Seven Wonders Journals: The Key by Peter Lerangis

Author:Peter Lerangis [Lerangis, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Fantasy, Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Action & Adventure, General, Interactive Adventures, Legends; Myths; Fables
ISBN: 9780062238948
Google: qUBABAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0062238922
Goodreads: 22308703
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

Excerpt from Seven Wonders: The Curse of the King

READ A SNEAK PEEK OF BOOK FOUR

LEAVING THE LOCULI at home was out of the question. Dad and I were both paranoid the Massa—or some snoop hired by Morty Reese—would break in and steal them. So we took them with us on Dad’s jet. For protection.

The ride was bumpy. We argued for six hours about how to proceed. Aly was still thin and quiet from being sick. But by the time we reached the Kalamata Airport, we had a plan. Cass, Aly, and I would grab a taxi. Alone. Bringing Dad with us, we decided, would make the Massa suspicious.

So we left him and the Loculi behind in the plane.

I was a nervous wreck.

The taxi had no air-conditioning and a hole in the front passenger floor. Rocks spat up into the car from the road as we drove. As we sped noisily across Greece, the mountains of the Peloponnese rose up in the distance to our right. And Cass had a revelation. “Whoa,” he cried out, looking up from his phone. “The meaning of Roudouni is nostril!”

“Is geography!” our driver said. (Everything he said seemed to come with an exclamation point.) “Just north of Roudouni is long mountain with—how do you say? Ridge! To Ancient Greeks, this looks like straight nose! Greek nose! Strong! At bottom is two valleys—round valleys! Is like, you know . . . thio roudounia . . . two nostrils!”

“And thus,” Cass announced, “Roudouni picked its name.”

“Cass, please . . .” Aly said.

Cass began narrating like a TV host. “Our car develops a moist coating as it enters the rim of the roudouni. It is said that the people here are a bit snotty, tough around the edges but soft at the core.”

“Ha! Is funny boy!” the driver exclaimed.

Cass gestured grandly out the window. “Exotic giant black hairs, waving upward from the ground and dotted with festive greenish globs, greet visiting tourists as they plunge upward into the—”

“Ew, Cass—just ew!” Aly said. “Can we leave him by the side of the road?”

On the outskirts of town, goats roamed in vast, sparse fields. Old men in ragged coats stared at us, their backs bent and their hands clinging to gnarled wooden canes. Black-clad old ladies sat knitting in front of rickety shacks, and a donkey ignored our driver’s horn, just staring at us in the middle of the street. I felt strangely paranoid. I clutched the backpack tightly.

As we drove slowly through a flock of squawking chickens, I read the English section of a big, multilingual road sign:

YOU ARE APROCHING ROUDOUNI

THE PRID OF THE PELOPONNESE!!!

“Prid?” Cass said.

“I think they mean ‘pride,’” Aly answered.

Where on earth were we?

“Maybe we should have brought Dad along,” I said. “This is pretty remote.”

“We want the Massa to think we’re alone,” Aly said. “That was the plan. If we need to, we can call him.”

I nodded. Dad had promised to hire a chopper if necessary, if anything were to go wrong. Which seemed weird, considering that “going right” meant being captured.

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