The Transylvania Pocket Watch

by Tyler Jolley

  “Pretzels,” Ali said. “I haven’t had a fresh-baked pretzel in a very long time.”

  “They are called covrigi,” Chicaletta said. “They are similar to pretzels; they are local fare here in Romania. I think you will like them.”

  Ali bent one in half and split it between Glenda and Tristan. She handed a full one to Figgy, then walked over to the balcony. Biting into the soft dough brought her back to a time when she had been at the fair with her dad. She smiled to herself. “He’d be so proud of me. I’m brave, like my mom,” she whispered.

  With a hand on the cold marble balcony railing, she looked down onto a long-forgotten ballroom and stifled a scream. Her covrigi dropped to the floor.

  “Oh, thanks,” Tristan said, biting into the soft dough she’d dropped. “I was still hungry.”

  “Ali?” Glenda flew toward her.

  Ali’s eyes were fixed on the scene below her. She tried to calm her breath. “Vampires! They’re . . . they’re . . . dancing?”

  “Guess that’s who the organ is playing for.” Tristan shrugged. “Why are you so worried? Look at them; they’re having the time of their lives. Although, a necklace made of garlic might not be so bad right about now.”

  Six couples slowly waltzed as if they were in a daze. The women wore puffy, moth-eaten gowns. Shiny diamond necklaces and bracelets accented their wrists and necks. Their hair was twisted up tightly into buns, although some pieces seemed to have fallen out over the years. A hearth on the opposite side of the room crackled, flames danced along the floor. Men were dressed in black three-piece suits with white shirts that had yellowed with time. They paid no mind to Ali and her friends.

  “Oh, look at those dresses,” Glenda said. “I bet they were beautiful when they were new. And the jewels! I’d love to have a set of diamonds like that one day.”

  “No, no, Glenda. Stay clear of those jewels,” Tristan said. “We don’t need another ‘pretties for the pretty’ incident like we had in Honduras. You almost drowned us in mud!”

  “Ugh,” Glenda said. “When are you going to let that go? I totally said I was sorry.”

  “Shh,” Ali said. “I wonder how long they’ve been dancing.”

  “Probably since they got bit.” Figgy padded over to them. “Look at their necks.”

  Squinting as hard as she could, Ali saw two fang marks on the pale neck of a woman. “Oh.”

  “What luck,” Bait said. “They are forever attending a ball with their paramour.”

  “But they’ve been dancing for who knows how long,” Figgy said. “Aren’t they exhausted?”

  “They are vampires. They don’t get tired, Figs,” Bait said.

  By now Chicaletta had joined them. “We must continue. The Geese could be close, and it’s best not to disturb the undead.”

  Ali packed the remaining covrigi and Figgy’s dish. The organ music paused for a moment, then started back up with a slower song.

  The heavy wooden French doors had a similar vampire carving to what they’d seen on the other doors leading into the castle: vampires terrorizing humans. She couldn’t let that happen again. They had to find the Nobil Fel pocket watch. On the other side of the doors, a wall curved sharply to the right, obstructing most of her view.

  Alison Liv Isner walked in first and was hit with something hard.

  Chapter 10

  Ali stumbled back into the mezzanine. She gripped her shoulder with her left hand.

  “Oh my goodness! Are you okay?” Glenda’s high-pitched voice was barely audible. “What was that?”

  “I’m fine,” Ali said. “It didn’t hurt too badly, it just scared me. I—I don’t know what that was. Stay here. I’ll just shine a flashlight in from here.”

  Chicaletta pulled her machete from the sling on her back and stood in a defensive stance, ready to help Ali.

  The curved hallway was at such an angle, Ali couldn’t see the end. The wall was lined with hundreds of portraits of varying sizes. Wooden wall sconces with white tapered candles illuminated the room. Wax dripped down the sconces and onto the canvas of framed pictures beneath. Ali inched in to get a closer look.

  “It’s nothing, a picture.” She picked the broken frame off the ground and showed her friends. “I must have jostled it loose from the wall when I opened the door. Anyway, the room, it’s just a hallway with lots of strange-looking portraits.” Ali walked into the room. “There’s a family, individual portraits, and even one of a dog. I’ve never seen a dog like that. Oh, and there’s a large crest on the top of the left wall.”

