The No-Good Nine

by John Bemelmans Marciano

“Oh yeah? What about all that seal jerky you’ve been eating?” the Cruel said. “Those seals didn’t have mothers?”

  Goody looked at her with burning eyes. Boy, did she not like the Cruel.

  The Cruel now turned to the walrus, still looking up with those puppy-dog eyes. The Cruel flashed her wicked smirk.

  I didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d do it—that she’d kill that sweet, beautiful, innocent animal. I admired her for it. And was disgusted by her, too.

  Brimming with confidence, the Cruel stepped into striking distance. Then she raised the spear, took aim, and

  LUNGED

  for the walrus’s heart!

  At the moment the point of the spear stuck flesh, the walrus came alive.

  The massive animal reared up, with the weapon stuck in its chest and the Cruel still holding on. Just as fast, the beast came back down, the spear splintering under its weight. The Cruel fell in a heap on top of the broken weapon and scrambled to get up, but the walrus got up faster. Whether in self-defense or to attack or just trying to get out of the way, the walrus thrust a tusk at the Cruel. It wasn’t as sharp as the spear, but it did the same kind of damage.

  Except instead of piercing the Cruel in the chest, it went right through her left eye.

  That’s right. Her eye.

  It went

  POP!

  The walrus pulled away from her, and the Cruel was unconscious before she hit the hard, icy snow.

  Blood was gushing from where her eye used to be.

  Now do you see why I said you might not want to read this?

  27. AND YOU MIGHT WANT TO SKIP THIS PART TOO

  Blood.

  It looked so much more red against the white of the snow. But only for a moment. It quickly burned down through the white powder, causing steam to rise up.

  It was like I couldn’t even move—like my body was locked up. In terror.

  Terror at what had happened to the Cruel. And the walrus.

  Blood was spilling out of the animal, from where the point of the spear was lodged in its chest.

  The walrus

  ROARED

  at us.

  It did not seem happy.

  Slowly, it made its way—right flipper, left flipper—to the edge of the ice, but before it could dive into the water, it collapsed. And died.

  As for the Cruel, it was an ugly situation. What was left of her left eye was—

  Well, maybe it’s better not to describe it.

  Obviously, the right thing to do was to run and help her. But I couldn’t. I was still just stuck there. All of us were.

  Except Goody-Two-Shoes.

  She went to the Cruel and held her head in her arms, wiping the blood away from her face with her sleeve.

  “I-i-i-is she . . .” the Know-It-All said. “Dead?”

  “No,” Goody-Two-Shoes said. “She’s passed out. But we have to stop the bleeding.”

  Goody-Two-Shoes packed snow onto the Cruel’s eye to ice it down.

  Then, she went to her bag and fetched out her sewing kit.

  Remember when we first met Goody, and her mom mentioned that she volunteered at the hospital? Well, that was about to come in real handy.

  At the hospital, she had watched doctors stitch up lots of cuts. She had never done it herself, but she knew how it was done. And she had sewn up plenty of things before.

  Just never something alive.

  Goody threaded the needle in one go, her hands as steady as the ground. How she could be so calm? I was shaking all over, and I wasn’t even doing anything!

  “Whattya gonna do with that needle?” the Hooligan said.

  “You’re not g-g-going to . . .” the Know-It-All said.

  “Are you really . . . ?” the Brat said.

  “She needs stitches,” Goody said. “It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.”

  “I have to close my eyes,” the Hooligan said.

  “Forget that!” the Rude said. “This is jake!”

  It only took one pass of the needle through the eyelids, however, for the Rude to cover his eyes, too.

  Stitch by stitch, Goody-Two-Shoes threaded the lids together.

  I was impressed. How could you not be?

  After she finished, the left side of the Cruel’s face was a gory mess. The eye was purple and black and looked like it was swollen shut.

  “I don’t care whether or not you are a goody-two-shoes,” the Hooligan said, finally opening his eyes. “You’re the toughest kid I ever met!”

