What We Found in the Corn Maze and How It Saved a Dragon

by Henry Clark

  “After you,” he suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Are you trying to tell us there’s no light in the entrance to Elwood Davy’s secret luxury apartment?” Modesty asked.

  “There is, but the bulb burned out just as I was leaving earlier.”

  “Life would be awfully dull without coincidences,” said Modesty, repeating what Spalding had said the previous day. I understood she was being sarcastic. Spalding did not.

  “Exactly!” he said, and threw a leg over the hatch’s high threshold. “I’ll go first, then, and put your minds at ease.”

  He ducked through the opening, took a few steps into the tank, and turned back to us.

  “Look,” he said, waving the light around. “It’s completely clean inside. If this were a real tomato-juice tank, there’d be sticky residue all over the walls. There’s even a carpet.” He shone the beam at his feet. A narrow red carpet ran from the hatch, across the floor of the tank, to another hatch on the opposite side. “And that’s the door to Elwood’s apartment.” He threw a circle of light at the second hatch. “I can’t imagine why you’re so hesitant. You told me Congroo is dying, and only you can save it, and time is running out, and one of you wants to save your farm, and another’s keen on dragons not going extinct, but you’re acting like a bunch of frightened children.”

  “He’s right,” said Pre. “We have to save Congroo! Scientifical wands out!” He drew his flashlight, muttered something that sounded like “Lumos,” and clicked it on.

  Pre pushed me aside and levered himself through the opening. Modesty and I pulled out our own flashlights, and Modesty straddled the threshold, then turned back to me and whispered, “One of us should stay near the hatch and make sure it doesn’t close.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, and followed her through. Once inside, I sat on the edge of the opening with my butt sticking out. Modesty joined the others.

  Spalding rapped on the far hatch with his flashlight.

  “Hello?” he shouted. “Mr. Davy? I’m sorry if we’re waking you, but the magic kids are here. They have a world to save. They say it’s urgent.” He rapped again. He turned and shone the light on me. “Are you just going to sit there?”

  “Um,” I said. “I, uh, have Overheated Butt Syndrome. It feels better if it’s out in the cool air.”

  Modesty pointed her flashlight at the ceiling. There was a third and final hatch at the very top of the tank, about fifty feet over our heads.

  “So,” she said, “where’s this burned-out bulb?”

  “Oh. Well,” said Spalding. “There you’ve got me.”

  And the hatch behind me swung in, whacked me in my overheated butt, and knocked me into the tank. I scrambled to my feet and turned back to the hatch just as it thudded closed and made noises like bolts sliding into place.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” said Spalding. His shoulders sagged, as if a great weight had been lifted from them. “This has been so stressful. I’ve been practically out of my mind all day!”

  He walked to the center of the tank and sat down on the rug. He folded his legs beneath him as if he was going to meditate, balanced the flashlight upright on the floor in front of him, let go of it, and regarded us sadly.

  “I really do apologize for this,” he said. “I am so sorry.”

  “For what? Doing yoga?” asked Modesty.

  “No. For everything I’m about to tell you. I’m sitting, to make myself shorter than the three of you. That will make me less intimidating. I don’t want you to panic. Almost everything I’ve told you has been a lie.” He sounded nothing like the fast-talking Spalding Wicket we had first met. His voice had become soft and sorrowful. “I’m not supposed to be feeling guilty. I’m not supposed to feel anything at all. But being on my own for four years seems to have caused certain abnormalities.”

  “Your name isn’t Spalding Wicket,” Modesty told him.

  “Actually, it is. My name is whatever I say it is at the time. Names are irrelevant.”

  “You’re not Elwood Davy,” I said.

  “I’ve already told you I’m not.”

  “You’re a logem,” said Pre.

  “Yes.” He gave Pre a woeful look.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Modesty pounded on the hatch that led to Elwood Davy’s apartment.

  “Yoo-hoo! Mr. Davy! Time to wake up! Hello!”

