Sabotaged by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

along. It’s like chess or Stratego, games like that, where sometimes you have to use reverse psychology.”
    “Jonah, you’re terrible at chess and Stratego!” Katherine objected.
    “I am not,” Jonah said. “Not anymore. Remember a few years ago, when I used to go over to Billy Rivoli’s house and play board games? I got a lot better.”
    Katherine frowned, but then she shrugged.
    “It’s not like I have any better ideas,” she admitted.
    Across the fire, the tracer boys were lying down, settling in for the night. Dare curled up at Andrea’s feet. Andrea let out a jaw-splitting yawn.
    “I guess it’s worth a try,” she said.
    Jonah lay down, feeling surprised that Katherine and Andrea hadn’t argued more.
    We’re all too tired to think straight, he thought. But my idea will work. I hope.
    The truth was, Jonah really didn’t like Stratego or chess or games like that. There was too much planning, too much strategy, too much trying to figure out your opponent’s plans ten moves ahead.
    What was that really complicated game Billy was always trying to get me to play? Jonah tried to remember. The one where you weren’t just competing against one other person, but there could be five or six people, all trying to win?
    Jonah remembered the name of the game just as he was slipping off to sleep: Risk.
    He woke hours later, to darkness and the sound of screaming.
    “Stop! Stop! Halt the battle!”

 
    Jonah sprang to his feet, his heart pounding. He gazed frantically from side to side. The fire was barely even embers now, but the dim glow of the tracers cast a little light into the darkness, onto the arched walls of the hut.
    Hut . . . we’re still in the hut . . . I don’t see any battle anywhere. . . .
    The man they’d saved from drowning was thrashing about on the floor. He seemed caught in the grip of some unceasing agony.
    “These are the wrong savages!” he screamed. “They aren’t the ones who killed George Howe! They’re Manteo’s people! Oh, Lord, forgive us—forgive us this blood on our hands!”
    Dare whimpered at the loud shouting. Jonah saw that Andrea and Katherine were awake now too. Andreasat up and reached over to pat the man’s shoulder.
    “Shh,” she said soothingly. “You’re okay. It’s just a dream.”
    “Andrea, stop talking to him!” Jonah hissed. He tried to stay back in the shadows, out of sight. “He’ll see you!”
    “Don’t worry—he’s talking in his sleep again,” Andrea whispered back. “He doesn’t have his eyes open.”
    Jonah thought about rushing forward and pulling Andrea away, just in case. But it seemed as if that would be even more disruptive.
    And just then, the man began to sob.
    “Oh, Eleanor, we were star-crossed from the start,” he wailed. “What Fernandez did . . . the enmity Lane left behind . . . killing over a communion cup . . . Oh, how can I leave you now? With the wee babe . . . in this wilderness, under constant threat from mine enemies . . .”
    Even in the dim light, Jonah could see Andrea stiffen. For a moment she sat completely frozen, a shadowed silhouette. Then she moved her hand. She wrapped her fingers around the man’s hand and held on tight.
    “Oh, Father,” she whispered. Her voice broke. Jonah saw her lower her head, gulping for control. After a moment, she raised her head and went on. “You are the only one who can go. You must talk to Sir Raleigh. He’ll listen to you. Only you can save us.”
    Sir Raleigh? Jonah thought. What’s Andrea talking about?
    The man seemed to know.
    “What if Sir Raleigh thinks I abandoned my duty?” the man moaned. “Oh, ‘tis a dreadful choice. To stay, to go . . . I see evil encroaching, either way. If evil befalls you—”
    “It won’t be your fault,” Andrea said firmly.
    “But ’twas I who brought you here! My child! And I will not be here to protect you!”
    The man seemed to be getting more and more upset. Across the hut, the tracer boys were stirring now. One