The Remarkable Inventions of Walter Mortinson

by Quinn Sosna-Spear

  He looked younger too and much, much happier than he seemed now. His arms were thrown around his employees, gripping their shoulders tightly.

  That’s all it is, thought Walter. A box of pictures.

  With a smile, he looked at them again and again, noticing Flasterborn in more than a few—in each one looking more cheerful than before. When the colors began to fade, Walter hugged it to his body once more, filling it with all the warmth that he could.

  That was all the box did, and it was truly quite lovely.

  • • •

  Tippy pulled herself out of the vaselator and stepped into the hallway, the rooms glowing around her. People were testing all sorts of inventions, prisoners of this place. She would free them, yes, but there was someone she had to see first.

  Tippy peered into each cubicle before finally coming to Walter’s. He sat alone at the worktable, peering at a small silver box, head down and eyes dazed, as though in a trance. Tippy tentatively opened the door, hoping greatly that he was unharmed.

  As soon as the door opened, a rush of wind pushed past her that smelled a bit sweet and intoxicating. When the air cleared, Walter shook his head, face returning to normal.

  “Oops! I just started fiddling and lost sense of myself. Sorry.” He perked up. “Did Flasterborn send you to take me home?”

  Tippy breathed in, debating how to explain what Flasterborn had actually said, but then she dashed those thoughts. Walter looked so nice, sitting at the table. Instead she replied, “Yes, Mr. Mortinson.”

  “Oh good. I was worried for a second that I’d be stuck here forever.”

  He smiled to himself, standing to meet her. He handed her the cube, now a plain, polished silver.

  Curious, she brought it up to her face. “What is it, exactly?”

  “It’s for Flasterborn, I think. My father wanted him to have it.”

  Frowning, Tippy flipped it around. There didn’t seem to be anything particularly special about this little box. “Huh. I see . . .” And for a moment she did. As she shifted her fingers, she thought she saw something colorful in their place, but not a second later it was gone. How strange. She shook her head, slipping the box into her pocket.

  “Right this way, Mr. Mortinson. Let me show you to our fastest vehicle. It will take you wherever you’d like to go. We’ll go the back way, I think.”

  CHAPTER 25

  •  •  •

  WONDERFULLY SHARP TEETH

  Buddy Moberly had always dreamed of being a janitor. He had never, however, faced such a mess as the one in the middle of the Honeyoaks Park after the Bumballoon Jubilee. Why, there had been oil and tree bark and butterflies even. It had taken him all day to mop the grass, and now he was on his hands and knees with tweezers and a magnifying glass, picking out every stray antenna. He was so focused that he almost didn’t notice the strange scuttling thing running in from the west. It had many legs and a stout, square body, but no head. This was no animal at all; it was a vehicle.

  All at once, mere feet from Buddy, the machine halted and a door popped opened. Out from the vehicle stepped a lanky kid whose wild red hair in the darkness looked like a match on fire. The boy was wide-eyed from the journey, and he held on to the door as if he were worried the world around him wouldn’t stay put long enough for him to find his footing.

  Once he finally let go of the door, it instantly clipped shut. The scuttler then shot into motion, racing the way it had come—sending terrified bees scattering.

  Walter ambled across the field toward Buddy. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Walter pondered the question seriously as he watched the man tweeze the grass. “Mowing the lawn very, very slowly?”

  Buddy snorted. “I’m cleaning the mess that butcher made.”

  Walter screwed up his brow in confusion. “What butcher?”

  “From the contest, with that awful butterfly balloon. Sad to hear about the crash, but serves him right for making such a mess.”

  “The crash?!”

  “Oh sure, just off Elverpool a few hours ago. Real explosive, I hear.”

  The boy took off running, shouting a polite “Thank you!” as he went.

  Buddy shook his head, plucking a butterfly leg off a daisy. He truly hated messes.

