by Sam Fisher
Mr. Noble frowned. “It looks pretty real to me.”
Principal Finch turned to face the boys and began snapping his fingers nervously at his sides.
“Okay, you three. To my office! We’re going to get to the bottom of this right now. The rest of you, back to class! This is a school, not a circus.”
The teachers quickly began rounding up the other pupils. Morton caught sight of Mr. Brown amid the crowd. Quite mysteriously he raised his finger to his lips. Before Morton even had time to think about it, an angry-looking Finch whisked them off down the stairs, and he and the others half-ran, half-walked as they tried to keep up with him. Morton was feeling more confused than ever. Why had Mr. Brown stepped in to help James? He suddenly remembered Brown’s odd behavior when he had visited him in his office. He’d wondered then if Brown had known more than he was letting on. Now it seemed certain that he knew something.
After a couple of minutes of speeding along narrow passages they finally arrived at Finch’s secluded office.
Finch flung open the door and quite rudely pushed them all into the room. “Wait here,” he said. “And absolutely no talking.” Then he shut the door and locked it from the outside. The boys stared at one another in shock.
“He can’t lock us in here!” Robbie said in an outraged whisper.
“Maybe he’s calling our parents,” James said. “That’s usually what happens when kids bring monsters to school, isn’t it?”
Nobody laughed.
“He’s still not allowed to lock us up,” Robbie said bitterly. “What just happened anyway? How did Timmy’s monster toys come alive?”
Morton had been asking himself the same question. “I think the wishes are getting stronger,” he said. “It’s as if I only have to touch toys to make them come alive now.”
“The Midas touch,” James said, pulling a bag of barbecue coals from his schoolbag. “We’d make a great double act. I’ll belch out rings of yellow smoke and you can —”
“Will you be serious!” Morton snapped, feeling unusually irritated by James’s charcoal-induced banter. “The wishes are getting stronger, you’re getting sicker, and I don’t know if you noticed, but Mr. Brown just outright lied for no reason that I can understand.”
“He knows something,” Robbie said.
Morton had already come to the same conclusion and told them both about the time he’d asked Brown about magic. “He might be able to help us,” Morton said, when he’d finished the story.
Robbie shook his head adamantly. “I already told you, I don’t trust that guy.”
“Me neither,” James said. “Anyway, it’s too early to get anyone else involved.”
“Too early!” Morton exclaimed. “It’s been weeks! We’ve re-read all the stories, we’ve found King’s secret attic, we know where the gargoyle came from, and we’re still not one step closer to reversing the wishes.”
“We are,” James insisted. “I know we are. We have all the clues, we just haven’t put them together yet.”
“But you’re getting worse!”
“Just a few more days,” James pleaded. “Something’s going to give, I can feel it.”
“We might not have a few more days,” Morton said, struggling to suppress the rising panic within.
At that moment Finch’s voice echoed in the lobby outside, clearly in a heated discussion with someone else, and the boys fell silent. Morton strained to listen, but he couldn’t make out what Finch was saying. A minute later, the door clicked open. To Morton’s horror, Inspector Sharpe breezed into the room looking calmly officious. She was followed by Finch.
Sharpe settled herself in a chair at the corner of Finch’s desk and began pulling papers out of her briefcase, while Finch threw himself into his own soft leather seat.
Sharpe flexed her cheek muscles into her usual facsimile of a smile, but she didn’t speak for several seconds.
“Things are getting a little complicated in Dimvale,” she said at last, “and this most recent spate of incidents is even more alarming than the rest.” Sharpe held up the dead rat, now stiff with rigor mortis, and swung it before her as if looking at it for the first time. “Two-headed rats?” she said. “I’m sure this sort of thing happens in nature once in a while, but what are the odds of finding one in school do you suppose? And if you believe what the other children are saying, there was also a four-headed snake and two giant spiders in the hallway. Do you believe what the other children are saying?”
