by Steve Cole
And lit up like a miniature sun!
Blinding ultra-white, the searing incandescence boiled the smoke away and seared the sight of the poultry-geists as they came towards us. Their scrying specs cracked and shattered, their steel-tipped wings came up to cover their eyes, but too late. The glare was so great that their plucked pink skins began to sizzle and smoke. Clucking in angry panic, they blundered past us, blowing on each other, fanning each other, smashing into walls, tripping over each other, starting a poultry-geist pile-up. Jem pushed me ahead of her as we ran on down the corridor in the direction they’d come from.
“Most satisfactory,” Jem yelled to me over the din of the alarm. “You see, I coated the surface of my suit in auto-ignite magnesium with glo-faster stripes. For anyone who is not invisible in close proximity, I imagine the experience was most unpleasant.”
“Shame your magnesium couldn’t melt the sirens!” I shouted back.
We quickly reached a door in the wall marked STAIRWELL. “Let’s see if it’s any quieter on the floor above!” Jem threw it open and ran inside – then jerked to a horrified halt, arms windmilling wildly.
She was about to tumble down a huge, circular hole!
“Nooooo!” I tugged her back just in time and we fell to the floor together.
“Whoa,” I said. “That stairwell is more well than stair . . .”
“So I observe,” said Jem. “A trap for the unwary.”
I couldn’t think for the din, and the sonic vibrations tugged at my pale, glowing skin, which looked to be growing baggier with every second. “We’ve got to do something about that alarm . . .”
“Keep running!” She lumbered onwards in her WC suit like a spikily armoured elephant. “Perhaps we’ll find its source.”
We came to another wooden door marked STAIRWELL on our left. I opened it hopefully – and a huge poultry-geist, almost twice the size of the others, burst out from inside. I squealed in alarm, threw myself back— Just as Jem sent a bright blue spray squirting out from a concealed nozzle in her suit, like a sprinkler – aimed directly at the creature’s eyes.
“BUKKKK-ARRGH!” The monster yelled and flapped its wings so much it actually rose up into the air and slammed its head on the ceiling. As it crashed down again in an unconscious heap, the alarm stopped dead.
I turned to Jem. “That thing must have been controlling the alarm!” I realised, my words loud in the unexpected hush. “What was in that spray?”
“I have no idea,” Jem told me. “But I think it stings.”
I stared down at the unconscious brute of a beast in a silence that seemed somehow scarier than the sirens. “Well, I reckon we must’ve found the real stairwell this time, anyway.” I peered into the darkness beyond. “Or why leave a big old poultry-geist to guard it?”
Jem nodded. “We must get upstairs and join Sir Guy and Maloney – once we’ve made certain it is safe.”
“Safe . . .” I’d noticed a strange pattern of lights pulsing inside the darkness. “Safe! Of course it’s safe!” The lights were throbbing rhythmically . . .
Almost . . . hypnotically . . .
“Goodness.” Jem had straightened up. “This light display is most beautiful, is it not?”
“It is,” I agreed, rising myself and walking slowly closer to see. “Really beautiful . . .” The lights were so pretty in the now-silent darkness. Like an enormous eye, staring at me . . . staring into my soul . . . commanding me and Jem to come closer . . . closer . . .
Oblivious to sinister puns, drawn by the beauty in the eye that we beheld, we came closer . . .
closer . . .
CLOSER . . .
CLOSER . . .
But, just as we reached the final step—
CRRRRA-KOOOOOOOM!
The noise and tremors of Sir Guy and Maloney’s incredible dramatic entrance distracted me for a moment. “Safe? No! It . . . it ISN’T safe.” I shook my intangible head, concentrating hard. “Not one bit!”
Finally jarred free from the starewell’s hypnotic effect, I saw that, far from wandering in a wonderland of colourful beauty forever more, I was ACTUALLY about to step into blazing-hot volcanic lava!
And so was Jem . . .
“No! Get back!” I grabbed hold of Jem’s arm and yanked her away with all my strength. She stumbled and fell on her armoured butt. Then I kicked the door shut.
“Oof!” Jem stared around in confusion. “What happened?”
