by Sheila Grau
Dr. Critchlore paled. This was exactly what he’d feared.
The Grand Sirenness swept past him. Then she turned around. “Oh, I forgot to mention. I have taken the liberty of inviting a few guests. Make sure you have room for them at the show.”
“Of course,” Dr. Critchlore said. “Any guests of yours are welcome. How many extra seats will we need?”
“Let’s see,” she said. “There’s Lord Vengecrypt’s wife and daughters, Irma Trackno is sending her assistants, Wexmir Smarvy’s wife and daughters are coming—they’ll need to be seated away from Lord Vengecrypt’s wife as they despise each other. Cera Bacculus’s daughters and entourage. Goodness, it seems like there will be hundreds!”
“Hundreds?”
“Yes, the Society of Evil Overlords’ Offspring. Current membership is close to one hundred.”
“The daughters and wives of evil overlords are coming here?” Dr. Critchlore managed to whisper. “To our little fashion show?”
“I just said that.”
I positioned myself behind Dr. Critchlore because he looked like he was going to faint.
Minion school rankings are determined by evil overlord customer reviews, recruit retention rates, percentage of students who complete the program, and bribes.
—STULL NEWS, THE ANNUAL MINION SCHOOL RANKING EDITION
The atmosphere was tense. The fashion show wasn’t until the day after tomorrow, and the siren mothers were enraged after discovering that a mermaid attended the same school as their daughters.
Fortunately, a little rest in their guest quarters in the West Wing of the castle managed to ease their anger a bit. They came down for the official school tour looking more interested than angry, and Dr. Critchlore decided to act as if nothing had happened.
We met in front of the castle: the siren girls, their mothers, Dr. Critchlore, and the junior henchman trainees, who’d been asked to serve as escorts. Tootles had fancied up the grounds, and everything sparkled—the Wall of Heroes, the statues in the Memorial Courtyard, even the dragons’ scales.
I was paired with Bianca, and as we walked, the two of us listened to Dr. Critchlore and the Grand Sirenness discuss the challenges of leadership.
“And don’t get me started on family interference,” Dr. Critchlore said. “Everyone’s an expert.”
“Try keeping a feud going when everyone starts begging for peace,” the Grand Sirenness said. “You have seriously damaged my hard work, Critchlore.”
“Maybe it’s time to end the feud,” Dr. Critchlore said. “I’ve heard that King Aquova has been trying to broker a diplomatic truce. You know they’re not stupid. And they are not a threat to your business. You could help each other. You could become so much more working together than fighting. Why not end this war?”
The Grand Sirenness looked furious. “You know as well as I do that that will never happen,” she whispered. “Those mermaids act like they own the ocean. We hate them. They hate us. It is a hatred that unites my people.”
Hatred is the tool of the tyrant. Mistress Moira was right.
“And you know that things are changing,” Dr. Critchlore said. “EOs are taking an interest in mermaids, for coastal attacks and defense. Instead of being the last bigot, you could be the one who gets the credit for changing things. You know the first rule of leadership—find out where people are heading, then jump in front of them and say, ‘Follow me!’ ”
The Grand Sirenness didn’t laugh at Dr. Critchlore’s joke.
“Mother,” Bianca said, “the mermaids aren’t evil. They’re really nice. I’ve met three of them—”
She stopped abruptly when the Grand Sirenness clamped a hand over her daughter’s mouth and hustled her away.
As I followed the group, Rufus bumped into me from behind, knocking me to the ground.
“Hey, watch where you’re standing, doofus,” he said. “Geez, my four-year-old sister is bigger than you.” He stomped on my calf before walking away.
I stood up and limped behind everyone toward the dormitories. After a few seconds, I said, “Oh, yeah? Well, my sister’s bigger than you too.”
I shook my head. That was lame. “Oh, yeah? I may be small, but at least—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I felt like such a loser.
“Psst.”
I turned around. Pismo’s head peeked out of the bushes. “Fish sticks, Runt! You haven’t learned anything. Come with me. I’m going for a swim in my secret spot.”
