Gorilla Tactics

by Sheila Grau

  Another seal-faced man came in and stood on the other side of the door. This one held a spear. When he got into position, they both bowed their heads.

  A tall woman walked in carrying a bucket of fish in her white-gloved hands. She wore an anorak, white and soft, with a big fur-lined hood and an embroidered belt. She wore this over black pants and boots. She had white hair that flowed to her shoulders, and she seemed to command the room with her presence. I expected the furniture to bow down too.

  She put the bucket on the desk and sat opposite me. She pointed to my jacket. “You attend Critchlore’s School for Minions,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I have some questions.” She tossed a fish over her shoulder, and one of the guards caught it in his mouth. He slurped and crunched until the fish was gone. A second fish went to the other guard.

  “I’ve heard rumors.” She leaned forward now. “The cowardly minions video, Dr. Critchlore’s near death, his new fondness for”—she made a disgusted face, like she couldn’t bear to utter the next words—“recreational activities.”

  It was true; in the past week I’d seen him take up rock climbing, television watching, and art. It wasn’t his fault. His secretary, Miss Merrybench, had been drugging him, to make him fall in love with her.

  “Is this true?” she said. She leaned back, her hands together, fingers tapping each other lightly. Her stare was cold and hard, like that iceberg in the picture.

  “We were sabotaged,” I said. “Dr. Critchlore was drugged.”

  “Weakness,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “The strong cannot be sabotaged.”

  “Dr. Critchlore knew about the plot, of course,” I said. I could reiterate the ridiculous explanation he had given everyone. “He decided to play along, which would allow him to catch the culprit, and—”

  “Stage a bit of countersabotage?” she interrupted. “Yes. That’s what I would do,” she said, nodding. And then she smiled for the first time. It was a scary smile. The kind you think predators have when they happen across easy prey.

  “Yes. He’s brilliant.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She tossed two more fish. “And is he still single?”

  “Huh?”

  “Is he romantically attached to anyone?”

  “Um, I don’t think so. He’s kind of heartbroken right now because he lost his secretary, who was the saboteur. She died before he realized how sinister she was, and now he calls her The One Who Got Away.”

  “Interesting.” She smiled again. Honestly, I thought she was too old for him, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t want her to throw that bucket of fish at me.

  “Is that all?” I asked. “I should get back to my group.”

  “Yes. If anyone asks, tell them you were suspected of spying for Egmont Luticus, the banished overlord of Riggen.”

  I nodded. At the door, I turned and asked, “Have you heard of a realm called the Broken Place?”

  She laughed. “I’m fairly certain all the realms could be called that.”

  “There you are, Higgins,” Professor Murphy said, handing me a visitor’s badge. “Don’t wander off. There’s no telling what could happen to you in this place.”

  “Really?” I said, looking right at Rufus. He laughed.

  “Let’s go inside,” Professor Murphy said, leading the way.

  I held my breath as we entered the General Council Chamber.

  Through these doors I might catch a glimpse of a real evil overlord, like Lord Vengecrypt from Carkley. Legend had it that he defeated four lesser realms in one massive land-and-sea assault. Or Wexmir Smarvy, overlord of Lower Worb, a realm that grew bigger every day. I was going to pee my pants; this was so huge.

  A long table stretched across the stage. The chairs were empty, but the viewing area was packed. People filled the wide aisles and huddled in groups on the floor in front of the stage. Professor Murphy led us to a row of seating near the back.

  We sat down and waited. Professor Murphy pointed out important people in the audience—the vice premier of the neutral region of Stull; the coaches of the championship boulderball team, who were getting an award from the overlords; and the different operatives of the EOs, feeling one another out over treaties and alliances.

  “Ah, the Critchlore minions,” a voice behind us said. We turned into the smirking gaze of Dr. Pravus. I slunk lower in my chair because he scared me. He also reminded me of what a loser I had been, letting him steal Dr. Critchlore’s book.

  “I see that Dr. Critchlore is branching out,” he said. His entourage, who clung to him like warts on an ogre, laughed. “A school for minions and models? We all know your minion business is struggling, but what an inappropriate choice of a side business.”

