Falcon Quinn and the Crimson Vapor

by Jennifer Finney Boylan

  “Destynee,” said Weems, his eyes aglow. “You look so—so—scrumptious!”

  “Shut up!” said Destynee.

  “Into the lifeboat with ye,” said Snarg, ushering Destynee and Weems into a boat that also contained Mr. Shale, Ozzie and Serj, Ankh-hoptet, and Robotron Three Thousand. The cyborg’s lights were blinking on and off in the face of the crashing waves. “Danger!” he noted, waving his reticulated arms around. “Danger!”

  “Therma,” shouted Mr. Shale to Mrs. Redflint. “Get in the boat already.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. But she was looking toward the bow at Mr. Lyons. “Captain. I do hope you’ll allow me to set free the librarian? I’m sure you don’t want him to drown in his cage?”

  “He is our prisoner,” said the captain. “He will go down with the ship, to avenge his murder of Captain Hardtack.”

  “Sir,” said Mrs. Redflint. “You cannot just let him die!”

  “These were the terms,” said the captain.

  Mrs. Redflint took one last look at Mr. Lyons, then turned angrily toward the captain. “You’re a savage,” she said.

  “Aye,” said the captain with a cruel smile.

  “What’s happening?” said Destynee to Mrs. Redflint as she came back to the lifeboat. The main deck was now full of water. The Cutthroat would not last much longer. Flames consumed the masts and sails, and pieces of the ruined ship rained down all around them.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bloodflough,” said Mrs. Redflint. “We cannot help Mr. Lyons any longer.”

  “But we can’t just let him die!” said Destynee, tears gathering in her eyes. The salt water from the tears began to hiss and sizzle against her slug skin.

  “It is out of our hands,” said Mrs. Redflint. “We made a promise. A most terrible promise.”

  “We have to help him!” shouted Destynee. She jumped out of the lifeboat and sloshed in the direction of the foredeck toward Mr. Lyons’s cage. As she did, steam rose from her rapidly dissolving feet.

  “Miss Bloodflough,” said the librarian as Destynee drew near. “You must board the lifeboat now. We are sinking.” He was waist deep in water now.

  “We have to set you free!” said Destynee, pulling on the bars of his cage. The giant slug was now half dissolved, an unpleasant amalgam of skin and slime, but she didn’t seem to care. “We can’t just let you die!”

  “Destynee,” said Weems, catching up with her. “Please! You’re melting.”

  “Miss Bloodflough,” said Mr. Lyons gently. “You are very kind to worry about me. But I assure you I will be fine.” He smiled, and his deep brown eyes shone. In one hand he held a leather-bound book.

  “How can you possibly be fine?” shouted Destynee.

  “Destynee,” said Weems. “It’s now or never. We’re going down. Plus you’re melting. Melting! Melting!”

  “But—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Mr. Lyons, holding up his book. “Oliver Twist. Remember, you are really never in danger as long as you have a very good book.”

  “You’re going to drown!” shouted Destynee. “Don’t you understand?”

  “Miss Bloodflough,” said Mr. Lyons. He reached through the bars of his cage and squeezed her arm. The librarian closed his eyes for a moment, and then he released her. Destynee looked down to see that the half of her body that had dissolved in the salt water was now restored. A soft blue mist rose from her body.

  “What did you do?” said Destynee. “I’m not dissolving anymore!”

  “Will you give Falcon Quinn a message for me? I believe you will see him very soon.”

  “A message?” said Destynee.

  Weems shook his head. “Always Falcon Quinn.”

  A wave crashed across the sinking deck, lifting them all off their feet for a moment.

  “We have to go now,” said Weems. “Please, Destynee.”

  “What message?” said Destynee to Mr. Lyons. “Tell me!”

  “Tell him that I will be waiting for him.” He purred softly.

  “But how will you possibly meet Falcon?” said Destynee. “If you’re—”

  “My dear, sweet child,” said Mr. Lyons with a soft smile. “No cage can hold me.”

  Chapter 21

  The Music of the Squonk

  “Careful now,” said the colonel, as he led the party of fledglings down Hematoma Boulevard. “Our prey is cunning, don’t you know? Highly deceptive!”

  “Dude,” said Sam. “I don’t see any prey.”

  “Exactly,” said the colonel. “Naked to the invisible eye, as it were!”