  “There’s no one there,” said Spalding. “There’s no apartment. That hatch is locked, as is the one we came in through. They’re both on timers. They won’t unlock for another hour. The overhead hatch isn’t automatic, but it has a crowbar jammed through its outside wheel so the inside wheel can’t be turned. I’m sorry it had to come to this, but…”

  “But what?” I growled.

  “The three of you are my prisoners.”

  CHAPTER 26

  SEVEN THIRTY BMS

  I’m calling the police,” said Modesty, and whipped out her phone. She tapped it, then scowled.

  “You’re inside a giant metal jar,” said Spalding. “There’s not going to be any reception. That’s why I brought us here. No distractions. You’d never let me get through my story otherwise.”

  “We outnumber you three to one,” said Modesty.

  “Yes, you do. But there’s nothing you can do to me.”

  Spalding gripped his flashlight and gave himself a tremendous whack in the face. He put the flashlight back on the floor. His face was undamaged, but the metal flashlight now had a dent.

  “We saw you eat a doughnut!” I shouted, not convinced he wasn’t human. I still wanted him to be the real Elwood Davy.

  He grabbed the middle button on his shirt and pulled a drawer out of the center of his chest. He removed the drawer completely, turned it upside down, and dumped a pile of gooey crumbs onto the floor. Then he reinserted the drawer, and it became impossible to tell where it was.

  “I eat and drink. It helps convince people I’m Elwood Davy.”

  “Does anybody here have phone service?” Modesty demanded.

  I was the only other person with a phone. I checked. I didn’t.

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll give you one last chance.”

  “One last chance? Really?” said Spalding. “For what?”

  “To let us out,” I bluffed. “If you don’t, we’ll use magic and get out on our own. You know we can do it. You saw what we did with the fire tower. And right now, I’m using tremendous willpower just to prevent my teeth from shooting out laser beams. They do it all the time. It’s how I… floss. And if you force us to resort to magic, we won’t go easy on you. We’ll… we’ll…”

  “You’ll what?”

  “We’ll turn you into a bobblehead doll!” snapped Modesty.

  “I have a cousin who’s a bobblehead,” said Spalding. “She’s very agreeable. Nods yes to everything.”

  “Really?” asked Pre.

  “No, of course not. It’s about as true as the idea that the three of you can do magic whenever you want. I know you tried to give me that impression yesterday, but I’m fully aware that magic only works in the World of Science at very specific times. And I can name both of them.”

  “Both?” said Modesty.

  “Twelve past midnight and three forty-five,” Spalding replied smugly. “I know this because I was present when magic was successfully performed at both those times.”

  Preffy stepped in front of Spalding.

  “Are you working for Oöm Lout?”

  “I suppose I must be,” Spalding replied. “Yesterday was the first time I ever heard his name, when you told me about him. I said to myself, Oh, I bet he’s the one behind this.”

  “You don’t know?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t. That’s part of my story. The sooner I tell it, the sooner the three of you can move on. I really need to clear my conscience. It would make me feel so much better.”

  “You’re a logem,” said Pre. “You don’t have a conscience.”

  “
Don’t tell me what I do or do not have. You’re not me. All I can tell you is, thinking about what I’m about to do makes me feel all empty inside.”

  “You are all empty inside!”

  “I am speaking metaphorically.”

  “Oh, well, then,” said Modesty.

  “Once we listen to this story of yours, you’ll free us?” I asked.

  “Trust me. Within minutes of what I have to say, you will no longer be prisoners.”

  “Then your story better be short, and you better tell it quickly.” Modesty plunked herself down in front of Spalding and leaned forward, until her nose was only inches from his face. “We’re listening.”

  She eased back a bit. Pre settled down next to her. I remained standing, the better to spring into action, should anything occur to me. Which didn’t seem likely.

  “Okay, then,” said Spalding. “The first thing I remember is falling out of a tree.”

  “Like a nut?” said Modesty.

