by Paul Tobin
It was concrete and over two feet thick, because the walls in the Red Death Tea Society’s underwater headquarters were reinforced to help support the weight of an entire lake suspended above. What the architects hadn’t planned on, however, was a seventh grade girl who quite often . . . and possibly too often . . . indulges in her hobby of dramatic accidents.
We burst through the wall, surrounded and protected by a bubble of pure force that had formed around Chester as he was running.
And then we soared out above an immense cavern, where Maculte and an entire army of Red Death Tea Society assassins were fighting against Nate and the rest of my friends.
And as we began to fall amid the rubble of the destroyed wall, the concussive blast was blowing people over like brittle trees in a strong wind. Maculte and Luria were diving for cover. An army of roboctopi were flailing their tentacles in an attempt to protect themselves from the incoming debris. The vast horde of assassins were collectively gasping in surprise, because who could have possibly predicted that Chester and I would burst through a concrete wall fifty feet above the floor? Then, as Chester and I were still flailing and plummeting, and when we were still high above the floor . . . I looked down and locked eyes with Nate.
“Ahh, Delphine,” he said. “Just as I expected.”
“Robots!” I yelled out. “Catch your queen!”
This was perhaps the most amazing thing I’ve ever spoken, and it was equally amazing to see all of the roboctopi scurrying to catch me, so that I was soon landing on a sea of cushioning tentacles.
“I brought Chester!” I told Nate, sliding down a tentacle to stand next to him. “He’s over there!” I pointed to a colorful blur that was still arcing through the air, as Chester . . . with his blue shirt, yellow pants, and intensely red socks . . . smashed into the row of tea dispensers at the edge of the Earthquake Cavern, smashing them to bits.
A collective groan shivered through the Red Death Tea Society assassins.
“Good work!” Nate said.
“What’s happened since I left?” I asked. Looking around, I couldn’t see Wendy, Stine, or Ventura anywhere. Not even Bosper.
“Our friends have been taken hostage.”
“That’s horrible!” I said.
“That’s great!” Nate said. “I counted on it.”
“You counted on it?” Maculte said, interrupting our conversation. He and Luria had floated down to the same level as the rest of the Red Death Tea Society. His army parted as he walked forward, bowing with respect and also jealousy, because he was the only one who still had any tea, now that the dispensers had been destroyed.
“I did!” Nate said. “I have a spy in your organization, and having our friends getting taken hostage was the only way for our side to meet up with my spy and sabotage your headquarters.”
“Uh, Nate,” I said. “Should you be telling them this?”
“Nope! But I can’t help it. Because of the honesty thing.”
Maculte walked closer. He was glaring. His usual scowl was in place, and it made me wonder why he was so intent on taking over the world. After all, I’d never truly seen him happy, and if you’re not doing what makes you happy in life, then why do you keep doing it? Instead of trying to take over the world, why not try to become a painter, or a scientist, or lead guitarist for a cool band that serves cake at all their concerts?
But instead he was looming over two seventh graders who were the last line of defense against the entire city of Polt being annihilated in an earthquake. Maculte’s fingers were clenching. His teeth were gnashing. He cocked his head to one side. Then he stared at me. Right in my eyes. It was a stare down, and it meant that Maculte wasn’t very intelligent, because I have never lost a stare down. I’m basically the Wild West Gunfighting champion of stare downs. I’ve defeated my brother Steve, who finally had to admit that it was his turn to do the dishes. And I’ve defeated my dad, who ultimately had to admit that cake existed before the universe was formed (this is a scientific theory I’ve devised, and it is flawless), and I’ve defeated Liz, who actually fell asleep, because it was four in the morning and we’d just finished watching the entire Carrot Cake Master martial-arts movie trilogy, where a chef who has mastered the art of carrot cake must defend her recipe against zombies in the first movie, a giant gorilla in the second movie, and an army of intelligent porcupines in the third. I’ve even won stare downs against Snarls, my mom’s cat, who quickly pretended he hadn’t meant to get into a stare down in the first place.
