by David Lubar
Was it safe to log on?
Mookie’s dad might think people watched everything you did on a computer, but he also swore that the moon landing was a fake. And he’d told Mookie he couldn’t have a cell phone, because the signals from them attracted wild animals. I think he might have made that up to save money.
I tiptoed downstairs and went to the computer. In the game, I was Staker Slaymaster, a fifth-generation vampire hunter with awesome bladed-weapon fighting skills and some basic spell-casting ability. The last time I’d played, I’d reached the edge of the Village of Mobrule, which had been wiped out by Nastydamus. A gravel path led up a hillside to the crypt.
I wasn’t online for more than thirty seconds when a peasant walked toward me. A message popped up in my status window.
Peter Plowshare: I know who you are.
My hand froze on the mouse. Answer or ignore? It didn’t have to be the guy who was spying on me. Maybe it was just some player who was trying to be mysterious. I waited to see if he’d leave.
Peter Plowshare: We need to meet.
I didn’t like this. But I couldn’t walk away. I typed a message and clicked the SEND icon.
Staker Slaymaster: I’m just a kid. Leave me alone.
Peter Plowshare: You were a kid. You’re more now.
I typed: That’s not true. Then I deleted it. It was pointless to try to tell him he was wrong. But I wanted to find out why he was stalking me.
Staker Slaymaster: What do you want?
Peter Plowshare: To talk with you, face-to-face.
Staker Slaymaster: Then why are you talking to me online?
Peter Plowshare: I didn’t want to scare you off. But I need to see you.
Staker Slaymaster: I don’t need to see you.
Peter Plowshare: I’ll be in touch. Look for me. Don’t be afraid.
The peasant walked away. I sat there with my dead fingers draped across the mouse. The game didn’t seem very important right now. There was another game going on, outside the computer. A real-life one. Or maybe real-death.
8
Let’s Call It a Meeting
Once again, I was at the breakfast table early.
“You’re really being a responsible student,” Mom said. “I haven’t had to wake you at all this week. You used to be such a little sleepyhead. But not anymore.”
“Thanks.” It felt weird getting credit for something I didn’t have any control over. But there was one thing I could sort of control, if only for a little while. I didn’t want to deal with anyone this morning—especially not someone who could build mechanical spy squirrels and hack into computer systems. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to carry. Can I get a ride?” I didn’t explain that I was carrying most of it in my mind, and not my backpack.
I reached school way ahead of everyone. When Mookie showed up, I told him what happened.
“You should’ve hit him with your sword and made him tell you everything,” Mookie said.
“I’ll try to remember that for next time,” I said.
By then, Abigail had joined us. I filled her in about my conversation with the peasant in the Vampyre Stalker game. “I wish I knew something about him. Anything at all.”
“We know a lot,” Abigail said. “For example, he claims he doesn’t want to scare you off. That means he needs your cooperation. Whatever he’s after, he can’t just take it.”
“I guess that’s good.” I liked the idea that I had something so special that someone would go through all kinds of effort to get it.
“I’m also pretty sure this guy has a lot of resources,” Abigail said. “The squirrel was more advanced than anything I’ve seen or heard about. This isn’t someone playing spy games for fun. He’s serious.”
“So, do you think I should talk to him when he shows up?”
“Absolutely,” Abigail said. “You have to find out what he knows, and what he wants. But let him do all the talking. Just listen and nod as much as you can. That’s the best way to learn what’s going on.”
I invited Mookie and Abigail to my place after school. The first thing Abigail did when she got inside was head for the kitchen.
“I’m going to take care of death row,” she said.
She filled Mom’s watering can and took it to the family room to rescue the plants Mom always forgot about.
“You’re only delaying their death,” I said.
“You’re only delaying your meeting,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re using Mookie and me to avoid facing this guy. That’s fine. I’m glad we’re hanging out. I’ve become quite fond of socializing. But you’re going to have to deal with him.”
“I know.” I was still getting used to one huge change in my life. I wasn’t ready for another. “I guess I just wanted a little more time.”
Abigail drained the last of the water into a pot on the shelf. “We all do.”
I looked at her, and then looked away. I knew what she meant, but I didn’t know what to say. Her dad had died last year. I’m sure she’d have given anything to have more time with him. I reached for the watering can. “Here. I’ll get some more.”
My time ran out Friday morning on the way to school. Two blocks from home, I heard footsteps behind me. I knew who I’d see even before I turned around.
“Hello, young man,” he said. He was wearing normal clothes this time, like someone who worked in an office. I noticed he was holding an onion bagel.
“You aren’t hiding in a bush,” I said.
“There’s no reason to hide. We’ve learned enough about you to know we need to talk. Do you have any idea how special you are?”
I started to answer him, then remembered what Abigail had told me. Don’t talk. Listen. I shrugged.
“There’s something special about you. Very special.”
I realized he didn’t know everything. He hadn’t mentioned anything specific. And he’d said, We’ve learned enough. So he wasn’t working alone. Though I guess that wasn’t a big surprise, since he seemed to have all sorts of equipment.
