The Crystal Lair (Inventor-in-Training)

by D. M. Darroch

  “Mwowr.”

  Gus opened the door and looked down at the little monster, the cat. It trotted into his room as though it owned the place and Gus was only a visitor. It jumped onto the bed and curled up on the pillow. Gus watched it wash its face, yawn widely, and go to sleep. That was what happened here. Monsters got fat and lazy and fell asleep.

  A terrible heaviness weighed on Gus’s heart. He didn’t like this hallucination. In this dream house, this dream village, his family had changed. They didn’t even feel like his people. This house certainly didn’t feel like home. Mother was always cleaning and tidying things. He didn’t know where her loom had gone. Rather than do her handiwork, she sat idly looking at something called a book. She’d even gone so far as to tell him to go read one.

  He’d thought it must be something truly fascinating, so he’d looked over her shoulder. It had been filled with strange symbols, like the ones the young villagers wore on their garments. The same symbols he’d seen at the store. He had grabbed the book from her hands and rifled through the pages. There was nothing in it except those symbols.

  But if he thought his dream Mother’s behavior was odd, Father’s was utterly mind boggling. He sat staring at a tiny black box and touching it with his thumb. He called it a smart phone, probably because it took over his mind whenever he looked at it. Mother would call to him from across the room and he would jerk awake and say “Huh? What?” as he pulled his brain back from the box.

  When he became tired with that, he went to another room and stared at another, larger black box. He called it a computer, and Father would watch it while his fingers moved clickety-clack across a keyboard covered in those strange symbols. Sometimes he would scratch his head as though he was confused and then his fingers would rat-a-tat the keyboard. Father would lean back in his chair and look very satisfied with himself.

  Father had caught him watching and invited him to use a smaller computer to play a game. Gus had taken the cold, hard thing and examined it. He had wanted to play a game but he didn’t understand how this box could play hide or hunt or chase with him. It had no legs and no arms, and he couldn’t talk with it. All he wanted was Bonnie. He wanted to wake up.

  One time he had asked Father if he could help to clean his weapons, his spear and hunting axe. Father had laughed, actually laughed at him, and told him to go and play. He had watched Mother capture a large black spider scrabbling along the floor. Rather than scream and squash it as she used to do, she gently released it out of doors. She even talked to it, telling it, “You don’t belong in here. Go outside and eat some nasty bugs.”

  She yelled at him when he complimented her cooking with a booming belch. She yelled at him when he carried a pile of wood into the house. (She said the furnace didn’t burn wood.) She yelled at him when he fletched an arrow and whittled a bow. She put a pile of books in front of him, told him to read, and yelled at him when he built a slingshot instead. Dream Mother yelled all the time.

  And never once did either of them mention Bonnie, his playmate, his sister.

  “Angus! Breakfast!”

  He heard her voice and dragged himself down the stairs. He didn’t even feel like eating. On a normal day he would have been out of bed before dawn, caring for the sloths or hauling firewood. A steaming pot of stew would be waiting for him when he returned to the hut. Mother would be weaving or spinning while Bonnie wound yarn balls or played with a doll. If Father was home, he’d be sharpening weapons, repairing the hut, or helping the other men with a larger job. Granny would be organizing the village, training the older children, and making pottery. Gus missed the old village, the old life, his old family. Especially his sister.

  “I’ve made sausage and grits,” announced Mrs. Clark, grinning at him from beneath a faux coonskin cap. “Isn’t that what they eat out on the trail? Yee haw!” She jumped in the air, attempting to click her cowboy boots together.

  She placed a steaming bowl on the table. Gus had no idea what this was, but it smelled good. He took a bite. It was good.

  “Yer paw is out the back, herdin’ some cattle. Get along doggies!” She grabbed his empty bowl and pushed him out the door.

  Father wore a balaclava, a camouflage vest, and Wellington boots over his blue jeans and t-shirt. He waved a coil of rope over his head and tossed it at a fence post. “Let’s rope these cows!” he yelled when he saw Gus.

