Morgan Rice: The Scepter of Fire

There was a horse pulling the chariot, its hooves clopping loudly against the hard earth. The large wooden wheels creaked as they spun, propelling the chariot toward them at an enormous speed.

With barely a second to react, the children dive bombed. They jumped opposite directions, Esther leaping one way, the boys the other.

Esther landed in a gutter. The horse-drawn chariot went thundering past, spraying a fine mist of powder all over her.

As the sound of galloping hooves and creaking wooden wheels began to fade, Esther sat up, shaking herself, and peered across the road at Walter and Simon. As the dust the chariot had kicked up began to settle, she saw the two had landed, once again, in a tangled mess.

“Get off!” Walter cried, trying to shove Simon away from him.

“You’re on my hand!” Simon contested, shoving back.

“Guys!” Esther cried, leaping to her feet and hurrying toward them. “Be quiet. I think I know where we are.”

She peered along the path, watching as the golden chariot shrank into the distance, not quite believing what she was about to say next.

“We’re not just in Greece,” she announced, as the two boys finally untangled themselves and came to stand beside her. “We’re in Ancient Greece.”

“Ancient Greece?” Walter asked. “You mean…”

“I mean,” Esther said, turning to face them, “we’ve traveled back over two thousand years. This is BC.”

Oliver tumbled out of the portal. Hazel slammed into the back of him. A moment later, Ralph arrived, too, barreling into the others.

“Ow!” they all groaned as they smooshed into one another.

“Is everyone okay?” Oliver asked, concerned for his friends’ well-being.

Hazel nodded, rubbing her elbow that had collided with Ralph. “Yes. But where are we?”

She glanced around her. Ralph, meanwhile, was rubbing his stomach—the corresponding point where Hazel’s elbow had hit.

“Hey!” he said, his eyes widened. “We’ve been here before!”

Confused, Oliver frowned and glanced around him at the buildings. They were all three or four stories tall, crammed shoulder to shoulder, with flat facades and matching burnt umber–colored roofs. The dome roof of a cathedral loomed out behind them, overshadowing everything as a dominating presence. Ralph was right. There was something familiar about the place.

Then Oliver gasped as it dawned on him. “We’re back in Florence.”

Hazel’s eyes widened. “Florence? That must be a mistake. Do you think Professor Amethyst accidentally sent us back through Leonardo da Vinci’s portal?”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t think so. Da Vinci’s portals were red. Professor Amethyst’s are purple.”

“Well then maybe we’re here because Leonardo will help us again?” Ralph suggested. “Maybe he knows where the Scepter of Fire is? Or he can pause time for us again so we can find it?”

But as Oliver looked around, something dawned on him. “No. There are way more buildings than there were when we came to see Leonardo. It may be the same place, but it’s a different era. We’re not here for Leonardo’s help. We’re here to find someone else.”

For some reason, it felt even stranger to be somewhere they’d been before. They’d walked these streets on their mission with Leonardo da Vinci a matter of hours earlier. But now, they were on the very same streets, years, if not decades , later. There was something truly mind-boggling about that.

“It can’t be much later, though,” Hazel said, tapping her chin. “More buildings but they’re all the same architectural style. I don’t think we’ve landed much further than a hundred years after the point we were last here. What other extraordinary Italians might Professor Amethyst have sent us here to find?”

“Well, beyond da Vinci and Michelangelo,” Oliver began, “there is of course—”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence, because at that moment, someone came running round the corner and slammed right into Oliver.

“I’m so sorry!” the young man cried.

Oliver straightened up and smoothed down his rumpled clothes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Hazel gasped. “Oliver, you’re speaking Italian!”

“I am?” Oliver said.

Before he could get a definitive answer, the young man who’d slammed into him continued speaking.

“I’m late for my class at the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno,” he said. “It’s Professore Galilei’s class.” Then he hurried off.

Oliver turned to his friends. “Was that man speaking Italian?”

They both nodded.

“Yes!” Ralph cried. “And so were you!”

Oliver shook his head. “But I don’t understand. How?”

Then he remembered. Lucia Moretti, the teacher they’d met on their last adventure, had put some of her powers into Oliver’s mind. Perhaps one of the things she’d given him was the Italian language?

“Wait,” Oliver said suddenly. “He said he was going to a lecture by Galileo.”

Hazel’s eyes pinged open. “Of course. Galileo’s a Florentine who came after da Vinci. We must be in sixteenth-century Italy.”

“We should follow him,” Ralph said.

Oliver nodded in agreement, and they all took off after the running man.

“So we’re in Ancient Greece,” Walter said. “Now what?”

Esther looked around, shielding her eyes with her hand from the bright sunshine. “We should head into the town,” she said.

The boys agreed and they began to stroll in the direction the chariot had gone, following the grooved tracks it had left in the dirt.

There were many interesting structures in the town. Temples made of huge stone blocks. Humongous spherical open-air theaters with dramatic plays taking place inside. Lots of noise and braying came from a nearby stadium. They saw a castle with huge pillars and a massive drawbridge door that must’ve been at least fifty feet high. They passed a large square structure, which was several columns holding up a roof, that looked like a palace to Esther. The Greeks were famed for their architectural style, after all, and it was quite mesmerizing seeing it all in person.

They came up to a small yet bustling market, filled with wooden stalls selling many different types of food, like fresh oranges and bottles of olive oil. Fabrics were hung between the stalls, providing some much needed shade.

“This is rather fantastic,” Simon commented.

“Fantastic it may be,” Walter said. “But the locals don’t look that friendly.”

Esther glanced around. Walter was right. They were being watched cautiously and intently by the natives.

She shuddered, as the feeling of impending danger made the hairs on the back of her neck lift.

“We need to find some clothes so we can blend in,” she said, suddenly aware she was still wearing her hospital nightdress, and that she would very much like to see the back of that particular garment.

“How are we supposed to do that?” Simon challenged, putting his hands on his hips. “We don’t have any money to buy clothes.”

Esther chewed her lip in consternation. They didn’t have money, he was right about that. But they certainly couldn’t continue walking around like this. Walter was wearing a T-shirt with a bright-colored ’80s cartoon character on the front and big white sneakers. Simon was in a brown tweed waistcoat and matching suit pants. And Esther was in her thin, powder-blue hospital gown. They were so far from inconspicuous. But stealing was wrong and she knew that. There had to be another way.

“Look, over here,” she said, pointing to a pile of rubbish.