“Wait,” Will said, turning to look at me. “You really thought I did that on purpose?”
“Well, didn’t you?” I scoffed, glaring back.
“I would never do something like that to you,” he said, and he looked so upset, I felt like I was the jerk. “I mean, I might play a lot of jokes on you, but I’d never do that. That goes against all the rules of being a dude. You don’t ever do that to your little brother. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you those big shorts, but I swear I didn’t know they’d come off like that. You gotta to believe me.”
Seriously? Will didn’t do that?
I just sat there, stunned, turning it over in my mind. With all the other stuff he’d done, it had seemed like a given.
“But I guess I can’t blame you thinking that,” he went on, as though he was reading my thoughts. “I haven’t…uh—” he coughed and looked at his feet. “I haven’t been the nicest person to you. And…and the postcards were super over the line. Like, too, too much. I’m really sorry. About all of it.”
We sat in silence for a few moments more when I realized what was bothering me about the whole fake postcards thing.
“About the postcards,” I said and Will sighed guiltily. “Eli and I studied every inch of them and they looked real. How did you get them postmarked from all those places?”
There was a long silence. Then, “I joined a postmark club.”
“A what?”
“I joined a postmark collectors’ club,” he repeated. “I learned that you can send a stamped postcard in an envelope to a post office, and they’ll stamp it and return it.”
“That must have taken forever.”
“It did.”
“Why would you put so much effort into that?”
“Because you’re fun when you’re all riled up,” he mumbled, staring at his feet. “I liked messing with you because you’d come to me looking for answers and… Look, like I said, I wouldn’t blame you for hating me. But I’ll say it again—I’m sorry. I wish I could take it all back.”
I couldn’t handle Will being so serious like this. I stood up and tried Will’s ropes again. Even though he was apologizing, seeing him so pathetic made me uncomfortable.
“I don’t hate you,” I managed. “Just, if we get out of here, can you stop being such a—”
“Garbage pile?” he supplied.
“Yeah. That.”
“I can try,” he said, then, “I mean, I will. Believe me.” He strained to turn his head to look back at me, like he wanted to make sure I got that last part. This was the most serious talk we’d ever had.
And it was too much.
“You know what I can’t believe?” I asked. “How you got caught so fast by that guard. What happened back there?”
“You know what I can’t believe?” Will asked, catching my tone. “I can’t believe you dropped your pants again—but this time on purpose! Seriously. Who does that? You’re a maniac. That took, well…there’s no other way to put it. That took serious balls.”
“Let’s just never bring it up again, okay?” I asked.
Will snorted.
“Agreed.”
We’d fallen into a comfortable silence (well, as comfortable as you can be crammed into a dark cage, waiting for certain doom), when we heard what could only be described as the voice of an angel.
“Spartacus?”
I shot to my feet.
“Hello!” I shouted back. Had I imagined it?
When she called out a second time, I found myself falling in love all over again with Zeda Marx.
“Spartacus?”
“Zeda!” I exclaimed. “At the end! Under the canvas!” I couldn’t believe it!
“Are they friendlies?” Will whispered, like we were in a spy movie.
“Friends of mine. From the sideshow.”
We heard two sets of feet, rushing toward us. They yanked the canvas up and I found myself I was face to face with Zeda, her cheeks flushed. Nero was at her side, looking grim.
“I knew you were in trouble,” Zeda said. Then she saw Will. “Who’s that?”
“That’s my brother, Will. Will, these are Zeda and Nero.”
“Whassup,” Will said, for some reason trying to look cool, even though he was still tied up.
Glad to know he’s still an idiot.
“So good to see you guys!” I whooped, turning back to Zeda. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”
“Lucky, I guess,” said Nero. “You lose the key?”
“I don’t have it; it’s in my bag,” I said.
Zeda nodded and pulled a large ring of keys from her backpack and began trying one after another.
“Who put you in here?” demanded Nero.
“A bunch of clown cops,” Will answered bitterly as I helped him get to his feet. “Tied us up—Ryan got out of it like a pro, though.”
I beamed at the compliment, but Nero’s face stayed a dark cloud.
“I’ll admit it. I didn’t believe you, Zeda. I really didn’t. But seeing you guys in here…” he trailed off for a moment, as he closed his eyes in thought. Then he set his jaw and nodded. “We’ll put an end to this. I promise. Zeda, you sure you got the key?”
“Positive. Just, well, gotta find the right one.” She tried another, but it still didn’t turn.
“We have to hurry,” said Nero. “They’re getting to the end of the show. Here, turn around, put your hands through the bars.” Will did as he asked and Nero took a long razor blade from his pocket and began slicing through the ropes.
“How long have you guys been here?” I asked, suddenly nervous about my appearance onstage. I hoped they hadn’t seen my…well. My thing.
“We just got here,” said Zeda, continuing to sort through the keys. (I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.)
“We heard them playing ‘Stars and Stripes’ from across the lot,” she went on. “Circuses only do that when there’s trouble and they want to create a diversion.”
“No kidding,” I said, remembering everyone rushing out from backstage.
