The Creature Department

by Robert Paul Weston

  2. Telepathy Helmet

  “Aw, cool!” said Leslie. “You mean for reading minds?”

  All three brothers nodded gravely. “Even in creaturedom,” said Lester, “telepathy helmets are veeery tricky. As far as we know, no one has ever produced a reliable prototype.”

  The next slide featured more of the same mechanical and mathematical imagery, only at the center was a dotted-line silhouette of a big hairy creature with horns. Over this image, it said:

  3. Invisibility Machine

  Elliot gasped. “My uncle was working on an invisibility machine?!”

  “We did find certain indications,” said Chester.

  “That’s incredible!” cried Leslie. She paused. “Hold on a sec. Teleportation. Telepathy. Invisibility. Those are some pretty big ideas, and we’re just a couple of kids. What can we do?”

  “More than you think,” said Lester. “In fact, we’ve discovered many children have more in common with creatures than the average human adult. So in a way, the Creature Department is the perfect place for you.”

  “That’s what makes your uncle so special,” Chester added. “He’s still got the Knack.”

  “The knack for what?” asked Elliot.

  “For ze most important part of any invention in creaturedom,” said Jean-Remy, “and it happens here, in ze Abstractory. It is here we select . . . ze intangible essence of ze machine.”

  “Not as easy as it sounds,” said Chester. “It requires not one, but a combination of intangibles. A combination of three, and we’ve always found it comes down to that crucial third.”

  “Zis is your uncle’s great gift, selecting just ze right intangible essences to power ze inventions,” Jean-Remy said to them. “Your gift too, we hope.”

  “Take the wireless breath mint, for one,” said Chester. “We all knew it might require the intangible essence of freshness and information, but those alone didn’t work. The flavor came out much too sharp, hit you in the teeth like a rock hammer. What we needed was the right thing to make it just a bit softer, just a bit sweeter.”

  “It was your uncle,” Lester went on, “who realized that taste and scent trigger memories. Which is why our TransMints would never have worked without just a drop of this.” He lifted an ornate bottle from a cart behind the counter. It was filled with what appeared to be huge flakes of snow. “Intangible abstract concept number 802: your fondest memory of winter. This is responsible for the icy coolness that goes into every mint.”

  For a moment, they all stared into the bottle. The snow inside sparkled faintly, each flake throbbing with light, almost like a distant memory.

  “Only your uncle could have thought of zis,” whispered Jean-Remy. “He is a very great man.”

  Elliot felt a swell of pride.

  “And since you too are a von Doppler, and Leslie, as we know from ze science competition, she is your equal, it is now up to you both to select ze intangible essence for each of our new technologies.”

  “Us?”

  “Why else would we bring you here, to so hallowed a place such as zis?”

  Elliot and Leslie gazed out at the maze of shelves. There must have been thousands of bottles.

  “Go on,” Chester encouraged them. “Give it a shot.”

  “Concentrate on the underlying meaning of each machine,” Lester instructed them. “Then let your minds wander—along with your feet.”

  In between the other two brothers, Nestor seemed to agree with this advice. He nodded, just once.

  “All right,” Elliot said to Leslie. “Let’s try.”

  At first they walked together, but then they split up to cover more ground. Each alone, they wandered through the winding aisles. The bookcases were so dense and twisted, while the contents (and labels) of the bottles were so strange, it felt very much like they were exploring the landscape of an alien planet.

  At times, their paths crossed and they would discuss what they had seen among the bottles. Once they felt (slightly) more confident with the bizarre layout, they decided to begin with their first selection.

  The teleportation device.

  If you wanted to send something (or someone) to another place in a single instant, you would need something very powerful.

  “Let’s start with hope,” Elliot suggested.

  They found it in a simple clear bottle: a bright, swirling, emerald-green liquid. It shimmered behind the glass, catching light where there was none.

  They also surmised that a teleportation device would need something more directly related to wanting to be somewhere else.