  “Ballroom dancing is becoming popular with the EOs,” Professor Murphy said. “As usual, Dr. Critchlore will be ready to fulfill a need you haven’t even discovered yet. Once again, he will have something that you don’t.”

  A dark anger flashed across Dr. Pravus’s face. “Listen, you grub,” he hissed. Professor Murphy looked frightened all of a sudden, like the kid who’d thought he could go up against the school bully, only to be smacked down. Pravus was right in his face. “Critchlore is going down, and I’m going to be the one who finishes him off. He’s got nothing.” He smiled and said louder, to everyone, “All Critchlore has is cowardly ogre-men, a dwindling recruiting class, and no sports teams of note.” He laughed as he moved down the aisle.

  With a shaky hand, Professor Murphy reached out to grab the arm of a woman following Pravus. She held a clipboard and wore an official-looking badge.

  “Mrs. Collins,” Professor Murphy said. “What is Dr. Pravus doing here?”

  Mrs. Collins consulted her clipboard. “He’s here to petition the overlords to allow him to take over another minion school.”

  Professor Murphy’s brow furrowed in anger. “Impossible! That’s against the Directives!” He turned to us to explain. “The EOs don’t want fewer suppliers—it raises the cost of recruiting minions. They do not allow mergers or acquisitions.”

  “I’ve seen the petition,” Collins said. “Pravus says the high demand for his minions is already raising costs. If he could take over a struggling school, he’d be able to increase the number of excellently trained minions, which would decrease recruiting costs for the overlords. Plus he’s offered to privately fund a new school run independently from his academy. A specialist school of some sort. It’s a win-win, really.”

  So it was true! Pravus was after Dr. Critchlore’s school. It all made sense now. He’d spent the last few months sabotaging our school and making us look bad. We’d lost recruits and customers, and now Pravus was ready to swoop in and take over.

  Why couldn’t the Critchlore family see through his schemes? Or maybe they did, and they admired his tactics.

  We watched Pravus as he reached the open floor in front of the stage. He was courted by many people, probably underlings of overlords hoping to secure Pravus minions for their bosses. He was a rock star here, for sure, and by rock star, I mean he was like a really spectacular boulderball player. We called them rock stars.

  Professor Murphy wrote down the names of everyone Pravus talked to. When Pravus left, Professor Murphy stood up. “Time to go.”

  “What?” I said. “We just got here.”

  “We’ve gotten what we came for.”

  “But we haven’t seen anything yet! The evil overlords haven’t even arrived.”

  “We could wait for hours, and they still might not show up. They each want to be the one who keeps the others waiting. Most of the work is done in private chambers anyway.”

  This was turning into the worst field trip ever. I was disappointed and angry, and I felt like a failure.

  As we walked through the atrium, I spotted the mysterious white-haired lady on the second floor. She stood against the balcony, flanked by her seal-like guards. I pointed her out to Professor Murphy.

  “Who is that
?” I asked.

  “Well, look who made it down from the frozen north,” he said. “The Strong and Wonderful Irma Trackno.”

  Irma Trackno? I’d just had a private meeting with an evil overlord? My jaw dropped faster than Dr. Critchlore’s trapdoor.

  “You will never meet a more ruthless or power-hungry overlord,” he whispered to me. “She’ll attack anyone at any time, sometimes losing half her armies in the process.” To everyone else, he said, “Each EO has a suite on the second floor. They conduct their private business in those chambers. No one is allowed up there except EOs and their henchmen.”

  As he said this, Dr. Pravus exited the elevator next to her.

  “He shouldn’t be up there,” Professor Murphy said. “That man is getting too bold.”

  We watched as Dr. Pravus strode confidently down the corridor away from Irma Trackno. He knocked on a door decorated with two crossed fists, and a human stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He was an average-looking guy wearing a shiny baby-blue suit over a red shirt and black tie.

