The Order of Odd-Fish (17 page)

Then Ian saw Dugan about a block away. Jo was about to call out to him, but Ian stopped her.

“What’s he doing down here?” said Ian. “He was assigned to Eelsbridge. Look, he doesn’t even have the weapon Sir Festus gave him!”

“Let’s go ask him,” said Jo.

“No, wait. Let’s follow him.”

“Isn’t that sneaky?”

“Dugan himself has been sneaky lately. I think he’s up to no good. Come on, he’s getting away.”

Dugan slipped through the streets easily, slicing through the crowds like a knife. Jo and Ian loped behind, caught in snarls of traffic, baffled by Dugan’s twisting route. Sometimes Dugan doubled back, ducking down an alley, as though he suspected someone was following him.

Ian looked around nervously. “I don’t know this neighborhood very well. Be careful.”

They had followed Dugan into Snoodsbottom, a dark warren of caverns hewn out of the heart of the mountain. Sunlight was replaced by the pale glow of luminous fungus and strings of lanterns flickering dimly over the streets. But any light seemed unnatural here. It was gloomy, hot, and stuffy, and the cramped lanes made Jo claustrophobic, the buildings crowding her on either side; she could almost feel the millions of tons of mountain looming over her head.

Dugan pushed on, faster now, his eyes anxious, glancing around every few seconds, now and then breaking into a hurried trot. Finally, getting a hold of his nerves, he turned a corner and walked calmly toward a storefront, where a long lean man awaited him.

What happened next was quick. The man, dressed in an ugly maroon suit with a three-cornered hat, looked up at Dugan with sleepy eyes. Dugan gave the man a small red bag. The man turned and left without a word, and Dugan walked off in the opposite direction.

And then Dugan might have turned to dust, for Jo and Ian could find no further trace of him, and now they were lost, deep in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

“Um…I think there’s a subway that goes from here to West Rumple,” said Ian. “That’s probably our best bet.”

“Where’s the station?”

“I don’t know. I think I can find it.”

“Let’s ask directions,” said Jo.

“No! Don’t speak to anyone!” hissed Ian.

Jo blinked at Ian’s sudden fierceness but said nothing. Still, they needed directions: the maze of tunnels and caves confused them, and more than once they found themselves at a dead end or forced to hurry through pitch-black alleys toward uncertain lights at the other side. One time they saw the subway station, but from a cliff that overlooked a vast cavern, and there was no direct route down to it, and their efforts to head toward it led to a quagmire of wrong turns and frustrating circles. They never saw the station again.

“What was Dugan doing down here?” murmured Ian. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What are
we
doing here?” said Jo. “This is like a bad dream. Can’t we just ask someone?”

“Don’t talk to anyone!”
growled Ian. “I mean it!”

Now Jo was annoyed. Who did he think he was, talking to her like that? She silently fumed, but Ian didn’t explain himself, and so they walked on together in angry silence.

Even though Jo’s mood had soured, and the labyrinth of caverns only led them in circles, there was a crammed, convoluted beauty to the neighborhood. Creepers dangled down over carved walls, blooming with flowers that half hid stone monsters underneath. The streets twisted, dipped and curved, and there were bubbling little fountains everywhere—silver basins of black water in which lilies floated and strange shapes slithered. There was no escaping the sweaty, dismal heat, and the stale air was spiced with heavy incense, smoking in brass pots hanging from the windows. The stuffy vapors went to Jo’s head; she was beginning to feel woozy.

“Watch out!”

“Out of the road!”

Three sleds burst out of the gloom, rocketing past—silver sleds, shimmering in the darkness, carved in patterns as delicate and complex as lace. Each sled was pulled by three lizard-dogs tearing down the tunnels with startling energy, their eyes bugged out, long black tongues flapping out of their mouths. A driver with a whip and reins stood in each sled, but the sleds flew by so quickly it was impossible to see anything about them other than purple cloaks, steel goggles, and long yellow scarves billowing behind.

“Who are
they
?” said Jo.

Ian groaned. “I knew this would happen. We’ve got to get out of here. They’re squires from the Order of Wormbeards.”

“So what?”

“This is their territory. Shhh, they’re not on to us yet…keep your head down.”

More sleds came barreling around the corner, crashing and clattering down the cobbled street. The sleds’ iron runners scraped, jounced, and threw sparks, skipping off the stones as the lizard-dogs hauled them down the tunnels.

