“Impossible!” shouted the captain. “Ye shall not pass without me own word!”
“I’m sure you’ll give me your word then,” said Mr. Lyons softly. “Won’t you? You’ve always been known for your fearless heart.”
“Nay!” shouted the captain. “I’ll not be contradicted! I’ll stand no words of mutiny! This ship has been emptied of its cargo! And those that deny me shall stand ready to forfeit their lives.”
“Ah, I see,” said Mr. Lyons. “I am so, so sorry.” He did sound sorry for whatever it was that was about to happen. Mr. Lyons reached forward with one of his hairy hands and pushed the captain back slightly, as if he was pushing open a door.
“I said avast!” shouted the captain, brandishing his sword.
“I know,” said Mr. Lyons, pushing the captain back again. “I heard you.” The two of them disappeared into the dark hatchway of the ship and vanished from view. Mrs. Redflint, Max, and Pearl stood at the bottom of the gangplank, watching anxiously. The other pirates looked into the doorway, frozen in place, waiting to see what would happen next. For a few moments there was silence.
“Yo?” said the first mate.
Then there was an earsplitting roar, followed by a scream. There came a second roar, louder than the first, and then there was a soft clump. A long moment passed. Then the body of the captain was thrown out of the hatch and landed in a heap at the foot of the gangplank.
“Whoa,” said Max, looking at the captain’s chewed-up form.
Mrs. Redflint looked at the pirates and shrugged. “He did say he was sorry,” she said.
“Argh yo tar tar!” said the first mate, astonished.
Mrs. Redflint nodded. “Exactly,” she said.
A moment later, Falcon Quinn emerged from the Cutthroat, looking more than a little scuffed up. He walked down the gangplank toward his friends.
“Dude! What happened to you?!”
“I don’t know,” said Falcon. “I was getting ready to leave with everyone else, when suddenly someone snuck up behind me and hit me. They stuffed me in this room without any windows and said they were going to take me—”
Falcon blew some air through his cheeks.
“Where did they say they would take you?” asked Mrs. Redflint.
Falcon looked embarrassed. “Home,” said Falcon. “They said they were going to take me home.”
“But surely you are home now,” said Pearl. “Once more among your friends, on Monster Island!”
“Yeah,” said Falcon, looking up at the spires of Castle Grisleigh. “I guess.”
The air thundered with a deep roar, and then a magnificent, enormous lion bounded through the hatch of the Cutthroat and paused on the gangplank. It stood, illuminated with light, its tail undulating softly.
“Dude,” said Max. “Now we have a lion friend.”
Chapter 7
Dustbin
They walked across the campus toward Dustbin. To get to the Upper School, they had to pass through Grisleigh Quad, and as they walked past the castle, Falcon looked up at the Tower of Souls. There, leaning against a pillar, was a dark silhouette. Falcon paused to wave. The figure remained motionless, except for an almost indiscernible quivering of its enormous black wings.
“Hey,” said Max, following Falcon’s gaze and seeing the dark shadow in the tower. “Who’s your daddy?”
“¡Señor!” said Pearl. “The question of Falcon’s parentage is surely no mystery at this time. His father is the headmaster of this institution, the Crow, whom we can discern even now, observing our progress from his mysterious perch in the Tower of Souls. And his mother—”
“Pearl, man,” said Max. “Turn it down a thousand, okay? I know who Falcon’s daddy is. Everyone knows who Falcon’s daddy is.”
“But you yourself have just inquired as to the identity of his father!”
“Yeah,” said Max. “But when I say ‘Who’s your daddy,’ it’s not like I’m actually asking who’s his actual daddy, okay?”
“Then what can be the meaning of this phrase?” shouted Pearl. “You are suggesting it has a meaning other than the meaning which it appears to have!”
“Yeah, okay, now you got it,” said Max.
“What is it I have?” said Pearl, more furious than ever.
“You got me,” said Max.
Pearl sighed. “It seems at times as if the more we converse, the less I understand!”
“Now you got it,” said Max happily.
“What have I got?” said Pearl. “What?”
“I just told ya!”
