Locksmith

by Nicholas Maes

  “You have to delay them!” Lewis cried. He was flipping through his manual in search of some suggestion: frost, fulcrum, fumes, funeral, fungus, fur, jeans, jet, justice …

  “Leave it to us!” Todrus called, shaking off his fear. As the others gathered a pile of stones to throw at the spiders when they came within range, the frogs busied themselves with the boulders. Straining against a rock the size of a car, they managed to roll it toward their attackers. Because they were standing on a steep incline, bit by bit the stone gained momentum until it smashed into the spiders like a speeding train.

  Lewis looked up briefly. He saw the boulder squash the enemy’s front line, leaving legs and goo all over. As everyone cheered, the spiders replenished their ranks, hissed even louder, and beat their legs against the soil, creating such a wall of sound that Lewis and his friends were almost knocked off balance.

  “They’re yelling ‘Fresh food!’” the Stranger warned.

  “Keep stalling them!” Lewis cried, his nose in his manual: machete, masquerade, matches, mattress, medicine, melting …

  The frogs rolled another five boulders forward, and again smashed dozens of spiders to pieces — their blood was actually blue in colour. Unfortunately, their ranks were so tightly packed that the stones didn’t slow their progress even slightly. If anything, their determination grew, because the fresh spring air and their mounting rage were awakening them from their winter torpor. Two hundred yards yawned between them and their victims.

  The Stranger started hurling stones. Every missile found a target and sheared off legs and knocked out eyes, but the army kept advancing, even the wounded among them.

  Moisture, mould, mulching, oil, ointment, old age, oscillation …

  Eight more boulders crashed into the arachnids’ ranks. The stones, too, were flying thick and fast. Despite their many casualties, the spiders didn’t pause and betrayed no sign of fear or hesitation. They were now one hundred and fifty yards off and collectively formed an impenetrable wall. The larger ones were noticeable now — they were thirty feet high, with legs so long and hairy that they looked like girders on a half-finished building.

  Paddles, pain, paint, pants, parachute, pasteurized, patience …

  “A parachute!” Lewis yelled as the spiders doubled their pace. “I think I’ve found an answer! Hold them back three more minutes!”

  “You heard him!” Todrus called. He and Gibiwink dislodged another boulder that rolled a hundred yards and crashed into a spider colossus. Four of its legs were mashed into pulp, and the creature toppled onto the spiders around it — like a tower landing on a crowd below.

  And still the masses advanced.

  Lewis and Adelaide set to work. They poured twelve drops of adrenyalienanitrate on a boulder, as well as a handful of polyalienaplebiscite, and topped the mixture off with ten milligrams of chalalienappendicitis. As the stone’s hard surface began to bubble, they climbed on top and jumped up and down, smiling as the rock gradually flattened.

  “They’re eighty yards away!” Todrus cried.

  “Keep stalling them!” Lewis yelled.

  Alfonse mixed several fire grenades — he had no fear of attracting flies given the spiders’ presence. As soon as he finished counting to thirty, the others hurled them into the throng. Kaboom! Kaboom! The effect was impressive. Dozens of the creatures were reduced to cinders as a wall of fire filled the air.

  The flames soon died and the masses kept advancing.

  “Hurry, Lewis! We’re running out of tricks!”

  Lewis and Adelaide kept pummelling the stone. By now it was as flat and supple as a blanket. It was twenty feet long and twenty feet wide.

  “They’re really close!” Alfonse cried.

  “One minute more!” Lewis shouted.

  Three grenades exploded, while the frogs heaved another five boulders. Again lots of spiders died, but the effect was tiny. Some smaller ones were skipping ahead, intent on getting a taste of meat. Todrus and Gibiwink smashed them flat with their flippers, but not without getting bitten in turn.

  The hordes were thirty yards off. The hairs on the big ones were visible now — they were three feet long and strong as steel.

  “We can’t hold them!” Todrus moaned.

  “Grab hold of the parachute!” Lewis shouted, pointing to a sheet the size of a lawn.

