Carnival quest, p.1
Carnival Quest, page 1
Other Titles by Brandon Mull
The Candy Shop War Series
The Candy Shop War
The Candy Shop War: Arcade Catastrophe
Fablehaven Series
Fablehaven
Rise of the Evening Star
Grip of the Shadow Plague
Secrets of the Dragon Sanctuary
Keys to the Demon Prison
Dragonwatch Series
Dragonwatch
Wrath of the Dragon King
Master of the Phantom Isle
Champion of the Titan Games
Return of the Dragon Slayers
Five Kingdoms Series
Sky Raiders
Rogue Knight
Crystal Keepers
Death Weavers
Time Jumpers
Beyonders Series
A World Without Heroes
Seeds of Rebellion
Chasing the Prophecy
© 2023 Creative Concepts, LLC
Illustrations © 2023 by Brandon Dorman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain Publishing®. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain Publishing.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Visit us at ShadowMountain.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
CIP on file
ISBN 978-1-63993-088-3 | eISBN 978-1-64933-149-6 (eBook)
Printed in the United States of America
Lake Book Manufacturing, LLC, Melrose Park, IL
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Cover illustration by Brandon Dorman
Book design © Shadow Mountain
Art direction: Richard Erickson
Design: Sheryl Dickert Smith
Author photo by Busath Photography
For my beautiful Erlyn,
who makes everything better
Contents
Prologue: Mozag
Chapter One: New School
Chapter Two: Zac
Chapter Three: Candy Shop
Chapter Four: Parade
Chapter Five: Early Admission
Chapter Six: First Impressions
Chapter Seven: Fortune Wagon
Chapter Eight: Good Buzz
Chapter Nine: Regulars
Chapter Ten: Fountain
Chapter Eleven: Swindler
Chapter Twelve: Dream
Chapter Thirteen: Relics
Chapter Fourteen: Jumping
Chapter Fifteen: Sandra
Chapter Sixteen: Candy
Chapter Seventeen: Camilla
Chapter Eighteen: Coaster
Chapter Nineteen: Under
Chapter Twenty: Upward
Chapter Twenty-One: Night Market
Chapter Twenty-Two: Circus Act
Chapter Twenty-Three: Field Trip
Chapter Twenty-Four: Dune Hunt
Chapter Twenty-Five: Lux
Chapter Twenty-Six Fugitives
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Fun House
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Growler
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Asleep
Chapter Thirty: Surprise Visitors
Chapter Thirty-One: Preparations
Chapter Thirty-Two: Cemetery
Chapter Thirty-Three: Dreamstone
Chapter Thirty-Four: Contest
Chapter Thirty-Five: Lindy
Chapter Thirty-Six: Dessert
Acknowledgments
Reading Guide
About the Author
Prologue
Mozag
Mozag stepped into Marcelo’s Italian Restaurant and paused to enjoy the ambiance. The smell of cooked tomatoes hung in the air like a promise. Pictures of popes and vintage cars adorned the walls. The lights were low enough to make almost anyone look good.
A hostess approached—the charming one, Carissa. “Hello, Mister Mozag. Your table is ready.”
Whenever he called an hour before coming, his table was always waiting—the round one in the corner beneath the painting of a carousel. If a guy came in regularly and tipped at least fifty percent, the staff was always happy to see him.
He sat down, and a server promptly appeared. Raymond. Tall and thin. Maybe twenty, with a quick smile and efficient service.
“Are you here for the gnocchi?” Raymond asked, filling a glass of water. Marcelo’s only made gnocchi on Wednesdays, and Mozag was a fan.
“Not today,” Mozag said. “Meat lover’s calzone.”
“Always a good pick,” Raymond said. “Just the water?”
“Yes,” Mozag said. “And a caprese salad.”
Mozag rested his hands on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. The blinds over the windows were all closed, keeping the darkness out and the coziness in. This place wasn’t expensive, but it was hard to find better Italian food in Chicago. Mozag liked that the clientele was ordinary people with the sense to find excellent food at a fair price. It was the kind of eatery the locals didn’t tell too many people about, or it would get overrun. Marcelo’s already verged on more business than it could handle.
Nobody at Marcelo’s knew he was a mage, and that suited him fine. He flicked the brim of his Cubs cap. His lair was only three blocks up the street, but he never left it without his trusty hat. As a mage who had policed some of the most dangerous living magicians, he knew payback was coming sooner or later. Like magical karma. So you had to build an enchanted fortress and stay inside if you wanted to survive.
But his Cubs cap functioned like a portable lair. Strictly speaking, it was more like an umbilical cord, letting him connect to the protection of his lair from a distance. Sort of like a diver with an air hose.
The caprese salad soon appeared alongside a basket of fresh bread. The house-made mozzarella was perfect, as always. Mozag wondered for the thousandth time where they sourced such tasty tomatoes.
A tremor ran through the ground, rattling the tableware and the pictures on the walls. What was that? An earthquake? In Chicago?
