by Josh Lieb
JOEY RAN into the room where the others were waiting, holding the jelly bean in his mouth. Yislene’s face lit up with a radiant smile. “Oh, Joey—I could eat it all in one gulp!”
“Not yet,” said Joey, after he’d dropped it on the floor. “It’s evidence.”
As quickly (and as quietly) as he could, he explained where he’d last seen this jelly bean. On a blanket as part of the Tribute, which was taken away by the BlackClaws.
Parsifur looked grim. “Are you sure, lad? Think. Are you really sure? Jelly beans do tend to look alike.” Slowly, Joey put his paw into the grooves on the jelly bean’s surface. His claws fit perfectly.
The room went silent. Joey wasn’t sure for how long. It could have been just a second. It could have been hours. But he could feel the silence pressing in on him as everyone in the room realized what this meant.
Uncle Patrick was having trouble puzzling it out. “I thought you said the BlackClaws were taking the Tribute back to Salaman.”
Joey nodded.
“But if the Tribute is here, then that means that Squirrelin is—”
“Ssh!” intoned Brutilda. “Don’t say anything aloud that you don’t have to.” She looked around the room. “Who knows what the wizard hears?”
Joey turned to Parsifur and whispered. “You said Sala”—here he cut himself off—“you said he was a Ragician.”
“We never saw him. We assumed he was, because he was so powerful.” Parsifur made a sad giggle. “Did you know that rats’ secondary attribute, after energy, is arrogance?”
Uncle Patrick looked at Joey. “I thought that sword of yours turned hot when you got around enemies. Shouldn’t it have tipped you off about Squirrelin?”
Joey nodded. “I thought that at first, too. Now I think it only gets hot when I’m about to be attacked.”
Parsifur had made a decision. “Princess,” he said, “summon Sir Aramis.”
“He’ll never get here in time to save us,” said Yislene.
“If anyone can find a way, it’s Aramis,” said Parsifur.
“Even if he did get here, what could he do?” said Patrick. “We need to get out of here right now.”
“No,” said Parsifur, “what we need to do right now is think. We may be trapped in the lair of the world’s most powerful worker of -agic . . . whom we’ve just discovered is our mortal enemy—”
“Ssh!” ssh-ed Brutilda.
“But at least we now know what we know. And he doesn’t know we know what we now know. So we have an advantage.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or being serious,” said Uncle Patrick.
“A little of both,” said the white rat. “Hee-hee-hee.” The giggle was music to Joey’s ears. Maybe they still had a chance.
Yislene had been wiggling her fingers and whispering again. Now she opened her eyes. “I’ve sent the call to Sir Aramis.”
“Did he get the message?” asked Joey.
“I have no idea!” said Yislene, looking annoyed. “Am I inside his brain?”
“Oh,” said Joey. Then he asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes,” said Yislene.
“Why?”
“You still haven’t given me that jelly bean.”
He kicked it over to her, and she gleefully sank her teeth into it. She was licking her lips when Nutkin came into the room and dolefully announced, “The master will see you now.”
EVERYTHING LOOKED the same in Squirrelin’s acorn room. But everything was different. Before, Squirrelin had only looked scary. Now Joey knew that he had every reason to be scared of him.
“I trust you had a pleasant rest,” said the ancient wizard, as they entered.
“Yes,” said Parsifur, “it really helped clear our heads.”
“Squirrelin,” said Yislene, stepping forward, “I was too sleepy to thank you properly earlier. So let me say thank you now. For your hospitality and more. In this time of crisis, it is truly a blessing that my father and his kingdom have a friend like you.”
“That is unnecessary, my dear,” said Squirrelin, staring at her.
“On the contrary, it is very necessary,” said Yislene, staring back. Was she trying to fool Squirrelin into thinking she didn’t know the truth? Or just make him feel guilty for betraying them? Joey wasn’t sure. Maybe Yislene wasn’t sure herself.
After a few seconds, Squirrelin said, “Well. You’re very welcome. And now . . . I’ve decided on the best way to proceed. First, I need the two High-Realmers to come closer.”