“Mr. Lyons,” said Mrs. Redflint as they approached the large stone wall that separated the Grisleigh campus from the Upper School. “I am grateful that you retrieved our straggler. But I’m sure you understand that there are likely to be—ahem—consequences—for your actions?”
Mr. Lyons, who had reverted back to human form, shrugged. “Actions always have consequences,” he said.
“True enough,” said Mrs. Redflint. “But I wonder if it was wholly necessary for you to chew the captain into such tiny shreds. Our relationship with the pirates is always fraught. I cannot help but think that they will interpret the devouring of Captain Hardtack as an act of hostility.”
“Yes, I suppose,” said Mr. Lyons. “But then, imprisoning one of our students against his will—this was an act of hostility as well.”
“It would have been nice to know upon whose orders Captain Hardtack was proceeding, wouldn’t it?” said Mrs. Redflint. “Whether the guardians have infiltrated their ranks, or whether he was acting of his own accord, or whether there was—uh—some other party who wished this student enslaved. But now we won’t be able to find out the answers to those questions, will we? Since you sliced him with your razor claws and imbedded your giant teeth in his heart?”
“I am sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Mrs. Redflint,” said Mr. Lyons.
They passed through the gates of the Upper School campus. Each of the massive doors in the wall was affixed by a golden hinge to a large, stone column. At the top of the right-hand column was a gargoyle shaped like a young man, his mouth frozen open in terror. This was Scratchy Weezums, a human student who had apparently been admitted by accident to the Academy years and years ago and who had been turned to stone so that he could not return to the Reality Stream and tell the world of humans what he had seen.
As they passed through the gates, Falcon took one last look back at the Tower of Souls. But his father was no longer there.
The Upper School campus of the Academy for Monsters looked a little like a college campus, with its old stone buildings and its wide green lawns. Castle Gruesombe, the primary academic building, was larger and even more dilapidated than Castle Grisleigh. It had four large towers of varying heights. The largest was missing, however, as if it had been shot off, or crumbled of its own accord, at some time in the distant past. There was a deep, swampy-looking moat surrounding the castle. A large drawbridge, currently in the down position, traversed the moat, and a spiked portcullis ornamented the main gates. On either side of the castle were other academic buildings, including, to the left, the Hall of Unspeakable Tongues, the Hall of Horrible Experiments, and the Hall of Revolting Observations; directly across from these, on the other side of the academic quadrangle, was the Hall of Dismal Sciences and the Center for Social Disengagement and Disintegration. Beyond these was a smaller, rickety-looking building, the Hall of Pus. It was in this building that Falcon and some of his friends had found the secret entrance to the Academy dungeon last spring. It was also in this same place that Falcon had, after many, many years, first met his father, the Crow.
“Ah, here we are,” said Mrs. Redflint. “Dustbin Hall.” She gave Falcon and Max two sets of keys and nodded to them. “I trust you’ll find your lodgings. Miss Picchu, if you’ll follow me, I’ll get you settled in Heimlich.”
“I do not wish to be separated from my friends, to whom I have sworn my everlasting loyalty!” said Pearl.
“Ye
s, well, girls are in Heimlich. Boys are in Dustbin. You can be loyal all you like from Heimlich.”
Pearl nodded. “So shall it be. But my friends, if at any moment you need my aid, simply call out the name of ¡la Chupakabra! The famous goatsucker of Peru! And it is I who shall appear in an instant, ready to lay down my life on your behalf!”
“Okay, man,” said Max. “See you at dinner, okay?”
“Let it be done,” said Pearl.
Mrs. Redflint sighed. “Mr. Lyons, you’ll be at assembly tomorrow?”
“Indeed,” he said.
“Very well,” she said, and walked toward Heimlich with Pearl buzzing over her right shoulder.
Mr. Lyons looked at Falcon and Max. “She is a good friend, isn’t she?” he said, purring deeply.
“Dude,” said Max. “She’s awesome.”
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Lyons. “I suspect this semester may be something of a challenge, particularly for you, Falcon. There are many forces in the world, and it is your misfortune, perhaps, that you are torn between so many of them. Remember—it is not always for us to choose our fate. But we can embrace our fate with faith, and courage, and wisdom.”
