“We’ve got a question or two for you,” Rose growled threateningly.
“Yeah. And you’d better answer straight and true. We’ll know if you lie.” N/Ice flashed an expression that was redder than any blush.
“You especially don’t want me to lose my temper.” A grim-faced Amber extended one hand in the diminutive goblin’s direction. “I’m not feeling real sociable right now.”
“Pleases, pleases, don’t hurts!” Shrinking back against the sealed door, the goblin threw both hands up to protect its face. “You asks what yous wants, I tells you. Anything you wants.” Its glance traveled across the room to the large lump of motionless meat that moments before had been its master. Satisfied with the effect the coubet had produced, Simwan stepped forward. “We’re from out of town, and we’ve come looking for the Crub.”
“I knows, I knows.”
Simwan blinked. The girls exchanged a glance. Pithfwid sighed resignedly. “You knows—I mean, you know?” Simwan replied.
Lowering his hands, the goblin nodded. “Word comes in not longs before you gets here. ‘Watch for strange young non-Ords,’ it says. ‘Means ills for good customer the Crub,’ it says. Master Tybolt instructs us take care if we sees such peoples. Instructs we captures such young peoples.”
“And do what?” Amber asked menacingly.
Once more the goblin threw up his green, long-fingered hands. “We tolds to keeps you around untils Master comes. Master has standing order for certain kind of sausage, and likes to watch making of.”
Simwan leaned toward the cringing goblin. “What was your master’s connection to the Crub? How close were they?”
“Not personal close. Only business,” the goblin insisted. “Crub’s servants steal things in New York proper. Brings them here to trades for scraps and trimmings of rare meats.”
Amber nodded understandingly. “Brings them here from where? Where can we find the Crub?”
“In the great park, the Central Park,” the goblin told her.
Blowing into an open palm, N/Ice brandished a handful of fire under the goblin’s chin. “Where in the park?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” the goblin gibbered as it shrank back from that threatening blaze. “I only works front counter.”
Amber looked at her sisters. “Well, at least that narrows it down. New York City’s a big place, and now we know the only part we have to search is Central Park.”
Simwan considered. If the goblin was telling the truth, then contact between the Crub and Tybolt the Butcher was not constant. That meant with a little luck, they might catch it before news spread. Providing, of course, that in the interim it was not informed otherwise.
They hauled the squealing, protesting little creature to the back of the store. N/Ice opened the freezer while Rose, Amber, and Simwan tossed their captive inside. “Waits, waits!” A green arm thrust outward as Simwan prepared to slam shut the heavy steel door.
“What?” he asked impatiently.
A small green head popped out to eye him accusingly. “You still nots leave tip for your sandwiches.”
“Get back in there!” N/Ice raised a threatening hand. With a last squeak, the pitiful creature ducked back inside and Simwan and his sisters slammed the door shut, making sure to drop the locking handle into place.
Goblins dealt quite well with being frozen. Eventually, someone would arrive to check on the business and sooner or later open the freezer where the Deavys had chosen to store him. Even as a satisfied Simwan was making sure the freezer door was tightly closed and latched, a rising whine drew everyone’s attention.
“Sirens!” Amber yelped. “Police sirens, maybe.”
“Someone outside must have heard all the noise and called the cops.” Amber hurried toward the front door, still brushing frantically at her hair.
It was time to go. At least now they knew where to look for the Crub, even if it was somewhere within the boundaries of one of the country’s largest municipal parks. Raising a hand, Simwan stretched it out toward the front door.
“Steal the feel, unseal the wheel,” he recited. His enunciation was perfect. His teachers would have been proud.
Once more, the door glowed slightly. The key that had jammed itself into the center flew backward to land in Simwan’s hand. Returning it to a pocket, he hurried to join his sisters.
Cautiously opening the door, all three girls peered out, one head above the other. Just as when they had entered, the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians: some human, many not. Although the wail of the approaching siren was louder now, no one on the street paid it any attention. This was, after all, New York, where the sound of a siren was as common as that of the wind. The traffic and its indifference, Simwan saw, would help to slow the arrival of the authorities.
