Fortune's Magic Farm by Suzanne Selfors (i read book .TXT) 📗

at the moment. Nothing to do with magic, I know that much.”

“It’s beautiful,” Isabelle said with a sigh, momentarily forgetting that danger might await them around the next corner. Her head filled with music as a song begged to be born. So many things rhymed with moon she could write a dozen songs.

Walnut yawned and stretched his legs, as did the marmot. The reins slipped from his hands and his chin dropped as he fell back to sleep. The oxen seemed to know where to go without his help, plodding along the steep trail at an even pace. Isabelle still couldn’t believe she was sitting next to a member of her family. She reached out to touch her great-uncle’s wrinkled hand, but drew back, reminded of Grandma Maxine’s hands. She turned away, trying to squeeze the image of the empty bed from her mind.

Moon, June, tune, spoon, monsoon…

The caravan tilted as the trail took a sharp turn. The oxen stopped and snorted a greeting as Sage ran toward them. He reached up and grabbed the slack reins. “We’ve got to get off the trail,” he whispered. Then he pulled the oxen into a small clearing. “Walnut, wake up.”

The old man’s head lolled to the side.

Sage climbed onto the seat and pulled a newly sprouted fern from Walnut’s ear. “Wake up,” he repeated.

“What’s that?” Walnut opened his eyes.

“We’ve got company,” Sage said.

While the marmot dozed on the bench, Isabelle and Walnut followed Sage down the trail and crouched behind a large boulder. An odd sort of contraption sat up ahead. The words SUPREME GYROCOPTERS—FOR THOSE WITH SUPREME TASTE WHO PREFER TO SOAR were painted on its side. Two men sat next to the contraption, eating sandwiches. They wore long white coats, just like the assistants back in the umbrella factory. White goggles perched on their heads. One of them sported a bulbous wart on his nose. “I say we wait until morning, then we see where this trail goes,” he said.

“Waste of time if you ask me,” said the other one, who sported a unibrow. “Why would somebody keep a farm up in these mountains? There ain’t no farms up here. I say we’re looking in the wrong place.”

“That’s the point, stupid,” said Wart Nose. “The farm’s hidden somewhere where you wouldn’t think to find a farm. We got our orders. Mr. Supreme says we can’t leave ’til we search the entire area.”

Was Mr. Supreme looking for Fortune’s Farm?

The marmot scampered onto Isabelle’s lap, a rock held firmly in her paw. The men stuffed their cheeks with sandwiches.

“That gyrocopter is blocking the trail,” Sage whispered to Walnut. “And the old mountain pass is too dangerous for the oxen.”

Walnut took his glasses from his pocket and slid them onto his nose. “I wholeheartedly agree.” He reached into another pocket and pulled out a paper packet. “I don’t see another way. Do you?”

Sage glanced at the packet. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what?” Isabelle asked, hugging the marmot to her chest.

“Stay here,” Walnut told her. “This is far too dangerous for an untrained tender.” He patted Isabelle’s back, then walked around the boulder and onto the trail, with Sage at his heels. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

The two men jumped to their feet. “What’s this?” Wart Nose asked. “Where’d you come from?”

“Wondering the same thing about you,” Sage said.

“Stop right there,” ordered Unibrow, pulling something shiny from his pocket and pointing it at Sage.

Keep quiet,” Sage called out to Isabelle. “And stay down. He’s got a gun.”

The only gun Isabelle had ever seen was the one Mr. Hench used to kill factory rats. One bullet was all it took to send a rat soaring across a room, dead. She peered around the boulder. Don’t kill Sage, she wanted to yell. He’s not a tender. But instinct told her to mind Sage and keep quiet.

Unibrow pointed the gun at Walnut, then back at Sage. “You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about a place called Fortune’s Farm, would you?”

Isabelle clutched the marmot tighter. How could Mr. Supreme know about Fortune’s Farm? It was supposed to be secret.

With his teeth, Walnut ripped open the packet, then poured something into his hand.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Wart Nose asked. “What do you got there?”

“They’re just little plants,” Walnut replied, holding out his hand. Green shoots slithered between his fingers. In an instant, the shoots shot out like arrows and coiled around Unibrow’s feet and torso, growing so quickly that before he could scream, he was ensnared in a tangled mass of thick vines. Unibrow made not a sound as he completely disappeared from view.

“What the… ?” Wart Nose scrambled for the gyrocopter. The marmot climbed onto the boulder and hurled her rock, which hit Wart Nose in the back of the head. “AHHH!” Wart Nose cried. As Walnut poured more seeds into his palm, Rolo flew from a tree and dropped another rock onto Wart Nose’s head. More shoots flew through the air and entangled Wart Nose before he could climb into the gyrocopter. With an eerie whoosh they completely encased him and he disappeared from sight.

Isabelle ran out from behind the boulder. She circled the large green lump that had once been Mr. Supreme’s unibrowed assistant. “Was that magic?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Walnut replied, folding the seed packet and returning it to his pocket. “My tending skills make things grow extra fast. It’s mostly annoying but sometimes it comes in handy.”

Sage rolled the green lump to the side of the trail.

“Is he dead?” The question made Isabelle queasy.

“Oh, no. If I had wanted to kill him I would have used the seeds from the Piranha Plant.” Walnut wiped his hands on his coat. “I used Vice Vines, aptly named for their vice-like grip. They are happiest when they have something, or in this case, someone, to squeeze. Vice Vines, however, have very short attention spans and quickly grow bored with squeezing.”

“Then we’d better get going,” Sage said, rolling the second lump to the side of