  “Interesting,” Professor Murphy said, nodding at the henchman. “What he’s doing there is actually the first lesson in my Stealth Techniques for Henchmen Seminar. If you’re up to no good, wear something flashy, and that’s all witnesses will remember. Not your height or the shape of your nose. They’ll remember the odd color combination you wore, or the strange flower in your lapel. What you need to focus on are the things that do not change—height and weight, the shape of the ears. He has very odd, small ears.”

  “That’s not an evil overlord?” I asked.

  “No, that’s Tankotto’s man,” Professor Murphy said. “Tankotto is the fourth-most powerful EO, but he recently lost a chunk of Burkeve, which he claims is rightfully his, to Cera Bacculus. He’s thought to be allied with Elvira Cutter, with side alliances with the Island Realms and General Nix.” He rattled off facts like an uncensored encyclopedia. “Tankotto isn’t loyal to any one minion school; he recruits from anyone.”

  We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the conversation soon turned angry. Dr. Pravus wanted to see Tankotto, but the henchman kept shaking his head. Pravus tried to push his way past, but the henchman stood firm.

  “I trained you!” Dr. Pravus said, loud enough for the whole atrium to hear.

  “You trained me to obey my EO,” the henchman replied, just as loudly. “And that’s what I’m doing. He does not want to be disturbed.”

  Dr. Pravus stepped back. He pointed his finger at the henchman and spun around to leave. Just as he reached the elevator, one of Irma Trackno’s seal-men approached him. They spoke briefly, and then Dr. Pravus shook his head. He tried to enter the elevator, but the seal-man grabbed him and pulled him toward his master, who stood glaring at Dr. Pravus.

  “Interesting,” Professor Murphy said. “Irma Trackno has never recruited minions before. Her army is completely homegrown and trained.”

  She had asked about Dr. Critchlore too. What if she had been checking me out, to see if she wanted to recruit Critchlore minions? What if I hadn’t impressed her, and that was why she was seeing Dr. Pravus? My heart sank as I realized I had probably just failed Dr. Critchlore. Again.

  Do you ever get the feeling that nobody knows you exist?

  —WHAT’S-HIS-NAME, FROM THAT FORGOTTEN REALM IN THE CORNER OF THE MAP

  We made it back to school in time for dinner. I loaded up my tray and headed for the corner. As I edged between tables, I heard someone say, “Runt Higgins.”

  I turned. It was Rufus, wearing a wicked smile. I told myself to keep walking, to not stick around for what was certain to be a new humiliation. But something about Rufus made me stop.

  “I saw you reciting poetry with a beggar woman in the capital,” he said.

  His friends laughed.

  “What’s the matter, Runt? Can’t find a girl your own age?”

  Laughter charged at me from all sides, so I fled. I made it to my table and sat alone, waiting for my friends with my head down over my tray.

  Pismo slid in next to me.

  “Dude,” he said with so much pity I winced.

  “What?”

  “That was pathetic.” He shook his head.

  “I know.”

  “You gotta zing him back,” Pismo said.

  “How do I zing Rufus?” I asked. “He’s bigger, stronger, smarter, more popular, super handsome, and, oh yeah, he’s a WEREWOLF!”

  “Man, do you need my help. Okay, listen.” Pismo stood up and started pacing. “He taunts you for talking to an old beggar woman. You say, ‘That’s right, Rufus, your mom told me to remind you to change your underwear, because you always forget to do it at home.’ Zing!”

  I laughed. “I can’t do that. I can’t think up insults on the fly.”

  “It’s easy. Here’s another example. You take whatever embarrassing thing he taunts you with and turn it around on him. Rufus says, ‘Hey, Runt, I hear you got first place in the Loser Games.’ You say, ‘Thanks, Rufus, I never would have won if you hadn’t been eliminated for cheating on the Stupid Test.’ ”

  I laughed. Pismo was good.

  “He’ll beat me up.”

  “Better a broken nose than a broken spirit,” Pismo said. “But to be safe, keep it light. You’re agreeing with his insult, and then pulling him down with you. If he gets mad, it will look like he can dish it out but can’t take it.”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “We’ll practice tomorrow.” He patted my back. “Half an hour, three times a day, for a couple of weeks. You’ll get there.”

