Archer's Quest Read online

  Think. He had to think. But first he had to clean up all that glass.

  "You stay right—" Kevin stopped himself. That would be a command, and Archie wouldn't like it. He took a deep breath and said, "With your permission, Archer, I'd like to go get what I need to clean up the broken glass. Er, you don't have to come with me. You can just stay—I mean, I'd be honored if you would stay here in my room."

  Archie was squatting on his haunches, examining the broken glass. He waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.

  Kevin got as far as the door and turned back. "Um ... Archer. Is it okay if I get my cap?" He pointed at the wall above his desk.

  Archie rose and plucked the arrow out of the wall. He pulled the cap free of the arrow and handed it to Kevin without speaking.

  Kevin examined the cap before he put it back on. The arrow had pierced the little button on top—and he'd never felt a thing. How had the arrow managed to go right through his cap without ending up lodged in his skull?

  I could've been KILLED!

  He whistled under his breath, then looked up and saw that Archie was watching him, almost but not quite smiling.

  "That—that was an incredible shot," Kevin said.

  Archie nodded with satisfaction. "I would not have harmed you without knowing first if you were friend or foe," he said.

  Jeez. How could he have been so sure he wouldn't hurt me? What if I'd stood up just at that second, or something?

  Kevin shivered. He pulled his cap on and went downstairs to the kitchen. In the corner closet he found the broom and the dustpan, then took a garbage bag from its roll, thinking the whole time.

  What the heck is going on? And how am I gonna find out if he won't let me ask questions? It's like he's playing dumb. There's gotta be a way to make him tell me stuff.

  On his way up the stairs he hesitated. I should call Mom or Dad—a stranger in the house and all that.... But he was too interested in finding out what the deal was with Archie. Besides, the guy didn't seem dangerous anymore. He shot that second arrow at the birdhouse, not at me. And the first one was just—like, a warning.

  Kevin decided on a compromise: He went back to the kitchen, picked up the receiver of the cordless phone, and took it upstairs.

  He found Archie sitting cross-legged on the bed. Even that seemed to interest him—he was bouncing up and down on his bottom like a little kid.

  "What is this?" Archie asked, still bouncing.

  "What—the bed? It's where I sleep."

  "You sleep on this?" Archie asked, his voice pitching higher in disbelief.

  "Of course. What's so weird about—I mean, how is it different—" No good. He tried again. "Well, where do you sl—" Dang it, everything was a question! Finally, he said, "It's not the same as how you sleep." Is it? he added silently.

  "How could a person sleep when things beneath him are shifting like the sea?" Archie asked. "A straw mat on the ground is best, so one knows there is no treachery under one's body. Nothing but the faithful solid earth."

  It didn't sound very comfortable to Kevin, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd found a way to ask a question without Archie realizing it was a question.

  For the moment, though, he had a more pressing problem. As he swept up the glass, he shook his head. "How'm I ever gonna explain?" he groaned under his breath.

  Archie stopped bouncing. "You are troubled, Young Stranger."

  Kevin looked up. "Young Stranger"—that seemed like a step forward. Better than Little Frog, anyway.

  "The window," he said glumly. "My dad's gonna kill me."

  Archie jumped to his feet. "Where is he? I swear to you, he will not even be able to lift one hand in your direction before my arrow finds its way into his heart!"

  "No, no," Kevin said, dropping the broom in a panic. He could see that Archie was serious. "He wouldn't really kill me. I just meant he's gonna be mad."

  "You are sure?" Archie asked intently. "You are certain he would not try to kill you?"

  "Of course not—it's just something people say. He'd never kill me. I'm his son. Fathers don't kill their sons—at least, not hardly ever."

  Archie looked solemn. He stared at Kevin for a long moment, then stepped toward the broken window. With one finger he poked at the few remaining bits of glass on the sill. "My father tried to kill me," he said.

