The Second Siege (25 page)

“Seize them,” said Astaroth, humor giving way to cool reserve.

Before the nearest ogre could stumble forward, David thrust a finger toward the scowling Demon in the window and gasped a sequence of strange, terrible words.

“Ea bethu gaea volk qabar!”

Max lost his footing as the ground gave a sudden jolt beneath him. The cavern floor split open into a great fissure separating them from the Enemy. Several ogres toppled, bellowing, into the crack that yawned wider as the earth shook.

David screamed and great gouts of green-gold fire and molten rock roared up from the fissure, pluming higher and higher until they came crashing down like a wave upon the carriage and nearby horde. Screams and roars filled the air as flesh split and crackled. Max and the others were flung back by the rushing backlash of superheated air that singed their eyes and set their clothes to smoking.

Cooper wasted no time.

“On your feet!” he yelled, wrenching Mr. McDaniels and Miss Boon off the ground. Miss Boon retrieved Mum from where the hag had fallen into a quivering bundle. Max called out to Nick, who ran alongside as he carried David toward the rows of silver sedans parked to the side of the gates.

“What have you done?” shrieked Dr. Rasmussen. “He’ll kill us all!”

Cooper ran back and seized the bewildered man, dragging him toward the silver car and launching him into the backseat, where he sprawled across the others. The Agent slammed the door shut and examined the ignition.

“Where’s the key?” he muttered.

“You have to enter a code,” sputtered Rasmussen.

“Tell me the code!” bellowed Cooper, punching the dash.

Max peered out the rear window. The wall of fire had subsided until only a few tongues of flame licked occasionally from the fissure. Beyond the fissure was a howling, writhing mess of bodies, but the carriage seemed unharmed. Marley Augur and the deathly horsemen had pulled back some distance from the chasm and now galloped toward its edge.

“Cooper—” said Max.

Cooper’s head whirled around; his eyes widened as the horsemen leapt the chasm in an arc of burning manes and smoking armor. The Agent cuffed Dr. Rasmussen.

“What’s the damn code?”
he shouted.

“Zero zero six five nine,” blurted out the hysterical man.

Cooper punched the numbers quickly into a dashboard screen and the engine roared to life.

Max pushed David and his father down in the seat as the horsemen approached. Marley Augur lifted his hammer and leaned from the side of his saddle.

“Hurry!”
Max yelled.

The sedan peeled forward just as Augur’s hammer descended, crushing the trunk and sending the occupants crashing into one another as the back axle groaned. Cooper swore and swung the wheel around, accelerating rapidly around a column of other vehicles while the horsemen galloped just behind them. Mum screamed as a mailed fist slammed against her window, cracking it into a jigsaw puzzle of fragments. Pulling the wheel hard to his right, Cooper knocked one of the riders from his horse before yanking the wheel back to the left and hugging the pyramid’s perimeter. Max watched the speedometer climb clockwise, pushing him back against the cool leather seat. The horsemen faded into the rearview mirror as they arrived at the side of the pyramid opposite the gates. None of Astaroth’s forces had been stationed here. Three enormous tunnels yawned before them.

“Which do I take?” asked Cooper, downshifting.

Dr. Rasmussen’s red-rimmed eyes blinked at their options as he strained to peer through his broken glasses. “The left one goes to Amsterdam,” he muttered. “The right to Berlin.”

“What about the center?” asked the Agent.

“The Black Forest,” said Rasmussen. “We have an emergency depot there.”

“Behind us!”
yelled Mr. McDaniels, staring white-faced out the rear window.

Racing up behind them were the horsemen and Astaroth’s carriage, pulled by the rabidly snapping wolves.

Cooper shifted and stepped on the accelerator, speeding toward the center tunnel.

Max saw the Demon’s white face appear out the carriage window; Astaroth extended a grasping hand toward them. Suddenly, the entire car bucked and lifted off the ground as though batted by an invisible hand, sending them spinning about like a top. They slammed back down in a grinding squeal of rubber and gears, the car careening wildly from side to side, while Cooper fought the wheel. The Agent barely managed to guide the car into the tunnel, shaving its right side against the entrance in a screaming shower of white sparks.

Miss Boon shook Dr. Rasmussen. “What’s the exit velocity?” she asked.

“What?” said Dr. Rasmussen from where he hugged the floorboards.

“The exit velocity!”
snapped Cooper. “To get through the barrier.”

“Three hundred kilometers per hour,” croaked Dr. Rasmussen. “You must be very precise!”

