I crept back. Baby steps, keeping our peepers locked. His hands were flicking around and his feet were not as motionless as I would’ve liked. He was fighting the Mesmer, and I wasn’t strong enough to restrain his will for long.
After a near fatal stumble over Nameless Crony’s conked-out body, I reached the doorway. I bounded down the steps as fast as a cripple could, and turned to exit through the back doors. A fat chrome chain had been padlocked through the handles. I exhaled deeply. “Well, that’s a definite violation of the fire exit codes.”
The halls were empty now, all the students having vamoosed as soon as the alarm had warbled. So I turned and headed the opposite way. Nimrod was already crashing down the stairs. As I passed in a rush I said “Hold up, nimrod.”
He stopped, but only for a couple of ticks. After that he was barreling down the hall behind me and it was every cripple for himself.
The alarms were still crying when I stretched the cane out to my right (still running, mind; I was not completely daft) and pressed the no-no-but-oh-yes button. Amethyst lightning sizzled out of the crow eyes. I danced my hand around for better sizzle-Nimrod coverage. Curses roared behind me. But the lightning was not as brilliant as it had once been, and by the sound of footsteps and unabated curses, it was clear Nimrod had not quite been sizzled to death.
The hall spun. Colors blurred and mixed, creating new hues. Cold sweat bled from my flesh.
While hobbling along, I braved a peek over my shoulder. “Ah crap,” I gasped. Nimrod was right on my tail, wisps of smoke curling off of his bearskin cloak—and not a spook in sight to take over. I was going to have to outsmart the Hunter all by myself.
The front doors were in sight. Going out there where all the teachers and students were currently hanging about might get Nimrod off my back. But he’d just find another chance to attack, and I did not want to live with the constant threat of a Nimrod-pummeling. So I turned left, shoved on the door to the basement. The MYTHCORP manuscript had explained that the cane could not only emit energy, but absorb and store it as well—which meant if I siphoned enough energy from, say, a circuit breaker box, I might be able to charge it enough to finally fry the big kook.
Chapter 25
Great barreling waves of heat blasted into me as I opened the doors. But Nimrod at my back was an excellent propellant. I shoved forward, down the steps into the sauna/basement. Sweat sprouted all over me like magic. At the bottom of the steps I cast my peepers about in search of the circuit breakers.
Furnaces to my right, a locked door to my left. “Dummit.”
I strode down a concrete walkway. Sounds erupted from up ahead, strange footsteps. My pace slowed. I paused. A look back showed a Nimrod-shaped figure shuffling through the haze towards me. Stupid Pellinore! Why’d he have to go and destroy the AC system. Mysterious footsteps ahead, Mighty Hunter behind: better to brave the unknown than to face the dangerous known, especially when that ‘known’ wants your blood.
I let the cane go first, guiding me like its folding cousins guide blind people. Steam mixed with sweat, morphing with the doojee already in my system and mucking me up bad.
Faces in the swirling steam.
“Oh man,” I said, swiping globs of water from my brow, “I should’ve just said no.”
I was walking up to a turn, careful to avoid touching the hot pipes lathered in thick blue paint, when a clatter brought me up. I backtracked and ducked behind a metal shelving unit loaded with pipe wrenches and various rusty tools.
The clattering of falling pipes echoed through the basement. As I sat cringing, I held the cane in front of me, finger at the ready near the button. If anyone so much as peeped through the mist, I’d—
“Geroff!”
That sounded like Nimrod.
Grunts and grinding, metal on metal. I stood and strode into the haze: my sudden bravery had nothing to do with the nasty black spider I’d noticed lurking in a web near my head.
I ran, around the corner, past those burning pipes, through the haze down another walkway until I was deep in the unknown. A smidge niche between two metal boxes hid me while I listened to another clatter. Wheezing, pumper struggling to keep up. Someone was running, only it didn’t sound human, more like the scampering of some great beastie.
“Come on!” someone screamed, and the scampering ceased.
“Oh man,” I whispered. “Marie? I could really use your help right about now.” I’d send her out to see what was going on while having Castor search for the circuit boxes.
