Lord of the Wings (6 page)

“Point taken,” the chief said. “Though Rob did assure me that he had been far too busy with his Goblin Patrol work to celebrate the Halloween season with his usual enthusiasm. You know, I don't want to second-guess the county board, but I wonder if they really thought through the ramifications of this Halloween Festival thing. I know the annual Christmas in Caerphilly celebrations have been quite successful. They're helping to get the town back on its feet financially.”

“But the Christmas festival attracts a very different kind of visitor,” I said. “More family oriented.”

“Traditional,” Michael put in. “Sentimental.”

“Precisely,” the chief said. “With this Halloween thing, we're trying to appeal to two very different audiences.”

“Not just different,” Michael said. “Antagonistic.”

“We should have come down on one side or the other,” I said. “Either made it a completely wholesome, G-rated, family-friendly event or warned the parents to keep their kiddies away and gone full-bore with the zombies and vampires. The mad scramble twice a day to switch between the Day Side and the Night Side is insane.”

“I see I'm preaching to the choir,” the chief said.

“And not saying anything that wasn't said in the town council and county board meetings before they approved Randall's plans,” Michael added.

“Well, it doesn't matter now what we think of the festival, or whether we approve of having it next year,” the chief said. “We're stuck with it. We invited all these people here and we owe it to them to do our best to keep them safe while they're having whatever kind of good time they're looking for.”

“Provided their idea of a good time doesn't break the law or interfere with the other tourists' good times,” I said.

The chief nodded.

Just then, my friend Aida Butler, who was one of the chief's deputies, strode in. She was carrying a net with a telescoping handle, just like the one we used to skim leaves out of our pool.

“That was quick,” the chief said. “Thank you.”

“I didn't have to go far,” Aida said. “They keep a couple of these handy. Apparently the tourists are always dropping things into the ponds.”

We all watched as Aida extended the pole to about ten feet and then maneuvered the net under the floating foot. Several more sets of alligator eyes surfaced to observe the process, but the pond's legitimate inhabitants kept their distance.

Aida carefully pulled in the net and held the fake foot out for the chief to inspect. He was right—close up it wasn't nearly as scary, and in proper lighting we'd probably find it ludicrously unrealistic. But so far, to my relief, the chief was respecting the swamp creatures' need for their normal dim night conditions. He probably wouldn't have if it had been a real severed foot, so perhaps we should be grateful to Justin for choosing such an obvious fake.

As we were watching, the chief got a phone call. His end of it was monosyllabic and not very interesting, but once he hung up, he filled us in.

“Sammy found where our intruder gained entry,” he said. “Used a pair of wire cutters to make a hole in the chain-link fence at the far end of that big open field where Dr. Blake keeps all the antelope and buffalo and other herd animals.”

“Grandfather's going to need better security,” I said. “And for that matter, so is Dr. Smoot.”

The chief nodded.

“Did you find any fake body parts when you checked out the haunted house?” he asked Aida.

“I found plenty of them, not that I was looking,” Aida said. “Dr. Smoot has a bunch of them lying around as part of the décor. But I was looking for evidence of an intruder, not fake feet and such.”

“Do you suppose Dr. Smoot would even notice if a prankster left more fake body parts in his house?” Michael asked.

“And more important, why would the pranksters leave them there?” I asked. “It wouldn't fulfill the task, would it? The list doesn't just say ‘leave a fake body part lying around somewhere.' It says ‘scare someone with a fake body part.' Who would be scared by one more disembodied hand at the Haunted House?”

“Let's hope that whoever is running the game is less particular than you are,” the chief said. “Because having additional fake body parts turn up at the Haunted House would be a lot less disruptive than some of the places where the pranksters have been leaving them. And who knows where it could escalate by Halloween night?”

“Then if some of the pranksters consider the Haunted House a soft target for today's tasks, maybe a lot of them will be turning up there—so wouldn't it be a good place to catch them?” I asked. “Assuming we could enlist Dr. Smoot's help. Ask him to note the locations where he's already decorated with fake body parts, so we'll know if anyone adds any.”

“Good point,” the chief said. “I suppose I should go and talk to him.”