“You must be proud of what you can do,” he said. “Really and truly proud of all your special abilities.”
It was obvious he was trying to get me to talk. There was no way I was opening my mouth. I just stared at him. After a moment, he gave me a small nod, as if to let me know I’d won the first round. I got the feeling he hadn’t been trying too hard.
“I’m impressed. You seem to have a gift for the kind of work we do. Take this cell phone.” He held out the bagel.
“It looks like a bagel,” I said.
“That’s the beauty of it. Give it a twist.”
“Will it explode?”
“Now you’re being tedious. Just take it.”
I took the bagel from him and twisted it. It slid open, revealing a screen and touch pad. “Why would you want a phone that looked like a bagel?”
He smiled. “I can think of a million reasons. But never mind that. Listen—my number is programmed under ‘Mr. Peter Murphy.’ You need our support. Call me when you’re ready to discuss your future.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He started to walk away. Then he turned back. “Oh, by the way, there are some serious side effects from exposure to the corpse flower. But I suspect you’re already aware of that.”
9
Twitch Craft
My jaw dropped when he mentioned the corpse flower. That was the ingredient Abigail’s Uncle Zardo had used by mistake in the Hurt-Be-Gone formula. I looked at the phone for a while, half afraid it would explode. Finally, I shoved it in my pocket and headed to school.
My conversation with Mr. Murphy took long enough that Mookie and Abigail were already out front when I got to school. I explained what happened and showed them the phone.
“Toss it,” Mookie said. “You definitely need to toss it.”
“Call him,” Abigail said.
“Ahhhgggg!” Mookie wailed. “How come I always
guess wrong? That does it. I’m letting everyone else go before me from now on. Especially you, Abigail.”
“Why do you think I should call?” I asked Abigail.
“You’ve gone this far. You talked to him. It’s obvious he knows something. Maybe he’s not a bad guy. He took his time approaching you so you wouldn’t get scared. He didn’t hurt you. He even said he might be able to help you.”
“A bit of help would be nice.” I realized he could have dragged me into a van if he wanted to kidnap me. My new abilities didn’t include super strength. Though I guess if he’d grabbed my arm, I could escape by breaking it off.
“Call him after school,” Abigail said.
“Yeah. Or maybe I’ll wait until tonight. Or tomorrow morning. But it will be the weekend by then. Monday might be better.”
“Nathan, stop stalling,” Abigail said. “You need to get this settled. Call him right after school. If he wants to meet you somewhere, Mookie and I will follow you.”
“I’m a great follower,” Mookie said. He took a couple steps on tiptoe, then stumbled off the curb.
“Okay. I’ll do it.” I liked the idea that they’d know where I was going.
Abigail flashed me a grin. “And we won’t need a junky old paper-towel-tube telescope. I’ll call Mom and ask her to bring me my binoculars.” Then her grin faded. “Oh, phooey. I can’t. They’re gone.”
“We’ll be fine without them,” I told her. She’d lost all her stuff last month in a fire. I guess she’d had some cool equipment for her science experiments. Now, it was ashes.
Abigail seemed sad during social studies, but her smile returned when we got to science class and she spotted the frog on Ms. Delambre’s desk.
I walked over and stared at it. It was either deeply asleep or dead.
“Looks like one of your relatives,” Mookie said.
“Shut up.” I stared at the frog. It wasn’t moving at all. Definitely dead.
“He croaked,” Denali said from the table next to ours.
I was glad she was getting her sense of humor back, even if that was sort of an old joke.
“Galvani,” Abigail whispered. Her eyes sparkled like this was a magic word.
I looked at her. “What?”
She smiled. “That’s probably the lesson. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
Ms. Delambre came in, and we all took our seats.
“Luigi Galvani was an Italian physician,” Ms. Delambre said.
I glanced at Abigail. She gave me an I told you so shrug. As much as she felt she needed to hide her brains from her classmates, I realized she enjoyed sharing her secret with Mookie and me. I nodded toward her and clapped my hands quietly.
Up front, Ms. Delambre explained about Galvani’s experiment, and how he’d discovered that he could make a frog move when he applied electricity to its muscles.
“We’ll have to try that with you sometime,” Abigail whispered.
“Nobody’s experimenting on me,” I said.
Maybe that was true for the next hour or two, but Mr. Lomux’s class also seemed sort of like a science experiment. When we got to the gym, there were buckets lined up against one wall.
“Now what?” Adam asked.
“Maybe he expects everyone to throw up,” Mookie said.
“It’s going to be something a lot less pleasant than that,” I said.
“Line up over here,” Mr. Lomux shouted, pointing to the buckets.
I found a spot by a bucket. It was filled with water and chunks of ice.
“Put your hands in,” Mr. Lomux said.
I stooped down and put my hands in the water. It didn’t bother me. But I heard yelps and gasps all around. I remembered what it felt like the last time I got into a snowball fight without gloves. It’s no fun having frozen fingers.
“First person to take his hands out runs twenty laps,” Mr. Lomux said.
“I’m dying,” Mookie said. “I’d rather run.”