Max watched an imposing black wall grow larger as Cooper shifted and accelerated. Behind them, the horsemen and carriage had entered the tunnel in a distant flicker of burning manes and glinting gold. The car’s engine whirred louder. Max saw the needle wobble toward the necessary number. Sparks and smoke billowed from the damaged rear. The car rattled and shook.

“Brace yourselves,” muttered Cooper, struggling to keep the damaged vehicle straight as they hurtled toward the black wall. The engine began to whine; the needle seemed to hover and stick at 280 kilometers per hour. Cooper scowled and slammed his foot on the accelerator as the cabin was suddenly illuminated from behind. Max swiveled about to see the tunnel behind them engorged with fire. Flames leapt and raced along the tunnel walls, threatening to engulf the car as it strained to speed ahead.

The black wall filled the windshield. Max screamed and shut his eyes.

Nothing happened.

The car gave only a gentle shudder, going dark momentarily until they passed through the barrier. A dull roar, like distant surf, filled the cabin, but no flames managed to permeate the solid wall behind them. Rocketing ahead, the sedan fishtailed around a banking turn and climbed up the long, gentle incline that would bring them into daylight.

“No,” said the Agent. “I doubt anyone will be coming.”

“But Dr. Braden will know where we’ve gone,” muttered Rasmussen darkly.

“I doubt she survived all that,” said Cooper, shaking his head. “And with her gone, the Workshop is safe for now—they can’t enter after Astaroth promised not to.”

“Bah!” scoffed Dr. Rasmussen, settling into a quiet simmer.

The car labored across the countryside toward the Black Forest. As they sputtered along, Max glanced anxiously at his roommate. David was curled like a cat across Miss Boon’s lap with his injured arm bent up and under his chin. His eyelids were closed tight, fluttering with fever, while Mum peered intently at his puckered stump, now smeared thick with Moomenhoven balm.

“Is he sick?” asked the hag, sniffing at David.

“I don’t know, Mum,” said Miss Boon, stroking David’s blond head. “He’s suffered major trauma and expended a tremendous amount of energy. He needs to go home.”

“Is that where we’re going, then?” Max asked hoarsely. “Back to Rowan?”

“I think so,” said Miss Boon. “We need to get David to the healers and we don’t know yet what to do with Bram’s Key. Don’t you agree, Cooper?”

The Agent nodded.

“But if we go back to Rowan, won’t that trigger the witches’ curse?” asked Max.

“I don’t know,” sighed Miss Boon, shooing Mum’s flaring snout away from David.

Two miles later, the Workshop’s car began belching smoke—guttering puffs of white vapor that streamed and fluttered into the dark woods. A grinding of metal on metal vibrated the floor beneath Max’s feet. Rasmussen moaned and rocked the seat in front of him, coaxing the car forward in vain. Fifty feet later they had stopped; the vehicle gave a convulsive shudder, releasing a great plume of silvery water vapor.

“How far is that depot?” asked Cooper.

Rasmussen peered out at a street sign.

“Twenty kilometers at least,” he said.

Cooper glanced at the dashboard’s blinking lights and rubbed wearily at his eyes.

“We’ll have to walk,” he said, shutting down the engine.

“Can’t you people conjure something?” snapped Rasmussen in irritation.

“I don’t know what’s around here or if we’re being followed,” said Cooper. “A witch or something else might follow any trail that Mystics leave behind. We walk.”

Minutes later, Max waited by the roadside as Mr. McDaniels and Cooper returned from pushing the car off the road. The car had stopped smoking and now lay beneath a pile of branches and shrubs at the bottom of a shallow ravine. Cooper took David from Mum and Miss Boon, slinging the small boy over his shoulder, where he lay limp and still. Wet snow fell lazily from the sky as they trudged toward a rising wall of dark fir trees.

Max walked quietly, simmering in his thoughts, as the group hugged the winding road and the wind blew needles from the trees. Nick waddled alongside, straying off periodically only to reappear up ahead, peering expectantly at them as the afternoon gave way to dusk and then to a thin sliver of moon. The forest about them was utterly still; no birds called, no animals rustled amidst the branches or among the underbrush. When they passed a lone cottage with a broken door, Cooper peered inside.

“There’s nothing you want to see in there,” he said quickly before coughing conclusively into his sleeve.

A few stars were twinkling, scattered and faint overhead, when Rasmussen finally broke the monotonous scrape and shuffle of their feet.