  Archie said nothing more. Kevin waited, his eyes wide. He felt as if there were question marks shooting out of his brain, like in the comics. But after a few moments, he went back to work—just to have something to do. He swept up the glass, emptied it from the dustpan into the garbage bag, and tied the bag shut. He thought he should probably vacuum, too, but he'd do that later.

  Kevin had figured some things out by now. Archie had to be from somewhere really remote—deep in the jungle, maybe. A place where there wasn't much technology. No glass and no TV news, since he'd never heard of America; probably no electricity, either. Kevin thought the vacuum cleaner would make Archie nuts—he might even try to shoot it full of arrows.

  Besides, Kevin wanted the room quiet. Archie was still standing motionless by the window, but Kevin had the feeling that he was getting ready to talk.

  He decided to help Archie along a little. He cleared his throat. "Your father tried to kill you. That must have been scary." There, he was already getting good at this business of asking questions without asking questions.

  Archie looked at him. "It happened more than once," he said. "In truth, I do not remember the first time. I was very young—no more than an infant."

  "He tried to kill you when you were just a baby?" Kevin asked, too horrified to keep the question out of his voice.

  Archie went back to the bed and sat on it, this time without bouncing. He spoke slowly. "I was born a prince, son of the ruler of a Chinese province. At my birth, a fortuneteller predicted that in manhood I would become a great leader. But I was not my father's firstborn son. I was not even second born, or third. I was the fifth born. It would have broken the sacred tradition of our land if I were to become king.

  "So my father tried to kill me. First he put me in a pen with wild boars. Fierce ones, with deadly sharp tusks. He thought they would gore me to death. But they did not. Instead, they lay down on their sides in a circle around me, to keep me warm."

  "Wow," Kevin said. "That's amazing."

  "There is more amazement to come," Archie said. "My father was very angry when he saw what the boars had done. He had me taken from their pen and left in the forest at night, in a place where wild dogs roamed. He thought the dogs would tear me to pieces. When morning came, I was found playing with the puppies, while the head dog himself kept watch over me.

  "My father tried one more time. He put me into an enclosure full of horses. Spirited stallions and prancing mares, huge beasts with great huge hoofs. He thought they would trample me to death."

  "But they didn't," Kevin said eagerly.

  Archie looked cross. "Who is telling this story, you or I?"

  "Sorry," Kevin said at once. "Go ahead—er, please, it would be great if you kept going."

  Archie nodded. "He thought the horses would trample me to death. But the stallions breathed gently on me, and the mares dripped milk into my mouth. They took care of me for a night and a day. When my father returned, he found me laughing and waving my hands as the biggest stallion knelt before me."

  "That must have made him really mad," Kevin said.

  "Worse than that—it made him afraid. He decided that heavenly spirits must be protecting me. So he let me live. But he was always fearful that I would take over the throne, so he had his men keep constant watch over me. My childhood was like growing up in a prison."

  He shook his head. "And all for naught. You see, although the prophecy stated that I was to become a great leader, it said no more than that. My father assumed that I would one day unseat him or my eldest brother. He made the mistake of believing that the way to the future was but a single road, and failed to consider an
y other path—that I might one day be the leader of another country."

  Archie looked at Kevin sternly. "So you see, it is possible that a man would want to kill his own son. Is your father a king?"

  Oh, yeah, Kevin thought, my dad's a king all right—King of the Nerds. He let out a snort. "Not hardly. He's a computer—" Oh, jeez, no way was he going to try to explain computers to Archie. "I mean, he works with numbers, sort of a mathematician."

  Kevin's dad was a programmer at the local university. Kevin was pretty sure that his dad was a genius—but a boring genius. He didn't talk much; he seemed a lot more comfortable reading computer books or watching business-news shows on television. Kevin had often wished that his dad liked sports—at least then they could have talked about football or baseball.

  Not that Kevin was himself much of a jock. He played soccer in the summer: a substitute, not a starter. His coach had once told him that if he'd put in some time outside of practice—juggling, shooting against the garage door—he could improve his skills and maybe make the first team. But he hated those kinds of repetitive exercises. So boring.

