“Thirty-eight percent,” said all the squires wearily, for they had all heard it a hundred times.
It was sad but true: the knights were capable of being utterly tedious, such as Sir Oort, who finally made good on his threat to teach Jo about discredited metaphysics. Every Wednesday at 5:00 A.M. Jo was obliged to drag herself out of bed and stumble down the hall—usually still in her pajamas—to Sir Oort’s rooms, where he taught his excruciatingly dull lessons.
Sir Oort would babble away happily, covering chalkboards with mathematical symbols, and Jo hardly understood a word of it. But she couldn’t bring herself to quit, for Sir Oort seemed to get such pleasure from it. And there was one metaphysical question Jo meant to ask Sir Oort, a question that had been nagging her ever since she’d come to Eldritch City.
“Sir Oort, could you clear something up?” said Jo. “Where is Eldritch City? I’d never heard of it before I came here, and nobody from Eldritch City knows anything about my home, either.”
“Yes, yes, it’s an intriguing question,” said Sir Oort eagerly. “And a coincidence you should mention it! For I have just put the finishing touches on my newest theory of metaphysics, which deals with just such questions! I will explain it now! Using a visual aid!” he squeaked vehemently, and took a large, rolled-up map from his satchel.
Jo looked at Sir Oort with silent apprehension, wondering what she’d gotten herself into, as the tiny metaphysician enthusiastically spread the map on the table. “Now, Jo, let me ask you—do you notice anything familiar on this map?”
“Um…no.”
“No, but you do, you do. Look over here—and there—and way over there. Eh?”
Jo squinted and tilted her head. “Well, it looks like a map of the world—but it’s wrong, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, there’s Africa, and North America here, and Europe…but they’re not in the right places. And there’s a lot of other continents I’ve never seen before.”
“Precisely,” said Sir Oort. “What you recognize, Jo, are just your little corners of the world. The real world, the total reality of the world, is a thousand times larger than that. What you had thought of as your world—and what people in Eldritch City think of as their world—are just small, disconnected bits of the actual entire world. According to my theory, there are thousands of these regions, all hidden from each other. Most of the world is still unexplored!”
“Wait, I know that’s not true!” said Jo. “The world has been explored, at least where I’m from. They’ve taken satellite photos from space, and—”
“No, no, no. How can I explain it?” Sir Oort frowned, lost in thought; then he suddenly leaped up, seized the map in his furry hands, and crumpled it into a wad.
Jo protested, “Sir Oort, what are you—”
Sir Oort waved her silent. “Jo! Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you are a bug! Okay? You’re a tiny flea who lives on this crumpled-up map. Naturally, you can’t see most of the map, because it’s crumpled under you, inside the wad. But you can see some of the map—the parts on the surface—right?”
“Okay, but—hey, how’d you do that!” said Jo, for she suddenly realized that, by a miracle of origami, Sir Oort had crumpled the map so that it resembled a globe of the world: folding all the continents she didn’t recognize inside the wad, and exposing the parts of the map she did recognize on the surface.
Sir Oort held up his finger. “Up until recently, Jo, you’ve been like a flea, crawling around on the surface of this wadded-up map. Naturally, you only saw the parts of the map on the surface. And thus never realized”—Sir Oort uncrumpled the map—“that there was a hidden world crumpled beneath you. Not physically beneath you—I mean crumpled into another dimension. A world you never knew about. Until now.”
Jo’s mind wrestled with the concept, and then, as if something had unlocked deep in her brain, she understood.
“And that,” breathed Jo, astonished, “that’s what the world is really like?”
“Well, no.” Sir Oort smiled. “But you must admit I had you going for a second.”
“What?” said Jo. “So all this you’ve been explaining…It’s not true?”
“Oh, it might be true,” said Sir Oort mildly. “But of course my job isn’t to find out what’s true. My job is to think up as many dubious theories of the universe as I can, and the more dubious, the better. Most of my theories are wrong most of the time, but some are entertaining.”
Jo threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous! You’re not even trying to be right?”
At this rebuke Sir Oort halted, grew grave, and drew himself up; for a moment, he radiated a kind of majesty; then he spoke, in tones both severe and inspiring, and his awkward voice rang out like a bell.