  Gus looked around the small suburban yard. Except for a curious black crow gazing down from the safety of a branch and a chittering gray squirrel, there were no animals to be seen. What cows was Father talking about?

  “Or would you rather go on safari? Hunt some lions and tigers with a bow and arrow?” Father dropped the rope and picked up a large bow. He nocked an arrow and aimed at a large round foam circle positioned against the fence on the other side of the yard. “That’s an elephant!” announced Father as he loosed the arrow.

  His aim was as bad as Granny’s and the arrow sailed over the fence and into the neighbor’s yard. “What are you doing over there, Clark? You could have put someone’s eye out!” yelled an angry voice.

  “Sorry. Just toss it back over the fence.”

  Gus heard a crack, and two pieces of arrow flew back into the Clark’s yard.

  “Want to try? Shoot the elephant?” Father handed the bow to Gus.

  Gus looked at the foam painted with concentric circles of red, green, and blue. “That’s an elephant?” he asked.

  “Sure. That’s an elephant. Or it could be a giraffe or hippo or rhino. What do you want it to be?”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, obviously it’s a target. You can pretend it’s anything you want. Then you can be a hunter and kill it.”

  “Why would I do that? Can we eat it?”

  “It’s made of foam, Angus. I mean Gus. Of course, we can’t eat it.”

  “Then why would I kill it? Is it dangerous? Would it kill us?”

  “If you want it to, I guess you could pretend it’s dangerous.”

  “But is it? Really? I don’t want to hurt it if we can’t eat it and it’s not going to hurt us.”

  “Angus, Gus, it’s a piece of foam! Just shoot it!”

  “Why?”

  “Your mother says we have to play. You want to be a hunter, don’t you? Just shoot it.”

  “Oh, are you trying to train me for the mammoth hunt? Do you think I’m old enough? Can I go next time?”

  “Mammoth, dinosaur, bigfoot, I don’t care. Just shoot it!”

  Gus nocked an arrow, sighted the target, pulled the bow string, and released. The arrow whistled through the air and hit the bullseye.

  Father whooped. “Great shot! Want to try again?”

  “Yes, sir.” Gus aimed and fired. The second arrow hit the center again and sliced into the first.

  “Whoa! Fantastic, son! Why don’t you step back ten feet and see how you do?”

  Gus increased his distance from the target and tried again. The arrow sunk into the target a millimeter away from the first two.

  Mr. Clark raised his hand in the air. “High five!” he announced.

  Gus looked at his father’s outstretched hand and put the bow into it. “Spear next?” Gus asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Discovery Beneath the Hut

  “What do you mean you haven’t seen her all day?”

  “Just what I said. I’ve been working on these for Granny.” Angus proudly presented the sneaker rubber and fluorite eyeglasses to Gus’s grandmother.

  Granny examined the offering with interest. “Like this Granny,” said Angus as he tied the rubber frames around her head with a shoelace from the purple sneakers.

  “Well, who was watching her?” continued Mother, growing more anxious with every passing moment.

  Granny gasped and spun around the room. “Gus! What have you done!”

  Angus looked at her fearfully and stammered, “Sorry, Granny. I’ll take them off.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, young man!” She f
ocused two gigantic eyes on him. “You’ll come right over here and give your Granny a hug. I haven’t seen this well since, since, ever! Those woodland creatures don’t stand a chance! We’ll have squirrel stew, squirrel pie, squirrel soup, roast squirrel for every meal!” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. She kissed the top of his head and released him. “I can’t wait to go hunting! Where’s my bow and arrow?”

  “Hasn’t anyone heard a thing I’ve said?” interrupted Mother. “Where is Bonnie?”

  “Bonnie? Has that fool girl gone missing again?” asked Granny.

  “Gus, you’re supposed to mind your sister when I’m away,” said Mother.

  “Oh, leave off the boy. He has other things to do besides watch that girl. She is old enough to follow the rules.”

  What was this? Granny was taking Angus’s side? He guessed she liked those glasses.

  “He needs to help when his father is away. I can’t run this family alone,” said Mother.

