Read Online The Lost City of Faar by D.J. MacHale - Free Book Online

didn’t think I could tread water just then. I yanked the air globe off my head and took a deep breath of fresh air. The sun was warm, the air smelled sweet, and I was alive.
    â€œFriend of Press’s, are you?” came a voice from behind me.
    I spun around to see the guy in black floating next to me. He had taken off his air globe and I now saw that he was a little older than me, and had a slight Asian look with almond-shaped eyes. He had deep, sun-colored skin and long black hair. He also had the biggest, friendliest smile I thought I’d ever seen in my life.
    â€œTold me he was bringing somebody to visit,” the guy said cheerfully. “Sorry ‘bout the rude welcome. Them sharks can stir up a real natty-do sometimes. Easy enough to handle ’em though. Just gotta know the soft spots,” he said, tapping his head.
    â€œWho are you?” was all I could think of saying.
    â€œName’s Spader. Vo Spader. Pleased to meet you.”
    â€œI’m Bobby Pendragon. You saved my life.” I wasn’t sure what else to add but, “Thanks.”
    â€œNo big stuff. It happens. Never saw anyone caught up by a sled like that though. No sir, that was a real tum-tigger.”
    â€œYeah, a real tum-tigger,” I said. Whatever that was.
    â€œTook us a might off course though,” he added, looking around.
    I looked around too and what I saw made my heart start to race again. Because what I saw was . . . nothing. Oh, there was plenty of water all right. But that was it. We were in the middle of the ocean with no landmass in sight.
    If a tum-tigger was bad, this was definitely a tum-tigger.

JOURNAL #5
(CONTINUED)
CLORAL
    T alk about feeling helpless. Here we were, two guys floating like corks in an endless ocean. A quick three-sixty scan showed no land, no boat, and no rescue of any kind in sight.
    â€œBeautiful day, isn’t it?” asked Spader.
    Beautiful day? We were lost at sea and he was talking about nice weather? Either he was in strong denial, or he was crazy. Either way, he was starting to make me nervous.
    That’s when I felt a tug on my foot.
    I screamed. The quig was back. Or he had a brother. Or he had two brothers. And they were both after me and they . . .
    The water to my right began to boil and an instant later a bubble-covered head surfaced. It was Uncle Press. He yanked off his air globe and smiled at me.
    â€œHave a nice trip, Bobby?” he asked. “That wasn’t exactly plan B.”
    â€œYou think I tried to get dragged like that?” I shot back, all indignant.
    â€œWhoa. Relax. I was kidding.”
    â€œAnd I thought you never missed?”
    I couldn’t help but add that last dig. I knew it was my faulthe missed hitting the quig with the spear, but still, he did say he never missed. No qualifications.
    â€œThen it’s a good thing Spader came along,” he said calmly.
    â€œHello, Press!” exclaimed Spader. “Good to see your face again.”
    â€œYours, too,” said Uncle Press. “Lucky for us you were in the area.”
    â€œI was out doing a bit of fishin’ and spotted your skimmer anchored a ways back,” said Spader. “I have to say I was a might surprised. You know this is shark territory.”
    â€œYeah, tell me about it,” I threw in. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here anymore.”
    â€œRight!” shouted Spader. “No sense in waiting for another nibbler to come a-callin’.”
    Spader looked at his big, black diver-style watch. I think it must have been some kind of compass because he checked it, looked up, changed position, then announced, “Off we go.”
    He popped the air globe back on his head, pointed his water sled, then shot off across the surface.
    I looked at Uncle Press thinking that this guy must be crazy. There was nothing out here. Where was he going?
    â€œI love that guy,” he said.
    â€œWhere is he going?