Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “Can you say ‘Have a nice day, Gyra’ to our T.A.?” said Miss Bloodstone.

  “Have a nice day, Gyra!” said the students as Gyra left the room.

  Then the thin girl made her way to the front of the class and cleared her throat. “There are two ways to kill leprechauns,” she began. “The first is to stare them in the eyes until they blink. This is difficult, because they almost never blink, and if you blink first, they disappear. The second—”

  “Dude,” said a soft, whispered voice. Falcon glanced to his left.

  There was a huge, hairy cadet. He was eating a baloney sandwich. He handed half of it to Falcon.

  “Go on,” said the young guardian. “Have some baloney.” Falcon took the baloney sandwich from the boy. The cadet smiled and stuffed his half into his mouth. Falcon took a bite of the sandwich. It wasn’t bad at all.

  The boy smiled happily. “Baloney,” he said.

  When the bell rang, the young guardians all stood and marched neatly out the door and down the long, waxy corridors to the cafeteria. There Falcon stood in a line to receive a platter loaded with salad and meat loaf and chocolate milk. He took his platter out to the dining hall and stood for a moment looking at all the tables filled with beings he did not know. A few cadets looked over at Falcon, then glanced at each other and laughed. He sat at the nearest empty table.

  “Can I sit here?” said a voice, and Falcon looked up to see Jonny Frankenstein holding a tray full of salad.

  “Sure,” said Falcon, and sighed. “Why not?”

  Jonny sat down. It had been a long time since Falcon had gotten a good look at him; his brief encounter with Jonny on Monster Island seemed like a dream to him now. In some ways, Jonny didn’t look all that different than he had last spring when he’d showed up at the Academy with his electric guitar and a duffel bag full of comic books. He still had those bright blue eyes and the head full of raggedy blond hair. The two bolts on his neck seemed a little rusty now, however, and there was a look of anger about Jonny’s eyes that seemed to have deepened since the spring.

  “Guess you don’t wanna talk to me,” said Jonny. He shrugged. “I told you I was a piece of junk.”

  “Yeah, you always say that,” said Falcon.

  “It’s true.”

  “I don’t even know what you are,” said Falcon. “A monster? A guardian? What?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” said Jonny.

  “You know what I am,” said Falcon. “I’m their prince.”

  Jonny ate a forkful of pickled beets. “How’s that workin’ out so far?”

  “Explain this to me,” said Falcon. “If you’re a Frankenstein, how come they let you stay here?”

  “I told you last spring. Weren’t you listening? I grew up in an orphanage. They adopted me.”

  “Who?”

  “Colonel Hemingway. He thought it would be funny, raising a Frankenstein to be a guardian. It was part of some bet he had with Cygnus. The colonel said that if they raised me as a guardian, I’d become a guardian. Cygnus said it wouldn’t work, that you couldn’t make a guardian out of a monster no matter what kind of education I got. Ten pieces of silver they wagered on me.”

  “So who won the bet?”

  Jonny looked discouraged. “Bet’s not over yet,” he said.

  They ate their lunches in silence for a while. “I see they got you wearin’ an eye patch,” said Jonny. “That’s real jaunty.”

  “The eye patch was Mr. Drudge’s idea,” said Falcon.

  “Heard they’re comfortable,” said Jonny.

  “Yeah,” said Falcon. “You should wear one, maybe.”

  Jonny laughed to himself. “So have you made up your mind yet?”

  “About what?”

  “About whether you’re going to trust me.”

  “Of course I’m not going to trust you,” said Falcon. “You’re a—a piece of junk.”

  “Well, good,” said Jonny. “At least we’ve got that straightened out. If I was you, I wouldn’t trust me either.”

  “I guess we have a lot in common. We both hate you.”

  “Hey, guys,” said a loud, happy voice. “Can I eat with you? I’m totally starved.” They looked up to see the large, hairy guy who’d given Falcon half of his baloney sandwich standing there with a tray heaped high with salad. Gobs of shiny, lumpy blue cheese dressing were slathered over the top.

