Annaconda retreated to this room every night after dinner. Yet again her disgusting husband Rupert had fallen asleep at the dining table; she’d left him snoring in his plate and invented some pointless errand to keep her nephew out of her hair. She needed privacy to concentrate on her new apprentice.
The robed girl sat patiently in a chair. She was twelve years old, with fair hair and skin like parchment.
“I hope your trip was pleasant?” Annaconda asked.
“Yes, Your Darkness,” the girl said. “The ride was a bit long, but I’m happy to finally be here. The hotel is … nice.”
* * *
“The hotel is horrible!” Annaconda snapped. “Absolutely miserable! A wretched place! But you will find it worth the trouble, my young pupil. I plan to teach you many skills. You’ll have powers you’ve only dreamed of!”
The girl bowed her head. “I certainly hope that is so.”
Annaconda reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a long curved object. It was the color of bone and as sharp as a claw. A dark essence seemed to emanate from it, causing her apprentice to lean forward, intrigued.
“Do you know what this is?” Annaconda asked.
“No, Your Darkness.”
“This is a rare Malwoodian manticore tooth that I stole from my homeland before I was banished.”
“Why were you banished?”
“The why is irrelevant,” Annaconda snapped. “What matters is that my magical powers were stripped from me! Robbed! I can still transform into my spirit animal and slither across the floors–”
* * *
* * *
“Excuse me, did Your Darkness say ‘spirit animal’?”
“Yes, yes, every evil witch has a spirit animal. We can change back and forth at will. But to do anything else, I need the tooth!”
By this point, the girl had produced a notepad and was eagerly recording Annaconda’s remarks. “The tooth allows you to cast spells?”
“Only one spell remains. I’m afraid I’ve used up most of its magic. But when I find the All-Seeing Eye, I’m certain all my abilities will be restored. I’ll be more powerful than ever!”
The girl looked up. “So why not use the tooth to find the Eye?”
Annaconda glared back. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” She thrust the object toward the apprentice as if she meant to stab her. “Half these spells are failed attempts to find the Eye! You’ve no idea how many I’ve wasted in my search!”
“I’m sorry, Your Darkness,” said the girl. “I will assist you in any way possible.”
“Indeed, you will,” Annaconda said. “You can start by shadowing my nephew Warren. Odd-looking boy. Crooked teeth and a face like a housefly. You can find him outside in the hedge maze. I imagine he’ll be there all night, wandering around in circles.”
“And when I find him, Your Darkness, what should I do?”
“Just keep an eye on him. I’ve never trusted the boy. He claims to know nothing about the All-Seeing Eye. He claims it’s a fairy tale, even though his ancestors have kept the Eye hidden for twelve generations! I’m certain he’s trying to throw me off the trail.”
“I shall find him, Your Darkness.”
And with a flash of bright light, the apprentice vanished.
ECITNERPPA WEN EHT
s Warren stepped inside the hedge maze, dusk was falling and the nightly fog was rolling in, casting a chilly purple haze over everything. But Warren wasn’t afraid, even as hidden raccoons chittered in the bushes and crows cawed madly from the tips of the tall evergreens.
Mr. Friggs had taught Warren that the maze was more than one hundred years old, commissioned by Warren the 6th as a way to honor Warren the 1st. For many decades, a fleet of gardeners trimmed the plants and groomed the pathways and painted the signposts and cultivated all kinds of botanical surprises. But under Rupert’s “care,” the maze had fallen into disrepair, just like the rest of the hotel. The paths were muddy and narrow, choked with thorns. The wooden signs had faded into illegibility. Even on a sunny day, the maze remained a dark and gloomy place.
Whenever Warren ventured into the maze, he liked to pretend he was Jacques Rustyboots, the fearless explorer from his favorite adventure books; he’d call to the scuttling rodents like they were his monkeys and he’d pretend the shrieking ravens were tropical birds. He carried a stick to swish back and forth like a machete. When he passed a feral cat prowling through one of the passages, he pretended it was a tiger on the hunt. He crept around the animal carefully as it hissed at him and swatted its paws.
Eventually, Warren arrived at a tunnel that was so overgrown, he had to crawl through. He emerged in the center of the maze, where four round benches were arranged around an ancient stone fountain. A series of spigots ringed the fountain’s middle platform, and weak streams of water dribbled into the basin below.
Standing on the platform was a grand statue of Warren the 1st, dressed in a military jacket studded with buttons and medals. He wore high boots and wielded a saber; underneath a furrowed brow, eyes of blank granite gazed out over the shrubbery. He looked stern and proud, a strong man, even though the statue was encrusted in a layer of bird droppings.
“Hi, Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa!” Warren said. His eyes dropped from the statue’s face to the old brass plaque mounted on the base. It was worn but still readable: “Our Brave Founder of the Warren Hotel, General Warren the 1st.” Beneath that, in ornate script, was the quote Annaconda had tasked him with recording: “Those who disobey shall pay; only the righteous can pave the way.”