  “I’ve got it!” Leslie said, with the utmost confidence. “I saw it back in one of the . . . the, um—what are we calling those?”

  “Bookcase-trees?”

  “Okay. In one of the bookcase-trees.”

  They walked back to a towering “bookcase-tree” in the middle of the Abstractory.

  “That one, up there,” said Leslie. She pointed to a disk-shaped bottle with an intricately pebbled surface. On the label was a word Leslie had heard from her mother many times. Wanderlust.

  “This one,” she said to Elliot. “Definitely this one.” She climbed up a ladder to retrieve it. When she brought it down, they saw it was full of what appeared to be sand. Holding up the bottle, Leslie seemed disappointed. “I don’t get it. Why sand?”

  Elliot leaned close to the glass. He took out his DENKi-3000 Electric Pencil and switched from the macro- to the microscopic mode. He peered into the bottle.

  “It’s not sand in there,” he whispered. “It’s feet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Millions of tiny feet—and they’re all moving.”

  He handed Leslie the spyglass, and the moment she looked through it, she saw he was right. Every grain of sand was actually a microscopic foot. Some looked like regular human feet, while others were hairy or clawed or scaly, like the feet of animals (or creatures). Every one of them wriggled its toes and buffeted around the others as if trying to run—manically, aimlessly, in any direction at all.

  “Reminds me of my mom,” said Leslie.

  Finally, they needed the last and most crucial part of the formula. The third essence.

  In exploring the Abstractory, they had discovered that the vast room was more organized than it at first appeared. The more common essences, the ones with lower intangible abstract concept numbers, were near the entrance. The deeper you ventured into the shelves, however, the stranger and more rare the essences became. They surmised that the crucial third ingredient would come from the deepest depths of the Abstractory.

  The farther they went, the stranger the essences became. There were corked bottles full of swirling smoke, bubbling slime, and foul, unnameable sludge. There were screw-top jars that trembled with tiny fingers, chattering teeth, and slithering tails. And it wasn’t merely what was inside the jars that was strange; the labels were equally peculiar:

  The Earsplitting Wail of a Screaming Wee Beast The Overpowering Stench of a Bridge Troll’s Feet The Shock of Brushing Your Leg Against Something Warm and Hairy Under the Table The Enchantment of a Luster Bug’s Light The Dread of Meeting a Ghork in a Dark Alley

  “What we need is something fast—really fast,” said Leslie. “It’s what teleportation’s all about. Sending something to another place in the blink of an eye.”

  They wandered through the farthest aisles of the Abstractory, looking for something that fit the bill. The labels on many of the bottles were so strange, they had to guess at the contents from what they saw inside. Some bottles were bubbling rapidly, while others whipped with fast-moving noodle-like appendages. But none of them seemed fast enough.

  Then Elliot saw something. “What about that one?”

  At the very base of what might be called the trunk of one of the bookcase-trees was a broad jar, simple and hefty. Elliot cro
uched down for a closer look.

  “It’s a blizzard,” he said. “A really fast one.”

  In fact, it was worse than a blizzard. It was a furious cyclone of snow and ice but shrunken down and contained in a glass jar.

  “Looks good,” said Leslie, “but what’s an . . . arachnimammoth?” She pointed to the label, which said: The Thrill of Your First Ride on the Back of an Arachnimammoth.

  Elliot shrugged. “Whatever it is, it must be fast. I think we should choose this one.”

  Leslie agreed. They brought the three jars to the front counter and returned to repeat the process for the other two inventions.

  For an invisibility machine they chose the essences of obscurity (a bottle of inky gray fog) and bedazzlement (a jar of painfully flashing lights), both of which seemed like obvious choices. The crucial third ingredient, again, was trickier.

  They ventured deep into the darkest, most distant corner of the Abstractory. There they passed a lopsided bottle that was turned around, facing the back of the shelf. Since they couldn’t read the label and since the bottle appeared to be empty, they almost ignored it. They were just about to pass it by when Leslie screamed.