  The next morning, I received a message on my DPS that Mistress Moira wanted me to meet her in the ballroom instead of her quarters at the top of the tower. I looked to the sky and said, “Thank you!”

  The ballroom was filled with workers and noise. Tootles was working on the runway while other workers brought in folding chairs and propped them up against the walls. The stage was filled with set designers and Mistress Moira’s dressmaking operation. She sat behind a sewing machine perched on a long table covered with bolts of fabric. Behind her, two racks held dresses in progress. Dr. Critchlore stood next to her, a fashion magazine in his hand.

  I hesitated, not sure I could take another blast of Critchlore hate. I wanted so badly to do something right in his eyes. I considered telling him about Irma Trackno. Maybe this piece of information would redeem me a little bit.

  “We’re going to need programs, music, ushers,” he told Mistress Moira. “A backstage crew to keep things moving. Someone to announce the girls, a photographer, a lighting crew. I’ll do the seating chart. The girls will need makeup and hair stylists. Maybe they should do a dance number? I’ll ask the dance instructor. What’s her name? Witherspoon? Willoughby? Worthington?”

  “His name is Chaz,” Mistress Moira said. “You’re thinking of the music instructor you fired four years ago—Norma Wilkinson.”

  “Right. She was always snapping her fingers. Drove me crazy. Anyway, according to this article, we also need gift bags for the guests. Are you writing this down?”

  “No.”

  “Moira!”

  She stopped sewing and looked up. “I am not your fashion show coordinator. I’m a seamstress and I’m making the dresses. Do you want to try to make a dress, Derek? You need to find someone to direct the show if you don’t want to do it yourself.”

  “A director,” Dr. Critchlore said, nodding. “Yes. That should be me, shouldn’t it? But on the other hand, if this whole thing is a bomb, I might not want to be too closely associated with it.”

  “Thank you for that vote of confidence.” She continued sewing.

  “It’s not you, Moira. It’s the sirens. Who knows what they’re expecting?”

  “You should. You’re the one who made promises.”

  Dr. Critchlore waved his hand. “Vodum can direct.”

  “Good grief, no.”

  “You’re right. He’s awful. Okay, I’ll do it.” He took a deep bre
ath, nodded to Mistress Moira. “Thank you, Moira.” As he turned to leave, I stepped in front of him.

  “Dr. Critchlore?”

  “Not now. I’m very busy.”

  “I know, it’s just . . . something happened at the EOC building yesterday I thought you should know about.”

  “Professor Murphy has briefed me—” He brushed by me, leaving.

  “This happened earlier,” I said to his back. “An evil overlord asked me questions about you.”

  He turned around. “What sort of questions?”

  I gulped. “Mostly about the sabotage. I told her you were playing along and staging some countersabotage, and she seemed impressed.”

  “You told . . . her?”

  “It was Irma Trackno.”

  “I see.” He looked down and shook his head.

  “And then I saw her talking to Pravus. I think she might be looking to recruit some minions. Maybe if you contacted—”

  He held up his hand to stop me. “Thank you for that information.”

  “But if she’s looking to recruit minions—”

  “I would not send a single student of mine to Irma Trackno. Not one single minion. Not ever.”

  He left.

  That wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting, but he did thank me. In all honesty, I felt a little relieved. He knew that Irma Trackno was reckless with her minions, and he cared about how we were treated. He might act demanding and indifferent, but I knew he cared.

  I turned to Mistress Moira. “Do you need me to fetch anything?” I asked. Her table was covered with piles of fabric and lace, boxes of jewelry, buttons, hair thingies, and other girly stuff. I felt myself gripped with a really strong impulse to run away and roll in some mud.

  “Yes, I have a list right here,” she said. She riffled through piles of stuff on her table and finally came up with the piece of paper. “Just give this to Betsy. She’ll know how to find them. Bring them back up here as soon as you can.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Deliveries completed, I snuck away from the ballroom to go to Uncle Ludwig’s secret library and return the book I’d “borrowed.”