Warren knew he had to act fast. Annaconda’s violence knew no bounds.
“Oh, Auntie,” he sang in his sweetest voice. “There’s one page you haven’t seen yet. Mr. Friggs had it hidden in his fish tank. I believe it contains some very important information.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the paper with the engraving of the rabbit and the snail.
“Give that to me!” Annaconda demanded, lunging toward him. Her reflexes were quick, but Warren was quicker. He jumped aside and scurried to the sink, jamming the page into the drain. His hand was tiny enough to reach far down into the pipe, where he knew Annaconda’s would never fit.
DOWN THE DRAIN
Annaconda shoved Warren aside and tried to plunge her hand into the drain, but only three of her fingers would fit. She shrieked again in frustration.
“I guess there’s no way of getting it now,” Warren said.
But there was a way. He knew it, and so did his aunt Annaconda: If she changed into a snake, she could easily slither down the pipe. And then Beatrice could imprison her during her transformation!
Annaconda’s eyes flickered and in a low voice she said, “You must think I’m stupid! I’m not going to transform with a perfumier in the room!”
She knelt and began tugging at the pipe under the sink. “No need to use magic when force will do!”
“Then we’ll use force, too!” Warren yelled, rushing forward. The others followed, and together they managed to overpower Annaconda and pry her hands off the pipe. She fought and screamed and flapped her arms as they dragged her over to the laundry room next to the kitchen, shoving her inside. Before the door slammed shut, Warren managed to wrest the journal out of her hands. Annaconda pummeled and scratched at the heavy bolted door, but all her efforts were in vain. She was trapped.
“My journal!” she screamed. Another muffled screech sounded from the other side of the door. “Let me out!”
“Without magic, there’s no way she can escape,” said Petula. “We can deal with her later. Let’s see the journal!”
The group huddled around Warren as he flipped through the pages. “I can’t read it without a mirror,” he said, so Petula handed him a shiny, brand-new skillet. He held it up to show the words reflected in its surface.
True to Mr. Friggs’s description, all the entries seemed ordinary and dull. On any other occasion, Warren would have relished reading about the daily life of Warren the 2nd, but all he could think about now was finding another clue.
He tried hard to concentrate but was growing distracted. The pounding of Annaconda’s fists was joined by a second worrisome sound: the low rumble of thunder. A storm was blowing in from the forest.
Warren shook off a chill. He continued thumbing through the book, its pages covered with illustrations of insects, sometimes complete bugs and sometimes only their legs. “It’s just weird doodles,” he said, pointing to the insects’ spindly limbs, their knees bent and feet flat. “I’m stumped.”
INSECT ILLUSTRATIONS
“Me, too,” said Mr. Friggs. “Between the poem and the puzzle and the map in the painting, I know we’re so close. But I’m not sure we’ll ever figure it out.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about Annaconda finding the Eye,” Petula said. “She won’t dare leave the laundry room with Mom guarding the door.”
“But Isosceles is still on the loose,” Warren said. “We can’t stop searching. Otherwise she might find it before we do.”
Another crack of thunder rattled Warren’s thoughts. He closed his eyes and shivered, trying to shake off the icy cold invading the room. He summoned the words of the poem from memory:
Warren knew he was the “rightful man”–as the thirteenth Warren, he had to be. But what was the Heart of the Warren? And, more important, where was it?
The radiator pipes rattled as warm water gurgled up from the boiler. The room had grown so cold that the hotel’s heating system switched on. Warren was relieved–one less task he had to worry about.
And then it hit him:
he exclaimed. “It’s the place that pumps heat to the rest of the building, like a heart pumps blood!”
Everyone looked at him in awe.
“To the boiler room!” they cried.
A SOLUTION
eatrice stayed behind to guard the laundry room door while Warren, Mr. Friggs, and Petula headed to the boiler room. “Before we go inside,” Warren said, “I need to warn you about something.”
“What is it?” Petula asked.
“Well, it’s kind of hard to explain,” Warren said. “Maybe I better just show you.”
