Weaverworld: Grimsnipe’S Revenge - Book One in the Weaverworld Trilogy

By Julia K. Rohan

Jack Fisher is a boy in trouble. Disobedient and rebellious, he fights with his sister Jillian, challenges his parents authority and fails his classes at school. But when temptation overpowers his better judgment during the annual family reunion, the consequences are more drastic than anyone could have imagined.

Ignoring his grandmothers warning to stay out, Jack goes up to the attic and tries on his grandfathers old bomber jacket and boots. Suddenly transported to a world called Weaverworld, Jack must quickly adjust to his new reality. Weaverworld is a mystical place and the longer hes there the more willing he is to let go of the rules from his life in the Realworld.

But not everything is as enchanting as it seems. Jack soon learns that Weaverworld can also be a dangerous and terrifying place, as the vengeful Grimsnipe enmeshes him in an ever more dangerous web of intrigue. With his new friends at his side, Jack must find a way to fight this evil force before it succeeds in destroying both his family and the Weaver way of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469700267

Julia K. Rohan

A self-confessed “late bloomer”, Julia K. Rohan earned an Honors English Literature degree in her mid-forties. Five years later, on a whim, she began writing what would eventually become the Weaverworld Fantasy Trilogy. The first book in the series, Weaverworld: Grimsnipe’s Revenge, was published in 2012, and the second, Quest for the Eagle-eye Amulet, in 2014. The Timekeeper’s Solution is the final book in the trilogy — though not, perhaps, the end of Weaverworld. When not writing, Julia may be found performing as a singer-songwriter, cooking dinner for her husband, talking movies with her son, or walking her dog, Mr. Bojangles.

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Copyright © 2012 Julia K. Rohan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4697-0032-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-0031-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-0026-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900069

iUniverse rev. date: 10/05/2016

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1    Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave

Chapter 2    The Runaway

Chapter 3    A Sudden Disappearance

Chapter 4    The Accidental Transport

Chapter 5    The Rogue Guttersnipe

Chapter 6    Dr. Neith, Minister for Realworld Affairs

Chapter 7    At Home with the Widgets

Chapter 8    Flysweaters and Falcons

Chapter 9    Aladdeus Gaelblade, Master Archer

Chapter 10    Learning the Ropes

Chapter 11    Dalziel Quarrel

Chapter 12    Bellamy’s Bookshop

Chapter 13    The Strange Tale of Lester Grandiflore

Chapter 14    Grace Snowight

Chapter 15    Attack of the Octasnake

Chapter 16    A Lesson in Weaving

Chapter 17    The Girl with the Rose-Colored Glasses

Chapter 18    The Feast Gets Crashed

Chapter 19    A Gruesome Victory

Chapter 20    The Bodyguard

Chapter 21    Dorothy Finds Danger

Chapter 22    A Horse Fit for a Dreamweaver

Chapter 23    Jack Confesses

Chapter 24    Grimsnipe’s Revenge

Chapter 25    The Homecoming

Weaverworld%20Map_edited_left.jpgWeaverworld%20Map_edited_rightjpg.jpg

To Ted-who gave me the love, support and

space I needed to find my way here.

Imagination lets us see

a world of possibility;

Initiative’s the step we take

to get from here to there;

and if at first we don’t succeed

Intrepidity’s the thing we need,

for only when we live our dreams

will we true Weavers be.

— Refrain from the Warpenwoof Academy Anthem

PROLOGUE

Relentlessly pacing the widow’s walk overlooking Stranglespit, he hummed a few bars of Jack and Jill went up a hill before coming to an abrupt halt.

Release one of the birds, Ethane.

Yes, my Lord, replied the Culdethane.

Alone once more, he gave free rein to his joy. The boy’s on his way! he giggled, clapping his hands and performing a two-step jig with gleeful abandon. I can feel it!

Then, as though struck by a painful jolt, he stopped mid-pirouette, his face twitching into a mask of rage.

It won’t be long now before all the wrongs done to me shall be put right, he whispered, "and all the years of exile and humiliation I have suffered because of her and the rest of my tormenters shall be re-paid … with interest!"

