“I see.”
There was another moment of silence.
“Well, take me to him then,” came Spitbubble’s voice.
Birch heard a large shuffle and then the absolutely terrifying sound of a few pairs of sneakers moving down the long hallway that would eventually lead to his pounding heart.
12
ENTER SPITBUBBLE
The leading footsteps were slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. With every one, Birch felt his inner terror meter level up. He clenched his eyes shut, wishing that the peanut butter concoction from that morning had been real and that, instead of being about to meet the supervillain he was sure would destroy him, he was safe in his bed with a severe stomachache. If only adults had told him the truth about why he should never lie, about the terrifying groups of kids that lived in the forest just waiting to kidnap you should you ever put a toe out of line.
Though his eyes were closed, Birch could feel his lids darken as a shadow blocked out the light coming from the stairs. This was it.
There was only one thing Birch could do, and that was to not cry. Goldenrod wouldn’t cry and neither should he—no matter what they did to him.
He peeled open his lids, blinking as he laid eyes on the boy for the first time.
He was a boy, although clearly older than the rest of the kids. He was extremely skinny, so much so that even his shadow was only a sliver on the ground of Birch’s cell. He was tall, too, and the shadow seemed to creep up the walls to the ceiling. The flashlight behind Birch’s head illuminated his face, and Birch could make out messy jet-black hair atop a scrawny face with a pointed nose and patchy stubble. His eyes were as black as his hair.
“Leave us,” the deep voice said, seeming to come from somewhere beyond the large Adam’s apple jutting out of the boy’s bony neck.
Birch saw Lint step away from the door and heard his and the others’ footsteps as they climbed back up the stairs.
The boy leaned against the doorway and folded his arms. He smiled at Birch, clearly cherishing his ability to stir up fear.
“So,” the boy finally said. “My friends tell me you’ve been spying.”
Birch gulped. He opened his mouth to speak but then, worried that talking would only cause a flood of tears, shut his mouth again and resorted to shaking his head.
“Oh, so you weren’t spying?” Birch shook his head again.
“Then what exactly were you doing in the middle of my forest?” Spitbubble’s voice was extremely level. If Birch had just heard it under normal circumstances, he probably would have thought it to be the smooth sounds of a TV announcer, the one that told him batteries weren’t included.
“Well?” Spitbubble said again, this time cocking his head and fixating his coal-black glare straight into Birch’s eyes.
There was no way around it. Birch was going to have to talk.
“I … I wasn’t spying. I was just … playing?” Birch squeaked, thinking how small and insignificant his voice sounded next to Spitbubble’s.
“Playing? And where are your parents?”
“At home.”
“And they just let their five-year-old come and play in the forest. Completely unsupervised? Don’t they know what a dangerous world this is?”
Birch fumbled with the straps on his purple-and-gold backpack. For some reason, this gave him the strength to go on. “Well, they didn’t exactly let me. I … I snuck out.”
“Oh, really?” Spitbubble looked amused now.
Feeling a tiny bit braver, Birch continued, “I’m eight, by the way.”
“You’re a little scrawny for eight. But I guess you are a bit of a rebel, huh?” Spitbubble smirked.
Birch didn’t respond but continued to move his fingers up and around the bumpy backpack straps.
“Okay, Tiny. So what did you hear when you were in the forest?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Birch shook his head.
“You didn’t hear the kids talking about, oh, say, some sort of plan?”
Birch shook his head again.
“Nothing?” Spitbubble asked again.
Birch shook his head a little harder.
“You swear?”
Birch nodded. He was now clenching the plastic ring of his backpack very tightly.
“Swear on your family’s lives?”
Birch nodded again, afraid to speak lest he betray his fear.
“Okay, so if you didn’t hear anything in the forest, what did you hear here?”
“Nothing,” Birch replied.
“You didn’t hear a single word of conversation your entire time here?”
“Not since they brought me downstairs.” Birch’s hand was now purple and white from how hard he was pressing it against the plastic.
