The Librarians and the Mother Goose Chase

  “Despite our efforts, best or otherwise, the individual purporting to be Mother Goose is in possession of the entire spell book now, granting her the means to reassemble Humpty Dumpty, aka the World Egg, and give birth to a new Creation.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Ezekiel interrupted. “Are we sure we’re not overreacting here? I mean, Humpty Dumpty is going to reverse the Big Bang? Even by Library standards, that seems like a stretch.”

  “Would that it were so, Mr. Jones. Alas, I have been monitoring the situation while you and your confederates were gallivanting about the globe, making new friends, and I can assure you that the evidence increasingly bears out my initial suspicions.”

  To be more precise, he had been conducting certain investigations since the disturbances at the Library had been dealt with, but Jenkins saw no need to muddle matters by mentioning his earlier difficulties with the amuck goose, the Lion, the Unicorn, and the Dead Man’s Chest. Those were not germane to the present crisis, or so he rationalized. Nor was the question of why there was now a caged gosling chirping in the background.

  “What sort of evidence?” Baird asked.

  “Omens and portents of impending doom, as we were wont to call them back in my salad days.” He had set up a vintage slide projector on the table to better illustrate his discoveries. “Lights, please?”

  Baird obligingly lowered the lights even as Ezekiel scoffed at the antiquated device. “A slide show, mate? You do know we have PowerPoint presentations now?”

  “I was present at the invention of the printing press, Mr. Jones, so I have some appreciation for the impact of new technologies, but this is no ordinary slide projector. You’ve heard of magic lanterns? Well, this particular projector more than lives up to that quaint description.”

  He pressed the clicker on a handheld remote and a holographic projection of the night sky manifested above them, not unlike a celestial light show at a planetarium. Constellations burned bright in the heavens.

  Too bright, in fact.

  “This was the sky only a few hours ago,” he stated. “Here’s what the same sky looks like at this very minute.”

  Another click brought forth an even brighter sky, in which the stars were noticeably larger and more luminous than before. The difference was enough to provoke gasps from the Librarians and their associates.

  “Damn!” George exclaimed. “Twinkle, twinkle, little stars!”

  Mary rubbed her eyes and looked again. “I take it that’s no optical illusion or photographic hocus-pocus?”

  “Hold on.” Gillian stared at Jenkins. “I’m still back on the printing press thing. Did he just say that he was there when it was—”

  Jenkins moved on with his briefing.

  “As you can see,” he elaborated, “the very stars are appearing larger and closer as the universe begins to contract.”

  Cassandra raised her hand like a well-mannered schoolgirl.

  “Yes, Miss Cillian?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she protested. “It takes millions of years for the light from distant stars to reach us. There’s no way we could discern any noticeable changes in their position or luminosity right away.”

  “And you just crossed from Miami to Portland in a single step,” he reminded her. “Your point?”

  Cassandra shrunk back into her seat. “I withdraw the question.”

  “Nor is this troubling stellar phenomenon the only warning to present itself tonight,” Jenkins said, picking up where he’d left off. “I call your attention to the following YouTube video, posted only twenty minutes ago from Racine, Wisconsin.”

  A click replaced the planetarium show with a floating screen roughly the size of a deluxe seventy-inch television set. Captured on the screen was a view of a radiant full moon, which was also disturbingly large and bright for this time of year. Jenkins was briefly reminded of the ominous Skull Moon of 1548 before clearing his mind of those dismal recollections. That tragic victory had no bearing on the present crisis, save as an unwelcome reminder that happy endings were not always in the cards. He prayed no such sacrifice would be required this time.

  “What are we looking at here?” Stone asked. “Is it just that the moon is also shining more brightly than usual?”

  “Wait for it,” Jenkins advised.

  An object abruptly entered the frame, appearing to arc over the lambent moon. Jenkins froze the image and used the special properties of the projector to zoom in on the UFO, which turned out to have big brown eyes, a patchy brown-and-white hide, cloven hooves, and udders.

