Ozland

by Wendy Spinale

  However, peering down at this dead Lost Kid, I remember there is one who died by my own gun, and he was the youngest of all the deaths I’ve witnessed. I did what I thought was right at the time, but his dark wide-eyed shock when I shot the young boy still haunts my dreams. Maybe five or six years old. Way too young and too innocent to have died the way he did. He was never my target, but as he stepped in front of Pete, he took the bullet meant for the leader of the Lost Kids. Pete should have died that day.

  Tired of the war and the uncertainty of our world, I rise, more determined than ever to take the crown as my own. I’m done with the Bloodred Queen’s rule. It’s time for a new era.

  The four Haploraffen guards stand rigid as I cross the threshold from the prison.

  “Retrieve Gwen from the belfry and prepare her for a tribunal. Unless the rebels surrender themselves to me, her next dose will be lethal,” I say.

  “Yes,” the Haploraffen say in unison.

  They turn to do my bidding.

  “One more thing,” I say. “Bring the priest and my future husband, Jack. Tonight will be the start of a new monarchy.”

  Alarms blare loudly, announcing our prison break. I’m surprised we’ve managed to be away this long without being discovered. Given detailed directions to the lab by Hook, Pete and I follow the dark pathways within the walls of Lohr Castle, the flame of a torch lighting our way. When we reach the small opening in the wall, Pete peers through the peephole.

  “Looks clear,” he says. He presses his hands against the door and slides it to the side. On our hands and knees, we crawl into the room, then stand. Pete places his torch in the sconce on the wall.

  The stainless-steel fixtures and countertops give the lab a sterile feel. Cabinets filled with vials and equipment rest along the far wall. Two small windows allow in minimal sunlight, its rays landing on carefully placed pots of exotic plants I can’t identify. In brilliant colors, blooming with unusual leaves and petals, the collection is extraordinary. Only a skilled apothecarist could possess plants like this. They are not like anything I’ve ever seen in any science book.

  Whoever works here has secrets. Secrets they’d protect.

  Suddenly, the hair on my arms stands up, and I have second thoughts about being here. I take a cautious step back. “Pete, I have a really bad feeling,” I say.

  “You aren’t the only one,” he says, gripping the hilt of his dagger.

  Scanning the room, I notice that the knots on one wood-paneled wall are not wood. Instead they appear to be hollow, each pointing directly at the numerous potted plants throughout the room. Pete steps close to one of the strange plants and reaches to touch the bright orange petals.

  “Pete, no!” I shout.

  He ducks just in time as a dart shoots from one of the holes and sticks into the opposite wall. “Stay away from the plants,” I say, bolting to my feet. “They’re rigged.”

  “Obviously,” Pete says, pulling the dart from the wood panel and handing it to me. “Where did that thing come from?”

  “Blow dart,” I say, inspecting the small projectile.

  A door bursts open, and a bearded man holding a double-barreled rifle peers into his scope, his aim pointed right at Pete’s head.

  “Don’t know how you got in here, but get your things and leave,” he says.

  Holding my hands up, I take a step forward. “Look, we need your help. We—”

  “I said we don’t want you here,” the man hisses.

  A thin woman slips out from the next room and sidles up next to the man. With her hands on the man’s shoulder, she peers around him. “Hase, they’re just kids. Put your weapon away.”

  “I will do no such thing,” he growls. “If you are here on the queen’s bidding, you can just escort yourselves back where you came from. We don’t have the cure, and we’ll let her know when we do.”

  “We’re not with the queen,” Pete says.

  “Then you’re with the one from England,” Hase says. “I should’ve known. Your accents give you away.”

  “We are from England, but we’ve come to help create and distribute the cure,” I say. “I’m a doctor. I developed an antidote. One that is successful, but it was destroyed when our home was attacked.”

  Pete passes me a glance, sorrow blooming in his expression. We’ve had our differences, but one thing we have in common is all the homes we’ve lost and tried to rebuild. Our home with our family, with the Lost Kids, Umberland, and in Evergreen. At this point, I’m not sure home is a place anymore.