Only then—dum-dum that I was—did I realize that I was hiding between the very things I’d come down here to find. I turned round, opened one of the boxes. It was loaded with about thirty circuit breakers. But no exposed wires like the old school fuse boxes you see in the flicks. Pressing the cane’s crow-head to the box accomplished nothing. So I twisted the head and withdrew the sword.
Poundings and screeching and curses rolled down the walkway.
While raising the blade behind me to draw some momentum, I heard Nimrod shout “Malthus!” He was close. No time. I reared back and shoved the blade into the breaker box.
Nothing. Jeez, you’d think something from the movies would be true. No sparks at all. A pipe burst somewhere nearby. I jerked back and fell to hands and knees. Nimrod and Malthus were going to tear this place apart if they kept this up. Through the haze I could see the brown bearskin cloak Nimrod always sported. He must’ve been sweating like crazy.
All right, no more messing around. I stepped up to the circuit box and swiped at the gray plastic conduit concealing the wires beneath the box. The slash tore a gash in the tubing. After sliding the sword back in the shaft, I yanked on the conduit, nearly yanking my shoulder out of its socket. But after three heaving pulls it gave. Lights flickered overhead.
This time there were sparks.
With the bottom of the cane gripped tightly, I leaned back and stretched out, pointing the crow eyes at the exposed and sparking wires. I raised my right hand to protect my peepers, but just as a bolt of electricity arced towards the cane, something huge and hard and foul smelling slammed into me.
The cane flew out of my grasp. I panicked, and not just because my only weapon had suddenly flown the coop: lying on top of me was Malthus. Well, one of his enormous legs was lying on top of me. It felt like a tree trunk. I wiggled. Couldn’t even budge it.
Nimrod emerged from the mist, all nightmare-like, black blood dripping off the end of the notched foot-long blade in his hand, right augmetic peeper glowing red. He looked like a fugitive of Hells Most Wanted.
I shook Malthus. Nothing. As Nimrod moved in for the kill (me or Malthus or both, I wasn’t sure) I reared back and socked Malthus in the face. “Ah jeez!” My knuckles were all tore up. Whatever Malthus was made of, it wasn’t flimsy feckless human skin. No sir. Instead of punching him again, I stretched for my cane, which lay just a couple inches out of reach.
Pain began to bloom in my knee and all over my back while I struggled to slide out from under the demon. Sobriety was returning as the drugs leached out through my sweat. Nimrod was two feet away from Malthus’ stompers now. I stretched until my middle finger grazed the bottom of the cane. A shape suddenly detached from the steam beyond us.
“Marie?” I gasped. “Help me.”
The spook took one glance at the obamafest, floated over to Nimrod, and merged with him. My peepers just about popped out of their sockets. I mean, when I asked her for help, I hadn’t actually expected anything more than a sympathetic ‘Oh, poor baby.’ Certainly not a possession.
Nimrod paused in mid stride. He seemed to be going through some sort of internal debate. While he was distracted, I grabbed a pipe climbing the wall beside me, and pulled myself up just a tad. I’m no muscle head but this effort did give me another couple inches of reach. Just enough to grip the cane and shove the crow-head into the arcing wires of the circuit box.
Reflex (and possibly cowardice) impelled me to recoil from the shower of sparks and t
he smattering of light-bolts shooting from the box into the peepers of the canes top. But I was tired of fear and at this point my nerves were pretty much shot. So I stayed my hand.
The lights flickered, the buzz of electricity hummed louder and louder, and I lost sight of Nimrod.
Finally, after twenty or so terrifying ticks, I pulled the cane away from the box. The lights clicked back to full power. Nimrod was holding his knife up to his neck, his face distorted in the effort to resist Marie. He appeared to be winning, as Marie’s essence was flickering in and out of his body. Give the Hunter his due; he had the willpower of Batman. I looked down at Malthus where he lay on top of my numb legs. He had to wake up or we’d be minced-meat pie soon.
I looked at the pulsating peepers of the crow-head, then back at Malthus. Hmm.
After taking aim at the demon, I pressed the button briefly. I didn’t want to fry him.
ZAP.
He woke instantly and was not careful in getting to his feet: his elbow mashed my gonads.
