by Laura Ruby
“Just one more time,” she said to Bug. “And only because we have to. We’ll take the stairs. The stairwell ends in the garage. We’ll sneak out that way. No one will see us coming or going.”
Bug peered down over the banister. “How many flights up are we?”
“Thirty,” said Georgie.
“That’s a lot of steps,” Bug said. “I’d fly us down, but I’m still tired from the whole Kong thing.”
“One step at a time.” She held out her hand and Bug took it. The familiar tingle, the wash of invisibility, came over them both, as well as over Noodle and Pinkwater in Georgie’s backpack. Georgie checked to make sure everyone was completely invisible, and then took a step forwards. And missed the first step, barely catching herself on the railing.
“Whoa!” chirped Pinkwater.
“Whoa,” said Bug.
“Sorry,” Georgie said, cursing her huge, traitorous feet, her stupid clumsy body. She couldn’t fly and now she couldn’t even walk.
“Never mind,” Bug said. “I think I can manage this.” He lifted them about twenty centimetres in the air and glided them down all thirty flights, dropping them gently at the bottom.
“Thank you,” said Georgie.
In reply, Bug squeezed her hand. It was so hard to reconcile the Bug that was squeezing her hand and the Bug that would go out with Roma Radisson, Dunkleosteous.
At the door that led to the parking garage, Georgie looked through the small window to see if anyone was around. No one was. Georgie opened the door a crack wide enough to let them through. Though it was a bright sunny day outside, the parking garage was dim and grey, illuminated here and there by a buzzing florescent bulb. They walked past the cars. One day, there wouldn’t be any cars, or at least, cars with wheels. Instead, there would be cars that hovered entirely in the air, propelled by the same kind of energy that allowed humans to fly. At least, that’s what Georgie’s science teacher believed. Georgie told her father this and Solomon Bloomington had laughed. He told Georgie that her science teacher didn’t know anything about the energy that allowed humans to fly. No one but The Professor did. And The Professor, said Solomon, didn’t seem too keen on sharing his secrets.
They reached the exit. The exit itself was an iron gate operated by a guard manning a small booth
“Guard,” Bug whispered. “What do you want to do?”
She yanked on Bug’s arm, pulling him behind the nearest parked car. “Hide here and get ready.”
Georgie tiptoed to the booth. Inside, the guard faced away from Georgie, absorbed in a book. She slowly turned the knob. Georgie reached an invisible arm inside the booth and flicked the switch to operate the gate. The guard looked up from his book. “What the…?”
Georgie ran around the parked car and grabbed for Bug’s hand, but ended up hitting him in the face by accident.
“Ow!” he said.
“Shhh!” she said.
“Hey!” said the guard, who was now outside the booth, scanning the garage. “Who’s back there? Mrs Hingis? Did you lose your car again?”
Georgie made Bug invisible and the two of them ran through the open gate. But Georgie tripped, and they went tumbling to the ground. Bug instantly reappeared.
“Hey!” yelled the guard, flying towards the gate. “You’re not a tenant! Where did you come from? What are you doing?”
Bug scrambled to his feet and ran around the side of the building, an invisible Georgie right behind him. Unfortunately, someone had got word that Bug was visiting the Bloomingtons and there was a sizable crowd of girls gathered there. Screaming, jumping, flying, shrieking girls.
“Bug!” they shrieked as soon as they saw him. “My hero!”
“Bug! I love you!”
“Bug! Dump Roma and marry me!”
Bug frantically looked from left to right, wondering how he might escape; Georgie couldn’t make him invisible in front of everyone. But Deitrich the doorman was already on the case. He whistled a piercing whistle and immediately a cab pulled up to the curb. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a regular cab; it was a horse-drawn carriage that usually took tourists on leisurely rides around Central Park.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” said Deitrich gravely, hustling Bug into the carriage.
“Where to?” said the driver, who was dressed like an eighteenth-century liveryman, complete with top hat and breeches.
“Can you get me downtown fast?” said Bug.
The driver grinned and snapped the reins. The team of four white horses immediately broke into a swift gallop that nearly propelled Bug from his seat. The horses were going so fast that the motion lifted the carriage off the ground and sent it skidding and bumping on the pavement. Bug sighed with relief when he felt Georgie’s invisible hands gripping his arm and heard Noodle’s angry yowl as the carriage thundered down Fifth Avenue; at least she had managed to get into the carriage before they’d sped away. All along Fifth Avenue, stunned shoppers paused in midair to gape and cars slammed on their breaks.
“Yiiii-hah!” yelled the driver, cutting off a city bus with a clamour of hooves.
“Look out!” yelled Bug, as the horses bore down on great snarl of cars blocking the intersection ahead.
But the driver snapped the reins again. The horses lowered their heads and charged at the cars. Bug screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crash. Then he felt the carriage behind lifted in the air. He opened his eyes to see the horses sailing over the cars, dragging the carriage along with them. One car, two cars, three cars, four, six, eight, ten. The leap of the horses seemed to last an eternity. If he didn’t know better, Bug would have thought that the horses were flying.
