The Swindler turned and looked directly into Nate’s eyes. “If birds gathered in a tree, how many birds would there be?”

  “I’m not going to say the number I picked,” Nate said.

  “I know,” the Swindler replied. “But we never agreed I couldn’t ask questions. How many? Then I’ll guess.”

  “Probably one thousand and forty-two,” Nate said.

  The Swindler gave a nod, staring at Nate. In case the Swindler was reading his mind, Nate imagined the number four.

  “Nine,” the Swindler said.

  Nate sagged. “How did you do that?”

  “Was that your number?” Summer asked.

  Nate unfolded his paper and displayed the ten.

  The Swindler collected the tickets and tucked them away.

  “Want to go again?” Nate asked.

  “Always,” the Swindler said.

  “Same game?” Nate asked. “Same stakes?”

  “Why not?” the Swindler said, producing a second sheet of paper. “Deal?”

  “Yes,” Nate said, placing ten more tickets on the counter.

  The Swindler turned around. Nate crouched and wrote a five. He folded the paper twice and stood.

  “Ready?” the Swindler asked.

  “Yes,” Nate said.

  The Swindler turned around. “What’s your name?”

  “Nate.”

  “How many friends does a person need, Nate?”

  Nate considered his response. “One thousand and forty-two.”

  “Your number is five,” the Swindler said.

  Summer looked at Nate.

  “How did you do that?” Nate asked, unfolding the paper to display the five.

  “I love to win,” the Swindler said, brushing the tickets off the counter. “What now?”

  “We should go,” Summer murmured to Nate.

  “The Regulars Map indicates a secret way is hidden here,” Nate said quietly. “Maybe it’s through that door?”

  “That door is for me,” the Swindler said. “I keep my prizes back there. If you want to know about secret ways, we could play for it. Or you can keep trying for the enchanted coins.”

  Nate glanced at Summer. “We’ll come back another day.”

  “I’ll be here,” the Swindler said. “I’m always happy to part people from their tickets.”

  “I’d love to see you lose,” Nate said.

  The Swindler gave a little shrug. “That keeps people coming back. They always leave disappointed, but they still return.”

  Nate wanted to think of a contest he could win for sure, but nothing occurred to him.

  “Come on,” Summer said. “We can try again another time.”

  “Okay,” Nate said. He walked to the door, then turned around. “I’m going to beat you at something.”

  The Swindler grinned. “I would love to see you try.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dream

  You’re home late,” Mom said after Nate entered the house.

  “It’s not quite nine,” Nate said.

  “How is your homework situation?” Mom asked.

  “Normal,” Nate said. “I have some reading for English. I may wake up a little early to finish a few things.”

  “How was the filming?” she asked.

  “I don’t actually film,” Nate said. “Zac mostly records it selfie-style.”

  “I keep hearing great things about the carnival,” Mom said. “People sound very enthusiastic. We should go as a family this weekend.”

  “That could be fun,” Nate hedged. “The carnival is full of surprises.”

  “Have you had dinner?” Mom asked.

  “Seafood.”

  “At a carnival?” Mom asked.

  “It was good,” Nate said. “Tasted fresh.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Mom said.

  “Either way, I’m full,” Nate said. “I’ll probably just lay in bed and read.”

  “Getting up early leaves you tired at night,” Mom said. “A little different than the summer?”

  “A lot different,” Nate said. “Good night.”

  After seeing to his hygiene, Nate crawled into bed. He lay on his back, staring at the dim ceiling, but apparently, his brain had not yet received the message that his body felt exhausted.

  How had the Swindler beat him at the number guessing game? Could the guy read minds? How could such a person be beaten? Was it foolish to try?

  What other secret ways might Edward reveal to them? Could they locate a secret way on their own tomorrow? Nate wondered if his parents would let him attend the carnival every day. How long would the Zac excuse work? They would eventually catch on that he wasn’t filming with Zac every time he went.