  “You’re awfully young to be a doctor,” Hase says suspiciously.

  “Who are you to judge?” Pete says. Gripping his dagger tighter, Pete’s frustration is more than clear. Before I let him escalate it further, I step in front of him.

  “I was a physician in London before it was destroyed by the Horologia virus. I was able to acquire research and produce a cure. Only, because I was hoping to accelerate the healing process, I created something far worse than Horologia. I was working on a second cure, but Katt, the princess of England, stole the research. Luckily, I could recall most of the data. With that and the poison apple from the Labyrinth, I did create an antidote,” I say.

  Hase gives the woman next to him a puzzled stare. She shrugs.

  “You, a child, created a cure?” Hase says, turning back to me.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Pete says, holding out a hand. Although the intricate designs stain his skin, the scars still remain. “I was infected, too, and now I’m better. He’s the real deal.”

  “Look, I need that apple and the virus if you have it,” I say, desperate. “I’ve been told they’re here in the lab. I need to re-create the cure and destroy the virus—for good.”

  The older couple give each other a knowing glance, but don’t answer.

  Pete holds out one of his daggers. “You will show Doc where the apple and the virus are. If you don’t, I’m going to have more than just words with you.”

  Hase squints and aims his gun at Pete. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands.”

  “If this young man can help create the antidote, let’s give him a chance,” the woman says.

  “Maus, I’m not handing the apple or the virus to a couple of teenage kids,” Hase says.

  “We could take it by force,” Pete says, twirling a dagger.

  “Not likely,” Hase growls, gripping the gun tighter.

  “We’ve been working on this cure for months and have been largely unsuccessful,” Maus points out.

  Hase wrinkles his brow. Maus places a hand on the barrel of his gun and pushes it down, directing the aim of the weapon to the floor.

  “We have nothing to lose,” she says.

  Reluctantly, he nods. Maus scurries to a cabinet and opens the glass doors. She moves equipment from the bottom shelf and lifts a hatch on the floor of the piece of furniture. Reaching in, she pulls out the ragged research book that once belonged to Gwen’s mother and hands it to me. Excitement wells within me.

  “See what you can make of this,” she says.

  I thumb through the pages, grateful to see that the familiar charts, notes, and annotations are just as I remember them. It’s no different from the day I first laid eyes on it. Opening the cover, the Professor’s name is elegantly inscribed on the first page.

  “What can we do to help?” Maus says.

  “I could really use that poison apple if you have it,” I say.

  “Do we have it?” Hase asks, suddenly giddy. He slings the strap of his gun over his neck and waddles over to another set of shelves. Shoving one of the cabinets to the side, Hase reveals a large hole cut into the wall. Pulleys and ropes support a platform large enough to hold one person. The lift looks rickety, but when Hase invites me to climb in, I don’t hesitate. At this point, what do I have to lose?

  “Take this,” Maus says, handing me an oil lantern as she lights the wick.

  Pete gives me a wary look before I am lowered down the shaft. The
fire within the lantern threatens to extinguish as a breeze sweeps through the chute. Taking in a breath, I fight the choking sensation of confinement. I’m grateful when the lift comes to a stop. I slip from the platform and nervously watch it rise back up the shaft.

  Holding the lantern up, I take in the room as firelight flickers off the steel fixtures and lab equipment. Shadows skip along the walls, taunting my vision. A lever to my right protrudes from the wall. Scratched into the wood wall panels are the words on and off. Hesitantly, I lift the switch, moving it to the on position.

  The familiar smell of methane fills the room as the click of flint against steel breaks the silence. Panic rises within me, but it is quickly replaced with profound awe. Lanterns strung along the wall light one after the other. Within seconds the room illuminates brightly under the glow of a sophisticated indoor lighting system.