So, clearly, Maculte was out of his league.
He just kept staring at me.
And I stared back.
And Luria was staring at me, too.
I could feel it.
But I wasn’t going to look aside.
“Nate,” Maculte said, all the while staring at me. “Who is the spy in my organization?” Even as he was speaking, he was reaching into the vest of his suit and pulling out a red box about the size of a candy bar, and not one of the humongous candy bars my grandmother used to bring back from Switzerland and that tasted like chocolate fireworks going off inside my mouth, but one of the smaller American candy bars you can find in the checkout lanes at grocery stores, right next to the magazines that pretend celebrities aren’t real people.
“Don’t tell him, Nate!” I said, keeping my eyes on Maculte. My neck was starting to hurt. I had to look way up, because the leader of the Red Death Tea Society is quite a bit taller than I am, even when I have a bat on my head.
But there was no need for Nate to tell Maculte, because at that moment our friends arrived.
Wendy. And Stine. Ventura. And Bosper.
And a white poodle.
They all rushed out onto the balcony where Maculte and Luria had been standing. Everyone looked up.
Wendy said, “Hi, Delphine!”
Bosper said, “The dog has done some escaping!”
The white poodle said, “Arf!”
Luria, her face gone white, said, “No. The . . . spy? My poodle? It cannot be.” Her words were whispers full of despair. I tried not to smile at her anguish, because it is a rude thing to do. I failed, though. I had a big rude grin.
“Her?” Maculte said, nodding up to the balcony.
“Her,” Nate agreed. He looked to me and said, “The poodle’s name is Minty. She’s Luria’s pet. Bosper has been dating her, and also learning all of the Red Death Tea Society’s secrets.”
“Minty!” Luria said, calling up to the balcony. “How could you?”
“Arf!” Minty said.
“The Bosper has a girlfriend!” Bosper said. He sounded giddy.
Nate told me, “Bosper’s been meeting Minty for the last few weeks. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Of course!” I said, thinking of Bosper’s mysterious meeting in the bookstore, and his equally mysterious meeting in my yard, and hoping that Nate wouldn’t detect my lie that I’d known what was happening, especially when he was being constantly forced to tell the truth.
“This is meaningless,” Maculte said. “What secrets could you possibly learn that would do you any good?” Incidentally, I would like to point out that when we’d all looked up to the balcony, Maculte had looked first. Which meant that I was still the undefeated stare down champion of the world.
In response to Maculte’s words, Nate gave that little smile of his. It’s a smile that makes me as giddy as a terrier dating a poodle. It’s a smile that means Nate has a situation well under control.
“It was quite informative,” Nate said. “For instance, I learned that your favorite meal is oatmeal.”
“Really?” I said, aghast. “That’s weird.”
“Unflavored oatmeal,” Nate added.
“No way!” I said. “At least put in some fruit! Or some pizza. Or some cake.”
Nate told Maculte, “I also learned that you wake at precisely four thirty in the morning, every day.”
“What?” Ventura yelled down from the balcony. “That’s insane! I hope
you don’t make everyone else get up that early!” There was a rumbling swell of discontent from the army of assassins in the room. It was the first time I’d ever felt sorry for them. I’m pretty sure that if I had to get up at four thirty in the morning, every morning, then I would be a villain, too.
“And Minty told me that your favorite music is not to listen to music at all.”
“Gahh!” Ventura said from the balcony. “How can you not like music?”
“And I learned that you haven’t solved how to link quarks with high-density gravitational singularities,” Nate told a scowling Maculte.
“That’s so easy!” Wendy laughed from the balcony. We all looked up at her. Her face went red.
“Sorry!” she said. “I was just getting into the spirit of things.”
“None of these things will help you,” Maculte said. “You’ve been playing games, like the child you are. This is what you should have been paying attention to.” He held up that little red box of his. And then he flicked it open.
To reveal a big red button.
That he pushed.
It made a clicking noise.
And the room began to hum.
“In two minutes,” Maculte said, “the city of Polt will be destroyed.”
