Lord of Monsters

by John Claude Bemis

  Frowning with exasperation, Lazuli looked. Her luminous eyes widened as she spied the creature plunging headlong toward the banquet table.

  “Doesn’t that look dangerous?” Pinocchio asked.

  A maw filled with jagged fangs opened wide. The dinner guests finally noticed, first with gasps of surprise, then with screams of terror.

  Pinocchio rose from his chair. With a sword in his hand, he was capable of the extraordinary. After all, he had beaten the renowned automa swashbuckler Harlequin. He’d fought imperial airmen and the great mechanical Flying Lions of the Venetian Empire. So at the sight of the creature barreling down on him, his first impulse was to reach for his sword.

  Which, of course, he wasn’t wearing.

  Stupid Maestro and his lecturing that it wasn’t proper for the prester to wear a weapon! He had half a mind to tell the cricket. Maestro, however, was busy fleeing in panic like the rest of his orchestra, scattering into the nearest ferns and foliage.

  The winged beast streaked over the heads of the screaming guests and servants, extending its lion claws and widening its fang-filled maw.

  Terror was alight like a brushfire across the scene, but as Pinocchio met Lazuli’s eyes, they didn’t show fear. Her eyes seemed to say: Well, are you ready?

  “What do we do?” Pinocchio gasped.

  “For starters,” Lazuli said, “duck!”

  The creature descended like a missile. Its jagged teeth were inches away as she pulled him flat to the ground.

  “I thought there were no monsters in Abaton!” Pinocchio shouted.

  The beast, having missed, streaked over the quivering topiary hedges and out of sight.

  “There aren’t,” Lazuli answered.

  “Uh, Lazuli?” Pinocchio arched an eyebrow. “Obviously there are.”

  With a blink of her glowing eyes, Lazuli sprang to her feet, scanning the skies. “We’ve got to do something!”

  “Like what?” His sword, his seven-league boots, his chameleon cloak, anything he had that might have helped him was up in a cabinet in his royal chambers. He looked up at the towering palace of the Moonlit Court looming over him, gauging how long it would take to run up all those stairs. There was no time!

  The monster appeared overhead, its black body silhouetted against the purple twilight sky.

  “Your Majesties!” Dr. Nundrum squawked, waving his feathery hands in fright and running for a gap in the hedges. “Retreat to the palace!”

  Pinocchio was on his feet, but not to retreat. Where was his father?

  The scene was complete chaos. The tiny pixies that had been illuminating the table were now scattered, leaving the garden in semidarkness. Many of the guests and servants had leaped into the hedges to hide or were rushing down the paths in pushing, panicked clusters. Lazuli’s aunt Sapphira had taken cover under the table, along with Raya Piscus and Lord Smoldrin. But his father and the gnome Chief Muckamire were nowhere to be seen.

  The monster roared from above, scanning the mayhem.

  “That’s a manticore,” Lazuli said.

  “Yeah?” Pinocchio asked, encouraged. “How do we stop it?”

  “I have no idea,” she replied. “No one’s seen a manticore for centuries!”

  There was no time to puzzle out what she meant by that. The manticore was diving toward a group of servants fleeing under a blossom-covered trellis. A gazelle-headed servant tripped before he reached it. Desperate to protect himself, he held up the only thing he had—a silver tray he’d used to deliver dishes to the banquet. The manticore whipped around its tail at him. The end, Pinocchio noticed, was bristled like a cocklebur with long, deadly spikes.

  Several spikes fired out, clanking into the tray that the trembling servant held like a shield.

  A queasy wave came over Pinocchio at the sight of those spikes and the realization of how vulnerable he truly was. Not only because he had no sword, but also because he was human. Before, when he had been an automa, the alchemied wood of his body had withstood battle-ax blows. But flesh was soft and vulnerable. That monster’s spikes could go right through him. Its jaws could tear him to pieces.

  A rush of anger thrust that worry aside. What if the gazelle servant had been hit? That monster was endangering his people! Including his father, who was somewhere out there…

  “Hey!” Pinocchio shouted. “Leave them alone!”