  The distinct sound of lit Bunsen burners is washed away as the others join me in the basement. Although biology is my expertise, I’ve spent hours poring over chemistry, physics, and engineering books. None of what I’ve read would prepare me for the idea of an automated lantern system like this. Even more curious are the dozens of contraptions, machines, and tools scattered throughout the room. None of them are traditional lab equipment. Instead, they appear to be handmade for specific purposes.

  Pete appears equally mystified by the instruments and modern lighting. His awe is captured in his surprised expression and loss for words. His demeanor quickly changes as he scans the room, appearing wary.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  “Just keeping an eye out for any more crazy plants,” he grumbles.

  “As you should,” Maus says as she hurries by us. “One can never be too careful with concentrated sulfuric acid. That dart was meant for the Bloodred Queen’s cronies.”

  “Sulfuric acid?” Pete asks. “What does that do?”

  “To you? You’d be dead within minutes,” Hase says nonchalantly. “To the Haploraffen? One dose instantly reacts with their metal inner workings and starts a chain reaction of corrosive destruction.”

  “Serves them right, those Haploraffen,” Maus grumbles. “Nasty beasts, I tell you.”

  “Why haven’t you used the darts on Katt or the Bloodred Queen?” Pete asks indignantly.

  Hase opens a wooden cabinet and sorts through several beakers filled with a variety of colored chemicals and plants. “Bah! Do we look like killers?” Hase squints at us over his shoulder. “Merciless, maybe, but not murderers.”

  Pete crosses his arms over his chest, clearly aggravated.

  However, I can’t say I blame them. So far, I’ve not been in a situation that required me to kill anyone, but given the opportunity, I’m not sure I could. I’m here on this earth to save lives, not destroy them.

  “We have done nothing to anyone who hasn’t deserved what they got,” Maus says, opening the front hatch of what looks a tin oven up against the far wall. She slips on thick gloves, tightening the straps at both wrists.

  “Shush, our company doesn’t need to be burdened with our sins,” Hase grumbles.

  “The apple?” Pete says.

  “In a rush, are we?” Maus says.

  “That apple is invaluable. It’s the only one left of its kind,” I insist.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Hase asks, selecting a beaker with a yellow liquid in it. “Months have gone by since Hook brought the poison apple here. It would have rotted away by now.”

  Pete snickers. “I don’t have the book smarts that you do, but even I know that can’t be the one Hook got.”

  Giving him a quick glare, I turn my attention back to Hase. “If that’s not the one from Hook, where did you get it?”

  Maus loops her arm into mine and leads me to a steel door. “Silly boy. By extracting the seeds and growing a new tree.”

  “But it takes years for a tree to bear fruit from seed form,” I say, bewildered.

  Maus pats my arm. “Not if you’re the Bloodred Queen’s apothecarists.”

  Wrapping her wrinkled hand around the handle, she pulls open the door. Inside, similar automated lanterns light up a room, only there is just one thing inside: a tree bearing golden apples not unlike the one Maus holds.

  “An underground greenhouse,” Pete says. “Brilliant!”

  Although much more sophisticated, the technology is like that of our underground garden back in Everland. Cogs and the Tinkers spent weeks building a section of the cave network into our own greenhouse to be able to grow fruits and vegetables.

  “But how were you able to grow it so fast?” I ask.

  “The same way the Labyrinth was built overnight,” Hase says. “With growth enhancer. The same chemical used by the Bloodred Queen’s herbalist and groundskeeper.”

  Pete and I exchange a glance, but say nothing. Maddox’s parents were the royal family’s herbalist and groundskeeper. That is, until the night the Labyrinth was built. The queen’s army was sent for them and they were never seen again.

  Maus closes the door to the greenhouse and takes the apple to the oven-like contraption.

  “What exactly does that machine do? Is it safe?” I ask, peering over her shoulder.

  Hase pats my shoulder. “Are you questioning my wife? I wouldn’t do that if I were you, son. She’s a spitfire,” he says, poking her in the ribs.

  She swats at his hand, snatches the beaker from her husband, and shoos him away.