Morton knew it was pointless to deny it. He looked at the others, and they all nodded in unison. “We saw them with our own eyes, Inspector,” he said.
“Now, you have to admit that’s more than a bit strange,” Sharpe said, “especially if you combine it with the inexplicable disappearance of every single cat in Dimvale.”
Morton realized she was watching for reactions. He attempted to hold on to an innocent expression but swallowed hard, all too aware that the bobbing of his Adam’s apple might as well have been a confession of guilt.
“We honestly don’t know anything about …” Morton began, but Finch didn’t let him finish.
“He’s lying,” he spluttered, suddenly wobbling in his chair like an over-wound clockwork toy. “Any fool can see he’s lying! Don’t think I haven’t noticed the pattern, Morton Clay. It all started happening the day you and your brother set foot in my school. For years nothing, and then you come along, get together with this hoodlum Robbie, and the next thing I know we’ve got missing cats, reports of small footless men, and mutant rats and snakes frightening the life out of my pupils!”
The boys exchanged fearful glances. Finch looked beyond angry. The corners of his mouth were wet with spittle and his eyes bulged like hard-boiled eggs.
“You don’t think we had anything to do with what happened today?” James protested.
Finch hammered the desk with his fist and leaned forward so that his face was a mere inch from James’s. “Of course we do!” he bellowed. “Why else do you think you’re here?”
James jumped so violently he almost toppled over. Sharpe raised her arm and pushed Finch firmly back into an upright sitting position. He quickly regained his composure, clamping his mouth shut and folding his arms. “Just — get on with it,” he hissed angrily.
Get on with what? Morton thought.
Inspector Sharpe began rummaging in the leather briefcase.
“You’re not supposed to question us without our parents here,” Robbie said belligerently.
Sharpe wasn’t even pretending to smile now. Her face was set, as expressionless and unreadable as a wooden puppet.
“You’re absolutely right,” she said, placing a large manila envelope on the desk. “I can’t make you answer questions, but I can give you information. Information that may be important for your well-being. James’s medical records have just been sent to me from his previous doctor.” She tapped the envelope before her. “There’s no mention of jaundice, or any odd eye condition. In fact, the doctor has never even heard of such a thing. Of course, this doesn’t make you a cat-napper, nor does it tell me anything about today’s odd events. But here’s what it does tell me: It tells me you are liars.”
Sharpe’s last comment hit home like a wasp sting, all the more so because it was true.
Principal Finch snorted and was about to speak up when Sharpe shot him a warning glance. She wasn’t finished yet.
“It would be best if you just told me,” she continued, in an almost hypnotically soft voice. “We all know there has to be a simple explanation.”
“We don’t know anything,” Robbie said.
“Robbie’s right,” James said. “We don’t know anything.”
Sharpe folded her hands calmly on the desk in front of her. “Have you ever been in a prison cell, James? It’s not very nice. Even tough kids cry the first time.”
“You’re bluffing,” Robbie said. “You can’t lock us up without charging us, and we haven’t committed any crimes.”
Sharpe
twitched slightly, but no hint of emotion escaped from behind the bars of her cast-iron face.
“Don’t underestimate me,” she said. “I can be kind. I play by the book most of the time. But when things get out of hand, when little girls get attacked by dangerous animals, I’ll do what I have to do to protect the innocent people who live in my town.”
Morton had a sudden urge to leap up and run from the room. Instead, he gripped tightly on to the arms of his chair as if to hold himself in place.
“Let’s say, for example, that I accept that you do have a rare disease,” Sharpe said to James. “Well, in that case, you pose a serious health risk. The next thing you know you’ll be locked up in a medical facility, not allowed to come into contact with anyone. They’ll poke you and prod you and stick you so full of needles you’ll start to feel like a pincushion.”
“You can’t do that!” James yelled, suddenly shocked out of his blithe mood. “It’s not a disease, it’s …” James tried to stop himself but it was too late.
