When his gaze passed over the ground directly in front of the tube, he saw the shackles. They were intact, not smashed. The cuffs were open, as if their locking mechanisms had been released. Cautiously, Aaron crouched down, picked up the shackles, and pulled them inside the tube. They could be useful someday.
While crouched, Aaron dared a glance behind him through the glass. Nothing moved.
After a moment, Aaron stood up. He took a few steps outside the tube, ready to bolt back inside it again at the sight of anything alarming. It was then that he realized the gigantic rock was gone.
Aaron’s lips parted in surprise. Where could it be? He looked all around. Was he confused? He couldn’t have imagined it. He took a few steps toward the clearing, then a few more, and peered down a path. There was no big rock anywhere to be seen.
When he heard a rustling in the leaves, Aaron whirled around, realizing how far he’d strayed from the tube. His eyes scanned the jungle floor, unsure where the rustling noise came from. He crept toward the tube, looking in every direction as he moved. “Who’s there?” he called out in a loud whisper.
From a clump of brown and orange leaves, a small body emerged with exactly the same colorings as its background. He had the floppy ears of a dog and the wagging tail of a dog, and for all manner of speaking he quite probably was a dog, though his strange brown and orange coloring threw Aaron a bit. The dog smiled, his two perfect rows of tiny, pointy teeth fitting together like puzzle pieces.
Aaron ran for safety in the tube. The creature continued smiling pleasantly and dipped his head, almost as if to bow. His ears brushed the ground.
“D-d-do you know who I am?” Aaron asked.
The dog tilted his head.
Aaron took a step toward it. “I’m the high priest of Quill.”
The creature’s back end wagged, his tail slapping lightly against a sapling.
Aaron looked around. He didn’t see the large black creature anywhere, so he took another step toward the friendly little thing.
The dog stepped closer to Aaron, too. Just as Aaron leaned forward to pet him, the dog leaped at him with a shriek, mouth open wide. He dug his tiny, sharp teeth into Aaron’s arm.
“Ow!” Aaron yelled. He shook his arm, trying to get the dog to let go, but the dog hung on. He was much heavier than Aaron would have guessed, but Aaron didn’t have the wherewithal to speculate about that. His arm hurt terribly. “Let go of me!”
The dog didn’t obey.
Aaron tried to kick the dog off but succeeded only in hurting his toes. The thing had to be made of cement. “Release me!” he cried.
And just like that, the creature’s jaw unhinged and the dog dropped to the ground.
Aaron grabbed his throbbing, bleeding arm and held it to his body. “What in the name of Quill is wrong with you?” He stepped back as the dog retreated, still grinning. Then the dog jumped straight into the air and bit into a tree branch. He hung there, swinging and grinning, as his body slowly changed to the solid brown color of the bark on the tree behind it.
“Evil thing,” Aaron muttered. Keeping one eye on the dog in the tree, he inspected his arm. Dozens of miniature puncture wounds dotted his skin, and droplets of blood oozed from them. Aaron lifted his shirttail and carefully wrapped it around his arm, holding it tight, and wished for some water. This visit was not turning out like he’d expected.
When a shadow fell over him, Aaron turned and looked up. His mouth dropped open.
It was the rock, its cavelike mouth agape.
And on top of the rock stood the black creature, crouched low and ready to pounce.
Mountains Bow Down
Aaron gasped. “No!” he cried out. “Don’t hurt me!” He scrambled toward the tube, losing his footing more than once on the uneven ground. When he reached it, he turned swiftly with a feeling of dread, fully expecting the paws and mouth of the creature to be upon him. He stretched his hand toward the button but stopped short of pushing it when he saw that the black creature hadn’t moved. She stayed on top of the rock, watching Aaron.
The rock remained still, also watching Aaron. And then its cavelike mouth moved, and groaning noises emerged.
Aaron’s heart thudded. He knew he should push the button. He knew he should get to safety. But he was mesmerized. Where had they been? How did the rock move? And was it . . . speaking to him?
In a rumbling voice like distant thunder, the rock spoke. “Where’s Marcus?”