“Huh. Well, that’s interesting.” Spitbubble stopped leaning against the wall and stood up in the doorway, cutting the opening perfectly in half with his straight-line of a body.
“Funny thing. I’ve never really tested the acoustics in this little room. You think these walls are soundproof?”
Spitbubble rapped his knuckles on the wall beside him.
Birch gave a tiny shrug.
“Only one way to find out. Yo, Toe Jam!” Spitbubble yelled up the staircase.
There was the sound of scurrying feet and Toe Jam yelled back, “Yes, Spitbubble?”
“Why don’t you stop hanging on to every word I say and tell the rest to do the same.”
“Yes, Spitbubble.”
“All of you—go in the main room. And have a conversation.”
“A conversation?” came Toe Jam’s voice.
“Yes. It’s where you talk, and then listen when someone else talks. And then maybe you talk again,” Spitbubble’s deadpan voice retorted.
“Right. But, um, what should we talk about?”
“I don’t care. About your collective dead or deadbeat parents. Whatever. Just talk!”
“Right.” There was a larger scurry of footsteps, and Birch could hear the kids assemble again in the front room.
“So, um, what did you do today, Snotshot?” Toe Jam’s voice came booming right through to Birch’s room.
“What kind of a question is that?” Snotshot asked.
“I don’t know, he said to talk!” Toe Jam hissed, even that coming across loud and clear.
Spitbubble had now uncrossed his arms and was running one hand over the stubble on his chin.
“Well, Tiny. Here is lesson number one for you. You can lie to your parents all you want. I couldn’t care less. In fact, I recommend it.” Spitbubble clasped his hands together and pierced Birch’s gaze with his own, this time making his eyes into catlike slits. “But never, ever … lie … to … me.” His voice was soft and deadly now.
“Brains!” he suddenly boomed, causing Birch to jump.
There was the sound of footsteps again, and Brains appeared at the edge of the doorway. “Yes?” he said.
“Lint will keep guarding him. And if he screws up, you’re responsible. Got it?”
“Yes,” Brains said.
Spitbubble walked away from the door and out of Birch’s sight.
“How long will we be holding him?” Brains asked.
“Until I figure out what I’m going to do,” came Spitbubble’s smooth reply.
“But what about his parents?”
“You think I’m afraid of some stupid adult? I’m sixteen. You know what that means? It means I’m almost an adult too. And smarter, no doubt, than whatever spawned that.” It was the only time Birch heard Spitbubble’s voice betray a hint of agitation.
Birch could no longer help it; his tears had a mind of their own and a destination planned—and it was decidedly the cavern floor.
After successfully ducking Toulouse, Goldenrod had taken Meriwether’s advice and followed Randy. Randy did not make as much noise walking as Charlie and Jonas had, so Goldenrod had to be extra careful to stay quiet while keeping up.
Randy didn’t walk very far, but he was definitely headed to a section of the woods Goldenrod had never seen before. She almost gasped when she first laid eyes on his final destination. It was a gigantic red stone entrance that stood within a circle of forest trees. For a second, Goldenrod thought about how excited she would have been had she discovered this structure on her own. Surely, this was completely unmapped territory! But as soon as she saw Randy go in, her thoughts snapped back to Birch at once.
She wasn’t positive he was in there; how could she be? But she knew the chances were pretty high that if one jerk from her school was going somewhere, he would most likely be attracting other jerks right along with him. It was like that old saying about attracting flies with honey—except with jerks. Besides, how likely was it that the great Meriwether Lewis was wrong about where something was, especially if he had been haunting this forest for a couple hundred years? That was a whole lot of prime exploration time.
Almost as if to confirm her suspicions, within moments Drew Henderson and his incredible spine came walking out of the cavern. He did a couple of cartwheels and then disappeared into the forest.