  The manticore’s glowing jade eyes met Pinocchio’s. Its mouth curled into a smile crowded with jagged teeth. The creature looked like it was having fun, as if sending people screaming in terror was the most amusing game in the whole world, only to be topped by devouring presters.

  “What are you doing?” Lazuli cried, pulling Pinocchio by the elbow.

  “Drawing it away from the others,” he said.

  “But now it’s coming for us!”

  The manticore was already beating its wings, building speed as it flew.

  “Uh, yes, I see what you mean,” Pinocchio mumbled.

  He searched for something, anything to use as a weapon. Where were Mezmer and Sop when he needed them? He grabbed the chair nearest to Lord Smoldrin, who was quivering beneath the table. For a hulking djinni who looked like he could eat manticores for breakfast with a side of flaming toast, he sure was cowardly.

  Pinocchio shattered the chair against the ground and held up a pair of splintered legs. They weren’t swords, but they’d have to do.

  The manticore streaked down. Pinocchio reared back with the chair legs, sharp ends forward. But as the monster soared across the top of the table at him, Lazuli pushed Pinocchio aside and thrust out her arms.

  A blast of wind ripped through the garden. It caught the monster’s wings and sent the creature spinning back into a stand of lemon trees.

  “Great shot!” Pinocchio cheered.

  “A little wind isn’t going to stop that manticore.” She fixed Pinocchio with an adamant look. “But you know what would?”

  “What?” Then he understood. “The Pearl?” She knew as well as he did that he hadn’t figured out how to use the powers of the Ancientmost Pearl!

  Screams and wails carried across the darkening grounds as the monster circled over the fleeing guests. Pinocchio felt that indignant anger rise again. Those were his subjects out there. And he was their prester. The people of Abaton might not have known that Prester John had never bothered to explain how to use the Ancientmost Pearl. They might not have known that Abaton’s most crucial magic was now helplessly locked inside this human boy who was their new prester. But they were counting on him to be their protector. They were counting on him to command the Pearl.

  Lazuli took him by the arms and shook him. “You have to use it!”

  Pinocchio dropped the chair legs. Tentatively he held up his hands. He searched for some recognition, some inkling of a sign, that the Pearl’s powers were inside him.

  Abaton’s magic involved the elemental forces of fire, air, earth, and water. It didn’t need to be something complicated, he decided. If he could conjure something similar to what Lazuli had done with the wind.

  The manticore was headed for a cluster of fleeing servants.

  Hot anger filled Pinocchio’s chest. He flung out his arms. He had to stop that thing! He had to—

  A tingling sensation moved from his chest down his arms and into his outstretched fingers. He heard a whoosh of wind and the banquet table with all its plates and glasses lifted into the air, flipping end over end out into the flower beds.

  He rounded excitedly on Lazuli. “I did that!” he shouted.

  “Great!” She pointed into the air. “Next time aim for the manticore.”

  Lady Sapphira, Lord Smoldrin, and Raya Piscus, having lost their hiding place, were scrambling to their feet and running through the hedges into the garden.

  “I can handle the wind!” Lazuli shouted at Pinocchio. “Try something else.”

  The manticore was heading over a fountain. Water! That was one of the elemental forces. He pointed at the fountain.
The water bubbled and frothed, but in the end, only burst the stone sides, sending a torrent out across the grounds, knocking down a few gnomes caught in its flood. Only a splash hit the monster.

  Shaking the water from its inky fur, the monster smiled menacingly at Pinocchio before beating its great wings and charging toward him.

  Pinocchio focused on another fountain, this time managing to send up a more impressive geyser. The monster banked sideways to avoid the explosion.

  Water wouldn’t be enough. If he was going to stop this monster, he needed a more powerful elemental force.

  Pinocchio stretched out his hands. The warmth that had tingled down his arms rose into a blazing heat. Pinocchio’s hands ignited in flames. He hadn’t quite expected that! With a yelp of alarm, he flapped and the fire shook off. It landed on the nearby shrubbery, igniting it at once like dry parchment.

  His hands were singed black, but they didn’t feel burned—didn’t hurt at all, in fact.

  “Do that again!” Lazuli said. “And this time, throw it. I’ll try to use the wind to direct the flame.”

