The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe

by Brandon Mull

  As Summer twisted, shuffled, and jumped, the mashing pillars drew closer. Four pillars wide and twenty pillars deep, the crushing section of the corridor never held still. It was hard to identify a pattern in the constant motion.

  A blow that clipped her shoulder made Summer stagger when she reached the pillars. A heavy column of stone slammed down beside her. As it lifted up, she stepped underneath it, barely avoiding a pillar that boomed down onto her previous position.

  Keeping her eyes up, Summer zigzagged forward, columns thundering down to the left and right, ahead and behind. Toward the end she dove, rolling out onto the stone floor beyond the reach of the pitiless columns.

  No obstacles remained ahead of her. At the end of the corridor, a small statue awaited in an alcove. The floor vibrated each time a column crashed down behind her. She had survived. She returned to regular race mode.

  Summer thought she could hear Roman or Derek yelling at her, but with the pounding pillars so close, she couldn’t make out any words. Standing, she took a moment to examine the punctures and tears in her ragged clothing. Then she walked to the end of the hall.

  In the alcove stood a statue of a shirtless warrior, less than a foot tall. Squat and broad, he had thick limbs, large feet, and a cartoonishly oversized head. His eyes lacked irises or pupils; his nose was broad, his ears small. He was slightly crouched, his legs together, and he held a club in each fist.

  Summer looked around. The corridor ended here. “You must be the Protector,” she said.

  The statue offered no response. Behind her, the pillars continued to batter the floor.

  She found the statue quite light. Of course, with the tank stamp, she was considerably stronger than usual, making it tricky to guess how much the statue might normally weigh.

  Turning, she faced the booming columns. The thought of running back through the frantic gauntlet was disheartening. She would need to rest again before attempting the return trip.

  As she watched the columns piston up and down, Summer realized how difficult it was to see Roman and Derek at the far end of the hall beyond all of those moving obstacles. Which meant they couldn’t see her.

  Summer looked down at the Protector. If she broke it, wouldn’t that mess up Jonas White’s plans? He needed it to access Uweya. She could pretend it had happened by accident.

  With her stamp-enhanced strength, Summer flung the Protector to the floor. Nothing broke off. Upon closer examination, she failed to find a chip or a crack. She threw it down again. She bashed it against the wall. She threw it head first, then feet first. She hurled it end over end across the width of the corridor. None of the punishment even scratched it.

  Summer supposed she should have known it wouldn’t be so simple. If the Protector were easily destructible, somebody probably would have broken it long ago.

  Then she considered the pillars. If anything could destroy the little statue, it would be them.

  She carried the statue to the nearest row of pounding columns. As she neared, the columns stopped ramming the ground. She continued forward, and the next row of pillars stopped functioning as well.

  It was good news and bad news. She couldn’t use the obstacles in the corridor to destroy the statue, but apparently the Protector was her free ticket out. The trend continued as she progressed along the hallway. When she passed beyond the pillars, the spears stopped stabbing, the blades quit whirring, and the pendulums halted. In no time she made it back to Derek and Roman.

  “Nice work, Summer,” Derek said, giving her a high five.

  “Looks like you rescued your clothes from a pack of wild dogs,” Roman joked.

  “I’m starting a new trend,” Summer declared. “Wet and mangled.”

  “Can I see the Protector?” Roman asked, holding out his hand.

  Summer could think of no good reason to deny him, so she handed it over.

  “It’s light,” he said, hefting it. “Small. We need to be ready for the Jets to try to swipe it. You’ve got to be tired, so I’ll keep hold of it for now.”

  Once again, Summer could think of no plausible reason to disagree. She nodded woodenly.

  Derek and Roman trotted ahead of her. She had to help Nate. When would he strike? In the water, if he had any sense. But he needed to be careful. She knew how ruthless Roman and the other Tanks could be. If they got hold of anybody, they would force Nate to back off with threats of violence.