“Looks like fun,” said Jo.

“Why don’t you ask them for a ride?” said Ian sarcastically. Then:
“Get back!”

Ian yanked Jo out of the road just as a sled burst out of the alley. They pressed their backs against the wall as the lizard-dogs went bounding past, nearly running them over, barking and howling down the tunnels.

“Hey! Odd-Fish!” shouted the driver.

“Now we’re in for it,” said Ian. “Stupid,
stupid
coming down here…we’ve got to hide.”

Jo frowned. “Hide?”

“There’s ten of them and two of us. If you want to get through this alive—” Ian looked around quickly; down the tunnel, whips cracked, the lizard-dogs yapped, and the ferocious shouts of the Wormbeard squires got louder as the sleds turned around toward them. “Get in here,” said Ian, pushing her into a small crag behind some vines. “Don’t come out until I come for you.”

Jo poked her head out of the cave. “Wait, you’re going to
leave
me here?”

“There’s not enough room for both of us!” said Ian. “I’ll be all right. Just stay in there.”

He pulled the vines back over her, and then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the alley. Soon she couldn’t even hear the footsteps.

Jo crouched in the little cave and shuddered as the sleds shot past her in shimmering streaks, back and forth, bouncing and skittering over the paving stones. She could barely see through the thick vines, but she heard the Wormbeard squires, shouting, cursing, and mocking:

“Hey! Odd-Fish!”

“Come on out!”

“We know you’re here! You can’t hide forever!”

So that’s why Ian didn’t want to talk to anyone,
she thought—just as a horrible moistening sound came from behind her and a boneless arm wrapped itself up her leg.

Jo didn’t even have time to scream before another tentacle pushed into her mouth. She turned, kicked, and struggled, but she couldn’t see what had grabbed hold of her. A huge tongue ran all over her. She was being dragged backward toward—what? She kicked out wildly, and her foot struck something soft and gooey in the darkness.

The groping thing behind her moaned, the tentacles slackened, and she kept kicking, like kicking a bag of jelly, which finally burst with a liquid noise, spilling out in loose gulps. The tentacles went limp, and Jo, gasping, broke free and stumbled from her hiding place out into the open square.

Her skin was pocked with little welts from the suckers. Still, there wasn’t enough time to think about injuries, because she was out in the open, with nowhere to hide.

A silver sled hurtled into the square. Before Jo could run, the driver saw her and with a vicious whoop yanked the reins, sending the sled skidding in an arc, plunging toward her.

Jo grabbed her Apology Gun and aimed it at the sled.

At once the driver’s eyes went from cruel to panicked. The lizard-dogs continued to close the distance, but Jo stood still and pointed her gun. The driver pulled at the reins, and the lizard-dogs shrieked as their bits cut into their mouths. They bolted every which way, and the sled tilted, skating along on one runner, throwing a shower of sparks—and then the sled flipped, tumbling with the squealing lizard-dogs into the gutter.

Jo turned to run, but there was nowhere to go. Already more sleds were screeching up the tunnels. And when Jo looked back at the wrecked sled and the limping lizard-dogs, she was startled to see the driver had already got up and was approaching her with quiet menace.

Jo spun and pointed her gun at the driver.

It was a girl with short black hair and fierce eyes. Her skin was sickly and pale, but her face was jarringly beautiful. Her hair was cropped short and bristly, as if to spite her delicate face, but this only made her more hypnotizing, as though she had beauty to throw away. Her lips wavered on the edge of a sneer, and she had merciless eyes, eyes so sharp that a stare hurt. This girl was named Fiona Fuorlini, and the first two words she said to Jo were “You’re dead.”

Jo replied, “The gun is pointed at
you.
”

“I’m not afraid of you,” said Fiona.

“You should be,” bluffed Jo. “You don’t want me to use this.”

“You don’t have the nerve,” said Fiona. “You’re an Odd-Fish. You don’t have the guts.”

Sleds clattered to a stop around them. The Wormbeard squires climbed out, surrounding Jo and Fiona with anticipation.

Where is Ian?
Jo thought, looking around, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Fiona sensed the weakness and stepped toward Jo. Jo gripped the useless gun tighter and waggled it at her, saying, “I’m leaving. Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“I’ll shoot you.”