“Hang on,” I told him. “Someone will drop out soon enough.”
“I’m afraid of frostbite.” Ferdinand pulled his hands out. “I don’t want to lose a finger.”
“Next one, twenty push-ups,” Mr. Lomux said.
That was Dilby, who jammed his hands under his armpits.
Pretty soon, there were just five of us left. Then it was down to two—me and Rodney. I could tell he was hurting. His arms were shaking and his lips were blue. I didn’t care about winning. But I cared about stopping him from winning. So I kept my hands in the water until he gave up.
As we were lugging our buckets into the locker room to dump them, Rodney bumped me and said, “You’re lucky you’re too skinny to wrestle me. I’d kill you.”
I stared right back at him. “No, you wouldn’t.” I could almost see myself in a superhero mask and costume, saving someone from Rodney.
“You’re gonna get it, Abercrombie. Sooner or later, I’ll get my chance. And it will be worth waiting for.”
Keep dreaming.
Before I could say it, Mr. Lomux shouted at us to get moving. “Pair up. I want to see your takedowns. One at a time.”
As I watched one perfect takedown after another, I realized that a lot of the kids had decided to fake it. They worked together, so the kid shooting the move looked great. Rodney wasn’t playing along, of course. He seemed to like flattening Omar, and not letting Omar pull off any moves on him.
“Excellent!” Mr. Lomux yelled after both sides took a turn. “Let’s do it again.”
We repeated the drill. By now, Mr. Lomux was almost glowing. There wasn’t a vein in sight. I could swear his head might even have gotten a bit smaller. “Great! Wonderful! I’ve never seen so many wrestlers with so much potential.”
I guess he was too thrilled by our attacks to stop and wonder why nobody had any defensive skills. That didn’t matter. As long as it kept him happy and kept us from getting hurt, it was a perfect system.
On the way out of the gym, a couple kids patted me on the back and said, “Great idea, Nate.”
“You’re a hero,” Ferdinand said.
“A real genius,” Adam said.
Dilby pulled his hand out from under his shirt, where he’d been scratching his belly, and held it up for a high five. I flashed him a thumbs-up and raced away.
“I think we’re going to get through this whole wrestling thing in one piece,” Mookie said.
“I think so.” But I had something else to get through. And it might be a lot tougher than gym class.
After school, I met up with Mookie and Abigail at the seesaws.
“Here goes,” I said.
“You’ll be fine,” Abigail said.
I pulled out the bagel, gave it a twist, and called Mr. Murphy. He answered on the second ring.
“Yes?”
“Let’s meet,” I said.
10
Grout and About
Go to Decarlo Street and get on the Number Six bus. I’ll call again with more instructions.”
“He wants me to take the Number Six bus,” I told Abigail and Mookie.
“Cool,” Mookie said. “This is like a spy movie.”
We walked to Decarlo Street and got on the bus. A couple minutes later, music spilled from my pocket. “Stars and Stripes Forever.” Just like the high school marching band played. People near me turned to glare. I pulled out the bagel phone and answered it.
“Get off at Bleek Street,” he said.
I got off. So did Mookie and Abigail. The bagel rang again. “Take the crosstown bus. But tell your friends not to follow you.”
The line went dead.
“You’re not supposed to follow me,” I said.
Mookie spun around like he was tracking the zigzag flight of a supersonic hornet. “This is creepy. Where are they? How did he know we’re with you? They must be watching you.”
“I don’t think so,” Abigail said. “I think he said it just in case Nathan brought friends. Let’s keep following him. If they can really
see us, they’ll tell him again.”
It’s a good thing we had bus passes. Mr. Murphy had me ride around town for almost an hour. But he didn’t say anything else about my friends. I realized, as smart as he might be, Abigail was smarter. That made me feel better. Finally, he told me to get off at Lurch Street, which was only three blocks from where I’d started. There were some small office buildings on the street, and a store or two. The phone rang as soon as I stepped off the bus.
“There’s a museum in the middle of the block,” he said. “Go inside.”
Museum? I didn’t know there was a museum in town. I told Abigail and Mookie what was happening.
“We’ll wait around the corner at the Gas ’n’ Snack,” Abigail said, “just in case they’re watching the entrance.”
I headed down the street. Sure enough, right in the middle of the block, I found an old brick building with chipped white windowsills and crumbly front steps. It was like the building version of a zombie. Faded black letters on the door read: THE NATIONAL MUSEUM OF TILE AND GROUT.
Tile and grout? No wonder I’d never heard of it. I totally wasn’t interested in tiles, and I wasn’t even sure what grout was. I tried the door, even though it looked like the place was locked up.
It opened.
The inside was a lot nicer than the outside. It reminded me of a really large version of the principal’s office, without the New York Giants posters. The walls were painted light green, and the furniture seemed pretty new. There was an old woman behind a desk, knitting an orange scarf.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I think I’m in the wrong place.”
She looked up from her knitting. “Are you here to see the tile collection?”
“No.”
“Are you interested in our special grout display?”
“Definitely not.”
“How about the hall of trowels?”
