Please Don't Tell My Parents (Book 3): I've Got Henchmen

by Richard Roberts

  “It was her idea. Say 'hello' to the next generation, Metallica.”

  She had no face, but the metallic voice conveyed disgust and anxiety well. Okay, not well, but identifiably. “I hate kids, and I'm not sticking around to get caught in the old lady's web.” With no further ado, she turned around and launched herself into the air. About twenty feet up, a jet pack kicked in and carried her away into the sky.

  Bull's good-natured smile never wavered, and he resumed our trek towards Chinatown's center. We got a lot more stares. Most of them came with amused smirks, and nobody looked like they'd been expecting this.

  Some of the kids shrank back into the center of the group nervously. Others were unconcerned. Then Teddy pointed and asked, “Hey, isn't that the Surprisingly Dangerous Weevil Man?”

  I grinned so hard, my face hurt. Those words might as well have been a summoning incantation. Claire shot up ramrod straight, her eyes gleaming with fascinated zeal. With a series of eager nods, she confirmed, “The accurately named Surprisingly Dangerous Weevil Man. At first, he was just Weevil Man. Then a succession of heroes failed to take him seriously because of his name, and got their enhanced human derrieres handed to them.”

  Marcia pointed past Teddy. “Crush. Crumble. Little Witch. Lucyfar.”

  Lucyfar was here? There she was, mixed into the crowd and eying us with the amused smile of someone too professional to ever break my secret identity. Or several other secret identities.

  Ray got into the act. “Little Witch is here? Why, so she is. Do you think Marvelous knows she slums villain side? With an even skimpier costume than as a hero, yum.”

  I snorted a little, both from Ray's predictable interest, and because I couldn't tell who they meant. There were at least a dozen women in the direction Marcia had pointed wearing revealing costumes and who might fit the name 'Little Witch.'

  The mood of the field trip changed. Ray and Claire were suddenly tour guides, with a few other kids like Marcia and Barbara willing to reveal they had super powered connections enough to identify who we were passing. We received more than a few bows, thumbs up, and flaunted powers as villains were named.

  A succession of thumps, growing louder as we approached, was the next thing to get everyone's attention. Right outside the main building, three of the burlier type of supervillain, and one merely normal sized, paced within a ring loosely defined by supervillain spectators. One of the fighters was the big metal guy I'd seen boxing with Bull once, and we were just in time to see him land a solid punch on the smallest of the four. The guy who'd been hit went flying back towards the crowd, only to… well, I couldn't see. The villain he'd been about to impact did something, and Comparatively Small, Dark, and Ferocious bounced the other way, using the chance to ram shoulder-first into Big Metal. They both dropped to the ground, and both were back on their feet in an eye-blink, with no sign they were so much as dazed.

  Teddy leaped onto Bull's arm, hanging from it. “Can we go watch the fights?”

  Marcia was hardly a step behind him. “I want to watch. I want to join in!”

  Cassie, her hair buzzing with excitement at the prospect of super powered battle, tried to at least sound casual. “I'm interested.”

  As if he didn't even notice the weight of Teddy swinging from his forearm – which he probably didn't – Bull answered the growing murmur of interest, “We can, but not yet. I'd like to start with the market first, and then move out. Sound good?”

  General subdued nodding followed, and we kept moving. Only Marcia stopped, staring hungrily at the boxing ring. Charlie took care of that, physically picking her up and carrying her away.

  We had just rounded the entrance of the huge, tunnel-shaped white building when a woman yelled, “Bull!” and tackled him.

  My first impression of 'woman' had to be revised. Those corrections were becoming a thing, but Bull's affectionate assailant was a fine example of why. Taller than a kid and shorter than most adults, the slim, grey-scaled supervillain had no clothes, and no reason for them. It didn't seem to have any gender, but it did have a thick, whippy tail with a spike at the tip, and oversized fangs. It clung to Bull like a squirrel climbing a tree, bit him several times to no effect, and in that androgynous childlike voice chattered, “I heard the news! I'm so happy for you. If it weren't for you and Goodnight, I'd be still be a mindless killing machine.” The creature – person? – weakened its argument by biting Bull a few more times, and there was something else. Bull's shirt and the fur on his forearms rippled for no obvious reason, giving me the impression this person wasn't safe to touch.

