He squeezes me tight. “Good, because that’s how some of the very best adventures start.” Then he turns me toward the bed. “Now go and have your adventure, Arthur Trout, Master of Roar!”

Taking a deep breath, and one last look at Grandad’s smiling face, I get down on my hands and knees and push my head inside the mattress.

Chapter 6

The damp, dusty smell of the mattress hits me first, then the dark. It’s a thick, velvety darkness that wraps itself tight around me. I pull the rest of my body inside the bed until I’m curled up in a ball. Then I think about Roar.

I try to picture the mountains and Win’s cave, but my mind keeps jumping back to the fact that Grandad and the attic are on the other side of the cot. So I focus on one thing that I’ve stared at for hours: Win’s campfire. I picture the flames and hear the crackle and pop of burning wood. I see sparks drifting up into the dark sky. Bright orange sparks . . . Sky the color of the deepest water . . .

And then Roar washes over me like a wave from the Bottomless Ocean. I see trees and lakes so bright they could come from a cartoon, and a river that’s a rainbow ribbon. The smell is . . . sunshine . . . and woodsmoke and apples. I picture myself riding a bike through a forest, leaves snapping against my face. Cycling ahead of me is Win, his cloak flying out behind him. Wait for me, Win, I think. I’m coming! And I start to crawl.

I don’t notice when the mattress becomes rock, or when I start to breathe fresh, cold air, but I do notice the light. It begins as a spot of green, and it gets bigger as I crawl toward it.

Soon I reach the trailing leaves that cover the opening of the tunnel. I’m about to stick my head through them when I realize that the ledge outside is empty.

Where’s Rose? Has she gone into Roar and left me on my own? Then I have another thought . . . What if Crowky’s got her? I shrink back from the opening. He’s been in this tunnel before. It’s how he grabbed hold of Grandad!

I hold my breath and I listen. Silence . . . then something soft brushes against my ear. A feather! I scream, smacking my head on the roof of the tunnel.

Laughter rings out, and Rose wriggles out of a small hollow in the rock. “It’s me, you idiot,” she says. “Well, me and a feather.” She waves it in front of my face. It’s black and tatty and I know who it once belonged to.

I grab it and crumple it in my fist. “Rose, that is one of the scariest things you have ever done to me!”