Aaron nearly leaped out of his own skin. “Wh-what?”
The rock repeated the words, louder this time. “Where’s Marcus?”
Aaron stared. “He-he’s dead.”
The rock grumbled in disbelief, and the dog dropped from the tree branch and started running around howling. The panther lowered her head.
Aaron scrambled to read their reactions. “He—he was a good man. Wasn’t he? I mean, don’t you agree?”
“Well, of course!” boomed the rock. The dog and the panther seemed to feel the same way.
Aaron sighed inwardly in relief. He knew now where they stood. All he had to do was play this game right. “We all just . . . miss him terribly,” he began. “He, ah, he put me in charge. So I’m just checking in on you like he asked me to. I’m—I’m sorry it’s been a while. There was, um, a lot to take care of. It was all very sudden, you see.”
The rock regarded him, and rumbled, “So you’re the boy called Alex.”
It wasn’t a question.
And in Aaron’s mind, there was barely a moment’s hesitation. If being Alex gave him an advantage, then he would be Alex once more—only here, there was no one to detect the tiny physical difference between the boys. “Yes,” he said. “That’s me.”
The enormous rock bowed its craggy peak. “I’m sorry to hear of Marcus’s death,” he said. “But he told us about you.”
“He, um, he didn’t tell me much about you, I’m sorry to say,” Aaron said. “So . . . perhaps . . . you could?”
The rock seemed to frown. “I am the caretaker of the dangerous ones,” he said in his rumbling voice. “Mr. Today’s imperfect creations, which are, shall we say, not to be trusted.”
The panther snarled.
The rock continued. “Marcus couldn’t bear to end it for any of them, so he put them here. Ol’ Tater was here for a time, but that was . . . troublesome.”
Aaron didn’t know who Ol’ Tater was, but he sounded delicious.
The rock looked at itself. “They can’t hurt me, you see.”
Aaron tried to look sympathetic, though he wasn’t very good at it. “Do—did they hurt Mr. Today?”
“No. He had a way with them, like you. You’ll do fine. It’s putting them out there in Artimé with the others that causes problems.”
The high priest narrowed his eyes. A way with them? Like me? What an odd thing to say. “Well,” Aaron said, slightly unsettled, “I just wanted to check in and see if all was okay, and it appears it is, so—”
“Wait!” thundered the rock, making the nearby leaves tremble on the trees. “Panther needs your help.”
The black creature nodded emphatically.
“Oh,” Aaron said, a little impatiently. “Well then. What’s wrong?” He wanted these creatures to do his bidding, not add to his burdens.
“It’s her tail again. She can’t balance in the trees without it.”
Aaron’s eyes opened wide. “What?”
“Her tail. She needs you to repair it.”
“Repair it? Me?”
The rock slid forward almost silently, its eyes wearing a puzzled expression. “Of course you.”
The panther nimbly made her way down the rock and jumped to the ground. She snarled and hissed at Aaron, but sidled up to him, brushing against the boy’s hip.
Aaron stepped back nervously, one foot in the tube. He could still run for it. Disappear forever. But what if . . . what if he really could get this jungle filled with dangerous creatures to obey him? He wouldn’t need any Quillitary vehic
les to take over Artimé—he’d simply turn Mr. Today’s misfits against the Unwanteds, and they’d tear them to bits!
It was a brilliant plan, if only Aaron had a clue how to fix the panther’s tail. Aaron looked at the panther’s stubby tail and started to panic. How in Quill was he supposed to fix that?
“Where’s the missing part?” he asked.
The panther shrugged and looked off into the jungle, disinterested.
Sweat broke out on Aaron’s forehead as he looked around. “How . . . ?” He faltered, knowing that this moment could solidify his control over these creatures. His eyes darted this way and that.
He stared at the panther, trying to figure out what it was made of.
But it was all too impossible. Aaron had no idea where to start or what to do. The questions made his head hurt. He couldn’t continue this farce any longer. It was over.
