Chapter 1

All Amy wanted was quiet.

No, wait. That’s not all she wanted.

Peace and quiet.

Okay. Peace, quiet, and solitude.

Ugh. Last time, promise. Peace, quiet, solitude, and cake.

Those four things, not in any particular order.

But that didn’t include her pet cat, Tuna, or her collection of pickaxes and shovels, did it?

So, really, six things mattered to Amy. Peace, quiet, solitude, cake, Tuna (the cat, not the fish), and her tools. She didn’t need anything else, just a good time at the back of the house with her furry friend, going through whatever she found in the dirt and the stone of her land. It felt good to dig into the ground, never knowing what could emerge or what she might discover. Add a slice of cake to that, and it was perfection.

Well, whenever Tuna didn’t swipe her last bite.

“Oh, come on, Tuna, seriously?” Amy called out to the cat as she ran, nose covered in whipped cream, back into the house.

Amy stared at her empty plate and sighed. She loved that little twerp, but she also loved cake. The cat made enough trouble as it was, and now that she had a sugar rush, Amy was sure she’d hear her mother scream once Tuna decided to stir things up back inside.

“Amelia!” As if on cue. There was her full name. A sure sign of trouble. Not huge trouble—her mother would raise her voice an octave on that last ‘a’ if it were real trouble, but still, a good chewing out felt inevitable.

Amy sat still. Maybe Mom was checking to see if she was in the house. She could pretend she hadn’t heard her name—from the window, ten feet away from the ditch she was digging—if she stayed quiet for long enough.

“Amelia!” Louder this time. “Get in here now. I know you’re out there messing up my yard again.”

Okay. Great. Awesome. Here we go, Amy thought.

“Coming.” Her heart sank into her stomach. What would it be now? Had she tracked dirt into the house again? She was sure she’d checked after last time. Had Tuna made a brand-new mess? Maybe she got into the food. Her parents still weren’t thrilled about Tuna, but what else was Amy supposed to do? Let a kitten starve in the wild on its own? It hadn’t been that hard of a fight to keep Tuna, though, since her parents still felt bad after the adventure-that-shall-not-be-named, so they were willing to give in if it made Amy a little happier.

Amy’s house wasn’t the biggest in town, but it was the prettiest—to her. It was a two-floor house, all wood. Amy and her brother had rooms upstairs, while her parents slept downstairs. She liked the simplicity of their home, the way the windows were lined up and how her parents made sure they had exactly what they needed and nothing more. It was a homey home—a place that felt safe and warm.

Well, when she wasn’t in trouble.

“Hey, Mom,” Amy called out nervously from the threshold. “Is something wrong?”

Amy’s mother stormed out of the kitchen holding a shovel caked in dirt. “How many times have I told you to stop hiding your filthy tools in your brother’s room?”

Amy felt a wave of relief. This again. She could argue against this one any time of day. “I’m sorry, whose room?”

Her mother scowled. “Amelia, you know very well that Marc uses his room.”

“When he’s home, what, every other month now?”

“We never used either of your rooms as storage when you were out there with him,” Mom said, “and now you act as if he’s done something wrong to continue adventuring without you.”

Amy nearly laughed. She’d gone on, what, maybe two or three adventures with Marc before the incident? When would they have had the time to use her room as storage?

“Mom, please, I don’t care that he’s out there adventuring. I promise, the last thing I need is to deal with whatever craziness Marc’s getting into. I’m not mad at him.”

That was mostly true. They had hashed things out. It wasn’t even a big deal. They were cool about it. Marc kept adventuring, and she did her own thing. It wasn’t like they ignored each other or pretended not to be interested in each other’s hobbies. She was always around to hear him talk about his adventures, and he listened to her when she talked about all the cool stuff she found outside.

Well, mostly. Marc’s eyes always glazed over a little when she got into facts about ore.

Maybe they weren’t as close as they used to be, but that was fine. They were happy. That was what mattered.

“It doesn’t matter if anything’s wrong or not, young woman. Please clean your things out of your brother’s room before tonight. He’s due back from that big trip with all his friends.”

“I thought they were going into slime caves to ‘punch squishy things,’ ” Amy said as she rolled her eyes.

“Your brother is broadening his horizons, Amy.”

“By punching squishy things.”

“Everyone learns in different ways. You dig holes in my yard and your brother harasses local wildlife.”

“Ha ha.”

“So, about those shovels and pickaxes.” Mom gave her a solid mom stare—like a four out of ten on the mom-stare scale of scariness.

Amy sighed and threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine. Can I put them in the shed?”

“The shed is Dad’s happy place. No tools.”

Dad’s happy place. Sure. He just farted around in there avoiding housework. “But everything is dirty, and my room is so clean.”

Mom clapped her hands. “Oh, then there’s something to occupy your time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Clean your tools.”

Amy hunched over and pouted. “Really?”

Mom stare level six. Any more back talk would bring it straight to an eight.

Nobody had ever seen ten, but Marc claimed it nearly happened once before Amy was born. Something about Marc trying to lure a creeper into their house and nearly succeeding.

“I’m going. Bye.” Amy spun on one heel and marched toward her brother’s room. Fine, she’d clean her stuff. Better yet, maybe she’d use her tools more and then clean them. Mom wanted her to use her time, right? What better way than to dig around and see what she found? Amy doubled back and slipped into the kitchen, grabbing half a loaf of bread and stuffing it into her satchel. A snack for her and Tuna.

“Are you still down here?” Mom called out.

Amy scampered to the stairs and went to her brother’s room. She didn’t want to be able to tell her brother how close to ten Mom could get.


Chapter 2

Amy sighed at the sight of her stuff in Marc’s room.

“Okay, maybe Mom was right,” she said as she surveyed the mess she’d left.

Amy had a habit of collecting unused tools folks in town gave up on. Shovels with wobbly handles. Pickaxes that were more pick than axe. Everything was worn down to the very limit, but Amy felt it all still had a use.

Besides, once she found enough iron ore, she’d be able to trade up at a toolsmith’s for better tools—well, maybe. She’d have to dig and mine somewhere other than the backyard to find anything better than stone. While she did love her home, the surrounding land was barren of any really interesting finds. There were so many opportunities to find exciting new materials in the outside world, but she couldn’t muster the spirit to go back out there, not like her brother who wasted his days chasing treasures and rumors as if any of those things would turn out to be true.

Amy knelt and brushed dirt away. Mom was right: She really did need to start cleaning her tools. It took nearly an hour to clean Marc’s room, and she didn’t much look forward to taking the same amount of time to clean her own space now that she’d moved the tools there.

Amy rolled her eyes. This was life. Cleaning her room. Digging in the backyard. Feeling a sense of dread every time she thought about walking over four hundred blocks away where she could find more than rock.

There was a thump downstairs and boisterous laughter. The sound of metal against the wooden floors—a sure sign that there would be a scuff mark.

He was home.

“Ma! Pa! Amy!” Marc’s voice sounded deeper than the last time he’d been home. “Where is everybody?”

Amy fought back the little surge of excitement at the sound of her brother’s return. She was still mad he’d been gone so long this time. She didn’t have anything against adventuring—whatever, it was fine—but the longer he stayed away, the more their parents piled on her. Amy wondered if that was Marc’s plan: Absence made the heart grow fonder, and the longer he was gone, the more love he’d get. It was devious and evil and . . . very much not the kind of thing Marc would do.

Sometimes she wished he were a little sneakier.