Not that he minded having to answer a question or two. They had responded to Tybolt and his murderous employees in self-defense. It would have to be an addled cop indeed who upon scrutinizing the carnage inside the butcher shop came to the conclusion that a teenage boy, his three younger sisters, and a cat had acted with intent to commit unprovoked mass murder—upon a passel of knife-wielding goblins and their monstrous ogre of a master, no less.
It was just that he did not want to waste the time that would be needed to answer such questions. Also, if they were picked up by the authorities, the police might insist on getting in touch with their parents. He and his sisters couldn’t allow that. It would only upset their father and worry their mother, and in her present condition, the last thing she needed was that kind of additional stress.
“I don’t see any uniforms,” N/Ice whispered tautly.
“Let’s go!” Pushing from behind, Simwan and Pithfwid forced their way out. Amber and N/Ice were right behind them. Only Rose lingered briefly, to etch the glowing word closed onto the front door as she pulled it shut behind her.
They strode resolutely onward, even remembering to glance at occasional shop windows, trying to blend into the crowd and make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. Behind them, the complaining screech of the siren steadied. It did not disappear, but it stopped coming closer.
Simwan badly wanted to look back to see what was happening, but forced himself not to. “Sounds like maybe they’ve stopped outside the butcher shop. If they go in, that ought to keep them busy for a while.”
N/Ice had a sudden thought that nearly caused her to blink out of existence. “Oh gosh—what if they find the goblin we left in the freezer? He won’t be frozen yet.” Unable to stop herself, she turned and looked back.
“N/Ice …” Simwan began warningly, “don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter!” She broke into a run. “They’re coming!”
That was enough to make all of them turn. Sure enough, a squad of cops was making its way in their direction. Thankfully, the crowd at this end of the increasingly narrow street was so tightly packed that people and creatures spilled off the sidewalk onto the street and left no room for vehicles. Having been given the description of the murderous children by a decidedly biased—and shivering—goblin, the local authorities were hot on their heels.
“There!” Raising a hand, Simwan pointed excitedly. The crack that separated two tall buildings at the end of the street was now visible just ahead. Panting hard, he broke into a final sprint.
Would their pursuers follow? There was only one way to find out.
N/Ice was first through, effortlessly flattening herself to the thickness of a pane of glass as she slipped into the constricted opening. Rose followed, with Amber right behind her. Just as Simwan took the opposite of a deep breath and prepared to follow his sisters, a heavy hand clamped down on his left shoulder.
“Gotcha! Don’t fight it, kid, we only want to—”
A ball of fur swollen to the size of a giant pumpkin landed on Simwan’s right shoulder and hissed at the startled cop. No
t only was it swollen to the size of a giant pumpkin, it looked exactly like a giant pumpkin—or to be more exact, a fuzzy yellow jack-o’-lantern with eyes of blazing brimstone. The sight was enough to make the startled policeman momentarily release his grip.
Release it just long enough to allow Simwan to slip into the opening between the two buildings. Working his way sideways, he scuttled through until he finally lost his balance and fell.
Right out onto Fifth Avenue, where his waiting sisters clustered anxiously around him.
“Simwan, are you all right?” Rose asked uneasily.
“Did they hurt you?” Amber was searching her brother for signs of harm.
“Are you in one piece?” N/Ice asked, knowing that now that they were back in the Ord part of the city she couldn’t let herself stretch completely around her brother in the healing arc that was one of her sorceral specialties.
Picking himself off the pavement, he dusted himself off and looked back the way he had come. The crack between the two buildings was unchanged. Putting one eye to it, he could just make out a bevy of blue-clad shapes gesticulating and flailing futilely at the far end. But none were coming through.
Near his lower legs a familiar black shape, tail twitching back and forth, was also peering into the crack. “I think we’re safe now,” Pithfwid murmured softly. “We’re no longer in their precinct.”