The Sky Vessel
Alex made his way into the Museum of Large, as he liked to do most evenings, leaving the door open in case Simber needed him. But now that things were under control in Artimé once more, it was time to push on to the next task—rescuing Sky and Crow’s mother. It seemed impossible, and it was going to be very dangerous, too.
“Not exactly sure how we’re going to do this rescue thing,” Alex murmured as he worked on his favorite task of late: turning Mr. Today’s whale skeleton into a beautiful sculpture. This was where Alex did his best thinking, when his hands were busy creating something new. Alex had finally gotten all the bones in their places after Ol’ Tater had scattered them far and wide, only to find there was one long, spearlike bone that didn’t seem to belong anywhere at all. Alex debated for a while what to do with it, and then decided to stick it on the whale’s forehead, because really—who wouldn’t want a big bone spear jutting out of their forehead? It looked extremely cool, too. Alex sharpened the point and studded it with sparkling stones that he’d found on the beach. They shone like diamonds.
Alex mixed up a container of thick, shiny blue liquid, preparing to spread it over the whale’s “skin.” The skin he’d made by weaving dried, knotted seaweed in a loom, and he’d used the preserve spell on it, which made the whale virtually indestructible. It had taken the last of Alex’s preserve components to cover the enormous mammal, and Alex made a note to make some more.
After a few swipes with the blue paint, Alex stepped back to analyze the color. He’d wanted to try covering the whale in a mosaic, like Jim the winged tortoise’s shell, but he would have to save that for another time—it was just too ambitious a project. But the brilliant blue paint looked very good next to the silvery diamondlike stones on the spear. He began painting in broad strokes.
“You need a name, I think,” Alex said after a while, finishing up the first coat. “Are you a boy or a girl?” He scratched his head. “Spike. No matter what.” He thought about it for a bit and nodded to himself. “Yes, I think that’s very fitting. Spike.”
When Alex heard a noise, he looked up, seeing Simber and Ms. Octavia coming into the museum.
“Interrresting,” Simber remarked, nodding at the new horn adorning the whale’s head. “She didn’t have that beforrre.”
Alex grinned and shrugged. “There was an extra bone. I couldn’t figure out where it went, so I gave her an accessory.” He tilted his head. “She? It’s a girl, then?”
Simber rolled his eyes. “Clearrrly,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Well, her name is Spike,” Alex said. “Spike . . . Furious.” He grinned, pleased with the way the name came to him so easily.
Ms. Octavia snorted. “Don’t get carried away. But I admit, it has a ring to it. And with the faux-diamond treatment to the horn, she needs a name just as grand to go with it. Spike Furious sounds very commanding.” She turned a more critical, art instructor eye to the project. “You’ve done a beautiful job painting her.”
“Yes,” Alex said, beginning the second coat. “Want to help finish?” He tossed a handful of paintbrushes to Ms. Octavia, who seemed pleased to be asked.
“It’s too bad more of your friends can’t see her,” Ms. Octavia said, digging into the job.
“That’s for sure.” Alex was thinking particularly of Sky, who would probably really like Spike. And Lani and Meg, too, of course. But they couldn’t get into this wing. He’d have to paint a rendition for them, which was hardly the same as seeing Spike’s gloriousness in person.
There was a noise at the door, bringing Alex back to the moment.
“Ah, herrre they arrre,” Simber said. “We’ve recoverrred the sky vessel frrrom the sea. Florrrence, Carrrina, Sean, and Samheed arrre brrringing the pieces up now. We thought they could go in herrre with the otherrrs. Is that all rrright?”
“Yes, that’s perfect,” Alex said. He looked around. “They can set them right there, where the pirate ship was.”
A moment later the floor quivered and Florence entered the museum, carrying a large piece of the vessel. Following her were the others with smaller broken pieces, some salvaged equipment, and other curious-looking goods. Alex and Ms. Octavia put down their brushes and hurried over to observe the contents.
“What about the passengers?” Alex asked gently.
“Buried at sea,” Carina said, setting her things down. “Three of them.”