  The group retreated to the cloth. As the spiders hissed, stamped their legs, and lumbered forward with their fangs upraised, the friends reached the parachute and lifted it together. It was feather-light — never mind its “base” had weighed a few tons — but hanging on proved difficult. A breeze filled its hollows and pulled hard on the fabric, almost yanking it from everyone’s grasp. It also dragged them to the edge of the cliff.

  Five drooling spiders were ten yards away.

  “Form a belt!” Lewis cried, shaping a strap from the fabric. Without wasting a second he tied it around his waist.

  “They’re about to strike!” Alfonse yelled.

  “Do as Lewis says!” Todrus croaked, strapping himself in.

  The others followed suit. By now the lead spiders were eight feet away. Seven. Five. Three. Two. One.

  “Jump!” Lewis ordered.

  A dozen spiders lunged. They snapped their legs and flailed their legs, but a gust grabbed the cloth and swept the group to safety.

  Except they plummeted a hundred feet.

  “It’s not working!” Gibiwink screamed.

  “It will!” Lewis shouted.

  “I’d rather crash,” Adelaide cried, “than be eaten by spiders!”

  But neither fate awaited them. Bit by bit the chute filled with air, and bit by bit their velocity slowed. When they were roughly halfway to the ground, an updraft caught them and they started to rise. Within seconds they were nearing the crest again.

  A line of spiders was waiting. Some were scaling the mountain face, hoping the wind would blow the chute into their clutches.

  “Gibiwink! Todrus!” Lewis called. “Try tugging on your end of the cloth! That should steer us away from the cliff!”

  The frogs yanked hard on the cloth. Sure enough, the chute veered off from the mountain. The spiders hissed and stamped their legs in fury. Moments later they had faded from sight and there was nothing but a grey pall above and a plain of blackened craters below.

  They were headed toward the fog in the distance, with a temperate breeze to speed them on. No one spoke. They were too worn out for conversation.

  The plain drifted by. It was a sobering sight. The craters looked like bullet holes, wounds the earth would never manage to heal. Again Lewis felt a twinge of conscience. It was because of his mother, and their trip to Yellow Swamp, that Grumpel had become aware of the region and altered it beyond recognition. If only she hadn’t told him about its existence. If only she had refused to be part of his team. If only her wish to build an unbreakable lock hadn’t clouded her judgment. If only …

  They continued floating. With the mountain now a speck in the distance, the plain gradually ended and the fog took over. At the same time the wind began to wane, causing them to descend bit by bit until they were in the thick of the mist.

  Gibiwink yawned. “This mist is nice. It’s making me sleepy.”

  “Stay alert,” Todrus warned. “We’re getting close to the ground.”

  “Are we still on course?” Lewis asked, straining to see the land below.

  “Dead on course,” the Stranger said. “In fact —”

  Before the Stranger could finish, the mist dissolved. Everyone gasped at the sight below.

  They were hovering above a small lake, two miles wide and two miles long. The strange thing was that its water was red, exactly the colour of blood. Its consistency was a lot like jelly — when the wind touched its surface, it jiggled all over.

  The weirdest part was the shape at its centre. It was a hundred feet long, some fifty feet high, and featured two mounds, one large and one small.

  Before Lewis could speak, Gibiwi
nk cut in. “Todrus, can you feel it? The place has changed, but we’re finally home!”

  “You mean …” Adelaide started to ask.

  The frog chuckled. “Yes! We’ve reached Yellow Swamp.”

  CHAPTER 17

  As the group digested Gibiwink’s announcement, the parachute carried them over the lake. Observing the hills and red water below, Lewis found the area unfamiliar. He couldn’t believe his family had once camped there. At the same time he felt vaguely apprehensive. Never mind that they had attained their goal — as Atara had insisted, the place seemed … spooked.

  “We have to reach those crests,” Todrus said. “They’re the ones Elizabeth Grumpel described.”

  “Let’s steer toward them,” Lewis agreed. “Adelaide, Alfonse, pull to your left.”

  The Pangettis pulled for all they were worth, and the parachute veered and approached the two hills. When it overshot their target, everyone yelled in panic — they were terrified they would end up in the bloodlike liquid. Todrus pitched his weight to one side, while the Stranger chewed a hole in the fabric. Bit by bit the parachute drifted back until it floated above the larger crest.