  Roman stepped warily out into the night. As he passed through the entrance, the stone building began to shudder. Summer raced out the doorway as the hallway behind her

  began to collapse. As she watched in surprise, the stone building folded in on itself, promptly shrinking down to nothing. The miniature replica of the building did likewise. The hillside where the building had stood looked churned up, as if an excavation had caved in. Otherwise there was no indication the building had ever existed.

  Roman studied the sky. “We have to be ready for an attack at any moment. When they come for us, grab them. If we show them we’re in charge, they’ll back off.”

  “Should we go straight across to the mainland?” Derek asked. “Or should we loop around wide, maybe avoid them.”

  “Subs can sense things in the water,” Summer said, wanting to appear helpful. “They’ll probably sense us wherever we go. Our best bet is to get across as fast as possible.”

  “Good thinking,” Roman said. “I’ll keep hold of the statue. You guys make a triangle around me.”

  They ran to the side of the island facing Tiburon without encountering any of the Jets. They dove into the water and started swimming. Summer kept her arms and legs thrashing, hoping the exertion would help her get over the shock of the cold water.

  “Don’t go top speed unless we get attacked,” Roman huffed. He seemed to be having trouble keeping afloat with the statue cradled in one arm.

  “You all right?” Summer asked.

  “Isn’t easy,” Roman replied. “We’re stronger, and we’re moving faster than normal. But we’re also heavier. I feel the Protector’s weight more in the water. I’ll make it. Don’t worry about me. You guys keep an eye out for the Jets.”

  *****

  Nate floated motionlessly beside Lindy, Chris, and Risa as the Tanks swam away from Angel Island, arms and legs churning with inhuman speed. He couldn’t see them with his eyes, but he could sense every stroke. Roman was barely keeping his head above water, flailing along with a small statue in the crook of one arm.

  “We’ll wait until they’re out in the middle,” Nate said. “They won’t see us coming. Lindy and I will snag Roman.”

  Nate held one end of a rope they had stolen from a boathouse. Lindy clutched the other end. Chris and Risa had a rope as well. When you could fly, it was easy to forage.

  “If you miss him, we move in,” Risa confirmed.

  “Right,” Nate said. “Lindy and I will use the rope to drag Roman down away from the others. Once he hands over the Protector, we’ll pull him back up.”

  “He’s stubborn,” Chris warned. “And he’s still mad at us. He won’t give it up easily.”

  “Stubborn or not,” Nate said, “when you don’t have air, nothing else matters.”

  “You won’t let him get hurt,” Risa checked.

  “No way,” Nate said. “The last thing I want to do is hurt anybody. I’m more worried about us. If those Tanks get hold of us, we could really get hurt. Especially if they’re panicked.”

  “Like they will be if they’re drowning,” Chris said. “I don’t like this. Somebody is going to get thrashed.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Nate said. “But we can’t let them have the Protector. It’s not an option. Somebody needs to mess up Mr. White’s plans. Unless we get the Protector, we’ll be in no position to do it. Let’s get ready.”

  Nate and the others drifted along about fifteen feet below the Tanks. As they approached the midpoint between the island and the peninsula, Nate gave a signal to Lindy. The two of them rose up t
hrough the water, moving with the ease of flight, until they were almost within reach of the Tanks’ flailing limbs. Up close Nate had a better appreciation for how quickly they were moving.

  Leaving Lindy on one side of Roman, Nate surged up out of the water, leaping over him and draping the wet rope across his back. They both swam down swiftly, allowing Roman no time to recover. By the time he twisted free, he was twenty feet below.

  As Roman tried to stroke upward, Chris and Risa swept in with their rope stretched between them. The rope caught him around his midsection, and they dragged him almost to the bottom.

  Moving in a frightening blur, Roman yanked on the rope with his free arm, trying to pull Chris closer. Chris and Risa released the rope and kept out of reach. Freed from the rope’s pull, Roman had clearly gone into overdrive. He swam upward with three limbs, making only modest progress considering how fast his arms and legs were moving.

