Gorilla Tactics

by Sheila Grau

  I sighed. “Why do the sirens hate the mermaids?”

  “It’s a senseless hatred,” she said. “Built on jealousy and greed and the thirst for power.”

  “Thirst for power?”

  “Yes. Many leaders, especially the bad ones, use hatred and bigotry to control their own people. They blame all their problems on some other group, in the hope that their people won’t see that it’s their own leaders causing the problems. Didn’t you take Dr. Critchlore’s Tools of the Tyrant class?”

  “Next year,” I said.

  “Well, when the sirens are unhappy, the Grand Sirenness points her finger at the mermaids. ‘It’s their fault! Those stupid, greedy mermaids have trespassed into our rightful realm! They hate everything that lives on land, especially us, and they want to destroy our way of life.’ Then her people rally with her against this made-up mermaid threat.”

  “I was going to give these gloves to you,” I said. “I thought maybe you could use them to make the show more amazing. But the sirens will know where they came from, won’t they?”

  She nodded. “The sirens will destroy Dr. Critchlore if there’s as much as a whiff of something mermaid in this school.”

  Over the next few days, the mood around campus was gloomy. Our boulderball team, our stealthball team, even our previously undefeated waterdragon polo team all suffered defeats, mostly at the hands, fins, and claws of Pravus teams.

  Morale was low. Nobody wanted to work on a fashion show when there were important minion lessons to be learned.

  I wasn’t having any luck finding the Archivist either. I kept trying the opening to the If Books Were Food poem, hoping that someone would reply with the next line. But I never got the response I was looking for.

  Me: “If books were food . . .”

  Betsy, the dungeon administrator: A sigh, then, “Dieting would be so much easier.”

  Mr. Griphold, detention dean: “Libraries would be more crowded.”

  Pierre, my foster brother: “We wouldn’t have to eat Cook’s seafood tetrazzini.”

  Mr. Everest, dean of students: “Food fights would be more painful.”

  Professor Chowding: “Darthin would be obese.”

  I went to check in with Uncle Ludwig and found him in his secret library, huddled over a table with Professor Zaida as they examined a pile of old, leather-bound books. I stood by the staircase, and when he saw me, he came over to see if I had news. I shook my head before he could ask.

  “Who could it be?” I lamented.

  “Don’t give up. Of course the Archivist will be hard to discover,” Uncle Ludwig explained. “Remember, this person is a high-level operative, so he’s going to be extremely cunning and stealthy. He might show no interest in books whatsoever. And he’s probably a highly trained fighter too. And strong. Keep your eyes open for someone who leaves campus at times carrying a large load.”

  Professor Zaida swept a few books into a bag and stood up to go. “I’ll leave you those books, Ludwig,” she said, pointing to the pile left on the table. “I’m going to take a few of these on my camping trip this weekend.”

  “Okay, Valerie,” Ludwig said. “And please thank your sister for sending those books here.”

  “Gentlemen.” She nodded at us and left.

  With a bag of books.

  To go on a camping trip.

  I felt a sudden jolt. “Do you think—” I started, doing a double take to look back at Professor Zaida.

  “Hmm?” Uncle Ludwig said.

  “—that she’ll pack more than just books? The forest is filled with dangers, and she’s so small.”

  ‡‡‡

  As depressed as I was about my lack of progress, it made me happy to see the girls having so much fun with the show. They modeled for one another and laughed and made up dances and different walks. Jud was doing a good job with the imps, who would be acting as ushers until the show started.

  Syke and Janet were still unhappy about the whole thing. Syke, I could understand—she wasn’t exactly the fashion show type. But Janet? She could walk down a runway in Professor Murphy’s Monday/Wednesday coat and still look amazing.

  As I made yet another delivery, I passed the group of girls, huddled around the end of the runway, looking at pictures.

  “Bianca, you look really good in maroon,” Verduccia said. “I think when Mistress Moira finishes that, you are going to look stunning.”

  “Thanks. I love how that dress drapes on you,” Bianca said. “And Frieda, yellow really brings out your eyes.”