  A couple seasons of baseball. Clarinet in the school band. Swimming lessons. Nothing held his attention for very long. Sometimes he thought he was the only kid he knew with no special talent or interest. Being ordinary, average, and normal—my best features.

  For once, this was not a normal day.

  Archie rose from his seat on the bed. "It has been a most interesting visit, Young Stranger," he said. "But it is time for me to return home. If you would be so kind as to indicate the direction I should take, I will begin my journey."

  Kevin stared. "You're going to walk..."

  "Unless you have a horse you can lend me. But I think not, as I see no stable." He nodded toward the window.

  "Archer—" Kevin stopped and tugged on the bill of his cap in frustration. "Wait, I'll be right back."

  He raced down the stairs again and fetched the big globe from its place on the living room side table. Back in his room, he put it on his desk and turned it until he found Asia.

  "China," he said, tapping the right spot on the globe. He moved his finger. "The ocean. You know the ocean, right?" Then he spun the globe halfway round. "On the other side of the ocean—this is America. And this"—another small turn—"is Dorchester. Here, near this lake."

  Archie was looking at the globe so hard he was almost cross-eyed. He started to speak, stopped, shook his head. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the globe, as if it might bite him. Then he turned it back to Asia and examined the markings closely.

  "A map," he said at last. "A round map."

  "That's right," Kevin said, nodding. At last, we're getting somewhere.

  "I cannot fathom the mapmaker's reason for making it round," Archie said, "but it is clear he possesses some knowledge. He has drawn China, the land of my birth, as well as the kingdom where I now live, in its proper place." He touched a spot on the globe.

  Kevin leaned closer.

  Korea. So that was it—Archie lived in Korea.

  "And then," Archie continued, touching North America, "a dream world beyond the Great Sea."

  Kevin groaned. He seemed to be doing a lot of groaning, but he couldn't help it. Archie was so—so dense.

  "Archer, please," he said. "You know you're not in your own country anymore, right? Everything's different—the glass, the bed—it's a different place. I know this place better than you do, and you're just gonna have to trust me when I tell you that you can't walk home."

  Archie peered at him closely for a few moments. "I do not know you well enough to trust you fully, but I shall indeed trust you in this instance. Tell me, then: How will I return home? I must go. My people need me."

  Kevin shook his head slowly. A plane ticket to Korea probably cost hundreds of dollars, maybe even thousands. He knew without asking that Archie didn't have that kind of money with him. And Kevin's own savings weren't nearly enough—not that he'd give Archie the money anyway. After all, he hardly knew the guy.

  Still, it was clear that Archie didn't belong here.

  Especially not here, in Kevin's bedroom.

  3. Talking to the Spirits

  Both Kevin and Archie were silent for a long time. Kevin's brain felt like an overheated engine, he was thinking so hard.

  This can't be happening. But Archie's real, and so is that broken window.

  "Look," Kevin said at last. "There's something going on, and I don't get it. It has to be some kind of—of magic. You're from Korea, but you just ... appeared here, out of nowhere. And you're speaking perfect English." He paused, then added slowly, "I'm not sure I believe in magic. But if I did, I'd say that you came here by magic, so you have to go home that way, too."

  "There is no doubt that magic is at work," Archie agreed. "I do not fall when I am riding a tiger. This could only be the work of magical spirits. Likewise my ability to speak another tongue—nothing is beyond their power. But what is this 'Korea' you speak of?"

  Kevin frowned. "Your kingdom." He pointed to Korea on the globe. "Didn't you say you lived there?"

  Archie shook his head. "My kingdom is called Koguryo. I do not know any 'Korea.'"

  Koguryo? Maybe it was another way of saying Korea. But Kevin had never heard it before. "Whatever it's called, we have to get you back there somehow," he said.