Joey and Uncle Patrick exchanged a glance, then approached the ancient squirrel. “Show me your right paw, each of you.” Joey and Patrick each held out their right paw. “Now,” said Squirrelin, “do you give this paw willingly—”
“Wait,” said Joey. That sounded familiar. “What are you doing?”
“He’s changing you back,” said Yislene, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.
Squirrelin nodded. “You’ve been very helpful so far, no doubt, but this is Low Realm business. Your presence complicates matters, Squagically-speaking.”
“Won’t we be a little cramped in here?” asked Uncle Patrick, looking around the room.
Squirrelin scowled. “You’ll find yourself in the park when you’ve transformed. Believe me, I’ve done this before.”
“This feels wrong,” said Joey. “Can’t we wait a little while? You said I was a hero, right?”
Squirrelin’s scowl deepened. “You’ve already been a hero. You’ve gotten your friends to me, to safety. Now your journey is over. It is time for you to return to the High Realm. I will protect your friends from now on.”
No, you won’t, you’ll destroy them, thought Joey. You’re Salaman. Joey could feel his friends (and Uncle Patrick) looking at him. What was he supposed to do?
“Hurry,” said Squirrelin. “I won’t make this offer again.”
Joey and Uncle Patrick exchanged a glance. Patrick looked almost as unhappy as Joey felt, but he shrugged and said, “I came here to bring you back to your mom. This might be our only chance.”
“Go ahead, young one,” said Sir Parsifur. “This isn’t your fight.”
“But—”
“It’s okay, Joey,” said Yislene. “We can take care of ourselves. Get yourself to safety while you can.” She smiled very bravely. Brutilda, standing beside Yislene, nodded.
Joey thought about Mom, waiting for him at home. He really should go back to her. Back to the apartment, and school, and signing up for Spanish class . . . he should go back to the rest of his life. . . .
Except every day he would think about the friends he had left here.
And what kind of life would that be?
Joey put his hand down. “Thank you, Squirrelin. But I think I’m needed here for the time being.”
Uncle Patrick said, “You sure, kid?”
“I’m sure.”
Uncle Patrick smiled and lowered his hand. “Then I’m sure, too.” He winked at Joey. Parsifur, Yislene, and Brutilda—even Brutilda—were smiling, also. It even looked like Brutilda might be crying a little, but Joey knew that wasn’t possible.
Squirrelin was not smiling. He was looking deeply at Joey, like he could probe his mind. And Joey had a sudden feeling that Squirrelin understood exactly why Joey was staying. “I see,” said the Squagician. “In that case . . .”
Two things happened at once: Squirrelin started to take a very deep breath, and Ratscalibur started to burn into Joey’s side like the sun.
RATSCALIBUR HAD NEVER burned like this before. Joey doubled over from the pain. Before he could even guess what was happening, Yislene started chanting—out loud this time—and waving her hands crazily in front of her face. As Squirrelin swelled bigger and bigger, her chanting got louder and louder. Joey could feel competing waves of power washing over him, but he was helpl
ess to do anything about it.
Joey wanted to scream What’s going on?, but his whole body was frozen. He forced his eyes to turn toward Uncle Patrick and saw him gritting his teeth as he tried to move. He was a statue, too. Smoky pink energy radiated out at them from Squirrelin . . . then was pushed back by warm yellow sunshine that seemed to come from Yislene. The air smelled like electricity, like they were stuck inside a cloud in a thunderstorm, like lightning could strike at any second. . . .
And then it was over. Squirrelin let out his breath, but not in a big hiss like before. This time, it was like a balloon deflating because the knot came untied: thhpppt.
And Yislene collapsed to the floor. Thump.
Ratscalibur had gone instantly cool, and Joey was able to move now.
“What was that?” asked Uncle Patrick.
Joey knew. “He was trying to kill us. The princess stopped him.”
The little Squagician was bright red with fury. “That insolent bit of fluff!” he raged. “To think that she could thwart me?! Well, she only had one of those in her. Let’s see her stop me now!”