“You’re supposed to be hiding from the sirens,” I said.
“They won’t see me,” he said. “Come on, I know what will help you.”
“I’m supposed to be on the tour.” I pointed at the group, which had stopped in front of the dormitory for minions of diminutive size.
“Do you really think they’ll miss you?” Pismo asked.
“No,” I said. It was true. They wouldn’t.
We walked down the service road, heading for the isolated beach where Pismo had saved me from the imps’ trap not long ago. Its nearness to the swamp kept most people away, so we were safe from siren eyes.
“I can’t imagine this place without the sirens,” I said.
“It’s crazy, but I’ll miss them too,” Pismo said. “They’ve been so nice to me. Every one of them. They should hate me. Sirens hate mermaids. They hate that we can breathe underwater, and we hate their stupid singing power. It’s a rivalry as old as water.”
“But you don’t hate the sirens here,” I said.
“I tried to,” Pismo said. We reached the lake and took the path along the shore. “I feel like a traitor for not hating them.”
“Maybe others would feel the same way, if they just got to know each other. You probably have lots in common.”
“Yeah,” Pismo said. “We both hate submarines. And sharks. And we both love octopus ice cream.”
“Yuck.”
“I don’t want to leave, Runt. I like my legs. If I go home, I have no idea when my father will let me leave again. Probably never, if I cause another war.”
“Another war?”
“After I broke their sea wall, the sirens hurled depth charges down on our capital. Destroyed a lot of homes. After that, I was kicked out and sent to the Pravus Academy, because my father said it was rated the best, but it was pure hell, let me tell you. Actually, if Pravus takes over this school, I think I’d rather go home. That man is insane. I’m pretty sure he takes pleasure in watching people suffer.”
I felt my hand go to my neck, and I remembered the evil glint on his face as he choked me.
We sat down in the sand, facing the water.
“Okay, Runt,” Pismo said. “Let’s get to work. I’ve been thinking about something that might help you with confrontation.”
“Okay.”
“Do you remember when I yelled at you for snitching me out to Mrs. Gomes? You told her you thought I was the saboteur, and I really let you have it.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I screamed in your face, and you shook like a baby squid. You couldn’t form a complete sentence, you were so scared.”
“I told you. I remember.” I threw a pebble into the lake.
“Don’t do that. The fish hate it.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m kidding. They don’t care.” He laughed. “And then I insulted your friends. I said they were all losers. When I did that, it was like you transformed. You actually stepped toward me, like you were ready to fight.”
“They’re not losers. It makes me mad when people say that.”
“Don’t you see? You are brave. You’d probably jump off a cliff to save someone else. Oh, wait, you did. You just have to channel those feelings into defending yourself. Stop thinking that you’re unworthy.” He stood up. “Stand up for yourself!”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“No, you won’t. You’re just saying that to agree with me.”
“I know.”
“Barnacles, Runt! You’re such a loser.”
“Syke’s kind of a freak.”
“No, she’s not.” I stood up to face him. “She’s awesome.”
“See? Now do that for yourself. I’m Rufus. ‘Gee, Runt, I didn’t see you there. What are you, like, seven?’ ”
“Yeah, a seven-year-old you had one of your friends sit on, so he wouldn’t beat you in the henchmen test.”
Pismo looked shocked. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, Jud sat on me so I’d miss my turn. Rufus told him to.”
“Man, that’s lame. If you have to cheat to win, then you’re cheating yourself out of knowing you earned a true victory. My dad says that whenever I cheat at sea chess.”
I shrugged.
“You did it, Runt,” Pismo said. He patted me on the shoulder. “You stood up for yourself. You’ve got it now.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Hey, look, everyone’s going on the big boat. Maybe I can catch them before they leave.” I turned back to Pismo. “You better hide.”
He nodded. I jogged down the beach and headed for the dock, but they left without me.
I’ll admit it. I don’t understand the rules of boulderball. It just looks like a bunch of giants running around, throwing huge rocks at each other.