“No,” I said. It was a whisper. Of horror.
Maculte looked at me. He grinned. My heart was clutching and my stomach was roiling and my legs felt weak. Two minutes until the entire city of Polt was destroyed? I could feel sweat beading up on my forehead, and even in the palms of my hands, so I could only hope that it wasn’t grossing out Nate, since at some point I’d apparently grabbed his hand and was clutching it tight.
The crystals in the walls were humming louder, beginning to glow. The army of Red Death Tea Society assassins were all scurrying out of the room in horror as the vibrations began. It felt like we were standing in a heavy rain, with high winds, but there were no rains or winds, just the vibrations of the room growing ever more powerful.
“Robots!” I yelled. “Destroy the walls!”
Immediately, my robot army began fanning out toward the walls, striding through the panicked tide of the escaping Red Death Tea Society assassins.
“Override,” Maculte said. “Robots deactivate.”
The robots all crumpled to the floor.
“Did you think I wouldn’t devise an override to your override?” Maculte sneered. “You’ve learned nothing.” He had to raise his voice over the high-pitched whine of Chester’s shoes as Chester fought for traction on the tea-slickened floor, his legs a blur and the tea dissipating into flavored steam, and then there was the ever-increasing roar of the earthquake crystals, but it still wasn’t much of a problem for Maculte to be heard, because he’s one of those people who’s always raising his voice, like the men who can’t order a hamburger without yelling about it, or tie their own shoelaces without going on a tirade.
“You’re actually 5.3 seconds behind when I thought you would deactivate the robots,” Nate said. “You’re slipping.” His smile was still in place, making me not worry too much about how violently the Earthquake Cavern was vibrating. Bosper was whining, covering his ears. Minty, the poodle, was doing the same. The sound was painful. But if Nate wasn’t worried, then I wasn’t worried. Too much.
“And you’re twenty seconds behind saving your beloved city,” Luria said. “Because once Maculte pushed that button, there was nothing you could possibly do. The whole of Polt will be destroyed, along with you, your friends, and that traitor.” With the last, Luria looked to Minty, the poodle. Minty and Bosper had leaped over the side of the balcony, sliding down the tentacles of one of the inert robots that had been clutching the side of the wall. My friends were climbing down after them. Ventura had her eyes closed because she is afraid of heights.
“Nate,” I said. “You have a plan, right?”
“I do,” Nate said. Maculte’s eyes narrowed, because he knew that Nate was being forced to tell the truth. If he said he had a plan, he had a plan.
“There’s nothing you can—” Maculte said. But Nate held up his hand and stopped him.
“You keep saying I can’t do anything,” Nate said. “But I can. Because I’m smarter than you. Because I plan ahead. Which is why I’ve had a spy in your army.” Nate reached down and petted Minty. Luria took a step forward but the poodle growled at her, and I could see the anguish in Luria’s eyes.
Nate said, “And through Minty, I learned about how you teach a three-week course on why it’s important for socks to match.”
“Three weeks?” I said. “Seriously?”
“It’s important!” Maculte told me. We had to yell, because the hum of the earthquake crystals was now as loud as a jet engine. Everything on the floor, the robots and the shattered tea dispensers, was jiggling and vibrating, and of course since we were all standing on the floor the vibrations were making us shiver and tremble, like we were being electrified. Soon, the growing vibrations would be released in a jolt powerful enough that the fault line beneath Polt’s lake would be ripped asunder, and the very earth would shake and crack, and the city would be shattered. I wasn’t sure if the nausea I was feeling was because of all the vibrations, or the disturbing hum, or the thought of so many people just . . . gone.
“I’ve also learned that you’ve been kidnapping children,” Nate said. His voice had turned grim. His fingers clenched into fists as he faced off against the man who was the second smartest person in the entire world, and by far the most evil. “You’ve been brainwashing them, turning them into assassins, into members of your Red Death Tea Society.”