  Above, the other Tanks were diving down, but they obviously could see nothing, and their futile search stayed confined to the ten feet nearest the surface. Nate stayed aware of them but didn’t feel the need to worry.

  Suddenly Roman was no longer moving in fast motion. Not at all. He shoved the statue aside and stroked pathetically for the surface. Nate sensed the abandoned statue sinking. At first Nate didn’t understand the hasty surrender. Roman had barely been underwater for ten seconds. Then the realization hit.

  “Roman used his fastest mode,” Nate called, already swimming to help him. “Every second to us was like ten to him. That’s a long time without breathing. He’s drowning.”

  When Nate and Lindy snared Roman with their rope, he clung to it. They surged for the surface, angling away from the other Tanks.

  *****

  “Where is he?” Derek shouted in frustration.

  “I don’t know,” Summer replied. “I can’t see anything.”

  After Roman was sucked under, Derek and Ruth had shifted into top speed. Summer had followed suit in order to avoid looking suspicious.

  “He’s been under a long time,” Ruth fretted.

  They were no longer diving down. Summer supposed you could only dive to look at blackness a certain number of times before it began to feel useless. The Jets could have dragged Roman away in any direction. And Ruth was right—he had been under a long time.

  “Are they trying to kill him?” Derek asked angrily. He squinted at his compass in frustration.

  “No,” Summer realized. “It only seems like a long time to us. And if Roman is at top speed, it seems like a long time for him too. But the Jets might not know.”

  “They could drown him by accident,” Ruth gasped.

  “Let’s go back to race mode,” Summer said. Staying at top speed was starting to make her woozy.

  Not long after she slipped out of her fastest state, Summer saw Nate and Lindy burst from the water twenty yards away. They left Roman behind, slowly gasping and flailing.

  “Why is he moving so slowly?” Derek asked.

  “He caught on,” Summer realized, switching back to her fastest state and stroking over to him. “He slowed down to conserve oxygen.”

  Nate and Lindy were flying back toward the peninsula. Summer and the other Tanks reached Roman. They slowed back to race mode.

  “Help him float,” Summer ordered. She slowed down to regular speed. “Just rest,” she told Roman. “We’ll hold you up.”

  Between wheezing and coughing, Roman managed to speak. “I lost it. I lost the statue. I was drowning. They pulled me deep. It was heavy. I couldn’t swim up . . . fast enough.”

  Chris and Risa burst out of the water ten yards away. They paused, hovering about ten yards in the air.

  “You okay, Roman?” Chris called.

  “Like you care,” Roman spat.

  “If we didn’t care, we wouldn’t ask,” Risa shot back.

  “Have you guys seen Nate and Lindy?” Chris wondered, looking around.

  “We knocked them out,” Roman said. “Give us the statue

  . . . and we’ll tell you . . . where to find the bodies.”

  “Nice try,” Chris said. “We know they flew up out of the water.”

  “They went back toward Tiburon,” Summer said.

  “Why that way?” Risa asked.

  “Probably to help these guys,” Chris said. “Sorry about almost drowning you, Rome. It took us a bit to realize you were spending more time underwater than it seemed thanks to your super speed.”

  “You guys are geniuses,” Roman said darkly. “I don’t need comfort. Either give us the Protector or get out of here.”

  “Suit yourself,” Chris said.

  He and Risa flew away.

  “I hate them,” Roman mumbled.

  “It was nice of them to check on you,” Summer said.

  “It’s easy to act nice after you’ve won,” Roman griped.

  “You’re sounding better,” Summer pointed out.

  “Failure must agree with me,” Roman replied. He struck the water with his fist. “I didn’t think about them using tools to drag us down. Nets, ropes—I should have been ready for that!”

  “Here,” a voice called from above. It was Nate. He didn’t pause. He and Lindy swooped over the Tanks, each dropping a boogie board.

  Derek and Ruth retrieved the flotation devices.

  “This will make it easier,” Ruth said, giving hers to Roman.

  “Or more pathetic,” Roman said. “I hope they crash into a helicopter.”

