The Trap by Michael Grant Read Free Book Online

blowing police whistles, so while things looked better than they had, they still didn’t look good.
    â€œWe have to hide!” Jarrah said.
    They were in a vast square. Buildings all around formed the edges of a cobblestoned courtyard. The walls on all sides were reddish, although in the dim light it was hard to see very clearly.
    Mack was trying to picture the map of the Forbidden City in his mind. He’d glanced at the map but he hadn’t exactly memorized the place. After all, it’s a huge complex full of numerous palaces—some big, some small, all fabulously decorated with dragons and filigree and Chinese characters.
    And still, even now, Mack was thinking just a little bit about Toaster Strudel.
    â€œWhich way?” Stefan asked.
    They were easily outpacing the guards, who were on foot. But Mack had no illusion that these were the only guards. In a few minutes the place would be swarming with guards and cops and, for all he knew, the entire Chinese army.
    Things had loosened up a bit at the Forbidden City, but not so much that they’d let two Yanks and an Aussie ride bikes around the place at night.
    â€œJust keep riding!” Mack yelled.
    They were pedaling up a long ramp that led to one of the central palaces.
    â€œIf there’s ten thousand rooms,” Jarrah said, “we should be able to find someplace to hide.”
    â€œNine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine rooms,” Mack corrected her. “The palace of the gods was ten thousand, and emperors didn’t want to look presumptuous by equaling it.”
    Jarrah stared at him. Mack shrugged. “What? I notice these things.”
    â€œWe have to ditch the bikes,” Jarrah said. “We can hide easier on foot.”
    They ducked inside through one of the less grandiose entrances. The lights had been turned off, but emergency exits still glowed and a single distant overhead light shone. They saw a museum, a square chamber filled with ornate clocks and other bits of furniture, which on closer examination also turned out to be clocks.
    â€œClock museum,” Mack whispered. He had his iPhone out and was frantically web surfing, trying to pull up a map of the Forbidden City.
    â€œCool,” Jarrah said. “The kind of place Mum would love.”
    Stefan backed into a massive, incredibly fragile-looking clock that rocked back on its pedestal.
    Mack heard the sound of running footsteps.
    He dimmed the screen on his phone.
    â€œThis way,” Jarrah said. “Shine a little phone light on this.”
    It was a cabinet at the bottom of an armoire-sized clock decorated with elephants and griffins and little gold leaves. The clock was maybe nine feet tall. But the cabinet wasn’t much bigger than a large toy box.
    â€œWe could hide in there,” Stefan said. “The guards are closing in on this place.”
    â€œAre you nuts?” Mack whispered back. “I’m not getting in there! It’s tiny! We could be locked in there forever. No air. Suffocating! I won’t be able to breathe. . . . Already I can’t breathe. . . . Like being buried alive! I can’t!”
    Running footsteps were approaching. Flashlight beams cast skittery pools of light by the nearest entryway.
    â€œDude!” Stefan hissed. “Where did the Tong Elves hit you?”
    Mack pointed to his left temple. So Stefan hit him in his right temple.
    It was a while before Mack regained consciousness.
    It was a while longer before he realized he had his head in Stefan’s armpit. And Jarrah’s head between his ankles.
    Then it really hit him.
    Mack opened his mouth to scream, but Stefan’s hand was clasped firmly over it, so all he could do was yell, “Mmmm! Mmmmm! Mph-puh-rrrnnn!”
    â€œI think the coast is clear,” Jarrah said.
    â€œMmmm mmmm hhhrrggh!” Mack shouted as Stefan and Jarrah unpacked themselves.
    â€œI’m going to take my hand away,