—RUNT HIGGINS, BEING HONEST
The next day, everyone woke with a fresh dose of deadline anxiety. The dresses still weren’t ready, the programs weren’t ready, I was still stumped about the gift bag situation, and I hadn’t found the Archivist. My to-do list had gone through the laundry in my cargo pants and was a tattered mess.
The girls stood onstage in their Critchlore uniforms—black cargo pants, black boots, and T-shirts, ready for rehearsal. Dr. Critchlore held a clipboard and split the girls into two groups, one on each side of the stage. Rufus was supposed to coordinate things, but nobody knew where he was. Frankie and I waited backstage, ready to help out as needed.
The room was filled with people working on the decorations, installing lights, painting sets, and adding seats up in the balcony. Some professors sat and watched, since they had no classes to teach.
Dr. Critchlore stepped out from the eaves holding a microphone.
“All right, girls, here’s how we’ll start. I’ll introduce the show, the lights will dim, the music will start, and then I’ll call the first model. I’m thinking we should install big screens on both sides of the stage. What do you think, Greg?”
He was talking to our chief of construction, Oscar.
“We’ll talk later,” Dr. Critchlore said when Oscar didn’t reply, because he wasn’t sure he was being asked a question. “Advisory committee? Are you ready?” He looked in turn at the three women he’d enlisted for this job. Each one had a different vantage point: Professor Chowding at the end of the runway, Professor Zaida on the left side, and Marcia, the secretary for the necromancy department, on the right. They each held a clipboard, ready to take notes. “For now, let’s just have the girls do their walks. First up”—he looked at his clipboard—“Bianca!”
“Just so you know, my mother wants me to go last,” Bianca said. “She says the best one always goes last.”
“That’s fine. We’re just practicing our walks,” Dr. Critchlore said.
Bianca strode to the middle of the stage, smiled, and began her walk down the runway. When she came back, Verduccia started her walk.
Frankie nudged me and pointed at Frieda, standing on the other side of the stage. She was humming, which she did when she was nervous. She looked really nervous.
“Mother thinks it’s ridiculous that there’s an ogre in the show,” Bianca said, following our gazes. “And an imp, and Syke. They’re not sirens. They’re not special, like us.”
“Bianca,” I said, “just a few days ago you said Frieda looked great in yellow.”
“But she doesn’t fit in with the rest of us, don’t you see?”
“Not really,” I said. “Mistress Moira said that she’s highlighting what makes each girl interesting. Frieda’s just as interesting as the rest of you.”
“Probably more interesting,” Frankie said. “Since she’s not letting her mother tell her what to think.”
“Hmph.” Bianca sulked off to join the other sirens.
Frieda hummed louder, so I went over to talk to her.
“Are you ready?” I asked her.
“Grr,” she said. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Imagine it’s a boulderball game. You’re playing in the championship. Right before the game starts, the announcer calls out each player, and they have to walk to the middle of the field. You do that every year.”
“This is different,” she said. “I’m not wearing my boulderball uniform. I’m not with my team. They aren’t here to psych me up.”
“The girls are your team now,” I said, nodding to the line behind her.
“She shouldn’t do this,” Bianca said. “Everyone’s going to laugh at her.”
The rest of the girls surrounded Frieda, offering encouragement. “You can do it, Frieda!” “You’ll crush it!” “Yay, Frieda!” Frieda looked down at them and smiled.
“What do you do to psych yourself up before a game?” I asked.
“The Frieda flounce. It’s my signature move. Like this.” She bent over and made a body-builder pose with her arms flexing in front of her. She scrunched up her face and growled. Then she jumped in the air and pounded back down. I swear the earth shook a little.
“That is amazing,” I said.
She smiled.
One by one, the girls went out to do their walk. And then, finally, Dr. Critchlore called Frieda’s name. She stomped out to the middle of the stage, took one step onto the runway, and stopped. She looked up at the lights and squinted.