  Walter ran faster and faster to where he hoped his car would be. He felt a lump rise in his throat, however, when he remembered the state it had been in the last time he had seen it. Even if it was there, it wouldn’t be drivable. He’d need to fix it or find something else. But there wasn’t time; what was he going to . . . and then he caught sight of it.

  The hearse sat right in its spot on the grass where he’d left it, and yet it was nothing like he’d ever seen.

  It had been completely renewed, beyond what it had been before the journey, even. All the dings, dongs, and dents had been pounded out. The scuffs and the scratches had been unscuffed and unscratched. Why, even the chunk of tire that had been knocked out by the side of the cliff had been somehow glued back.

  Why on earth had the car been cleaned this well?

  The answer, of course, was because nothing in Honeyoaks could ever look dinged, scuffed, or scratched. It simply wasn’t allowed. So the bees, as they’d been trained, had lifted the car at night and had brought it to the town’s Fixers. The Fixers made sure nothing in Honeyoaks was amiss . . . no matter what.

  The next morning the hearse had been returned to its spot, looking newer than new, just as shiny as the town around it—waxed so nicely that Walter could see his own terrified reflection.

  He was also surprised to see that the windows had been rolled down. The interior was littered with half-nibbled cabbage leaves.

  Cautiously Walter opened the door—still unlocked.

  He glimpsed inside for the nibbler and came face-to-face with a fluffy white rabbit, midway through a chomp. The rabbit squawked, sprang to the floor, and scuttled between the pedals.

  “Who are you?” Walter asked. He had rarely dealt with bitey things, but he thought it best to grab it from the other end. He slid his hand behind the rump and edged the rabbit back toward him. From there Walter lifted the entirety of the sharp fluff out. Around its neck was a ribbon with a note. He opened it. The scrap read, in scrawled writing: “Happy Birthday. I think you’ll find that you’ll like a living one even better. —C”

  Walter flipped the note over. On the back were scribbles that looked suspiciously like those Cordelia was fond of making.

  Walter carefully folded the note up and placed it in his pocket. He set the rabbit down on the seat next to him and buckled him up as the bunny stretched his neck to grab another leaf.

  Walter then shot out of the park, anxiety making everything move faster.

  CHAPTER 26

  •  •  •

  THE PRIMPETS

  Hadorah trudged toward her house, her tired feet slopping through the mud. She looked up to her stoop—two figures huddled together beside the porch light. They stood still, forlorn silhouettes, the smaller of the two leaning on the other.

  “Who are you?” Hadorah called out, fearful of the answer.

  The couple stepped forward, into the light, revealing the Primpets.

  Hadorah sighed. “Why are you here?”

  Mr. Primpet twiddled his finger as he responded, voice high, “Oh, we were just in the neighborhood and popped by to say hello, you know how it is, and—”

  Mrs. Primpet stepped in front of him, unblinking. “We’ve been waiting for hours.”

  Hadorah pushed past them. She unlocked the front door and stepped in. “I see. Well, if you don’t mind, I need to—”

  “We received a call from the hospital on Flaster Isle,” Mr. Primpet began. “It seems Cordelia went there to try to convince them to ‘fix’ her. I can’t imagine what she was thinking. The doctor sent her home, and we don’t know when she’ll return, but . . . we’re worried.” Mr. Primpet stared pleadingly as Hadorah
looked back. Befuddled and drained, all she could think about was her own bed.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Hadorah stepped inside, nearly shutting the door on Mr. Primpet’s hand as it shot out to catch the doorframe.

  She stepped back in surprise as he inserted his face between the jamb and door. His words unfurled rapidly. “Well, um, we wanted to talk to you about the, uh, the—”

  Mrs. Primpet’s eyes were as vacant as a ventriloquist’s doll as she whispered, “She’s dying.”

  Hadorah couldn’t think how to respond, unable to process those two words.

  Mr. Primpet broke the silence. “We’re scared, Hadorah, and you’re the only person we could think to talk to.”