“Sir Guy and Maloney saved us! Well, they accidentally fell through the ceiling, anyway.” I ran over to check on them, sprawled on the floor. “Are you all right?” I asked Sir Guy as he pulled his lance out from underneath him. “What happened to you on the third floor?”
Maloney neighed, kind of indignantly. I realise he’s the only one of Invisible Inc. who hasn’t had his own chapter, so here – I’ve let him fill us in on his own ordeals with his master. (Or try to fill us in. He is a horse, after all.)
Crash through window we did.
Whump! Neigh! Big chicken – boom!
WHERE IS THE GRASS OF MY YOUTH?
“Come, fine horse,” says master. “Let us rejoin our friends and help them!”
(ONCE THERE WAS A FIELD! I saw a flag.)
Down the stairs go we. Most horses cannot go down the stairs!
ME SPECIAL HORSE — SUGAR LUMP WORTHY!!
Why is the special room on fire?
Horseshoe! Horseshoe. HORSESHOE!
I have four! GOOOOOD.
What happened to floor?
I am on new floor!
Why are I upside on the down?
GRASS ONCE WAS NICE I miss the stables of youth. NEIGH!
“Well, thanks for filling us in, Maloney,” I lied. “Sir Guy, can he lead us up to the pow-powder? If my mum’s been working on it . . .”
“Of course!” Sir Guy did an air pump with his hand. “We took a staircase down from the third floor to the second and the first – but it must continue down to here, too, must it not?”
“Sounds likely,” I agreed.
“It will be round about in . . .” Sir Guy pointed his Lance-a-Lot behind him. “This direction! Come!”
“Very well.” Jem was staring into the lava as if unable to believe how close we’d come to stepping into it. The WC we wore would have sunk into the molten magma, trapping us there – until something horrid sent by Seerblight got us, no doubt.
Something that might very well already be on the way . . .
Jem stayed crouched over the lava, holding her hand over it. “Come on!” I pulled her back, she quickly adjusted her armour, and we all followed Maloney down the corridor, as he sniffed out the way.
Around the corner, he came to an unmarked door. And, sneakily, THIS was the stairwell, unadvertised, hidden in plain sight. Sir Guy yelled and led a charge up the steps – until we all shushed him and suggested a lower-volume-based approach might be a good plan.
We ran up past the doorways to the first floor . . .
The second floor . . .
The third floor . . .
It was all going so well!
Too well.
For, as we approached the fourth floor, the door to the stairwell swung open and a familiar burly figure with a bum-cleft in his chin stepped into view. His eyes stared out in different directions. His grin was yellow and crooked. Fear prickled at my invisible skin.
Here, to face us, was Mr Butt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Heat of Buttle
“So. There you are!” he said. “Well, you’ve done pretty well to get as far as you have.”
“Of course we have!” Sir Guy agreed. “And we shall get far enough to topple your vile master, mark my words!”
“Seerblight works at the top of his tower.” Mr Butt stepped out onto the concrete landing. “He is preparing for his great moment, but it is a moment you shall not live long enough to witness.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Jem, pushing forward. “Come along, everyone! He is only
one man and unarmed.”
“Unarmed, perhaps . . .” The boss-eyed weirdo smiled. “But not . . . unBUTTED.”
“Huh?” I said.
“NNNNNNNNN!”
Mr Butt bent his legs and strained, as if to demonstrate his butt in the worst possible way. But no. Something was happening.
Mr Butt was changing. Massive muscles twitched around his arms and chest, and his shirt tore open like the Hulk’s. But— No! No, those weren’t muscles after all.
They were butts.
Mr Butt had transformed into a much larger creature, with weird bums growing all over him. I stared in horror, and my friends did the same, as each set of chilling cheeks opened and closed like a wobbly mouth. But Mr Butt had saved the worst for last. He turned his back to us, hunched over – and the last remains of his shirt ripped away to reveal a bottom-crack that ran the entire length of his back.
“The ultimate ‘builder’s bum’,” I muttered.
“So, tell me . . .” Mr Butt turned back to face us, and I saw that even his cheeks had grown more buttock-like, pushing his features into a dark cleft in the middle of his face. “Now that you have gazed upon my many butts, do you not fear me?”
