Gwen pounded on his feet with her fists, but he only tightened his legs. He raised his club. “Me get you now, human.”
“Oh, no, you don't,” Gwen said, coiling around his calves like a snake. “I happen to like my brains inside my skull, thank you very much.” Gwen held her breath, hoping he was smart enough to realize that he would hit himself if he struck at her. She overestimated his intelligence, and the club came down. It smacked her butt with such force Gwen's jaw snapped shut, almost breaking her braces. Man, it hurt!
She heard whimpering and touched her voice box to see if maybe she'd moaned involuntarily, but it was the Swiney. He'd whacked himself when he hit at her, and now brownish blood dribbled from his knee.
“Owie! Ow! Ow!” he blubbered, dropping his club on the cobblestones.
Seizing the moment, Gwen tried to wriggle away. Would have made it, too, if that creature hadn't bent down to clutch his knee. He saw her escaping and grabbed her by the collar. His sharp nails were like thorns in her back as he raised her over his head. “You pay for pain.”
Tensing every muscle, Gwen gathered her strength into a single kick. It should have connected, but her foot didn't even come close. She lashed out with the other. No dice. Nose twitching, Gwen slapped and punched his gorilla arms.
The snorting creature only lifted her higher.
Shielding her face, Gwen tried not to imagine what her bones would sound like when they crunched on the ground.
Moments passed, but no blow. Instead, she felt soft hands under her arms.
“What the—?” Gwen started to ask, then looked up and saw Hera floating overhead.
“Fear not, young one. We have come,” Hera said tapping on the peacock's talons around her shoulders.
Their climb was a bizarre sight. Above the goddess, the peacock flapped its iridescent blue and green wings. Its feathers filtered the moonlight in a kaleidoscope dream. Amazing. Gwen ventured a peek at the raging battle below. That club-wielding monster was now bearing down on Mars. She drew a sharp breath.
Out of nowhere, Bartholomew appeared, swinging a curved sword. “Get him, B-three,” Gwen urged.
Bartholomew leaned back and thrust. There was a cry of surprise, and the Swiney crumbled like brittle leaves.
“Whoa,” Gwen gasped.
“The Deliverer battles well. And true,” Hera said.
“I wouldn't have guessed,” Gwen murmured, surprised by Bartholomew's newfound strength.
“He is a Chosen One,” Hera replied as if she expected no less. The goddess called up to the peacock and pointed a sandaled foot at a quiet place near the fortress walls. “Set us down there.”
The bird descended and landed near the wall some twenty yards from Bartholomew and Mars. The peacock hopped in front of them before fanning out its feathers in a multi-eyed shield.
“We are safe,” Hera cooed as she pet her peacock's shining green head. “You may relax.”
As the bird lowered its multi-colored feathers, Bartholomew turned toward Gwen and waved.
“Hey, B-three!” Gwen called. “Looks like you escaped after all.”
Bartholomew walked to her and gave a sheepish grin. “It was about time.”
“I'll say.” Gwen cleared her throat. “Umm, you know, dude, like thanks for coming up when you did. That Swiney thing had me dead to rights.”
“No problem. I was glad to do it.” Bartholomew shrugged. “But what's happening? Have you heard from Alex?”
Gwen shook her head before explaining how Captain Sludge tricked her into letting the whole Shadow Swine army in. “I discovered that Alex wasn't hurt at all. Man, I should have known better,” she finished.
“Shadow Swine are stupid, but they are still good liars,” Bartholomew said. “They have to be to turn our dreams against us.”
Gwen stared at him. He knows about the nightmares? Mr. Clean is full of surprises.
Michelangelo arrived, leading David by the hand as if he were a toddler. Since the giant was still naked, Gwen turned her focus toward a strong-looking lady who held a shield. Gwen remembered meeting her on Mount Olympus, but the name escaped her. Athens? No. Then she remembered: Athena, goddess of wisdom.
Mars beckoned everyone closer to tell how he'd helped Alex launch before dropping a few Swineys. “They thought they could win, but few defeat a battle king.” He said polishing his knuckles on his tunic.