  Hadorah nodded slowly, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

  Mr. Primpet’s lips turned up just slightly in relief. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Primpet didn’t smile at all.

  CHAPTER 26 1/2

  •  •  •

  WHY HADORAH HATES PARADES

  When Walter was four years old, Max thought he would be ready to stand on a parade float with his mother.

  “He’ll love it!”

  Hadorah wasn’t worried about Walter, however. Walter liked just about everything (and, as a consequence, everything liked him). No, Hadorah was worried about herself.

  Hadorah didn’t mind watching parades, but being in one was another story altogether.

  Max had somehow convinced her to clamber up onto the float with her son, and now here she was, waving wearily at the crowds of people. They blurred together into a wall of smiles and shouts, caging her in on every side. “They’re staring at me.”

  Max laughed at his wife as he operated the float from a wheel in front. His feet danced across a myriad of pedals below. “I think that’s the point!”

  The Solstice Parade continued its festive romp down the gray streets of Moormouth. Maxwell’s float stood out in the middle of the colorful amorphous blobs. It was bigger and more wondrous than the rest.

  The crimson dahlia closed and bloomed lazily, raining petals onto the onlookers below. Everyone in Moormouth had come out to watch. Everyone in Moormouth loved Maxwell.

  Hadorah was in the back, near the ladder, hoping people wouldn’t notice her there. But she could tell they did, which caused her to heat up and sweat uncontrollably.

  Her blood rushed in her ears so loudly that it began to overpower even the screaming around them. She couldn’t take it. “Stop. We’re getting off.”

  Max turned, hesitant, but then he saw that his wife was terrified. He nodded, slowing the float for them. She readjusted Walter, who dropped his metal toy car, a gift from his father, in the process. The toy fell into the float’s gears, without anyone seeing it do so. Then Hadorah climbed off, Walter balanced on her hip.

  Max grinned his famous grin and shouted after the two, “Don’t take your eyes off me!”

  He laughed and powered the dahlia forward, to the crowd’s delight. No one paid Hadorah any mind as she carried on, following the float on foot.

  She walked more quickly, trying to keep up with the dahlia. Finally Max looked up from his controls to find her—when he did, he smiled widely, winking. Hadorah smiled back.

  This was one of the few moments that had been burned into her memory.

  There was a click, just one click, then a wail. Everyone turned to look as the great dahlia stopped. In that second, no one knew what had happened. And then the mechanical float burst, in a great fiery explosion that seared the air and rocked the earth.

  Hadorah and Walter were thrown back, along with the entire front row, and splayed onto the ground. Everything smelled burned and wrong. The parade dissolved into chaos as the little creatures abandoned their own floats, fleeing the fireball encompassing Maxwell’s. Hadorah could only stare in shock, holding her son clutched to her chest.

  The first thing she saw was nothing. There was nothing but black where the float had exploded. Nothing was left.

  The second thing she saw was Walter sobbing into his empty hands.

  The third thing she saw was a little girl lying on the ground, long black hair covering her face while her father shouted, trying to pull something smoking from her eye.

  And the fourth thing she saw was the townspeople, turning from the mess to stare.

  Hadorah heard no sound in those moments, but those four sights she would never forget.

  CHAPTER 27

  •  •  •

  THE VERY BAD KISS

  Walter tore down the empty road while the rabbit nibbled.

  The rabbit was a lot less concerned than the human was, see, because the rabbit had cabbage. Cabbage is the nicest thing for a rabbit to have.

  Walter wasn’t in the mood for cabbage. His eyes squinted in the darkness for any sign of life, but he couldn’t see anything. There was no one.

  He passed miles and miles of desert, the same desert that had lulled him to sleep those few nights before.

  I shouldn’t have told her to take the balloon, he chided himself. It’s my fault.