  “I’ve got nothing on the DCS,” said Gyra, checking a small, handheld electronic device.

  “DCS?” said the colonel. “I say, I’m not familiar with this weapon! Quite irregular!”

  “The Disgusting Creatures System,” said Gyra. “It finds monsters, using satellites.”

  “By George,” said the colonel. “That is clever! Bully!”

  “My mommy says the Earth is going to be destroyed by asteroids,” said Chandler. “Afterward, all the good people will float through space eating hot dogs!”

  “If I hear one more word about your mommy,” said Snick, “I’m going to—”

  The DCS in Gyra’s hand began to beep.

  “Colonel,” she said. “The monsters have fled the Cutthroat and are coming ashore.”

  “Bully!” said the colonel. “All right, then, take cover. Wait until I give the signal, and then we’ll bear down upon them with all our fury!”

  “I’m going to use my sword,” said Chandler.

  “You stay in back,” said Snick. “Let the real soldiers here do the actual killing.”

  The DCS began to beep with more urgency.

  “Dude,” said Sam. “Doesn’t that thing have a mute on it? It’s going to give us away. And then they’ll, like—capture us. And suck our blood and junk!”

  “Nobody’s sucking my blood,” said Gyra, but she turned off the DCS’s sound.

  The six of them took up hiding places on either side of Hematoma Boulevard—Gyra and Sam by the Five Cent Kandy Korner, Chandler and Celeste and Snick by the Olde Tyme Nickelodeon Theatre, and the colonel himself at the House of Wacks. The colonel raised his gun and pointed it down the long, deserted street.

  Time seemed to freeze as they waited for their adversaries to appear. For a long time the street was silent. Then they heard footsteps. The steps grew louder as their enemies approached. Snick tightened his hand upon his sword. Gyra looked at the DCS; a blinking red dot on its map was moving directly toward them.

  Sam looked over Gyra’s shoulder, observing the progress of the impending dot. His stomach growled.

  “Steady,” whispered the colonel, looking at the young guardians. “Steady!”

  The dot on the DCS arrived at the exact center of the map. The device’s screen began to blink red. All the guardians looked down the long street as the footsteps grew louder and louder.

  “I say!” the colonel shouted suddenly, moving all at once to the center of the street. “Who goes there?! Stand and deliver! You’re surrounded!”

  “Surrounded?” said a voice.

  “Bully!” said the colonel. “Show yourself!”

  “Hi there!” shouted Peanut Trunkanelli, running toward them, trumpeting his tiny trunk. “My name’s Peanut! You can be my new friend!”

  The colonel’s face turned ghastly pale as the tiny elephant boy came skipping toward them. “Augggh!” he shouted, dropping his gun in the street. “An elephant! Run for your lives! Aagggggguuugggghhh!”

  “Dude,” said Sam.

  The colonel turned and began to run as fast as his old legs would carry him, away from the elephant boy. But Peanut pursued the colonel. A moment later, they both disappeared around the far side of the Five Cent Kandy Korner.

  Next a gargantuan werebear came snarling down the street. It let loose an ear-rattling roar, then bounded toward Chandler, who screamed and ran toward the Antigravity Bumper Cars. Lincoln
Pugh—for, of course, the giant werebear was he—roared again and chased after Chandler.

  “Hey, Celeste,” said Sam, “what weapon works on a werebear? I think I was asleep when we covered werebears.”

  “A silver sword is most effective,” said Celeste, looking at Chandler’s weapon lying in the middle of the street. “In fact this very weapon would have been most useful to our friend had he not dropped it in his fear!”

  All at once the lights blinked on in the Antigravity Bumper Cars. The cars started moving across the shiny floor, and an antique steam calliope began to play “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Lincoln Pugh paused, confused by the sudden light and the noise, and as he stood still, Chandler jumped into one of the bumper cars and drove away in it. Being trapped in the ride, of course, he couldn’t get very far, but due to the properties of the gravity-defying bumper cars, he was able to drive up first onto the walls and then onto the ceiling, just out of the werebear’s reach. Lincoln Pugh reached over his head with his sharp claws, roaring in anger and frustration.

  Now other rides on Hematoma Boulevard were springing to life, lights and music coming on all around them. “Dude,” said Sam. “Who’s flicking on the power? Everything’s all alive and—glowy!”