Relieved at their narrow (in every sense of the word) escape, the four of them turned and found themselves contemplating the thickly treed, mysterious expanse of Central Park that lay across the street.
Across Fifth Avenue, the bold green upthrust triangles of slender evergreens mixed with golden- and brown-leaved deciduous oaks and sycamores that were in the process of sacrificing their leaves to autumn. Somewhere in those thickly treed depths, if the small goblin was to be believed, lay the lair of the Crub. Somewhere in there, they would find the Truth, the means for restoring their mother to health—and quite possibly a number of things they did not want to find.
Pulling out the map Trish had given them, he checked it once, then folded it as best he could and clumsily shoved it back into his pocket. There were spells for many things, he knew, but no one, not even a grand sorcerer, had yet come up with one that would allow a paper map to be easily and correctly refolded once it had been opened.
“We might as well start looking here, at the south end of the park,” he told his sisters. “The nearest proper entrance is just down from where we are now, on 66th Street, by the zoo.”
Rose immediately clapped her hands together. “Super! While we’re asking questions, we can have a look at the animals.”
Her brother eyed her sternly. “We’re here to look for the Truth, Rose. Not monkeys and bears.”
Amber poo-pooed his concern. “If we don’t know where to look, that means we need to look everywhere, and consider every possibility. Who knows? Maybe the Crub hides out in the zoo.”
“Yeah, right,” Simwan agreed sarcastically. “In his own cage, up front and out in the open where everyone can see him. With a big identification sign on the bars. ‘Giant Wizard Rat of Evil Mien and Wicked Intent—Do Not Feed or Speak To.’”
N/Ice rested a calming hand on his arm. “Rose and Amber are right, brother. The Crub may not dwell in the zoo, but that doesn’t mean those who do are ignorant of his whereabouts. Remember what Aunt Grace told us once: ‘It never hurts to ask the monkey.’”
Seeking support, Simwan looked down at the cat sitting quietly by his feet. “Pithfwid?”
Wise yellow eyes peered back up at him. “It might help.”
Outvoted, Simwan gave in with a sigh of resignation. “All right—we’ll start searching at the zoo.” He wagged a warning finger. “But no casual gossiping with the animals; some Ord might see us.”
“Deal,” declared Rose.
“We’ll only talk to the monkeys,” Amber added.
“Better yet, we’ll let you do it, ’cause you’ll have instant rapport,” N/Ice finished.
“I suppose I could—hey, wait a minute.” He frowned as the deeper import of his half-a-sister’s maybe-compliment started to sink in. But it was too late for him to voice a comeback—the Deavy coubet was already racing for the crosswalk at 66th Street. All he could do was hurry and follow Pithfwid, grinding his teeth as he did so.
The crowd on the street had momentarily thinned when something black and nebulous oozed out of the crack that barely separated two towering apartment buildings. It looked like a lost patch of smoke. Passing by, an elderly man in overcoat and hat paused curiously. He thought it peculiar that instead of rising, the smoke puff seemed to be hovering in one place, unaffected even by the occasional blast of wind. Warily leaning toward it, he took a single, cautious sniff.
His eyes bulged and began to water. Despite the chill midday air, sweat immediately broke out on his forehead and cheeks. Both hands clutched at his throat as he began to choke. Alarmed at the sight, other concerned pedestrians stopped and tried to render what aid they could as the man collapsed to the pavement, kicking and twitching. Pulling out their cell phones, two women dialed 911.
Seconds later the unfortunate businessman’s back arched in a rictus of pain. Stepping out of the rapidly gathering crowd, a male nurse just starting his lunch break immediately began to administer CPR. None of it mattered. By the time the paramedics arrived, the man was dead, his heart stilled for good.
With all of the attention focused on the dying businessman, no one noticed the feathery tendrils of what looked like black smoke drifting lazily across Fifth Avenue in the general direction of Central Park.