  “What does it look like?” Glenda asked. She flew into the room. “It’s gorgeous. Come see, everyone. They must have been royalty. Red, yellow, and green, and I think there’s a knight in the center.”

  The rest of the group followed.

  “These portraits”—Chicaletta gently traced the glass—“are of the people we saw dancing. It must have been before they turned.” She placed her machete back in its sheath.

  “Let me see that dog,” Tristan said, scurrying up paintings until he was just below it. “I might know him.”

  “Oh, Tristan, don’t be cheeky. This is not a time for jokes,” Bait said.

  “It’s Bosco!” Tristan laughed. “I would recognize that Transylvanian hound anywhere. See, his muzzle isn’t fully copper like it should be. He has a tinge of white on the corner. It’s a funny story. Let’s just say—”

  Crash!

  Ali turned. An enormous painting of a family, at least twice the height of Ali, crashed down behind Figgy, blocking the entrance. Glass shattered and rained down. Figgy brayed and leapt forward. Tristan and Chicaletta ran back to Figgy to check on him.

  “Good thing I’m quick on my feet,” Figgy said, his voice shaky.

  “I guess we have no choice on which way to go now.” Ali shrugged.

  “The portrait blocking the door is not a bad thing,” Chicaletta said. “It will keep the Geese and any wandering vampires away. Come.” Chicaletta crouched, holding her machete.

  Ali stepped deeper into the hallway. A picture slammed down as if it was connected to the wall at the bottom. It swung from the top down toward them, hitting the wall. Both the frame and glass broke. Then it slowly lifted back up to its rightful place before slapping down again. This time, Ali looked closer, and her hunch was right. It was hinged at the bottom to the wall.

  “What the heck?” Ali said in disbelief. “Be careful. Don’t cut yourself on the glass.”

  As if she’d set off a trigger, a symphony of pictures hinged at the top, bottom, and sides slammed open and closed like doors. Glass shards piled up on the floor. The candlelight shimmered off them, reminding Ali of the sunlight reflecting off fresh snow.

  “This is bananas,” Tristan said. “Ah! Bananas! I hope I don’t attract the vampires. Wait, vampires—they don’t eat bananas, right, Glenda?”

  “Beets.” Glenda sighed.

  “I’m outta here,” Tristan said. “I’ll see you on the other side!”

  The fat little rat scurried close along the wall. A picture bashed downward violently, inches from his head.

  “Tristan!” Ali ran and plucked him up, then ran back to her friends. “You’re riding with me. No ifs, ands, or buts.” She put him in her utility belt.

  “I am not an invalid!”

  “You almost got squished,” Glenda said. “And what about your tail? I know how much you prize that thing. It could get ruined, or worse.”

  “My tail?” He bent the tail up toward his arms, then hugged it like a teddy bear. “No, no, the vampire bat is right. I couldn’t risk hurting my precious tail. Ali, protect me!”

  “We must focus on the task at hand,” Chicaletta yelled over the crashing paintings. “No more dramatics.”

  “Sorry, Chicaletta,” Tristan said.

  “I’ll go first,” Figgy said. “I�
��ll crash through as many paintings as possible and try to break them. It’ll be like an American football game. I’ll clear a path like those players. My hooves are shoed, so I won’t get cut.”

  “Would someone be so kind as to provide me with my helmet?” Bait asked.

  Ali’s eyes widened, and she looked from side to side. What could they use? She watched Chicaletta pull a metal sleeve, similar to a tin can, from Figgy’s pack. Chicaletta slid it up Bait’s jar, then secured it with a metal-ringed top.

  “Many thanks,” Bait said, mostly muffled.

  Figgy lowered his head and ran. Pictures slapped down on him. Others hinged open and closed like closet doors trying to clothesline him. Jagged glass crunched. He kicked and rammed picture after picture as they careened toward him. Braying loudly, he disappeared around the curve in the hallway.

  “Your feet,” Ali said to Chicaletta. “Won’t they get sliced? I can give you a piggyback ride.”