  “And I—Chenobia de Celestina!—the famous monster slayer of Paragon Mountain!—shall join your table as well. Let us begin our midday feast in the spirit of mutual friendship and welcome!”

  “Dude,” said the hairy guy. “I’m Sam.”

  “It is an honor to be seated with you, Prince Falcon, an honor! Please do me the honor of calling me by the name of Celeste! It is the name used by those—whom I am sworn to defend!”

  “Hello, Celeste,” said Falcon.

  “Hey, electricity dude,” said Sam to Jonny. “What’s happening?”

  “You know each other?” said Falcon.

  “Prince Falcon, the community of young guardians is small but intimate!” said Celeste. “All of us are familiar with one another, even those whose character we find in question!”

  “She means me,” said Jonny.

  “Dude,” said Sam, digging into his salad. “Jonny’s outta the doghouse, man. He helped Cygnus rescue Falcon and bring him to us so he can be prince and stuff!” Sam smiled. “Jonny’s awesome!”

  “Perhaps it is as you say,” said Celeste. “And Señor Frankenstein should be forgiven his past indiscretions! Indeed, he has proved himself of value to our sworn goals of justice and purity!”

  Falcon shook his head and laughed.

  “What’s so funny, dude?” said Sam.

  “Nothing,” said Falcon.

  “Surely it is not nothing that causes you to assume the sounds of mirth!” said Celeste.

  “Really, it’s nothing,” said Falcon. “You just remind me of some friends of mine, back at the Academy.”

  Celeste dropped her fork. “What is this?” she said. “You are comparing ourselves to—to—these demons and villains? Surely my ears have mistaken me!”

  “Falcon—,” said Jonny.

  “I’m not saying you’re monsters,” said Falcon. “I’m just saying you remind me of them, a little. You and Sam. You’re a lot like two of my friends. . . .” A trace of sadness flickered over Falcon’s features as he remembered Pearl’s death and the way Max had looked at him as he cradled her body in his arms.

  “I shall not remain here and be insulted,” said Celeste. “I—the famous monster destroyer of Paragon Mountain!—shall not suffer myself to be compared to all that I most despise! Good day, Prince Falcon! Good day!” The girl picked up her tray and stormed away from them.

  “Dude,” said Sam, shaking his head. “You oughta watch your mouth, okay?” Grabbing his tray, Sam stood up and hurried after his friend. “Celeste!” he called. “Wait up!”

  Falcon watched them go, then looked at Jonny. “That’s so weird. They’re exactly like Max and Pearl. Don’t you think?”

  “Of course they are,” said Jonny. “Every monster’s got a guardian who’s his opposite. Just like Miss Bloodstone is the opposite of Mrs. Redflint. And that girl Gyra is the opposite of Megan.”

  “I thought she was Megan at first,” said Falcon.

  “Her?” said Jonny. “Nope. She looks like her, but she’s no Megan. Gyra’s pretty hard core about all the guardian stuff. You oughta watch your step around her.”

  “So where do you think Megan is now?” asked Falcon.

  Jonny looked at his tray. “I don’t know. I was hoping she got away from this place, blew away on some breeze. But sometimes I get this weird feeling. Like she’s not really gone at all.”

  “You think . . . they have her somewhere? You think she’s their prisoner?”

  “Sometimes. But how could they hold her? How would you keep the wind hostage?”

  “So you think she got away.”<
br />
  “Yeah, except . . . if she did get out of here . . . why hasn’t she come to find me? And let me know she was okay?”

  “Or me,” Falcon said tersely.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Jonny. “Either of us.”

  Falcon looked around the cafeteria and saw other guardians whose features or mannerisms reminded him of monsters he had known. There was Cadet Femur, picking at her salad, who reminded him of Bonesy; to her left was a group of self-satisfied mean girls who could easily have been the cousins of Merideath and the other vampires. His eye moved around the room, taking in all the young guardians. Each one reminded him of a friend he had lost—Mortia, and Ankh-hoptet, and Lincoln Pugh, and Weems.

  “So who are our opposites?” said Falcon.