Gwen had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. Mars might be a war god, but if B-three had come any later, he'd be Mt. Olympus toast. She was about to put him in his place, when she heard a trumpeting voice that turned her stomach.
Captain Sludge.
“The portal opens. Come, it is time to take her home!” his distant voice ordered as a red glow filled the canal.
Gwen's eyes grew wide. The doorway to the monster's home was opening.
She could only hope that Alex had got there in time.
Chapter 64
The red crater kept widening, drawing closer to Alex's submersible tank. Brackish water sloshed under his feet.
Alex stared.
“Move, bambino!” Mona Lisa urged, peering through the glass dome.
He pedaled backwards, moving the sub a few centimeters, but it sank into the mud and stopped. Alex pressed harder against the stubborn crank. His legs strained as sweat trickled off his chin like a ticking bomb.
Still, it wouldn't budge.
“Try changing direction,” Mona Lisa suggested.
Alex pedaled forward, closer to the glowing void in front of them. He stopped and reversed again, but the tracks sank deeper.
They were stuck.
“Stupid thing!” Alex drew both legs up and kicked one pedal.
The tank wobbled.
“Lean right!” he cried. “If we shift our weight, maybe it'll move.”
Mona Lisa stood and tilted herself, while Alex pressed against one pedal.
The sub nudged forward several inches. Just maybe they'd escape. Then it moved a few feet. Alex turned to give Mona Lisa a reassuring smile when a deep rumbling came from below. It vibrated the walls so hard it knocked his foot off the pedal.
The tank lurched to one side, dropping Mona Lisa in his lap.
“Get back up there!” he cried, pressing against her shoulders.
She tried grabbing hold of the metal ribbing, molding her body into the curved wall. Alex leaned, too, but they only slid closer to that growing crevice.
The sub interior filled with water.
Alex stared out the now sideways window. Rosy bubbles simmered from the ever-widening crater.
“We'll have to swim for it!” Alex yelled over the sound of rushing water.
Mona Lisa's calm expression vanished, replaced by a look of absolute terror. Alex wondered if she could keep it together long enough to make it to the surface.
At that moment, he noticed a new sight just as terrifying. A whirlpool formed at the surface and was spiraling down into the crater.
From above a Shadow Swine corkscrewed past. Then another. One-by-one, they leaped onto the whirling vortex to ride the spiraling waters toward their undergound home.
“We gotta go!” Alex cried grabbing Mona Lisa's hand. “Get a breath. Now!”
Still holding her hand, he plunged into the water and swam away from the red tornado.
After a few feverish kicks, he thought they were going to make it, but then the vortex grew. Alex felt a tug on his feet. He fought, but the current was too strong. He doubted even Poseidon could swim against it.
They were trapped. Revolving, spinning, and spiraling, Alex felt as powerless as a leaf in a river. He thought about his friends who could be helping him right now if he hadn't locked them up in the prison.
When the vortex sucked him down, he groaned. Why did I insist on doing everything by myself?
Chapter 65
Bartholomew felt the air grow suddenly quiet as every Shadow Swine stopped fighting mid-stroke. They all pivoted on heavy heels and marched in lockstep toward
the water. The red canal fizzed and churned as row after row of the hunch-backed monsters waded in and disappeared.
At first, Bartholomew thought they might be headed towards the Red Raven to escape but realized that was impossible. There was no way even a fraction of them could fit on Redbeard's ship.
“What are they doing?” Gwen asked.
“I think they're going home. Their doorway must be underwater,” Bartholomew replied. “This is one strange sight, even for Artania.”
“Cha,” Gwen agreed with a quick nod. “But what about Mr. Hero? Could his tank thing get past them?” She pointed at the glowing canal now full of floating and wading creatures.
Bartholomew shrugged and peered around. The growing pit in the bottom of his stomach made him wish he had a helicopter. With a whirlybird, he could buzz over the canal, find Alex, and bring him back. The wings on Hermes's sandals and helmet were only powerful enough to lift one person, and Apollo's flying chariot was nowhere in sight. For some reason, Bartholomew thought about Leonardo's notebooks. Something in one caused his brain to itch. “What machines were in Leonardo's workshop? The great inventor said some needed better propulsion,” he muttered tapping on his forehead.