  “You need to grow up,” Summer said. “And you better start acting nicer to them. Soon they’ll be flying Tanks.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rescue

  Trevor tossed the last of his six darts at the target across the room. The dartboard had two sides—one consisted of a circular grid with numbers around the perimeter; the other displayed a simple target of concentric rings with a bull’s-eye at the center. The complicated side involved calculations to determine the score. This time Trevor had opted for the simple target.

  His final dart missed the center circle by a finger width. Two of the previous darts had already hit the bull’s-eye. Only one had strayed beyond the second innermost ring. After all the recent practice, his aim was getting reliable.

  Trevor had not left the room since coming for help from Mr. Stott. The sanctum had a small bathroom, and Mr. Stott brought him meals. He slept fine and ate well, but he often felt bored. Tonight, although it was getting late, he couldn’t settle down. The confinement was making him increasingly restless.

  After a quick knock, the door to his room opened and Mr. Stott entered with the Battiato brothers. Victor and Ziggy nodded their greetings.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Trevor asked happily. “I thought you steered away from lairs.”

  “We generally do,” Victor agreed. “But any port in a storm. Jonas White has started actively targeting us. Some of his sideshow henchmen mixed it up with us earlier tonight. We had crossed paths with a few of them since our arrival, but it never came to blows. Any unspoken truce between us has officially expired. And now we have an opportunity that will leave one of us defenseless.”

  “They got a message from Pigeon,” Mr. Stott said.

  “His tracking button went dark after he disappeared,” Ziggy reported. “But tonight the signal returned long enough for us to pinpoint a location. He’s being held somewhere below Arcadeland.”

  “The tracker had been dark too long for it to suddenly function without a reason,” Victor said. “We assume he got help from a fellow prisoner.”

  “Almost certainly Mozag,” Ziggy added.

  “Unless Jonas White is being sly,” Mr. Stott murmured. “Could he be using Pigeon’s tracker to lure you into a trap?”

  “Possibly,” Victor said. “But this late in the game, I don’t think we can afford to ignore the signal.”

  “How do you get the signal?” Trevor asked.

  Mr. Stott held up a stocking cap and a pair of mittens. “By wearing
these. Mozag enchanted them.”

  “A single mitten is enough,” Ziggy explained, “but wearing everything clarifies the signal.”

  “With one mitten, we can feel the direction of the various trackers,” Victor said. “With both mittens, we can feel the distance. Add the stocking cap, and we can almost see the location.”

  “Did Pigeon break the button?” Trevor wondered.

  “I’m not sure,” Victor said. “The signal didn’t last long. The mittens vibrate a lot if the button gets broken. That didn’t happen, but interference from the magical barriers around Arcadeland could have blocked the effect.”

  “What’s the plan?” Trevor asked. “Are you going in?”

  “The Battiatos came straight here after pinpointing the signal,” Mr. Stott said. “Victor intends to go after Pigeon. Ziggy will rest here in his depleted state. But you might be able to accompany Victor.”

  “Really?” Trevor asked.

  “Let me see the back of your hand,” Mr. Stott said. Trevor extended his arm, and Mr. Stott took a close look at the stamp, probing the ink with his fingertips. “It’s as I suspected. The stamp recently became inactive. When were you last stamped?”

  Trevor considered the question. “About three days ago. Does this mean I can use candy?”

  Mr. Stott produced a small box. “Bestial Biscuits,” he said. “My latest invention. A blending of Brain Feed, Mrs. White’s notes on Creature Crackers, and my general interest in shape-shifting.”

  “What do they do?” Trevor asked.

  Mr. Stott shook a biscuit from the box. “I’ve wanted to attempt something like this for years. Mrs. White’s notes together with this emergency provided me with the means and the motivation. Ideally, I’d like to produce a broader variety at some point. For now, six variations will have to suffice.”

  “Same question,” Trevor said. Sometimes Mr. Stott could get a little long-winded.

  Mr. Stott held out the biscuit to Trevor. “What does this look like?”

  “A bear,” Trevor said.