  “We don’t have opposites,” said Jonny. “That’s why we don’t fit in anyplace, you and me. The only place we belong is out there.” He nodded toward the window.

  Through the panes of glass, Falcon could just make out the Sea of Dragons crashing endlessly upon the shore.

  “So where does that leave us?” said Falcon.

  “Where do you think?” said Jonny. “We’re finding Megan. Then we’re breaking out.”

  “Great,” said Falcon. “Another plan to get us killed.”

  “What can I tell ya, Falcon?” said Jonny. “I’ve always got a plan.”

  Chapter 14

  The Valley of Death

  At the end of that day, Falcon returned to his room in Paragon Castle, carrying an extremely heavy backpack and overwhelmed with homework assignments. In addition to Miss Bloodstone’s class, Monstrosity, there was another titled Weapons and Implements, another on the History of Virtue, and a fourth called Battle Strategy. In addition to these, the colonel taught the Literature of Mayhem, which was devoted to short stories and poems all about destroying things. Once a week, according to a schedule Mr. Drudge had given him, there was something called Field Research, which would meet for the first time the next day. And finally, as always, there was math. Unlike the moth man’s class back at the Academy, however, at Guardian Junior High they actually had to do the problems instead of just work them out on a calculator.

  Falcon sat down at a large desk in the chamber that had been prepared for him and started in on the reading for the Literature of Mayhem. The first item in his textbook was a poem by Lord Tennyson:

  Half a league, half a league,

  Half a league onward,

  All in the valley of Death

  Rode the six hundred.

  A shadow crept over his right shoulder, and Falcon turned to see his mother standing behind him. She wore a white dress, and her long, white hair fell nearly to her waist.

  “Ah, the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’!” said Vega. “A classic!”

  “Mom!” said Falcon. He stood and took a step toward her, then hesitated. He didn’t exactly want to rush forward into the arms of a woman who had imprisoned him up in a tower when last they’d met.

  “Oh, I know you’re cross with me,” said Vega. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to blast me with one of your fireballs. I let you down, Falcon. I’m so sorry.”

  “Let me down?” Falcon said. “That’s what you call killing my friends? Turning Peeler and Woody into stars, turning Pearl and Max into crystal music?” He shook his head. “Yeah, I guess you could say you let me down.”

  “Falcon,” said Vega, kneeling on the floor before him. “I made a mistake. I expected too much of you, all at once.”

  Falcon smirked. “I think you expected too little of me, actually,” he said.

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Vega. “I don’t know—I guess everything I’ve done has been a disaster. As far as you’re concerned, I mean.”

  Falcon mostly agreed with her; everything she’d done had been a disaster, starting with trying to kill his father and then abandoning him when he was only a child. But now, with his mother before him, he was unable to feel angry; as he looked at her, all he could feel was pity.

  “Remember last spring?” asked Vega. “When I played the piano for you, in the cottage by the sea? Since you left, I’ve thought about what our lives would have been like if we’d just stayed there, in the cottage, instead of—”

  “Instead of starting up with the war again. Instead of hurting my friends.”

  “Yes,” said Vega. “Instead of that. But now you know, maybe a little better, what they’re really like. Creeper has informed us of what they did to you at the Academy. I’m so sorry, Falcon. You did not deserve that after the loyalty you showed to them.”

  Falcon was just about to defend the monsters back at the Academy but stopped himself. She was right. He had deserved better, after the sacrifices he had made.

  “I am sorry the world is the way it is,” said Vega. “I remember how hard it was for me when I realized what the world is like. I was older than you are when I came to understand. Still, it broke my heart. I don’t think I’ve ever been the same.”

  “What do you mean, what the world is like? You mean that there are monsters in it? That was a surprise to you?”

  “Oh, I knew that monsters walked the earth—I’d gone to Guardian Elementary School, of course. But I didn’t want to be a guardian, Falcon, any more than you did. I didn’t want to devote my whole life to all this—destruction and strife.”

  “So why did you?” said Falcon. “Why not try to get along with monsters?”

  “Because I found what you found, Falcon, when you tried the same thing. They come for you. They suck your blood. They take your life. They are relentless, and terrible, and dark.”

