“Yeah, well . . . ,” Brendan said. He kept staring at his toes. “The people in Occipus’s palace were really nice. I mean, nicer to me than anybody back home . . .”
“Brendan—” started Eleanor, but her brother took a deep breath and interrupted.
“You have to let me finish, Nell. Ever since we came back from our last adventure, I haven’t been happy. I mean, our family has all this money, but we’re not happy, and now we’re at a school with kids who have more money anyway. And the harder I try to fit in—like getting that backpack—the more people make fun of me. And I don’t really feel like I belong, you know?”
“That’s called being a teenager, Bren,” Cordelia said. “We all feel it, even Nell, and she’s only nine.”
“A very mature nine,” said Eleanor.
“But here,” Brendan continued, “I do feel like I belong. I’m special here, and no one will ever take that away from me. I’ll be a guest of honor as long as Occipus is in power.”
“And then, when he’s kicked off the throne or hanged . . . you’ll take over, right?” Cordelia asked in a mocking tone.
“I don’t want to take over,” Brendan said. “I just want to stay.”
“You’re not serious, are you?” Eleanor asked.
“I’m more serious than I’ve ever been,” Brendan said. “I know you guys are all used to me making jokes. But this isn’t a joke. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay in ancient Rome for good.”
Everyone looked around, waiting to see who would speak first. Cordelia stepped forward.
“Bren, you really need to think about what you just said,” she exclaimed, suddenly panicked. “We can’t break up this family. We work together, and it’s the only way we’ve managed to survive. We’re going to need your help to find a way back to Mom and Dad. I think the Wind Witch—”
“I don’t care about the Wind Witch,” Brendan said. “I don’t want to have to worry about her ever again. Especially after last night—”
“What happened last night?”
“After I left,” said Brendan, “she showed up. Said she had to try to kill me to see if she really lost her power. . . .”
“And?”
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”
“So she can’t kill any of us,” pondered Cordelia. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t care,” said Brendan. “I just want to hang out at the Colosseum, eat some cured meat, rock in the hammock, watch the gladiator games—”
“What kind of horrible person have you turned into?” Eleanor burst out. “What would Mom and Dad think? I mean . . . don’t you even miss them?”
“Of course I miss them,” Brendan said. “But sometimes kids leave their parents early on. Not everybody has to stay home until they’re thirty or whatever. It used to be that you went off and made your fortune as soon as you could. And that’s what I’m trying to do—”
“You won’t make any fortune here,” Cordelia said. “In a few weeks you’ll be lying in a ditch. Maybe the Wind Witch can’t kill you, but there are plenty of other things that can. This is a really dangerous place. Your notoriety won’t last forever—”
Brendan dismissively waved his hand at them, the way he had seen Occipus do. Everyone just rolled their eyes. He really was turning into an annoying, pompous egomaniac.
“This isn’t only something I’m doing for myself,” he said. “All of you are invited to join me. Cordelia, do you really want to go back to school after having one of your teeth fall out? The kids are going to tear you apart! Eleanor—would you rather go to horseback lessons twice a week, or have your own elephant imported from Africa? Will—you hate San Francisco, why not try something different? And Felix—you belong here anyway!” Brendan sighed. “You know I love you guys, but this is my chance for an extraordinary life. Shouldn’t I take it?”
Eleanor grabbed Brendan. “No! Don’t go! Stay with us!”
The Roman guards who had been standing behind Brendan stepped forward. One of them said, “Keep away from the general.”
“The general?” Cordelia asked.
“It’s Occipus’s name for me,” said Brendan. “Isn’t it awesome?” And then the guards put their big hands on Eleanor and pulled her off her brother.
“Hey!” Brendan said. “You don’t need to do that—”
“Emperor’s orders,” said one of the guards. “No one is to touch General Brendan.”
“But she’s my sister,” Brendan said.
“Very well, then we won’t hurt her,” said a guard. “Have you finished saying your good-byes?”
“Your good-byes?” asked Eleanor. “Is this the last time we’re going to see you?” She started to cry. “Bren, you don’t mean this! You’re just confused. You want to stay with us, not that fat emperor with the ugly frog voice!”
“Watch it,” said one of the guards.
Brendan stared at the floor. He hadn’t thought this would be so hard. But then he closed his eyes and pictured the emperor’s quarters, and the great food, and the awesome weapons, and the beautiful girls bringing him whatever he wanted. . . . Brendan felt like someone different when he was with the emperor, someone better than a kid who got beat up by Scott Calurio. He had seen an escape hatch through which he wouldn’t have to deal with homework, or designer backpacks, or girls he was supposed to talk to, or college, or getting a job, ever again! He didn’t want all that stuff. He knew from the adults in his life that that stuff wasn’t fun. No. It was better to stay in Rome.
“I have to go,” Brendan said. “I’m sorry.” He turned and rushed out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to see that he was crying.
The guards let go of Eleanor and followed him.
“Bren!” Cordelia screamed. “Come back! You don’t want this!”
But Brendan wouldn’t turn around. He walked into the arena with his head held high, ignoring his sister’s pleas.
“Should I try to get him back?” Felix asked, pulling his sword out halfway.
“That won’t work,” said Cordelia. “He made his decision.”
“Maybe if we just talk to him a little longer,” said Will.
“I don’t think so,” said Eleanor. “Bren’s stubborn. Like me.” She held on to Cordelia’s arm and sobbed. Losing her brother was like losing herself. She felt hollow inside. The three of them belonged together. Couldn’t Bren see that?
“I think the only thing we can do is hope and pray that he comes around,” said Cordelia. “And in the meantime we need to explore more of the house, see if we can find clues to get home—”
“But I don’t want to go home without Bren!” Eleanor insisted. Cordelia wiped her tear-streaked hair away from her face. How the heck are we going to get through this?
All of a sudden they heard a huge crack outside.
Will flinched. He knew that sound.
“What was that?” Felix asked.
“Artillery,” said Will, not believing the word even as it came out of his mouth.
Everyone looked out the window. The Roman guards who had left with Brendan were running across the arena. Brendan was running himself, his purple toga looking like a smear of jam because he was moving so fast.
Another huge crack sounded, followed by a massive crushing and crumbling, like an avalanche.
“Is it Fat Jagger?” Eleanor asked, hopeful to see her old friend.
“Who’s Fat Jagger?” asked Felix.
“He was a friend of mine, a really good friend of mine.”
“No, it’s not him!” said Will. “That sounded like an armor-piercing shell. And—”
Cordelia and Eleanor yelled, “Tank!”
They saw it through the front door.
A dark green tank had burst through the walls of the Colosseum.
Luckily it was still early morning and there weren’t any people in the stands. But a large portion of the curved building, where yesterday thousands of spectators had sat, was now a pile of chunky rubble on the ground.
And the tank, looking like an impenetrable, determined robot, rolled right through this rubble, heading toward Kristoff House.
Eleanor pointed and shouted, “Nazis!”
Painted on the front of the tank was a giant swastika.
“Bloody hell,” Will said. “Krauts.”
“They’ve got to be from another Kristoff book!” Cordelia yelled. “We should’ve known when we found that armband. Two of the worlds are coming together!” She rushed to the pile of manuscripts to find one about World War II. Eleanor grabbed her.
“There’s no time, Deal. It’s happening now!”
The tank, a Wehrmacht Tiger I with two hatches on top and a huge 88-millimeter tank gun mounted to its turret, rolled to a stop a few 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.
Cordelia climbed into the secret passage that Felix had opened up with his powerful noggin. She 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.
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.
Battle of the Beasts Page 15