Read Online The Merchant of Death by D.J. MacHale - Free Book Online

don’t wear boxers on Denduron”, he said, which is exactly what I didn’t want to hear. This was going to be uncomfortable. I followed Uncle Press’s instructions and dressed in the leather and fur. There were even leather boots that were kind of soft, which was good because they didn’t wear gold-toe sweat socks on Denduron either. As we took more of the clothing off the pile, something else was slowly revealed. I picked up one last furry pelt, and saw a two-man sled! It looked sort of like the sled you see in Alaska for sled dogs, but there was nothing modern about this thing. The runners were slats of wood, the sides were made of branches, the seats were woven out of some kind of cane, and the steering mechanism up front was fashioned out of huge antlers. Fred Flintstone would have been proud. But there was something else about this sled that made me nervous.
    Lashed to either side were long, deadly-looking spears. The shafts were carved from smooth tree branches. The tips were made of hammered-out metal and looked surgical sharp. The tails had some sort of feathers attached for stability. As crude and low-tech as the whole rig was, these bad boys looked pretty lethal. They hung on either side of the sled like prehistoric sidewinder missiles, ready for launching.
    â€œWhat about your gun?” I asked hopefully. “Can’t we use that on the quigs?”
    â€œThere are no guns in this territory,” he answered, then stopped working for a moment and looked me dead in the eye. “We can only use what the territory offers. That’s important. Remember that. Okay?”
    â€œYeah, sure, whatever.”
    He then shoved something into my hand. It was a small, carved object that hung from a leather cord. It looked like . . .
    â€œIt’s a whistle,” he said, reading my thoughts. “Keep it handy.”
    I wanted to ask why, but at this point it didn’t really matter. I just hoped Uncle Press was as good with a spear as he was with a gun, because a little whistle sure as heck wasn’t going to protect us if things got hairy. I followed orders and put it around my neck.
    â€œYou ready?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” was my usual reply. Though honestly, I was. I felt a little like a caveman, but the strange clothes fit me fine. Where they were too big, I tied them tight with leather straps the way Uncle Press showed me. I was actually pretty comfortable. The only bad thing was I really wished I could have kept my underwear. There was going to be some major league rash action going on here and they probably didn’t have talcum powder on Denduron either.
    Uncle Press started dragging the sled toward the light and the entrance of the cave. I helped him pull.
    â€œWhen we get the sled in the snow, hop on and sit in back,” he instructed. “I’ll get us going and steer from the front. If we’re lucky we’ll be gone before the quigs wake up.”
    â€œWhat if we’re not lucky?” was the obvious next question.
    â€œWe can’t outrun them. Our only hope is to get one of them.”
    â€œGet? Define ‘get.’”
    He didn’t. We were at the mouth of the cave. Uncle Press looked at me.
    â€œI’m sorry for this, Bobby, I really am. All I can say is that sometime soon you’ll understand why it had to be this way.”
    He said this with such conviction that I actually believed him. The thing was, I was afraid to believe him. Because if what he had been saying was true, I’d have no choice but to face whatever trouble lay ahead. And based on what had happened so far, it wasn’t going to be fun.
    â€œI hope you know how to drive this thing”, I said.
    â€œHold on tight”, was his answer. Yeah right, like I planned on waving my hands in the air like on a roller coaster. Give me a break.
    We pulled the sled out of the cave and onto the snow. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the light