“It’s what?” Sharpe said, pouncing eagerly on his slipped confession. “What exactly do you have?”
James pressed his lips together and looked apologetically at Morton and Robbie.
Morton almost wanted to cry. James had suffered enough. He couldn’t let him go through any more torture, especially when none of it had really been his fault. This was his moment to be strong, he thought. It was time for him to step forward and confess. He’d take all the blame. After all, he deserved it.
And he would have done it too. He would have told Sharpe about the gargoyle and the wishes. He would have told her about the closet and the Zombie Twins. He would have told her about John King and the secret attic above Dad’s office. He would have told her everything if Mr. Brown hadn’t burst in through the door at that exact moment.
“Boys, don’t say another word!” he commanded.
Finch jumped to his feet at once. “What the blazes do you think you’re doing?” he said irately.
“I’m protecting their rights,” Mr. Brown said firmly. “You’re coercing them into making statements they might regret. You know perfectly well you have no right to question them without a parent or guardian present unless you’re willing to press charges.” Mr. Brown tugged Morton and the others to their feet. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
“You can’t do that!” Finch protested.
“Yes, I can,” Brown said, looking directly at Sharpe, “and Inspector Sharpe knows it. Acting as the boys’ counsel, I’m insisting that they answer no more questions until you press charges or produce a warrant for their arrest.”
Finch puffed angrily and threw his arms up in outraged disbelief as Brown led the boys out of the room.
A moment later they found themselves on the other side of Finch’s door.
“Walk quickly,” Mr. Brown said to the three of them.
“But, sir,” Morton said, following him down the hall, “where are we going?”
“I know everything,” Mr. Brown said. “I know how to reverse the wishes, and I’m here to help.”
Brown hobbled in a half-run, half-skip along the hall, his cane tapping out a rapid rhythm. Morton and the others had to break into a canter to keep up with him.
“But, sir,” Morton repeated.
“Don’t say anything yet,” he replied. “I’ll explain soon enough.”
Morton nodded as he, Robbie, and James followed Brown to the parking lot. Brown opened the back door of his black sedan and motioned for them to get in. They paused.
“Where are you taking us?” James asked, eyeing the backseat suspiciously.
“Home, of course,” Brown said.
“Home?”
“Listen to me, boys, there’s something you have to know. The wishes can only be reversed on the full moon, and that’s tonight. Can you really wait another month?”
Morton had already made up his mind about that. He wasn’t sure if they could even wait another hour, but the idea of climbing into Brown’s car went against all his instincts.
“The most important thing right now,” Brown went on, “is to get you safely home where Sharpe can’t come asking questions without a warrant, which she won’t be able to get until tomorrow at the earliest. By then we’ll have reversed the wishes and everything will be back to normal.”
“How?” James said, sounding suddenly hopeful. “How can you reverse the wishes?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
“Okay, I’m in!” James said, and jumped into the backseat without waiting for the others. Morton moved to follow him, but Robbie put his hand on his arm.
“Are you sure about this?” he said.
“No,” Morton said, “but James is running out of options.”
Morton climbed in beside James, and Robbie reluctantly followed them.
Brown didn’t even wait for them to get their seat belts on before speeding away. “I haven’t been completely honest with you,” he said, glancing cautiously in his mirror as he began to weave his way along the backstreets, “but then again, you haven’t been completely honest with me, have you?”
“No, sir,” Morton admitted.
Mr. Brown laughed through his nose. “You can call me Rodney if you like.”
For some reason the idea of calling Mr. Brown “Rodney” didn’t appeal to Morton at all.
“How do you know about the wishes?” Morton asked, eager to move the conversation forward.
Mr. Brown puffed his cheeks. “I should have said something sooner, before things got out of hand. But you’ve been very secretive. You see, I used to know John King, and I knew he dabbled in dark magic. Although, to be honest, I never really believed it was real. I thought he was just a crazy old man desperate to get his sight back.”