Without even stopping to apologize for this transgression, Malthus stepped up to Nimrod and barreled a huge fist into the Hunters gut. The blow was so great that it knocked Nimrod back into a row of pipes and even dislodged Marie.
“Darn.”
Malthus wheel-housed and delivered another killer punch. Nimrod hunched over, holding his gut. He looked out for the count, but when Malthus paused to collect himself, the Hunter whipped his blade around. The edge caught the demon on his bare chest, slicing open a gash.
In his shock, Malthus gave Nimrod another opening, and the Hunter took full advantage.
I’d crawled out of the way by then, so when Malthus staggered back, he didn’t crush me (or my precious stones) against the wall. Bits of concrete crumpled and clattered to the floor. As he clutched at his wounds, Malthus exposed his back to Nimrod. The Hunter moved in for the kill.
I raised my cane to unleash the full measure of power within, but there was no need. That kooky scampering returned, this time accompanied by what sounded like the mad barking of a dozen bloodhounds. As it reached its apex—a terrifying clamor you could feel in your head—Nimrod halted his assault. His peepers went big (well, his right went big, his augmetic peeper went bright red) and he unleashed a megabomb screech. It wasn’t girly by any means, but it wasn’t very manly either. No sir, this was the caterwaul of the dying.
More mad-dog growling, and then Nimrod pitched forward, dropping to his hands and face. As I stood gawking in complete surprise, the Mighty Hunter kicked with his free leg at the monster chomping on his other leg.
From what I could make out through the steam, Pellinore’s beastie was long and scaly, like an alligator, only beefier, and with the head of a giant snake. It dragged Nimrod away. I couldn’t decide which the more hellish sound was: Nimrod’s anguished cries, or the beasties’ shrieks, like a kennel of rabid dogs all barking at once. I shivered.
Mumbles of ‘Holy-moly-crap-holy-moly-crap’ were still emanating from me as Pellinore emerged from the gloom. He looked almost winded, but was not sweating. Blasted lucky Morai genes. His whites zipped from Malthus to me to the dark blood staining the floor, to the sparking circuit box.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked. “Did you see it? Did you see the beastie?”
He’d really let himself go. His long white hair was flowing wildly, all over, with even the crimps from the usual Morai braid now gone.
“Yeah,” I confessed, “I saw it, Pells. It’s real. It’s actually . . . just real. You were right.”
He smiled; his opaque gums nearly as brilliant as his teeth. “I told you. I told everyone.”
“You did,” I said. “But how come it hasn’t killed you? You’ve been down here all this time. It’s just left you alone?” While speaking, I sliced a strip of my flannel shirt and offered it to Malthus to sop up his wounds. He took the cloth without a word.
“I think the beastie only hurts bad people,” Pellinore said, awe in his voice. “When I buggered up the AC system—because it likes the heat and I thought it might wander the rest of the school to investigate new heat, and then everyone would see it was real—it had a chance to kill me. But it didn’t. It just sniffed me and then turned to leave.” Pellinore stood up ramrod straight and declared: “I’ve decided to make him my pet. I’m going to call him Glatisant. What do you think?”
“It’s dynamite,” I mumbled. “Listen, Pells, is there a way outside from down here?”
He began to step closer but halted like he’d run into a wall. It was as if he hadn’t seen Malthus until now. “What is that?” He asked, walking around the towering behemoth.
“This is Malthus,” I explained. “He’s . . . a friend. I’m fifty per cent sure he’s a friend, anyway.”
Pellinore nodded. “Aha. And I take it the thing Glatisant dragged off wasn’t a friend?”
“Pells, the way out?” I could hear students tramping back inside above us, and the air conditioning repair guys were bound to come stomping down here soon.
Pellinore nodded and led me down a path that led past a row of square hot water heaters, steam hissing at us out of vents. We reached a set of concrete steps. Pellinore pointed up these steps at a pair of doors set at an extreme angle. “Emergency doors. Dynamite. Thanks Pells.”
He nodded, gave a sudden yelp as he was lifted into the air. Malthus set him down and jostled me aside to stomp up the stairs. With a mighty shove he opened the doors. Morning light attacked our peepers. In two ticks the demon was out of sight.
