Fly-by-Night

You sure this is OK?” I asked as we followed Hen down the a long tree-lined driveway with immaculate landscaping on either side.

It hadn’t taken me long to realize that I didn’t really have any idea how to get to the dwarves. When I asked, Hen pointed vaguely to the mountains that dominated the horizon. And even if we knew precisely where we were going, what were we going to do? Walk there? It’s not that I couldn’t do it, but the base of the mountains had to be at least three miles away. I could run there in under 20 minutes, but I doubted James and Hen would be game for that.

Then Hen offered to take us in her family’s flying car.

“How old do you have to be to fly?” I asked.

“16,” Hen said. “But nobody follows that rule.”

James and I exchanged looks. I mean, a couple guys at school were always bragging about how their parents let them drive in a parking lot, but this felt a bit different.

“Flying is super easy,” Hen continued. “As long as you steer clear of buildings and birds, you’re totally fine. My sister once had a bird fly straight into the windshield. Dad and Mom weren’t happy about that. And sometimes wind can really mess up your flight path. I heard Misty’s brother was blown into a tree once. Oh and if you take turns too sharply, well, people have fallen out and stuff.”

“Sounds super easy,” James said.

With all the greenery, it took a moment for me to spot the house. The house was U-shaped from the front with modern-looking windows. The walls were covered with vines.

“Your yard is amazing,” I said admiring the flowers along the walkway.

“Yeah, Mom is obsessed,” Hen said, sounding almost embarrassed.

“Your mom does all this?” I asked.

“Or makes us do it.”

“Forget a green thumb. Her whole hand must chartreuse,” James said.

Hen shrugged. Once we made it to the house, I started toward the front door only to have Hen yank me in a different direction.

“Probably best if we use the shortcut,” she said pointing to the side of the house.

“Where is this flying car?” James asked.

“On the roof of course,” Hen said, as though it were obvious.

“Of course,” James repeated.

Hen walked to the corner of the house and started reaching underneath the vines until she produced a rope hanging from the roof.

James figured out what she was doing a split second before I did. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.

She started easily pulling herself hand over hand upwards.

“Can’t we, I don’t know, take the stairs?” James asked.

“Too many questions that way,” Hen said, as she reached the top with remarkable speed. Corbyn fluttered up after her.

“Hen, are we taking your parents’ car without asking?” I asked from below.

“Not so loud!” Hen hissed down from the roof.

“I thought you said it would be OK,” I said.

“It will be. Especially if they don’t find out it’s gone. Now come on!”

This seemed like a really bad idea. I didn’t have a better one though.

Upper body strength wasn’t really one of my fortes and I was pretty sure it wasn’t one of James’s either. “Is there a ladder or something? I’m not sure I can make it up there with this.” I held up the torch. “Unless Corbyn can fly it up there.”

“It’s too heavy—way too heavy,” Corbyn said from next to Hen.

Hen seemed to give it some thought. “There’s a shed around the corner. It’s unlocked but the kitchen blinds on that side of the house are usually open so be careful.”

James and I hurried away in search of the ladder.

Fortunately, the windows on that side of the house were dark. We found the shed easily enough. The door made a loud squeaking sound when I opened it that caused both of us to squirm. James checked the house but didn’t see any sign of movement.

The ladder wasn’t too heavy, but I was glad there were two of us to maneuver it.

The door squeaked loudly again when we opened it to get the ladder out and squeaked loudly closed behind us.

Then the light turned on in the kitchen. I just about dropped the ladder.

Not only did the light come on, but a figure came up and stood by the window, staring right at us.

Hen’s dad, Mr. Bloomberry. He looked just as intimidating as he did when I met him yesterday, so huge he practically dwarfed the window.

And he was staring right at us. My blood froze. I glanced at James who looked just as petrified as I was.

Mr. Bloomberry didn’t move and neither did we. We just stood there staring at each other for what felt like hours. And then I realized something.

“James, I don’t think he can see us,” I hissed.

“What do you mean? He’s staring right at us!”

“You know how when it’s dark and the light’s on inside and you go look out a window. . . .”

“You can’t see anything,” James said.