“As an Odd-Fish, it is not my job to be right,” said Sir Oort. “It is my job to be wrong in new and exciting ways.”
Sometimes the knights cooperated in joint projects that combined their specialties, such as when Sir Alasdair and Dame Delia announced an undertaking bringing together his expertise in odd musical instruments and hers in strange animals. The day of the seminar, the squires were milling about in the common room, wondering what it could possibly be, when there appeared at the top of the stairs—a gigantic worm; a great blubbery thing, dark yellow with red streaks, with little wriggling tubes sticking out all over and a single bored-looking red eye. Dame Delia and Daphne came tumbling after the seething beast, pulling at ropes, frantically trying to rein it in as it cascaded down the stairs.
The appearance of a monster in the lodge was shocking enough, but the most shocking thing was when the worm’s huge jaws opened and Sir Alasdair’s face poked smugly out. The squires shouted in alarm, but Dame Delia calmed them down as Sir Alasdair started to lecture.
“As you know, my specialty is unusual musical instruments,” announced Sir Alasdair. “And for all my life, I’ve dreamed of playing the most unusual instrument of all: a living animal! One day, Dame Delia told me about the anatomy of this beast—the urk-ack—and I realized my dream had come true. The urk-ack has forty-one orifices that can emit sounds; not only that, but a full-grown man may fit comfortably in its esophagus! Thus, by climbing inside the urk-ack and squeezing its various internal organs, I will perform the most unusual music ever!”
Jo was delighted. “Can you play anything now?”
“Oh no, not yet. I couldn’t possibly—”
“Come on!” clamored the squires. “Play something, at least! Give us a hint!”
“Out of the question,” said Sir Alasdair. “I climbed inside the urk-ack for the first time barely an hour ago. In theory, I know which of its organs to squeeze or pinch, but in practice—”
“Oh, give it a go!” said Ian, and everyone started insisting. Sir Alasdair, red-faced from the attention, murmured, “Well, maybe just a little—couldn’t hurt.”
Jo immediately wished she hadn’t asked. There followed a minute of the most horrible noises she’d ever heard—a howling, farting crescendo of gurgling belches and groans. Even the urk-ack looked mortified as Sir Alasdair grunted with effort, poking and squeezing its innards.
When he finished, there was an awkward silence.
Sir Alasdair coughed. “Of course, it needs a little work.”
One morning Sefino woke Jo up and said, “I do hope you’ve finished with that piece I asked you to write, because today we’re going to the Eldritch Snitch.”
“Sefino, do we have to?” yawned Jo. “I’m sure everyone’s forgotten Chatterbox’s article.”
“My dear girl, I have not forgotten it,” said Sefino severely. “I shall not rest until they print a retraction. And an apology. And your version of the story. Is this it? You mind if I take a look?” Sefino took her papers and began to read.
“It’s a first draft,” said Jo cautiously. Actually, it was her fifth. She’d tried to be as truthful as possible without embarrassing Sefino, but that was difficult to manage.
The cockroach read: “Sefino’s conduct reminded u
s time and again that he is a gentleman. That’s a fine sentence. Hmmm. Ah…Sefino passionately threw himself into the moment. We may very well owe our lives to his energetic action. Ooh, that’s good. A little vague, but good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Sefino stroked his chin. “Why not change We may very well owe our lives to him to just We owe our lives to him?”
“No.”
“It flows better.”
“No.”
“You needn’t get snippy,” said Sefino. “It’s purely a matter of grammar. Hmmm…Sefino passionately threw himself into the moment…there’s a touch of bravado in that, isn’t there? Passionately…Yes, I threw caution to the wind, odds be damned…I charged into the thick of the fight…like a swashbuckler…what does swashbuckler mean? Who cares? Swashbuckling Sefino passionately saved our lives. There, that’s perfect. Write that.”
“You’re pushing it, Sefino.”