  They oohed and aahed over one another’s shots. Even Frieda managed to say something nice about someone else.

  “You look too pretty to eat,” she told Meika in her husky voice. “Like a delicate little flower I don’t want to stomp on, even.”

  “Thanks, Frieda.”

  Dr. Critchlore stood on the stage, Professor Vodum next to him. I wanted to try the poem out on Dr. Critchlore, so I waited in the eaves.

  “We’ve lost recruits,” Vodum said. “And now customers. On top of that, our sports teams are tanking, and the Siren Syndicate is coming tomorrow. Derek! Stop looking so calm. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to put on a fashion show,” he said.

  “Your cousin and I could help you!” Vodum whined. “You know everyone in the family loves Greta. She and I could persuade the rest of the family to not vote ‘no confidence.’ We could save your job. All you have to do is meet my demands.”

  “If I met your demands, then I would have to vote myself out, because I would have no confidence in anybody who would make you second-in-command.”

  He turned his back on Vodum and headed for Mistress Moira, but I intercepted him.

  “If books were food—” I started, looking at him expectantly.

  “My students would starve, because Uncle Ludwig never opens the library,” he said. “What do you want, Hogwarth?”

  Rats. Time for my backup plan. “We have a game in Yancy on Friday, and I think we can actually beat them. It’s not going to be canceled, is it? Because of the arrival of the Siren Syndicate?”

  “Huh? Yancy? What?”

  “Tackle three-ball game. Day after tomorrow. It’s still on, right?”

  “Sure, why not?” He shook his head like it was a ridiculous question.

  Mistress Moira got up to help fit Joelle in her dress behind a screen. Dr. Critchlore stood waiting for her, so I asked him another question.

  “How long will the Siren Syndicate be here?”

  “Just through the weekend, thank goodness,” he said. “But everything has to run smoothly. You have no idea how fearsome these women are. One perceived slight, one misstep, and they will destroy us.”

  “Do they have monster powers?”

  “I didn’t mean that literally, Hunter. Although I imagine they could give Pravus’s giant gorillas a good thrashing, ha!”

  “Right,” I said. “Like Syke.”

  He’d been watching for Mistress Moira to come back, but he looked over at the mention of his ward. “What?”

  “Syke. When we went to the Pravus Academy, one of the gorillas tried to block our path. Syke told it to back off, and it did. It was amazing.”

  “Syke did that? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  I shrugged.

  “Interesting,” he said. “I had thought it was a myth, but perhaps, like all myths, there’s some truth to it.”

  “To what?”

  “Music soothes the savage beast. We’ve tried music, of course, but what if it’s something else? What if it’s beauty? Imagine . . . we could be sitting right on the one thing that can stop those monsters. Stop Pravus.” He pointed at the girls, smiling. “And it’s so simple.”

  “That gorilla was just a kid, not a full-grown adult,” I said. “It probably hadn’t had Pravus’s special training yet either.”

  “Special training, my butt. Those gorillas don’t need special training. Honestly, if Pravus tripped over a log, he would tak
e credit for inventing wood.”

  “Still, you can’t be thinking of sending Syke against another one,” I said. “The hamadryads will destroy you.”

  “No, not Syke. You’re right. We’ll have to find another one. The prettiest one. Jessica. No, Jane. No . . . what’s her name?”

  Uh-oh. What had I done? Was he really going to send one of the siren girls to go up against a giant gorilla? That was crazy.

  I had to warn Janet, so I left.

  I passed Vodum in the foyer. On a hunch, I stopped and said, “If books were food—”

  He looked up at me. “Blech, books taste terrible.”

  Not a surprise, that one.

  I left the castle, heading for the girls’ dorm. Once outside I ran into Janet, who was bundled up in a blanket.

  “Janet, you look terrible,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. Even sickly, she looked great. She made a greenish complexion look like a mossy forest in the early-morning light. Breathtaking.

  “I feel so sick. I’m not going to be able to greet the sirens tomorrow. I’m on my way to tell Dr. Critchlore, but I don’t think I can make it up the stairs. Can you tell him for me?”