  The carnival really was amazing. He wanted to uncover more secrets, not simply to stop the bad guys, but to uncover other mysteries too. How might the attractions change by tomorrow?

  Only one way to get there—sleep. Which reminded him of Edward’s warning not to sleep inside the carnival. Who would fall asleep at an amusement park in the first place? Nate wondered what would happen if he did. Could that be how people got captured?

  His eyes were getting heavy, so he closed them and continued thinking.

  If tossing coins into the fountain granted wishes, might there be other places where he could use Carnie Coins besides coin slots? Maybe looking only for coin slots limited their search. What kind of magical candy might the carnival have? And would it work anywhere, or just on the carnival grounds?

  At last, Nate drifted off to sleep.

  *****

  Nate was not sure how he had arrived at the ghost town. The buildings along the main street were mostly intact but looked dusty and worn. Spiderwebs crisscrossed the interior of the trough in front of the sagging hotel. Skeletal tumbleweeds scratched fitfully over the dirt as the breeze rose and fell.

  Nate strolled down the street. When the breeze whipped up dust, the wooden facades creaked and groaned. At the first intersection, he looked down the narrow side street to discover that beyond the central aisle of the town, the buildings had mostly been reduced to foundations, crumbling footprints of their former structures.

  Nate heard a train whistle in the distance.

  The shrill howl surprised him. The town was so dead, it seemed he must be the only living thing for miles.

  Nate looked around. How had he gotten here? He wasn’t old enough to drive.

  “Hello?” he called. “Anyone?”

  The town seemed to swallow his words, the acoustics totally flat, the opposite of an echo.

  The train whistle shrieked again.

  Nate realized the train might be his only way out of this place. Otherwise, his life might depend on foraging in the dry husks of forgotten buildings.

  He started running toward the edge of town, in the direction the whistle had come from. A strange white shape came into view just past where the buildings ended. As Nate drew closer, he realized it was the full skeleton of a horse, crumpled on the ground beneath a cracked, sun-worn saddle. Who had left a saddled horse to decompose in the street?

  The train whistle sounded again, abrasively loud. Nate could now hear the rumbling clatter of the locomotive. Up ahead, on a berm of gravel, Nate discerned the clean, horizontal line of the railway.

  He picked up his pace, determined to reach the tracks before the train arrived. Prickly weeds clawed at his pant legs. Would a train even stop to pick him up without a station in view? Nate decided he would try to jump aboard if it didn’t stop. The risk would be preferable to dying of thirst in a ghost town.

  Did he have any magic candy he could use? Moon Rocks? Ironhides? Peak Performance? Patting his pockets, he found none.

  Upon reaching the raised gravel topped by the tracks, Nate turned and beheld the train for the first time. The front looked like a dilapidated school bus. In fact, the entire train looked like it had been made by linking old yellow school buses and adapting them to ride the rails.

  The engineer hit the brakes, sparks flying as the chain of buses ground to a stop beside Nate. The doors folded open like typical school bus doors. Looking in, Nate discovered that the driver was the Swindler.

  “Hurry up, son, or you’ll be late for school,” the Swindler said.

  “This train goes to school?” Nate asked.

  “Sure does,” the Swindler said, checking his watch. “Come on. You’re not our only stop.”

  Nate boarded the train. The first car was nearly full. All of the kids looked older than he was. Nate recognized none of them. He walked along the aisle until he found one of the only open seats.

  “Mind if I sit here?” Nate asked the strikingly pretty young woman on the bench. She easily looked old enough to attend high school.

  “Suit yourself,” she said in a neutral tone.

  Nate plopped down as the linked buses started forward. The whistle blew, and the train picked up speed.

  “That kid is trying to put the moves on Andrea,” a voice behind Nate whispered.

  The young woman beside Nate turned to him. “Are you trying to become my boyfriend?”

  “No, I just needed a seat,” Nate explained.