Turning his face into the wind and closing his eyes, he gripped the cold, black iron railing and breathed deeply to calm himself, imagining the dynasty he would build once he had the boy in his possession. It was only a matter of time, he mused, before all of Weaverworld would be his for the plundering.

A sudden flapping of wings interrupted his reverie and when he opened his eyes he saw a bull Guttersnipe hovering mid-air before him, its gigantic wing-tips brushing the Labyrinth’s stone wall. Fixing the beast’s hooded eyes with a penetrating stare, he telepathically imparted these instructions: Fly beyond the Shapeshifts and seek out the boy whom I await. If the opportunity arises, bring him to me unharmed. If not, wait and watch, and report to me what you have seen.

The creature nodded once in acknowledgement, the razor-sharp blade of its bayonet beak gleaming dully in the feeble rays of sun that penetrated the gathering clouds. With a few urgent thrusts of its wings, the monstrous bird turned eastward and, in another moment, was gone.

Anything else, your Lordship? asked the sentry, returning to his post.

Nothing at the moment, Ethane. Now we wait…wait for the quarry to take the bait.

CHAPTER 1

Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave

Jack Andrew Fisher! Up! Now!

Upstairs, eleven year-old Jack winced at the shrill sound of his mother’s voice and rolled over in bed with a grunt, pulling the bed-sheet over his stubbly brown buzz-cut. His left shoulder was aching, probably from taking a header off his skateboard the day before, and he had the feeling he had just woken up from the weirdest dream he’d ever had. But it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to change the fact that today was not going to be a good day, even though it was the last day of school and by all rights should have been a day of celebration. He lay there, his blue eyes clamped shut, going over his problem again for the umpteenth time, searching for the miraculous loop-hole that might give him a way out.

The problem was this: he desperately wanted to go to skateboard camp for the summer. His mother had said to ask his father, and his father had said to ask his mother, and then both parents had eventually said, No, we can’t afford it. Taking this not as a solid No, but simply as a signal to begin a relentless campaign of pleading and whining, he finally managed to convince them to let him go on ONE condition: he must have a good final report card.

With this in mind, Jack had set about earnestly trying to do his best at school, doing homework on a regular basis and paying attention in class and so on. This extra effort had lasted about a week and then somehow things started to slip again. Before he knew it, final exam week was upon him and he was, as usual, totally unprepared. He went to each exam like a guilty man going to his own execution, and in each one he sat with his head in his hands, miserably racking his brain for answers he knew he should have, but didn’t. Meanwhile his best friend Simon Goldberg—Bug for short—was writing away like a machine, filling up pages and pages of test answer books with obviously brilliant answers. It was horrible, it was humiliating, and no matter how hard he tried to cram before each exam, the result was always the same. By the end of the week, he knew he would be lucky if he passed even half of his subjects.

Three days earlier, his home-room teacher, Mrs. Snapper, had handed him his report card without a word. She did, however, roll her eyes and sigh. Jack got the message. With a feeling of dread, he lifted one edge of the report and peered inside, hoping if he didn’t fully see it, it wouldn’t be fully true. Unfortunately this little maneuver didn’t work. The results glared at him like an angry face. Ds all the way down the line except for physical education (C). Under the heading Recommendations, where it should have said Promotion to Grade 5, Mrs. Snapper had written Unable to recommend promotion at this time. Student’s status will be reviewed on condition he attend summer school and show marked improvement in all areas of study.

It was a nightmare. Now, not only would he not be able to go to skateboard camp, he’d have to go to summer school instead. Unable to face what he knew would be an ugly and depressing scene, he concealed the report card in his closet under his stinkiest pair of running shoes in hopes that his parents wouldn’t find out before he had fully prepared himself for the worst. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but kept hoping to come up with some great plan, some magical way to avoid hitting that wall with NO WAY OUT written all over it.

Lying in bed now, Jack could hear someone tromping up the stairs. Pulling the covers up over his head, he braced himself for a second ear-splitting summons from his mother. Instead, he heard the voice of his little sister, Jillian, singing the song she always sang whenever her elder brother was in deep doo-doo:

Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a pail o’ water

Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after.

Ignoring her, Jack shut his eyes tighter and pretended to be asleep. A moment later, Jillian was beside him, whispering through the sheet into his ear.