  “And I suppose I do nothing to help? You’re doing it all alone, are you?” said Granny.

  “That’s not what I said. You’re always misunderstanding me. And anyway, for once this isn’t about you. It’s about Bonnie and where she is.”

  “There you go again. Thinking I make everything about me. Honestly! Who was it went up to the plateau the last time you lost your kids?”

  “I didn’t lose my kids! And I thanked you for that. But that doesn’t change the fact that Bonnie is missing and no one knows where she is.”

  “And I suppose somehow that’s my fault too. Blame everything on the old lady.”

  “That’s not what I said! If you would listen for once!”

  Angus heard an insistent barking from outside the family’s yurt. Granny and Mother were becoming so focused on each other and their disagreement that neither noticed him slip out the doorway.

  “What’s wrong, Ivy?”

  “I knew I smelled cat! I told you. Come and look!”

  The dire wolf trotted around the side of the yurt. She lay in the snow and pointed her muzzle at a gap below the house. “There. I can smell it in there.”

  Angus lay down beside her and peered into the dark space. “I don’t see anything. It’s too dark.”

  He poked through his toolbelt until he located the little penlight. He switched it on and off, banged it against his palm, and switched it on again. The batteries were definitely dead. He pulled out the World Jumper. Careful not to press the buttons, he aimed it under the hut and pulled the trigger. A red light flashed and Angus saw two eyes glowing back at him in the darkness beneath the hut. He caught his breath and nearly dropped the World Jumper.

  “There’s something in there!” he said.

  “I know. It smells like cat.”

  “Oh. That’s not so bad. I have a cat at home. I know what to do.”

  Angus spoke into the gap. “Here, kitty. Come out, kitty.” He made squeaking noises with his lips. A tiny mew reached his ears. The eyes drew nearer. Angus continued sweet-talking until a tiny orange-brown head poked through the opening and amber eyes peeked up at him. They flickered over his shoulder and the cat hissed. Angus turned and saw the dire wolf panting eagerly.

  “Ivy, go away!” Angus shoved at her shoulder. A large gob of drool dropped from her gaping mouth and landed on his hand. He wiped it in the snow and glared at her. She lowered her ears and backed off.

  He turned his attention back to the cat. He squeaked and called until it ventured out again. This time he scooped it in his arms and stood up. He stroked its ears and coaxed out a soft rumbling purr. “You’re a little bigger than my cat, Sir Schnortle. But you act like a kitten.” The cat gazed at him with trusting eyes, reached out a soft paw, and jabbed at his cheek.

  “That’s not a housecat,” called Ivy’s voice from the other side of the hut. “It’s a lion cub. I can smell it.”

  Angus peered at the animal curled in his arms. “Yes, I think you are a lion cub. A very young one. What are you doing beneath our house?”

  “Bonnie,” came the dire wolf’s voice.

  “You think that’s what she’s been up to?”

  “Yes. And if she’s got the lion cub, we’ve got a problem.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There’s one very unhappy mama looking for her stolen baby.”

  The lion cub stiffened in Angus’s arms as the argument inside the yurt grew louder.

  “Make that two unhappy mothers,” said Angus.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Back to the Cave

  Concealing the lion cub in his heavy fur coat, Angus pushed back the drape and peered into the hut. He interrupted the quarreling women. “Ivy and I are going to look for Bonnie before it gets dark.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying! I’ll go, too,” said Mother.

  “No, no. You stay here in case she comes back. I’ll go with Gus. Now that I can see, I’ll be a better shot than you,” said Granny.

  Angus cringed. He couldn’t let that happen. Granny couldn’t go with him! He had to get the lion cub back to its den. She’d ruin everything.

  “Granny, I have Ivy with me. She’s a good tracker. How about we search the forest and you search the village?”

  “Not a chance, young man! Pet or no, that area is far too dangerous for you this late in the day. But splitting up is a good suggestion. I’ll take the forest, and you and Ivy can search the village.”

  “But—”

  “Now that’s the end of it, or you can stay here and wait for Bonnie and I’ll take your mother with me instead.”