Mr. Friggs and Petula exchanged nervous glances as Warren pushed open the door. Another crack of thunder shook the hotel, but the room felt cozy and warm, the small space dimly lit by the boiler’s flame.
Mr. Friggs tapped his cane on the brick wall, searching for secret doors or hidden triggers. Petula peered about, confused. “What’s the big secret?”
“It’s a little shy,” Warren said.
“What’s a little shy?” Petula asked.
Warren jingled one of the service bells. As its clear tone echoed off the walls, Warren heard the familiar thumping and slurping. Like a happy puppy, Sketchy sprang out from behind the boiler, wriggling its tentacles and slithering across the floor.
Mr. Friggs shrieked and huddled close to Petula. Sketchy shrieked even louder and huddled close to Warren. Its many eyes studied the newcomers with trepidation.
“Okay, everybody calm down,” Warren said. “Mr. Friggs and Petula, I’d like you to meet Sketchy. I don’t know if Sketchy is a he or a she or neither or both. But I do know that Sketchy is very friendly and likes art and cookies!”
Sketchy’s response was not friendly at all. The creature whistled like an angry teakettle and then lurched toward Petula and Mr. Friggs, waving its tentacles aggressively.
Everything was going wrong! “No, Sketchy, these are my friends! Friends. Like you and me.”
After a few tense seconds, Sketchy seemed to understand. It began whistling a happier tune and lowered its tentacles, using them to draw the three friends into a group hug. “Easy now!” Mr. Friggs wheezed, but Sketchy squeezed until the man’s dentures popped out. Then it released everyone and clapped its tentacles cheerfully.
“What is it?” Petula asked.
Mr. Friggs retrieved his dentures and popped them back in to his mouth. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I certainly don’t know where it came from!”
“I think Sketchy’s been here a long, long time,” Warren said. “Remember that squiggly star shape on the blueprints? I think that’s Sketchy. I think it was put here in the Heart of the Warren to guard the hotel’s secret.”
SKETCHY IS APPREHENSIVE
“But that means the secret room is on the other side of this wall!” Petula said. “How do we get to the All-Seeing Eye?”
At the mere mention of the All-Seeing Eye, Sketchy wiggled its tentacles and whistled a happy melody. Warren recognized the song. It was the same one Sketchy had sung to help Warren fall sleep.
“You know about the Eye!” he exclaimed. “What is it?”
Sketchy simply repeated the same melody, over and over.
Mr. Friggs shook his head. “It’s a lovely tune,” he said in frustration, “but I wish the creature would just talk to us!”
“It is talking,” Petula said thoughtfully. “We just don’t understand what it’s trying to say.”
Sketchy bobbed and swayed, whistling even louder. It was definitely some kind of language. Sketchy seemed to be saying: Keep guessing! You’ve almost got it!
“Is it the boiler?” Mr. Friggs asked. “Shall we rip out the boiler? Or crawl inside the boiler?”
Sketchy stopped whistling: Try again.
“Maybe we need to talk like Sketchy,” Warren said.
He tried whistling the melody back to the creature. It recognized the tune and grew more animated, spinning in circles, tentacl
es waving excitedly. Sketchy warbled the melody again and again.
“It’s working!” Petula said. “I don’t know what it’s trying to say, but it wants you to repeat that melody!”
Warren whistled the song a dozen times, until his lips were sore and his mouth hurt. Then Petula and Mr. Friggs took turns, but Sketchy just kept waving its tentacles, gesturing for more: Keep going, you’re almost there but you haven’t quite got it.
Warren glanced around anxiously. Then a slight movement caught his eye. It was the hotel snail, the one with the cracked purple shell, trailing along the wall next to the bells.
The bells!
“I’ve got it!” Warren exclaimed. “It’s not the whistling. It’s the tone. Just like the riddle says: ‘When the Heart of the Warren hears the tone played by the rightful hand, the All-Seeing Eye will appear, granting dominion across the land!’ ” He reached up and tapped on the bells. It took a few tries, but eventually he copied the notes exactly.
Suddenly the entire boiler room started to shake. “This is the tone,” Warren said, “and I’m the rightful hand!”
