Gorilla Tactics

by Sheila Grau

  “Coach Foley, see that man there? He used to play for the Dalloid Mercenaries. Can we crush his car before we start?” Coach Foley hated the Dalloid Mercenaries. They were the biggest cheaters in all of sports.

  “That’s ridiculous.” He frowned at me, then looked at the man. “His car is over a hundred meters away.”

  “Frankie can hit it,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Well, get to it. I’m going to act like I don’t know what you’re doing.” He sat down and pretended to make notes on his lineup card.

  Frankie grabbed the clobber. Eloni ran to the pitcher’s mound. The other team was huddled up and hadn’t taken the field yet.

  “Which ball?” Eloni asked.

  “Thud!” I said. I hoped Frankie could hit that heavy ball as far as the car.

  Syke, Fingers, and I ran toward the parking lot. It was a long way away, and we needed a head start. I wasn’t sure this was going to work.

  I heard the crack of the clobber and looked back. The ball screamed through the air, soaring right for the man’s car. It bounced on the pavement and then rocketed right into the car’s front end. Frankie was amazing. The man froze; his hands went to his head in disbelief. It really was a beautiful car.

  We reached him just as he swung around, trying to figure out what had happened.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “My friend didn’t mean to—”

  “Your beautiful car!” Syke exclaimed, touching the man on the shoulder. “Maybe we can pull this section out?”

  Fingers circled the man, examining the damage to the car. I kept eyeing him, hoping he would get on with it, but he kept his distance from the henchman.

  “Back off, kids,” the man said, shaking off Syke’s hand. “I’ve got it. Just . . . back off.”

  Syke and I kept apologizing. Syke touched him again. And Fingers stood there like a little green statue. I picked up the ball and we turned to leave. I couldn’t believe it. My plan had gone perfectly. What was wrong with Fingers? Why couldn’t he help me out—just this once? I was so mad I felt like kicking him.

  “Fingers,” I said, once we were away from the man. “Why didn’t you grab it?”

  “What? This?” He held up the vial.

  I reached down to hug him, but he held up a hand. “Back off, big guy. Your appreciation is noted. Just don’t touch me.”

  Coach Foley was trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. He had one arm around Frankie. “Frankie, that was masterful. What I could do with a team of Frankies!”

  “Nice, Frankie,” Syke said. “Really nice.”

  Frankie smiled. “Thanks.”

  I ran back to the main building, up the stairs, and barged right into Professor Yipps’s room. I gasped because he looked dead. He lay with his head to one side, and I didn’t see any sign of breathing flutter his chest.

  “Professor Yipps?” I asked. I uncorked the serum and dripped a little into his mouth. I wanted to make sure to save some for Professor Zaida.

  He licked his lips and blinked. I risked a couple more drops.

  “I can feel it working,” he said. Tears leaked out of his eyes. “I can breathe without struggling. Aaaaah, this is wonderful.”

  “Thank goodness it works,” I said.

  “Thank you,” he said. Then he frowned. “I suppose you think I’m going to tell you where the entrance is, now that you saved me?”

  “I didn’t want you to die. I don’t want Professor Zaida to die.”

  “I watched you, you know,” he said. “I thought you might be working together, with that man. Doing a sort of good henchman–bad henchman routine, and that you might save me, thinking I’d be so grateful I’d tell you what you want to know. It’s not a bad plan.”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “I could tell. That man . . . his car . . . he was . . .” Yipps started laughing. “It was very well done.”

  “It was Fingers,” I said. “He’s very talented.”

  “I have begged my associates to expand our CLOUD operation to include warriors. How are we to go up against vicious men like that on our own? We need a better defense than secrecy. We need an army. But how do you tell a pacifist to use warriors? They will never agree.”

  “What about your team of assassins?”

  He laughed at that. “No, we have no assassins. We may have started some rumors, but we are not in the business of death.” Professor Yipps leaned back and closed his eyes. I watched as he moved his fingers and then smiled at them.