“Dude,” said Max. “That is so awesome.”
“Awesome, yes,” said Mr. Lyons. “Oh, and Falcon. This is for you.” He handed Falcon a copy of Stuart Little. “Perhaps you’ll find this of interest.”
“I read that when I was a kid,” said Falcon, slightly perplexed.
“Of course,” said Mr. Lyons. “But perhaps you might revisit it again. The situation—a child so unlike his parents! I thought it might speak to you.”
“He’s a mouse,” said Falcon.
“Yes, and what happens to him in the end? He has to leave them, doesn’t he? And seek his fortune, alone, in his invisible car?”
“I always thought that book was kind of wonky,” noted Max.
“Wonky! What a delightful word,” said Mr. Lyons, and then shook Max’s hand. “From the Old German ‘verklonklich,’ meaning ‘remarkable.’ Well done. Carry on, gentlemen.” He turned and walked away from them with an air of great dignity. For a moment they watched as he walked in the direction of a massive structure that looked like a fortress. In front of the building was a sign: SCREAMER LIBRARY.
“Hey, man,” said Max. “We totally have a lion friend!”
“We have lots of friends,” said Falcon. “Come on, let’s find our rooms.”
The first floor of Dustbin was a long, dark hallway with a half dozen doors on either side. Some of these doors were open, displaying the rooms of the various monsters, each of which was decorated—or undecorated—according to the nature of the monster within. Owen Fitzhugh, the abominable snowman, for instance, had set his room up very neatly, with his books all evenly arranged and a single poster of the Manchester United football club on one wall. Snort, on the other hand, was sitting in the middle of his room as they passed, surrounded by piles of wrinkled clothes and papers and garbage all over the floor.
“What are you looking at?” said Snort.
“Nothing,” said Max. “Just passing through.”
Next to Snort’s was a door marked SERJ & OZZIE. It was closed at the moment, but from behind it came the sound of blasting heavy metal music.
“Here’s your room,” said Falcon, looking at the door across the hall.
The door opened, and Weems was standing there. “Why, Mr. Parsons,” he said. “I thought you might be dead.”
“Dead? No way, man. We’re roomies!” said Max. His face lit up with happiness, and he picked Weems up in the air and hugged him. “Dude! This is so excellent!” He turned to Falcon. “Hey! I’m roomies with Weemso! I love this guy! I love him!”
“Put me down,” screeched Weems.
“Aw, you can’t kid me, man,” said Max. “We’re like peas in a pod, you and me! We are going to party up! Seriously! Then we’re going to party down!”
“I think you’re insane,” said Weems.
“I think you’re right, man!” shouted Max.
“Okay,” said Falcon. “I’m going to get settled. I’m just down the hall, I think.”
“Okay!” said Max joyfully. “Me and Weems are going to start workin’ on all our special roommate stuff!”
“Why is it always me,” hissed Weems. “Why?”
“Why you what?” said Max, starting to unpack his duffel.
“Why is it that I must live this life? And not some other?”
Max turned his duffel upside down, and clothes, beach balls, and banana peels scattered everywhere. “I don’t know, Weems,” said Max. “You’re just lucky, I guess!”
Max picked up his triangle, which was his instrument in band, and he rang it with a small metal mallet. “Ding!” said Max.
Falcon left the two of them behind and walked down the long hallway toward the last room on the right. I hope my roommate isn’t someone who hates me, he thought. When he reached his door, Falcon found that someone had ripped off the name tag that had been affixed to it. He sighed and put his key in the lock. The door squeaked heavily on its hinges as it swung open.
There at a table, writing with a quill pen, was Sparkbolt. He looked over at Falcon and then slowly put his pen down. Sparkbolt stood up, and then his face transformed into a look of happiness and of light.
“Falcon Quinn!” shouted Sparkbolt. “Ah! Ah! Ah!”
“Sparkbolt,” said Falcon.
“Falcon Quinn GOOD!” said Sparkbolt, and lifted Falcon up in the air. “FALCON QUINN—FRIEND!”