“Nonsense. I have excellent taste, and I can assure you that Swashbuckling Sefino passionately saved our lives would heighten the tone of the piece. It would lift it to a higher plane, to the psychological, to the sublime…the mystical, I daresay…”
Sefino strolled off happily, rolling the words about in his mouth. “Swashbuckling Sefino…Swashbuckling Sefino…why, it’s like a little poem.”
That afternoon Jo and Sefino visited the Eldritch Snitch. The newspaper’s offices were a hive of dark wood, a claustrophobic maze of mahogany niches, coves, and cubbyholes, and everywhere there was the soft, steady din of typewriters, hundreds of them, chattering away relentlessly. The newspaper was staffed by centipedes, and Jo watched in wonder as they scuttled through the twisting maze of wood, darting up and down ladders and popping in and out of narrow cracks. It was dark and smoky, which made the centipedes’ appearances and disappearances into the gloom, and their silhouettes in the haze, seem almost sinister.
“They’re going to hassle us,” warned Sefino. “They’re going to snub us. They’re going to make us wait. They’re going to play mind games with us. I know their kind. Be careful. Anything we do or say could be snatched up, blown all out of proportion, and blasted across the front page of the evening edition. It’s a nest of vipers! Anyway…what do you think of my necktie?”
“It’s a fine necktie.”
“Technically it’s an ascot. It’s a very forceful ascot. I call it the ‘Intimidator.’ You’re overwhelmed by it, aren’t you? The ascot overwhelms you. It’s almost too bold. When you see an ascot like this, your only choices are submit to it or fight it. And that is a fight you will surely lose.”
“How about fleeing?” said Jo. “One could submit, fight, or flee.”
“True,” said Sefino thoughtfully. “One might flee.”
A receptionist said, “Welcome to the Eldritch Snitch. May I help you?”
Sefino drew himself up. “I demand to speak to Chatterbox.”
“Right away, sir. Follow me.”
“That was unexpectedly easy,” said Sefino as the receptionist led them down the hall. “Of course, it may very well be a trap. They’re playing games with us, Jo, psychological games.”
“Maybe it was your ascot.”
“That’s certainly possible. This ascot almost constitutes an unfair advantage. I’ve even knotted it in an aggressive manner. It juts. It springs forth, it is a barely restrained beast, this ascot. It picks you up and shakes you. It says, ‘If you want this cockroach, you’ll have to come through me first.’”
They entered a waiting room with some comfortable couches and a frosted glass door with the word CHATTERBOX on it.
Sefino whispered, “This is where they’re going to start being rude to us. Just you watch.”
The receptionist said, “I’ll go tell Chatterbox you’re here. For now, why don’t you enjoy some of our award-winning appetizers?”
“Award-winning? I’ll be the judge of that,” said Sefino icily, and picked a sausage off a plate with a toothpick, dipping it in a bowl of mustard. The receptionist disappeared behind the door, leaving Jo and Sefino alone.
“Jo, let me do the talking here,” said Sefino. “I’m afraid the subtleties of this battle of wits may be beyond your abilities to keep up with, or indeed understand. Just sit back and be dazzled by the vigorous verbal vituperation as Chatterbox and I engage in a battle royale of intricate insult and calamitous calumny. You know, these appetizers really are delicious, and I shall have another.”
“Do you remember what Chatterbox looks like?” said Jo.
“All centipedes look the same to me. I will recognize him by his sheer ungentlemanliness.”
“Good, good.”
The receptionist reappeared. “Chatterbox is out at the moment. Would you please wait for five minutes?”
“Five minutes?” thundered Sefino. “I shall not wait five seconds! I have come to this unholy temple of slander to seek justice, not to lounge about for five minutes and eat award-winning appetizers! Oh, I know your strategy. First you have us wait five minutes—then ten minutes—then an hour—then ten hours!—while you and Chatterbox giggle behind a one-way mirror—such as this one!” Sefino swung his walking stick, smashing a mirror to pieces.
There was only a wall behind it.
“Please stop breaking our mirrors,” said the receptionist.
“Another trick!” shouted Sefino. He grabbed Jo’s arm and, before she could protest, brushed past the receptionist, dragging Jo into Chatterbox’s office, where a centipede wearing a seersucker suit and a porkpie hat was standing at a desk.