XIV
Between the chilly, damp, breezy weather and the fact that it was nearly noon on what was still a school day in Manhattan, the Central Park Zoo was largely empty. A few couples, children accompanied by single parents or nannies, and the occasional tourist were the only people other than employees that the Deavy brood encountered as they paid to enter. In the distance, the Delacorte Music Clock, with its activated mechanical animals, was just finishing up playing “A-Tisket, A-Tasket.” As the youngsters passed through the entry gate, the clock launched into an appropriate tinkly version of “Ding Dong Dell.”
Once inside, they headed for the habitat that was home to a troop of white-faced langurs. Larger than Pithfwid but smaller than N/Ice, the primates were active, intelligent, and curious. After making sure that any other visitors were out of earshot, Rose leaned as far forward as she could to offer a mature female a handful of peanuts. Seeing this, several other adults and curious infants gathered around. Palm out, the troop’s lead female chittered excitedly at the Deavy girls.
“Don’t push,” Rose instructed the chattering younger monkeys, careful to employ the correct dialect.
“Oh, well, that makes it easier,” replied the senior female in words the Deavys knew well. She swiveled around on her backside, her long tail flicking out of the way. “Hey, didn’t you hear what the human said? No shoving in back!” Accepting the peanuts from Rose, she swallowed some while passing the majority along to her squabbling relatives. “Where do you cultured kids hail from?”
“Clearsight,” Amber told her. “Pennsylvania.”
The langur matriarch nodded as she shelled a peanut. “Any Kandy there?”
The three girls exchanged a glance. “We don’t have any candy,” Amber replied apologetically. “Only peanuts. But if you want candy …”
“No, no, sister no-tail.” The langur exposed sharp white teeth. “We’re from Kandy. It’s a district in central Sri Lanka. Since you can speak proper langur, I was just wondering if you knew anyone from home.”
Simwan shrugged diffidently. “We don’t get out of Pennsylvania much.”
“Too bad. You’d like Kandy.” She held up an empty shell. “Nice nuts. Thanks. Something I can do for you?”
Leaning closer to the bars, N/Ice lowered her vo
ice until it was barely audible. “Someone’s stolen the Truth, and we’re looking for it.”
The langur nodded knowingly. “Someone’s always trying to steal the tooth. That’s why it’s kept under guard in Kandy.”
Simwan sighed. “Not Buddha’s tooth. The Truth. It was stored in a bottle in Mr. Gemimmel’s drugstore and we’ve come to get it back. The Crub stole it.”
Abruptly, the monkey habitat went as silent as it had ever been, as silent as on the day when its reconstruction had been finished but before its denizens had been transferred back in. In fact, for just an instant, the entire zoo went dead quiet. None of the other human visitors remarked on the astounding coincidence because none were trained to pay attention to such things. But the Deavys noticed it. Darn right they did.
After what was after all only a second or two, bellows and cries, chirpings and hootings, barking and growling resumed—though with an undercurrent of unease only the most sensitive could detect. Simwan noticed the subtle change, and it caused him to scrutinize his immediate surroundings with more concern than previously.
Not coincidentally, every one of the other langurs had fled, disappearing among the rocks, trees, and ravines of their habitat. Only the matriarch remained, facing the visitors who had uttered the unmentionable name. She eyed them up and down from beneath her bushy white brows, her manner and tone deadly serious and anything but monkey-comical.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid children, and I can tell that you’re not stupid. One doesn’t speak lightly of the Crub, much less go looking for it.”
N/Ice straightened and, confident no other visitors were looking in her direction, emitted a brief golden flash. “We do. We promised to get the Truth back, we have to get the Truth back, and we’re going to follow through on our promise.”
“To save our woods, restore the health of our mother, and preserve our town,” Amber underlined.
The senior female scratched her head, then her butt. “You are really determined, aren’t you?” She sighed sadly. “Yes, I can see that you are. A pity. It’s so rare to find humans one can talk with. Most of the time we don’t even try; we just sit back and laugh at their antics and at the silly faces they make. It’s enough to make one wish the whole species would just devolve.” Leaning forward, she stuck her face between two of the bars.
The Deavys Page 16