  He slowed as he came upon a blackened tree, a flame licking the desert sand around it. The car rocked to a halt, and Walter stumbled out of it toward the wreck. He held the rabbit in his arms. The rabbit was displeased by the lack of cabbage in Walter’s arms.

  Everything around the fire had burned to a crisp—the balloon was just a heap of ash.

  Sifting through the mess, Walter found the fuel line. It looked as though it had been chewed through by a rodent. Sighing, he let the squirming bunny down onto the ground as he continued searching through debris.

  He picked up the burner, which was still spitting out a little flame, and saw the rabbit hopping along a shiny trail on the ground. Walter lit up the trail with the burner—drops of blood.

  He followed it a few paces, before pulling the light up higher and revealing that the trail went on for yards, far out of sight. Walter ran after the rabbit, scooped him up, and hurried to the car.

  • • •

  Cordelia limped forward, her clothes torn and dirty. Her calf was mangled from the wreck, where it had been crushed in the branch-weave basket as the balloon had smashed into the tree. But she didn’t care about that, because she was alive.

  The tree had met a power line above the ground, and instead of falling, she had caught it. She held on tightly to the line and pulled herself up. After great effort, she managed to steady her feet on top of it.

  Every few seconds Cordelia’s leg dripped blood. She winced, continuing on slowly toward the bend. In her hands she held a long, thin branch from the tree. She had been able to tear it off before starting her trek.

  As Cordelia made it past the bend, she became fully illuminated by bright lights behind her. She couldn’t turn, but she knew who it was.

  Walter stumbled out of the hearse and was running as soon as he hit the ground. Once he reached her, he stopped and stared up in shock, amazement, and frustration with the absurdity of it all.

  “Cordelia! What are you doing up there?”

  Cordelia couldn’t turn around. She simply wasn’t a skilled enough tightrope walker. The best she could do was keep her toes pointed and feet steady, one behind the other. It was just like the books said, but even better.

  “Going for a walk.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice, and that only made him more concerned.

  She looked strong up there, balanced on the high wire, simply a cutout in the headlights. She was not only taller than he’d ever seen her, but her back was straight and she looked magnificent. Then he saw something; from her silhouetted form fell a bright red trickle of blood. That was no good.

  “I suppose it’s time to come down now.” Her voice was powerful but still soft somehow, tired.

  As she walked to the nearest pole, Walter’s chest seized.

  “Wait! Stop! Let me help!”

  But he was too late. He could only bite his fingernails as he watched the girl grab hold of
metal brackets stapled into the pole and climb down horribly slowly. At the last bracket, she had to hop a good distance to reach the ground. She hit the dirt in a heap.

  Walter ran over, then held her tightly as he hoisted her up. Cordelia allowed him to hug her. It was comfortable and warm.

  Walter examined her face, dirtied with ash. He grabbed a strand of her once-long hair, now fried short.

  “What were you thinking? Are you all right? I thought you were dead and—”

  Cordelia smiled. “Hello, Walter.”

  He looked her over, and his eyes came to rest on her still-bleeding leg. “Oh no.”

  He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and ripped it into strips with his teeth. He crudely wound it around her leg but, if he was being honest, wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. The blood seeped through the thin fabric nearly instantly. Cordelia appraised his work.

  “You know, you’re not very good at that.”

  Walter nodded, mostly to himself. “I’ll take you home.”

  He tried to usher her to the car, but she stopped him, planting her feet. “I am home.”

  He continued to try to coax her in, pulling her hand. “Come on, Cordelia.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “What are you talking about? We have to get back.” He tried to pull her again, stretching his other arm out to open her door, but she remained anchored outside. “Come on, Cordelia. I—”

  She crossed the space between them and pulled his face to hers. (It’s fortunate that there was no preparation that went into this act, because it would have only made matters worse.)

  Neither knew what to do with their faces. Walter’s was soft and unmoving, while Cordelia’s mouth was stiff and pressed so hard against his that he could feel imprints of his teeth being made against his lips.