How to Tame a Human Tornado

by Paul Tobin

  “Disintegrator ray!” Maculte yelled. His voice was growing desperate as he pulled a pistol from inside his suit jacket and aimed it at Chester.

  “A dog bite,” Nate said.

  “Huh?” Maculte said, then, “Gahhh!” he screeched, dropping his gun, because Bosper had chomped on his leg.

  “The dog has bitten!” Bosper said. His head swiveled to me. “Bites more?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “Bites more.”

  “Gahh!” Maculte soon yelped, bitten again.

  And Chester kept stomping. The hum had again reached what seemed to be a breaking point, with the sound so loud that we were all skidding along on the floor, pushed back from one wall, and then another wall if we got too close. I heard an explosive crack and saw a fault develop in one of the crystals. They were starting to burst. And Chester kept stomping. The dogs were howling. I was holding Nate’s hand. The walls were layered with electricity, with a sea of sparks flowing over the walls like water. I couldn’t catch my breath. My hair was standing on end. There were more cracks in the crystals. Maculte was enraged. The room felt like the inside of a giant drum, and some gargantuan drummer was pounding, and pounding, and pounding. There were pulsing f lashes of blue, and then blackness, and then blue again. I felt like I was almost floating. But at the same time I felt like I was being crushed in some monstrous grasp. More crystals began cracking. The hum was like the screech of a hundred million drill bits. And then . . .

  Chester fainted.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Ah-hah!” Maculte said.

  “No,” Nate said. “I planned on this.” And then he lifted one leg, holding it up, and he stared in Maculte’s eyes for one long moment and then he said . . .

  “Wait for it.”

  “What?” Maculte replied.

  And then . . .

  Nate stomped down.

  And the crystals on the walls all shattered in a cataclysmic explosion of shards, like it was suddenly raining broken snow.

  “I’d calculated that Chester’s energy would run out when there was only one stomp remaining,” Nate said. The shards were falling all around us, crashing to the floor like a not-very-comfortable rain. I reached up to my hair and covered Twibble, so he wouldn’t get injured. He squeaked a high-pitched noise that was probably a thank-you, and also an expression of delight that he wouldn’t have to leave my hair, apparently ever.

  “That’s . . . an amazing calculation,” Maculte said, looking to Nate. For the briefest of moments there was admiration in his eyes, but then it was replaced with his usual hatred, with a veneer of arrogance and a stew of pomposity, intolerance, and in all probability a bit of stomach troubles, such as you would suffer if the only thing you ever ate was unflavored oatmeal.

  “I had Bosper help me with the math,” Nate said, gesturing to the terrier, who was shaking shards from his fur like they were water.

  “Bosper is the dog that did the biting on your leg!” Bosper told Maculte, who did not appear as if he had forgotten.

  “See that?” I told Maculte. “Nate had a friend help him. That’s what friends are all about.”

  Maculte just glared at me.

  “Friends like me,” I said, tapping my chest.

  “And friends like Bosper,” I said, petting the terrier.

  “And friends like Chester,” I said, pointing to Chester, who had staggered back to his feet, finally drained of the “Speed Runner” pill’s effects and now completely normal again, although somewhat exhausted and entirely soaked by spilled tea, and with sneakers that were smoldering like they were about to burst into flame.

  I told Maculte, “Maybe if you had friends, then you wouldn’t be so evil. Did you know that you are evil?” Maybe he didn’t. Evil people don’t seem to know when they’re acting evil. It’s very evil of them.

  “Friends are a weakness,” Maculte said, reaching down into the shards that were covering the floor, sinking his hand into the broken crystal fragments that went several inches deep.

  “Friends distract you from your goals,” he said. He was up to his wrist in crystal fragments, sorting through the remnants of his crazed dream of destroying Polt. The Earthquake Cavern had no power now. It was just a big room filled with inert robots, and with Nate and the rest of my friends, and Maculte and Luria, the defeated leaders of the Red Death Tea Society. Maculte’s hand was sifting through the fragmented crystals, like a boy twirling his fingers through a puddle, or a man sifting through a box of old photographs, dreaming of what might have been.