  “They came for her children,” he said without opening his eyes. “The Great Lady of Wisdom was angry. Enraged. The earth shook and exploded with her righteous anger. But it was no good; the enemy kept coming. She drew her children close, to protect them. They would be safe as long as she hid them well. Once her children were hidden, she lay down and cried herself to sleep. The tears continue to this day. A small fire burns beneath her tears, lighting the way to her children.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “That is your clue to the library,” he said.

  I sat there thinking. “So the woman is the library, and her children are the books? It’s a riddle?”

  He nodded.

  I hated riddles.

  “So I have to figure out who this angry lady was and where she lived?”

  He shrugged. “It’s all I have. The elders used riddles to protect their secrets, but they discovered that it’s a very unreliable method. You never know if the right people will figure them out. Still, we all know them. I’ve often pictured the library as being hidden in a vast underground vault, and the Great Lady as a statue in a fountain, where water flows like tears. The fire is a memorial flame of some sort, marking the secret entrance.”

  I sighed. “I don’t have time to track down every statue with a memorial flame. There must be hundreds in Stull alone. How am I going to save Professor Zaida?”

  He moved his arm and sighed. “You’re right. There is no time.” He seemed to come to a decision after a short pause. “I will tell you the name of my Archivist, the man who comes to collect my books. He is equal in rank to Professor Zaida, and he will know how to find her.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Fardaglio, and he is the headmaster of the Kobold Retraining Center. I can’t risk going myself. Once Tankotto’s man realizes I’ve been cured, I’ll be watched every second. Everyone from this school will be watched. But you—you can take the antidote to Fardaglio.”

  “I will, Professor Yipps.”

  He nodded. “Go save her. Save Zaida.”

  Nothing motivates a minion more than fear, and you can’t instill fear unless you are willing to inflict severe trauma. It takes a strong hand to train minions this way.

  —DR. PRAVUS, EXPLAINING HIS MINION-TRAINING PHILOSOPHY

  Back at school, I gave the antidote to Darthin, who was working on something in our room involving a mossy substance that glowed in the dark.

  “Darthin, I need a favor,” I said.

  He took off his safety goggles and blinked at me. “What?”

  “This is the antidote to the poison someone injected into Professor Zaida. I need more. There’s an old woman in the capital who’s been poisoned, and maybe others too. Can you take this sample, figure out what’s in it, and make more?”

  “Oh, sure,” Darthin said. “I’ll just put it in the poison antidote serum replicator.”

  “Really?”

  He blinked at me, and I got the sense he was being sarcastic.

  “The problem with people thinking you’re smart is that they expect you to do the impossible. Take Dr. Frankenhammer. He wants me to weaponize this moss. Says if we can get it to spew something, it would make a terrific surprise attack in the forest. But how am I supposed to get moss to spew? Drip, maybe, or ooze, but spew?”

  “So you’re saying you can’t make more of this serum?”

  “Dr. Frankenhammer probably could, and he’s looking for an excuse to avoid helping with the fashion show. I�
��ll ask him.”

  “Thanks, Darthin,” I said. “Just make sure you save enough for Professor Zaida. Yipps drank about a third of it, so there are two doses left. I hope.”

  “How are you going to get it to her?” Darthin asked.

  “The guy in Yancy said the headmaster at the Kobold Retraining Center could help us. He’s an Archivist, like Professor Zaida. He’ll know how to find her. We just have to figure out how to get there.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about the place.”

  “He also told me a riddle. It’s supposed to be a clue to where the entrance of the Great Library is located. Something about a Great Lady of Wisdom, and how there was a war, and she had to hide her children . . . No, she was angry and lay down to cover her children? But she’s still crying, her tears haven’t stopped, and a flame lights the way to her children.”

  It sounded so stupid when I said it out loud. A sleeping, crying, angry woman guard?

  “Yipps said it’s a statue in a fountain with a memorial flame,” I added. “But there must be thousands.”

  “Is that all you have? A riddle about a sleeping woman who can’t stop crying?”