As if to prove us right, Mr. Bloomberry took a sip, then continued to stand there, eyes staring through the window.

“We’re not just going to stand here, are we?” James asked.

“If we move he might spot us!”

“Fine,” James said, sounding annoyed.

We stood there and waited. My arms ached from holding the ladder so long.

After what felt like forever, he finally moved back from the window.

“About time!” James huffed.

We high-tailed it over to the corner of the house and heaved the ladder up to the roof.

“After you,” I said. James climbed up as I grabbed the torch then followed him. Hen’s roof was flat with two large garages facing each other on either side of a wide central open area. Hen touched the garage door with her hand and it rose slowly up into the ceiling, creaking.

“You guys took forever,” Hen said as we ducked under the still-opening garage door.

“Your dad looked straight at us through the window,” James said.

“He saw you?” Hen asked.

“Don’t think so,” I said. “We held really still and he just sorta left.”

“We’re good then,” Hen said. “Dad would be freaking out if he had caught you.”

That didn’t make me feel any better about this. “Are you sure we can’t just ask?” I asked.

Hen made a funny voice. “‘Sup, Dad? Can I take your flying car to the human-hating dwarves? Thanks!’ No way!”

I swallowed and nodded, then looked around. There were two vehicles, both looking like they were ripped out of some World War II movie. One of them was a maroon Triumph Roadster and the other a jeep.

“Which one are we taking?” I asked.

“Neither of them,” answered a female voice. I looked up and saw the silhouette of someone standing in a doorway leading into the house.

“Your mom?” I whispered to Hen.

“Worse,” she said. “Sylvia.”

“Lights,” Sylvia said, and the room illuminated.

In many ways, she looked like a slightly older version of Hen. But Sylvia was, I don’t know how else to put this, stunning. Where Hen could have been a young, female Indiana Jones, Sylvia was like a 21st century, teenage Arwen. Hen’s hair was stuffed haphazardly in a ponytail while Sylvia’s cascaded perfectly around her face. Hen’s face was smudged with mud, Sylvia’s cheeks looked soft and delicate. Hen was haphazard; Sylvia was deliberate.

The two girls eyed each other icily.

“What are you up to this time?” Sylvia asked, her heels clicking as she stepped into the garage. “Some childish prank, I’m guessing.”

“At least I have a sense of humor. Don’t you have summer extra credit to catch up on?”

“Noah’s coming to pick me up,” Sylvia responded. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?”

“James, Santiago, Corbyn,” Hen said pointing to each of us in turn.

“You’re the new Seer from the Underland?” Sylvia asked me curiously.

“Yeah,” I said, blushing.

A movement drew my attention. Looking back, I saw a car land on the roof. This one looked like an old Model T. Behind the wheel, there was a large, muscular boy with a mop of black hair and forearms the size of my head.

“Interesting,” she said. She walked toward the Model T, opened the door, and slid in. Then she turned and said, “Can I give you some advice?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Don’t let her get you into trouble. She’s infamous for it.”

I didn’t really know how to respond to this, so I didn’t say anything. The jock cleared his throat, Sylvia waved gracefully, and the car flew away.

“Isn’t she the worst?” Hen asked.

“I like her,” James said.

“She’s been seeing that dunce Noah for three months. Everybody fawns over her. Sylvia this and Sylvia that. Straight As, prom queen, perfectly perfect everything . . . but nobody knows what she’s really like.”

“Why didn’t she rat us out then?” James asked.

“You’re just taking her side because she’s hot,” Hen accused.

I thought James made a good point, but I wasn’t about to say that. “Um, shall we get going then?” I asked.

“Best idea I’ve heard all night,” Hen said, grouchily. “Pull that lever to open the door.”

“We do have cars in Underland,” James pointed out.

“Right, well. . . .”

I’d never seen Hen look flustered. I took the passenger seat, gently placing the torch on the floor between my knees. James took the back center and Hen plopped into the driver’s seat.

“Won’t your parents see that gas is gone or something?” James asked.

“What’s gas?” Hen asked.

“I guess that answers that,” James said.