The next day after breakfast, the students made their way toward Castle Gruesombe for the first day of fall classes. A deep bell rang from the Tower of Souls, and the boys from Dustbin walked across the Upper School campus in groups of twos and threes, carrying their books. Falcon and Sparkbolt caught up with Weems and Max, and found Max smiling from ear to ear and Weems appearing more than a little worn down and shell-shocked.
“Sparkbolt!” shouted Max, who was holding the copy of In Pursuit of Excellence Mr. Lyons had given him. “You’re looking excellent! For a guy that’s all green, I mean.”
“Green bad,” said Sparkbolt sadly.
“Hey, man, you can’t be thinking that way. Green’s the color you got, right? So you might as well make it as excellent as you can!” He smiled and turned toward Weems. “Am I right, Weemso? Tell him I’m right!”
“Is it true a person can lose his hearing if something explodes next to him?” asked Weems.
“Why, you got something you want to blow up?” said Max.
“Perhaps,” said Weems.
Other monsters poured out onto the quad now. There was Snort and Lincoln Pugh and Turpin the wereturtle. There were other upperclassmen whom Falcon did not know—goblins and leprechauns and a Sphinx. There was even a kind of molten, burning slime named Quagmire, who bubbled down the front stairs of Dustbin like lava.
“Ah, Sparkbolt,” said a voice with a distinctly British accent. This was a Frankenstein named Crackthunder, the editor of the school’s literary magazine. “Good to see you, old man. All settled into your flat?”
“Flat good,” said Sparkbolt. “This Falcon.”
“Falcon Quinn,” said Crackthunder, shaking Falcon’s hand. “Charmed.”
“Hey, Crackthunder,” said Falcon. The three of them joined the long line of students now pouring onto the quad from Heimlich and Arterial and Saphenous and walking toward Gruesombe.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, old boy. Do you write? I do hope we can count on you to contribute to The Gullet this semester. It’s going to be a special issue on limericks.”
“Once was monster named Stu!” said Sparkbolt suddenly. “Who got himself job! At the zoo!” Sparkbolt growled to himself for a moment, then continued. “Him gorged the hyena. On lard and farina! Then him say, ‘Now the last laugh on you!’”
“Good heavens, Sparkbolt!” said Crackthunder. “Right out of the blue, you’re composing verse! I have never seen such an intuitive understa
nding of the mechanics of literature.”
“Showing good,” noted Sparkbolt. “Telling bad.”
The three monsters were nearly knocked over as two young creatures rushed past them on black skateboards. They were small, nimble beings with pale skin, jet-black hair, and pointed ears. They wore ripped-up black leather pants and torn white T-shirts.
“Rrrr,” said Sparkbolt. “Destroy!”
“It’s all right, Sparkbolt, old man,” said Crackthunder. “It’s just Serj and Ozzie. Dark elves, you know.”
“Dark elves bad!” shouted Sparkbolt.
“No, no, dark elves good,” said Crackthunder. “You just have to—well, let them pursue their own path. Their ways can be hard for us to fathom. But they are good souls, the dark elves. They live for music and the dance.”
The vampires from Saphenous and Arterial were now joining the throng, and the well-dressed young creatures entered the long line on their left and right. Now they were all crossing the drawbridge that led over the moat that separated Castle Gruesombe from the rest of the campus. Below them the turgid waters of the moat bubbled and churned, and the air was ripe with the stench of sulfur.
The old castle was a magnificent place. There were rich tapestries of faded crimsons and blues on the wall, depicting monsters in various scenes of triumph over their adversaries. There were suits of armor and swords and pikes and shields mounted on the wall.
The monsters moved through the hallway to an immense stone staircase that rotated in a clockwise fashion up and around the inner walls of the sanctuary. As they ascended the stairs, Falcon saw a group of blackbirds flying in circles around a central chandelier that hung down on a long, pendulous chain from the impossibly high, vaulted ceiling.
“Dude,” said Max, who’d caught up to Falcon and Sparkbolt. “Check out the crows! It’s like some total bird party, man!”
“Oh, those aren’t crows,” said a voice, and they turned to see a small, gawky boy with a long neck and large, ovoid eyes. “Those are Gruesombe ravens, Corvus gruesombus. Count them—there are—raawwk!—there are thirteen.”
Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor Page 8