  “This will go faster if you don’t interrupt. We’re on a somewhat tight schedule. The first thing I remember is falling out of a tree. That was four years ago. Two angry squirrels rolled me out of a hole halfway up the trunk. This was at three forty-five in the morning. I couldn’t have arrived in your world during a time when magic wasn’t working here, so this is how I know three forty-five is one of the two Magic Minutes. I landed on top of some mossy roots; when morning came, it was a very sunny spot. The tree is about a mile from here. It’s a lovely oak. I visit it every Mother’s Day.”

  “The hole in the trunk must have connected with a gniche,” said Pre. “The way Modesty’s gym locker did. And if squirrels rolled you, you may have been in the shape of a pie.”

  “I couldn’t say. But three days after I arrived, I had grown large enough, with the requisite number of arms and legs, that I was able to get up and walk. I molded myself to appear fully clothed and completely human. I have no recollection of anything before that. So I have no knowledge of who sent me.” He nodded to himself. “This is good. This is what I wanted. To be able to confess but still fulfill my mission. Yes.

  “I assumed the shape of a young man—generic but passable—and the first place I came to was Elwood Davy’s house, and Elwood was out mowing the lawn. He stopped to empty the grass catcher, and I leaned over the fence and asked him what all the stuff in his garage was. The garage was open, and there wasn’t any room for a car; it was so full of electronic equipment and computer parts. He said that was where he’d rather be, fooling around with that stuff, instead of mowing, and I said I’d be happy to mow for him if, after I was done, he would explain all the garage stuff to me. We got to be good friends. I worked for his family doing yard work; he taught me about computers and computer code. I told him I lived in town. I told him my name was John Deere.”

  “Which… was the name on his lawn mower,” I guessed.

  “Yes. We both had a good laugh over that. Anyway, it turned out I had arrived pre-enchanted with the words to all the most powerful, magic-intensive spells. And as soon as I met Elwood, I knew my mission. I was pre-enchanted to create some sort of colossal, ongoing magic project in your world that would drain all the magic out of Congroo. I couldn’t do the magic myself, of course—logems, being products of magic, can’t perform magic—”

  “Of course not,” said Pre, as if everybody knew this.

  “So I had to get somebody here in the World of Science to do the magic for me. At first, I had no idea what my project could be. Then I noticed how much computer code resembles magical incantations. Elwood was working on a program to get a 3-D printer to make a plastic toy he called a Mister Zucchini Head. Imagine his surprise when it made a real zucchini instead. I had typed the transmutation incantation right into the middle of his code. He pushed the Enter key to run the program, so he was the one who did the magic. He had tried running the program a number of times without success, but when he hit Enter at precisely twelve minutes past midnight, it produced a genuine vegetable. This is how I learned there were two Magic Minutes. Ever since, I’ve deliberately made zero hour plus twelve the standard time to send out the DavyTron updates.”

  I could hear a faint noise from somewhere. I pressed my hand against the wall of the tank.

  It was vibrating.

  “I worked for Elwood doing different jobs,” Spalding continued, “until the company started making lots of money. Then, when Elwood built his headquarters around his family home, I locked him in the basement of his own house, remolded my appearance so I looked like him, and took his place. The house’s basement is soundproof, and I don’t have to feed him—he has his own DavyTron. I just keep him supplied with tomato juice. I need him in case I have technical questions only he can answer. I visit him every day. Sometimes he attacks me with a frying pan. Sometimes we play chess. It’s complicated.”

  He stopped talking.

  The faint noise became a distinct rumble.

  “Is that it?” said Modesty. “That’s your story?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And now you’ll let us go?”

  “I said nothing about letting you go.”

  “You said—”

  “I said you would no longer be prisoners. Which, in a few minutes, you won’t be.”

  “Why is the wall shaking?” I asked.

  “I am so sorry about this.” Spalding ignored me. “I truly regret it. You have to believe me. Until my mission ends, I have no volition. That means I can’t do what I want. I can’t make my own choices, even when I know what I’m doing is wrong. I’m pre-enchanted to do the things I’m doing. It’s not me. At least I was able to confess. And it has made me feel better.”

