“There’s no time, Deal. It’s happening now!”
The tank, a Wehrmacht Tiger I with two hatches on top and a huge 88mm tank gun mounted to its turret, rolled to a stop a few dozen feet from Kristoff House. Behind it, through the hole in the Colosseum, Cordelia saw terrified Roman citizens running for their lives. To them the tank must have looked like a monster of legend.
“What sort of creature is this?” Felix asked.
“It’s a machine,” Will said, “and it looks like they made some major improvements over the ones in the Great War.”
Suddenly one of the tank hatches popped open and a Nazi soldier stuck his head out. The soldier was tall and muscular, with bright blond hair. He wore a gray-green uniform and a swastika armband matching the one the Walkers had found in the hallway.
“There’s the house!” he yelled, pointing at Kristoff House. “Just as our spies informed us! Get the towline!”
The blond soldier disappeared and another Nazi, in a scooped Stahlhelm helmet, climbed out. This one hit the ground running and grabbed a long metal towline that anchored to a winch on the tank. The line unwound as the soldier ran around Kristoff House.
“What is—hey!” Cordelia yelled out the front door.
Will pulled her back. “Shhh. Quiet. He could shoot you.”
“But look what he’s doing—”
Now the soldier was running back to the tank, having encircled Kristoff House. He clipped the towline to the winch. The winch started and tightened the line as the tank began to back out of the Colosseum. The giant vehicle groaned at the task of pulling the full weight of the house . . . but the Walkers, Will, and Felix felt the ground shift beneath their feet.
The house was moving, dragged by the Nazi tank.
“Oh, this really isn’t good,” Eleanor said. She saw Brendan standing outside the house, in the exact same place where, the day before, he had victoriously danced around after defeating the lions. Now he was just staring at the house with a mixture of shock, dismay, and regret on his face. Kristoff house was going. And his family was going with it.
The house crunched and squealed over rocks as it went through the blown-out Colosseum wall. Now the Walkers, Will, and Felix were moving through the streets of Rome, toward an intersection, where a group of Nazi soldiers stood in four open-bed trucks.
Cordelia saw several Roman citizens fleeing the streets in terror: Some hid in alleyways; others bolted the doors of their homes. “These poor people have no idea what hit them,” she said.
Just then, an angry young Roman, dressed in a dirty toga, charged out of his home, brandishing a knife. In a window behind him, a woman who must have been his wife screamed, clutching a baby, telling him to come back. But the man raised his knife and slashed at the tank—when machine-gun fire cut him down.
The gunfire came from the trucks that the Walkers had now reached. Cordelia turned away. She covered Eleanor’s eyes. Will turned away as well. But Felix couldn’t help but watch; he was fascinated and horrified.
“What just happened to that man?”
“He was shot,” Will said with a sigh.
“Is he . . . dead?” asked Felix.
Will nodded.
“How?”
“They’re called guns . . . they shoot tiny, sharp pieces of metal . . . strong enough to pierce the flesh. It’s how we do things in the future.”
Felix’s heart sank. “I’ve seen ugly, awful things in the arena,” he said, “but where is the honor in these guns?”
“There isn’t any. Only efficiency,” said Cordelia.
The Nazi trucks started their engines and surrounded the tank, forming a convoy. The tank, house, and trucks began to move through the streets; no one else tried to play hero.
Cordelia went to the pile of manuscripts in the living room and tore through them—then found what she was looking for. Assault of the Nazi C—. The title was incomplete; the lower half of the cover and first few pages were ripped off. “Nazi Commander,” Cordelia assumed. The book opened with a description of the blitzkrieg—the “lightning war” that sent Nazis into Poland with such speed that there could be no resistance. They could’ve won, Cordelia realized with a chill.
“What are you reading?” Felix asked. “Shouldn’t we be trying to escape?”
“If we try to escape, we’ll be shot,” Cordelia said. “I’m just getting to a description of the soldiers who captured us. They’re methodical and cold. They lack emotion, have no compassion.”