  “I saw something!” she gasped. “Something inside that one! Something . . . creepy.”

  “But it’s empty.” Elliot couldn’t see anything at all in there.

  He brought his face close to the bottle, and just as he leaned down, he saw something. It was almost as if a ghostly—and invisible—hand had suddenly reached out for his throat.

  He stepped backward. “You’re right,” he said. “It looks empty, but . . .”

  “Something’s inside.”

  “We need to read the label. I’m going to turn it around, okay?”

  Leslie nodded.

  Slowly, squinting through the fingers of one hand, Elliot twisted the neck of the bottle. On the label, it said: The Overwhelming Suspicion Something Big and Hungry Is Hiding Under Your Bed.

  “I think we found our third essence,” said Leslie.

  They brought the three bottles to the counter and placed them beside the others.

  Finally, they set their minds to the telepathy helmet. First, they made logical choices: the essences of intuition (a jar of cloudy, colored marbles, like tiny crystal balls). Next, they chose echoing voices (a bottle of constantly rippling water). At last, just as before, they ventured into the farthest, most creaturely depths of the Abstractory. After quite a lot of wandering, however, they were still stumped by what to select for the crucial third ingredient.

  “Let’s think for a moment,” said Leslie. “What is telepathy all about?”

  “Reading people’s thoughts,” said Elliot.

  “And it could also be the opposite. Sending your ideas into someone else’s mind.”

  “So it’s about thoughts and minds and . . .”

  That was when they saw the final jar.

  “Brains!” they both said together.

  Up in one of the highest branches (or shelves) of the bookcase-trees was a jar that appeared to be filled with exactly that. When they read the label, they saw it said: An Insatiable Hunger for Brains.

  “Perfect,” said Leslie. And so they had made their choices.

  They brought the last three bottles up to the counter. Just as they were putting them down beside the others, however, the Abstractory doors burst open.

  It was Reggie, rattling as always in in his absurd regalia. “Gentlemen! Geeentlemen!” he cried. “You must stop!”

  “Gentlemen?” asked Leslie.

  “Ah, yes. Indeed. And lady.” Reggie gave Leslie a courteous bow. “You must all stop!”

  Before anyone could respond, the two hobmongrels, Bildorf and Pib, came rushing in. They were weighed down by the great tray of tea and biscuits.

  “We’re sorry,” said Bildorf. “We tried to stop him, we really did!”

  “But he’s completely gone off tea and biscuits,” Pib complained. “We can’t get him to eat any!”

  “Be gone, you scamps! Tempt me no more!” Reggie merely tapped them backward with the heel of one of his enormous boots, but the impact was so great, both hobmongrels clattered into the hall, a storm of fur balls, tea bags, silverware, and chocolate biscuits.

  Reggie was quick to shut and lock the door behind them.

  “Shouldn’t you be hibernating?” asked Chester.

  “How do you expect me to sleep with such teeerible dreams?”

  Lester pointed to the door. “You could have tried the tea and biscuits.”

  Reggie scoffed. “Ugh! I’ll have no more of their tea and biscuits! I come bearing news of the utmost import!”

  Chester and Lester sighed in unison. “What news?”

  “News of the professor’s secret project!”

  Jean-Remy flapped up and floated in front of the great bombastadon’s face. Seeing them practically nose-to-nose made Jean-Remy seem like an insect, while it made Reggie resemble a soft, woolly mountain (with tusks).

  “Can it be true?” Jean-Remy searched Reggie’s enormous face. “You have information about ze professor?”

  “Not about the man himself, but his project.” Reggie lowered his voice. “I, Colonel-Admiral Reginald T. Pusslegut of Her Majesty’s Royal Antarctic Brigadiers, know what the venerable professor was working on!”

  “You must tell us at once.”

  With great solemnity, Reggie moved his eyes across every face in the room and then whispered, “Super-galoshes.”

  “Did he just say what I think he said?” asked Leslie.