“Then shoot me!” said Fiona. “Go ahead, do it!”

“What?”

“I dare you!” snarled Fiona. “I want you to!
I want you to shoot me!
DO IT!”

Jo pulled the trigger. With a puff of blue smoke, an apology shot out and hit Fiona’s nose with an almost inaudible
bip.

The other Wormbeard squires had been holding their breaths; now one whispered, “It’s an Apology Gun.”

“Oh, an apology!” Fiona relaxed and nodded at Jo. “It’s fine, everyone. All she wanted to do was apologize. Let me just read this…. Wait—
this apology is sarcastic
!”

The dial had been set to maximum sarcasm.

With an angry bellow, the Wormbeards rushed in. Jo whirled around, looking for a way out, but in every direction she was surrounded by the purple-cloaked, yellow-scarf-wearing, steel-goggled squires.

Then there was a deafening roar, and a powerful force knocked everyone on their backs. The roar went on and on, a mounting chorus of heightening howls, and everyone was picked up and tossed around as if they were caught in a hurricane. Jo blundered through the smoke and noise, staggering over the fallen bodies of the Wormbeards, and into Ian.

He held his little bejeweled tube gingerly, looking embarrassed.

“Sir Festus was right,” he said. “This is a pretty devastating bugger.”

The temporary tornado whirled faster and faster, throwing the Wormbeards around like paper dolls. Jo and Ian tore themselves out of the miniature storm and took off running.

“Where now?” gasped Jo.

“I found a way out. Come on!”

The lizard-dogs were released from their sleds and bounded after Jo and Ian with great springing leaps, barking and shrieking. The Wormbeards ran behind the lizard-dogs, roaring for blood. Fiona Fuorlini mounted another sled and whipped its lizard-dogs forward.

Jo ran after Ian, twisting and turning through the tunnels of Snoodsbottom, clambering over fences and walls to throw off the lizard-dogs. Then Jo saw sunlight and sprinted toward it with all her might. A lizard-dog’s jaw nipped at her thigh, and she artfully kicked it and sent it squealing to the gutter.

They ran out into East Squeamings, throwing it into an uproar, dashing through the fish markets, overturning tables of twitching squids and squishy blobs. The hawkers and merchants scattered as the Wormbeards and their lizard-dogs galloped after them, slipping on the slimy stones and crashing through the stalls with reckless glee.

Jo and Ian blundered around a corner and onto the set of
Teenage Ichthala.
A couple of actors were reciting their lines as the cameras rolled. Nora was there, too, watching intently. Jo and Ian came barreling through, and cameras overturned with sparks and hissing smoke, scripts were flung into the air, and actors scattered as the lizard-dogs and Wormbeards came in pursuit.

The police trundled up in their rolling towers, descending upon the scene with their red uniforms and swinging clubs. The Wormbeards shouted, “Cops!” and tried to scatter, but the policemen had them surrounded. Jo was whirled, yanked, and pushed through the roiling crowd, actors and Wormbeards and police thrown together, blindly bashing each other. Just as the police closed in to control the mob, Jo felt her shoulder grabbed. She turned to see who it was—and gave a little shriek.

It was a hideous gray mask of scabs: the Ichthala.

No—she looked into the monster’s eyes—it was the actress who played the Ichthala. Jo stared at Audrey Durdle, and the girl peered back at Jo with surprise and a strange sadness.

“Jo! Over here!”

Ian grabbed Jo away from the actress and pulled her over to Nora, who waved them through a door on the side of the road and slammed it shut behind them. A narrow stairway led up to the next level of the mountain. Jo and Ian ran up after Nora, leaving the roar of lizard-dogs and the angry shouts of policemen and Wormbeards below.

Nora said, “I leave you two alone for one hour and you start a riot!”

“Where are we going?” Ian wheezed behind her.

The stairs led up into an abandoned garage, a quiet cave with a tall archway that looked out onto the cobbled streets. There were a few half-assembled automobiles here, in various states of rust and disrepair, and the garage curved and continued back into darkness.

As soon as Jo and Ian realized they were safe, they broke into relieved laughter.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks!” said Jo.

“Thanks, Nora,” said Ian. “We owe you one.”

Nora scrunched her face. “You’ll get your chance to have fun again soon, Jo. The Wormbeards have a long memory.”

“Oh, whatever, bring it on,” said Jo. “Woo!”