  My stomach twists as Hase fills a test tube halfway full of the liquid. He caps it with a stopper. Tubing snakes from the cork and into the metal container. With a flick of a striker, the Bunsen burner beneath the test tube lights with a blue flame.

  I know how to concoct the cure; however, I hold the Professor’s notes close. Their value is priceless, and once we’re done with our mission, I intend to return them to their rightful owner: Gwen Darling, daughter of the woman who ultimately will save the world.

  Maus pulls a pocket watch from her apron. From where I stand, I can almost hear every tick of the second hand. A bell tinkles above a spout on the top of the contraption that spews steam.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Maus says.

  She opens the door. My breath catches as smoke billows from the oven. Maus waves it away, coughing. “Hase, when are you going to get the exhaust fixed on this infernal machine?” she complains.

  Rolling his eyes, Hase grips a lever protruding from the side and pulls it forcefully. The whir of a fan followed by the grinding of metal on metal erupts from the machine.

  I’m afraid to look, half expecting the apple to be nothing but ash. As the smoke clears, the apple lies unharmed. I blink in disbelief. Maus pulls out the apple with her gloved hand and places it back into its glass domed case.

  “So … where’s the juice?” I ask.

  Maus straightens her wire-rimmed glasses before pulling a beaker from the back of the machine. Inside, an iridescent liquid glimmers in the lamplight.

  “That’s it?” Pete asks.

  “That’s it,” Maus says.

  I step toward her, take the beaker, and place it on the counter. “May I?” I ask, gesturing toward her gloved hands.

  She nods.

  Gently, I take off each glove, exposing her blistered fingers. Sores ooze with blood and pus, new scabs barely covering open wounds.

  “I can help you,” I say, noticing the gold tones in her hazel eyes. They are identical to so many other patients who have been on the brink of succumbing to a disease I caused. The mutation of the Horologia virus is evident in her stare. I saved most in the village before the Bloodred Queen’s attack on it, but there are still more out there who desperately need my help.

  Maus smiles. That instant, she seems years younger, almost childlike with the glint in her eye. She wraps her arms around me, and I think of the hundreds, maybe thousands of patients I held as they hung on to a hope I could not provide them while taking their last breath.

  I choke on my next breath,
hoping that Maus is not the next victim of this horrific disease. “Let’s create that antidote and get you fixed up.”

  Reaching for the beaker filled with the extract from the apple and the vial, she hands them to me. She says nothing, but the plea in her eyes is more than words can convey.

  We need a cure and an end to the tyranny. And we need it now.

  With his face buried in his hands, King Osbourne shakes his head. It’s taken a while to help him through the disorientation. He’s insisted that this all must be a bad dream, that all we’ve told him about the state of the world, or of what we know of it, can’t possibly be the truth. As he takes another sip of water from Ginger’s canteen, I wonder what it must be like to wake up and have no recollection of the last five years of your life.

  “Easy now,” Ginger says as the king reaches for another piece of shortbread from her supplies. “It’s going to take some time for your body to adjust to food.”

  He snatches the biscuit and tosses it into his mouth. “You try going five years living off those Zwergs’ voodoo, witchcraft, or whatever sorcery this is,” he says, tossing a twig with flowers to the floor, appearing irritated. I don’t recognize the plant. In fact, none of the blossoms or leaves are remotely close to anything I saw within the Labyrinth. I realize with a start, this is the farthest from home I’ve ever been.

  “Thankfully, that sorcery is what kept you alive,” I say, placing a hand on his arm. “Your Majesty, I don’t think you can appreciate the suffering the Bloodred Queen has caused until you see it for yourself.”

  King Osbourne raises a brow. “Is that what they call her now?”

  “She’s certainly earned the name,” Ginger mutters, removing her glove. Her fingers are covered in scabs and blisters. “This is only a fraction of what we’ve experienced here on the Emerald Isle.”

  Grateful that I have yet to show symptoms, but not wanting to bring attention to it, I shove my hands beneath my cloak.