  Looking down, it gasped and goggled. It had big eyes perfect for doing so. “Is this her? Is this Cat?”

  “Claudia,” insisted Bull's daughter in a growl. There wasn't much venom in it.

  “What?” a man's voice cried. A guy even bigger than Bull, with huge hands, peeled out of the passing stream of shoppers. He was dressed like a classic lumberjack, with plaid shirt, jeans, suspenders, and all. “This is little Claudia Cuddihy? Is she as strong as her old man?” With a harshly jovial laugh, he clapped one of his oversized hands on Claudia's shoulder.

  Calm and cold, Claudia peeled his fingers back one by one, and removed his hand. From his widening eyes and stiff posture, he wasn't cooperating. He just couldn't do anything about it.

  Bull looked affectionately exasperated. “Bill, what've I told you about manners? If it weren't for the truce, you might not have hands right now.”

  The ridiculously big guy laughed, although personally I thought Bull was serious. The grey thing grinned its huge teeth, sliding down Bull's front to its feet, but still clinging to him with its clawed hands.

  More voices started up.

  “Bull is here?”

  “He brought his daughter?”

  “Bull! Is it true you finally settled down?”

  “I've got to shake that girl's hand.”

  Bull got so mobbed, us kids were pushed away. He put his arm around Claudia to protect her from the outpouring of affection, but it didn't help. Bull's friends picked them both up, and carried them away, despite Bull's laughing protests.

  I caught one last exchange before they hoisted him into the air. Chimera elbowed his way up to the famous father and daughter, a wry grin on his face. “Look at you, Bull. The last time we met, you were a gawky kid chasing everything in a skirt. Now you're-”

  He choked off, staring at Claudia. He could be forgiven the surprise. She had broken his spine and most of his other bones the last time they met.

  Claudia, fists clenched and tensed for a fight, asked what I wanted to know. “You saw me for two seconds wearing a mask.” Okay, she implied that question. How did Chimera recognize her?

  “I'll never forget those eyes.” Okay, yeah, that made sense, and so did his shellshocked tone of voice. I'd met sad people, I'd met crazy people, but nobody quite had Claudia's haunted stare. Getting her father back had eased its bleakness, but it was always there.

  Solemnly, apparently in all, awed seriousness, Chimera said. “I take back everything I was about to say, Bull. I'd give it all up to have a daughter like that.”

  Then, with a cheer, Bull and Claudia were swept into the air.

  Forty plus middle and high school kids were suddenly alone without a chaperone, in the middle of the weekly supervillain market, party, strategy session, and coliseum.

  If ever the powers of Bad Penny, leader of the Inscrutable Machine were required, now was that moment. Before our lack of supervision could sink in, I announced, “Why don't we check out the sales booths until he gets back?”

  Like a herd of highly explosive sheep, the club fell in behind me. A few peeled off at every table we passed, but the important thing was that they were all inside, doing something harmless.

  Most of the kids stuck with me long enough to end up at the mad science pavilion. No mystery why. It had the shiniest toys! Rocky, Olga, and Laverne descended like vultures on a carcass. This was where they hoped to be someday.
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  Now, I might be a super genius. I might be an experienced leader of a highly successful supervillain group. I might be the most competent heroine in my school. But sometimes I just goof up, and my terrible mistake revealed itself to me when every mad scientist at the sales tables looked straight at me and their faces lit with welcoming joy.

  “Look who it is!” declared the hairy, bearded guy who I was pretty sure was called Mechanical Aesthetic. I racked my brain. How could I say 'I'm here in my secret identity and none of these kids know I'm Bad Penny' without giving myself away? I had seconds. Cybermancer was digging me a drink out of a cooler. Lab Rat was bouncing in his chair. Uh. What to say? Uh!

  Red Eye leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, chin resting on interlaced fingers. “I do believe it's Brainy's daughter. Penelope, right? I never expected to see you here.” She said it in a sharply raised voice, full of sly pleasure to fool my friends, but the real message was to the other villains.