“It’s an effective method of recruiting,” Maculte said, adding an insolent shrug. “And it’s best for sheep to be led.” Crackles of electricity were forming in the air, spontaneously bursting into existence due to the gathering power in the cavern. It cast us all in an eerie light, with the sharp crackles of illumination piercing the pulsing green glow that had pervaded the entire room.
“Twenty seconds until the power is released,” Luria said. “Time to take our leave.”
Maculte looked to her. Nodded. Then, without a word, with only one solitary sneer back to Nate, he and Luria began to walk away and leave us to be torn apart by the powerful forces at the heart of a machine that was about to destroy an entire city.
“One other thing I learned . . . ,” Nate said.
Maculte stopped. But he did not look back.
“I’ve learned the exact frequency of your earthquake machine,” Nate said, and his smile turned even more whimsical and . . . I’ll just go ahead and be honest . . . attractive, and it made me feel like holding his hand again, but I couldn’t do that with everybody watching, so instead I punched him in the arm.
“You . . . what?” Maculte said. He still hadn’t turned around.
“Chester!” Nate yelled. “I need you to stomp your feet on the floor precisely seven hundred and thirty-two times a second!”
“Okay!” Chester said, and he immediately started stomping, as if he’d been just waiting for a chance to do some excellent stomping, which . . . as I understand it . . . is basically a boy’s natural state.
The room’s hum began to warble.
Chester’s feet were stomping down on the floor, sending out vibrations, and it felt like we weren’t standing on solid footing anymore. The floor felt . . . liquid. Like standing atop a series of small waves. Minty began barking at the floor. Bosper was trying to console her, and meanwhile Chester’s feet just kept stomping, and stomping, and the hum of the crystals was going up, and up, then plummeting down. Then the cycle would begin again, and my ears were doing that thing like when you’re in an airplane and it starts to descend, and the air pressure makes your ears feel like they’re underwater.
“That was only seven hundred and thirty-one stomps,” Nate told Chester, so . . . I guess Nate was counting? It all seemed like one big stomp to me, and the floor where Chester was stomping began to glow with heat, so that he stomped to another area. T
he crystals were shimmering, blurring, the hum reaching a crescendo but then going abruptly silent, and then again soaring louder and louder . . . louder each time, with the immeasurable power on the very verge of being violently released, but canceled by the vibrations of Chester’s stomps, so that the power was being contained, but still growing, and growing, to the brink of bursting.
“That’s better,” Nate told Chester, who I guess had stomped the proper number of times in the last second.
“I’m getting the hang of it!” Chester said. He was a blur of blue and yellow, and especially red, as his bright red socks were just a haze of color as Chester stomped, and stomped, and stomped.
“Stop it!” Maculte ordered. He was a man accustomed to his orders being obeyed, and it showed in his voice.
“Stuff it!” Chester said, still stomping, because there are very few people in our Polt Middle School class who get their names written on the “misbehaving” blackboard list more often than Chester. He’s nowhere near my level, of course, but he shows promise and I respect him for that.
“The knockout spray,” Maculte said, to Luria. She instantly produced a small spray can and depressed the nozzle, sending a misty spray in Chester’s direction.
“My Knock Out Knockout spray,” Nate said, spraying a second mist in the middle of the mist that Luria had sprayed. Together, the mists hardened, then sank to the floor. And Chester kept stomping. The whole room felt distorted and my eyes were beginning to hurt. The hair on the back of my neck was standing up. There were flashes of light in the room, like flashbulbs going off.
“The Friend Ray,” Maculte said, firing a beam of light at Chester.
“The No-Way Ray,” Nate said, firing his own beam of light at Chester, who stuck out his tongue at Maculte, and kept stomping.
“Sleep powder,” Luria said. She held up her hand and puffed blue powder toward Chester’s face.
“This cheap fan from the dollar store,” Nate said, holding up a tiny fan that blew the powder away from Chester, who just kept stomping, and stomping, hundreds upon hundreds of times a second. The crystals were pulsing, shaking, almost breaking free of the walls. The air smelled like tires. Like oil. Like burnt fur and spent matches.