  I took off my jacket and so did the Rude. We made a bed for the Cruel in the sled, and the Hooligan and the Brat lifted her onto it.

  Mayhem—one of the dogs on her team—came up and sniffed the sleeping Cruel, then licked her hand.

  “What do we do n-n-n-now?” the Know-It-All asked.

  “What else?” the Rude said. “We eat!”

  “But how?” the Brat said. “Does anyone know how to turn a dead walrus into steak?”

  We all stared at the big lump lying on the edge of the ice.

  The Thief took out her shiny knife.

  “I had a great-aunt twice removed who was married to a butcher.”

  Now I could tell you what happened next, but I figure I’ve already put you through enough. Besides, a kid losing an eye is one thing. But cutting up a poor old walrus and eating it? That’s downright disturbing!

  * * *

  • • •

  We were all sitting around the fire, appreciating that for once we had full bellies. The Rude was telling some story about the boxing gym—or maybe it was the racetrack—while I drew pictures in the snow with the broken-off end of the spear I had pulled out of the walrus.

  “I want to see a mirror.”

  The voice came from behind me. It was her.

  The Cruel was conscious again.

  “I said I want to see a mirror,” she said. “Now!”

  The only thing we had that you could see yourself in was the Thief’s knife, so she handed it to her.

  The Cruel looked into the blade, tilting it at different angles so she could see herself.

  “Who sewed my eye shut?” she said, still looking at herself.

  We all pointed to Goody-Two-Shoes.

  I assumed she was going to say something mean—since that’s what she always did—but instead the Cruel spoke words I never thought would pass her lips:

  “Thank you.”

  Goody accepted it with a nod and a smile.

  “Hey, did the Cruel just say the T word?” the Rude said. “How much blood did she lose?”

  The Brat slapped him up the side of the head.

  “How do you f-f-f-feel?” the Know-It-All asked.

  “I feel fine,” she said. “It’s just an eye.”

  Just an eye?

  “O.K., maybe you’re the toughest kid I ever met,” the Hooligan said.

  “We made this for you,” the Thief said.

  It was an eyepatch, cut out of a piece of black leather with a strap attached.

  The Cruel put it on.

  It looked swell!

  “Wow,” the Rude said. “You look like a pirate!”

  “And you look like a turtle that lost its shell.”

  The Cruel smirked.

  And now you know how the Cruel got her eyepatch, in case you’ve been staring at the front cover this whole time and wondering.

  28. HELLO, LIGHTHOUSE!

  “By my calculations of last night’s stars plus the position of Venus in regard to the sun, I am fairly certain that we are within three and a half m-m-m-miles of the lighthouse!”

  “WUDJA SAY?!” the Rude screamed.

  The Know-It-All was sitting backward on the sled, facing the team the Rude was driving.

  The
Know-It-All repeated what he said, as loud as he could.

  “WUZZAT MEAN?” the Rude yelled, pulling closer.

  “We’re almost there!” the Know-It-All shouted.

  “WHY DINTCHA JUST SAY SO?” the Rude hollered, pulling past us and into the lead.

  We were all excited to be so close. “Hey, Know-It-All,” I said. “Why don’t you read that article again?”

  In the last few hours, the Know-It-All must’ve read the story ten times, but I wanted to hear it once more.

  I loved when he got to the part that goes:

  “It is always warm in Santaland, even though it is located at the North Pole. But what else would you expect from the most magical place on earth?

  “As for the elves, they whistle as they skip their way home from work. And why not? They have the most fulfilling job there is—making toys for children—and just might live in the most beautiful workers’ housing ever constructed. Their gingerbread cottages stand just—”

  “So they can actually eat their houses?” I said. “Wouldn’t they just fall down?”

  “No,” the Know-It-All said. “Gingerbread cottages aren’t made of gingerbread, they’re just decorated to look like it. It’s the V-V-V-Victorian style.”