Gwen shoved him. “Dude, who are you talking to? It's time for action. Alex could be like in a gnarly half-pipe right now.”
Skateboarding. The sport seemed to be all those guys ever talked about. They loved rolling up and down concrete ramps and slanted curbs. He remembered standing on the pier in Santa Barbara watching them all sail through the sky—sometimes falling, exactly like Alex could be right then.
Suddenly, it hit him like a skater sprawled on pavement.
“Of course. Why didn't I think of it earlier?” He shook his head and barked orders. “Leonardo, Gwen, get that bench. Michelangelo, bring those crossbows. You, soldier … I need your shield.” The older men gave him a long stare. Gwen also just stood there. He didn't have time for lengthy explanations. “Move!” he shouted.
A few minutes later, the final bundle of wood and iron lay at his feet. Bartholomew touched it lightly to get a feel for the materials. Each had a distinct property. He'd mold the bench into a frame, and the shield would become the lightest of feathers.
He closed his eyes and went to that place in his mind where time suspended as he envisioned the sculpture, bending wood, molding metal, and etching steel. Everyone around him slowed to a snail's pace, but he moved at light speed, hands flying at 186,000 miles a second.
A second blink, and it was done. He smiled at a long, wheeled board with wings just his size.
“What the—?” Gwen's mouth hung open. “How did? You were just… but now you are—”
“It's how we create here.”
Gwen's head shook like a freshly washed dog.
“Can you help me launch this?” Bartholomew asked.
Narrowing her green eyes, Gwen placed a foot on the skateboard and rolled it back and forth. “No problem.”
Praying he wasn't already too late, Bartholomew waved Leonardo to come to them so the bearded man could help Bartholomew into the harness. He was proud of how he'd altered the original design by attaching wings with rope. Once Leonardo cinched it tightly, Bartholomew slipped his arms through the straps and flapped the wings a few times. His feet lifted off the ground, but he'd need more effort to take off. He looked to Gwen. “Okay, I need at least twenty feet to launch.” She glanced around and pointed at the parapet walk below them. “If we lean the ramp up against that low wall over there, it'll give me enough space for some real speed.”
They didn't have to ask. Leonardo and Michelangelo were already carrying the ramp. Gwen lifted the long skateboard onto her head like carrying a surfboard and fell in behind them. Bartholomew tucked in the fragile wings and made his way down the winding stairs.
Once there, Gwen set the board down and rolled a few feet on the brick walk before flip-turning back. “Not bad, Mr. Clean,” she beamed, skidding to a stop in front of him.
The sky reddened even more. “We better hurry,” Bartholomew said. “The doorway is widening by the second.”
“'Kay.” Gwen steadied the board.
“Ready?” he asked, placing one foot into the strap he'd designed at the front.
“Always. Keep your weight low with your torso in a crouch. It'll stabilize you.” She pushed down on his shoulders and rocked him back and forth to demonstrate.
“A lower center of gravity to help with balance. Got it,” Bartholomew said, bending his knees.
“Stay in that position until we launch,” Gwen said. She kicked a few times, and soon they were racing towards the ramp.
Remembering all the times Alex had been there for him helped Bartholomew fight the urge to cover his eyes as they picked up speed.
“Hold on. Almost there!” Gwen cried, leaning into the turn.
When they shot up the ramp, Bartholomew slipped his foot out of the strap.
And was airborne.
“Yes!” Gwen cried as she rolled back down.
Higher he soared, the wind whooshing past his face. He gave himself one glorious moment to savor the experience before turning toward the portal.
Moments later, he was almost at the vortex. He leaned back to get a better view but didn't see anything that looked like a tank or a submarine. Just Swineys bobbing in the sea.
He circled the canal three, four times and was about to give up, when a flash of color caught his eye. Rotating his arms, he homed in on the red whirlpool. Still unable to make out whatever it was, he descended a few feet until he saw what looked like a pair of mice being flushed down a toilet. Bartholomew tucked in his wings and plummeted for a closer look.
