Seven Wonders Journals by Peter Lerangis Page B

awake, Diary. Will this night ever end??? In a few hours, just after sunrise, we go to the beautiful city of Fethiye on another Great Adventure—a search for the Missing Ring of the Great King Harpagus of Lycia. Apparently it is worth gazillions.
    Wait, you say, there are holes in this logic! Well, yes. First of all Harpagus was not a king, because Lycia was not its own country—part of the Persian Empire, technically. So he was technically a satrap. A lesser ruler. Second, no one knows where this ring is, or if it ever existed at all.
    And that is where Safi the Magical Ferret comes in. She will find the Ring That May Not Ever Have Been, which belonged to the Guy Who Was Not a King. And we will live happily ever after.
    Is this just insane? Have we heard this kind of story before?
    Yes. Last month it was missing pinkie of the Statue of Zeus from Olympia. Six weeks ago it was King Tut’s mustache. Three months ago, Cleopatra’s golden toenail clippers.
    All wild-goose chases.
    Okay, I admit, I’m a little excited. I have never been to Fethiye but it sounds wonderful, all beaches and seaside cafés. Whoa, here come the Most-Girl thoughts, as in when Most Girls go to the beach with their fathers, they’re not robbing tombs with a smelly ferret. Of course, Osman says
    Sorry, Diary, had to put you away for a few minutes. Father woke up. I think he saw you. You know what he said to me? “Aliyah, promise me you will keep your brother safe.”
    I didn’t know what to say. “Of course I will,” I stammered. “Why do you—?”
    â€œHe will be a great man,” he said. “But his soul is wild, untamed, and incautious. And you will need him someday . . .”
    I was on the verge of saying So what am I, chopped liver? when he smiled, and his eyes seemed to gain a sharp focus I hadn’t seen since Mother died.
    â€œ. . . Because you, my daughter,” he said, “you will save the world . . .”
    At that last word, his eyes closed and he drifted to sleep.
    I am smiling now. Sometimes Father’s dreams reveal the foolishness in his head but also the love in his heart.
    I think I will sleep now, Diary.
    Wednesday, 10:32 P.M.
    U CCCH . S ORRY, D IARY, for the coffee stain.
    Yes, yes, I know, I hate coffee. But as the others yammer and argue around the fire, I need to stay awake and write down what happened today. Because I am worried about all of us.
    We set off shortly after dawn. Osman was the only one wide awake. He sang a horrible little song called the “Hunt for the Ring of Asparagus” to the tune of “Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier.” I thought Gencer would clock him over the head. I (almost) wouldn’t have minded.
    We were trudging up a hill to find the ruined tomb where the ring was supposed to be hidden. Gencer was huffing and puffing, a cigar dangling from his lip. (Father buys the cigars, of course, even though Gencer is the onlyone who smokes them.) “So when that wretched animal finds the ring,” Gencer grumbled, watching Safi relieve herself in the middle of the trail, “then what? Maybe we can use our profits to invest in an oracular animal of our very own! Maybe, say, a three-legged goat who will eat its way to the Holy Grail?” He blew our way a puff of cigar smoke that smelled like someone had replaced the tobacco with manure.
    â€œHave a little faith, my wise and wizened incompetent,” Father said.
    Gencer looked momentarily confused (as he usually does when Father uses words of two syllables or more), then quickly regained his sarcasm. “You know, Khalid,” he finally said, “there was a time when you had a knack for finding a little something here and there, but this ferret business makes me think you’re just grasping at straws.”
    â€œAh,” Father replied. “And you, of course, have a better idea. Like your splendid scheme to pose as a statue by painting