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Jake Ransom and the Skull King's Shadow

Chapter One

School Daze

From his school desk, Jake Ransom willed the second hand on the wall clock to sweep away the final minutes of his sixth-period history class.

Only another twenty-four minutes and he would be free.

Away from Middleton Prep for a whole week!

Then he could finally get some real work done. He had already mapped out his plans for each day of the weeklong vacation break: to explore the rich vein of shellfish fossils he had discovered in the rock quarry behind his house, to attend a signing by one of his favorite physicists, who had a new book out called Strange Quarks and Deeper Quantum Mysteries, to listen to the fourth lecture by a famed anthropologist on the cannibal tribes of Borneo (who knew sautéed eyeballs tasted sweet?)—and he had so much more planned.

All he needed now was the school's last bell to ring to free him from the prison that was eighth grade.

But escape would not come that easy.

The history teacher, Professor Agnes Trout, clapped her bony hands together and drew back his sullen attention. She stood to one side of her desk. As gaunt as a stick of chalk, and just as dry and dusty, the teacher peered over her fingertips at the class.

"We have time for one more report," she announced.

Jake rolled his eyes. Oh, great...

The class was no happier. Groans spread around the room, which only hardened her lips into a firmer line.

"We could make it two more reports and stay after the last bell," she warned.

The class quickly quieted.

ProfessorTrout nodded and turned to her desk. One finger traced a list of names and moved to the next victim in line to present an oral report. Jake found it amusing to watch her thin shoulders pull up closer to her ears. He knew whose name was next in line alphabetically, but it had somehow caught the teacher by surprise.

She straightened with a soured twist to her lips. "It seems we will hear next from Jacob Ransom."

A new round of groans rose. The teacher did not even bother quieting them down. She plainly regretted her decision to squeeze in one more report before the holiday break. But after almost a year in her class, Jake knew Professor Agnes Trout was a stickler for order and rules. She cared more about the memorization of dates and names than any real understanding of the flow of history. So once committed to her course of action, she had no choice but to wave him to the front of the class.

Jake left his books and notes behind. He had his oral report set to memory. Empty-handed, crossing toward the blackboard, he felt the class's eyes on him. Even though he had skipped a grade last year, he was still the second tallest boy in his class. Unfortunately it wasn't always a good thing to stand out in a crowd, especially in middle school, especially after skipping a grade. Still, Jake kept his shoulders straight as he crossed to the board. He ignored the eyes staring at him. Not one to set fashion trends, Jake wore what he found first that morning (clean or not). He ended up with scuffed jeans, a tattered pair of high-top sneakers, a faded green polo shirt, and of course the mandatory navy school jacket with the school's insignia embroidered in gold on the breast pocket. Even his sandy blond hair failed to match the current razored trend. Instead it hung lanky over his forehead.

Like his father's had been.

Or at least it matched the last picture Jake had of the senior Ransom, now gone three years, vanished into the Central American jungle. Jake still carried that photograph, taped to the inside of his notebook. It showed his parents, Richard and Penelope Ransom, smiling with goofy happiness, dressed in khaki safari outfits, holding up a Mayan glyph stone. The photo's edges were still blackened and curled from the fire that burned through their hilltop camp.

Taped below it was a scrap of parcel paper. On it, written in his father's handwriting, was Jake's name along with the family address for their estate here in North Hampshire, Connecticut. The package had arrived six weeks after the bandits had attacked his parents' camp.

That had been three years ago.

It was the last and only contact from his folks.

Jake fingered the thin cord around his neck as he reached the front of the class. Through his cotton shirt, he felt the small object that hung from the cord and rested flat against his chest. A last gift from his parents. Its reassuring touch helped center him.

To the side, the teacher cleared her throat. "Class, Mr. Ransom will be teaching us... well... I mean to say his oral report will be on..."

"My report," he said, cutting her off, "is on Mayan astronomical techniques in relation to the precession of the equinoxes."

"Yes, yes, of course. Equinoxes. Very interesting, Mr. Ransom." The teacher nodded, perhaps a bit too vigorously.

Jake suspected Professor Agnes Trout didn't fully understand what the report was about. She backed toward her desk, as if fearful he might ask her a question. Like everyone else, she must have had heard the story of Mr. Rushbein, the geometry teacher. How after Jake had disproved one of the teacher's theorems in front of his whole class, he had suffered a nervous breakdown. Now all the teachers at Middleton Prep looked at Jake with a glint of worry. Who would be next?

Jake picked up a piece of chalk and wrote some calculations on the board. "Today I'll be showing how the Maya were able to predict such events as the solar eclipses, like the one that will occur next Tuesday—"

A balled-up piece of paper struck the board near his hand and caused the piece of chalk in his fingers to snap with a loud squeak on the board...