  There wasn’t time to waste. Loosening their belts, they dropped onto the soil — it was rubbery and cushioned their fall. A moment later the parachute shot into the air and was soon just a tiny speck in the distance.

  “Let’s eat something,” Lewis advised as soon as the parachute faded from sight. “And then we’ll hunt for my mother’s lock.”

  Everyone thought this was a good idea, and Alfonse sprayed the ground with his food transformer. But it was odd. Nothing happened. The spray had no effect.

  “Your equipment must be broken,” Adelaide said. “I’ll use mine.”

  She sprayed the soil, as did Lewis and the frogs. The results were the same — the earth didn’t change.

  “What do we do now?” Gibiwink asked.

  “Without these transformers we’ll starve,” Alfonse wailed. “It’s like episode 31 when The Bombardier —”

  He would have rambled on, despite his sister’s frown, if the Stranger hadn’t motioned them to silence. It was probing the soil and looked very concerned. “We’re not standing on a hill. We’re on something … alive.”

  “That’s impossible!” the group exploded, “Nothing grows this big!”

  “Whether you like it or not,” the Stranger insisted, “this entire mountain is a living creature. Luckily, it’s been thrown into a trance of some sort.”

  “How can you tell?” Alfonse finally asked. “These look like genuine hills to me.”

  “It’s talking in its sleep,” the Stranger explained, “and that translation brew is still inside me. It keeps muttering, ‘Let me go, let me go, let me go.’”

  “That’s impossible!” everyone began again, but Lewis cut them off.

  “I’m afraid it all makes sense,” he declared. “The puzzle’s been solved.”

  As the group turned their gaze on him, Lewis ran through what they knew already. Alienus came from a different planet. Grumpel used it in all his inventions, but his supplies were running thin. He did have more of the stuff on hand, only it wasn’t quite “ripe” and had to develop — that explained why he had altered the Yellow Swamp region. This new climate would allow the substance to … hatch.

  “So far so good,” Alfonse said. “Now tell us something new.”

  “He just did,” Adelaide insisted. “He used the word hatch.”

  “Do you remember,” Lewis asked, facing the two frogs, “how you described Grumpel’s destruction of this region? You said his henchmen dropped a stone into the swamp?”

  “Yes, it was six feet high and shaped like an egg,” Gibiwink said.

  “Like an egg, exactly,” Lewis confirmed.

  Todrus looked aghast. “Wait! Are you —”

  “Yes,” Lewis continued, “the object was an egg. And it wasn’t a meteorite that struck Grumpel’s farm, but a creature just like this one here. It provided him with Alienus but, five years on, it’s all used up. Lucky for him there was an egg left over, but it had to be hatched in the right surroundings, in an environment that would resemble the alien’s planet. Obviously, he couldn’t transform New York City — he would have called attention to his plans — so that’s why he altered Yellow Swamp instead. Fewer people would notice in northern Alberta.”

  “And the lock?” Adelaide asked. “Why would Grumpel need —”

  “He installed it,” Lewis answered, “to hold the creature until it became full-grown. Now that it’s an adult, he’s ready to free it.”

  As they considered his words, and marvelled that an alien was lying beneath them, Lewis sized the creature up. What sort of lock could keep a mass like this in place?

  “But wait,” Alfonse said, “what will stop it from leaving once we’ve opened the lock? How can Grumpel —”

  “Think about his guards,” Lewis suggested.

  Alfonse was confused. “His guards? How do they tie in?”

  “I get it!” Adelaide cried. “The guards were wearing rings, remember, and that’s how Grumpel is able to control them. He uses radio signals.”

  “There you go,” Lewis said, leafing through his booklet. “I’ll bet this alien’s wearing a receiver, which will kick in the instant the lock is broken. In other words, it can’t run off, but will return to Grumpel like a dog to its master. There!”

  He tapped an entry in the index — oxygen supply. Before his friends could ask what he was up to, he selected four vials and tore a strip off his outfit. Using this fabric as a mixing base, he blended the chemicals and produced a sickly green concoction.