“Are we mentioned in that book?” asked Felix. “Is this house written about? Is it being pulled through Roman streets?”
“No, so far it’s just about the Nazi campaign on the western front. Last time, when we were sent into Kristoff’s novels, we were stuck in a mash-up of three. Now it appears we’ve been sent into Gladius Rex—which the Romans stole from the library—and this one, Assault of the Nazi . . . whatever. The wild card is the third book.”
“We should find it,” said Felix.
That gave Cordelia an idea. “Can you stay with Will and Eleanor, Felix? Guard them?”
“Of course. Will seems to think he doesn’t need my help, but—”
“Give him a chance. He likes you, really. He’s just a little sensitive.”
Cordelia grabbed Felix’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
From across the room, Will saw that, and frowned—he certainly was sensitive when it came to Cordelia touching Felix. Felix shrugged, trying not to start trouble, as Cordelia took off down a corridor of Kristoff House.
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Cordelia climbed into the secret passage that Felix had opened up with his powerful noggin. She took a left and moved quickly through the darkness. It wasn’t as scary as before, but she didn’t have much time—there was no telling when the house would stop moving and the Nazis would start checking out who was inside.
She knew that logically, the stone-walled chamber they had discovered should be long-gone. If Kristoff House connected to a cave system, that cave system shouldn’t travel from San Francisco. But magic had its own logic.
Cordelia’s eyes detected the glow of the pool. The walls pulled away as she entered. She approached the underwater bookshelf; the top of it had been cleaned out by the kids, but there were more manuscripts below.
Cordelia got ready to fish them out, about to climb into the water. She paused. This wasn’t quite water, but some sort of liquid that gave the pool its glow. That stuff might give me some horrible disease that I’ll carry around for the rest of my life. But she had no choice. She was doing this for the safety of her family. Cordelia took a deep breath and placed her feet in the water. It clung to her like oil, shining from inside.
She slipped into the pool with her clothes on. It was terribly thick and sticky. She felt like she was entering a hardening Jell-O mold. She had to push with her arms and legs to get down to the second level of the shelf, all the time terrified that the liquid would force its way into her lungs—even her brain, where it would swell her head to the size of an alien’s and explode.
She grabbed seven manuscripts and brought them out of the pool, heaving them onto the stone floor. She couldn’t read the titles with the thick liquid dripping off her eyelashes. Along with the manuscripts, she found one book that looked different from the others. It was smaller and hardbound—almost like a diary.
Cordelia wiped her eyes and tried to open the smaller book, but it was locked. It had a tiny metal keyhole on the front; it was a diary. Written on its cover in precise cursive script was:
Property of Eliza May Kristoff
Denver Kristoff’s wife? Cordelia thought. This is an incredible discovery! Who knows what secrets are in here?
She stuck the book in the back of her pants as she returned through the corridor. All she had to do now was find the key.
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Cordelia didn’t tell Eleanor, Will, or Felix about the diary. I need to open it first. It might be a hoax. And (a deeper impulse, one she was ashamed of): I’m the one who found it. I should open it.
She placed the seven Kristoff manuscripts she had recovered on the floor and began to sort through them: Under the Mummy; The Monks’ Sacrifice; The Space-Time Disaster. None of the books seemed to describe a third world that the Walkers were trapped in, but maybe they were about to enter that world, because they had finally left Rome.
The last city dwellings were behind them now. Kristoff House was being dragged through open country. Green fields stretched out; a river sparkled in the distance. It was a beautiful vista at complete odds with the situation.
“They’re taking us into the middle of nowhere,” said Will. “Based on personal experience, that’s where you take your enemies to have them shot.”
“Don’t say that . . . ,” said Eleanor.
“Don’t worry, Eleanor,” Felix said. “I’ll protect you.”
“Felix, old chap, you may be extraordinarily courageous . . . but guns beat swords. Those Nazis will shoot you where you stand.”
“What if I’m faster?”
“Excuse me?”