  The Preston Brothers folded their arms (and several tentacles).

  “Why would the professor work on something as foolish as super-galoshes?” asked Lester.

  “What are super-galoshes?” asked Chester.

  “You cretins!” Reggie raised his bushy eyebrows. “Super-galoshes are just that. Super. They are like regular galoshes, only warmer. And perhaps a bit more water resistant. One thing they are most certainly not is foolish!”

  “You must admit, mon ami, it does sound just a teensy bit foolish.” Jean-Remy looped away from Reggie’s face and settled down on the reception counter.

  “How dare you?!” boomed Reggie. “We speak of galoshes!” He looked down at his own enormous rubber boots. “A well-made pair of galoshes can draw the line between life and death! And more than this, they are objects of sublime beauty.” Having made his case, he bent at the waist and slipped off both his boots.

  Instantly, the whole Abstractory was filled with the dizzying stench of seaweed and fungus.

  “No, Reggie! Please!” cried Jean-Remy. “Put ze boots back on!”

  Instead, Reggie picked up the enormous galoshes and placed them on the countertop, right between Jean-Remy and the little brass bell.

  “How can you deny their elegance?” Reggie stroked the galoshes lovingly. “These will take you across countless ice fields without so much as a blister. With a single boot I once held back a whole army of vicious berg biters. And nothing fits the stirrup of your trusty steed like the heel of a solid galosh! Plus, if you find yourself bereft of supplies, your boot becomes your teacup.”

  “No way,” said Elliot, holding his nose. “Please don’t tell us you drink out of those things.”

  Before Reggie could answer this rather disgusting question, Chester cut in. “Hold everything. What makes you think the professor was designing ‘super-galoshes’? How did you even get this information?”

  “The same way I get all my information.” Reggie shrugged imperiously. “It came to me in a dream.”

  The others sighed. Elliot and Leslie were beginning to see why all the other creatures found Reggie so annoying.

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” said Lester.

  Reggie’s big, jowly face sagged a little more than usual. “But . . . but
. . .” He put out his hands imploringly, urging the others to see the same practical elegance he saw in a pair of gigantic, badly weathered galoshes. “Look at them! Who wouldn’t want to work on something so . . . so . . . gorgeous?”

  All three Preston Brothers shook their heads in pitying unison.

  “But . . . but . . .” Reggie looked to Elliot for salvation, but Elliot simply couldn’t believe his uncle was working on anything so silly as really warm galoshes.

  He sighed and stepped forward, standing toe-to-enormous-hairy-toe with Reggie.

  “I’m sorry,” Elliot apologized, “but, speaking as a von Doppler, I just don’t think this is something my uncle would be working on.”

  Hearing these words from Elliot had a distinct impression on the great bombastadon. A look of confusion passed over his face and his lower lip began to tremble between his tusks.

  “Very well, then,” he said, his voice quavering with barely restrained emotion. “I understand.”

  He raised one set of claws to his forehead and gave everyone a curt salute. Then he turned sharply on his heels and trudged for the exit.

  “Er, excusez-moi, Reggie?” said Jean-Remy, hovering above the galoshes that were still standing on the counter. “I beg you, do not forget ze boots.”

  Without saying a word, Reggie did another about-face to collect his galoshes. He padded off with them cradled lovingly in his arms, like a pair of newborn twins.

  At last, when Reggie was gone, Elliot and Leslie brought their essences up to the counter. The Preston Brothers put them in three groups of three:

  Teleportation: hope, wanderlust, and the thrill of your first ride on the back of an arachnimammoth.

  Invisibility: obscurity, bedazzlement, and the overwhelming suspicion something big and hungry is hiding under your bed.

  Telepathy: intuition, echoing voices, and an insatiable hunger for brains.

  All three of the Preston Brothers leaned over to examine the jars and bottles. They took their time nodding and squinting at their labels and contents. When they finally finished, Lester and Chester were silent because for the very first time, it was Nestor who spoke. “You have chosen wisely.”