“I made Nero come with me and—” Zeda paused, looking up from the keys. “Where did you stash Matilda?”
“Oh, Matilda. About that. She—”
But before I could break her heart, Nero put his hand up, shushing me.
“We’ve got visitors,” he whispered.
“Who’s back here?” a voice bellowed.
Will and I cringed, but Nero actually smiled.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay here.”
I wanted to stop him, but Nero tiptoed out of view. Zeda looked unconcerned and kept trying keys. She saw the look on my face, though and tried to assure me under her breath.
“Nero’s not a very big guy, but he knows aikido. He can fight anyone.”
Suddenly, we heard a scuffle: some oofs and thwacks and panting.
“Got it!” Zeda whispered, as the key in her hand clicked in the lock.
Will and I burst out of the cage, ready to help Nero (or run), but at that moment he came back around the corner, rubbing his hand. We peeked around the corner and saw two clown cops on the ground.
“Are they dead?” I squeaked. Nero smiled.
“Unconscious,” he said.
“That was—what?—like twenty seconds?” Will asked, his eyes round. “For two guys?”
“What can I say?” said Nero, smirking. “Security is lax around here.”
We were all about to head down the corridor when Nero’s hand went up again.
“Get back,” he whispered urgently. “Out of sight.”
Will, Zeda, and I ducked behind the cage again. We went silent, listening as footsteps stopped just a few feet away.
“Well, if it isn’t Nimrod,” said a man’s voice.
Even though I couldn’t see him, my blood went as cold as the Brenville Pool in January.
It was Sharkman.
Zeda’s face went pale.
“They hate each other,” she murmured, her eyes widening. “This won’t turn out well.”
She moved the canvas so we could peek.
“What is that?” Will whispered, horrified, seeing Sharkman clearly for the first time.
“That’s Finn,” I said darkly.
“What are you doing here, Sword Boy?” Sharkman was asking Nero.
“I don’t want trouble,” Nero said calmly, his hands outstretched. “Just came to gather up a few things that belong to us and then I’ll be out of your…well, I was going to say hair, but…”
“Can’t let you do that,” said Sharkman, ignoring Nero’s insult and taking a step toward him. “The boy isn’t your concern.”
Will’s grip tightened on my shoulder.
“So, how long have you been snatching kids? I don’t think the sideshow got the memo that that was the new gig.”
“I said, this doesn’t concern you,” Sharkman repeated, stepping forward again.
“I’m not leaving without him,” said Nero.
“You’re not leaving period.”
And with that, Sharkman lunged at Nero.
There, in front of our eyes, the two wrestled and fought on the ground.
I’d never seen a real fight before. And I definitely didn’t want to see one again. Especially a fight where one guy is half-shark.
“Piece of ocean trash,” Nero growled, punching him in the stomach, but Sharkman got the upper hand, biting Nero on the arm. Nero cried out in pain.
Will and I found ourselves struggling with Zeda, who was trying to get to Nero.
“Please,” I pleaded softly as she flailed at Will and I. “You can’t go.”
Then we heard a dull crash and someone running away. We peered around the canvas. Nero lay motionless on the ground.
Sharkman was gone.
“Nero!” Zeda cried out in a small voice, dashing for him. Will and I went after her and my heart pounded in my ears.
Was he dead? What ifhe’s dead?
When we got to Nero, a wave of relief spread over me. He was breathing. But there was a shovel on the ground next to him, a rising goose egg on his forehead.
“That monster!” Zeda shrieked, jumping to her feet.
Before we even saw it happening, she was sprinting down the corridor after Sharkman.
“Go stop her!” Will commanded, already pressing on the bite wound on Nero’s arm. “I’ll make sure he’s okay—and Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Be…be careful, okay?”
I nodded. “You, too. And watch out for clowns.”
Will nodded back grimly.
And with that, I took off after Zeda.
Chapter Nineteen
As I raced after Zeda, I could hear Bartholomew’s booming voice finally announcing Mom’s human cannonball act.
The grand finale.
His voice rumbled through the tent.
“The Incredible is proud to present the unbelievable, unmatchable, phenomenal, and the world’s only female cannonball—Flying Aaaa-theee-naaa!”
But of course, I knew it wasn’t Bartholomew—it was his double. Not that it mattered at that point.
Zeda was fast, but I was faster. I caught up to her as she rounded a corner. Sharkman was silhouetted just ten feet in front her—and she was barreling toward him at a dead sprint.
I had no choice. I tackled her.
We hit the ground behind a support post hard, rolling over a few times. Against all odds, she hadn’t shrieked when I hit her. She glared at me while I tried to send telepathic signals to Sharkman.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
Luckily, Not-Bartholomew covered up any noises we’d made.
“You are about to witness the most exceptionally-extraordinary, impressively-inconceivable, death-defying act to appear in any circus, anywhere in the world!”
I peered out from behind the post. Sharkman was crouching, maybe ten feet away, shining a flashlight into…
What is that, a hole? No, wait.
It wasn’t a hole.
Was it…was it the sewer?