  Angus reached for the spear propped against the wall.

  “You won’t need that in the village,” said Granny. “Now, take your wolf and go look for Bonnie.”

  Angus scowled. There was no arguing with Granny. She was right; no need for a spear in the village. Of course, he had no intention of staying in the village but insisting on the spear would make her suspicious. He grabbed the snowshoes as he left the house. The dire wolf was nowhere to be seen.

  “Ivy! Ivy!” he called.

  “Up here,” answered a creaky high-pitched voice from the roof of the yurt. A huge bird with a bald head, crooked neck, and bulging eyes looked down at him.

  Angus cringed. “Yuck. A vulture, Ivy? Really?”

  “Shows what you know,” cackled the hideous fowl. “I’m a teratorn. Teratornis merriami to be exact. Nearly twice the size of a California Condor. But essentially a vulture, yes.”

  Far above them both, Angus saw an assembly of the gruesome birds circling over the meat hut. They cast ominous, dark shadows on the ground. Ivy coasted down beside Angus.

  “I saw that kettle of teratorns over there and thought: What better animal to scan an area from a distance? The lion won’t be able to surprise us this time.”

  Angus sat in a snow bank and fastened the snowshoes to his boots. “Granny says I can’t leave the village.”

  “She always says you can’t leave the village. Hasn’t stopped you yet.”

  “I’ll have to get out another way.”

  “I thought of that already.” The ugly bird flapped her wings and glided through the village. “Follow me.”

  Angus jogged along behind Ivy to the far end of the village. She continued flying over the mammoth bone fence and landed softly in the snow on the other side. She squawked in frustration as her talons sunk into the pristine powder.

  “Under the fence. Last thing I did before leaving the dire wolf body.”

  A wide ditch had been dug beneath the fence and ended in wolf tracks leaving the village. Angus peeked into a small opening in his coat and reassured the young animal hidden there.

  “We’re going to take you home. This next bit will be a little rough.” He tucked in the lion cub before sliding through the hole. The cub protested mildly but settled down once Angus was upright again.

  “Granny will be in the forest looking for Bonnie,” said Angus. “How do we get up to the plateau without her seeing me?”

&n
bsp; “Don’t you remember how we got down last time? We’ll follow the mastodon trail around the side and scale the cliffs.”

  “Easy for you to say! You can fly there. I’ll have to climb up all those rocks!”

  “You climbed up the side of the Fearsome Flea with a rope attached to a screwdriver. Rocks will be easy.”

  “Yeah, true. But this time I have the added weight of a lion cub.” He patted his coat.

  Ivy pulled one bony foot out of the snow and pointed it at Angus. “What do you think these talons are for? I can haul the cub up the cliff.”

  Angus wrapped his arms protectively around the large lump in the front of his coat. “No way are you sinking those things into this little guy!” A tiny muffled mew agreed with him.

  Ivy flapped her expansive wings and took off. “Just trying to help. The trail is this way.”

  Angus leaned panting against a large boulder at the bottom of the ravine. He had jogged nearly the entire way trying to keep up with the hideous teratorn and outpace the afternoon sun.

  “Why don’t you rest for a few minutes? I’ll fly up to the plateau and see what’s going on.”

  “Great idea.” Angus stretched his leg muscles and gazed up at the white sky. No trace of the beautiful blue sky that had started the day. But no threatening gray clouds either, so that was good. He reached into his coat and touched the cub’s furry head. It squeaked faintly. He must have woken it from a cat nap. It nuzzled in closer to him and sighed as it absorbed his body heat.

  Angus removed his snowshoes and strapped them to his back. He started up the slope. He took his time, picking out flat areas, grasping rocks, and hauling himself painfully up the hill. He stopped frequently to catch his breath and gauge his progress. He was slow but steady and had made his way halfway up the slope when a dark shadow alerted him that Ivy had returned. She glided down and landed on a boulder.

  “Angus.”

  Something in her voice alarmed him. He grabbed hold of a jutting stone to steady himself and looked at her.