“Is that why you acted, uh, weird, when I asked you about magic?” Morton asked.
“I admit, I was pretty shocked. You see, that’s how it all started. About two years ago King approached me, just as you did, asking about mystics and ancient magical ceremonies. I was surprised when you came out with the same question.”
“King came to see you?” Morton asked in surprise.
“Yes. Somehow he’d gotten hold of this gargoyle, and he insisted it could grant three wishes. Except it wasn’t that simple. The gargoyle in itself isn’t magic. It’s just a vessel. That’s how he described it. You have to activate the magic with some kind of dark ceremony — a ceremony that can only be performed on the night of the full moon, of course. King asked me if I knew anything about this mystical stuff.” Brown shook his head and sighed with a look of shame. “The problem was, I did. I’d come across this book in an auction that was all about ancient magic — you know, animal sacrifice, mystic rituals, sun worship, that sort of thing. It wasn’t very expensive, and I had no idea when I bought the book that it was the only one in existence. It was handwritten, copied from much older texts, which had also been copied from other, even older texts. It didn’t even have a title. King had a name for it though. He called it The Book of Portals. Sure enough it had an illustration of the gargoyle in it, with a detailed description of how to perform a dark ceremony that would summon magical powers from another dimension.
“Of course I didn’t believe in any of that. Why would I? But King kept on asking. It wasn’t just that he wanted the book, mind you. It turned out it took two people to perform the activation ceremony, so he couldn’t do it alone. I tried to humor him at first, but he started harassing me at work. Then he promised me I could have two of the wishes to myself. He wanted only one wish: to get his sight back. I still didn’t believe in magic, not really, but he was so convincing. Two wishes, I thought. I could do a lot with that. Get rid of this bum leg, for one thing. So I agreed to help him. The way I saw it, it was a bit like buying a lottery ticket. You never really expect to win. In fact, you know it’s almost impossible to win. But yet you still go ahead and buy the ticket don’t you?” Brown steered the car onto Hemlock Hill. “I should never have agreed.”<
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“What happened?” Morton asked, unsure he wanted to know the answer.
Brown parked at the foot of the driveway and turned to look up at the turret that had once been King’s studio. He shook his head yet again. “I joined him on the night of the full moon, up there in the attic. Up until then it had been just a silly idea, a way to humor an old man, but when I climbed into King’s attic it became suddenly very real. He had everything ready for the ceremony. The black pigs were in a bag hanging from the rafters, squealing. A spiral was neatly painted on the floor. And the gargoyle sat in that stone font in the middle of the room with some kind of incense burning beneath it, filling the air with smoke. I panicked. I told him I couldn’t go through with it. He’d expected me to say that, of course. He might have been crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. Before I knew it he’d kicked the hatch closed and snapped a padlock over it. Then he revealed the truth of his plan. He wasn’t going to share any of the wishes with me. He didn’t need me to recite lines, or light candles. That’s not why he’d asked me to help him. The truth was that for the magic to work he needed a human sacrifice. He laughed when he told me. Laughed because I had been so predictable. Everybody’s the same, he said. They’ll risk everything for the promise of power. But that’s not how it was. I didn’t want power. I wouldn’t have minded getting full use of my leg back, but mostly I was just curious. Curiosity should be the eighth deadly sin. It almost killed me that night.
“King attacked me with a large curved dagger — like a scimitar but smaller. The fact that he was blind didn’t seem to matter. He started lashing at the air savagely, and because of my leg I couldn’t move without making a noise. Every time I tried to slip away, he homed in on me, slashing and swinging that horrific blade. I knew if I was going to survive I needed the key, so I plucked up the courage to attack him. I don’t really remember what happened except that there was a struggle and the key fell out of his pocket. Somehow, I honestly don’t remember how, I managed to get the hatch open and get out of there with my life. I didn’t look back. I never saw King again.”