EORGE HAD entered a world of confusion.
He knew nothing of Japan, or its language, or its customs, and he was still reeling from the shock that there was another person on Earth who shared the Dragonhunter’s blood.
The life of this person could be in danger, and they had to move quickly. Aldric had been able to retrace his footsteps from his previous journey here, but his memory remained vague and cloudy. At least it had led them here.
Simon and Aldric stood in armor, cloaked by their long trenchcoats, and kept watch over a Japanese home, an art deco house spread over a generous space in the overgrown city of Kyoto. It was made of darkwood with narrow slit windows, a three-tiered cake of a building with an Oriental roof design. He couldn’t imagine how Aldric could forget the place. It was odd and pretty, but it didn’t feel secure enough—the boy could be in there, and the Ice Dragon might still be after him.
It was morning, and mist pulled itself from the ground and shrouded the home.
Suddenly, there was a motion behind the frosted glass of one of the high windows. Simon tensed.
“Doesn’t look like any struggle’s taking place,” whispered Aldric.
The two waited, crouched in an alleyway near a temple that looked to be a thousand years old or more.
Another car pulled up to the Asian mansion, a long black 1950s sedan, custom-made from the look of it, unlike any Simon had ever seen. From out of the car came a stocky Japanese man in a suit, and from out of the house came a small boy with a black satchel, who bowed to the driver.
Simon couldn’t see the boy well at this distance, but another figure soon joined him, his mother, still in her bathrobe. She hugged him and kissed him on the top of his head.
“It’s her,” said Aldric quietly to himself.
The driver opened the door, and the boy—a littlekid, younger than Simon surely—got in. The sedan sped away into the mist.
“Come on!” said Aldric, and he dashed back for their rented Citröen—it was old, too. They had gotten it from a shady guy with the only car rental shop open at three A.M . It was loaded with their Dragonhunting equipment, and one very temperamental fox, who growled in fear as the car surged forward.
Simon could never stand Aldric’s driving. His heart rattled inside him as Aldric hit the gas harder and the car swooped into the mist, chasing the boy’s sedan.
Seemed like a spoiled little brat, thought Simon. Gets a fancy car to take him to school every morning, his mom waiting on him hand and foot. It was clear which St. George boy had gotten the raw deal, and it wasn’t this little jerk.
“I can hardly see in this fog,” muttered Aldric.
“If you go any faster,” Simon sighed, “they’re going to know they’re being followed.”
“Don’t lecture me.”
“But you’re not doing it right.”
“When you get your license, you can do the driving,” his father grumbled.
“That day ain’t coming fast enough,” complained Simon, and the car hit an unexpected bump, shutting them both up. Aldric had hopped a curb as he trailed the other sedan in a turn.
“Where is he going?” Aldric asked himself aloud.
“It’s morning, it’s Tuesday,” said Simon. “He’s going to school. Normal kids go to school on weekdays, it’s something that happens all over the world.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember being normal.”
The heavy fog was still misting the windows, but it gave Aldric’s car some cover.
“Don’t go so fast,” Simon advised again. “You don’t want to crash into the kid.” But I do, thought Simon. A small concussion, he reasoned, just a slight one, to even the score a little bit. Rich little punk.
The boy’s sedan passed into a clearing at the edge of the city, revealing a startling sight: a huge windmill lay ahead in the middle of a rice field, its propellers spinning softly and tossing back mist, and its tower crowned with a pagoda-style building.
It was one of the oddest things
He knew nothing of Japan, or its language, or its customs, and he was still reeling from the shock that there was another person on Earth who shared the Dragonhunter’s blood.
The life of this person could be in danger, and they had to move quickly. Aldric had been able to retrace his footsteps from his previous journey here, but his memory remained vague and cloudy. At least it had led them here.
Simon and Aldric stood in armor, cloaked by their long trenchcoats, and kept watch over a Japanese home, an art deco house spread over a generous space in the overgrown city of Kyoto. It was made of darkwood with narrow slit windows, a three-tiered cake of a building with an Oriental roof design. He couldn’t imagine how Aldric could forget the place. It was odd and pretty, but it didn’t feel secure enough—the boy could be in there, and the Ice Dragon might still be after him.
It was morning, and mist pulled itself from the ground and shrouded the home.
Suddenly, there was a motion behind the frosted glass of one of the high windows. Simon tensed.
“Doesn’t look like any struggle’s taking place,” whispered Aldric.
The two waited, crouched in an alleyway near a temple that looked to be a thousand years old or more.
Another car pulled up to the Asian mansion, a long black 1950s sedan, custom-made from the look of it, unlike any Simon had ever seen. From out of the car came a stocky Japanese man in a suit, and from out of the house came a small boy with a black satchel, who bowed to the driver.
Simon couldn’t see the boy well at this distance, but another figure soon joined him, his mother, still in her bathrobe. She hugged him and kissed him on the top of his head.
“It’s her,” said Aldric quietly to himself.
The driver opened the door, and the boy—a littlekid, younger than Simon surely—got in. The sedan sped away into the mist.
“Come on!” said Aldric, and he dashed back for their rented Citröen—it was old, too. They had gotten it from a shady guy with the only car rental shop open at three A.M . It was loaded with their Dragonhunting equipment, and one very temperamental fox, who growled in fear as the car surged forward.
Simon could never stand Aldric’s driving. His heart rattled inside him as Aldric hit the gas harder and the car swooped into the mist, chasing the boy’s sedan.
Seemed like a spoiled little brat, thought Simon. Gets a fancy car to take him to school every morning, his mom waiting on him hand and foot. It was clear which St. George boy had gotten the raw deal, and it wasn’t this little jerk.
“I can hardly see in this fog,” muttered Aldric.
“If you go any faster,” Simon sighed, “they’re going to know they’re being followed.”
“Don’t lecture me.”
“But you’re not doing it right.”
“When you get your license, you can do the driving,” his father grumbled.
“That day ain’t coming fast enough,” complained Simon, and the car hit an unexpected bump, shutting them both up. Aldric had hopped a curb as he trailed the other sedan in a turn.
“Where is he going?” Aldric asked himself aloud.
“It’s morning, it’s Tuesday,” said Simon. “He’s going to school. Normal kids go to school on weekdays, it’s something that happens all over the world.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember being normal.”
The heavy fog was still misting the windows, but it gave Aldric’s car some cover.
“Don’t go so fast,” Simon advised again. “You don’t want to crash into the kid.” But I do, thought Simon. A small concussion, he reasoned, just a slight one, to even the score a little bit. Rich little punk.
The boy’s sedan passed into a clearing at the edge of the city, revealing a startling sight: a huge windmill lay ahead in the middle of a rice field, its propellers spinning softly and tossing back mist, and its tower crowned with a pagoda-style building.
It was one of the oddest things
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