  A fiery missile. That sounded good. Pinocchio fought to ignite his hands again. He felt them go warmer, warmer, then hot as they began to shimmer. Flames erupted. Pinocchio lobbed the fire at the monster.

  Lazuli threw out her hand, sending a streak of wind that caught the ball of flame.

  The monster dodged sideways. The flame hit a banana tree, setting its fronds ablaze.

  This time, the manticore stopped midflight, staring at them with a mixture of surprise and fright. In the light of the flames, Pinocchio had a good look at its face now—her face, he realized, because something about that strangely human inky-purple face was definitely female. A diamond-shaped scar was centered on her forehead almost as if the mark had been burned into her skin with a brand.

  The manticore hesitated, suspending her lioness body with heavy flaps. Then she turned her gaze over to where Lazuli’s aunt was running down a path.

  “No!” Lazuli gasped.

  Pinocchio fought to summon another flame. His hands were getting hotter, but it wasn’t working fast enough. He wouldn’t be able to stop the manticore in time. And Lazuli, in her panic, was running for her aunt rather than summoning wind.

  The monster exposed her long fangs in a snarl, diving for Lady Sapphira.

  Out of the darkness, a shiny silver figure leaped in front of Sapphira. No, not completely silver. The head was covered in coppery-orange fur, with tall fox ears and a snarling snout. At last, Mezmer!

  The manticore swung her tail around, firing several spines, one after the other.

  Mezmer took the blow, her armor ringing as the spines hit. Unharmed, the fox knight drew back her spear and launched it with deadly aim straight at the manticore.

  All at once, the monster was encompassed by a cloud. Mezmer’s spear cut through with a puff and sailed out into the shadows. The cloud faded into wisps. The manticore had vanished.

  Pinocchio stared in bewilderment. Where had she gone? Realizing that his hands were igniting with flames, he shook them off, sending sparks into the grass.

  From behind him, the cat chimera Sop came running into the garden. He carried a sword in one hand and was hoisting his sagging pants over his belly with the other.

  “What did I miss?” Sop panted.

  “Only the whole battle, darling!” Mezmer shouted at him. Then turning to Pinocchio, frustration filling her large amber eyes, she barked, “Who’s the head of the Celestial Brigade? Me! I’m the presters’ protector. I’m the one that’s supposed to do the fighting around here. Why didn’t you get me?”

  Before Pinocchio could explain, Lazuli gave a scream. Looking over, he saw Sapphira touch a hand to her shoulder. The silvery fabric of her gown was growing dark with blood. One of the manticore’s spines had found its way past Mezmer.

  Lazuli caught her aunt as she collapsed. “Help!” she cried.

  Mezmer gathered Sapphira into her arms and barked, “We’ve got to get her inside.”

  “To Dr. Nundrum,” Lazuli said, clutching her aunt by the hand. “Hurry!”

  The panicked guests and servants running around the burning gardens hadn’t yet realized that the monster was gone. Their shouts echoed across the grounds.

  Sop began clearing a path. “Out of the way! Calm down, you ninnies, and let us through!”

  They disappeared into the crowd, fighting their way toward the palace doors.

  Pinocchio didn’t follow. He had to find his father! He tore through a hedge, peering all around at the crying, swirling figures.

  Then from out of the darkness Geppetto appeared, his face creased with worry.

  “Father!” Pinocchio hurled himself at him with a great hug. “You’re alive. I was afraid…”

  “Yes, me too, my boy,” his father said. He released Pinocchio and looked him up and down anxiously. “Were you hurt?”

  “No, were you?”

  His father shook his head. “Thanks to Chief Muckamire and his quick thinking.”

  With relief washing over him, Pinocchio suddenly remembered. “I…I did it, Father! I used the Pearl!”

  He couldn’t even begin to put words to how it had felt. Strange and wonderful and terrifying all at once. The way the fire had bloomed right out of the palms of his hands. And the tingling, like his whole body was charged with electricity when the magic had rushed down his arms.

  Amazement lit his father’s eyes. “You defeated the monster?”

  “Um…well, no. Not exactly.”

  Geppetto peered around at the smoke and flames and then the portions of the gardens that now lay in ruins, including the masonry of a fountain so completely demolished that the water was flooding across the grounds. Thankfully it was putting out fires as it went.