  “Actually, I wanted to warn you about something,” I said. “I think Dr. Critchlore is going to be looking for you. I told him about Syke standing up to the giant gorilla at Pravus’s, and he thinks that beauty might be their soft spot. He wants to test his theory out with you. But don’t do it, Janet. It’s too dangerous.”

  “He wants me to go on a secret mission?”

  “Yes, but like I said, it’s really dangerous. You should just wait for the siren mothers to get here tomorrow.”

  “I’m good,” she said, throwing off the blanket and bundling it in her arms. Suddenly she seemed in perfect health. She bounded up the castle steps.

  Wherever there’s trade, the sirens are there, taking a cut. They are a greedy, evil, cunning, bloodthirsty organization.

  —DR. CRITCHLORE, SPEAKING WITH ADMIRATION ABOUT THE SIREN SYNDICATE

  The next morning, we were in full dress uniform: black slacks, button-down shirts, and double-breasted military jackets. We lined the long drive up to the castle, with the larger minions closest to the entrance. Next to them were the ogre-men, the monster minions in their monster forms, then the skeletons and other undead minions, and finally, the human-sized kids like me. The imps and other small minions circled the fountain in the middle of the drive.

  On the steps of the castle, the teachers stood on one side, the siren daughters on the other. Dr. Critchlore, in his full military-style uniform, stood at the top.

  My chest swelled with pride to be a part of this incredible display.

  But then I felt a sharp poke in my back. I turned around into the angry glare of Rufus, flanked on either side by his werewolf buddies, Lapso and Jud, who should have been down the road with the other werewolves.

  “I know what you did, Runt,” he said, spitting out my name like it was something disgusting.

  “What?”

  “You told Critchlore about the gorilla and Syke. He wants to see if it’s true, but did he send his precious tree nymph? No. He sent Janet. To take on a giant gorilla.”

  He was whispering in my ear, and I could feel the heat and spit of his words. Mostly the spit.

  “If anything happens to her, you’re dead,” he said. “I’ll maim you myself. I don’t even care if they kick me out of this school.”

  I shook. I couldn’t speak. Nobody had threatened to kill me before. Well, except for that person who’d cursed me. And Miss Merrybench. And Dr. Pravus when he was choking me. So, technically, this was the fourth time my life had been threatened, and it was still extremely unnerving.

  “Even if she comes back fine, you’re still gonna pay,” he went on. “I’m gonna get your pathetic butt thrown out of this school for good. You weak little loser, it makes me sick to see you wearing the same uniform as me.”

  I felt like running away, or collapsing into a ball. How was I still standing? My legs felt like jelly.

  Rufus backed off as the limousines approached. They drove slowly, like panthers slinking through the jungle looking for prey. One by one they unloaded their guests, and the siren women stood on the gravel, waiting for the last limousine. It was larger than the other ones, and decorated with fancy flags. When it stopped, four attendants took up positions at the corners of the car, and another two stood ready at the door.

  From my position near the sirens, I was able to see Grand Sirenness Marissa as she exited the car. An attendant reached down, offering a hand, and she emerged. She was stunningly beautiful, wearing a sheer blue dress that seemed to swish around her. She had silky blond hair and a golden tan, just like her daughter, Bianca. Her blue eyes sparkled.

  She looked up at the castle and then took in everybody standing at attention. She smiled and we all smiled back, she was that powerful.

  “Bianca, darling,” she said, stretching her arms for a hug. Bianca floated to her mother, and the Grand Sirenness held her daughter gently, so as not to smudge or wrinkle or otherwise disrupt her appearance. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Mother. So do you,” Bianca said.

  “This castle is very impressive.” She looked up again and nodded.

  Dr. Critchlore approached, took the offered hand, and kissed it with a bow. “Grand Sirenness,” he said. “Welcome. Welcome to you all,” he added to the others. “If you’ll follow me, we have a reception waiting in the rear courtyard.”

  Cook asked me to help Pierre serve at the reception. I tried to steer clear of Rufus while I took a tray of hors d’oeuvres to the group of sirens and their mothers standing by the gazebo, looking out on the lawn, and beyond it, Mount Curiosity.