  “Ah-hah,” he said.

  “Ah-hah?” I questioned.

  “Ah-hah!” he yelled, and he stood up, and now he was holding his disintegrator pistol again, and he reached out and grabbed me by the hair and put the barrel to my cheek.

  “Oh,” I whispered. “It was that kind of ‘ah-hah,’ was it?”

  “It was,” he said. And Luria did a little clapping, and Bosper did a little growling, and my knees did a little tremble. I’m not overly fond of disintegrator pistols. Okay, I did ask Nate if he could make one for me, but only so that I could disintegrate my brother’s workout clothes, which he tends to leave hanging over the shower rod in our upstairs bathroom, and which tend to smell like donkey farts, except with more pepper. A disintegrator pistol comes in very handy during “stinky gym clothes” situations, but are decidedly not as fun during “pointed at your head” situations.

  “Friends,” Maculte said, with the raging sneer returned to his voice. “Nate, tell me . . . how valuable are your friends? How important are these weaknesses of yours?” Twibble came crawling out of my hair, peered down at the disintegrator pistol pointed at my cheek, and then hid deep in my hair. I could hardly blame him.

  “They’re . . . the most important thing in the world,” Nate said. “Especially Delphine.” I felt a little flush of . . . something . . . when Nate said that. After all, he could have said that his inventions were the most important thing in the world, that science was the most important thing in the world, but . . . no. When forced to tell the truth, Nate had just said that I was the most important thing in his world.

  “See?” Maculte said. “A weakness.”

  Nate was reaching into his shirt, obviously about to produce some amazing technological device that would do . . . something. I wasn’t sure what, but then . . . that’s why Nate is the genius.

  “Don’t,” Maculte said, pressing the barrel of the pistol even tighter against my cheek. “Put your hands to your sides, Nathan.” I could see in Nate’s eyes that he was doing furious calculations, working out probable outcomes if he made a move. There were little flashes of light in Nate’s eyes, but . . . one by one . . . they dulled. And he put his hands to his sides.

  “That’s better,” Maculte said. “Now then, I admit that I’ve been once again impressed by your intelligence. It would be a shame to deprive the world of your genius. So I will make you a deal.”

  “No deals!” I blurted. “Nate, don’t make any deals!” We’d made a deal once before with Maculte, and he’d gone back on his word almost immediately.

  “I’m listening,” Nate said. He wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him sweat before.

  “Swear that you will become a member of the Red Death Tea Society,” Maculte said. He had one hand on my neck and the other hand holding the pistol. It was quite difficult to squirm, but I think I did an excellent job under the circumstances.

  “I swear,” Nate said.

  “Say it,” Maculte ordered. He poked the pistol at my cheek, and I have to say that it was uncomfortable, but Nate was besting me in the “squirming uncomfortably” category.

  “I swear that I will become a member of the Red Death Tea Society,” Nate said. It came out as a hiss. His entire body shuddered. He was having trouble swallowing. I was having trouble breathing. Even the disintegrator pistol aimed at my head didn’t seem so bad now.

  “And swear that you will obey my every command,�
�� Maculte ordered. I could practically see the triumph spitting out of his mouth, and I definitely could feel the spit that was spitting out of his mouth.

  “If you let Delphine and the rest of my friends go,” Nate said, “then . . . yes, I swear I will obey your every command.” Bosper was barking, too angry and too shocked to speak. Ventura was crying. Luria had picked up several crystal shards and was pitching them at Minty, who simply let them bounce off her back, staring at what was happening. And then there was me . . . held in Maculte’s grasp, listening to what Nate was saying, knowing . . . just as Maculte knew . . . that every word Nate was speaking was the truth.

  “For the rest of your life,” Maculte said.

  “For the rest of my life,” Nate said. “I swear.”

  I was sweating. Like, bad. Like I’d been turned into a human fire hose. I was hoping Maculte was getting his hands soaked in my gross sweat. I couldn’t seem to breathe anymore, and the whole world was turning gray.