I looked back at Pellinore. “Did you know he was following us?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even hear him. You’d think someone that big would make some kind of sound.”
“You’d think.” I hobbled up the steps but turned back at the top. “If Ash or Lamorak shows up, don’t tell them you helped me leave. Don’t even tell them I was down here.” I waited to make sure Pellinore agreed—which he did—before turning and stepping out into the light.
“Where are you going?” he called out.
I smiled, a plan forming in my noodle. “I have to see about a dwarf.”
Kana and Faustus, assuming they agreed to help me, would be serious assets in getting into Mythcorp, but if those dart-shooting gangster-kids were still perched atop the buildings around Mythcorp, then it wouldn’t matter. However, if I brought Izzy, well, they might hesitate at the sight of someone who looked—from a distance—like a tiny child.
‘Are you going to stop Ash from hurting those Iconocops and Mesmerizing the Senator?’ Marie asked.
“I wouldn’t get within twenty yards of him now,” I said. “He knows what we did to Sanson. He’d Mesmerize me or worse. No, it’s a race to Mythcorp now. And I have the head start.”
Chapter 26
Sanson
That night Dr. Wilmut patched me up with a few dendrimers. He even injected something into my nose, making the swelling go down. The following morning mom insisted I stay home, but I had a perfect attendance record going all the way back to my first day as a freshman, just after my original treatments with the good doctor, and I saw no reason to end my streak. Eventually I convinced her I felt fine and after kissing me senseless, mom let me go.
By the time I arrived—late—everyone else was outside on the lawn, even the teachers and Iconocops. I searched the crowd for awhile, eventually finding Ash (he’s so short that everyone around him concealed him). “Hey,” tapping him on the shoulder, “what’s going on?”
He smiled at the sight of me. “Hello Charlie. Fire drill.”
The tiny Morai led me away from the large group over to the Willow. Lamorak, Agravaine and Gareth trailed us. After making sure no one was eavesdropping, Ash turned to me: “Did Nimrod find you? Did he give you the package?”
I nodded and he seemed to relax. The Morai then traded glances, making me feel like an outsider. “Let me see your wounds, please.”
“How did you know about them?” but as soon as I spoke, I realized N
imrod must’ve told him. (How they’d communicated though I had no idea.) Big Agravaine stepped up to conceal me from the crowd as I lifted my shirt. The green and black dendrimers were moist and gave my wounds a decidedly gangrenous look. I received a few gratifying ooh’s and aah’s.
“If you want retribution,” Ash said, “it has already been done. I spoke with Morgan’s smidge girlfriend Izzy McCawber. Morgan will suffer the next time he sees her.” He said this with neither pride nor shame. He might’ve been describing the weather. With his creepy eyes it was downright chilling.
“Actually,” I lowered my shirt as we started heading back inside, “I sent Nimrod after him.”
All three Morai stopped. Ash pressed a hand to my shoulder to stop me. “You did what? That was . . . ill advised.” For once the little tyke seemed disturbed. He closed his eyes and shook his head while the other two gave me dirty looks.
“What?”
“We do not hurt each other,” they chimed in unison. “Nimrod is . . . old school. He will not show restraint.”
I was about to ask how he knew this Nimrod yahoo so well but he shushed me. Half the student body was inside and the four of us were surrounded, trudging up the steps on our way to the detectors. Here we go. I inhaled and stepped through the metal detector. BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP. Today’s wander was Mr. Dodds. He waved me through as usual, distracted by the strange noises gurgling up from the basement.
Ash met up with me outside second period Theorics. “You okay?” pointing at my chest.
I looked down. “Gosh darn it.” Seepage had ruined my t-shirt. Mom was going to freak; zombies go through a butt load of shirts. It’s usually the stench of decay.
“Do me a favor,” I said. “Tell Mr. Pribeck why I’m late?”
Ash nodded. “Of course. In exchange for my excuse-making,” he actually smiled for once, “make sure Damien is aware of what’s going on after school today. Morgan was supposed to let him in on it, but considering his recent treachery, I doubt he got around to it.”
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