  “That is thoughtful but unnecessary.” She winked.

  Chicaletta braved the hallway next. The small monkey somersaulted over the first portrait, then grabbed another as it burst open. She swung from picture to picture as if they were limbs on a tree. Never touching the ground.

  “I wish I could brachiate,” Glenda yelled over the chaos. “Look at her, she swings effortlessly. And look at her hair—it’s gorgeous when she moves like that.”

  “You can fly,” Ali said matter-of-factly.

  “True.” Glenda batted her long eyelashes. “Shall we?”

  Ali nodded. The bat fluttered high toward the ceiling, where there were fewer frames. She fluttered directly in the middle, out of reach.

  Ali ran, her boots crushing broken glass under her feet. She ducked and dodged careening canvas and frames.

  Boom!

  A frame caught Ali in the calf.

  “Ow!” she yelled, falling forward toward a pile of shards.

  She flailed her arms. At the very last second, she caught her balance, avoiding the sharp pile.

  Splinters of gilded frames hung lazily from hinges before completely breaking away. Ali ran past the curve and saw another long, deeply angled hallway. She caught a flash of Chicaletta’s golden locks before she rounded the corner. Figgy must have really fought back in this area. Only a few pictures, four feet up and higher, remained on the walls. On the floor, canvases with hoof prints littered the area. Ali ducked and ran through, dodging most of the hinging debris.

  “Good job, Figgy!” Ali yelled, although she was sure he couldn’t hear it.

  “Are we there yet?” Tristan asked. “I’m never going to paint another picture again. They’ve betrayed me!”

  “Almost,” Ali said.

  The final part of the curve was in sight. Her friends beckoned her to come toward them. Behind the group was another set of wooden double doors.

  Ali furrowed her brow. Pictures slammed against the wall and fell to the floor. Broken frames, glass, and canvases piled two feet high on either side of her. Her friends yelled, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying over the constant crashing and banging. The chaos surrounding her was nearly deafening.

  “This is horrible,” Tristan said. “We’re never going to make it.”

  Ali pulled the journal from her pocket, and it slipped from her hands. The grappling arrow fell out of her quiver and onto the floor as she bent forward to pick up the book. That was the answer.

  “Actually,” Ali said, “I’m looking within myself for a solution.”

  “You sound like Chicaletta.” Tristan stretched, then yawned. “Wake me up when we’re safe.”

  Smoothing her two braids behind her shoulders, Ali readied her grappling arrow and shot it toward the wooden beam in the center of the room. It caught in the crook between two beams above the wooden door. She wrapped the rope around her arms, climbed onto a pile of portrait rubble, and jumped.

  “Ah!” Tristan yelled. “Is this a nightmare?”

  Wind pattered across Ali’s face as she flew through the hallway. Pictures threatened to knock her and the fat rat off the rope, but Ali held steady. Braided twine dug into her hands as she swung. Her feet landed before the rest of her body, and she fell back onto her bottom.

  Alison Liv Isner stood, panting, and pulled the grappling hook arrow toward her.

  Chapter 11

  Chicaletta opened the double door, and Ali was hit with the old, musty smell of books. Dozens of cobweb-covered, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the majority of the walls in the two-story room. Etched into the carpet was a twenty-foot replica of the crest Ali had seen in the curved hallway. Two chandeliers, attached to thick, white wooden ceiling beams, hung by rusted chains. Along the wall on the far end were two more sconces on each side. Long chords of wax drizzled down.

  “Are we in the tower?” Glenda asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Ali flipped to her silk bookmark in the journal. “I think it’s just past those doors on the other side of the room.”

  “Chicaletta, can I rest on your shoulder for a few minutes? I’m feeling a bit worn,” Glenda asked.

  Chicaletta nodded as she removed the armor from Bait’s jar.

  “Thanks, love.” Bait said. “It’s quite disorienting with the metal sleeve blocking my view.”

  Chicaletta said nothing, but gently stroked Bait’s jar before returning his armor to Figgy’s pack.

  “What are we waiting for?” Figgy asked.