Grateful for all the training she and Charla had done together, Goldenrod decided this would be a good time to apply some of the green and brown makeup from her backpack. She did so in record time, using the tiny mirror attached to the compact’s lid. Then, camouflaging herself behind the trees that surrounded the structure, Goldenrod walked the perimeter of the giant slab of stone. It was massive, taking her almost a full two minutes to get around, especially as she was trying to do it so carefully and quietly. The other side of the entrance was tall, smooth rock without a single crevice on its surface.
She was coming around the side with the entrance again when something caught the corner of her eye. This time, she was right to feel her pulse quicken. There, only a few feet away from the stone structure, was a single plant: a small bush with deep blue-green leaves and at least a dozen vivid blue roses sprouting from it. The flowers were practically glowing, almost as if they were plugged into some invisible electrical outlet.
Goldenrod gasped. “Meriwether!” she said in a loud whisper.
There was no answer. She was about to say, “I found it!” when she had to use her own hand to clamp her mouth shut. Striding up to the entrance of the rock was a very tall boy she hadn’t seen before. She caught a glimpse of messy black hair and a profile of a long nose and then he too was inside the cavern.
Silently, Goldenrod swore that she would come back to the rosebush later, reclaim Meriwether’s lost discovery, and set his spirit free once and for all. But for now, she was going to have to focus on a different heroic mission: rescuing her brother.
Goldenrod waited to see if anyone else would enter or come out of the cavern. No one did. Slowly, she started to make her way back around to the front, all the time listening for any sign of the kids she had seen that morning or, most importantly, for Birch. But there was nothing.
Goldenrod stared at the entrance, not knowing at all what to do. Still, she couldn’t allow herself to hesitate for long. Her mind was flooded with how scared Birch must be in the hands of some of her least favorite people.
Still slowly, she started to emerge from behind the trees and walk toward the stone entrance. With every step, she felt braver and more like a true Legendary Adventurer. No one seemed to be coming out, and the forest was filled with the same comforting sounds of birds and rustling leaves she had grown so accustomed to, without the alien sounds of sneakers or snapping twigs disrupting them.
Goldenrod finally reached the entrance. She stopped and poked her head around the corner of it. She was looking into a large red hallway with flashlights taped to the walls. At the end of it, she could see a rough sort of staircase.
It was completely empty, so she stepped in. Quietly making her way across the stone floor, she decided that down those stairs was as good a place to start as any.
It was at the exact moment that she reached the top landing that the tall boy emerged from the darkness of the staircase and almost stepped on Goldenrod’s foot.
13
MORE LIES
The boy looked almost as startled to see Goldenrod as she was to see him, but he was able to hide it quicker.
He grabbed her by the arm. “Who are you?” he asked.
At first, Goldenrod didn’t answer. He shook her a little. “I said, who are you?”
He wasn’t yelling but he was scary just the same, and there was something unsettlingly familiar about being held in his dark gaze.
“Dahlia,” Goldenrod muttered.
“Dahlia what?”
“Meriwether,” Goldenrod answered without hesitation, again silently thankful for all those times she had had Charla play Formidable Foe.
“What are you doing here, Ms. Meriwether?” the boy sneered, stretching out her fake last name.
“I was taking a walk.”
“Taking a walk? Your parents let you just come into the woods all by yourself? With green makeup on?”
“Yes, they do.”
The boy still had Goldenrod by the arm. She pulled herself slightly to get out of his grasp. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said.
The boy grabbed her arm tighter. “Nope, don’t think I will.”
Just then, Goldenrod heard footsteps behind the boy, and from the staircase emerged the figure of Jonas. He looked just as surprised to see her as the older boy had a minute earlier. Only he, of course, knew exactly who she was.
“Mold-and-rot!” he exclaimed.
“Mold-and-rot?” the older boy asked.
“That’s Goldenrod Moram, Spitbubble. The little boy is her brother,” Jonas said. “Wait, why do you look like a tree?”
Well, if nothing else she had at least done a decent job with the makeup.
The older boy turned back to Goldenrod, his gaze darker than ever. “So, you thought you’d lie to me?” he asked softly.