“I think you’re a loony,” I said, as Jem and Sir Guy agreed and Maloney nodded his head.
“And I believe, Monsieur Loony. . . it is time to kick butt!” Sir Guy led the attack, swinging his Sword of Hellfire above his head. ZZZZZPP! He fired fierce torrents of laser energy straight at Mr Butt . . .
But the bottom-man simply laughed. The energy was drawn inside his tush-covered torso and disappeared.
Changing tactics, Sir Guy charged at the weirdo – only to bounce straight off his many-bummed physique and slam into a wall.
Desperately, Maloney galloped up the stairs and tried to push Mr Butt over with his powerful hooves – but the horrible henchman raised his right arm and the row of bums growing there clamped down on the pony’s tail like a foul, fleshy hairclip. In a show of supernatural strength, they hurled him aside to land on Sir Guy.
Angrily, I found myself leaping to the attack, too. But, before I could bring my boxed fists to bear, the multiple bottoms in Mr Butt’s chest blew off as one, creating wind that was more like a force-ten gale. My armour was sent somersaulting away, and I went with it, limbs flailing, totally out of control. I landed on top of Maloney, on top of Sir Guy, and all three of us went tumbling down the steps. I was just grateful I couldn’t smell anything – and even more grateful when Jem crouched beside us and helped me up.
“Come on, then!” Mr Butt snarled. “Fight me! One at a time or all together, I don’t care!”
“I think we’ve just proved that brute force and butt force don’t mix,” Jem murmured. “We need to use our heads.”
“I am not letting my head get anywhere near those bums!” I said. “The question is – why is he doing this? I mean, if he wanted to stop us in our tracks, all he has to do is threaten my mum.”
Jem nodded worriedly. “It’s almost as if he’s trying to test us in some way.”
“Then let us end the test now!” cried Sir Guy.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Sir Guy, how hot does your Lance-a-Lot get?”
“Hot enough to be red,” he confirmed.
“Then crank up the power,” I murmured. “This battle’s about to ignite!”
I climbed the steps and ran once more at Mr Butt, head down in my primitive armour to charge him as hard as I could. But this time Mr Butt turned his gruesome, bared back-butt to me and let fly with a hideous wind-ripper that must have broken records. I was almost blown away again, but just managed to hold my ground.
“Now, Sir Guy!” Jem shouted. “Do it now!”
Sir Guy hurled his Lance-a-Lot – and, as the super-heated tip neared Mr Butt, the dark fart caught fire! The blaze whooshed backwards, following the gas trail to its foul source in a split second.
“AIEEEEEEEEEE!” Mr Butt’s yell echoed off the concrete walls as he exploded in an all-consuming fireball. I closed my eyes. My armour rattled. I imagined the horrible heat.
I’m not sure how long I kept my eyes closed. But, when I opened them again, the flames had faded . . . and there was nothing left.
“Your plan worked well,” said Sir Guy approvingly.
For a moment, my confidence soared. Then I just felt sick. “I . . . I didn’t think it would kill him.”
“’Twas working for Seerblight that killed him,” Jem said softly. “Well, and you a little bit, I suppose.”
“Do not be sad, mon ami. Victory is ours!” Sir Guy cheered, as Maloney neighed. “We came out on top – and the bottoms came bottom!”
“Come now,” said Jem. “Let us reach the ninth floor and dear Trudi Deer – before climbing to the top floor . . . and facing Seerblight for the final time!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At Last, the Lair of Seerblight
I followed Sir Guy and Maloney as they clattered up the concrete stairs in their fine armour. Jem was right beside me. Invisible Inc., somehow still all together, still going, still ready to do whatever they had to.
So many steps – but nothing else in our way. Was Seerblight too arrogant to believe that intruders would get this far . . . or were we running into the most terrible trap ever?
My intangible heart was still not beating, but I felt super-scared. What would we find at the top of the tower?
It was what we found on the staircase on the seventh floor that baffled us. The steps were covered in cute, fluffy rodents like hamsters and mice, and the air was thick with tweeting little birds flapping all about.
“Since brute-force techniques have failed, Seerblight is trying something sneakier.” Jem sighed. “An impenetrable layer of enchanted cuteness.”