“So! The infamous Chatterbox!” cried Sefino. “We meet again! But this time the advantage is mine!”
The centipede looked at Sefino calmly.
Sefino brandished a stack of newspaper clippings and waved them around. “Ooh, I have you now, you ink-stained wretch, you scandal-sniffing hack—I have it all here, all your salacious slander from the last ten years, libelously lambasting me in my exile!”
The centipede raised his eyebrows.
“Evidence!” roared Sefino. “You ask for evidence! What is this? Evidence! Ha, ha! Of what? Oho! Evidence of you, besmirching the sacred reputation of a gentleman! But it shall not stand! No! Sir! I call you to account!”
The centipede looked at his watch.
“You!” spluttered Sefino. “You…you look at your watch! To find out what time it is, no doubt! Well, I will tell you what time it is, my good man! It is time for you to apologize in full and retract the lies, once and for all! And print this correction,” he added, snatching Jo’s story away from her and flinging it onto the desk. “Ah ha, ha! No need to look at your watch now! I, Sefino, have told you what time it is. Now then!”
The centipede sighed softly.
“And still you do not speak!” said Sefino, dancing about in rage. “What do you have to say for yourself? Well, Chatterbox? What do you have to say?”
“I say,” said an unseen voice, “that your impertinence is matched only by your insufferable taste in neckwear.”
Sefino whirled. A huge centipede, twice his height, was looming behind him.
“Chatterbox!” said the centipede at the desk.
“Chatterbox?” said Jo.
“Er,” said Sefino.
Chatterbox circled Sefino, his long, snaky body undulating under his exquisitely tailored “fifteen-piece” suit. The centipede curled and stooped, closely inspecting the little cockroach; finally he reared to his full height and turned away.
“As a general rule, I do not speak to people with mustard on their ascots. Good day.”
Sefino looked down in horror. Indeed, he had dripped mustard from his award-winning appetizer onto the “Intimidator.”
At once every ounce of courage drained away from him. Sefino picked up his hat and, mumbling apologies, went out the door. Jo ran after him, but he waved her away. They left the Eldritch Snitch, and she kept trying to comfort him, but Sefino would not respond the whole way back to the lodge.
“Sefino
, don’t take it so hard. You shouldn’t care what they write about you. Come on, Sefino!…Sefino?…Sefino, why won’t you answer me?”
“Please, Jo.” He turned away from her. “I know that I’m…I’m just a buffoon.”
Sefino went to his room, his jaw trembling. Jo did not see him again for days.
A couple of weeks later, Colonel Korsakov and Sir Festus gathered the squires on the porch.
“Today we go Schwenk-hunting,” said Korsakov. “My digestion feels adventurous this morning. A sprightly zing in my gastric acids…but enough! The Schwenk is out there,” he rumbled, gesturing at the street with a broad wave, “and we shall find him. Sir Festus?”
“Thank you, old boy.” Sir Festus stood beside a big oak chest full of curious devices. “As you all know, my field of study is weaponry. Now, Korsakov and I hit upon an idea—that is, to use the weapons I’ve collected over the years in today’s hunt! Yes, the Schwenk is a dangerous, elusive beast, and you should all be appropriately armed!”
The squires murmured excitedly as Umberto distributed the weapons. As a spiky, powerful-looking gun was pressed into her hands, Jo asked, “How will we know if we see the Schwenk?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll know,” chuckled Sir Festus. “It is five times the size of a full-grown man, although it can curl into a tiny ball. It is covered in purple, yellow, and red feathers. And it has four mighty wings that, when spread, span fully thirty feet.”
“So it flies?”
“No.”
“But it has wings?”
“Oh, it can fly. But it rarely does.”
“Why not?”
“Modesty.”
Umberto finished distributing the weapons to the squires. Each weapon was unlike the others; some were unlike anything else on earth. Ian was given a tiny, thin, jewel-encrusted tube; Daphne held a damp mass of prickly fur between her thumb and forefinger, looking confused about what to do next; and Dugan was unsuccessfully wrestling with something that resembled a hissing, gurgling clump of old computer parts.
The Order of Odd-Fish Page 17