“Not really a lie. I could’ve been named Dahlia,” Goldenrod muttered.
“How did you find us?” he asked.
Goldenrod remained silent, her brain reeling as to how to get herself and Birch out of all this.
“Answer me.” It appeared as if the older boy—who apparently was the same Spitbubble she had heard mention of earlier—had no intention of letting go of Goldenrod’s arm.
“You’re not going to answer me?” he said, tightening his grasp on her wrist.
Goldenrod stared defiantly into Spitbubble’s eyes. Not a word escaped her lips.
“Admirable.” The boy sounded like he was almost laughing as he turned to Jonas. “Drag her brother up here. Let’s see if she keeps her silence as easily if it’s his arm.”
“No!” Goldenrod blurted.
Spitbubble turned to her and spoke slowly and calmly, “Just one more chance, then. How did you find us?”
Somehow, Goldenrod didn’t think the boy would be terribly understanding about a story involving a ghost with a finely tuned sense of direction, one actually named Meriwether at that. So she skipped that part and came up with, “I followed Randy.”
There was a glint of anger in the boy’s eyes before they darkened again. He slackened his hold on Goldenrod’s arm and yelled, “Toe Jam!” into the cavern.
Within a few seconds, there were more scuffling footsteps, and the staircase produced the dirty, ruffled frame of Randy.
“Yes, Spitbubble?”
So Randy is … Toe Jam? Goldenrod thought.
“This girl here tells us that she followed you all the way to Headquarters.”
Toe Jam’s jaw dropped as he saw Goldenrod. “Mold-and-rot…,” his voice trailed.
“Explain yourself,” Spitbubble said.
“I … I don’t know how she got here,” Toe Jam said.
“Where were you when you saw him?” Spitbubble asked Goldenrod.
“Due west,” Goldenrod grumbled.
“Are you trying to be funny?” Spitbubble asked.
&nbs
p; “No. If I was, I wouldn’t be doing a very good job.”
“Shut up and answer the question. I don’t need any extra words out of you,” Spitbubble said.
“I was answering your question. I was due west.” Goldenrod looked at the blank faces staring at her and sighed, pointing to where she had come from. “Over there, by a bunch of bushes with red berries.”
Spitbubble rounded on Toe Jam. “Well?”
“I don’t know … maybe she means where I was meeting Toulouse,” he said.
“Toe Jam, I believe this is the second time I’ve warned you about bringing your butler into these woods.” He exaggerated the word butler in the same slow, dangerous way he had exaggerated Meriwether.
“How else am I supposed to get the stuff from him?” Toe Jam muttered.
“Oh, I don’t know. By going to the house where you live and he works and where no one will suspect you hanging around. The fact that you actually have a house you can go to and get that junk from is the only use I have for you.” Spitbubble didn’t blink once, penetrating Toe Jam with his glare. “And, if you can’t even do that right, well …”
“That junk seems to pay for a lot of things,” Toe Jam mumbled.
“It pays for the privilege of letting you hang out with us. You don’t want to do it anymore, no problem. The exit is that way … due west,” Spitbubble pointed.
That shut Toe Jam up. For a minute, Spitbubble continued to glare at him. And then he turned away as if nothing had happened. He handed Goldenrod’s arm to Jonas.
“Take her down and keep her with her brother, Brains. Until I figure out how to clean up your mess.”
Birch had stopped crying, but he couldn’t stop sniffling. He needed to figure out how to get himself out of there.
Maybe he could tackle—SNIFF—Lint with one of those video-game moves he had practiced—SNIFF—all summer. Then he’d run upstairs screaming an ear-shattering battle cry, take down the rest of the kids in one truly spectacular round housekick, and run back home and into his bed right before his mother—SNIFF—would be coming in with a hot bowl of soup.
As he was visualizing this awesome feat, he heard more footsteps on the stairs.
The Mapmaker and the Ghost Page 6