  “Did the monster do this or you?” his father murmured.

  “Me. Mostly me,” Pinocchio said feebly. Lazuli could also be blamed, but he felt it ungrateful to bring this up. “We were giving it a good fight, but then the monster simply…disappeared.”

  Geppetto picked up Pinocchio’s hands, inspecting them in the orange light of the flames. “Are they burned?”

  “No, they don’t hurt. But they still feel strange…sort of like—”

  Geppetto wiped away the soot and gave a gasp. Beneath the black, Pinocchio’s hands were no longer skin. They were hard and run through with lines of grain.

  “They’re wood!” Geppetto breathed.

  Pinocchio felt his heart give a sickening jolt. This couldn’t be! This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was a boy now, not—

  “Your Majesty?” Tiny figures were coming up a path, leaping into one another and merging until they became a single gnome—Chief Muckamire. “Are you all right?”

  Geppetto blocked Pinocchio from the gnome, covering Pinocchio’s hands and calling over his shoulder, “Prester Pinocchio is fine. All is safe, Chief Muckamire. The creature is gone. But we need to make sure there aren’t any others injured and get everyone into the palace.”

  The gnome lord gave a quick nod and hurried back toward the clusters of trembling guests and servants emerging from the mayhem.

  Geppetto turned to Pinocchio, still clutching his wooden hands. “Keep them hidden!” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone see. Do you understand, son?”

  “Yes,” Pinocchio said, tucking his hands into his sleeves and folding his arms beneath his robes for good measure.

  “If the others discover…” Geppetto shook the thought aside. He pulled an arm around Pinocchio to lead him into the palace. “We must get you upstairs.”

  “But, Father, what’s happening to me? Why am I turning back into wood?”

  Geppetto gave a frown. “I don’t know, son. But I can’t help but feel it’s no coincidence that this has occurred after you summoned the powers of the Ancientmost Pearl.”

  The pandemonium that had been echoing throughout the palace was finally dying down. Pacing back and forth outside her aunt’s door as she wait
ed for news from Dr. Nundrum, Lazuli wondered if word of the monster’s attack had already spread to the harbor—or even beyond. Soon enough, all of Abaton would hear what had happened. She knew she should do something to help calm her people, but now all she could think about was her aunt.

  Mezmer and Sop came down the hallway. They looked exhausted. Mezmer’s bushy tail was dragging behind her. And Sop’s one eye was threatening to close. He slumped to the floor beside the door and adjusted his eye patch.

  “The fires are all extinguished, Your Majesty,” Mezmer reported. “Everyone’s safely indoors. And thankfully no one was injured except for…How is your aunt?”

  “I don’t know,” Lazuli said. “Dr. Nundrum has been in there forever.”

  At that moment the door opened, and the owl slipped out.

  Lazuli grabbed his arm. “How is she?”

  Dr. Nundrum removed his glasses and rubbed a feathered hand to the bridge of his beak. “Sleeping, Your Majesty. And she’ll be fine. I removed the manticore’s spine. Fortunately, it contained no poison. I’ve put salves on the wound to help it heal and given Lady Sapphira a draft of medicine for the pain. Best wait until morning before you visit her.”

  Relief almost sent a trickle of tears spilling from her eyes, but Lazuli drew a sharp breath to stop them. She was the prester. “Good. Thank you, Dr. Nundrum.”

  Her head began to clear, and her concerns shifted from her aunt to what had just occurred.

  “Was that really a manticore? Where did it even come from?”

  Dr. Nundrum fluttered his feathers. “I have no idea, Your Majesty. Who would have imagined? A monster in Abaton! None have been seen in our kingdom since the days of…”

  Lazuli waited for him to continue, but Dr. Nundrum seemed to drift down some deep current of thought. His wide owl eyes stayed fixed and unblinking.

  “Dr. Nundrum?” she asked after a moment.

  He blinked. Then he was alight with manic energy, making several failed attempts at adjusting his glasses before they settled on his beak. “Your Majesty! There’s something I need to look up. And you should come with me. To the library.” He started to hurry down the hallway. “We should probably gather Prester Pinocchio as well.”