His heart nearly stopped at the sight of Alex and Mona Lisa. His best friend was stuck in the vortex's current and about to drown—or worse, to end up in Subterranea with those monsters.
Bartholomew hollered.
Alex looked up. His curls were flattened against his head, and his usual tan face was as pale as paper. “Huh?”
“Grab my legs!” Bartholomew cried over the roaring wind. He hovered, while Alex and Mona Lisa each grabbed a knee. Tilting the wings upward, he flapped his arms again and again. His shoulders ached, but he didn't climb a bit.
“We're too heavy!” Alex shouted.
“No, you're not.” Bartholomew gritted his teeth and pumped harder. They ascended a foot, then slowly rose a glorious yard.
They just might make it.
The swirling vortex sprayed his face. The sound of a giant vacuum with growling monsters was deafening. Spiraling Shadow Swine slid by so quickly they didn't notice what was in the center of their water slide. Bartholomew prayed that wouldn't change.
About halfway up, a single yellow eye zeroed in on them. Its owner unleashed a howl and slammed his fist into Alex's back, throwing Bartholomew off balance and into a downward spiral.
Hitting a fat Shadow Swine square in the gut, they bounced off his huge stomach. Bartholomew clutched at the misty air, forgetting all about the wings attached to his arms.
They fell deeper into the vortex.
“Bartholomew,” Alex cried. “Your wings!”
Three confused seconds passed before Bartholomew extended his arms. It stopped their descent, but now they were at the bottom of the whirlpool. Here the funnel-shaped opening was so narrow that it soaked Mona Lisa's gown. The added weight forced him to flap twice as hard to stay aloft. “Alex, Swiney behind you!” he called.
Alex drew up his legs and kicked it away, only to face a second lunging creature and a third.
Bartholomew felt like a cork stuck in the neck of a bottle, but this one had no sweet juice, only monsters bent on drowning them. He pumped his arms, but they didn't climb.
Mona Lisa's hands slipped down Bartholomew's leg.
Another passing Swiney swung its fist, connecting with a wing. Bartholomew jerked backwards, flailing. With furious flapping, he managed to hold his position.
A few silvery feathers were
sucked into the vortex. Mona Lisa cried, “I can't hold on much longer.” Her voice weakened with each syllable.
A Swiney corkscrewed past, swinging an axe. Another threw a club, missed, and swiped with its jackboots.
“We're too heavy. It's no use.”
“No, Alex.”
“Save Mona Lisa. I'll be okay.”
“In Subterranea? With them?” Bartholomew stared at the growling monsters.
Mona Lisa slipped down to his ankle, her grip loosening.
The wind whipped at Bartholomew's wings, and they descended several inches.
Alex looked up and shook his head. “It's not working.”
Bartholomew fought against the sucking air. A vacuum of water and Swineys. “I can't,” he whispered.
Alex took one of his hands away. “You have to let me go.”
His friend's words filled his mind. Come on, B-three. You can do it. That's it. We're almost done…just one more breath. Taking care of everybody was Alex in spades. Always ready with some noble sacrifice. But not this time. This time, Bartholomew would be the one helping Alex. “Oh, no, you don't, Alex.” Imagining that he was a great eagle, Bartholomew lifted his arms overhead. Before Alex could let go, Bartholomew thrust the wings downward, straining against the weight. The howling winds swirled around, beating him back.
He drove his winged arms faster, pushing against the currents—and began to rise.
He remembered every smile his friend ever gave him. All those thumbs-up and high fives.
Suddenly, he shot upward. Past the groping Shadow Swine. Through the swirling water. Higher and higher. Cresting over the crimson vortex.
And they were free.
“Yes!” he cried.
With another whooping cheer, he turned toward the city, Venice's crisscrossing canals reflecting soft yellow lanterns. Feeling as light as the clouds above, he darted in and out of painted stars.
Giggling, he considered shooting for the moon when a tug on his pant leg brought him back to reality.
“Umm, Bartholomew? Do you think you could set us down now?” Alex smirked.
“Oh, yeah.” He formed a sheepish apology, but then realized he had nothing to be sorry for.
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