They all got closer together. Soon, they all began to feel very, very tired. One by one, they lost consciousness in the cold. Felix was first, followed by Will and Cordelia. Eleanor held on longest.
And that’s when she saw the shadowy figure, a silhouette really, approaching in the snow. It looked like a man, a very small man. As he got closer, Eleanor could see that he was wearing a giant fur coat with a thick hood. When the man arrived in front of Eleanor, he knelt down and moved his face close to hers. She couldn’t see his features, hidden by the shadows of his hood. She wanted to shout to the others, tell them to wake up . . . but she was too weak to speak.
The man opened his mouth and exhaled.
A thick, red puff of smoke flew out of his mouth. The smoke encircled Eleanor’s face. It smelled like cinnamon. And suddenly, Eleanor was no longer cold. Every inch of her body was filled with a burst of wonderful heat, surging through her limbs, reviving her.
And then she passed out.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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The first thing Cordelia noticed was the smell: vanilla, cloves, and butter. It woke her up from the deep slumber that she, Eleanor, Will, and Felix had been in. When she looked down, she saw that it was coming from a cup of tea. The cup had no handle, but it was covered in soft brown fur, so even though Cordelia’s hands were wrapped around it, she wasn’t burning her palms. That’s nice, she thought.
The steam from the tea was so strong and delicious that it made her lightheaded. It seemed too hot to drink. She let it warm her for a moment before she looked around to see where she was. A room with red stone walls. A huge fireplace with a roaring fire. Animal pelts and antlers on the wall, and on the floor, a rug that might have once belonged to a buffalo. She was sitting on it, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, surrounded by Eleanor and Will and Felix, who likewise held cups of tea in their hands.
Cordelia suddenly had a flash of worry and checked her back pocket. Yes, there it was, damaged by the snow: Eliza May Kristoff’s diary. She had to get it open as soon as she could.
“Ahem,” said a voice above her.
Standing over Cordelia was a stooped man with craggy tan features. He wore a woolly tunic, and underneath, pants adorned with red feathers. He was completely bald and his cheeks were sprinkled with chunky moles. White, whisker-like hairs, over two inches long, stuck out of the moles.
“Ahhhh . . . ,” he said. “The tea does the trick. Every time!”
“Who are you?” Will asked.
“My name is Wangchuk.”
“Where are we?” asked Cordelia.
“I will explain everything in time,” Wangchuk said, “but first, honored guests, I urge you to relax and drink. I know the journey has been weary.”
They all looked at one another. Cordelia and Eleanor were nervous about eating and drinking. Back on the pirate ship in their last adventure, magical steak and fries they’d eaten had caused a bunch of skeletons to come to life. But Will was already drinking the tea.
“Mmmmmm,” he said, and then noticed them looking at him. “What?”
They all took sips. The drink warmed them to the tips of their toes. It was unlike any tea they had ever tasted: laced with cream and honey, rich and thick, as if some world-class chef had invented milkshake tea.
“What’s in here?” Eleanor asked.
Wangchuk stood over them proudly: “Yak belly.”
“Excuse me?”
“We scrape the fat from a yak’s stomach—”
Pfffffft—Eleanor spat her tea back into the cup.
“What’s the matter?” Wangchuk said.
“Yak belly?” said Eleanor. “That’s totally gross! And what if the yak was eating something gross too?!”
“Yak-belly tea is served to only our most distinguished and honored guests,” said Wangchuk. “I’ve even added two special ingredients to make it more delicious.”
“What’s that?”
“Monkey sweat—”
Now Cordelia spat her tea back in its cup.
“And donkey spit.”
Will dropped his cup to the floor. Only Felix was left happily gulping the tea.
“Oh, I see,” said Wangchuk. “None of you are accustomed to our . . . rather exotic food. But we only want to please you. We’ve been waiting so long for you. That’s why my brothers and I braved death to get you off the mountain.”
“What brothers?” asked Felix.