Sharkman was only there a second before my mom’s head appeared, coming up from below. I was aghast.
“Isn’t she onstage?” Zeda asked in the tiniest whisper. I shook my head. I knew that this was my Mom.
“Her double is onstage,” I whispered back.
But if Not-Bart and Not-Mom were onstage, what were the real ones doing?
In a flash, it all made sense. The doubles. The museums. The circus. It was all one big alibi. One big front. If their doubles were onstage, that meant they couldn’t be considered suspects. It also meant that Bart and Mom went out—during the show—to loot the museums. It was genius. It was diabolical. And it made sense. Every bit.
Zeda saw the realization on my face, but there was no time to tell her what I’d figured out—Sharkman was pushing my mom back into the hole.
“Move it,” Sharkman snarled at her. “Your son’s ruined everything.”
She started to say something, but he put his hand on her head and shoved her underground.
I paused a beat before bolting to my feet. This time, Zeda was pulling on my arm, protesting, but I shook her off and crept over to the hole. I was certain it was the sewer—there was a manhole cover right next to me. We stood over it, searching the darkness.
If only I had my flashlight!
But I couldn’t wait. Of all the possible reasons I could come up with for Sharkman shoving Mom back down, not one of them was good. He’d sounded mad.
Really mad.
I started to go for the ladder, but Zeda seized my shoulder.
“You’re not going down there without me.”
“I am,” I said, standing firm. “You need make sure Nero is okay and then go get help. Just tell them where I’ve gone.”
“No way!” she argued, shoving me a bit. She sounded mad, but her eyes were large and scared. “I won’t let you go alone. You need me.”
“Look, if I don’t go now, it might be too late. Don’t follow me!” I said resolutely. I mean, really resolutely. I don’t think I’d ever been more resolute in my life.
Zeda even took a step back.
Mom needed my help. That was all I knew. That was why I’d gone through all of this. If I didn’t help her now, or at least make sure she was all right, what would be the point of me even coming?
I gave Zeda one last look before climbing down into the sewer.
It was dark as a sealed bank vault at the bottom of the ladder. It smelled musty, but not like, well, not like poop, like I’d imagined it would.
Every direction seemed to be an even darker dark. I couldn’t see, but you know how you sometimes have a sense of space, even when you’re in the dark? It felt more like a tunnel than a room. I put my hand out and found a brick wall. I didn’t dare leave that wall, so I stood there, straining my ears and eyes for something. My chest felt desperate and tight as I willed something to happen.
But there was nothing.
Don’t panic, Spart—they didn’t just disappear. Just give it a second.
I felt blind and deaf. It was like I was struggling to use senses I didn’t have.
But then…to my left.
Something, in the blackness. It was a sound. Something heavy being dragged—and then, something, like a jingling.
I took three slow, deep breaths and then inched along the wall. The jingling grew louder, and then there was a buzzing sound.
No, not a buzzing. Voices.
Sticking flat to the wall, I edged along. Soon, I could ma
ke out a dim glow. As I got closer, I saw a little more light. I was in a tunnel. A short way ahead, the tunnel turned to the left. And someone was just around that corner, with a light.
As I got closer, I started to make out the words.
“…falling apart up there…so stupid!” That was Sharkman’s voice.
“Let’s use our civilized-people words.” That was Bartholomew—I’d recognize his calm, low voice anywhere.
The jingling, tinkling sound made me imagine they were setting a table or doing the dishes.
“…knows everything. And then I found Nero snooping around in the back—I took care of him, but not before he took out Ed and Louie. I think the place is crawling with—”
“Nero?” Bart interrupted. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“From the freak show. I think they—”
“Finn, I hate be clichéd, but I don’t pay you to think,” Bart said. “That being said, did you also think it was a good idea to use cloth sacks to hold silverware? As in actual, honest-to-goodness, sharp knives?”
Silverware. They’d done it! They’d stolen the silverware from the Portland Art Museum, just like I’d guessed!
It took all my willpower not to peek around the corner. But as my eyes adjusted, I could see the shadows of three people on the far wall, people picking stuff up from the ground.
“Well no, I didn’t think about it,” Sharkman said in his rough growl. I heard more clinking. “I’d just assumed that the stuff was old and wouldn’t be that sharp.”
“Your assumptions have led to mint-condition, fifteenth-century Elizabethan silver to be spread all over the ground. This—this scratched sauce boat is essentially worthless now.”
Ah! They were picking up the silverware!
“It doesn’t matter,” said Sharkman. “It’s over. We need to just leave it and go.”
“You’re always so quick to tuck your little fin and run,” said Mom.
Mom said that? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Think we have enough time to return it?” Mom asked.
“We don’t have a choice,” answered Bartholomew with a sigh. “If your son’s strip show happened as Finn said it did—that’s going to make people remember what he said about the museum—shine a light over here, Finn. But if they don’t find the silverware missing, they’ve got nothing on us. Except Spartacus’s story and a bunch of circumstantial evidence. And that’s if they even decide to look into it.”
Spartacus Ryan Zander and the Secrets of the Incredible Page 26