  “Next to the hottest girl in school,” a voice behind him teased. “What a player!”

  Recognizing the voice, Nate turned. “Zac?”

  “Don’t waste time on me,” Zac said. “Entertain your new girlfriend.”

  The train began to rattle jarringly. The speed kept increasing.

  Nate found Andrea staring at him. “You shouldn’t be here,” she told him. “This ride is for big kids.”

  The track suddenly dove down, and the train accelerated wildly. Nate held on to the back of the seat in front of him as the track dipped into a sweeping turn like a roller coaster. The other kids remained seated sedately, but Nate could barely brace himself against the g-forces.

  “Change of plans,” the Swindler called. “We’re heading to the carnival instead of school. It’s high time you kids got a real education.”

  The train rose and then plunged. Nate felt his insides floating as the train plummeted downward. When the train turned sharply to the left, Nate slammed sideways against Andrea.

  “Get off me, you weirdo!” Andrea complained. “Why did you sit by me?”

  The brakes squealed, thrusting Nate against the seat in front of him. As the train screeched to an ear-punishing stop, the lights dimmed inside and outside. Looking around, Nate realized the other kids had fallen asleep—Zac, Andrea, everyone.

  The Swindler stood and cried out, “Last stop! Everybody off!”

  Nate shook Andrea’s shoulder, but she remained slumped in unconsciousness. A couple of the other kids were snoring. Their skin had taken on a grayish tint in the dimness.

  “Last call!” the Swindler shouted.

  Nate got up and hurried to the doors. They opened, and he stumbled down the stairs and into a station adjoining the carnival. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Zimmerman, stood farther down the platform, holding a clipboard.

  “There you are,” Mr. Zimmerman called when he saw Nate. He jotted a note on his clipboard. “I thought we might have lost you. Come with me. You fell way behind.”

  “There are a lot of kids asleep on the train,” Nate told him.

  “It’s too late for them,” Mr. Zimmerman said. “Every field trip has casualties.”

  Mr. Zimmerman led the way to a big top and lifted a flap so Nate could enter. “They’re just starting musical chairs,” he said. “Run for it.”

  Supervised by clowns, the entire sixth grade was marching around a huge ring of chairs to the tune of “Pop Goes the Weasel” in a minor key. This time Nate recognized many of the faces, though he didn’t see any of his best friends. He ran and joined the procession. When the melody stopped a moment later, Nate scrambled for a seat, getting to it just before a kid named Diego.

  The twenty kids who ended up without seats were escorted away. When the music restarted, a team of clowns removed twenty more chairs. This time the tune was “Three Blind Mice.”

  Nate watched the other kids intently stalking the remaining chairs. What was going on? Had he really just been on a train cobbled together from old school buses? Why was he playing this bizarrely huge game of musical chairs?

  This had to be a dream.

  The thought felt like a pure note cutting through discordant chaos.

  Suddenly his unlikely circumstances made sense.

  He hadn’t actually been in a ghost town. Sure, the metal folding chairs under his fingers felt real. And yes, he could smell the sawdust on the ground and hear the tinkling music. But school bus trains didn’t exist. Though all of this looked, sounded, felt, and smelled real, he was in a dream.

  Which meant he didn’t need to play by the rules. He wondered what he could get away with. Could he fly? He remembered how it felt to fly when he had the jet stamp. Trying to summon the feeling, Nate jumped, but gravity still operated like normal.

  So instead, he ran away from the game. Why play musical chairs when there was a whole carnival to explore? Nate raced toward one of the flaps that led out of the tent.

  With a gloved finger over an earpiece, the purple-faced clown from the parade spoke into a lapel mic, “We’ve got a runner.”

  Three of the clowns supervising the game broke off to chase Nate. One held what looked like an enormous butterfly net. A second carried a straitjacket. The third wielded a tubelike gun that might have been a grenade launcher.

  Nate poured on the speed. He tried to fly again, but physics stubbornly refused.

