—this is great insult! Marduk caused bad things happen to Bab-Ilum. Many years ago. This one . . .” She waved her fingers frantically in the air, as if they were swarming around her face.
“An attack happened?” I said. “Bats? Birds? Insects? A plague of locusts? Bzzzzz?”
“Yes,” Daria said. “Also big water. From Tigris.”
“Flooding,” I said.
“Persians wanted to make Bab-Ilum part of Persia,” Daria said carefully. “Maked big army to defeat Nabu-na’id.”
“Made,” I corrected. “We have to teach you past tense.”
“I don’t blame the Persians,” Marco said through gritted teeth. “I mean, no offense, but your king is kind of a toad.”
“Our king is lucky man,” Daria said. “Persians no longer. All the bad things gone—after Sippar. Sippar comes all around us.” She smiled ruefully. “For King Nabu-na’id, Sippar is new god. Is Protector of Bab-Ilum.”
“Convenient,” Marco said. “Sippar nukes all your neighbors, and now Nabby doesn’t have to bother defending his kingdom anymore, like a king is supposed to.”
“But Nabu-na’id is afraid of forest, because of mushushu,” Daria said. “So we . . . Zinn, Shirath, Yassur, and more . . . we hide here. We meet. Plan.”
“But the mushushu’s dead,” I said. “So there goes your hiding place.”
Daria looked nervously behind her. “Mushushu is not dead. Sleeping.”
“Whaaat?” Marco said.
We all looked at the beast. Its back was rising and falling very slowly, the feathered darts riding with it. “Those must be tranquilizer darts,” I said.
“Anybody got a baseball bat?” Marco asked.
“We leave mushushu here,” Daria said. “We say prayer at Esagila. Ask Marduk for forgiveness. For hurting sacred mushushu. Marduk will listen.”
“Wait,” Marco said. “Remember what Ol’ Follow-the-Bouncing-Pupils promised? We could see the flower show if we nuked Mooshy!”
Daria looked at me curiously. “This is English?”
“Translation: Bel-Sharu-Usur said we could see the Hanging Gardens if we killed the mushushu,” I said.
“We think of way to see gardens later.” Daria looked again over her shoulder. Quickly she added, “Zinn says you are very brave, Marco. Very strong. And you, too, Jack.”
“I didn’t really do anything,” I said.
“You dragged me to safety,” Marco said. “Jack is the definition of awesomesauce.”
Daria nodded. “Bel-Sharu-Usur thinks you have magic. The king will want you. For soldiers.”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” Daria said. “Because Zinn and her people work for good things. Will use magic for the best future. For fairness in Bab-Ilum . . .”
She was looking at us closely. So were the other three rebels.
“Daria,” I said, “are you asking if we’ll join you? We can’t. We have to return —”
“We’ll consider it!” Marco blurted. “Show us the Hanging Gardens, and we’ll think about it.”
A rebel. Somehow that label only made Daria seem even more awesome. As if that were possible.
Singer. Freedom fighter. Spy in the king’s court. Language genius. She was brilliant wrapped in amazing.
Marco was leaning on her, limping. His white lie—saying we would think of becoming rebels—had made Daria optimistic. It was unfair. You know what else? He was pretending to be more injured than he was, just so he could have his arm around her.
I knew she was nervous about seeing Bel-Sharu-Usur. I was also starting to worry about Cass and Aly. So we went as fast as we could. Daria sang to keep our spirits up, and the birds joined in. The sun seemed to brighten, too, and my spirits lifted. After the song she insisted on learning more English, so over the following few minutes here’s a list of what Marco and I taught her:
1. Past tense.
2. The difference between tree and three. Also two and too.
3. The basic rules of basketball, demonstrated by Marco with a large rock and an imaginary basket.
4. Two hundred twenty-nine vocabulary words, including war, layup, peace, peace out, footsteps
, body odor, pathway, Cheetos, dilemma, awesomesauce, condition, and toilet.
I will let you guess which of those were Marco’s and which were mine.
Soon Marco was acting out the rules of basketball, bouncing around, making fake jump shots. “Marco is recovering,” I said. “He is making a recovery. This is another way of saying he is getting better.”
Daria quickly repeated those words, but her eyes were riveted on Marco. “Marco, please, I do not understand this three-point play?”