  “Heh,” Maculte said. Not even a word. But it was the worst thing I’d ever heard. Because he knew what we all knew.

  He’d won.

  The Red Death Tea Society had won.

  For like, two minutes, all I could do was stare.

  I wasn’t staring at anything.

  I was just staring.

  I was listening to the sounds of my feet shifting in the broken crystals that covered the floor.

  I was listening to the beating of my heart, which sounded like a drum, and felt like a clenched fist.

  I was listening to Bosper. He was barking, barking, barking.

  I was crying.

  “That’s that, then,” Maculte said, and he shoved me away from him so violently that I fell down into the crystal shards, which cut against my hands. Stine helped me to my feet and, together . . . with Nate and Ventura, with Wendy and Chester and Bosper and Minty . . . we all stood facing Maculte and Luria.

  “Come here, Nate,” Maculte said. I immediately grabbed Nate’s hand. Nothing bad could happen as long as I didn’t let go. I was clutching his hand, holding tight.

  But Nate’s hand slid away from mine.

  And he walked over to Maculte.

  “Stand there and watch what happens next,” Maculte said. “Don’t interfere.” I began to get a bad feeling. Like, another bad feeling. Bad feelings were stacked on top of one another like pancakes, like a huge stack of pancakes with no butter or syrup, and I’ve probably lost control of my analogy but what I’m trying to say is that I had a very bad feeling and then I had that disintegrator pistol aimed at me again, only this time it was aimed at all of my friends as well. All of them except Nate, who was standing next to Maculte, with one of Maculte’s hands on his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Nate said.

  “Disintegrating your friends,” Maculte said.

  “No,” Nate said.

  “No,” I added, in case I got a vote.

  Nate said, “You said you would let them go.”

  Maculte told him, “I lied. But you can’t. I know you, Nathan Bannister. You never go back on your word, and with the honesty potion working in your system you’re incapable of lying. So . . . stand there and watch while I disintegrate your friends.”

  “No,” I said, again. I know you’re not supposed to vote twice, but I went for it, anyway.

  “Can I . . . can I say goodbye to Delphine?” Nate asked. There were tears in his eyes, and that only made mine worse.

  “Hmm,” Maculte said.

  “Oh, let him,” Luria said. “It will be poignant. It makes for a good laugh.”

  “Very well,” Maculte said. “Say your goodbye.”

  Nate walked over to me. He stared in my eyes. I was waiting for him to make one of his last-second rescues, hoping for one of them, but the moment I looked into those eyes of his I knew it was hopeless. I’d never seen such sadness in his eyes before. And, I guess I never would again.

  “Sorry,” he told me. His hand reached out to hold mine. I was compulsively wiping the sweat away from my hand, repeatedly back and forth against my pants, and then I all but grabbed Nate’s hand and squeezed tight. He squeezed back. He was still looking in my eyes. We were both crying. Luria began clapping, applauding us.

  “You couldn’t help it,” I told Nate. “With that honesty potion, you can’t . . . you can’t . . .” I didn’t know what I was trying to say. I didn’t know anything.

  Nate’s hand left mine and rose up to my cheek, wiping away my tears. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “But . . . this is the only way.”

  His hand moved farther up, brushing some hair out of my eyes. Then, after touching gently on the side of my face, his hand moved even farther up, up into my hair, where, with a single finger, Nate poked down at Twibble.

  Hard.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Twibble shrieked as Nate pressed down. It was easily as loud as an opera-trained elephant screaming in my ears, so if that ever happens to you then you will know how I felt.

  Maculte’s gun shattered.

  “There,” Nate said, taking his finger off the bat in my hair and restoring a sense of peace to the world.

  “What?” Maculte bellowed, outraged, staring at the shattered remnants of the pistol in his hand. “How could you do this? You swore that you’d obey my every command! That you would serve me! You . . . you lied! You can’t have lied!”

  “I was wondering about that myself,” I said. Well, I whispered it, because I didn’t want to make it sound like I was agreeing with Maculte in any way whatsoever.