He didn't sound that keen on the prospect. I remembered how much Dr. Smoot annoyed him.

“You're busy with actual crimes,” I said. “How about if I talk to him? I need to go over there anyway. Rob seems to think I might have more luck than he's had at calming Dr. Smoot down.”

“Be nice if someone could,” Aida muttered.

“I'd very much appreciate it,” the chief said.

“In fact, maybe while I'm there, I can get Dr. Smoot to give me a complete tour, and I can document all the fake body parts that are supposed to be there,” I said. “I can take pictures of everything, and then at least we'll know how many of them are there, and where, so if any more turn up, we'll have proof.”

“That would be excellent,” the chief said.

“Let's catch up with the tour party and see if we can arrange an alternate ride home for the boys,” Michael said. “Then we can go straight to the Haunted House when we leave here.”

“What about that hand in the lion's den?” the chief asked, turning to Aida. “Are they making any progress toward clearing the lions out so we can process it?”

“They're working on it,” she said. “It's not as if they can just pick them up by the scruff of the neck like kittens.”

Michael and I followed the boardwalk through the rest of the indoor swamp. Along our way we spotted beavers swimming in their habitat. We resisted the temptation to peer into the glass side of the beaver lodge. We didn't pause to listen to the chorus of bullfrogs, perhaps croaking their relief at being in a separate pond from the alligators who, in the wild, would have found them delightful tidbits. We raced through the swamp and into the next exhibit.

“Smells a little like Vicks VapoRub,” Michael said.

“We're entering the Eucalyptus Forest,” I said, as I took a deep breath. “Come on—we might be able to catch up with the children at the crocodile exhibit.”

But apparently we'd dallied too long talking with the chief. The children had all moved on from the crocodile exhibit—even bloodthirsty little Mason. Though I thought I could hear shrill childish voices not too far away.

“They must have gone on to the Bat Cave,” I said.

I led the way through the Eucalyptus Forest, which was not only aromatic but pleasantly dry after the dank humid air of the swamp.

“Brace yourself,” I said.

“Why?” Michael asked.

I didn't answer. I just opened the door and let the bats do that for me.

 

Chapter 6

The Bat Cave was Grandfather's pièce de résistance. He'd wanted to give visitors the closest thing possible to what they'd experience if they went to a real Bat Cave—without, of course, subjecting the bats to any danger or annoyance from the humans intruding into their realm.

So the Bat Cave was built as a single huge space, several stories tall, in which the bats could fly freely and roost wherever they wanted. We mere humans traversed the floor of the Bat Cave confined to a narrow, winding tunnel. The sides of the tunnel were made of netting, so fine it was almost invisible—and in two layers, with a few inches of space between them, to keep us from sticking our fingers through the mesh to touch the bats. The roof was solid, to protect us from the bats' droppings, but made of clear glass, so we could look up and see the bats overhead—at least we could this early in the day, before the guano had piled up too badly. And we could hear the bats—the rustling of their wings and the squeaking noises they made—and feel the slight movement in the air as they rushed past.

Unfortunately we could also smell them. The bat guano reeked of ammonia. Not for the first time, I questioned the wisdom of having visitors go from the Eucalyptus Forest directly into the Bat Cave. I loved the way the gentle but pervasive eucalyptus scent cleared my sinuses and sharpened my sense of smell, but to go directly from that to the stench of the bats was cruel and unusual punishment.

And even though I knew the ultrasounds bats emitted as part of their echolocation was too high for human ears, I couldn't help wondering if they didn't have some kind of effect on us—perhaps subliminally. Every time I entered the Bat Cave, it felt as if the air was pressing in on my ears and throat. Maybe it was those ultrasonic bat cries.

Or maybe it was just my claustrophobia kicking in. Either way, I had little desire to linger in the Bat Cave. But I wasn't about to let the children know how I felt.

I started to take the deep yoga breaths that Rose Noire always recommended I use to calm myself, and after the first one I decided that in the Bat Cave, I'd have to work on being calm while breathing shallowly.