  “Whoa!” Baird blurted. “Is that actually—?”

  “A cow jumping over the moon?” Jenkins said. “Why, yes, that’s precisely what it is, Colonel.”

  “Oh, man,” Stone said. “Just when I think this deal can’t get any freakier.”

  “Keep watching,” Jenkins said, operating the remote.

  The video resumed, pulling back to its original parameters, as the gravity-defying bovine arced over the moon and out of the frame. A plaintive moo lingered behind on the video’s audio track, accompanied by the startled gasps and interjections of whoever was recording the images. Off-screen hilarity joined the hubbub and the camera panned to the right to reveal a small French bulldog gazing up at the sky and laughing uproariously—just like a human being.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake!” Stone exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  Jenkins bestowed his most funereal expression on the (much) younger man. “Do I look as though I am kidding, Mr. Stone?”

  “‘And the little dog laughed to see such sport,’” Cassandra recited.

  “Exactly, Miss Cillian.” Jenkins clicked the video away. “There has also been a marked uptick in reports of dishes and spoons going missing, often in tandem.”

  “Runaway cutlery,” Ezekiel said incredulously. “Okay, that’s new.”

  Baird flipped the lights back on. “So, is that it? Are we too late?”

  “Perhaps not, Colonel. I believe these are but portents, heralding the restoration of Humpty Dumpty, but not ensuring it. A magic of this magnitude needs must occur at the appointed time and place, when all the essential elements are in conjunction.”

  “And when is the proper time?” Baird asked. “Just how much time do we have left to stop this?”

  As ever, Jenkins admired her ability to stay on point and focused on the mission at hand. The Library had chosen wisely in recruiting her as a Guardian.

  “The dawn of a new Creation needs to take place at sunrise.” He consulted his pocket watch. “Which is at approximately 6 A.M. this time of year.”

  Cassandra gazed upward at empty air. “6:08, to be precise.”

  “And the place?” Stone asked. “I mean, it’s always sunrise somewhere on the planet, but you said this spell has to be performed at a specific locale as well?”

  “That is correct, Mr. Stone.” Jenkins glanced at Baird. “Would you care to hazard a guess, Colonel?”

  “No guessing required,” she said. “We’re going back to Mother Goose’s Gardens. That’s where Humpty Dumpty is waiting to be put back together, symbolically, magically, whatever.”

  “Same difference.” Jenkins consulted his pocket watch. “And the sun rises on the East Coast in less than an hour.”

  He looked at Cassandra, who did not disappoint.

  “Thirty-two minutes, fourteen seconds,” she clarified. “Just so you know.”

  “In other words, the countdown is on.” Baird struck a resolute tone. “The time difference would have to be against us, damn it.”

  Stone put on his game face. “Then let’s get this over with.”

  “One more thing,” Ezekiel said before Jenkins could declare the briefing adjourned. “Do we have any idea yet who ‘Mother Goose’ really is?”

  Jenkins wished he had an answer to that query.

  “That, Mr. Jones, remains to be determined.”

  21

  New Jersey

  Unnaturally bright
moonlight flooded Mother Goose’s Magic Garden as Baird and the Librarians stepped through the front door of the giant shoe into the derelict theme park. It was light enough that there was no need for a flashlight app. She glanced anxiously to the east, relieved to see that they had indeed beaten the sunrise by a brief margin at least. Streaks of red, visible through the denuded trees, were already climbing above the horizon, but the sun had yet to poke its blazing head up.

  Good, Baird thought. That meant they still had time to stop Mother Goose, spell book or no spell book. How exactly they were going to do that, however, was still a work in progress. Rushing in without a plan is Flynn’s approach, not mine.

  “Wow.” Cassandra took in the desolate remains of the park. Deteriorating displays and mannequins greeted her. Dead leaves blew past her ankles. “I can’t decide if this is creepy or sad or both.”

  “I’m voting for creepy,” Stone said. “Hard to imagine that people used to bring their kids here for fun.”

