The Invisible Tower by Nils Johnson-Shelton Page B

they made their way to the serpent’s head along a paved walkway.
    A small brown river to the west of the mound babbled along pleasantly. Beyond that was a large cornfield. All around was postcard-perfect rural America—big old oaks and maples and ashes and beeches dotted rolling hills with small farms. It was picturesque countryside, and the last place one might expect to find a portal to earth’s sister world.
    They got to the snake head and milled around while they waited for a family of four to clear out. When the family finally left, it was just past five. Artie and Kay exchanged a look of mutual assurance and moved into the woods to the north.
    The woods were very thick and dark. They hadn’t walked ten paces before the snake-head clearing was out of sight. The little river had gone totally silent. And the light in the west was weak and orange among the trees.
    â€œSo where’d the little guy say he was supposed to meet us?” asked Kay.
    Artie concentrated on his feet. He said, “Five more paces if I’m counting right.”
    They took five steps and stopped. They found themselves in a little depression, the ground choked with gnarled roots. The air was still and heavy.
    â€œThumb? You here?” Artie asked of the trees.
    No response.
    â€œMr. Thumb?” Kay called.
    Still nothing.
    A branch snapped to their right. Artie jumped and swung Cleomede from his shoulder in a smooth motion. He gripped it loosely, as the book had instructed, and held it slightly to his side, point up, ready to strike.
    Then a high-pitched wail echoed through the undergrowth. They looked in its direction, where they saw a large brown jackrabbit hopping from behind a birch trunk. It reared like a mighty stallion and wailed again. Neither Artie nor Kay had ever heard a rabbit before.
    The small beast settled, and that was when they noticed something wrapped around his head.
    Kay pointed and asked, “Are those reins?”
    Before Artie could answer, two miniscule hands parted the jackrabbit’s long ears and there, framed between them, was the beaming face of little Mr. Tom Thumb. “Hello, good sir and madam!” he proclaimed.
    Kay chuckled nervously and said, “Tom, you scared the you-know-what out of us!”
    â€œAha! Not too often you get spooked by a screaming jackrabbit, is it?”
    Artie said, “Nope.”
    â€œWell, this is my steed, Vorpal.”
    In addition to the battle-ax, Artie’s video game character Nitwit had a vorpal blade in Otherworld , and he found the contrast pretty funny. “A vorpal bunny, huh?”
    â€œQuite, lad. He’s got vicious teeth—”
    â€œâ€”and he can jump!”
    This voice came from behind them, giving them a start. Artie twirled around, Cleomede at the ready in front of him.
    Standing in the trees was someone who looked vaguely familiar to Artie. He wrinkled his brow and asked, “Who are you?”
    The young man cleared his throat and said, “Victor X. Lance, cab driver and archer, among other things.” He bowed as he added, “And I am at your service.”
    â€œNo offense, but you look pretty ridiculous!” Kay blurted.
    And this was the honest truth. Victor Lance, who looked to be about twenty, wore high-top leather moccasins, leather and chain-mail pants, a camouflage hunting shirt under a black bulletproof vest, and a green felt Robin Hood–looking hat with a big pheasant feather sticking out of it.
    The silly hat wasn’t the only merry prankster-ish thing he had, either. In his right hand was a huge compound bow that was all strings and pulleys. It was decorated with a patriotic motif, like American flags and screaming eagles. Slung over his back was a quiver of very long arrows with very ornate feather fletchings, and strapped to his waist was a commando-style buck knife.
    Artie still couldn’t place him. “Where do I—”
    â€œCincinnati. I was your cab