We couldn't see the children but we could hear their voices somewhere ahead of us. I hurried to catch up with them. And the fact that catching up with them took me closer to the exit was also nice.

“No, the bats don't bite,” Grandfather was saying. “Only vampire bats bite, and we don't have any vampire bats in the Bat Cave.”

“I want to see the vampire bats.” Mason again.

“We'll see some,” Grandfather said. “They have their own habitat, just before the exit. But for now, enjoy the Bat Cave.”

Most of the children seemed to be enjoying it. The group was only slightly smaller than it had been when I'd last seen it in the swamp exhibit. Perhaps a few children had freaked at the sight—and smell—of the Bat Cave and had to be taken out to calm down. Or perhaps a few parents decided to whisk their darlings away before more fake body parts appeared. A couple of the children seemed to be clinging to their parents in a way that suggested they were not wholly charmed by their surroundings. But most of the class were pressing against the inside of the mesh, trying to get as close to the bats as possible and muttering things like “awesome” and “wicked” and even that old standby from my generation, “cool.”

As Grandfather lectured the children on the bats, he was holding his cell phone in his hand, and glanced down at it from time to time. He eventually wrapped up his spiel and walked over to Michael and me, leaving the class group to enjoy the bats on their own.

“Lot of Brigade people on their way,” he said. “And Caroline's coming to help organize them.”

“Good.” I liked Caroline, who in addition to running a local private wildlife sanctuary was one of Grandfather's usual allies when he embarked on an environmental crusade or an animal welfare mission. She was cheerful, organized, and one of the few people in the universe capable of bossing Grandfather around.

“And I guess it's time I took your brother up on that offer of his,” Grandfather went on.

“What offer was that?” Not, I hoped, his notion of opening a zoo annex in the building where Mutant Wizards, Rob's computer gaming company, had its offices. However much the programmers might enjoy the presence of wolves and badgers, I didn't think the feeling would be mutual.

“He says some of his techs can install cameras all around the perimeter of the fence, and also in key points inside the zoo,” Grandfather said. “And then set up a big control room so someone on my staff can watch it all.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” I said. “But how long is that going to take?”

“No idea,” he said. “So until we can get it up and running, we'll set up patrols of Brigade members. First thing is to get through this blasted spook fest without any more of my animals being upset.”

I'd have been insulted at the implication that Grandfather cared more about protecting his zoo animals than his grandchildren if I didn't know that he more or less lumped them—and the rest of his family—in with the animals. He'd recently remarked that Josh and Jamie were admirable young primates, more amusing than spider monkeys and arguably as clever as baby orangutans—rare praise indeed.

Michael and I arranged for our two amusing young primates to ride home with Mason's mother and left the children to enjoy the Bat Cave for as long as their attention spans and Grandfather's patience would allow.

Crowds were already starting to gather outside the zoo. I checked my watch: 10:10. Still nearly an hour before the zoo opened. I saw two of my Goblin Patrol members standing nearby. One was Osgood Shiffley, a cousin of Randall's, who ran Caerphilly's only gas station. One of these days I'd ask Osgood why he'd chosen a giant chicken costume for Halloween. Left over, perhaps, from a long ago career with some obscure fast food chain? The other, Ragnar Ragnarsen, was the closest Caerphilly came to having a real celebrity. He was a retired heavy metal drummer—retired because the last three bands he had played in had self-destructed in ways that were pretty spectacular even by heavy metal standards, leaving Ragnar the only one still alive who wasn't committed, incarcerated, or in semi-permanent rehab. Although he was the mildest-mannered soul imaginable, Ragnar was taller than Michael—at least six eight—and built like a sumo wrestler, so in his black-leather Viking costume—complete with real, waist-length flaxen braids and a war ax whose edge I hoped wasn't too sharp—he made a satisfactorily intimidating presence. Osgood looked almost frail beside him, but I happened to know that Osgood was tough as rawhide and, unlike Ragnar, pretty cynically savvy about human nature. They made a great team, which was why I'd assigned them to the zoo, which had been something of a trouble spot ever since the festival had started. And I couldn't help thinking how nice it was that volunteering for the festival was bringing together people who might otherwise have never met.