When the road was clear, the horses landed with a great clattering of hooves and carriage wheels. They kept up this furious pace all the way downtown as Bug directed the driver to The Professor’s apartment, tucked beneath a dry cleaning shop.
“Whoa,” yelled the driver, pulling up hard on the reins. The horses stopped.
Bug got out of the carriage carefully, as if he didn’t trust his legs to hold him up after the wild ride.
“You better get inside,” said the driver. “I hear news helicopters. This place will be swarming in a minute or two if me and the girls don’t get out of here.” The driver tipped his hat towards the horses.
“What do I owe you?” Bug asked. “I mean, what do I owe you and the girls?”
The driver smiled. “Nothing. We owe you. Not often we get to run like that.”
One of the horses turned her head and looked at Bug. She was strangely shiny, as if she had been painted. Bug could have sworn that she actually winked at him before the driver once again snapped the reins and the carriage was gone in a blur of hooves.
Georgie waited until they were behind the building before she made herself visible. “I didn’t think I’d live through that one,” she said.
“Me neither,” said Bug. They searched for the familiar KEEP OUT signs that had graced The Professor’s door, but the signs had been removed.
“Huh,” Bug said. “I think I’m a little sad that he took down all his signs. What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know.”
They knocked on the door, half expecting to hear what they’d heard the very first time they’d visited The Professor: Go away! Find your fortunes elsewhere! Shoo! But they heard nothing.
“Do you think he went out?” Bug said.
“Out?” said Georgie. “Since when does The Professor go out?”
“He went to your party,” Bug said. “The one after Flyfest.”
“Yeah, but that was the first time he’d been out in ten years.”
“Running amuck,” chirped Pinkwater, popping out of Georgie’s backpack.
“The Professor’s running?” Bug asked.
“Amuck,” Pinkwater finished.
“Pink seems to know stuff,” Bug told Georgie. “But what does he mean?”
Georgie knocked again. “Professor? It’s Georgie Bloomington!
Gurl! Hello?”
Still no answer.
“What if something’s wrong?” Bug said.
“The Professor can take care of himself,” Georgie said, but couldn’t help the chill that raced down her back.
“The heck with this,” said Bug. Wham! He punched the door, then shook his fist in pain.
“Smart,” Georgie said.
Bug scowled at her and pulled a paper clip from his pocket, giving Georgie a sheepish look as he unbent it and fit it into the lock. “I always keep a paper clip. Just in case.”
In a second, he had the door unlocked. He twisted the knob and pushed. It swung open to reveal a dark staircase. Bug and Georgie glanced at each other and proceeded down the stairs. When they saw what was at the bottom, Georgie gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.
Chapter 16
The Queen Says “Stupid!”
The Professor’s apartment was completely different. Gone were the piles of papers, the various hot plates, the old metal filing cabinets, the rows of beer cans, the skeleton of the giant bat, the hundreds of cats. On the bare, dirty tiles sat piles of brown boxes, which men in blue jumpsuits were packing with various items.
“Hello?”
Another man floated from the back room. His wide-set brown eyes were so light they were almost yellow, draped underneath by small pouches of crêpey skin. A high forehead laddered with lines curved into a stiff bristle of hair that fought the heavy gel used to comb it back.
Wayward fronds stuck up here and there.
The man smoothed his hair and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Can I help you?”
Georgie found her voice. “We were looking for The Professor.”
“Of course,” the man said. “Unfortunately, he’s travelling at the moment. He asked that we put his things in storage for him.”
“Who are you?” Bug asked bluntly.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said in his pleasant, mild voice. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Mr Fuss.” He shook each of their hands. “I recognise you,” he said to Bug. “You would be Bug Grabowski, yes? I see your name in the papers all the time.”
“I hope you don’t believe everything you read,” grumbled Bug.
“Oh, I don’t,” said Mr Fuss. “Words are tricky things. And words build into books, which are even trickier.” He turned to Georgie. “And you’re Georgetta Bloomington. You look just like your mother.”
“You know my mother?” Georgie said.
“Only by her beautiful face on the society pages of the Times,” said Mr Fuss smoothly. “I hope you’re adjusting to life outside the orphanage. It must have been a difficult transition for you.”
“Yes. I mean, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Where is The Professor travelling to?” Bug wanted to know.
“I don’t have the particulars,” Mr Fuss replied. “All he said was that he was in need of a long holiday. I don’t blame him. He’s a lot older than he looks. I was always telling him to get more rest.”
Bug looked at Mr Fuss warily. “So you were friends with The Professor?”
“Yes. Very good friends.” He noted Bug’s suspicious expression. “You doubt that The Professor had friends, am I right? I’ll admit that he’s not the easiest person to get along with, but I assure you we get along very well. He’s brilliant. And I’m the sort who admires brilliance.” He smiled broadly, and Georgie could see that the first molar behind the left eyetooth was gold.
From the backpack, Noodle meowed loudly. “Where are all the cats?” Georgie asked. “The Professor couldn’t have taken them all on holiday.”
“We had them shipped to a facility in Brooklyn where they will be well cared for,” Mr Fuss said. “But I’m sure you two charming youngsters didn’t come here to discuss the cats.”