“C’mon, Frieda, you can do it!” I said in a stage whisper. “Just walk to the end and walk back. Easier than boulderball.”
“Boulderball,” she muttered. She seemed to gather some inner strength. Her expression turned fierce. “Boulderball!” she yelled. She flexed her arms in front of her, and then she did it again. The Frieda flounce.
Her confidence restored, Frieda walked down the runway. It started to wobble.
“Frankie!” I said. “The runway’s going to collapse when she comes back. You have to get under there and hold it up.” Frankie could lift ten Friedas, he was that strong.
“I’m on it,” he said. He snuck out from the eaves, dropped from the stage to the floor, and disappeared under the runway.
Frieda strode back, a huge smile on her face. When the girls came out for their final bow, Dr. Critchlore said, “Closing comments, blah, blah, blah. Good work, everyone. Let’s take ten and do it again. Then we’ll work on the dance number.”
I looked at the list that Professor Murphy had tacked to the wall, presumably for Rufus, the backstage manager. His next task was to get water bottles for the girls, which I did. Then I went to find someone to fix the runway. I bumped into a maintenance worker who was rushing out of the ballroom.
“Hey,” I said. The guy had a huge mole on his cheek. Wow, that thing was big.
“The runway took a hit of Frieda,” I told him, trying not to look at that mole, but it was like a black hole, sucking me in. “It needs to be reinforced.”
“Right, thanks, kid. I’ll get on it,” he said, and then rushed past me.
“The runway is back there!” I shouted, but he was gone.
As I turned to head back to the stage, Frankie crashed into me.
“Runt!” he yelled. “Runt, I saw something.”
“Was it Syke?” I asked. “ ’Cause she cut practice again.”
“No. I was under the runway. The girls had finished, but people were still walking on it, so I stayed to hold it up. Anyway, Professor Zaida was in the second row talking to a guy I’ve never seen before. Had a huge mole on his cheek.”
Frankie had a photographic memory, so if he said he hadn’t seen someone before, then he hadn’t.
“Maybe he
’s new,” I said. “Critchlore probably hired more helpers for the show.”
Frankie shook his head. “I don’t think he’s a maintenance worker. He scared Professor Zaida, I could tell. I have excellent hearing, because Dr. Frankenhammer designed me that way. I don’t normally listen in on conversations, but that man sounded so mean, and she looked so scared. He said he knew who she was, and if she didn’t want to end up like Rathers or Demir, she’d tell him what he wanted to know.”
“What? What did she say?”
“She kept shaking her head and saying ‘never.’ He said, ‘Hoarding knowledge is tyranny, and we won’t stand for it anymore,’ and then he jabbed something into her leg. He told her she had two weeks to decide. If she wants the antidote, she’ll give him the information.”
“Antidote? He poisoned her?”
Frankie nodded.
“I have to find her. Frankie, see if you can catch that man; he just ran that way. Okay?”
“Okay.” He darted out of the room so quickly he was nothing but a blur.
Of the twenty-seven minion schools, Westvolt Academy’s graduates typically score highest on the MATs, the Minion Aptitude Tests.
—STULL NEWS, ANNUAL MINION SCHOOL RANKING EDITION
Professor Zaida wasn’t in her quarters, and she wasn’t answering her DPS. On a hunch, I raced to Uncle Ludwig’s library.
As I ran, everything clicked into place. Professor Zaida, poisoned, just like the CLOUD in the capital. The old lady looking at my Critchlore patch and telling me to warn the Archivist. She said, “Z is an A.” Z—Zaida.
Why hadn’t I figured it out before? I’d asked everyone but her. Was it because she was so small and harmless looking? So nice? Because Uncle Ludwig had convinced me that the CLOUDs were ruthless and that the Archivist had to be big and strong?
I raced to the dungeon and wound through hallways until I reached the grotto. Entering the library, I could see that the lights were on. A large black bag sat on one of the tables. Professor Zaida, dressed in black and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, came out and put three books into the bag, then returned to the stacks.