  Falcon thought back to his last night on Shadow Island, up in the Tower of Souls. He saw all of those angry monsters coming for him, shouting, Traitor! Enemy! Destroy!

  “In a way,” said Vega, “it is unfortunate that you befriended so many of these creatures when they were young, before they came into their full powers. Because you learned to love them, just as I thought I loved your father.”

  “Is that why you pushed him through the ice?” said Falcon. “Because he was so terrible?”

  Vega gasped softly and looked at her son with shock. “I never tried to hurt your father,” she said. “I tried to protect him!”

  “You tried to protect him by murdering him?”

  “I never touched him,” said Vega. “It was Cygnus who snuck up behind him and pushed him through.”

  “What?”

  Vega nodded sadly. “That was when they came for me—Mortlock and Miss Bloodstone and the others. They captured and tied me, while Cygnus went out to destroy the Crow. I pleaded for them not to do it. I begged them!”

  “But if you’d left their world, why wouldn’t they just leave the two of you alone? You weren’t doing anybody any harm, were you?”

  “I was doing Cygnus harm,” said Vega.

  “How were you doing Cygnus harm?” said Falcon. But even as he asked this question, he began to suspect he knew the answer.

  Vega cleared her throat. “He did not take my defection well. Because we were close once. He brought me back here, in hopes I would . . . well. In this he was mistaken. I have given my heart away once. I will never do so again.”

  Falcon looked at his mother and saw in her face a flicker of what she might have looked like when she was young. “You don’t want to be queen,” he said, “do you?”

  “But I am,” said Vega. “And so here I stay. You really only get one chance in life to resist your nature, Falcon. My chance is done.”

  “Well, I’m not like you,” said Falcon. “I won’t be like you.”

  Vega waved her hand through the air. “I suppose we will see. You will make your choices, as best you can, between this life and the other.”

  “What happens if I don’t choose a side?” said Falcon. “What if I just want to live . . . apart?”

  “And live alone, you mean? Why would you choose to be a hermit? To live in isolation and exile?”

  “Because I don’t want to spend m
y life trying to kill things, Mother,” said Falcon. “Because life is better than death.”

  Vega opened her mouth, then shut it. She sighed. “I used to think that,” she said. “When I was young.”

  The next day, on his way to Guardian Junior High, Falcon ran into Sam. He was chewing on a piece of beef jerky. “Hey, man,” he said. “I got some jerky. You like jerky? It’s excellent.”

  “I’m partial to jerky,” said Falcon.

  “Man,” said Sam, handing Falcon a piece. “Who isn’t?”

  A platoon of men and women in uniforms marched by, each of them playing a drum. There were military snares and djembes and deep tom-toms, making a jubilant, celebratory noise. The warrior-musicians had large bows and quivers of long, steel-tipped arrows strapped to their sides. Although the guardians kept their faces forward, many of them followed Falcon with their eyes.

  “So what do you play?” said Sam.

  “Play?” said Falcon.

  “Yeah. You a drummer? You must be, the way you’re checking out the pounders.”

  “Pounders?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they call the drummers. They can be pretty intense, once they get into a groove.”

  “I play godzooka,” said Falcon.

  Sam wrinkled his nose. “Hey, man,” he said. “I wouldn’t be, like, talking about monster instruments, okay? You might give people the wrong impression.”

  “What do you play?” said Falcon.

  “Clarinet,” said Sam.

  “I used to play tuba,” said Falcon. “Back in Maine.”

  “Weird,” said Sam. “I keep forgetting you were born in the Reality Stream. What was that like, anyway? Was it wacky?”

  “Sometimes,” said Falcon. “I lived in a little town called Cold River. Maine’s a pretty great place to live. Except that it’s winter five months of the year. That can make you a little stir-crazy.”

  “Winter,” said Sam. “I read about winter. Is it true that when the snow comes down, it doesn’t come down straight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw this video. When the snow fell, it was like, all wavery.”

  Falcon nodded. “Yeah, it wavers, I guess.”