  Magic. What did he know about magic? Almost nothing. He'd seen a live magic show once, at somebody's birthday party. And there were magicians on TV sometimes, and magic stuff happened in books and movies and video games. But none of that seemed real—not the way Archie was real.

  "Well," Kevin said at last, "there are magic words, like 'abracadabra' and—and 'Open Sesame.' Maybe if you said one of them, you would end up back in Korea." He couldn't help rolling his eyes—it sounded so stupid, like something a little kid would believe.

  "Abba-dabba?" Archie said, raising his eyebrows. "I do not think this is a spirit word. And sesame is a flavoring for food.... Good food may seem like magic, but in reality it is the work of a skilled cook. I do not know much about magic. It is best left in the hands of the spirits, and the few who are trained in such arts."

  Kevin held his breath for a second so he wouldn't groan yet again. "So you weren't saying anything special or—or chanting anything—when you were riding on the tiger."

  Archie shook his head. "No. I was up in the mountains, alone. I often go there, to clear my head of troublesome thoughts. It is peaceful, with only the animals for company. There are times when an animal can be a man's best friend. Since my youngest days, as I told you, I have always had a special fondness for animals, and they for me."

  Kevin was half listening, but he was also still thinking about magic. An idea hit him—funny, it really did feel like a light bulb had lit up inside his head, just like the comics. "I should look up some stuff about Korean magic," he said. "Maybe there's something that could give us a clue about what we should do."

  Archie wrinkled his brow. "You wish to study magic? This is not a desirable occupation for a child. Especially a male child. It is best left to the sorceresses."

  "I'm not going to study it for a career," Kevin explained patiently. "Just enough so maybe I can help you get back home."

  "Very well then," Archie said with a nod.

  Kevin led the way downstairs. At the bottom of the stairwell he flicked on the light switch for the living room.

  "Ai!" Archie gasped and put his hands over his eyes. Then he whirled, fled back up the stairs, and turned the corner at the top. The next thing Kevin saw was the tip of an arrow pointing at him from beyond the stairwell wall.

  "Yikes!" he squeaked, and instinctively he put his hands up over his head.

  "You have one chance," Archie said, his voice cold as an icicle. "I had thought you a friend, but a friend would know that an archer's eyes are precious beyond gold to him. Why did you attempt to blind me?"

  "To blind you? I didn't, Archer. I only turned on the light. I wasn't tr
ying to blind you—honest," Kevin babbled. "I'll show you again, okay? Don't shoot, please. I'm just going to turn the lights off and on again."

  Without taking his eyes from the deadly arrow, Kevin inched toward the light switch, his hands still raised. When he reached the wall with one hand, he started babbling again. "See? Off, on, off, on. This little switch controls the lights. There are wires in the wall, and they go up to the ceiling and connect with those lights over the sofa."

  To his great relief, he saw the arrow lowered, followed by the reappearance of Archie at the top of the stairs. I was right, Kevin thought as his heart left his throat and returned to his chest. Wherever he comes from, there's no electricity.

  With Archie at his side, he walked through the living room. There were tons of things Archie could have asked about—the stereo, the TV set, even the wall clock. He was looking around wildly, but then he seemed to go into shock. His face went completely blank, and he pressed his lips together. It's all too much for him—he doesn't even know where to start asking.

  In the den, Kevin dragged an armchair next to the desk so Archie could sit and watch. Then he booted up the computer. While he waited, it came to him all at once—how he could explain the computer.

  "I know you don't think magic is suitable for ... for kids like me," he said. "But here in America, lots of kids get a little training in magic." He touched the monitor. "This is sort of a magic box. It lets me talk to people who aren't here."

  Archie was listening with an expression of great interest. "People who are not with you—like the spirits. You talk to the spirits through this box."

  Kevin couldn't help grinning. "That's right. The spirits of the Internet." The computer beeped its readiness. "I'll show you."

  He clicked on the Internet connection and typed Korean magic into the search-engine box. "I'm asking if the—the spirits know anything about Korean magic," he explained.