Warren huffed. His aunt thought she was so clever.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small sketchbook and a stub of charcoal. In the few precious moments when Warren wasn’t working, he liked to draw. So far his sketchbook contained drawings of slow or stationary objects: a sleepy toad he encountered on a nature walk, the hotel snail that was always oozing around, and the ancient grandfather clock in the drawing room that told time in reverse.
THE TASK IS COMPLETED
Warren flipped to a blank page and prepared to write the inscription, but then he had a better idea. He tore out the paper and pressed it against the plaque. When he rubbed it with the charcoal, the engraved words appeared like magic on the page. He then had a perfect facsimile of the quote. After seeing such a fine rubbing, Annaconda would be forced to admit that Warren had successfully completed his assignment.
Satisfied, Warren lay back on one of the stone benches and looked up into the darkness. On clear nights he could see every star, but tonight the sky was hazy. He listened to the water gurgling from the fountain and let his thoughts drift, his imagination transforming the surroundings, once more, into a tropical hideaway set deep in a jungle valley.
Snap! The sound of a nearby branch breaking startled Warren, and he fell off the bench. He swore he heard the patter of running feet, but perhaps it was the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. The woods around the hotel were a dangerous place. He thought of the many bears and boars that lived there; perhaps one of the creatures had wandered into the hedge maze looking for food.
Enough dilly-dallying, Warren thought. It was time to head back to the hotel. But just as he was about to stand, he noticed something curious. Extending from the bottom of the bench was a small metal post. Warren crawled underneath and realized it wasn’t a post but a latch. He tugged on it, and with a quiet pop! a little door opened and out fell a small book. It hit the ground before Warren could catch it, spilling several pages from its worn spine.
Warren studied the book in astonishment. Yes, the hotel was full of secret nooks and hidey-holes, but in all his years of exploring he had never discovered anything like this! On the front cover was the word “Journal” embossed in gold. He scooped up the loose pages and tucked them back in.
When he opened the book, the old leather creaked in protest. Inside the front cover was a signed book plate adorned with gears and s
prockets:
Warren gasped. He was holding the diary of
son of the hotel’s founder, Warren the 1st!
He flipped eagerly to the first page and saw that the entry was dated almost three hundred years ago. The writing was scrawled in blue ink and slanted oddly to the left. At first glance, it appeared to be gibberish: Warren turned the book upside down but the writing was still incomprehensible. That’s when he realized the text was written backward! He needed a mirror, or some sort of reflective surface, to read what it said.
Just then he heard another sound–definitely footsteps this time–followed by a lilting giggle. A girl ? Warren glanced up just in time to see a streak of white darting away.
he called out. “Who’s there?”
He remembered all the old legends about ghosts haunting the hedge maze and wondered if maybe they weren’t old legends after all. Again, Warren heard footsteps scurrying away, along with more laughter. He set down the fragile journal, afraid of damaging its delicate pages, and ran after the sounds.
The maze was full of confusing turns and dead ends, but Warren knew all the shortcuts. Sometimes he caught glimpses of white through the hedges, but then the figure would vanish–only to reappear moments later on the opposite side of the maze.
“Please stop running!” Warren called. “I just want to talk to you!”
He couldn’t tell if it was a ghost, or a girl, or the ghost of a girl–but he hadn’t seen another person his age in years and he was desperate to meet her. He ran up and down the passages, turning this way and that, until he reached the exit. But the girl was gone. Whoever (or whatever) he was chasing did not want to be found.
Crestfallen, Warren walked back to the statue to retrieve his discovery. At least he’d found something interesting to share with Mr. Friggs. He knew the old scholar would be eager to decipher the weird writing, even if it meant hours sitting in front of a mirror.
But when Warren reached the center of the maze, the journal was gone!
He let out a little cry and rushed over to the bench, looking underneath and all around. He even sloshed through the fountain. But it was hopeless. Warren was dejected–he never should have let the journal out of his sight!
A faint fluttering caught his attention and he turned to see a piece of paper trapped in a nearby hedge. Warren tugged carefully on a corner, trying not to tear it.
A single page from the journal was better than nothing.
As in the other entry, the text was written in blue ink with slanting letters. Warren carried the page over to the fountain. The water in the basin was covered with a skin of foul-smelling algae, but Warren stirred it aside until he could see his reflection. Holding the paper over the clean surface, he strained to read the words in the dimming light:
Warren gasped. The All-Seeing Eye will appear? The All-Seeing Eye commandeered? This could only mean one thing: the All-Seeing Eye existed after all!
A STRANGE RIDDLE
s Warren entered the hotel, he was greeted by the snarl of a chainsaw. The noise was coming from Uncle Rupert. He was passed out at the front desk and snoring loudly. (Most nights he was too lazy to climb the stairs, even though his room was only one floor above.) Warren tiptoed across the tile floor. He wanted to avoid everyone until he could reach the privacy of the attic. He would use the mirror on his bedroom wall, along with his gas lamp, to examine the journal’s page.
Warren creeped onto the staircase. He knew all the squeaky floorboards–and there really were quite a few–and so stepped lightly to avoid them. That required a series of complex acrobatic movements. First, he hopped nimbly from stair to stair, then did a handstand and a forward roll, and finally arrived on the second-floor landing. This was his aunt’s floor. He cocked his head, listening for movement. He heard nothing but the soft tick-tock of a nearby cuckoo clock and the distant squeak of a mouse somewhere in the walls.