  The Know-It-All kept reading, getting to the part about the factory and how the elves were able to make so many toys.

  “Do you think they have bikes?” the Thief asked.

  “Of course they have b-b-bicycles!” the Know-It-All said. “If it can be a Christmas present, they make it!”

  Up ahead, the Rude suddenly halted his sled.

  “Hey, why are you stopping?” the Thief said, pulling our sled up alongside his.

  “There it is!” the Rude said.

  He was pointing off in the distance. It took a minute, but then I saw it too. The lighthouse! It was hard to make out, being all white against the bright sky, but it looked like some kind of fairy-tale tower rising out of the snowy plain. The light at the top swiveled toward us, flashing once like a giant wink, then swung back the other way.

  “It even looks magical!” Goody-Two-Shoes said.

  “Yes!” the Thief said. “It has to be!”

  “We made it!” the Hooligan said, taking off his cap and putting it over his heart. A sob was choking his throat. “We really made it!”

  “Well?” the Brat said. “What are you two waiting for?”

  The drivers looked at each other and

  “Mush! Mush! Mush!” the Thief yelled.

  “On VAMPIRE, on VIRUS! On KILLER, on DEMON!” the Rude hollered.

  The dogs were running faster than ever, like even they were excited to get there!

  As we neared the base of the lighthouse, we had to crane our necks to still find the light, the top of it was so tall.

  We pulled up to the bright red front door of the lighthouse.

  “What do we do now?” I said, getting out of the sled.

  “We go in!” the Brat said.

  “Should we knock?” Goody said.

  But we didn’t have to.

  The red door opened all by itself.

  Well, not all by itself. There was a lumbering old man pushing it open from the inside, with a crinkly old woman right behind him.

  They looked mighty surprised to see us.

  “WHO THE HELL ARE YE ALL!?!”

  And not that happy, either.

  29. NOT 100 PERCENT WHAT WE WERE EXPECTING

  “What’re ye eight children doin’ here?” the lighthouse keeper said. “And with dogsleds, no less! Are ye Inuit, or aliens?”

  “We’re neither,” the Brat said. “We’re Americans.”

  “Americans!” Mr. Keeper hollered. “Why on earth are ye in Black Tickle?”

  “We’re here to signal the n-n-narwhal,” the Know-It-All said.

  “Nar-what?” Mrs. Keeper said, as dumbfounded as her husband.

  “The magic narwhal,” the Know-It-All said. “The one who answers the Morse code signal from the l-l-lamp and pulls the golden barge that takes visitors to Santa’s. It’s all right here in this article. You both are in it t-t-t-too!” He handed his written-out copy to the keepers.

  Mr. and Mrs. Keeper stood reading it, their lips moving as their eyes crawled left to right and back again. They were stupefied.

  “He believed it!” Mr. Keeper said. “That fool actually done believed it!”

  “Believed what?” the Cruel said.

  “That balderdash I told him!” Mr. Keeper said. “That reporter was another one of those southerners tryin’ to stir up trouble for us folk up north. Tryin’ to stir up trouble for Santy! So I made up a whole bunch of nonsense about how me lighthouse is magic and how I could signal Santy. And he done printed it! And ye foolish children believed it! Ye are more the fools than him!”

  We must’ve all looked pretty upset, because Mrs. Keeper kicked the back of her husband’s leg and said, “Don’t be makin’ fun of them, ye horrid man!” She turned to us. “Ye poor children, ye come all this way and for nudd’n! Just looks at the sad eyes on all ye faces!”

  “Wait a minute,” the Cruel said. “Are you saying that there are no magic narwhals? And there is no way to signal Santa? Or to get to his workshop from here?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Keeper both shrugged and shook their heads.

  We were stunned.

  “You dragged us all the way up here for nothing!” the Cruel said, turning to the Know-It-All. “You aren’t the Know-It-All—you’re the Know-Nothing-at-All!”

  “She’s right!” the Hooligan said.