“We had some questions that we thought he could answer.”
“Believe it or not, I’m very good at answering questions,” said Mr Fuss. “Why don’t you give me a try? I’ve spent lots of time with The Professor. His brilliance might have rubbed off a little.” Again with the broad smile, the gleam of the gold tooth.
Bug and Georgie glanced at each other.
“Oh, come on. What do you have to lose?” Mr Fuss perched on the end of one of the boxes.
Georgie wasn’t sure if they should trust Mr Fuss. Then again, what would be the harm in telling him about the vampires? If he didn’t know anything about vampires he would just laugh at them. And if he did…
Bug decided for them both. “Georgie’s having a little vampire problem.”
Mr Fuss appeared to be delighted by this. “Really? What do you mean, problem?”
Georgie told him how a Punk named Mandelbrot came to visit, then sent a vampire to threaten to turn her and her family into one of the undead if she didn’t attend the opening of an art gallery.
Mr Fuss, who had been watching Pinkwater circle the room maniacally, said, “Who’s Mandelbrot?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you said that whoever this person is, he’ll send the vampires to bite you if you don’t attend a gallery opening?”
Georgie reached into her back pocket and pulled the invitation out. “Here,” she said, handing it to Mr Fuss. He patted his pockets for his reading glasses and put them on. Georgie noticed that the glasses were the designer kind, with small lenses and silver rims.
Mr Fuss removed his glasses and gave Georgie the invitation. “I don’t see much to worry about,” he said. “I think the vampires might be playing a joke on you. They love jokes.”
“Joke?” said Georgie. “It didn’t feel like a joke when they were standing in my room.”
“Vampires aren’t what people have made them out to be. They’re just bored. It makes them mischievous.”
“Mischievous!” Georgie said.
“Trust me,” said Mr Fuss. “Vampires don’t do much but hang around all day and go clubbing at night. They love nightclubs. They’re completely harmless.”
“What about the blood drinking thing?” said Bug. “That sounds dangerous.”
Mr Fuss waved a hand. “Blown all out of proportion because of the fact that you have to be bitten to become a vampire. But they really don’t like drinking blood. They can go years without it, you know. A tiny nip of a gerbil now can tide them over for a decade.”
“So, should I go to this gallery opening?”
“If I were free, I’d go. It sounds like a lot of fun to me. When will you get another chance to rub elbows with a bunch of vampires?”
Rub elbows? thought Georgie.
Bug said, “What about the giant sloth?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t you think it’s strange?”
“I don’t know about strange,” said Mr Fuss. “I just wrote a paper a few months ago about how scientists had been mistaken that Megatherium was extinct. Didn’t expect to see one wandering around the city, however.”
“Or climbing up the Empire State Building,” said Bug.
“Or climbing up the Empire State Building,” Mr Fuss echoed. “Got a bit of a workout, did you? But you’re a strong young man, I suppose you can take it. Did you ever think about trying yoga? I find that it keeps me very limber.”
“How do you think a giant sloth got into the city in the first place?” Georgie said.
“I expect someone brought him in to put him in a zoo or in some other type of exhibit and the thing got loose. Just like in King Kong, eh?” Mr Fuss laughed. It was a relaxed, easy laugh that went with Mr Fuss’s relaxed, soothing voice and his relaxed posture. Everything about him was relaxed. He was so relaxed he was nearly falling over.
“The sloth is not the only giant thing that’s been wandering around the city,” said Bug.
“Oh?” said Mr Fuss.
He told The Professor about the giant octopus that had pulled him into the East River while he was doing a photo shoot.
Mr Fuss considered this. “Well, we don’t know that much about cephalopods except that
that they are very bright. It’s possible that a particularly large specimen found its way into the river and decided to have a little fun with you. And perhaps it was looking for a meal.”
“But don’t you think it’s odd that a giant octopus and then a giant sloth show up in the same city at practically the same time?”
Mr Fuss gave a relaxed shrug. “I don’t know.” He crossed one leg over the other and Georgie noticed his boots. Alligator-skin boots. Albino alligator skin.
“There’s one more thing that happened,” Georgie said, eyeing those boots. She related the story about Giacometti’s Dog and how it came to life, bit Roma, and ran away. “It’s still missing,” she said. “I checked with the museum.”
“Now, that is strange,” said Mr Fuss. “I’ll have to give that one some thought, perhaps work up a few calculations. Or maybe we’ll just wait until The Professor comes back. But I’m not sure that any of these things are things that the two of you need to concern yourselves with.”
“Yes, but they seem to want to concern themselves with us,” said Bug.
Mr Fuss leaned forwards. “Listen, I want you two to pay attention to me. You have good lives now, both of you, very good lives, don’t you?”
Georgie and Bug nodded.
“I don’t see any good reason for either of you to worry about sloths or any of these other things.”
Bug said, “But—”
“I’m simply saying,” Mr Fuss interrupted, “that maybe you’re looking for danger and for evil plots that aren’t there. I know that’s how your lives were, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening now. Just a few strange coincidences. That’s all. Just coincidences. And I assure you, there’ll be less of those if I have anything to do with it.”