  “I don’t know,” said Gyra, looking around in confusion.

  Lincoln Pugh, still pursuing Chandler, climbed into one of the antigravity cars and drove it across the slick floor, up the wall, and onto the ceiling. The werebear slammed into Chandler’s bumper with full force, knocking both of them backward. Lincoln Pugh roared in bloodthirsty anger.

  “Let us engage this night bear!” cried Celeste. “We shall make him regret that he has raised his hands against our comrade and our friend!”

  “Let’s go,” said Gyra, and ran toward the bumper cars.

  “Not so fast!” shouted a voice, and now a small, lone figure flew out of the shadows and cut off Celeste’s advance. “Who would harm a hair on the back of this most noble of werebears must first defeat—¡la Chupakabra! The famous goatsucker of Peru!”

  Celeste smiled with contempt. “I have heard of you, goatsucker! You are no match for myself—Chenobia de Celestina! The famous monster slayer of Paragon Mountain!”

  “En garde,” said Pearl, grabbing her stinger and holding it forth like a rapier.

  “En garde.” Celeste nodded, and her own blade whooshed out of its sheath. The two weapons clanged as the duel commenced. The stinger and the sword clashed above Pearl’s and Celeste’s heads, and then they clashed low. Pearl’s stinger swooshed through the air, and Celeste jumped high as the Chupakabra’s weapon passed beneath her. Then Celeste stabbed forward toward Pearl’s heart, but Pearl flew around Celeste’s back, making the guardian pirouette like a ballet dancer on one toe. Celeste placed one hand on her hip and crashed her sword against Pearl’s stinger with astonishing speed.

  “You are . . . a magnificent fighter!” said Celeste.

  “I am!” said Pearl. “Indeed, my magnificence is a matter of some renown!”

  Gyra stood on the shiny graphite floor of the bumper cars, looking up at Lincoln Pugh and Chandler, who were driving on the ceiling and crashing into each other’s cars with enthusiasm.

  “Rrrrr,” growled a voice, and Gyra turned to see Sparkbolt staggering toward her with his hands outstretched.

  “Well, well,” said Gyra. “What’s big and green and dead all over?”

  “Guardian belong dead,” said Sparkbolt.

  “What-ever,” said Gyra.

  She cracked her whip. But Sparkbolt, with his tremendous strength, just snatched the whip like it was a piece of twine, yanking it from Gyra’s grasp. He tossed it out into the street.

  “Monster good,” said Sparkbolt. “Guardian bad.”

  Gyra looked at the place out in the middle of Hematoma Boulevard where her weapon had fallen. “You know, there’s something I don’t quite understand about Frankensteins,” said Gyra. “Why do you talk like that, ‘monster good, guardian bad’?”

  “It accent,’ said Sparkbolt, staggering toward her.

  “An accent?” said Gyra. “It doesn’t sound like an accent. It sounds like you’re stupid. Like you don’t have any respect for your own language.”

  “This language,” said Sparkbolt. “Monster love words. Write poems.”

  “Yeah? I write poems too,” said Gyra.

  “Guardian . . . write poem?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll write one later about whacking you.”

  “Death first,” said Sparkbolt. “Then poetry.”

  Gyra dove for her bullwhip. She was about to crack Sparkbolt with it when he grabbed her by the foot and whirled her through the air. He let go, and Gyra sailed across Hematoma Boulevard and crashed through the wall of the Hall of Boxing Robot Presidents.

  “Guardian—destroy!” said Sparkbolt triumphantly. But no one was listening to him.

  Max and Sam were sitting on a picnic table by Zombie Frank’s Diner. “Okay,” said Sam. “I guess it’s our turn. You and me.”

  “Yeah,” said Max. He shrugged. “Listen, I don’t want to tick you off or anything, but you should know . . . I’m not really into battling.”

  “Seriously?” said Sam. “Oh, man, is that a relief. ’Cause I was totally afraid you were going to expect me to slay you and junk.”

  “Slay me? No way! Bananas would be good though. If you had any.”

  Sam thought this over. “I got some jerky,” he said.

  Max nodded. “Jerky’s good,” he said.

  From the Hall of Boxing Robot Presidents, Gyra cried out in pain. Sparkbolt looked confused for a moment. “Guardian,” he said. “Destroy?”