He started to breathe in again, and Ratscalibur resumed burning. Joey put his hand on the sword, but before he could lift it, he was unable to move again.
Joey strained with every muscle in his body, but it was no use. He was frozen. And Squirrelin was swelling bigger and bigger. . . .
This is the end.
And then a loud, commanding voice rang out through the room. “Squirrelin, desist! This has gone far enough.” The voice sounded familiar, but Joey couldn’t turn his head to see who it was.
Squirrelin kept inflating, and the voice said again, “Enough!”
Squirrelin seemed to hear it that time. Now, only halfway inflated, he let out his breath with a sad sigh. Ratscalibur stopped burning. And Joey could move again. He turned his head to see who had saved him.
Sir Aramis was standing in the doorway. The vizier looked completely unafraid, like this was a situation he faced every day. “Brutilda, tend to your mistress,” he commanded. The guinea pig was instantly kneeling by Yislene’s side, trying to make her comfortable.
Aramis was staring sternly at Squirrelin. The Squagician was staring back, with barely controlled rage.
“Who is that guy?” asked Uncle Patrick.
“Sir Aramis, vizier to King Uther,” said Sir Parsifur. There was not a hint of mockery in his voice. “It is a great pleasure to see you, good sir.”
“Thank you,” said Aramis, though he kept his eyes firmly on Squirrelin.
“Yeah,” said Joey. “That was . . . um . . . really good timing.”
Aramis shrugged and walked a little ways into the room.
“Excellent timing,” said Parsifur. Then Parsifur got a funny look on his face. “In fact, it’s . . . peculiarly good timing.” Parsifur looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated. Then he went ahead, anyway. “Forgive me for asking, but . . . the princess sent her message to you a scant half hour ago. No one has more faith in your abilities than I, but . . . how did you possibly get here so quickly?”
“Oh, that,” said Aramis, who finally turned to look at the white rat. “Well, you see,” he nodded to someone standing outside, “I got a ride from some friends.”
After a pause, a sleek black head—with a cruel black beak and dead black eyes—poked through the door.
It was a BlackClaw.
THE REST OF the bird followed the head through the door, then straightened up and stretched its wings while making an ugly caw caw caw. Another crow, equally big and scary, came through the door. They were linked together at the legs by a harness.
Parsifur nodded. “I feared as much.”
“What’s going on?” said Joey. “I don’t understand. . . .”
Brutilda and Uncle Patrick looked just as confused as Joey did. Aramis had an expression on his face like he was kind of proud and kind of embarrassed. Parsifur just looked disappointed.
“It’s simple, really,” said Parsifur. “Salaman isn’t one villain. He’s two. A powerful Squagician and a valiant knight.” The mockery had returned to Parsifur’s voice. Especially on the word valiant.
Brutilda covered the princess protectively and looked up at Aramis, so angry she was shaking. “Betrayer . . .”
Aramis seemed a little sad. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“Hee-hee-hee,” giggled Parsifur, also a little sadly. “How else could it have happened?”
“Can I kill them now?” asked Squirrelin.
Aramis shook his head. “Let me try to reason with them.” Aramis turned to Parsifur. “The plan was for ‘Salaman’ to demand a new king for our realm.”
“You,” said Parsifur.
“Me.” Sir Aramis nodded. “Salaman was going to say that Uther is cursed, and thus the kingdom is cursed, until I take the throne. The kingdom would be so desperate by that point that they’d agree. You know how loyal the peasants are to Uther. It was the only way I could get them to turn on him.”
“You can’t be king,” said Brutilda. “You’re not of royal blood.”
“No, I’m not,” said Aramis, “but my queen will be.” He nodded to the slumbering Yislene. “When she’s old enough, of course.”
Brutilda’s silky hair bristled, like porcupine spikes. Joey felt the same thing happening to the fur that ran down his back.
“Surely,” said Sir Aramis, “you realize that this is all for the best—”
Joey interrupted—something had just occurred to him. “When you saved Yislene from the BlackClaw . . . you just did that because you needed her alive so you could be king.”