  Ezekiel made a face. “What a dump. Just for once, can’t we avert an apocalypse on the Riviera or in Monte Carlo?”

  “Maybe next doomsday,” Baird said, “but no promises.”

  It occurred to her that none of the Librarians had visited the park yet, aside from Flynn at some point in the recent past. At her insistence, they had left the three Goose heirs back at the Annex under Jenkins’s watchful eye. Gillian, Mary, and George had protested strenuously at being excluded from the mission, but Baird had overruled them; she trusted the Librarians when it came to their visitors being legit, but there was too much at stake to risk including three unpredictable civilians in the operation. There were enough question marks hanging over her head without adding any more variables to the equation.

  Besides, she had reasoned, they’re only a Magic Door away if we need them.

  Dawn was getting closer by the minute, which meant there was no time for sightseeing. She took out the same handheld magic detector she had used before and pointed it in the general direction of Humpty Dumpy. To her alarm, the needle swung all the way to the right, to the far end of the red zone, while the scanner’s probes spun like egg beaters on meth. Smoke rose from overheated circuits. Sparks flared as the detector blew a fuse. Baird tossed it away to avoid getting a nasty electrical shock. The device landed in the weeds, where it sputtered briefly before dying.

  “Okay, that’s not a good sign,” she said, “although it looks like we’re definitely in the right place.”

  Not that she had ever really doubted it. According to Jenkins, the Humpty Dumpty ritual required an appropriately symbolic site, imbued with just the right energies, and Mother Goose’s Magic Garden fit the bill perfectly. Decades of visitors, all enjoying the park and reciting the rhymes, had charged the grounds with a critical mass of Mother Gooseness, conveniently atop the juncture of some freshly reactivated ley lines. And with wild magic seizing every opportunity to manifest these days, the once-harmless park had become a genuine place of power.

  “This way,” she said, retracing her path from before. “And be ready for anything: blackbirds, a giant spider, flame-spewing candles, a hungry pirate chest, whatever.”

  Cassandra didn’t miss that last bit. “A hungry pirate chest?”

  “Tell you later,” Baird promised. “The point is, we have no idea what tricks Mother Goose may have up her sleeves, so keep frosty, okay?”

  “Don’t need to tell me,” Stone said. “We’ve all seen what that witch can do.”

  Ezekiel flashed a cocky grin. “She just caught me off guard last time. I’m ready for her now.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Baird said, “for all our sakes.”

  The night was not getting any younger, so they started out across the park. Dilapidated cottages and moldy mannequins marked the overgrown path, contributing to the eerie atmosphere of the ruins. An unsettling feeling came over Baird, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

  We’re being watched. I know it.

  Rather than discount the feeling, Baird trusted her instincts, which had kept her alive through some very hairy situations in hot spots all over the globe. Her gaze swept from side to side, scanning for hostiles, but all she saw were the rotting mannequins posing still and silent alongside the path.

  Or maybe not so still?

  She detected a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning quickly in that direction, she saw that all Three Men in a Tub were now looking directly at her, which she could have sworn they weren’t doing a moment ago. Their leering expressions also struck her as possibly more malevolent than she remembered. Surely they hadn’t always looked so sinister, back when this was a kids’ theme park? She doubted that they were supposed to be nightmare material.

  “Um, gang.” She nodded at the mannequins, which were sharing a mildewed claw-foot tub that now resided in a thick patch of brambles. “Don’t look now, but I think we’ve been made.”

  All heads turned toward the mannequins, who turned their own heads to look back at them. Watching the moldy fiberglass figures come alive was one of the creepier things Baird had seen in a while, and that was saying a lot. She had, after all, recently dealt with an outbreak of vampire yogurt.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “Should’ve seen this coming.”