Some guys have all the luck.
“He breaks downcourt . . .” Marco darted among the trees as if they were defenders, pretending to dribble a large rock. “The girls in the stands are crying out, ‘Awesomesauce!’ He stops at the semicircle exactly twenty-five feet from the basket, and he—”
He froze with his hands in mid–jump shot. “Whoa,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on something distant. “Time out.”
We ran toward him. As we pulled up alongside, I squinted due to the brightness across the river. The air had changed, from the stink of burned wood and putrid flesh to a blast of cool, sweet air. The aroma was so intoxicating I felt light-headed.
Through slitted eyes I beheld something that took my breath away.
“Is that—?” I stammered.
Daria grinned. “Awesomesauce.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HEROES
BREATHE, MCKINLEY.
The Hanging Gardens rose on the other side of the Euphrates. They were more like an explosion of greenery than a stately ziggurat. If color were sound, the flowers would be screaming at the sun. They thrust through every columned window, draped the shoulders of every statue, obliterating the fine carvings on the walls. Their vines waved in the breeze like the hands of ballet dancers, and water rushed through marble gullies like distant applause.
“You say—said—Hanging Gardens, yes? We say Mother’s Mountain,” Daria said. “After Amytis, wife of King Nabu-Kudurri-Usur the Second. Like mother to all wardum, so kind and gentle. But always sad. She comed—came—from the land of Medea, where are great mountains, big gardens. Nabu-Kudurri-Usur built first Mother’s Mountain for her, in Nineveh. To make her happy when she visit.”
“Wait,” I said. “The first Mother’s Mountain?”
Daria nodded. “This is second. Built many years later. But Nabu-na’id has closed it. The people may not go there now.”
I walked closer, eyeing the surroundings. Beyond the Hanging Gardens, a huge park extended as far as I could see, surrounded by a brick wall. Outside the wall were dry, rubbly roads and small houses, but inside was lush with flowering trees and greenery. “Daria, we need to go there,” I said. “As soon as we all can.”
“Why?” Daria asked.
“We know about something inside,” I replied. “Something important. It—it has something to do with Sippar. With the reason Sippar exists.”
Daria’s eyes grew distant. “So this is why Nabu-na’id guards Mother’s Mountain?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But we need to find out.”
“What will happen if you take this . . . thing you need?” Daria asked hopefully. “Will Sippar go away?”
Marco eyed me. “Yes!” he said quickly.
Another lie. “Honestly, Daria,” I said, “we don’t know for sure—”
“Marco! Jack!”
I spun at the sound of Aly’s voice. She and Cass were racing toward us through the woods. As Marco waved to them, Daria’s friends stiffened. They reached for their blowpipes instinctively, but Daria gave them a reassuring smile.
Cass and Aly practically fell over each other to hug us. Both were drenched in sweat from the run. “We thought you died!” Aly shouted.
“That noise!” Cass said.
Daria looked back the way they came. “Bel-Sharu-Usur? The guards? Where are they?”
But Cass and Aly had spotted the Hanging Gardens. Their jaws were nearly scraping the ground. “That. Is. Utterly. Amazing,” Aly said.
“A lot of people say that when they hug me,” Marco replied. “Hey, ever seen a mushushu bite?”
Aly turned, eyeing Daria’s three friends for the first time. “No, but maybe you can introduce us?”
“I am sorry,” Daria said. “These are Zinn, Shirath, and Yassur. Wardum, like me. We are rabbles.”
“Rebels,” I clarified. “Against the king. Loyal to the legacy of Nebuchadnezzar the Second.”
A shout rang through the woods, not far behind us. Instantly Daria’s friends scattered and disappeared into the underbrush, as if they’d never been there.
“The guards,” Aly said. “They’re not too happy.”
Daria took a deep breath. “You are with us now,” she said, linking arms with Marco and me. “We face the guards together.”
Bel-Sharu-Usur knelt by the body of the mushushu.
I don’t know what the rebels had done to its metabolism. Daria insisted to us, in English, that it was alive. That the rebels had given it some potion to slow its metabolism. Its chest was now still. It looked deader than dead.
The king’s son stood. He swatted away the two wardum who were fanning him furiously. Muttering something to Daria, he turned toward his guards.