“Why, the monks of Batan Chekrat,” Wangchuk said. “Who else?”
“You’ll have to pardon us,” Cordelia said. “We’re not that familiar with this book—I mean, this part of the world.”
“And why have you been waiting for us?” asked Eleanor. “How did you even know about us?”
“Because of the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?” Will said.
“Legend has it,” said Wangchuk, “that a band of warriors will one day arrive and help us defeat the frost beasts.”
“Frost beasts?” Cordelia asked.
Wangchuk clapped his hands, five times in a specific rhythm, and barked: “Brothers!”
A door at the back of the room opened. A dozen monks—who were dressed like Wangchuk, their pants adorned with white feathers instead of red ones—quickly filed in and sat down by the fire. What was curious about them was that they didn’t look very similar to Wangchuk. Some looked European, some Asian, some African; they looked like they had come from all over the world, or had been handpicked by a reality television show to represent all possible nationalities. They were also different ages, young and old. But they had two noticeable things in common: shaved heads, and a musty, lived-in smell, like a pair of jeans worn three days in a row.
“Please direct your attention to the opposite wall,” Wangchuk said.
Cordelia and the others turned. The leaping firelight cast shadows on the wall. The monks extended their arms in front of the flames, bringing their hands into very precise positions . . . and suddenly, shadows took shape, forming the perfect silhouette of a tall mountain, with a castle perched on top.
“Wow,” Eleanor said.
“This is the monastery of Batan Chekrat,” Wangchuk said. The monks fluttered their hands and the castle-shadow vibrated. It was really quite spectacular. “The highest monastery in the world. Built three thousand years ago by the Gautama Buddha.”
The shadows of the monks’ arms shifted shape to become the familiar fat silhouette of the Buddha, then slipped back into the monastery image.
“Gautama Buddha founded no other monasteries during his long life. This is a sacred and singular place. But soon after it was built, the frost beasts attacked.”
The arms of several monks contorted. The shadow of the monastery transformed into three nasty shadows. Each one looked like the offspring of the abominable snowman and a werewolf, with oversize arms, stubby legs, and mounds of muscles, covered in hair. Cordelia looked at the monks casting the shadows. They were creating these hairy silhouettes using the hair on their own arms and hands. It was one of the few things Cordelia could think of that was a good use for hairy hands.
“The frost beasts come at night,” Wangchuk explained. “They’re over ten feet tall and ferocious, with blood that runs cold as ice. If they so desired, they could scale the walls of the monastery and kill us. But by letting us live, they ensure a more steady food source.”
Two of the monks twisted their hands into the shapes of yaks, which looked like big shaggy cows. They moved the shadow yaks outside the shadow monastery, where the frost-beast silhouettes snatched them up. Then they made caterwauling yak noises to establish their point.
“You feed them yaks?” Eleanor asked. “That’s terrible! Poor yaks!”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t enough,” Wangchuk said. “Every month we are also forced to give them two members of our order. As a sacrifice.”
“Oh no!” s
aid Eleanor. The monks now created the shadows of monks themselves, who were tossed out of the monastery and caught in midair by the frost beasts.
“Yes,” said Wangchuk in a quiet voice. “The frost beasts love human flesh most of all. But they are a primitive species, lacking in certain skills . . . for instance, they have no idea how to create fire. So they bring their human meals to their cave”—now the monastery became an overarching cave made of interlocking arms—“where they eat them slowly. And raw. One limb at a time.”
The monks moved closer to the fire, which made the shadow-beasts appear much larger. The wall became an abstract combination of silhouettes, hungry mouths, and razor-sharp teeth. The monks made chewing and crunching noises, followed by slurping sounds, like a person trying to get every last bit of meat out of a chicken bone.
“These monks have a bit too much time on their hands,” whispered Will.
“This is the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard,” Cordelia said to Wangchuk. “You just stand back and let these monsters eat you every month? How can you live with yourselves?”
“We have no choice,” said Wangchuk.
“You could fight back,” said Felix.
