From the author of the Sherlock Academy series. A Race with No Rules. In a land of fortune telling, alchemy, and magic carpet racing, Dodie Rue feels out of place. Dodie wishes he could be more like his brother Taj, everyone’s favorite pick to win first place in the upcoming Grand Flyer. But Dodie doesn’t have the nerve or stomach for racing, and the town bully Atallah won’t let him forget it. With the race just a few days away, Taj is suddenly poisoned by an unknown opponent. Now, with only seven days to live, Taj’s only hope is for Dodie to win the race and its grand prize: a wish from a genie. But the desert is a treacherous place with ghouls, sandstorms, and dragons around every dune. In a race with no rules, can Dodie overcome his fear of flying, outsmart the other racers, and rescue his brother from the grip of death? F.C. Shaw is the author of the Sherlock Academy series and teaches visual arts in elementary schools as well as at the college level. She loves sharing her passion for stories and art with kids, and loves helping to unlock the creativity in others. Chapter 1 Dodie Rue threw a glance over his shoulder. He slipped down a grungy alley between the village bakery and the butcher shop. The stench of stale bread and rotten meat trimmings was as thick as the desert heat and kept everyone from using this alley as a shortcut to the open-air market. But Dodie had grown accustomed to the smell.  He picked his way over splintered crates and soggy garbage. On tiptoe he neared a clay bowl he’d swiped from his kitchen and propped up with a stick, though now the bowl was turned over on the ground. He heard the scuffling and squeaking of a desperate rat trapped under the bowl. When the rat had scurried into the bowl’s shadow to gnaw on a moldy roll, it had tripped the stick and brought the bowl down over itself. It couldn’t chew its way out or move the clay bowl—a good trap. Dodie slid a thin clay roof shingle under the bowl so he could pick up the rat inside. Judging by the weight, he guessed this was a good-sized rat he had trapped. His employer would be pleased. Once a week Dodie set traps for the rats that infested the alley. He could have caught whole tribes of rats easily, but his employer needed only one rat a week.  “Sorry, bud, not your lucky day,” murmured Dodie as he tried not to think of the rat’s fate. He carried the rat, trapped between the shingle and the bowl, out of the alley where he turned down the street. He looked around, hoping no one was out this early in the morning yet. His heart sank when he spotted a boy drifting toward him on a magic carpet. Dodie dodged under a shop awning and moved quickly down the street, hoping the other boy wouldn’t notice him.  “Hey, Rue!” the boy called. He sidled up to Dodie, his emerald green and gold carpet slowing down. “What are you up to this early?” “None of your business, Atallah,” muttered Dodie as he kept walking down the street. Atallah Hadi came from the richest family in town and acted like he was superior to everyone else. Though he was only thirteen—a year older than Dodie—Atallah was the best flyer after Dodie’s brother. He noticed what Dodie was carrying and smirked. “Oh, your job. Guess every village needs a rat catcher and you’re perfect for the task. You’re practically a street rat yourself.” “Shut up.” Dodie quickened his pace. Atallah chortled. “If you’re hungry my family put out the garbage last night. You’re welcome to it.” He zoomed away before Dodie could come up with a retort. Dodie hated that Atallah, of all people, knew he caught rats for extra income to help make ends meet.  At the next corner an old man spread a mat on the ground. He had unkempt gray hair and a long grizzly beard. His skin was as tan and rough as weather-beaten leather, and he wore a green turban. He sat cross-legged on his mat polishing a long oboe-type instrument, a wicker basket with a lid on the ground next to him. “‘Bout time ya showed up,” he barked at Dodie. He jerked his head at the wicker basket. “She’s hungry.” “Pretty sure it’s a big one today.” Dodie held out the clay bowl with the trapped rat. “Be my guest.” The man nodded at the basket again. Dodie gulped. “Nah, I gotta get back home.” The man’s face broke into a grin of missing teeth as he cackled. He took the clay bowl from Dodie. The rat inside squeaked. “Sounds like a lively one.” He opened the lid on the basket. Dodie stepped back a few feet. The man slid the shingle out from under the rat. It was a large rodent with a bright green, scaly tail. With a terrified squeak, the rat dropped into the basket. Quickly the man put the lid back into place. Dodie caught a small glimpse of the white cobra inside the basket. There was a squeal, a hiss, and then it was all over. The snake charmer gave the trap back to Dodie with another cackle.  “Did ya see that tail? That rat’s been mussed with.” Dodie looked at him quizzically. “Rotten alchemist again,” the old charmer mutte