“He says you are heroes,” Daria said. “He thinks you will be of great use to the kingdom.”
“True on the first, epic fail on the second,” Marco said.
Cass was fidgeting with his tunic. A pair of leathery eyes peered out of one of his pockets, along with a Snickers wrapper and a pack of chewing gum. “Sssssh, it’s okay,” Cass whispered. “Leonard is spooked by the smell of the mushushu.”
“Maybe he thinks it’s a relative,” Aly said.
“I thought you got rid of that candy and gum!” I said.
“I kept a little . . .” Cass said sheepishly.
As Bel-Sharu-Usur turned, Cass quickly pushed Leonard back into his pocket. I had no idea if the king’s son saw the lizard, or if he cared. He nodded toward Marco with a gesture that seemed vaguely admiring, and then he shouted a command to his guards.
Daria’s face fell. She began pleading to Bel-Sharu-Usur, gesturing with urgency about something.
Two guards unsheathed their swords. Before we could react, they plunged them into the flank of the mushushu.
I stood helplessly, in shock. The creature oozed blood, its eyes flickering before shutting permanently. Daria raised a hand to her open mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror.
Cass let out a groan. Marco, Aly, and I averted our eyes. “Oh, man . . . why did they do that?”
“I guess . . .” I whispered, trying not to lose the morning’s breakfast, “. . . they had to be sure.”
Daria was muttering something rhythmic, maybe a prayer. I thought about putting my arm around her, but she turned away. “I—I’m sorry,” I said.
Through a mist of tears, Daria’s eyes were angry and resolute. “You will go to Mother’s Mountain, Jack,” she whispered. “I have left you the way to do it.”
“You have?” I said.
“Remember . . .” she replied, leaning close to me, “. . . when I came to see you . . .”
I saw the whoosh of metal. Daria let out a cry and fell to the ground. One of Bel-Sharu-Usur’s guards stood over her impassively.
“Hey!” Marco shouted, lunging for the goon.
The man pointed his sword to Marco, stopping him cold. Cass, Aly, and I all knelt by Daria. She wasn’t bleeding. I quickly realized he must have smacked her with the hilt.
Bel-Sharu-Usur stood over us, yammering.
“Okay, Bobblehead, I’ve had enough of this,” Marco said, turning toward him with fists clenched.
“No, Marco, you must not be so angry all the time!” Daria shouted, her face turned to the ground. “I was punished because wardum are not allowed to look upon the faces of the awilum—the nobles—without permission. Bel-Sharu-Usur believes you will become nobles. He knows he must convince Nabu-na’id first. But he believes the king will agree.”<
br />
“I don’t care what he thinks,” Marco said.
The guard was raising his sword again. Aly grabbed Marco’s arm and pulled him away. “Daria cares,” she said. “We go wherever he wants to take us. Silently. And we do not talk to Daria.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IF ONLY . . .
THE GUEST HOUSE was restocked with juices and food, but I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. As we moved along the rooftop, the moat crocodiles followed us with their eyes. But I didn’t care about them. All I could think about was Daria.
The swoosh of metal. The agony on her face.
Why didn’t you do something?
If I’d had Marco’s speed, I could have swatted the sword aside. If I’d had Aly’s brains I might have figured out in advance that the guard would do that. I could have taken preventative measures.
“Earth to Jack,” Aly said. “Your girlfriend is going to be all right. We need you. Escape plans are in order.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said.
“That’s encouraging,” Aly said under her breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.
“What do you mean, what’s that supposed to mean?” Aly looked at me curiously, then sighed. “Never mind, Jack. You are such a boy.”
“Will you two knock it off?” Cass said, pacing back and forth along the rooftop. “Think. What do we do now? Wait here under lock and key until Prince Sadist reports to his dad and brings us our guard uniforms?”
Marco drummed his fingers on the edge of the roof’s half-wall. “Actually it might not be so bad. As guards, we’ll have access to the Hanging Gardens.”
“Be real, Marco!” Aly said. “The king will be keeping us close. He’ll probably want to train us. He’ll want us to prove we can do magic. To earn his trust. By the time we’re let off on our own, it’ll be the twenty-second century back home!”
“Right,” Marco said. “Right. We have to do this fast. I could try to disable the guards downstairs—”