“We’re nearly there,” he rasped, stomping his feet for warmth as he pointed to a fenced service road that sloped away into the trees on their right. As they approached in the dark, Max spied snow-spattered signs that warned trespassers to keep away. Rasmussen reached out to the door, which swung forward on its hinge. He kicked something in the snow and bent down to retrieve the remnants of a chain. It had been cut in two.

“Someone has already been here,” he muttered, squinting ahead into the dark and thumbing the severed metal. They stood before the open gate for several seconds, amidst the rich smell of pine and the soft crunch of frost. Max looked closely at David, from whom heat radiated like a warming brick. Mum suddenly hobbled back onto the road and peered back the way they’d come.

“Trucks comin’!” she whispered. “Big ones!”

“Inside the gate,” ordered Cooper, handing David to Mr. McDaniels and ushering them off the road and into the inky shadows beneath the trees. Max heard the low rumble of diesel engines; snowflakes drifted like luminescent plankton across the white shine of headlights.

“They’re vyes,” hissed Mum, sniffing the cold air.

“Dr. Rasmussen, lead them on,” said Cooper. “I’ll catch up.”

They scampered quickly after Rasmussen, who seemed to swim through the dark with tentative swipes of his raw white hands. Mr. McDaniels huffed and sputtered under the burden of David as they trotted along. The forest closed behind them. No headlights could be seen; they heard no sounds from the road.

A half mile later, the path opened into a large clearing that Max felt before he saw; the black canopy gave way to the dim shades of night and muted stars. An airplane hangar, a long dark structure of domed steel and glass, sat in the midst of the clearing. Workmen’s sheds dotted the landscape, and among these several bonfires burned, surrounded by many crouching figures who chattered and brayed in strange voices.

“Things must be very bad if the goblins are venturing out alone,” whispered Miss Boon.

“Bleedin’ cowards,” agreed Mum, “unless they’ve got numbers.”

Max peered out at a squat, sway-backed goblin with a curling nose and the twitching ears of a goat. It tottered away from the nearest fire to relieve itself behind a shed. Above the fire was the skinned and spitted body of a sickly-looking horse, rotating slowly while the assembled goblins sang and drank and cast strange shadows on the snow.

“Are they Astaroth’s servants?” whispered Max, tugging at Miss Boon’s sleeve.

“I doubt it,” said the teacher, frowning. “I think they’ve just wandered down from the mountains or out from beneath some hill.”

“What are they singing?” asked Max, trying to decipher the bits of words from the goblins’ chorus.

“They’re singing of trickery and deceits, dark gods and vengeance,” said Miss Boon, frowning as a pipe began to play. Several of the goblins cavorted about the fire in a jerky, leaping dance while they tilted their small, horned heads to shriek at the sickle moon. Whether they called out in worship or fear or delight was lost upon Max as they circled about their spitted dinner and their chorus filled the clearing. Max gazed back into the woods, but there was no sign of Cooper.

“What’s in that building?” whispered Miss Boon to Rasmussen.

“Transports,” he replied. “Planes of all sorts.”

“Can they get us to America?” asked Miss Boon.

“Yes, yes, of course,” muttered Rasmussen. “Assuming they haven’t been damaged.”

“We’ll just have to sneak by them the best we can,” said Miss Boon.

“Oh dear,” said Mum, squeezing Miss Boon’s arm. “Wind’s changing, and goblin sniffers would give me own a run!”

True to Mum’s word, Max felt a cool breeze on his neck. It carried their scent out into the clearing as thick and rich as spilled soup.

The singing stopped.

The goblins turned from the fires to gaze at them, like curious hyenas inspecting a potential kill.

“So much for stealth,” muttered Miss Boon.
“Run!”

Max clutched the
gae bolga
as they dashed across the clearing. The goblins merely watched them for a moment, their small luminescent eyes blinking in surprise. Max saw one of the larger ones lope forward to rest its weight on its hands like a potbellied baboon. It scratched at a curling leather cap on its head and scowled at them with a mouth full of chipped teeth. With a guttural shriek, it suddenly bolted after them. Dozens of goblins followed suit, converging on the group as they fled toward the hangar.

The goblins surrounded them just as they gained the door. Rasmussen frantically punched numbers into a keypad while the others huddled around with their backs against the wall. Miss Boon muttered a spell, but a thrown rock sent her ducking low with a shriek, disrupting the incantation. The goblins leered close, gibbering and gnashing their teeth; bony hands swiped at the humans with increasing boldness.