Jack? Are you sleepin’? When there was no reply, she stepped out of her mother’s oversized loafers and climbed up onto the bed. Plopping herself down on the pillow beside her brother’s head, she asked, Why are you pretendin’ to be asleep, Jack?

Jack stirred and moaned as though troubled by a bad dream, hoping she would leave him alone.

I played with your snowball, whispered Jillian. She produced a snow globe from behind her back. Something inside rattled ominously.

You what? shouted Jack, throwing the sheet off his head and sitting up abruptly.

Startled, Jillian lost her grip on the globe. It fell out of her hands, bounced once off the bed and then, missing the rug entirely, hit the wood floor with a resounding crash.

Both Fisher children leaned over the side of the bed. For the moment, Jack was too fascinated by the result of the impact to be upset. The globe had smashed to smithereens. Water and small glass shards had landed everywhere: on the rug, on the untidy piles of clothes and books and papers, amid the broken skateboard parts in the box on the floor, and inside several of his scattered pairs of destroyed skate shoes that he hadn’t thrown away for sentimental reasons. A few even ended up at the bottom of his aquarium, to the astonishment of the hyperactive gang of guppies and one snobby angel-fish who resided there. Before Jack could speak, his mother was already thundering up the stairs toward the scene of the crime.

What in heaven’s name is going on in here? she shouted, throwing open the door, her eyes wild with anxiety. If there was one thing that could set their mother off it was the thought of any harm coming to either of her children. No matter how angry she was, her concern for their safety and well-being always came first. Generally, once she’d established that no-one had been blinded or scalded or broken any major bones she’d settle down to a good, old-fashioned dressing down of the guilty party. Seeing the sparkling debris on the floor of Jack’s room, her eyes travelled quickly from one child to the other, looking for blood or tears. Seeing neither, she began her high-pitched enquiries.

Jack, what are you doing still in bed? It’s 8:45! You have fifteen minutes to get dressed and get to school! She shifted her gaze to Jillian and went on, And you!

Jillian cowered behind her brother.

What are you doing in here? her mother shouted. I sent you up to get dressed ten minutes ago! Now neither of you moves a muscle until I get the vacuum and clear up this mess! I don’t want any punctured feet. Do you hear? With that, she turned and clumped back down the hall.

Nice play, Shakespeare, said Jack.

Jillian’s lower lip began to quiver as a tear formed in one bright blue eye. It was a’ accident, she protested.

It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been messing around with my things again, retorted Jack. How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my room?

I’m sorry, sniffed Jillian.

Well, sorry isn’t going to bring back my snow globe, is it? said Jack peevishly.

No, admitted his little sister with a sigh. But anyways, it was broken already. I was jus’ lookin’ at it yesterday on your dresser, an’ all of a sudden the man’s head popped off, jus’ like that! To demonstrate, she popped one thumb out of her tightly held fist, her eyes wide and shining with amazement at the memory of the strange occurrence.

With that, Jack leaned over the side of the bed again and reached down to retrieve what remained of his Lone Ranger Commemorative snow globe. With one hand, he picked up the base from which protruded nasty glass shards. With the other, he picked up the remains of a scale reproduction of a handsome, masked cowboy riding a beautiful, white stallion: a headless rider on a three-legged horse.

Just look what you did! he shouted, shaking the pieces in Jillian’s face.

But I didn’t! protested Jillian. Honest! It did it all by itself!

"‘All by itself’!" Jack whined, mocking her. Then, lowering his voice, he muttered under his breath, Liar.

Wounded, Jillian gave way to her tears and sobbed silently into the scrunched corner of the blanket she was unconsciously twisting in her hands.

Ten minutes later, most of the glass had been sucked into the vacuum, although Jack’s mother—who was wearing ugly thick-soled sandals—was sure that some pieces were still lurking in the fuzzy nap of the carpet like sneaky little land mines, just waiting to do them harm. Jack was terrified she might start poking the snout of the vacuum into the shoes in his closet and end up uncovering the dirty secret he had hidden there. Luckily the smell put her off.

You can clean in there later, she told him severely, holding her nose to make her point.

Sure, mom, Jack agreed, relieved that the threat had passed.