  “That?” Nate said. “Didn’t you see me shudder when I was giving you my vows, when I was swearing to obey you for the rest of my life? That was when my honesty potion finally ran out, allowing me to lie if I wanted. And frankly, I wouldn’t have had to lie anyway, since you’d promised to let my friends go, and went back on your word.”

  “And my pistol?” Maculte asked. “How?” He was still clutching the shattered disintegrator pistol, but it was obviously useless.

  “Easy,” Nate said. “As you all know, a disintegrator pistol works by using a series of sonic waves to upset the balance of an atom, to disrupt the interplay between protons, neutrons, and electrons . . . causing the atoms to fly apart from one another due to the resonance feedback.”

  “Duh,” I said.

  Nate looked to me.

  I blushed.

  “Okay, go on,” I said.

  Nate, turning back to Maculte, said, “But I happened to know that there was a bat in Delphine’s hair, and not only a bat, but one that had been subjected to friend gas. And bats that have been affected by friend gas are particularly ticklish.”

  “Duh,” I said. I actually did know this one, because Twibble had been giggling in my hair for quite some time, though it had taken me a bit to understand it was laughter, because a bat’s laughter sounds like a series of miniature gas leaks.

  Nate looked to me.

  “No, seriously,” I said. “I knew that one. Every time Twibble moves in my hair, he giggles.”

  “Oh,” Nate said, blushing.

  He turned back to Maculte and said, “Knowing that I had access to a ticklish bat, it was only a matter of pressing it in just the right tickle-spot to produce an extremely high-pitched giggle, in effect a sonic disruption that would cause a feedback in your pistol’s resonance chamber, in turn causing an explosion much like the one we used to destroy your Earthquake Cavern.” Nate kicked at the crystals covering the floor the way you kick at a puddle. The crystals made a pleasant sound, like the shifting of sand combined with the ringing of bells. To be honest, though, the most musical sound I could hear was Nate’s voice.

  “You lose,” Nate told Maculte.

  “Do I?” Maculte said. I was suddenly uncomfortable at how resolutely his sneer was in place. I wanted to grab Nate’s hand, just for reassurance, but I found out that I was already holding his hand. Weird how that happens sometimes.

  “There’s one thing you forgot,” Maculte said. “Y
ou see, Nathan, while I admit that you were able to best me, this time, from a scientific standpoint, you are still only a child trapped in my underwater headquarters, and where science has failed me, brute force will win the day.” He made a fist. It looked very unscientific.

  Maculte took a step forward.

  Nate smiled.

  Maculte took another step.

  Nate smiled an even more impressive smile, and Maculte’s third step wavered.

  “I didn’t forget,” Nate said. He gestured to the room and added, “Really, Maculte? Did you think that I wouldn’t devise an override to your override of my override?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Ooo!” Bosper said.

  “Can we get ice cream after this?” Ventura asked.

  “Robots, arise!” Nate shouted.

  And all of the roboctopi suddenly shuddered into life. Their tentacles began whipping back and forth, clanging against one another as they stood.

  “Two minutes until explosion,” Nate ordered the robots. “Begin the countdown.”

  There was silence in the room from everyone but the robots. I think we were all too stunned by what was happening, though it’s possible that Bosper was stunned by how Minty was standing so close to him, and also I’m reasonably certain that Ventura was dreaming of ice cream, but the rest of us were simply stunned by how we were watching the robots once again bring forth their bombs, holding them at the tips of their tentacles, high above their heads.

  “Stay and fight me if you want,” Nate told Maculte. “But, a better calculation would be for you to . . . run.”

  “Hmm,” Maculte said.

  His fists unclenched.

  “Your calculation is correct,” he said.

  And he and Luria ran.

  “Yay!” I said. “We win!”

  “We should run,” Nate said.

  I’d been going for a high five, or a hug, or possibly even a kiss on the cheek, which would’ve only been out of friendship, because Nate and I are not dating, and even if I’d been about to kiss him on the lips, it would’ve been only because I was swept up in the relief of not being disintegrated, so there wouldn’t have been any reason to start any rumors.