“We found a lot of interesting stuff,” Samheed said. “Papers and more books and clothing, and other things we’re not quite sure about.” He and Florence spread the goods out across the floor. “Some of it needs to dry out a bit. Mr. Appleblossom is taking care of the papers and books—he’s done this before and knows the best way to care for them without ruining everything.”
Alex studied the pieces, walking around them to get a full view. He pictured how the pieces fit together to make the vessel. It was larger than he had imagined. There was a long cockpit made of glass and some other strange white material. The cockpit was shaped a little bit like one of Artimé’s tubes lying on its side. Inside were four seats and an instrument panel that looked somewhat like a blackboard, with lots of buttons and gauges and letters on it. Some of the glass was broken, but the rest of the vessel seemed like it was in decent shape—just a few dents. There was one long wing jutting out, and another piece that looked like a second wing that had broken off.
At the nose of the vessel there were several blades attached, like a pinwheel, and a few more loose blades, bent and broken, that had been recovered from the ocean floor. Simber loped over to other pieces in the museum that had been collected years before to compare.
“They look similarrr,” he said.
“That’s what Mr. Appleblossom said too,” Samheed remarked. “He said he did some research in the library, and he thinks this is something called an airplane. I guess there was a manual in the stack of books we found.”
Alex tapped his lips, deep in thought. “Interesting. So it’s supposed to stay in the air? Like, it flies? How does it ever land safely without crashing? Do you think people just live in these things forever?”
“No,” Sean said. “Sigfried also said that they are like ships—they just transport people from one place to another. Like riding on Simber’s back, I suppose.”
“Except I would neverrr crrrash,” Simber muttered.
“Easy there, cat. I’ve seen you crash,” Alex reminded him. “You might not remember it, but it happened.” He held his hand to his forehead dramatically. “I’m still traumatized.” He was only partly joking. He still had regular nightmares about Simber’s frozen body crashing into the sea.
Simber frowned and walked back to the others. “That won’t happen again.”
“If it does, I may not survive my grief.” Alex reached out and let his hand rest on the cat’s neck in a rare show of the deep affection between the two. He thought he could feel Simber purring just the slightest bit, but he wasn’t sure.
“Harrrumph! Anyway. Wherrre do you suppose the airrrplane came frrrom? And what made it crrrash?”
Alex was as mystifi
ed as everyone else. “No idea.” He looked at the pieces again and shrugged. “I guess we just store these here until we can think of something useful to do with them. I wonder if we can restore it. Make it fly again.” He looked sidelong at Simber. “You know, in case Simber ever does take another nosedive into the sea and we need some air transportation.”
The cat growled. “We have morrre imporrrtant things to do,” he said.
“Good point,” said Ms. Octavia. “And we’ll be ready to go soon. Alex, do you have a finalized list of who will be accompanying us?”
“I will by tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
» » « «
Later, when everyone had left, Alex stood alone with the whale once more, doing some final touch-ups with the paint and thinking about the upcoming rescue, and the reverse aquarium full of pirates and their captives underneath the strangely disappearing fiery volcanic island. “You know, Spike,” he said as he finished, “we could really use somebody like you on this trip.” He sighed, imagining it. “If only I knew how to make you come alive.”
Certain Death
The High Priest Aaron stood with one toe inside the tube and wiped the sweat from his forehead, commanding himself to pull it together. How was he supposed to fix the panther’s tail? He had to do something—if he just turned and escaped through the tube, he’d lose all hope of having these creatures on his side. And at this point, with the Quillitary still not very keen on Aaron because of his role in Justine’s death, the high priest could really use these creatures to take over Artimé. How would that be for giving the Artiméans a taste of their own medicine? Aaron was practically drooling over the idea.
But all hope would be lost if he failed to fix the tail, he argued with himself. Unless he could stall them. “I . . . um . . . ,” he began.
The dog barked and started sniffing around in the under-growth. He barked a few more times, then backed out from under a bush, pulling something in his mouth.
“Did you find the tail?” the giant rock rumbled, rolling closer to the dog and nudging Aaron away from the tube.