  “Let’s think this through, Figs,” Bait said. “I don’t think we should rush through straightaway; it might not be safe.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Tristan asked. “A book might fall on us?”

  Slam!

  Ali whipped around. The wooden door had closed.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” Glenda said. She flew onto Figgy’s pack, pulled her lipstick from a bag, and nervously applied it. “Something feels off.”

  “Glenda is right,” Chicaletta said. “One must keep one’s eyes and ears open, for the castle is laden with tricks.”

  Ali studied the journal once more, then placed it in her pocket. “This seems like the only way to Gaspare.”

  She placed one hand on the soft spot between Figgy’s ears and held Chicaletta’s with the other. The six of them walked in a line together. Ali’s eyes darted from side to side, just waiting for the floor to fall out.

  “All’s well thus far,” Bait said. “Perhaps we could kick up the pace a bit.”

  Thud!

  Slowly turning her head, Ali exhaled loudly. “It’s just a book, it must have fallen from the shelf—”

  “Back up!” Chicaletta yelled.

  Ali ran back toward the curved hallway and leaned against the locked door. A towering shelf on the right side of the room groaned; the wood bent and came free from the wall, toppling onto the ground. Ali’s ears rang from the deafening crash.

  “We could have been crushed,” Tristan said. He patted his chest and legs with his pink hands. “You could have at least yelled timber!”

  “Oh no,” Ali said, pointing to the floor.

  Under the carpet, something like several giant rolling pins moved in varying directions. Waves made of carpet rocked back and forth. One by one, shelves creaked and swayed and threatened to topple over as the ground rolled underneath them.

  Bam!

  The shelf closest to them on the left fell on top of the right one. Splinters bounced off the ground, creating deadly projectiles. Ali ducked, with an arm covering her eyes. As she turned to see where it landed, her heart skipped a beat. A thick, jagged piece of wood was lodged directly into the door, where her head had been.

  “Ah!” Tristan yelled. “I’m not riding with you!”

  The two enormous fallen shelves bounced as the waves of carpet jostled them. Another bookshelf crashed to t
he floor, sending books, dust, and splinters into the air.

  “They seem to be falling in order.” Ali knitted her brows together. “Once they’ve all fallen, we go.”

  “But what if they block the door?” Figgy asked.

  “Excellent point, Figaro,” Bait agreed.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Ali said. “I think it’s a risk we’ll have to take. Getting crushed seems much worse.”

  “This is super terrible,” Glenda said. “Next time I see waves, it better be in an ocean.”

  The subfloor groaned and buckled as the waves moved under the rug. Broken pieces of oak, torn books and paper crashed toward them.

  “Tristan, this was made for you,” Chicaletta said. “Crawl in-between fallen shelves to see what lies ahead. If it appears the door will be blocked, come back and report to us. We will take our chances if we must. Watch for projectiles and protect yourself.”

  “As always, it’s Tristan to the rescue,” he said, trying to hide a smile. “I bid you adieu.” He bowed, then scampered on all four feet as he crawled up and disappeared between the two shelves.

  Crash!

  As if on cue, shelf after shelf fell, as the waves made their way toward the back of the room, destroying everything in its path.

  “Will he be okay?” Ali asked.

  “Tristan is a skilled rat. He is also never one to take undue risk.” Chicaletta said.

  Dust quickly filled the room, creating a haze. Ali’s teeth rattled with the constant crashing of heavy shelves.

  “We must rest while we can,” Chicaletta said. “Stay close to the door. It’s the only safe spot in the room. The rollers and shelves cannot reach us here.”

  Chicaletta sat cross-legged with her eyes closed, hands on her knees, palms facing up. Glenda’s wings were wrapped tightly around her little body, and she hung upside down from the edge of the doorframe. Figgy stood head down, ready to pounce. Bait looked like he was talking to Figgy, but Ali couldn’t make out his words over the chaos.

  Exhausted, Ali sat on the ground, resting her back against the door. An oily stain revealed itself after she scraped away dried wax from her brown pants. She stared at the broken scene in front of her, occasionally catching glimpses of a fat rat weaving in and out of the mess. Closing her eyes, she smoothed her two braids down the front of her shoulders.