Amid the clamor of clanking gears and grinding machinery, the boiler hissed like an angry beast and vented plumes of hot steam. For a moment Warren was shrouded in thick fog. He couldn’t see his friends–he couldn’t see anything. But when the vapors finally settled, the boiler had shifted several feet, revealing a large oblong door.
The door’s surface was painted to resemble a large blue eye, with its central doorknob colored black like a pupil. The effect was uncanny. Warren stared at the door, which seemed to be staring back.
“The secret room!” said Petula excitedly. “We found it!”
“I knew it!” Warren exclaimed.
Sketchy whistled happily. It extended a tentacle and gently nudged Warren toward the door. He gulped and looked at his friends, who nodded encouragingly. “All right, here goes. Wish me luck, everybody.”
Warren reached to open the door but suddenly stopped short. Much to his astonishment, the hotel snail had crept down the wall and was now perched atop the knob! Warren had only a moment to marvel at the mollusk’s speed when the snail began to laugh. It was low and sinister, a hideous cackle. Horror flooded Warren’s veins as he realized the snail’s true identity. Then the room filled with the sound of a thunderclap and a burst of purple light. There stood Aunt Annaconda!
A SECRET ROOM
Warren said in disbelief.
“That’s right, you little dummy!”
“But your name is–I thought your spirit animal was–”
“A snake?” Annaconda interrupted. “Thank Darkness, I’m not! The mighty snail is a far superior creature. She travels in stealth and no one ever sees her coming. For the past four months, I’ve been following you around, spying on you and searching for clues. I had no trouble escaping down the laundry room drain in this form. Your stupid perfumier is still guarding the door like a dolt!”
Petula darted toward the exit but Annaconda grabbed her arm and twisted it backward. “Oh, no you don’t!” she hissed. “You’re not going anywhere, you little do-gooder!”
Petula cried out. Warren rushed to help but Sketchy slithered in front of him. The creature used half its tentacles to pry Petula free and the other half to restrain Annaconda.
“Thattagirl!” Mr. Friggs cheered, waving his cane in the air. “I mean, thattamonster!”
“Release me!” Annaconda shrieked, straining to free herself from the tentacles’ ever-tightening grip. But she was no match for Sketchy. “You see this?” she said, producing the engraving Warren had stuffed down the drain. “A snail! It’s clearly a sign! The All-Seeing Eye is meant to be mine! So tell your little pet to let me go or else!”
“Or else what?” Warren said. “You have no magic left! You don’t scare me!”
“Is that so?” said Annaconda, and a devious smile spread across her face. Thunder crashed outside and the boiler’s flames flickered ominously. Then she pulled out the tooth and stabbed Sketchy in the tentacle. The monster whistled in surprise and collapsed, releasing its hold.
“Sketchy!” Warren cried, rushing to the monster. “Are you okay?”
Its many eyes were squeezed shut in agony, and it released a faint trill. Purplish liquid seeped from the wound. Warren stroked his friend softly as he choked back a sob. His wretched, evil aunt had already hurt Petula, and now poor Sketchy, too. Was Mr. Friggs next? Warren felt sick. This was all his fault.
“Enough!” he cried. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just stop hurting my friends!”
“That’s better,” said Annaconda. “Now get up, all of you. I’m going through that door to the All-Seeing Eye, and you’re coming with me in case it’s a trap.”
Petula rose to her feet, her injured left arm hanging awkwardly at her side. Mr. Friggs hobbled wearily to Annaconda. Warren could see the fight had left his friends, and fear settled over him. He stood on shaking limbs. Sketchy reached out a tentacle and coiled it around Warren’s leg: Don’t go …
“It’s okay, Sketchy.” Warren didn’t want to leave his hurt friend, but he had no choice. He quickly loosened his tie and used it to bandage Sketchy’s wound. The creature heaved slowly, whistling with each labored breath. “You rest here, buddy, and wait for me to come back. Everything is going to be all right.”
“Hurry up!” Annaconda snapped. “Get in front of me! March!”
Warren stood up and plodded over as if his feet were made of lead. Annaconda shoved him toward the eye-shaped door.