Jillian was then shooed out of the room and Jack was issued a stern warning to be dressed and in the car within five minutes. I’ll drive you to school this morning, said his mother. You’ll be late, but since it’s the last day I don’t suppose they’ll give you a detention for it.

Half an hour later, Jack’s mom brought the car to a stop in front of the non-descript, grey-brick rectangle that was Boxton Pond Elementary School. Without a word, Jack stepped out, slammed the door behind him, and slinging his knapsack over his shoulder, shoved his hands into his pockets as far as they would go before slouching off toward the school’s front entrance.

See you later! his mother called through the open window.

Jack ignored her and skipped nonchalantly up the front steps.

Mrs. Snapper looked at Jack only briefly before continuing to address the other students in homeroom class, but it wasn’t the highly stylized rolling-eyed look of exasperation she usually gave him when he came in late. This was more of a resigned, disappointed look and Jack didn’t like it. Feeling sour, he slumped down into his seat and waited for her to say something to him, but she didn’t. She just went on talking about the fact that she wouldn’t be back next year because she was expecting a baby. With a bored look, Jack leaned over toward Simon and, cupping his hand over his mouth, whispered, I thought she was looking fatter than usual!

When Mrs. Snapper interrupted herself to ask Jack if there was anything he would like to share with the class, he shook his head, no. She continued to stare at him for a few uncomfortable seconds before going on.

Later, after class, Simon ran to catch up with him in the hallway.

So, what are you going to do about your report card? he asked. Don’t your mom and dad know we already got them?

Yeah, but I told them I left mine in my locker by mistake, replied Jack.

But they’re going to want to see it tonight, aren’t they? It’s last day.

Of course they are, snapped Jack, stopping abruptly to fix Simon with an angry stare. They’re not stupid.

So what are you going to tell them?

Simon could be a real pain sometimes, thought Jack. Just because he got all A’s and was never going to know the agony of academic failure, he could afford to go around making light of other people’s misfortunes. Though Jack still considered Simon his best friend, their association was becoming more and more of an embarrassment to him. This year had been especially tough because Jack had grown a few inches and filled out while Bug remained both under-sized and annoyingly nerdy.

They were just rounding the corner when Scud Grundy and the twins, Ivor and Igor Gurglev, appeared in front of them.

Fishbreath! Bugbrain! exclaimed Scud, sliding one hand toward Jack with a smarmy flourish. Whazzup?

When Jack slid out his hand to complete the handshake, Scud suddenly jerked his own away, leaving Jack’s hanging forlornly in the empty space between them. Simon, meanwhile, tried to slip quietly away, but the twins—laughing like maniacs at Jack’s embarrassment—easily blocked his escape.

Got me, chuckled Jack, trying to will away the blush from his cheeks. Normally, thirteen-year-old Scud Grundy wouldn’t have given the time of day to an eleven-year-old, but Jack was big for his age and solidly built, so he was frequently taken for an older boy.

So, Fishbreath, you all set for skate camp? Scud asked.

Oh yeah, sure, lied Jack. He hated being called "Fishbreath" but knew that the worst thing you could do was complain about stuff like that.

Hey man, if you wanna lift, my dad’s driver is takin’ me up there tonight in the limo. We got room for you since these two lunkheads can’t go now, he said, indicating the twins with a contemptuous flick of his hair. Flunked their exams.

Ivor and Igor responded by engaging in their favorite pastime, which was punching each another in the upper arm repeatedly and as hard as possible until one of them cried out, You win!

Ignoring the brothers’ sociopathic horse-play, Jack replied, Yeah, great! What time? Simon backed away from the twins as though afraid whatever they had might be catching.

Meet us at the corner of Rooney and Main at seven, replied Scud. But don’t be late. Tiny’s not a real patient guy. You’re not there at seven, you’re not there at all. Got it?

Seven o’clock. See you there! replied Jack.

Oh yeah, and you Bugbrain. I’d invite you too but I know you’ll be too busy with the other fairies this summer, making costumes for your big movie debut. Don’t forget about all us little guys when you’re up there gettin’ your Academy Award, ok?

Simon said nothing, but prepared himself for a blow. He knew that look in Scud’s eyes—the look of a snake about to strike.