  “Tankotto’s henchman said it’s close to Westvolt Academy, but he doesn’t know the clue to the entrance.”

  “Hmm,” Darthin said, striking his thinking pose—eyes gazing skyward, hand on chin. “I’ll do some research. That way you can finish working on your gift bag.” He raised one eyebrow at me, knowing I’d put off that task.

  I couldn’t even think about the stupid gift bag. Did it matter, really? There were lives at stake, and one of them was mine. If one of those EOs destroyed the Great Library, I’d never find out where I came from.

  The next morning, Boris, Frankie, and I sat in the dungeon conference room. I held a velvety gift bag that was taunting me with its emptiness. Boris and Frankie were folding programs that had just come back from the printer.

  “What am I going to put in this thing?” I asked.

  “I thought you were going to get a girl’s help?” Frankie said.

  “I asked, but they’re all so busy.” I sighed. “I can’t focus on this stupid bag when Professor Zaida is out there somewhere, poisoned. In a few days, she’ll be writhing in agony.”

  “We just have to get through this fashion show tonight,” Frankie said. “Then we can find a way to get to the Kobold Retraining Center and warn the headmaster there. He’ll take the antidote to Professor Zaida.”

  “And then she’ll take me to the library,” I said. “And I’ll find out about the Broken Place and where the Oti come from. I’ll finally know who I am.”

  “If Rufus doesn’t kill you first,” Frankie said. “Which is why I’ve appointed myself as your bodyguard.”

  “Thanks, Frankie.”

  “Boris too,” Boris said. He put another program in his pile, which now held three folded programs. Frankie’s pile was so high I couldn’t count them.

  “Thanks. But here’s the thing: Janet wanted to go.”

  “I know. She never wanted to do the fashion show,” Frankie said. He folded two more in the time it took him to say that. “I guess she thought anything would be better. Even facing a giant gorilla.”

  Dr. Critchlore burst into the conference room looking frazzled and carrying a large cardboard box.

  “She wants a winner,” he said. “Grand Sirenness Marissa wants this fashion show to be a competition. One guess as to who she thinks should win. Also, she wants to see all the dresses and have final say on who wears what. Mistress Moira is going to explode. You can’t tell that woman anything.” He sighed.

  “I didn’t know fashion shows were a competition,” I said.

  “They’re not!” He dropped the box on the table. “This is not going to end well.”

  I opened the box. It was filled with cards that listed the girls’ names and had a little check box after each one. Bianca’s name was at the top of the list, in a bigger font than the rest.

  “That Bianca,” Frankie said. “Ever since her mom showed up, Bianca’s been acting all stuck-up. Her head’s as big as Frieda’s now.”

  After we finished stuffing programs with ballots, we took the boxes up to the ballroom. Now completely decorated, the ballroom was ready to go. The runway looked strong, chairs filled the room and balcony, and the stage was cleared of Mistress Moira’s dressmaking operation. The first set was in place—a mountain vista in the back, with trees on the stage. Everyone was getting ready for the last run-through before the show that evening.

  Bianca’s mother, surrounded by her entourage in the eaves, seemed to be evaluating a dress held by Mistress Moira. The silky fabric had swirls of white on a silver background.

  “This will not do,” Grand Sirenness Marissa said, shaking her head. “No. My daughter will not wear this.” She signaled to one of her assistants. “I brought a dress for her. It’s by Hermix Cleong, the top designer in Stull. She’ll wear that.”

  She turned to her entourage. “Hermix and I go way back. I provide him with all his foreign supplies.”

  Mistress Moira sat there with her mouth open. “I don’t think you understand,” she began. “There’s a theme—”

  Marissa held up a hand. “I do not talk to the help,” she said. And she strode away, her followers talking about how brilliant Hermix was.

  Mistress Moira stood up with that look I’d seen on her face when she was angry and about to curse someone.

  “Mistress Moira!” I said. “Don’t do it.”

  She looked at me and I flinched.