  It worked. They all paused, except for the thin, older guy in a lab coat over a nice suit. “I did. Nothing chases a child into the arms of villainy like superhero parents,” said the Expert.

  Another close call avoided. My cover was safe.

  Trying to not give away my relief, I said, “This is a field trip,” in the poutiest tone I could manage.

  “Of course, of course,” agreed the Expert, his voice honeyed with sarcasm.

  Red Eye cut back in. “Some of you are mad scientists, right? I know Little Miss Akk inherited her daddy's super brains. Did you bring anything to show us?”

  “No one is supposed to go armed in Chinatown,” said Claire behind me, flaunting her status both as child of a famous villain, and super geek extraordinaire.

  “But you did anyway,” Red Eye replied confidently.

  Sure enough, Laverne was already unzipping her backpack, and pulling out her lever action box, with what looked like wooden helicopter blades. That proved to be exactly what they were, as she fit them into place, pumped the bolt on the box, and the blades went into a loud, buzzy spin that blew air everywhere and lifted her up to the tip of her toes. A few seconds of that made it clear she would rise no farther, and she flipped it off again. Pride turned to sheepishness in an instant. “It almost works, but I'm having trouble getting the shape of the rotors right.”

  Red Eye held out her hand, and when Laverne awkwardly handed over her creation, passed it across the aisle to Mechanical Aesthetic. “One for you, big guy.”

  Frowning, all serious now, the admittedly solidly built mad scientist pulled on his goggles, detached the rotors, and peered into Laverne's wooden super science toy. He pulled the lever back and forth a couple of times. Replacing the rotors, he did that again, but nothing happened. Finally, he shook his head. “She's not a mad scientist.”

  “What?!” Laverne looked aghast. Hurt. Her face was rapidly moving towards 'crying.'

  Mechanical Aesthetic looked up at her, and passed the wooden contraption back to Red Eye. “You have a small mad science talent in your attachments, but the motor isn't a machine. It's a focus. You have a different super power that drives it.”

  The Expert nodded, stroking his chin. “I've seen that several times. You're quite lucky, young lady. In effect, you have two super powers. No one can steal your inventions, your motors will grow stronger as you grow stronger, and all that's left is to find the most useful machines for it to power. And despite my colleague's words, you do have a mad science ability as well. The idea of a normal child your age carving a helicopter rotor out of wood is ridiculous.”

  Red Eye handed the box and rotor back to Laverne, who'd gone from 'miserable' to 'stunned.' The Evil Eye itself buzzed, rolling around in its metal socket as Red Eye looked us over. “Anybody else?”

  After Laverne's treatment, Olga looked a lot less eager, but with trembling hands, she held out her loop of string, which she'd already stretched into a light web.

  This one Red Eye took with a hungry expression, her fingers slipping carefully into place with Olga's to maintain the configuration. The Evil Eye buzzed, whirred, and rolled. Red Eye actually licked her lips. “Can I buy this?”

  “No,” I answered for Olga.

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “No,” I repeated, a little more forcefully.

  “A hundred thousand dollars.”

  Thank goodness I'd taken over the conversation. Those numbers were making Olga's eyes bulge. “Not until she makes another. You can't take her first invention away from her.”

  That argument worked. Olga got a worried frown, and held out her hands to get her invention back. Red Eye slumped in resignation. Cybermancer asked, “What does it do?”

  Her voice still husky with desire even as she tucked the web back onto Olga's fingers, Red Eye replied, “I don't know. That's why I want it.”

  Now the Expert leaned forward, smiling at me. “And what did Brainy's daughter bring?”

  “Nothing!”

  “I would have expected the Audit's daughter to be a better liar.”

  He had me. About the lying, too. I'd just reacted without thinking. Embarrassed that I'd been caught coming armed to Chinatown, I pulled the tangle of handcuffs out of my belt pouch and handed it over. “No sharp movements, and don't let it grab hold of anything. That will set it off.”

  I was a good liar, thank you very much. In handing over the cuffs, I failed to mention I had my teleport bracers on under my sleeves, and the super clock in my backpack.

  Red Eye sorted through the handcuffs like a ring of keys, muttering, “The balance on these is… odd. What do you think, Mechanical Aesthetic?”