  The clown with the tubelike gun fired a weighted net that ensnared Nate and hurled him to the ground. As he tried to untangle himself from the webbing, the other two clowns converged, seizing him roughly.

  “Leave me alone,” Nate shouted. “I know this is a dream.”

  “So do we,” one of the clowns declared in a goofy voice. “Misbehave in life, and you get real-life consequences. Misbehave in a dream, and you get dream consequences.” The clown looked at his associate with the straitjacket. “Wrap him up, Nobbles.”

  Growling in frustration, still tangled in the net, Nate punched and kicked at the clowns. They resisted his efforts, pressing ever closer.

  And suddenly he was in his bed, thrashing against his covers. Relief washed over him as Nate realized he was awake and safe. The experience really had been a dream.

  Sweaty and out of breath, he had awakened about ten minutes before his alarm. Nate felt relieved to be out of danger. He shut off his alarm and got out of bed. A seagull was looking in his window.

  Nate opened the window and shared some Brain Feed with the bird, then offered a small piece of bread.

  “Skimping on the bread today?” Rocco asked.

  “Not if you have good info,” Nate replied.

  “Plenty of weird lately,” Rocco said. “The big human who visited the candy shop goes all over town. Fighting some bear. Then chasing down a person. He is busy.”

  “That fits what I know,” Nate said.

  “Strange animals in town,” Rocco said. “Not just at the carnival. I saw a rhinoceros. And an orangutan. I didn’t know exactly what they were, but with Brain Feed, I have words for them.”

  “What else?” Nate asked.

  “On my way to your place, I saw big bones down by the creek,” Rocco said. “Looked like a dead horse.”

  Nate couldn’t help thinking of his dream. “Where at the creek?”

  “On the way to Diablo View,” Rocco said. “You can’t miss it.”

  Nate tore the rest of the bread into four parts and tossed them to the seagull. “Thanks, Rocco. I’m going to check out those bones for myself.”

  “Do humans like horse bones?” Rocco asked.

  “Curious humans do,” Nate said, closing the window and hurrying to get ready for the day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Relics

  Not much later that morning, Nate biked along the jogging path toward school, but the creek looked normal. Maybe the bones were easier to see from the air. Nate began to worry he had passed them. As the path went up a ramp away from the creek, he caught out of the corner of his eye an odd flash of white down in the gully.

  Nate skidded to a stop.

  That had to be it! If he hurried, he could take a look and still make it to school on time.

  Turning, Nate descended the ramp and rode off the bike path, down the weedy slope to the creek. He got off his bike and stared in disbelief at the sight before him—the full skeleton of a horse with a sun-damaged saddle still attached.

  Not just any horse skeleton. Not any old saddle.

  It was the same skeleton and saddle from his dream in every detail.

  Nate continued to stare. What could it possibly mean? Had his dream been prophetic somehow? Was this horse skeleton important? Or was some kind of magic at play?

  Time was still passing. If he lingered much longer, he would be late to school. Nate walked his bike up to the path, then mounted it and pedaled hard.

  On the way to school, Nate passed a stretch where the road narrowed down to one lane. The smell of bananas grew stronger until he reached sanitation workers using brooms and shovels to clean up thousands of the fruit. Many had been crushed by traffic, but slightly overripe yellow bananas with faint brown spots were also strewn around neighboring sidewalks and yards.

  Drop-off traffic was thick when Nate arrived and parked his bike. He hurried to homeroom and slid into his seat as the bell rang. He overheard kids talking about the huge mess of bananas they had passed on the way to school. Mr. Zimmerman stood at the front of the class, looking much as he had in Nate’s dream.

  “You had some reading assigned about Mesopotamia,” the teacher said. “After announcements, we will have a surprise quiz. If you did the reading, it should be fairly easy. If not, do your best to invent some creative answers. Hopefully the experience will provide extra motivation to stay on track.”