“No. Fighting is against our code of conduct. We are peaceful men.”
“You are cowardly men,” said Felix.
“I would not expect you to understand,” said Wangchuk. “But you must accept that is the way of our order. To accept what we cannot control, and to persevere.”
“But there have to be some people around here who can fight,” Eleanor said. “Like warriors or soldiers, living outside the monastery . . .”
“We are all alone on this mountain,” said Wangchuk. “There is no way to get here, except through the Door of Ways.”
“Door of Ways? What’s that?” Eleanor asked.
“It’s deep inside the frost beasts’ cave,” said Wangchuk. “Deep in the mountain: a magical portal to the outside world.”
“A way out?” asked an intrigued Cordelia.
“A way in,” said Wangchuk. “Every year, monk initiates who want to join our order come through it from faraway lands. But very few make it through the frost beasts’ cave and to the front gates without getting eaten.”
“Why would anybody ever want to be a monk here?” asked Cordelia.
“Because we have enlightenment here,” Wangchuk said. “True peace, through meditation. And besides: Now you are here. Our traveling warriors. You shall rid us of the frost beasts.”
Cordelia, Eleanor, Will, and Felix glanced at one another. They weren’t sure who was going to speak first. Then Felix said, “Very well. Where are these beasts? I’ll show you cowards how to fight!”
“Wait a minute, hold on,” Cordelia said. “We hate to tell you this, Mr. Wangchuk . . . but we’re not the warriors you’re waiting for.”
“Yeah,” Eleanor said, “we’re just kids trying to get home.”
“That can’t be true,” said Wangchuk. “First of all, you came here without using the Door of Ways, which no one has ever done. Secondly, you came with a war machine. I saw it with my own eyes. It’s at the bottom of the chasm.”
“That’s called a tank, and it isn’t ours,” Cordelia said. “It belonged to the Nazis. And we don’t ever want to see them again.” Although . . . she thought.
“But without a war machine, how will you fulfill the prophecy?” Wangchuk asked.
“Please, mate,” Will said. “Stop babbling nonsense. They’re telling you the truth.”
Wangchuk paused, as if pondering this, and sighed.
“Then I’m afraid we have only one choice,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“To feed you, shelter you and provide you with a warm bed.”
“Sounds like a spectacular idea,” said Will, grinning in relief. “As you said, we’re rather exhausted.”
“However,” said Wangchuk, “it is written that only warriors who protect our monastery may be given shelter. All others must join the order of the monks.”
“Fine,” said Will. “What do we need to do? Say some prayers? Drink tea made of goat vomit?”
“Shave your heads,” said Wangchuk, before turning and shouting: “Brothers!”
All the monks stood up in a flash, pulling out rusty scissors and sharp razor blades. They grabbed Cordelia, Eleanor, Will, and Felix to chop off huge chunks of their hair. Everyone squirmed and protested. One of the monks dipped a straight razor into a porcelain bowl of yak shaving cream and brought it up to Cordelia’s head—
“Wait!! Stop!!” she yelled.
The monks paused, looking at the kids.
“Okay, okay,” Cordelia said. “Maybe you are right. Maybe we were sent here to help you. Let’s just put a hold on this head-shaving stuff, and we’ll start working on a way to beat the frost beasts!”
Wangchuk held up his hand; the monks backed off. As they were putting away their scissors and razor blades, Eleanor whispered to Cordelia: “Do you really think it’s worth risking our lives against some horrible monsters just to save our hair?”
“I don’t know about you,” said Cordelia, “but I’ve had enough embarrassing episodes at school with my tooth falling out. I’m not going back all bald and Joan of Arc–like. Can you imagine walking down the halls? Nope.” She dropped her voice to a whisper: “And maybe, while we’re fighting these frost-beast things, we can get into that Nazi tank.”
“You want to go back inside the tank?” said Eleanor. “What for?”