Hen turned the key in the ignition. For a moment, I thought it hadn’t worked but she pulled the gear shift down and the car lurched forward.

“Gas is this liquid we use in the Underland to power cars,” I said.

“Why not charge them by moonlight?” Hen said.

“That would certainly solve a number of problems,” James said.

I was half-nervous and half-excited for my first flight in a car. I hadn’t even been on a plane before, so this was all new to me. After pulling out of the garage, she turned us toward the edge of the house.

Hen slowed the car once we got to the drop-off.

“Now which one of these gears was it?” she asked herself.

“I beg your pardon,” James said indignantly from behind us.

“Oh yeah, this one,” she said yanking the gearshift down and flooring it.

I could hear James yelling behind us as we shot ahead and downward into the dark, soaring over the long pathway we’d just walked. Corbyn, who was sitting on my shoulder, gripped the edges of my ear tightly. The car looked like it was going to hit the ground and I found myself clutching my seat.

Right before we crashed, Hen pulled the steering wheel down and the car shot up.

“Ms. Henrietta!” Corbyn exclaimed.

“Your flying skills leave much to be desired,” James said as Hen took a hard right out of the driveway.

“Weird,” she said. “It doesn’t seem to be handling quite right.”

“What do you mean it’s not handling right?” a panicked James asked behind us.

I glanced at her and saw a gleam in her eye.

“Oh well, too late to worry about it now,” Hen said casually and hit the accelerator again. The car sped up, rising above the level of the trees and buildings. Ahead of us was the glowing wall of the Great Barrier. Hen turned the car to the right and the wall of mountains swerved in front of us.

“So how long will it take us to get to the dwarves?” I asked, still gripping my seat.

“Eh, 10 minutes,” Hen said.

“And how long if we keep the speed limit?” James asked, an edge to his voice.

“Speed limit?” Hen repeated. “Why would anyone want to limit speed.”

“For saaffetyy, Hen,” James said, slowly emphasizing the word. “You know, so people don’t die in large infernos of flame and smoke after crashing into a flock of birds.”

“Oh lighten up,” Hen said.

“Lighting up is precisely what I’m worried about.”

“Corbyn, do you think you could loosen your hand?” I asked. His grasp on my ear was beginning to hurt.

“Oh sorry sir!” Corbyn said, letting go and jumping down to sit between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

After the initial shock of flying wore off, I actually began to enjoy it. With the windows open, the air on my face felt refreshing. The twinkling lights of the city below were beautiful, not to mention the stars glimmering above us.

Maybe it was exhaustion, but we didn’t talk much. Soon the buildings below us were replaced by a large forest. It was too dark to make out anything but the shapes of trees. At one point, we overtook a group of birds with large bills and what looked like striped wings. They made some funny warbling sounds. I wondered if they were using our slipstream to conserve energy as they seemed to hover in our wake for a stretch.

Hen took us up and over a smaller mountain and started circling around the massive one behind it until I saw a massive rocky outcropping that appeared to be on fire. I soon realized that what I was seeing was hundreds—maybe thousands—of torches aflame in the night. A rocky fortress was carved out of the mountain. A flat section jutted out dramatically like a large runway.

I turned around to point all of this out to James, only to find that he was asleep. Poor guy.

“Where do we park?” I asked Hen.

“That big cliff looks like a good spot. And by that, I mean the only spot.”

“Are we sure we really want to do this?” Corbyn asked.

“We won’t let them eat you, Corbyn,” I told him.

Hen brought the car to a relatively graceful stop near the cliff’s edge. Several large doors opened at the rock face and dozens of dwarves piled out and rushed towards us. I could make out the gleaming of axes and helmets. This didn’t look like a welcome party.

“You sure they’re OK with us parking here?”

“I’m pretty sure that if they’re going to be angry with us, they’ll be angry with us no matter where we park.”

My stomach twisted, but I couldn’t deny her logic.

James seemed to sense our motion stopping.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“We got the pearls. We’re on our way home now,” Hen said.

“Seriously?” James asked.

“No,” I said.

“Where are we really?” James complained.

“Underboys, welcome to the dwarf kingdom,” Hen said.