“What if I slash the guns out of their hands?”
“That’s—”
Will was about to say that was ridiculous, but Cordelia cut him off: “That’s very brave, and we’re lucky to have such a brave warrior on our side.” She didn’t want Felix to get demoralized. No matter how bad the situation got, they all needed to have hope.
Suddenly the tank, the house, and the trucks stopped. For a moment no one dared to breathe. They heard crickets chirping.
“I wish Brendan were here,” Eleanor said.
“Because he’d have a plan?” Cordelia asked.
“Because he’s my brother and I miss him,” Eleanor said.
The hatches on the tank popped open. Out climbed a Nazi soldier dressed differently from the rest. There were red stripes on his helmet and gold-threaded swastikas in his shoulder pads. He was over six feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and a huge cleft chin. His hair was bright blond and tightly cropped. His eyes were steely blue. When he opened his mouth, his teeth were blindingly white. Everything about him was perfect.
“I speak now to the inhabitants of this house!” the Nazi called in a German accent. “My name is Heinrich Volnheim, Generalleutnant of the Fifteenth Panzergrenadier Division! We know you are there; we have seen you in the windows! Come out with your hands up!”
“What are we gonna do?” asked Eleanor.
“We can’t go out there,” said Cordelia. “It’s certain death.”
“We’ll fight,” Felix whispered, drawing his weapon—
“Felix!” Will scolded. “Guns . . . ?”
“There’s always a way to turn a battle to your side.”
“You have thirty seconds to show yourselves!” shouted Volnheim.
Cordelia gulped. Felix was brandishing his sword, ready to fight, no matter what the odds. Cordelia noticed, and grew strength.
“All right. If we’re gonna do this, we need weapons. Follow me!”
Cordelia led everyone into the kitchen, where they grabbed things to defend themselves with against the Nazis. Will picked up the Wusthof knife block, tucked it under his arm, and pulled out a long serrated blade. Eleanor found a battery-operated metal cake mixer. She held it out like a gun and hit the On button. The metal whisks spun quickly.
“Really, Nell?!” said Cordelia. “You’re gonna bake them a cake?”
“No,” said Eleanor. “These mixers can really mess you up. I got my finger caught in ’em once . . . remember?”
“Oh, right,” said Cordelia. “Fourteen stitches.” Cordelia picked up a five-gallon water-cooler jug, about halfway full, and hoisted it over her shoulder.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Will.
“If one of them gets too close, I’ll drop it on his head,” said Cordelia.
“Heinz, Franz,” came Volnheim’s voice from outside. He was strangely calm, as if he were waiting for some food to finish in the microwave. “The children have not shown themselves and it has been thirty seconds. Go in and retrieve them. And don’t shoot. I want them alive.”
“All right!” Will said. “We might get the jump on these guys. Cordelia, go upstairs. Felix and I will try to fight them off.” He handed Felix a knife.
“No,” said Cordelia. “Stop ordering us around—”
Just then, the front door burst open and Heinz and Franz stepped in. They had arrived at the front door much faster than was humanly possible—faster than anyone could run. And they looked exactly like Volnheim. Both over six feet tall, with square jaws and blue, soulless eyes. They both held Luger pistols.
“Get out of this house!” Felix yelled, rushing down the hall.
He slashed at Heinz’s arm. There was a loud clang. Heinz dropped his gun to the floor and Felix dropped his sword—but quickly retrieved it.
The Nazi glanced to where Felix had struck him. Heinz’s uniform sleeve was torn and his skin was sliced open, but there was no blood.
Only a shimmer of bright silver beneath the skin.
That’s odd, thought Felix—and then he swung at Heinz’s face. The blade cut across the Nazi’s cheek and chin, but Heinz only smiled, as if he were being tickled by a feather.
Felix stared in shock. “What . . . ?”
Heinz grabbed Felix’s sword and snapped the blade in two with his bare hands. Franz, who had been standing behind Heinz, punched Felix in the jaw. Dong!