I tried to pick up some of the hamsters, but they squirmed and wriggled in my grip. “Their fur!” I realised, quickly releasing them. “It’s wiping off my WC dust!”
“Why, the wily old stoat!” Jem hissed.
Sir Guy groaned. “There is a stoat also?”
“I meant Seerblight! It’s as if he’s been watching us and now is tailoring his attack to exploit our weaknesses.”
“And he is right.” Sir Guy clapped a hand to his face in despair. “The only way forward is to trample these blessed little animals. We cannot go on!”
“We must!” I told him. “We’ve come too far to be stopped now.”
Jem pulled an orange hose from inside her spiky suit and considered it. “I suppose I could gas them all with a toxic agent?”
I frowned. “Stay calm!”
“Very well, a concentrated blast of air, then,” she suggested. “I can create a kind of bird-free corridor in the air.”
“Much better. But there’s still the mice and hamsters . . .”
Jem produced a large metal mallet from a concealed back pocket and weighed it thoughtfully.
“No!” I looked at Maloney. “Do you think you could jump over them, boy?”
“Of course!” Sir Guy beamed. “He can and so too may we! We do not have springs in platform hooves as Maloney does, but his Bad Saddle is in fact an excellent saddle. For within it Jem has hidden an EJECTOR SEAT.”
“I have,” Jem confirmed. “Well, you never know when a horse might need to jettison its rider at high speed.”
Hope of continuing our quest seized that unbeating heart of mine. My mum must be SO CLOSE now! “I’ll go first,” I said quickly, scrambling into the saddle. “Ready with the air blast, Jem? Ready, boy?”
Jem held out her orange hose. WHOOSH!
“YEIGGH!’’ cried Maloney. BOINGG! His saddle burst open and I was sent hurtling through the air to end up on the concrete landing of the eighth floor. So close now!
Sir Guy followed after me, catapulted like a knightly rocket from the saddle, and Jem came next, still wielding her air-blowing hose. She kept a path clear for Maloney, his platform launchers overcoming the rush of air blown against him.
“Brilliant
!” I was already climbing up the steps from level eight to level nine. “We’re nearly there! Keep going! We must keep going!”
A few metres more and there it was. Finally. The door to level nine, where my mum’s laboratory could be found.
And my mum?
And Seerblight?
And nameless horrors lurking in every corner?
And so on??
Sir Guy might have noticed my face (or more likely was just enjoying himself). “Milady and I will go in first, lad,” he told me.
“Oh, good,” said Jem unhappily.
“While we attack all enemies in our way, you must go on a mission of liberation and set free your mère!” Sir Guy put a hand on my shoulder. “You are up to this challenge, yes?”
“I’ve got to be,” I murmured. Maloney nuzzled his head against me. Well, he nuzzled his heavily armoured head against my chest box, which wasn’t quite the same thing. But I appreciated the gesture.
With a heroic whinny, Maloney reared up and placed his hydraulic hooves against the door. At the same time, his head armour lit up bright red and some kind of laser beam went flashing out from his forehead. The door was blown apart and Maloney strutted through, with Sir Guy wielding his sword and lance in different hands and Jem following on behind with Bunsen-burner shoulder pads sending hissing blue flames out into the gloomy corridor beyond. For a moment, then, scared as I was, I felt a real pride, too – to know that these were my friends, and that they would fight till the end alongside me.
Although ‘the end’ could not be far away now. Midnight must be fast approaching . . .
A few moments later, a horde of men in black dressing gowns came jumping and high-kicking into view. I held still, wary and afraid. Either these were members of some strange bedtime cult or they were martial arts experts. And – oh, NOOOOOO – they were all armed with sound guns.
As one, they opened fire, and the air was soon filled with the insane honk and hoot of their blasts. I tried to force a path through them, as highly-trained fists rained down blows that would break bone on my armour, jolting me this way and that so that I staggered, gritting my ghostly teeth as my movements got less co-ordinated. PWARRRRRRP! One of the guns was jammed up against my helmet; when the trigger was pulled, it almost knocked my head off with a barrage of ear-splitting sound.