Satisfied it was safe, Warren exhaled and continued his ascent. When he arrived on the third-floor landing, he found an unpleasant surprise: Annaconda was waiting for him.
“Back so soon?” she asked menacingly.
“Y-yes, Auntie!” Warren stammered. Then he remembered that the hedge maze was meant to be punishment and added: “It was awful! So many strange and terrifying creatures roaming about! Please don’t ever send me into that awful place again!”
Annaconda frowned. “I’m surprised. I thought you’d be wandering its passages until morning.”
“I guess I got lucky,” Warren said.
“Prove it,” Annaconda snapped. “Give me the inscription.”
Warren opened his sketchbook to show her the rubbing, and to his horror the old journal page fluttered to the floor. He reached down hastily, but with the reflexes of a viper his aunt snatched it up first.
“What are you hiding from me?” she asked. “What is this, a text written backward?”
“It’s nothing!” Warren blurted. “Just a silly poem!” He waved the sketchbook in front of his aunt’s nose, trying to distract her. “See? I recorded the inscription!”
“I don’t care about the stupid inscription!” said Annaconda. Swatting Warren aside, she strode down the hall to a small mirror that dangled over a threadbare chair. She read the words in the reflection and shrieked with delight. Then she whirled and grabbed Warren by the shoulders. “Where did you find this? Tell me!”
“Outside,” Warren said, his heart sinking fast. “It was stuck in a bush.”
“Where’s the next page? And the next? And the next?” Annaconda seized Warren’s sketchbook and flipped through it. “Where is the rest of this book?”
“WHAT ARE YOU HIDING FROM ME?”
“I don’t know,” Warren said.
“You must!” Annaconda exclaimed. “This is the proof I’ve been searching for! This poem mentions the All-Seeing Eye, but it doesn’t say where it is. The other pages surely reveal more. I must have them!
Warren tried to explain how the book had vanished while his back was turned, but Annaconda insisted he was lying.
“I don’t have them! Honest!” Warren cried. “If I did, I would give them to you!”
Annaconda had heard enough. She would force her nephew to tell her the truth! She reached into her pocket and pulled out the magic tooth. Warren had never seen such a hideous thing. It looked like something that belonged to a gigantic shark or a dragon. She jabbed it against his chest, its spiky tip poking through his shirt.
“This tooth has the power to make you speak,” Annaconda said, pressing it even harder. Warren trembled but stood his ground, and Annaconda realized there was no persuading her stubborn little nephew. She tucked the tooth safely back in her pocket but wasn’t through with him yet.
“I want those missing pages, Warren. So you better think very hard about where they might be.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know!”
“Then perhaps a night in the boiler room will aid your memory.”
The blood drained from Warren’s face. Of all the punishments Annaconda had invented, this one was surely the worst. Even worse than the time she made him untangle all the knots in her hideous jewelry collection. And worse than the time she forced him to spit-shine all 203 pairs of her smelly shoes. The boiler room was the only part of the hotel that truly frightened him–a shadowy dank, claustrophobic place he avoided at all costs.
“Off we go!” Annaconda said, grabbing Warren’s collar and dragging him down the stairs. She yanked open a heavy metal door with an ear-splitting screeeeeeech, pushed him inside, and slammed it shut. Smothered in darkness, Warren heard his aunt slide the dead bolt in place.
He banged on the door with his tiny fists. “Let me out!”
“I’ll be back in the morning,” Annaconda called back merrily. “Perhaps your memory will improve after a good night’s sleep.” And with that he heard the click-clack of her heels as she walked away.
“Come back!” Warren yelled. “You can’t just leave me here!” He pummeled until his
fists hurt and then gave the door a mighty kick, stubbing his toe. He slumped to the floor, nursing his sore foot and wincing in pain.
“LET ME OUT!”
He was all alone.
Warren hugged his knees to his chest and lowered his head as his heart pounded with a dizzying mixture of fury and fear. He sat frozen for some time, until a deep rumbling noise made him lift his head. It was the old boiler roaring to life. Flames flickered through the metal slats, casting the room in a bright orange glow. Warren looked around.
The space was small and mostly bare except for a network of pipes that snaked along the back wall and across the ceiling, pumping heat to the rest of the hotel. On another wall hung a set of brass bells attached to cords that disappeared into the ceiling. Warren knew these were service bells from when servants lived in the basement long ago. Back then, guests would ring from their bedrooms to summon the staff. But after Warren’s father installed a state-of-the-art intercom system, the bells fell into disuse.
Warren wandered over and gently flicked one. It let out a bright high-pitched ding! The cheerful noise made him feel a little better.
The boiler responded with a strange high-pitched whistle. It sounded like the screech of a teakettle, only slightly more musical.
“No need to be afraid, just some steam in the pipes,” Warren told himself. But then the whistling was followed by a loud bump and a rustle and a slither.
Warren the 13th and the All-Seeing Eye Page 3