  “Runt,” she said, softening. “It’s just . . . I planned each of these dresses to highlight what makes each girl interesting, what makes them special. Bianca was going to have fun in this dress. That woman is going to ruin the show.”

  “It’s really pretty,” I said, pointing with my chin to the dress. My hands were still holding the box of programs. “Where should I put the programs?”

  “Over on the table,” she said, pointing to the side of the stage. She folded the dress and set it aside with a heavy sigh.

  “Runt, would you tell Dr. Critchlore that I’d like to speak to him as soon as possible?” she said.

  “You don’t want to use your DPS? It’d be faster,” I said.

  “Derek never answers his e-mail, or texts, or calls,” she said. “And I don’t trust Vodum to pass on a message. Go.”

  “Okay.”

  A familiar scene greeted me when I reached Dr. Critchlore’s office. He and Vodum were arguing, again.

  “Go on and petition to block the takeover,” Vodum whined from his desk just outside the office. “It won’t do you any good. The vote of no confidence will pass, and the EOs will approve the merger. Dr. Pravus has promised the family that he’ll turn this school around. You’re the only one who doesn’t admire the man. Many believe it would be a great coup to get him.

  “But I believe in you,” he went on. “And there’s still time. All I’m asking in return for my help is a position as assistant headmaster, a seat on the board of directors, and a salary commensurate with those responsibilities.”

  “That’s it?” Dr. Critchlore asked, standing up from his desk and packing some papers into an open briefcase. “You don’t want a bedroom suite in the castle and full use of our dragons?”

  “Well, I assumed those perks went with the job title.”

  “You are grabbing beyond your abilities, Vodum, and I will never submit to your blackmail.”

  “Then I will vote ‘no confidence’ with the rest of the family. And just so you know, Pravus made me an offer that I turned down, out of loyalty to you. But since that loyalty doesn’t flow both ways, I have to consider it.”

  “What’s that? Your own giant gorilla?”

  “I’ll be his assistant headmaster.”

  Dr. Critchlore laughed. “Well, good luck with that,” he said, closing the briefcase. “I think I have some time left, so I may as well do my job. I’ll be at the Evil Overlord Council
meeting. When I’m done with that, I’ll make sure to put in a little more effort to find you a job that suits your talents. The fish monster needs a new feeder, I believe.”

  Dr. Critchlore headed for the door, but I jumped in front of him.

  “Dr. Critchlore?” I said. “Mistress Moira wants to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Tell her I’m off to the council meeting. I’ll talk to her first thing when I get back.”

  “Grand Sirenness Marissa just called her the help and said her daughter will not wear the dress that Mistress Moira made for her.”

  Vodum laughed.

  Dr. Critchlore sighed. “I’ll speak with her when I get back.”

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that an ambitious person in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a minion.

  —FIRST LINE OF THE POPULAR NOVEL PRIDE AND MINIONS

  Back in the ballroom, the girls were rehearsing the dance number. Bianca sat alone backstage, so I went to talk with her.

  “It looks like fun,” I said, nodding at the dancers. That was a lie, because I hated dancing, and to me it looked like the opposite of fun, but I knew Bianca loved dance class.

  “Mother won’t let me do it,” she said. “She says I need to keep myself above the rest of the girls.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to be a leader someday, not a common siren. I have the most enchanting voice of anyone my age, Mother says. I need to start acting like a queen.”

  “If you become Grand Sirenness, will you stop the feud with the mermaids? You know they aren’t stupid.”

  “I wish I could, but Mother just gave me this huge lecture about how important it is to hate them. And they deserve our hate, she says. They are evil to their core.”

  “You know they aren’t,” I said.

  “My mother is under so much pressure! She keeps saying that mermaids are untrustworthy, but everyone is talking about how we should work together, that the mermaids aren’t so bad. She can’t just change her mind all of a sudden, when she’s been the biggest megaphone of hatred. She thinks she’ll look weak if she agrees to cooperate with them now. She’s in a really difficult spot.”