  “Tell me, girls,” Grand Sirenness Marissa said, “what have you been learning here?” She waved her hand in dismissal of my offered plate.

  Bianca looked at her friends for help. “Um. Modeling stuff, mostly.”

  “ ‘Modeling stuff’?” Marissa said. “What do you mean?”

  Bianca’s face turned pink. She looked cute, and I stood watching with my head cocked to one side. “Um,” she said.

  “Um?” her mother said. “It appears that poise and decorum are not part of the curriculum.”

  “I apologize, Mother. We have learned so much it’s hard to know where to start. We learned how to march—er—walk, with grace. And that . . . models . . . work best . . . when they work together?”

  “Really?”

  “The difference between the impossible and the possible is a team of models,” added Grace.

  “Even small models can do great things, if you have enough of them,” put in Meika.

  I was pretty sure those were all quotes from Dr. Critchlore’s book, and the girls were just substituting models for minions. The siren mothers did not look impressed.

  “Pi is the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter,” said Verduccia, who really liked math.

  “This is upsetting,” the Grand Sirenness said. “If I had known how sketchy the curriculum is at this academy, I would have thought twice before sending you here.”

  Dr. Critchlore walked up carrying two glasses of champagne. He handed one to the Grand Sirenness.

  “I am not impressed, Dr. Critchlore,” she said. “You are teaching them teamwork? Mathematics?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “It’s the latest thinking in the—er—institute of higher modeling theory.”

  Not one person had taken an hors d’oeuvre from my tray. I couldn’t bring a full plate back, or Cook would kill me. So I ate one myself. It was really good. I ate another. I didn’t want to miss out on this conversation. I wanted to hear what else Dr. Critchlore was going to make up.

  “And—er—the advanced theories of effective modeling, really, enhancing the individual’s self-style and inner confidence—”

  At this point, another siren mother strode into the group. “Excuse me, Your Elegance,” she said. �
��I must interrupt. Look who I found by the seafood platter.” She yanked on the arm of the person behind her, who turned out to be Pismo.

  “You!” Grand Sirenness Marissa said. She slammed her champagne glass to the ground. The look of hatred on her face was so intense I thought Pismo might spontaneously burst into flames. “What are you doing here? And wearing a school uniform.” She turned back to Dr. Critchlore, rage face still at maximum power. “Dr. Critchlore, explain to me why you have a mermaid in your school. With my daughter!”

  Dr. Critchlore opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  The Grand Sirenness turned to her daughter. “Bianca, were you aware of this?”

  “Yes, Mother,” she said. “We all know he’s a mermaid, but he didn’t want anyone to know, so we didn’t say anything.”

  Pismo looked stunned. “You knew?”

  “Of course,” Bianca said. “You’re kind of famous back home, Prince Pismodor. I’ve seen your likeness on more than fifteen bounty posters. You destroyed our sea pool by breaking the restraining wall, you covered our rocks with goop so we couldn’t sit on them to lure sailors to their death, you were caught stuffing poisonous puffer fish into our nets . . . I could go on.”

  Pismo almost smiled, then he turned serious. “I was reckless in my youth,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve changed,” Marissa said.

  “I have,” Pismo said. “My father wants peace. We all want peace.”

  She scowled at him, not believing it. “I want him taken care of.”

  Dr. Critchlore took Pismo by the arm. “Come,” he said. “She’s right. You shouldn’t be here.”

  He rushed Pismo over to Professor Twilk and pointed to the back entrance of the castle. Then he returned. “Your Grand Elegance, I apologize. As you know, minion schools, uh, and modeling schools—especially modeling schools—are constantly trying to further our understanding of all races, and mermaids have always been a mystery to me. I shall send him home immediately. In addition—”

  Grand Sirenness Marissa held up her hand to stop him. “I would leave right now if it weren’t for my daughter. I do not want to diminish her moment of glory. The show will run as scheduled. After that, we will take our daughters home, and they will not return. In addition, I will make sure that you never get another shipment on our rivers for as long as you live.”