“To find the treasure map.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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A world away—literally—Brendan Walker was having the time of his life. Since watching the tank tow Kristoff House out of the Colosseum, he had done everything he could to not think about what was happening to his sisters, and Will, and Felix—and he had succeeded. If you go to enough feasts and dances, he now realized, you don’t have to think about anything.
First, in the aftermath of the tank attack, Brendan had dashed back desperately to the emperor. When he reached Occipus and his mistress (along with that annoying announcer, Rodicus), he told them that the Nazis were part of a powerful sorcery and had sprung from a magical book.
“Are they coming back, General Brendan?” Occipus asked.
“Luckily, Supreme Emperor,” Brendan said, “I’ve read the book. And now that they have passed through Rome, these Nazis will never return.”
Of course Brendan hadn’t read any book; he didn’t even know Assault of the Nazi Cyborgs existed. But he was getting good at lying. If somebody asked me now how good of a liar I am, he thought, I’d say, “Seven out of ten.” But really I’d be lying. I’m a ten out of ten.
“I wouldn’t trust this one,” Rodicus whispered to the emperor. “We have reports that these ‘Nazis’ are right outside the city, perhaps gathering reinforcements. The people are certain that they’re coming back with their cracksticks”—this had become the Roman word for gun—“to kill us all!”
“Well then,” Occipus said, picking lint out of his belly button, “we will see soon if General Brendan speaks truth.”
Rodicus frowned, clearly annoyed.
The day went on and no Nazis returned to Rome. Occipus was overjoyed—and quite impressed with Brendan’s predictive abilities, even though Brendan had only been guessing. To honor him, Occipus arranged to throw a feast. Brendan was led into the emperor’s Jovian Banquet Hall, beside the Colosseum, and seated at the head of a table that was over one hundred feet long.
The room was arched like a cathedral, with columns depicting ancient Greek legends. The table was made of silver-flecked white marble; when Brendan sat down, it was already filled with roasted pork, figs, veal, cheesecake, goose, rabbit, and boats of gravy. Brendan couldn’t identify many of the dishes, but he wasn’t going to be rude—he took huge helpings and ate as much as he could stomach.
Suddenly, after all dishes, glasses, and silverware had been cleared, the table began to descend shakily into the ground.
“What’s happening?” Brendan asked. “Is it a sinkhole?”
The Roman dignitaries laughed. They were all very familiar with this trick. Brendan felt ashamed for not understanding what was going on, but Occipus patted his shoulder: “Relax, General. Just watch.”
The table’s top was well below the floor when Brendan heard a gurgling sound. Water began to flood the hollow space, and after a minute, what had been the table was now a long, clear pool. Crawfish, lobster, and trout were released by tiny metal gates, swarming into the water. Slaves appeared with spears and nets and caught the fresh seafood, carrying it away before the pool drained off and the table rose back into the room. Water sheeted off it.
“How did you do that?” Brendan asked the emperor.
“A complex system of hydraulics and pulleys,” the emperor said. “And now we’re ready for the second course.”
“Wait? All that stuff I ate . . . that was all just one course? How many courses are there?”
“Twelve.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” Brendan was genuinely worried about being able to eat that much, plus he felt a little guilty. He didn’t deserve this—and where were his sisters? And Will? Did the Nazis get to them? . . . No, he couldn’t think about that. Hopefully Felix had defended them. He seemed tough enough.
By the time the fourth course was delivered, Brendan was having a difficult time swallowing. His waist had expanded several inches. He was feeling sick. The luxuries of the Roman feast were starting to look disgusting to him. I gotta get out of here, he thought. I have to find my sisters. I never should have left them.
Brendan stood up to leave—but Occipus gently sat him down. “Where are you going? Don’t you want to see the juggler?”
A juggler carrying several lit torches appeared. Behind him, the slaves brought in course number five—stuffed doves—and as the juggler started juggling the torches, Brendan noticed the huge armed guards who stood at each door. Like those guards would ever let me leave. I’m trapped!
House of Secrets: Battle of the Beasts Page 19