Aramis nodded again. “I felt a bit guilty about taking credit for that act of ‘heroism.’ I was never in any real danger. It was all play-acting and conversation when we were ‘fighting.’ Actually, the BlackClaw was supposed to be targeting you, but”—he stroked the nearest BlackClaw’s wing—“well, we don’t love them for their brains.”
“Why me?” said Joey.
“Because of what you represent. Gondorff was meant to be the kingdom’s last chance. His death was going to devastate the masses and make our whole plan possible. But then . . .” Aramis looked at Joey with annoyance. “But then there was a new hope.”
“And you,” said Parsifur, turning to Squirrelin. “What did you get out of this?”
The little wizard seemed unashamed. “Isn’t it obvious? I get tribute from an entire kingdom, in exchange for one little tin crown. Indeed, Aramis is raising a force that will bring me tribute from many kingdoms. It was not an offer I could refuse.”
“But Gondorff?” said Brutilda, like it was a curse. “You were willing to murder your student, your friend, to satisfy your greed?”
Squirrelin shrugged. “You can’t grow a forest without burying a few walnuts.” A little defensively he added, “I’m getting older. I’m not as strong as I once was. In a few hundred years, I’ll want to stop working. I have to start thinking about saving up for my retirement.”
Parsifur chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, my tiny friend. It appears that the Squagic has finally won the battle for what was left of your soul.”
“A soul,” said Squirrelin, “is a luxury I cannot afford.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Uncle Patrick.
“What?” said Joey.
“These guys are as bad as people.” He shook his head. “I’m never throwing popcorn to squirrels in the park again, I can tell you that.”
“No,” said Parsifur, giving Patrick a funny look. “You probably aren’t. Hee-hee-hee.”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” said Sir Aramis. “Why fight? Come to my side and help me reign over a new golden age. Surely you can understand my motivations. We have an ailing kingdom, suffering under the rule of a sick king, whose heir is not yet old enough to rule. I did this n
ot out of ambition. I did it for the good of the kingdom!”
Parsifur nodded. “It’s a plausible yarn. And yet . . .” He looked at Joey. “Well, hero, what do you think?”
Joey shook his head. “It stinks.”
“Why do you say that?”
Joey said. “Because I’m starting to learn how these guys think.” He gestured to Squirrelin. “And I’m willing to bet that the only reason King Uther is sick is that someone is using Squagic on him.” Squirrelin’s face crumpled like he’d been slapped, and Joey knew that his guess was right.
“And,” said Joey, turning to Aramis, “if Sir Aramis is really just a noble guy who’s trying to save the realm, what’s this force Squirrelin says he is collecting to conquer other kingdoms?” From the look on Aramis’s face, Joey knew that he was on the right track. “I bet that he’s the reason there are sewer rats aboveground.”
Parsifur gasped in realization. “Every emperor needs an army.”
Squirrelin looked at Aramis, like he was asking permission for something. Aramis sighed, then nodded and said, “Do what you must. Everyone but the girl.”
Instantly, Ratscalibur burned like a branding iron in Joey’s grip, and in a flash Joey knew what he had to do. Before the Squagician could even begin inflating, Joey poked him in the neck with the pointy ends of the spork. He didn’t even poke him very hard. Just enough to leave four little holes in the paper-thin skin . . .
Squirrelin started gulping air like before. His cheeks swelled a little. He gulped more . . . but now, before he could inflate, the air was leaking out through the holes in his neck. Ssssss. The tiny pink wizard grew scarlet with frustration. He kept trying to inhale faster and faster and faster, but still the air ran out: ssssssssssssssssss.
Sir Aramis ran to his partner’s side. “What . . .”—he turned to Joey—“what have you done?”
“Marvelous,” said Sir Parsifur. “But I think it’s time we left.” Brutilda hoisted the princess onto her back and moved toward the exit.
“Don’t even think it!” screamed Aramis, as he crouched by Squirrelin, frantically trying to plug holes. “There’s no escape. The park swarms with my Under-Realmers. Even now hundreds of them are climbing the rope to confront you.”