“Open it.”
Warren’s hand trembled as he grasped the doorknob. Just moments ago he had felt such excitement. Now he felt only dread.
SKETCHY IS WOUNDED
lowly, Warren opened the door. A narrow tunnel stretched out in front of him, extending into complete darkness. He hesitated. “What are you waiting for?” Annaconda said, prodding him in the back. “Go on, you little troll! Move!”
Warren gulped and stepped forward, his hands out in front of him as he tried to sense the way. Smothered in obscurity, he stepped on something soft and stopped short, causing a chain reaction as the others bumped into him. Annaconda let out a curse and ordered Petula to use magic to light a torch.
“You sprained my casting arm,” Petula said. “It hurts too much.”
“I don’t care how much it hurts!” Annaconda exclaimed. “Light up this tunnel or I’ll sprain more than your arm!”
Petula whimpered as she cast the spell. Too weak to create more than a dim glow, she moved the flame in a circle, offering glimpses of their surroundings. “This is all the magic I can summon.”
Warren looked down and realized that what he had stepped on was a length of hose. He saw that walls were lined with even more hoses as well as pipes and ropes, as if they had entered the belly of an enormous machine. The group pressed on, at last emerging into a small windowless room. Beside the entrance, there was a cluster of candles and Petula touched her finger to the wicks; they bloomed with light, casting a soft glow.
In the center of the room was a tall chair and a large mechanical panel cluttered with buttons and levers. It looked like the controls to a carnival ride.
“What is all this?” Warren wondered aloud.
“Some kind of operations console,” Mr. Friggs said. “I must say, I’m rather impressed! Such a modern-looking device, and yet it was built by your forefathers hundreds of years ago. That’s really quite–”
“Out of my way!” Annaconda snapped, shoving Warren and his friends aside and plopping into the chair. She clasped her hands gleefully. “The All-Seeing Eye must be locked behind these controls!”
She pounded her fists on the various buttons, but nothing happened.
“What is the meaning of this?” she cried. “It’s not working!”
“I believe the terminal may be operated only by someone of the Warren lineage,” Mr. Friggs said softly. “It’s not meant for the likes of you.”
Annaconda shot him a murderous gl
are and then shifted her gaze to Warren. “Get in the chair, toadface!” she ordered. “Make it work. I’m so close to the All-Seeing Eye, I can feel it!”
She stuffed Warren into the seat. He looked at the controls, moving his hand over the square buttons, toggle switches, brass levers, and round dials. Nothing was labeled and he didn’t know what to do. Which button should he press or what toggle should he pull? What if something bad happened?
Annaconda screeched.
Finally, Warren decided on a small panel ringed with tiny glass bulbs. He couldn’t explain why he chose it–it just felt right. As soon as he touched the panel, the bulbs lit up and Warren felt a jolt of electricity run up his arm.
From somewhere below came a deep rumbling sound. One might have mistaken the noise for thunder, except the walls and the floor were trembling too, as if in an earthquake.
“Yes!” Annaconda hooted with delight. “Feel the power of the All-Seeing Eye!”
More lights blinked to life, flashing and filling the room with kaleidoscopic colors. Warren felt an odd, dizzying pressure in the pit of his stomach, just like when he would ride in the hotel’s dumbwaiter at top speed. He felt as if he was rising up, up into the air.
Mr. Friggs dropped his cane and grasped Warren’s chair to steady himself. “Careful, my dear boy! Don’t touch anything else! You seem to have activated it!”
The room was shaking more violently than ever. Dust and plaster dropped from the ceiling. It felt as if the roof was about to collapse.
“Maybe we should leave,” Petula said.
“Silence!” Annaconda shrieked. “No one moves! Not until I get what I came for!” She looked frantically around the control room until her eyes settled on a small hatch in the floor. A look of crazed glee crossed her face. She yanked on the handle and the hatch flew open. A cold wet wind blasted into the room. Mr. Friggs collided with Petula, and both of them toppled to the floor. Warren knelt down and peered down the hatch.
Warren the 13th and the All-Seeing Eye Page 10