Sure enough, a split-second later, Scud whipped around and gave each of the Gurglev twins a rapid-fire smack to the side of the head. Game over, you perverts, he said, slinking off down the hall with Ivor and Igor in his wake, both rubbing their heads.

CHAPTER 2

The Runaway

Are you crazy? demanded Simon, following Jack down the hall toward their lockers. How are you going to go to skate camp tonight with Scud Grundy?

I’ll think of something, replied Jack, his jaw set with determination. "I just have to go. I’m not going to summer school. No way."

But you’ll flunk if you don’t.

Who cares? School’s a pain anyway.

But where will you get the money? asked Simon. You haven’t got permission from your parents or anything.

Aren’t you the guy who always says ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way’? You’re the one who thinks he’s gonna be a big Hollywood movie director some day. What makes you think that? Your parents want you to be an orthodontist just like them. They’re never gonna help you get where you want to go either.

That’s different. I have a dream and I’m working toward it.

Jack stopped again and turned to look at his friend. What’s that supposed to mean? he asked snidely.

Nothing, said Simon, with a timid shrug of his shoulders.

Angry now, Jack turned and continued down the hall with Simon following at a wary distance. Leaning his skateboard against the lockers, he began working his combination. Done, he twisted off the lock, put it in his pocket and lifted the latch. The door sprang open and expelled an avalanche of old test papers, assignments, binders, notebooks and library books, not to mention dirty gym shorts and an extremely over-ripe lunch, still in its rumpled paper bag.

Simon looked over from where he stood in front of his locker, not daring to say anything. Opening the door, he reached up to the top shelf and carefully removed the only things left inside: two sharpened pencils, an almost-new pink eraser, a calculator and a ruler. He placed these in the front compartment of his knapsack, which he then zipped shut. His locker was now cleaner than when it had been assigned to him. Closing the door, he turned again to look at the mountain of refuse in front of Jack.

You want me to get a garbage pail or something? he asked faintly

Yeah, whatever, Jack replied.

A few minutes later the two were sorting through the pile together, separating the valuable from the useless. Jack jammed the valuables into his knapsack and tossed everything else away, including all the papers with their failing marks and corrections made in red ink.

What about the library books? asked Simon.

I probably owe a bundle on those, said Jack, sizing up the pile. I’ll just leave them outside the library door. Somebody’ll find them eventually.

The trip home was more subdued than usual. Jack was deep in thought as he propelled himself forward on his board, with Simon riding alongside on his ten-speed. Simon’s mother wouldn’t let him have a skateboard unless he agreed to wear a hockey helmet with a face mask and teeth protector, so he decided it wasn’t worth it. He was already considered to be one of the biggest losers in school. He didn’t need a goofy helmet to make things worse.

When they arrived at 88 Dunwoody Drive, both boys stopped. For the first time Jack could remember, there was an awkward silence between them, despite the fact that they’d been friends and next-door neighbors since they were both in diapers.

Well, good luck then, said Simon, fiddling with the bell on his handlebars.

Yeah, same to you. If I don’t see you, have a great summer, replied Jack tepidly.

Simon looked at Jack as if he wanted to say something more. Deciding it was better left unsaid, he stood on one pedal and launched his bike toward the next driveway.

See ya, he said.

Yeah, you too, said Jack, giving the end of his board a quick stomp so that it jumped up into his hand.

When he entered the house, Jack was glad to find no-one home. It was Friday, and that meant his mother and Jillian were at the dance school where his mother taught after-school ballet classes. He went into the kitchen and found a note on the counter:

Dear Jack, Tuna casserole in the fridge. Please preheat oven to 350 and put it in at around 5:30. We’ll be home by 6:00. Love, Mom xox

Yeah, whatever, said Jack, tossing the note back down. Taking the stairs two at a time, he jogged up to his room. He resented these notes with their demands on his time, but since his mother had decided the family needed more money and went back to work, he was expected to cooperate. Tossing his overloaded knapsack into a corner of his bedroom, he propelled himself through the air and came down hard on the bed, making the springs creak sharply in protest.