Then he heard an explosion from somewhere outside. The ground shook again. The water in his glass swayed. He heard shouts, and another explosion farther away. What was going on? This was a safe neighborhood.
Something exploded right outside the front windows. The blinds rippled and snapped as glass turned to shrapnel.
Ears ringing, Mozag fell flat. Customers screamed. One guy flipped his table over to make a barricade.
“Get down!” Mozag called, and others hit the deck.
What was this? Organized crime?
Mozag scowled. Was this about him? It was difficult to imagine any mage would set off explosions, especially in the middle of a mortal community.
Closing his eyes, Mozag sought his magical senses, but all elements of his power were strangely elusive. Was somebody blocking him? Who was that powerful?
A moment later, Victor Battiato crouched at his side. He wore a dark suit with silver pinstripes and held a crossbow. His thick eyebrows were knitted together. Mozag knew the Battiato twins were working security for him today, and he was glad to see Victor responding so quickly.
“What’s happening out there?” Mozag asked.
“Hard to say,” Victor said. “Explosions, obviously. Bunch of clowns putting on a show.”
“Do you know their agenda?” Mozag asked.
“Not yet,” Victor replied. “But they’re putting lots of attention on this restaurant.”
“Are they after me?” Mozag asked.
“We see no other viable targets,” Victor said. “Better get you out the back.”
Fire roared through the broken window, flowing over the ceiling. Had somebody brought a flamethrower? Or was it a spell? Mozag felt frustrated. He should be able to sense the difference.
The flames took hold on part of the ceiling and one of the walls. Hanging photographs curled and blistered. Tear gas cannisters shot through the window and thumped to the floor, hissing as they emitted a yellowish fog.
“This way,” Victor said, pulling Mozag to his feet and keeping his thick body between the mage and the front windows. Mozag pressed a fabric napkin over his nose and mouth and kept his head down, eyes squinted. They moved in a crouch to the rear hall, past the bathrooms, to where Ziggy Battiato stood at the back door.
The restaurant staff guided patrons into the kitchen. Mozag didn’t want to go that way. Whoever was behind this attack was probably after him. Staying with the crowd would turn them into human shields.
Ziggy held up a beringed hand to suggest they pause. Holding a sleek tranquilizer gun, he lunged out the back door into the alleyway.
Mozag braced for an attack, but it remained quiet.
“Boss,” Ziggy said, poking his head inside. “You better see this.”
Mozag nodded, and Ziggy pulled the door wide.
Beyond the doorway, daylight shone down on tawny dunes that stretched to the edge of the horizon. A saddled camel stood in the foreground, chewing, lower jaw swaying from side to side in c
“A desert?” Mozag asked. “Are you kidding me?”
“No alley,” Ziggy reported. “No mobsters or mages. Just the camel.”
“Strange landscape for Chicago,” Mozag said. “Last time I checked, it was evening, not midday.”
Heat washed into the hall as the fire spread in the front dining room. A thunderous explosion reverberated through the building.
Victor held up his compact crossbow. “We can’t stay here. Looks like we’re making our escape across the desert. Wish we had a jeep.”
“Who can say whether this unexpected desert is any safer than the attack out front?” Mozag asked.
“It’s our safest way out,” Victor said. “Must be magic.”
“Not magic,” Mozag said calmly. “I should feel magic. We’re being herded. This must be a dream.”
“It’s no dream of mine,” Ziggy grumbled. “We’re in a great restaurant, and we can’t enjoy the food.”
“What’s our move?” Victor asked.
The fire was spreading down the hall, together with tear gas fumes. Another explosion rocked the building. Victor supported Mozag as he staggered. Support beams creaked overhead.
“All right,” Mozag said. “We’ll try the desert.”
Ziggy led the way onto the sand, floundering in his wing tips. Mozag came next, followed by Victor, who closed the door behind them. The day was scorching hot, the sun blazing overhead, the sand uncomfortably warm even through Mozag’s shoes. He turned to look back at the restaurant, but only the door remained. As he watched, the frameless door toppled backward like a single large domino, landing flat on the sand.
Victor crouched and then lifted the corner of the door high enough to peer beneath it. “It’s just sand, boss. Marcelo’s is gone.”
“The attack was unbelievably severe,” Mozag said. “Hopefully my departure will calm the assault, and the good people who work there will remain safe.” He wiped his lips. The taste of tomatoes and mozzarella lingered on his tongue. “Gentlemen, we are stranded in a wasteland.”
“With a camel,” Ziggy added.
Mozag stared at the huge dromedary, taking in the long legs, knobby knees, and bulbous eyes. “Don’t let it run off.”
Ziggy approached the camel slowly and gathered the reins. He turned with a smile. “He likes us. Boss, you ride, we’ll walk. Obviously.”
Mozag gave a nod, wiping his brow under his baseball cap. Heat radiated down from above and up from the sand. “You boys are going to fry in those suits.”
“They cover us up,” Victor said. “Give us some protection from the sun.”
“We’ll walk in the camel’s shadow,” Ziggy said.
“Not a bad thought,” Mozag said. “Though this time of day might mean walking directly beneath the brute.”