  The Know-It-All got that vomitty look of his. Then he buried his face in his hands.

  “You’re right!” the Know-It-All said. “I am a know-nothing! Magic narwhals! A g-g-golden barge! How could I have ever believed it!? I’m such an idiot, and it’s all my fault!”

  “You are not an idiot!” Goody-Two-Shoes said to him. Then she turned to the rest of us. “Don’t blame him! We all heard the story before we decided to come, and we all had the chance to turn back plenty of times!”

  “Goody is right,” the Thief said. “And think of what we’ve done. We traveled a thousand miles by dogsled in the middle of winter!”

  “The dogsleds are swell,” the Rude said.

  “It sure beats hangin’ around the Mug Uglies,” the Hooligan said.

  “Or boarding school,” the Brat said.

  “Or my family,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Or the orphanage.”

  Everyone looked at the Cruel.

  “Did you just say something . . .” Goody said. “Positive?”

  The Cruel then did something even more strange. She smiled. Not an icy-sarcastic-hateful smirk, but a smile.

  “I guess we’re all a bunch of know-nothing-at-alls,” she said.

  “No-Good know-nothin’-at-alls,” the Rude said.

  “The No-Good Know-Nothin’ Nine!” I said, and flashed the Sign of the Nine across my chest. “Nine for one, and one for nine!”

  “What does that even mean?” the Cruel said.

  “Come on, ye children,” Mrs. Keeper said. “Come inside where it’s warm and I’ll start makin’ ye a fine fish stew!”

  “When ye taste her cookin’ ye’ll really regret comin’ to Black Tickle!” Mr. Keeper said.

  “I said shuddup, ye horrid man!”

  “Come with me first,”the keeper said to us. “I’ll show ye how to work the beacon.”

  “You mean the light? The lighthouse light?” the Rude said. “Now that’s swell!”

  “Me first!” the Brat said, pushing his way up ahead.

  “I w-w-w-want to go first!” the Know-It-All said. “It’s a Chance 55 mm!”

  Their voices echoed off the stone walls of the lighthouse as we climb
ed up the spiral staircase, with me last. Well, next to last. Goody-Two-Shoes was behind me. But where was she?

  I looked back and didn’t see her.

  But I did hear the sobbing.

  * * *

  • • •

  Goody was sitting on the step outside, bawling her eyes out.

  “I didn’t want anyone to see me cry,” she said to me when I came back out. But now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “It’s just all we’ve been through!” she said when she was finally able to speak. “First, we almost got arrested by the Truant Officer and killed by Mummy, and if it hadn’t been for Lumiuk and his father we would’ve died for sure, and then the Cruel lost her eye and the walrus died and we ate it and now there’s no way to get to Santa’s but I don’t want to go home because when I do I’m going to wish I were in jail or killed or dead or had only lost an eye because my parents will be so horrible to me!”

  She started to bawl again, so I put my arm around her. I didn’t know what to say. I could’ve said none of it was a big deal, but for once lying didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

  Goody took out a handkerchief to blow her nose, and said, “I just never wanted anything in my life so badly as to go to Santa’s.”

  “I think I can help you, me ducky.”

  We turned and saw Mrs. Keeper. She had heard everything.

  “I can’t stand to watch a poor child cry,” she said, and wiped a tear away from Goody.

  “I shouldn’t be tellin’ this to ye, me children. Not to any southerner,” Mrs. Keeper said. “But we weren’t being totally honest with ye kiddies. There’s more to the story.”

  “What story?” Goody said. “What weren’t you being honest about?”

  “About not knowin’ how to get to Santa’s.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Meanwhile . . .

  You don’t think my archenemy and Mummy just gave up, do you? Because they didn’t.

  Mummy was so good at mushing that she and her crew should have beaten us to the lighthouse, especially considering how much time we wasted with the Inuit. Should have, but didn’t, because she wasn’t nearly so good with a compass as she was with a dog whip.