  “Help,” said Gyra.

  “Help?” said Sparkbolt.

  The Frankenstein stood in the street uncertainly. He held his hands in front of him, grasping the empty air. There was blood on his fingertips.

  Sparkbolt looked at his hands and made a soft, sighing sound, a cry of what almost sounded like pain.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Sparkbolt said, and looked at the hole in the wall. The blood dripped from his fingers. “Ah, ah, ah!”

  Falcon and Jonny stood by a booth marked POWER. Falcon was flicking switches on a large circuit board. “That’s all of them,” said Falcon. “Is everything lit up?”

  Jonny nodded. “The whole park’s on,” he said.

  “Great,” said Falcon, and snuck a peek at the battle on Vein Street. “How are they doing?”

  “I can tell you one thing,” said Jonny. “Remember when you told me you’d killed Pearl with your eye? Looks like she’s tougher than you thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s right over there. Dueling Celeste.”

  “She’s alive?” said Falcon, looking around the corner at the two girls, deep in their sword fight. A smile of relief stretched across his face. “She’s alive, Jonny! She’s alive!”

  “Unless Celeste slays her.”

  Falcon looked unworried. “Nobody can out-fence a Chupakabra.”

  Jonny looked out at the street where the battles were raging. “You still sure this is the right plan?”

  “No,” said Falcon.

  “It seems like a weird way to stop the fighting,” said Jonny, “letting them try to kill each other.”

  “They won’t kill each other,” said Falcon.

  “Yeah?” said Jonny. “Well, let’s hope you’re right about that.”

  “Falcon Quinn,” said a voice behind them. “Cluck cluck cluck cluck!”

  “Squawker,” said Falcon, turning to look at the werechicken, who had discovered the place beside the Five Cent Kandy Korner where he and Jonny had been hiding.

  “Monster traitors,” said Squawker. “Rrawk! Traitors!”

  He walked up to Falcon Quinn and then pecked him.

  “Ow!” shouted Falcon.

  “Bwwaaaak Falcon Quinn!” said Squawker. “Bwaaak Jonny Frankenstein!” He pecked Falcon again. “Must destroy—traitors!” said Squawker. �
��Cluck cluck cluck!

  “We’re not traitors,” said Falcon. “We’re trying to stop the fighting.”

  “Bwack!” said Squawker. “Destroy Falcon Quinn! Destroy!”

  Jonny sighed. His eyes rolled back in his head as he got a charge ready.

  “Jonny, no,” said Falcon. “Don’t use the electricity on him. We’re trying to stop the violence, not—”

  But Squawker was suddenly consumed with flames. There was a bright flash, followed by the smell of roasting chicken. A second later, Squawker fell onto the floor, looking pretty much like a perfectly prepared Thanksgiving turkey. The last thing that happened was that a small plastic pop-up timer in the bird’s side popped out. Squawker was done.

  “That wasn’t me,” said Jonny.

  “No,” said Snick, stepping into the light of the Misery-Go-Round holding a flamethrower. “That was me, angel face.”

  “Snick,” said Falcon. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Actually,” said Snick.

  Snick held up his flamethrower, and the fire that flickered from its tip grew brighter and hotter. He was just about to blast Falcon with it when there was a sudden, forceful breeze. The guardian warrior had to take a step forward to keep from being blown over. His helmet blew off and rolled around on the ground. The flame at the tip of his weapon went out. A small plume of smoke blew off in the wind.

  “Hey,” said Snick. “What’s going on?”

  Megan materialized next to Falcon and Jonny. She looked at Snick with contempt. “I’m back,” she said.

  “Megan!” shouted Falcon.

  “Come on,” said Megan. “Let’s blow them away.”

  Jonny raised his hands and shot Snick with his lightning bolts. The electricity shook the guardian from head to toe, and then he fell onto the ground, smoke rising from his clothes.

  “Jonny,” said Falcon. “I said no violence!”

  “I know,” said Jonny. “But your friend Snick here didn’t get the memo. Anyway, I just stunned him. He’ll recover.”

  “Megan,” said Falcon. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, and the two of them hugged for a moment. It was strange to hug someone who was partly invisible, Falcon thought, and who kept moving and blowing around in all directions. Nice, though.