  “You’re not supposed to have feelings,” Pre said. “You’re a logem.”

  “I’ve been on my own for four years now, living with human beings. Why shouldn’t I have feelings? But I can’t do anything that contradicts my pre-enchantments, and I’m pre-enchanted to eliminate any threat to my mission. The three of you are a threat to my mission. I should have eliminated you yesterday, but I didn’t want to see your faces when I did it. This is better. I don’t have to watch. That’s why I brought you here just before I shut down for the day.”

  The rumble got louder.

  “What’s that noise?” I had to raise my voice to be heard over it.

  “It’s an ocean of tomato juice coming down the pipeline. It will be here in a moment, and when it hits, it will only take twelve minutes for the tank to fill to the top. The liquid will force all the air out through tiny screened vents—you won’t be able to escape through the vents; they’re too small—and it won’t leave even an inch of breathing space. As I say, I am so sorry about this. Good night.”

  Spalding’s eyes closed. He stretched out like a corpse, turned the color of red clay from head to toe, and became completely rigid.

  “Seven thirty Before Midnight Snack,” said Pre. “Eleven thirty your time. Bedtime for logems.”

  The entire tank shook as, with a deafening roar, hundreds of gallons of tomato juice came blasting down from an overhead pipe.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE TOMATO JUICE OF DOOM

  The spewing juice knocked us off our feet. We floundered, then slipped and sloshed until we were no longer directly beneath the deluge and shakily stood up. The combined light from three flashlights—along with Pre’s “scientifical wand”—showed us our situation clearly. We were up to our ankles in tomato juice.

  “Twelve minutes, he said, until it reaches the top!” I shouted to make myself heard above the roaring downpour.

  “Can we all swim?” Modesty hollered just as loudly.

  I nodded. Pre wagged his hand in an iffy motion.

  “I can tread water. I’m not sure about tomato juice.”

  Don’t panic, I told myself, even though my heart was hammering harder than it had when the fire extinguisher ran out of foam and the flames rose higher on the Fireball 50. I couldn’t let this be a repeat of that. Our lives wer
e at stake. There had to be a way out.

  I told myself to calm down and think.

  Something bumped the back of my legs. I turned. It was Spalding, still frozen in sleep position but buoyed up by the juice.

  “Logems float?” I shouted at Pre.

  “They’re hollow. He shut up before he shut down, so his mouth is closed. So yes, a tight-lipped logem would float.”

  “Good!” Modesty snapped. “We have a raft!”

  She boosted herself up and sat on Spalding’s chest. The logem sank a little but remained on the surface.

  The tomato juice rose another six inches.

  “If we could only manage to stay alive until twelve twelve, we could use the Magic Bites on our phones to get us out of here!” Modesty held up her phone to keep it from getting wet. My phone was still in my pocket. I fumbled it out.

  “The big gush started at eleven thirty,” I said. “There’s no way we’re making it until twelve past midnight. Eleven forty-two rolls around, this glop will be up to the ceiling. We’ve only got ten minutes!”

  “What if we did something to slow down the flow?” asked Pre. “Something scientifical?”

  “If we could block off the pipe, that would help,” I said.

  “We could wad up some clothing,” said Modesty, “but there’s no way to get it up there. By the time the juice raises us high enough, it will be too late!”

  The tomato juice surged to our waists. Pre lost his footing, and Modesty hauled him up next to her. A moment later, my own feet left the floor, and I put one hand on the logem’s shoulder to steady myself as I floated beside them. I pointed my flashlight at the ceiling and jammed it into a convenient gap between Spalding’s arm and the side of his chest.

  “Spalding’s full of air; could we crack him open and get the surplus?” Modesty asked.

  Pre rapped on Spalding’s forehead with a knuckle. It made a brittle klonk-klonk sound.

  “When a logem’s at rest, it’s all hard ceramic,” he explained. “Unbreakable. You saw what happened when he hit himself with the scientifical wand. Whatever air is inside is going to stay inside.”