Mozag shuffled on the sand. Closing his eyes, he summoned his power, but felt . . . nothing. No energy anywhere.
“Are you going to summon water, boss?” Victor asked.
Mozag opened one squinty eye. “I have no power. It’s like I’ve been unplugged. It was like that in the restaurant too. This has to be a dream.” He took his Cubs cap off and fanned his face. “This hat is just a hat. My watch is just a watch. None of my talismans have their potency.”
“The cap is still good for shade,” Ziggy said.
Mozag nodded. “That it is,” he said, replacing the cap on his head.
“We’re literally in a dream?” Victor asked. “Can we wake up?”
Mozag put his hands on his hips and frowned. “It’s no normal dream. I feel far too alert, but I don’t see how to awaken.”
Ziggy pinched himself.
“Hey, lay off,” Victor said, rubbing his own arm in the same spot. He slapped his own face.
“That smarts!” Ziggy complained.
“Stop being teenagers,” Mozag said. He knew that each twin felt what the other twin experienced.
Digging the toe of one shoe into the sand, he flipped a spray of particles into the air. He marched over to the camel, brought his face close to the neck, and sniffed the fur. “The camel smells so real.”
“I feel wide awake,” Ziggy said.
“Me too,” Mozag agreed thoughtfully. “But the restaurant’s back door led to a desert and then lost all connection to the real world. That’s bizarre, even for a dream.” Mozag folded his arms. “My powers are dead for no perceivable reason. I normally keep my abilities in a dream. And the explosions were overdone. Who bombards a restaurant like that? Where were the cops? We weren’t in a war zone.”
“Yeah, what was with the explosions?” Victor asked. “It felt heavy-handed.”
Mozag bent down, scooped up a handful of the sand, then let it trickle through his fingers. “Yet here we are with this camel. The sand is hot to the touch. I’m starting to sweat all over. And the minutes are ticking by.”
“So where are we?” Victor asked.
Mozag hoisted himself into the saddle. “Let’s go find out.” The camel sidestepped, and Mozag patted it. “Easy. Easy.”
Ziggy gave the reins a tug. “You be good for the boss. No shenanigans.”
“Which way?” Victor asked, popping a breath mint into his mouth. Since each twin tasted only what the other consumed, he handed Ziggy one as well.
Mozag scanned the surrounding horizon. “I have no idea. My sense of direction feels confused. We could be anywhere.”
“Or nowhere,” Ziggy said.
“Or nowhere,” Mozag echoed quietly, considering the possibility. “We’ll pick a direction and stick with it.”
Shielding his eyes, Victor squinted upward. “Sun is pretty high for navigation.”
“It’ll get easier as the day wears on,” Mozag said.
“Should we bring the door?” Ziggy asked.
“What are we going to do?” Victor mocked. “Knock until somebody answers?”
“Hold it up,” Ziggy said. “Shield us from the sun.”
Victor shook his head. “I’d rather walk under the camel.”
Ziggy shrugged and pointed with his chin. “This way then.” He trudged forward, the camel in tow.
They went up one dune and down the far side. It was slow going. As Mozag watched the Battiatos wading down the sandy slope, he was grateful for his ride. When they crested the next dune, Mozag called for a pause.
“What is it?” Victor asked, panting.
“We need to change directions,” Mozag said, peering at a neighboring dune.
“Tell me you see palm trees and piña coladas,” Ziggy said.
“I’d settle for a town,” Victor tried. “I’m tired of hiking.” He wiped perspiration from his brow. “My suit feels like a wet sponge.”
“I’m not sure what I see,” Mozag said. “Just a point poking up in the distance. A triangular point.”
“Another dune?” Victor asked.
“No,” Mozag said. “It’s made of stone. Too geometric to be natural.”
“Like a pyramid?” Ziggy said. “Are we in Egypt?”
“We’re going to find out,” Mozag said.
“I always wanted to see a pyramid,” Ziggy said. “Didn’t want it to be my final resting place though. Careful what you wish for.”
“You might look good as a mummy,” Victor said. “We could cover up that face.”
Ziggy punched his own shoulder so his brother could feel it. “Keep it up, wise guy.”
Several rises and falls later, the Battiato brothers were walking with rubbery legs and gasping for breath. The relentless sun showed little sign of budging.
“I still don’t see no pyramid,” Ziggy wheezed.
“Grammar,” Mozag scolded.
“My grammar gets fuzzy when I overheat,” Ziggy said.
“I haven’t seen the pyramid either,” Victor put in.
“If we stay on course, we’ll see it soon,” Mozag said.
“Unless it was a mirage,” Ziggy mumbled.
“We’ll have a good view from this next dune,” Mozag assured him. “It’s a big one.”
“Is that supposed to be welcome news?” Ziggy asked. “We’re at the bottom! Not everyone is riding a camel.”
“I’m down to my last mint,” Victor said. “You enjoy it.”
“We should split it,” Ziggy said.
“It won’t split easily,” Victor replied. “I’ll suck on it—you taste it. Fair enough.”