  They traded it between cupped hands, like a scoop of sand. He lifted one of the cuffs, playing with the hinge. “The clasps are normal, but there's a lubricant on the joints. No, wait. The rings only look normal. Do you see these extra hinges? If you break a clasp, it spins around and reattaches. You're right about the balance. Every chain is a pendulum, waiting for force to power it. How did you design this?”

  I couldn't even think of a good lie. It's not like I could show my math. “It… just happened?”

  “Interesting,” murmured the Expert. “She didn't inherit Brainy's power after all. He knows how everything he makes works.”

  Mechanical Aesthetic poured my cuffs into my hands directly, visibly anxious to get rid of them before they went off.

  We were all interrupted by a yellow plastic bus driver. “Have any of you seen Bull? He would be very obvious. A hundred people would be carrying him and his daughter.”

  Red Eye pointed through the opposite wall. “They'll be out by the monster cages. Someone brought a cake. Delicious is supposed to jump out of it and punch him in the face.”

  “I hope his daughter doesn't rip Delicious's arm off. I hear she's strong,” said Mechanical Aesthetic.

  “So is Delicious. That's the point.”

  Mechanical Aesthetic shook his head, looking a little worried. “Not like Bull's daughter.” Ha! Somebody had a child in our club.

  Red Eye turned her smile back to Polly. “You and Bull are close, aren't you? You must be happy.”

  Polly propped her yellow plastic fists on her yellow plastic hips. “Of course I am happy. I am very good at being happy for a grownup. My big brother is where he belongs, my niece is recovering from her abandonment issues, and my friend Irene has the man she loves back.”

  Red Eye blinked. Well, she winked, and the skin around her big red cybernetic left eye tightened. “Say that name again.”

  “Irene.” Polly did say it with a weird accent, one that didn't match her otherwise stilted, almost British formality.

  Shaking her head a little, Red Eye broke into a lop-sided half grin. “I wish you guys could see this. When Polly says it, the Evil Eye spells 'Irene' with a dozen phonetic symbols.”

  “That only makes sense. Irene isn't American, and I speak fluent-” I gave up on the next word. Only a robot like Polly could hope to pronounce something that was all conson
ants, with so many 'k's and 't's and gargling hisses.

  Red Eye busted out laughing. “I just- you guys- that word is crazy. I'm getting so many definitions. 'The sideways people language.' 'The not gods language.' Okay, wait. The Eye settled on 'The language of the people who were made like the first people who created our people, but are not the first people and instead live alongside but separated from our people.'”

  Exasperated, Polly stomped one foot and looked around. “This is all very educational, and I am very good at learning for a grownup, but I have to hurry and find my brother before the children he's shepherding get into trouble. That just makes sense!”

  True to her word, she scurried off, which left me looking around for the aforementioned children.

  I did not see as many of them as I should.

  Damage control time! First up, um… that shrill sound above the background chatter was Barbara yelling at someone. She and a sixth grader from our club were standing at one of the magic sales tables.

  I hurried over, dodging traffic, to hear Barbara shouting at the shopkeeper, “-course you knew. Shall I look into the truth? Shall I strip away the lies of form and flesh, so that everyone can see that you sold a little girl a book containing the Fallen Child?”

  For a moment, I looked around in case The Other Claire was causing this. Barbara angry was not something I expected to see. Not to mention that while the, uh, 'shopkeeper' was wearing so many different layers of clothing that I couldn't make out anything about them, they were still adult sized and Barbara looked like a dress-up doll throwing a tantrum.

  As harmless as Barbara looked in her frilly gothic dress, her voice was taking on a reverb I didn't like. The androgynous voice of the thing behind the table sounded much the same. “All sales are final. I will not take it back.”

  Picking the most comforting and least threatening part of her I could, I took hold of Barbara's elbow. This dress left most of her arms bare between the shoulder pouf and the lace gloves anyway. “You don't want to break the truce here. You know that!”

  “Sales are final,” the thing repeated. The top two layers of its mass of clothing were robes, and it pressed the sleeves of those robes together, so presumably it was folding its hands or something.