How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [43]
“He puts a positive spin on everything,” Nathan said. “Where you and I might construe being attacked by a bollywomp as bad luck, he’d just smile and say you were lucky because you came away with only that scratch.”
Greg stared at the crimson bandages Nathan had used to cover Greg’s wound. He didn’t feel lucky. “So why are you telling me this?”
Nathan bent to inspect Greg’s bandage and nodded as if he approved of his own work. “Because every time Lucky pushes himself to the brink of death and survives, he’ll consider himself lucky to be alive, but one day he’s going to push himself too far, and . . . well, then he won’t be around to consider his fortune one way or another.”
“I still don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
Nathan frowned. “Look, Greg, there’s nothing wrong with maintaining a positive attitude—it certainly has worked for Lucky so far—but you’re about to face some pretty insurmountable odds. I think you’d be wise not to trust your fate to chance alone.”
“If you’re talking about the prophecy, I couldn’t agree more.”
“I’m talking about the rabbit’s foot. I don’t care if you do think it will bring you good luck. You have no business carrying something like that around out here in the forest. Why, it practically got you killed today. How lucky is that?”
“What rabbit’s foot?”
Nathan dug in his pocket and retrieved a furry brown object, about the size of his thumb, and held it up for Greg to see. “I found it concealed beneath your tunic,” he said, scowling.
“That’s not mine,” Greg said with a huff.
“It’s not?” Nathan said, studying the rabbit’s foot with renewed interest. “Then whose?”
Both he and Greg glanced over at Lucky. The boy must have felt their stares because he suddenly looked their way. “What?”
“Do you know anything about this?” Nathan asked.
Lucky strode forward, trying to make out the small object in Nathan’s hand. “What is it?” he said, reaching out a hand of his own.
“A rabbit’s foot,” Greg told him.
“Ugh,” Lucky said, yanking his fingers back. “That’s disgusting.”
“Then it’s not yours?” said Nathan.
“Do I look like a rabbit?”
“Some people believe they bring good luck,” explained Greg.
“I’d more expect them to bring bollywomps. Besides, what would I need with good luck?”
Greg exchanged looks with Nathan. “He’s got a point.”
“Then where did it come from?” Nathan wondered out loud.
“Maybe . . . ” said Lucky, cutting himself off in mid thought.
“Maybe what?” said Greg.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Please, son,” said Nathan, “if you know something, now’s not the time to hold back.”
“I don’t know anything at all,” said Lucky, although Greg thought the boy was being a bit hard on himself. “I was just thinking, maybe it belongs to the same person who chopped through the bridge supports back at Black Blood Creek.”
“You think this was another deliberate attempt on Greg’s life?” Nathan said.
Greg hadn’t thought he could feel more uneasy. Then suddenly he remembered.
“The smell,” he said. Nathan and Lucky regarded him curiously. “Just before the bollywomp appeared I noticed this odor . . . I don’t know exactly . . . . it reminded me of the time I tried using my mom’s eggbeater to mix up a new color of modeling clay and caused an electrical fire.”
“You should take another look at his wound,” Lucky told Nathan. “I think he’s delirious.”
“He’s talking about electricity,” said Nathan, “like in a bolt of lightning. It burns the air and leaves the smell of ozone behind.”
“Exactly,” said Greg, “same as I smelled when you brought me here. To Myrth, I mean.”
“Sounds like magic,” said Lucky. “Hey, maybe Greg was right about Mordred trying to kill him and make it look like an accident.”
Nathan shook his head. “No, I know Mordred. I can assure you, he did not do this.”
Something about the man’s tone left Greg convinced he couldn’t possibly have a thing to worry about from the nasty magician he met back at Pendegrass Castle, no matter how much the evidence suggested otherwise. Nathan wouldn’t lie. He was here to help, as he had proved when he loaned Greg his staff back at the Shrieking Scrub.