With his hands behind his head, Jack looked around his room at the skateboarding posters that were taped to every available wall space. Most of them were huge stop-action photos of famous skaters in flight over half-pipes, their boards poised in mid-air, or catching them as they fell back to earth. Jack could imagine the thrill, even though he wasn’t that good a skater yet. In fact he sometimes had trouble completing even the simplest moves, but he blamed that on his board. Seeing it lying scarred and battered on the floor, he felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. A good board like Scud Grundy’s Badboy Flyer cost over three hundred dollars. Where would he, Jack, ever get money like that? And anyway, what was the point? He wasn’t going to be able to go to skateboard camp now, and probably not ever.

Getting up slowly, he went to the closet and dug around until he emerged with the report card in his hand. Hoping against hope that it had all been a bad dream, he opened it and looked again. But there it was: the grim reality. Now there was no way around it. He was going to have to show his parents his marks and then try to convince them it wasn’t his fault … that he’d done his best and they ought to let him go despite the fact that he’d failed to keep his part of the bargain. If they truly loved him, they’d understand how important this was to him.

So how was your last day? asked Jack’s father later that evening, as he ladled a big helping of tuna casserole onto his plate.

Ok, answered Jack breezily. They let us out early. He was trying hard not to look nervous.

Did you bring your report card home? asked his mother, tossing the salad. Jack noted with dismay that she never failed to get straight to the point.

Yeah. It’s upstairs, he replied. I’ll get it after supper.

So, how is it? she asked, eyeing him closely.

Meanwhile, Jillian had picked up two carrot sticks and was attempting to make bunny teeth with them by lodging them under her upper lip. As always, Hairy Spotter—the family’s Jack Russell Terrier—was stationed like a sentry on the floor next to her, waiting for edible fallout.

Well … it’s not as good as I was hoping, answered Jack truthfully.

How bad is it?

Let him eat his supper first, Penny, said Jack’s dad, noticing his son’s discomfort. There’ll be time afterwards.

But it didn’t matter. Jack wasn’t hungry anyway. It was all he could do to force down a few dry mouthfuls of food. When his mother began to clear away the dishes, he got up to help without being asked, but this little ploy to gain sympathy turned out to be a waste of time.

Leave these for me, said his mother. Let’s have a look at that report card now.

Sure, said Jack lightly, though his stomach was churning.

The bravado crumbled when he walked back into the kitchen moments later carrying the evidence of his scholastic disaster. Trembling, he held his report card out to his mother and then stood rooted to the spot as she opened it and read the results. For what seemed like ages, her expression remained unchanged. Then, without meeting Jack’s eyes, she handed the report to his father and turned to Jillian—who was just then dropping small blobs of tuna casserole from the ends of her fingers directly into Hairy’s open maw.

Jillie, she said. Why don’t you go and watch one of your movies for a little while? I’ll bring you your cake in a few minutes.

Jillian looked from her mother’s face, to her father’s, to Jack’s, and back to her mother’s once again.

Is Jack in trouble, mommy? she asked.

We have some things to discuss with him, that’s all, answered her mother smoothly. Go ahead now. I’ll just be a little while.

Jillian looked at Jack again and seemed about to cry. She adored her brother and it always upset her when tensions between him and her parents arose.

Go on now, said her mother, smiling encouragingly.

Jillian got up from the table and left the room, Hairy following behind her like a four-legged shadow.

With Jillian out of the way, Jack’s mother returned her attention to her first-born. Not really what we were hoping for, is it Jack? she said, the understatement obvious.

I guess not, shrugged Jack, looking down at the scuffed toes of his shoes.

Whew! commented his father, laying the report card down on the table.

So you know what this means, don’t you? continued his mother, in a voice that both Jack and his father knew well—one that sounded calm, but could leap three octaves in a single bound if opposition was offered.

Yes, answered Jack miserably. But …

Jack’s mother shot him a look that said Don’t even think about it! so Jack went silent and waited for the lecture to begin.

Believe it or not, your father and I made sacrifices in order to set aside money for this skateboard camp. We were hoping you might actually pull up your socks this term. What do you have to say for yourself? she asked.

This would be Jack’s only chance to salvage the situation. Mom … dad … he began, hanging his head in shame. I know I blew it. I think there must be something wrong with me. Maybe I have a learning disability or something.