The pointed, swollen face of the goblin leader emerged as he pushed through their ranks. Taking his place before the huddled group, the long-armed goblin spoke to Mum in a sly, rasping language. After several barking snippets, the goblin wagged a clawed finger at Mum and spoke in halting English.

“Three for you and three for the pot. Fair is fair, foul hag.”

“What does that mean?” said Mr. McDaniels, kicking his foot out at a particularly brazen young goblin. Nick hissed and bristled at the creature, which retreated back into the throng.

“Goblins and hags work together sometimes,” panted Mum, eyeing the lead goblin warily. “An old truce. He’s striking a bargain, you see. Naturally assumes me to be the leader. If three of us are given up, then the rest can go. His name is Bnuublik and he’s from Feldberg.”

“I don’t care where he’s from!”
bellowed Mr. McDaniels.

“What do they want with the three who are given up?” asked Max cautiously.

“Astaroth’s armies have gobbled up everything for miles,” explained the hag with a sympathetic shrug.

“Tell them to forget it,” said Max, swinging up the sharp spearhead.

The goblin leader glanced at Max and raised his hand, speaking quickly to Mum.

“Wait!” cried Mum. “He’s prepared to make another offer to the fierce one with the evil knife! Bnuublik says that they will let us go if we surrender He-Who-Looks-Like-a-Mound-of-Cheese and if I agree to . . . No,” said Mum, frowning. “No, that can’t be right.”

The goblin calmly repeated himself.

Mum’s face darkened.

“I’m
not
that kind of girl!” roared the hag, walloping the goblin, who somersaulted backward to the immense delight of his comrades. He scowled and rocked back onto his haunches, rubbing his mottled cheek.

Suddenly, a car horn blared in the distance, long and continuous as though stuck. Shouts sounded from far away; lights bobbed and flashed in the woods. Seconds later, Cooper hurtled into the clearing, dodging to the side just as a truck screamed past him, almost rolling over as it skidded to a stop in the snow. More trucks lumbered into the clearing; vyes in trench coats and red armbands spilled out the back. Scrambling to his feet, the Agent sprinted toward the hangar.

The goblins shrieked and scattered away, fleeing like frightened gibbons into the safety of the trees. Rasmussen resumed his frantic pecking at the keypad until the door swung inward to reveal a dark, cavernous space within.

“Inside!” shrieked Rasmussen, tugging at Mr. McDaniels’s arm and waving at the others to follow. Cooper closed the distance between them while the vyes dropped down to all fours, black and gray blurs against the moonlit snow. Dashing inside to join them, the Agent slammed the door shut and pressed his weight against it. A tremendous impact jarred the door as the first vye slammed against it; metal hinges groaned, and the door frame gave a brittle shiver. Rasmussen and Mr. McDaniels flanked Cooper and the three threw their shoulders against the door as it dented inward under the weight of the vyes that snapped and cursed and raged against it.

“Hazel, bind this door!” grunted Cooper, wrenching back a hairy arm that thrust itself through the opening. There was a hideous crack and a bloodcurdling howl erupted from the other side of the door. Snatching back its injured arm, the vye let the door slam shut once again.

Max watched dark shapes dart past windows; a wolf silhouette pressed against the frosted panes, scratching at the reinforced glass. He turned to help Mum pull David away from the door, where Miss Boon was hastily scrawling invisible symbols in the air. The men staggered back as something large and heavy—an improvised ram of some sort—crashed into it from outside. Cooper hurled himself once again at the door, which was beginning to warp and buckle from the strain.

“There!” cried Miss Boon as the entry began to hum and glow with a soft iridescence.

“Are there any other doors?” asked Cooper of Rasmussen.

“One on the other side,” gasped the man. “And the hangar entrance, of course.”

At this, Max turned and gazed at the looming shapes behind them. Rasmussen hastily flipped on the lights, transforming the black, mysterious forms into a fleet of aircraft that appeared to be salvaged from earlier eras to comprise a sort of aviation museum. Max spied round-bellied bombers and delicate biplanes, broad-nosed cargo craft and troop carriers neatly arrayed in rows of matte green and gleaming silver. Behind him, the pounding came to a sudden halt. Cooper glanced warily at the door.

“I’m going to secure the other door. Rasmussen, get everyone aboard whatever we’re taking.
Quick now!
”

The Agent dashed across the hangar, ducking under the wing of a World War II fighter. While his footsteps clattered away, Rasmussen trotted down a line of aircraft. He stopped at a broad-winged bomber that had an unobstructed path to the hangar doors. The engineer muttered to himself and counted their numbers on his fingers.