The gladiator had never been hit so hard in his life. Franz’s fist felt like a can of paint. Felix fell backward and hit the floor. Out cold.
Will, back in the kitchen, viewed all of this with increasing panic. But he couldn’t abandon Cordelia and Eleanor, and the Nazis had orders to take them alive, so maybe they wouldn’t shoot him. He charged with the Wusthof block under his arm like a football, whipping out a knife—
When it hit Franz, the blade snapped in two.
Will lifted the cutlery block over Franz’s head and brought it down. The heavy wooden block just bounced off.
“Whu?” said Will.
Franz pulled back his arm, hitting Will square in the jaw with his elbow. There was a sound of metal connecting with flesh, and Will hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Cordelia and Eleanor were confused and horrified.
“What’s up with these Nazis?” asked Eleanor, clutching her cake mixer. “They’re like Superman, only meaner!”
“It think I have an idea—” started Cordelia, but she had no time to explain, because Heinz and Franz were aiming their guns.
“Come with us,” said Heinz, “and no one will get hurt.” Eleanor and Cordelia ran up the spiral stairs, with Cordelia struggling mightily to bring along the five-gallon water jug she had brought as a weapon.
The Nazis followed, their boots hitting the floor with mechanical precision as they went through the kitchen and up the stairs. Cordelia raised the water jug over her head. As soon as the Nazis came into view, she threw it. The water bottle hit the stairs directly in front of Heinz and Franz and burst open, drenching them in two-and-a-half gallons of water. It dripped off their faces as they stopped and shook their hands to get it off.
“Deal, you missed! That’s just gonna make them mad—”
“Watch.”
There was a sizzling sound. It got louder and louder, echoing from inside the Nazis’ bodies. Smoke began to seep from their ears, mouths, and nostrils. Loud, crackling pops and grinding whirs came from their chests. “What the . . . ?” Eleanor said.
Showers of bright sparks suddenly shot out of the Nazis’ bodies, spewing up the stairs. The kids ducked away as Franz and Heinz fell backward and tumbled head over heels, hitting the w
all as the staircase curved down to the kitchen. When they reached the bottom, they remained still, lying on their backs, their bodies smoking and crackling. Cordelia and Eleanor went halfway down the steps to look at them. Every now and then, stray sparks would shoot from their open mouths and ears. But the Nazis stayed motionless. Silent.
“What just happened?” asked Eleanor.
“We found their weakness,” said Cordelia.
The sound of metal—whirring, grinding, clicking—continued to come from the Nazis’ bodies. And then, without warning, the front of Heinz’s face literally popped off and bounced across the floor.
It came to a stop in the corner of the room. The metal face wasn’t a face at all, but a faceplate. It resembled a sophisticated Halloween mask, no more than a quarter-inch thick. Cordelia and Eleanor looked down at the wide opening that was now Heinz’s head. Inside, there were no visible muscles or blood vessels.
Only a mass of wires, gears, and black oil.
Will and Felix were getting back on their feet, rubbing their heads, in pain. They joined Eleanor and Cordelia over the bodies of the fallen Nazis. They stared in horror at the complex mechanical workings of Heinz’s head.
“Poor chap’s got a rather nasty complexion,” said Will.
“He’s a cyborg,” said Cordelia.
“A cy-what?”
“That’s the title of Kristoff’s book. Assault of the Nazi Cyborgs!”
“What are cyborgs?” asked Felix.
“Robots.”
“What are robots?”
“Oh boy,” said Eleanor, doing a facepalm. “This is gonna take a while to explain.”
“Never mind that—what do we do now?” asked Will.
Outside the house, Volnheim spoke—now the kids recognized his voice as not just calm, but robotic —“Beckler. Dingler. Heinz and Franz have not returned from their mission. Go and see what is taking so long.”
Two identical Nazis stepped forward—and then they warp-walked to the house, their feet moving so fast that they were a blur, appearing at the front door in an instant. This time all the kids saw it.
House of Secrets: Battle of the Beasts Page 16