His mother chuckled derisively. Nice try, my friend, she said, but your only disability is your allergy to hard work. How many times did I ask if you’d finished your homework and you told me it was done just so you could get to the skate park?

Maybe once or twice, admitted Jack in a small voice.

Picking up the report card and holding it in front of her like a court document, his mother said, This tells me otherwise, young man. Then turning to her husband, she asked, Do you have anything to add to this discussion, Jonathan?

Jack’s father cupped his chin in his hand and sighed. Sorry guy, he said, but I’m with your mother on this. I think we’re all feeling pretty disappointed right now.

What about consequences? his wife asked.

I think summer school instead of skate camp is punishment enough, don’t you? replied Jack’s father.

As both his parents regarded him grimly, Jack began to feel the sting of imminent tears. Yes, I suppose so, his mother answered in a gentler tone. You can go upstairs to your room now, Jack.

The boy turned on his heel and fled up the stairs, banging his door shut behind him. Flinging himself on the bed he let loose the tears he’d been holding back, tears that turned to bitter anger as he suddenly sat up on the side of his bed.

"I am going to skate camp, dammit!" he said defiantly, banging his fists on the mattress.

He jumped up and grabbed his knapsack from the corner. Dumping the contents unceremoniously out onto the floor, he hastily refilled it with t-shirts and underwear from his dresser drawer. Then he opened another drawer and gingerly withdrew a cigar box that was hidden beneath a batch of loose baseball cards, a ball of twine, some pencil crayons, a bag of marbles and some old Halloween chocolate bar wrappers.

Setting the box on his desk, Jack opened it to reveal an assortment of small bills and a few dollars in change. This was his life savings, all the money he had managed to save from birthday and Christmas presents and occasional small jobs around the house. In the bottom of the box was a card still in its envelope. He opened it now and a check fell out into his lap. He paused only for a moment to read the inscription on the card:

To my dearest grandson Jack,

Just a little something for your special day,

Love, Grandma Rose xxx

Jack tossed the card and envelope into the wastebasket under his desk and examined the check again for the fiftieth time. It was the most money he’d ever had at one time: $111.00 in recognition of his eleventh birthday. He counted up all the money in the box and together with Granny Rose’s check he had a grand total of $147.39. Pulling his skate camp application out of his desk drawer, he read again that the cost for the summer would be $1000.00.

I’ll just tell them this is a deposit and my parents are going to send a check for the rest later, he said out loud, as if to give himself courage. "They’ll just have to let me in if I show up in Scud Grundy’s dad’s limo!"

Jack looked at his watch. It was six-thirty already. He dove under his bed, and after a quick dig under dirty socks and comic books, he came out with the object of his search: a pocket knife. Running to the bedroom door, he opened it just enough to hear his parents downstairs with Jillian, chuckling at her favorite movie, "Poofwhistle Takes a Powder."

Satisfied, Jack eased the door shut, ran to the window and began to cut along the edge of the window screen. When the opening was large enough, he pushed his knapsack through, and then squeezed through himself, landing on the roof above the back patio. Reaching back through the torn screen, he pulled his skateboard out and then lay on his stomach and began lowering himself over the edge until his dangling feet found his mother’s rose trellis. Hanging on to the gutter, he began to let himself down. Suddenly the gutter, which his father had repaired only days earlier, gave way in Jack’s hands. He tumbled into the rose bushes, giving out an involuntary squawk of surprise.

Luckily, the knapsack full of clothes on his back broke his fall. He got the wind knocked out of him and acquired several angry, red scratches from the thorns, but was otherwise unscathed. Hairy, however, had definitely heard something suspect and was now raising the alarm, barking like a hell-hound.

Knowing his father

Reviews for Weaverworld

[areaderincanada · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This contemporary fantasy is written for the 9 to 12 age group but has an all-ages appeal to those who enjoy the genre. Full of wry humor, plot twists, memorable characters and fantastical events, it invites the reader to travel to a parallel universe with an 11 year-old boy named Jack Fisher. In the beginning Jack is a restless boy with rebellion on his mind, but by the end he's transformed into a young man who only wants to prevent the evil Grimsnipe from destroying his family.