  One by one, the Three Men clambered out of the tub and marched toward Baird and the Librarians, clearly looking for trouble. The Butcher, sporting a bloody smock, brandished a gleaming meat cleaver. The Baker, who wore a high chef’s hat and flour-white apron, gripped a raised rolling pin. The Candlestick Maker, who, surreally, had a wax candle sprouting from his cap (so visitors could more easily identify him?), was armed with a heavy brass candlestick. All three figures displayed obvious signs of deterioration: scratches, dents, faded and chipped paint, greenish-white splotches of mold that no empty tub could wash away. Dirt and decay gave them a vaguely leprous quality that made Baird’s skin crawl. She didn’t want to touch them—or let them touch her.

  “Another candlestick?” Cassandra said. “Really?”

  “Just be thankful there aren’t any nursery rhymes about chainsaws,” Stone said, “or Uzis.”

  “You know, I never really got this one,” Ezekiel said. “Why three men in a tub? Was there a water shortage or something? And why are they fully dressed?”

  “Originally, the rhyme was about three women sharing a bath,” Stone informed them, “but it got cleaned up for the storybooks.”

  “Too bad,” Ezekiel said. “That would have made this a lot more entertaining.”

  Men, Baird thought, rolling her eyes. “Enough with the chatter. Looks like we’re going to have to fight our way to Humpty.”

  “Fine with me.” Stone clenched his fists. “Bring it on.”

  Cassandra cringed. “Not so much for the fighting, actually.”

  “I can fight,” Ezekiel maintained, “but it’s a sorry waste of my talents.”

  “Don’t think we’ve got any choice.” Baird drew her sidearm. “But at least we outnumber them.”

  Stone stiffened and glanced around. “Umm, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  Bushes rustled all around them. Twigs snapped and fallen leaves crackled as more mannequins emerged from the murky woods and gardens. Jack Sprat and his much heftier wife stomped toward the intruders armed with table forks and knives. Little Jack Horner and Little Boy Blue had teamed up to take on the Librarians and their Guardian. Even Little Miss Muffet had abandoned her tuffet … whatever the hell a tuffet was.

  “Ouch!” Ezekiel yelped as Jack Horner hit him with a fake plum pie that was as hard as a rock. The missile struck Ezekiel in the shoulder. “That hurt, you dummy!”

  The mannequins closed in on them.

  “Any tactical advice?” Stone asked Baird.

  “Retreat is not an option,” she said grimly. “Hit ’em hard and try not to get killed.”

  *   *   *

  Past experience had taught Baird that bullets were seldom of use against magic
al menaces, but she figured it was worth a try. A warning shot blasted the candle off the top of the Candlestick Maker’s cap, but did nothing to discourage the Three Men, who kept on coming.

  “Back off,” she said. “This is your final warning.”

  The silent mannequins ignored her command, leaving her no choice but to fire again. The sharp report of the second gunshot disturbed the stillness of the morning as she blew a hole in the Candlestick Maker’s fiberglass face, but the animated mannequin barely missed a step, keeping pace with his tub-mates, none of whom had anything resembling vital organs to aim at. The head shot hadn’t even slowed them down. They appeared impervious to fear or pain.

  So what else is new? Baird thought. God, I miss terrorists sometimes.

  A third shot dislodged the candlestick from its Maker’s grip, but by then the Three Men were upon her, forcing Baird into close-quarter, hand-to-hand combat. The trick to taking on multiple opponents, she knew, was to keep moving and stay on the offensive; unfortunately, chokes, strikes, pressure points, and other conventional attacks were likely no good where walking mannequins were concerned, so she had to rely on speed and leverage and takedowns instead. Ducking beneath the Butcher’s swinging cleaver, she swept the Baker’s leg out from under him and tossed him into the unarmed Candlestick Maker, sending them both tumbling to the ground. They landed hard, in a tangle of sculpted limbs.

  Two down, she thought, for the moment.

  That left just the Butcher to deal with. Moving in too close for him to use his weapon, she executed a flawless shoulder throw that hurled the Butcher to the ground as well. He landed on his back, hitting the path with a thud, but almost immediately sat up again—like a hockey-masked madman in a slasher movie.