Chapter 8: Kidnapped

Justin made a face. "Don't blame myself? For the fire? Um. Okay. Done. Why would I blame myself for the fire?"

Zechariah squinted at Justin sourly. "Because," he said slowly, "if Ahlund hadn't been here with me last night trying to decide what to do with you, this all might have been avoided."

"He was here?" said Justin.

"Of course he was here!" said Zechariah. "We were downstairs in the cellar when you ran off. I won't even ask what you were hoping to achieve with that stunt. That is the least of my questions for you, young man. I wasn't overly surprised when Ahlund brought you to my doorstep, but by now he is probably wishing he'd left you to the buzzards."

"Wait," said Justin. "You're saying that the guy whose house burned down-Ahlund-he brought me here?"

Zechariah closed his book deliberately. He looked Justin up and down and seemed to consider him for a moment. Finally, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Justin Holmes," said Justin.

"You really don't know what is happening?" said Zechariah.

Justin's cheek twitched in annoyance. "No. I do not."

"You don't seem like a simpleton..."

Justin sucked his teeth. "High praise. So, it's been real nice, but it doesn't look like you have a phone here, and I kind of need to find someone who does." He shook his head, realizing he was forgetting again that this was a dream. "Anyway, thanks for the clothes, I guess. I'll, uh, return them the very first chance I get."

Justin turned and started for the front door.

"A young lady is in trouble, Justin," Zechariah said loudly. "I told you, that fire was no accident! Someone-an individual or a group of people, I'm not sure-burned down Ahlund's home and stole something valuable: a person who was secretly living with him under his protection. She was hiding from some bad people, and last night, evidently, they found her. She wasn't in the home when Ahlund entered last night searching for her, and thankfully no bodies were found in the wreckage. That means they took her. And I do not know what they want with her."

"You're saying this happened while Ahlund was here?" said Justin.

"While we were all here, yes," said Zechariah. "Ahlund brought you here late last night. He said he found you lying alone out on the Gravelands. You were unconscious, so we put you in the bedroom and went down to the cellar to get a drink and decide what to do with you. When we came back up, you were gone, and when we went out to search for you, we saw the fire. Ahlund knew at once what had happened. He entered the home to search for the young lady, but all he found was a hapless town guard. This morning, he spotted a group of riders on steedback heading north. He suspects they are the kidnappers, and he plans to leave at once to follow them. He could be killed if he goes alone, so I convinced him to wait for us. But we have to hurry because he'll leave without us just the same if we keep him waiting, and each agonizing moment I take to spell this all out in terms you can understand puts us at an increasing disadvantage. So I suggest we stop talking about it and move our feet."

"So, you want me to hunt down kidnappers with you?" said Justin.

"Ahlund needs our help," said Zechariah. "More importantly, that young lady needs our help. I'm sure you have plenty of your own pressing personal matters to attend to. So do I! But sometimes, a man must forget himself. And if it is within our power to assist someone in need, don't you think we owe them as much?"

Justin hesitated. "Not really. I mean, call the police, right? Or the... knights, or something. Whatever you people have here-"

Without warning, Zechariah slammed the satchel of books down violently on the table. It shook the room, producing a rattle of crockery from the kitchen cupboards and making Justin flinch.

"Fine," Zechariah said with an edge to his voice. "Then get out of my bloody way."

Zechariah left the bag of the books sitting on the table and crossed the room, tightening his robe around his shoulders as he went. Justin stepped aside to let the old man pass.

"Stay here, for all I care, and best of luck to you!" said Zechariah as he opened the door. He slammed it shut behind him.

Justin stood alone in the old man's kitchen. The only sound was the clock on the wall-a clock with eighteen strange symbols on its face. Each swing of the pendulum produced a dull tock.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone almost automatically. He tried to power it on again. Still nothing, of course.

His gaze wandered to the bag of books. Then to the front door.

It's a dream, remember? said a voice in his head. None of this is real. Just wait here until you wake up.

"Still," muttered Justin, "a person's been kidnapped, and all I can think about is myself and my own problems. Even in a dream, that's pretty sucky. What would Mom say?"