  “But we have to free this creature,” Gibiwink moaned. “How?”

  “That’s my concern,” Lewis insisted, taking off his shoes and socks. He then removed the poem’s ingredients and handed them to Todrus. “I want you to analyze these chemicals and find out what happens if you mix them.”

  “I … what … when …” Todrus stammered. Finally, he said, “I’ll do my best.”

  “Try to find an answer by the time I get back.”

  “Get back?” the group demanded. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m off to find the lock, of course.”

  “But where will you look?” Alfonse asked.

  “Down there.” Lewis motioned to the blood-red water. As the others told him he was out of his mind, he reminded them of Elizabeth’s words — that they would find the lock at the base of these “hills.” Saying that, he bolted the mixture down.

  Almost instantly his tongue swelled up like a miniature balloon. Compressing it, he felt a jet of air shoot out, just as the entry in the book had predicted. He smiled at his friends — his oversize tongue made speaking difficult — then approached the creature’s edge and jumped.

  The next thing he knew the fluid had engulfed him. In was pleasantly warm and like jam in texture but lacked the buoyancy of normal water — it was only by pumping his arms and legs briskly that he could counteract its downward pull.

  Luckily, the fluid was translucent. From above it had seemed dark and spooky, but the sky’s dull light was passing straight through it. True, it wasn’t perfectly clear, but it did let him see maybe ten feet ahead. And while water blackened the deeper one sank, this substance retained the same brightness throughout.

  It was time to dive. Keeping the creature’s flanks to his right — the thing was like an ocean liner — he folded his arms and sank ten feet, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five … He wondered how far it was to the bottom and, more important, how long his oxygen would last. The brew was amazing, though. By compressing his tongue every half-minute, he was able to keep his air supply steady.

  Lewis continued sinking. Again unlike water, which got colder the deeper one dived, this fluid became hotter and hotter until he worried it might scald him. Its pressure also didn’t change as he sank.

  Without warning he struck bottom. A veil of mud spiralled around him, like ink being squirted fro
m a fountain pen. Glancing up, he spied a trail of bubbles, one that climbed all the way to the surface. He also saw that the creature was vast. Lewis might have been standing at the foot of a castle the way its bulk towered above him.

  What’s keeping you in place? he mused as he travelled past its flanks.

  Lewis walked around the creature, poking and prying and inspecting its surface. There wasn’t any sign of a lock — no bars, no chains, no titanium walls. And if the Stranger hadn’t told him otherwise, he would have sworn he was dealing with a rock formation. If it really was an alien, what was keeping it immobile? He glanced around in frustration, unsure what he was looking for.

  Wait! The swamp’s bottom was tilted downward. He swam off from the creature and held his face to the floor, working hard to churn his way through the fluid. Ten yards, fifty, a hundred he travelled. He was thinking he was searching for a needle in a haystack when he happened to stumble and …. aha! There was a hole of some kind!

  It was round, wide, and six feet deep. It also marked the lowest part of the swamp. The ground surrounding it sloped slightly upward, like the porcelain around a bathtub drain. He dropped into the hole and landed ankle-deep in mud. Falling to his knees, he scraped the muck to one side. He toiled diligently until … a glint flashed out!

  It turned out he was standing on a metal disk. It was the size of a sewer head and constructed from chronolium, a bluish-silver metal that was impossible to blast through. As Lewis stroked the disk, he felt a lump in his throat — he was kneeling on the last of his mother’s achievements.

  Lewis was about to examine the disk more closely, but suddenly his air wasn’t flowing so well. The oxygen mix was starting to fail! Without wasting a second he shot toward the surface.

  He had been under too long. Paddling frantically away from the bottom, he squeezed his tongue and produced a weak stream of air. How far was the surface? Sixty feet at least.

  His limbs were like concrete. His lungs were on fire. Three times, four, he compressed his tongue and barely produced a mouthful of air. He was thrashing upward as hard as he could but was hardly able to prevent himself from sinking, let alone swim through fifty feet of “jam.”