Tank & Fizz

by Liam O'Donnell

  As we turned to make our getaway, there was a knock on the door.

  Principal Weaver picked her way across the webbing on the wall. “Like I told you, Mr. Snag is out. Mr. Zallin is in. It’s really not that difficult to understand, children.”

  Mr. Zallin lumbered into the room. He walked slowly, as if he had to really think about every step he took. Maybe he was nervous around Principal Weaver too.

  “Nice to meet you, kids,” Mr. Zallin said. His voice sounded like boulders crashing down a cliff. His fierce yellow eyes met each of ours. It was like he was memorizing our faces for a test. Then he broke into a wide smile. “You can call me Zal!”

  Zal wore a pair of blue grease-stained overalls and large work boots. Around his waist was a wide tool belt with many pockets. A different metal gadget poked out of each pocket.

  Tank’s eyes went wide at the sight of the flashing gizmos in Zal’s belt.

  “Is that a tronic biohammer?” she asked. Her hand reached out to the fat metal tweezers topped with a spinning jewel.

  “Yes, it is,” Zal said. He took the tool out of his belt to show Tank. “It’s very handy.”

  “Much more useful than those silly cleaning slimes.” Principal Weaver buzzed around her web like it was charged with electricity. “Zal will be a much better caretaker than Mr. Snag and his nasty beasts. I’m sure you will show him how helpful we are at Gravelmuck Elementary.”

  “Whatever you say, Principal Weaver,” I mumbled.

  I pulled Tank out of Weaver’s office before she could ask Zal more questions about his electro-bio whateverit-was. Halfway back to class, I yanked her to a stop.

  “You don’t really think Zal is a better caretaker than Mr. Snag. Do you?”

  She didn’t answer. This was bad. Tank was in a tool trance.

  “Tank, snap out of it!”

  “What?” She looked around the corridor like she’d woken from a dream. A happy dream with flashing lights and whirring gizmos. Her face darkened when she saw it was me who’d woken her from her dream. “Look, Fizz, maybe Zal isn’t such a bad guy after all. Machines are better than cleaning beasts—everyone knows that.”

  “What?” I lowered my voice so Weaver’s spies scurrying along the walls could not hear. “Have you forgotten about Mr. Snag? He’s stuck in jail and his slimes have vanished. We promised to get him out, remember?”

  “Sure, sure, whatever.” Her voice sounded distant. Then her eyes lit up. “Hey, I wonder if Zal would let me peek under the hood of his Clean-o-Tron XL. I bet it uses a quad-core, slick-injection motor. I haven’t seen one of those up close before.”

  She walked away muttering about circuits and biometric something-or-others.

  This was bad. First I’d lost our school caretaker. Was I losing my detective partner too?

  The rest of the day dragged like a legless zombie tied to a dump truck. History class oozed into drama, which limped into science and eventually crashed into math.

  And that’s where Mr. Mantle was setting a record for the most boring lesson ever. Old Tentacle-Face droned on about convex and acute angles. I never met an angle I thought was cute.

  Angles were on my mind though. Not the math kind of angles. Detective angles, reasons why someone commits a crime, filled my brain. Who let the slimes out? Why was Principal Weaver so quick to get rid of Mr. Snag and his cleaning beasts? She said she was saving money with Mr. Zallin. Did she ruin the poor ogre’s career to save a few bucks? And where did all the slimes go? No one had given us a straight answer on that one. Just like my math work, things weren’t adding up.

  The entire classroom started to shake.

  Dust dropped from the ceiling, desks clattered together, books bounced off shelves. Then the shaking stopped.

  “Everyone stay calm,” Mr. Mantle said. “It’s just Rockfall Mountain letting us know it’s here.” His tentacles danced a jig on his face. He was definitely struggling to stay calm.

  Considering that we lived underground in a mountain, tremors like this were not unusual. But usually the shaking wasn’t bad enough to knock stuff to the ground.

  High on the wall above the chalkboard, the PA speaker crackled to life.

  “ATTENTION! ATTENTION!” Principal Weaver’s shrill voice pierced the classroom. I settled into my seat, ready for another rambling message from our great leader. “Your attention, please! You may have noticed a slight shaking. Do not be alarmed. Our new caretaker, the wonderful Mr. Zallin, is running some tests on our heating system. That is the cause of the minor shaking. He tells me it will continue over the next few days. That is all.”

  The PA speaker let out a final, ear-splitting crackle and then went quiet. The entire class sat in silence for a moment. Silence, that is, except for the quiet drip of water. A river of clear liquid rolled from under the seats to the front of the class.

  “Oops,” Ranatha Allabara said, blushing. Blue-fin waterloks are 98 percent seawater, and she was leaking a good 20 percent of that all over the classroom floor. The tremor had torn the thin lining around her waist. She worked quickly at the tears with a sharp needle and thread. “Don’t worry—I can fix it.”

  Mr. Mantle peered at the puddle on the floor. “Yes, but who is going to fix the mess on my floor?”

  “We will,” I said. I grabbed Tank and had her on her feet before Mr. Mantle knew what was happening. “We’ll get a mop from Mr. Snag, er, I mean, Mr. Zallin. Be right back!”

  We were out the door and on our way to the basement before Mr. Mantle had time to give us permission.

  Tank stopped me at the top of the stairs.

  “Okay, when did Fizz Marlow become Helpful Goblin of the Month?”

  “When he realized he needed to see Mr. Snag’s office,” I said. “Everyone is ready to get rid of him and I want to know why.”

  “And you think we might find something in his office in the basement?”

  “It’s worth a shot. I also want to check on the slime cages he had down there. No one knows where those poor slimes went after they escaped. And, worse, no one cares.”

  The school basement was dark and empty. No sign of Zal and no sign of the slimes. Few kids liked coming down here, but I didn’t mind it. I liked dropping by to feed Mr. Snag’s slimes leftovers from my lunch. There’s something soothing about a green blob dissolving your unwanted slug-butter sandwich.

  A dim light glowed inside Mr. Snag’s office. Gloomy shadows filled the room.

  “Mr. Zallin?” I called out, but there was no answer.

  “Maybe he’s not here,” Tank said.

  “I’m glad I keep you around,” I said. That earned me a slap on the head.

  We crept into the room. It was a mess of open boxes waiting to be unpacked and tools waiting to be organized. In one corner sat a pile of Mr. Snag’s things. Books on caring for slimes, and red coveralls with the Guild of Cleaners crest, all tossed to one side. Just like Mr. Snag.

  Against the far wall stood a set of tall shelves packed with boxes, cables, wires and tools. But there was no sign of Zal.

  The shelf against the far wall shuddered. Fine dust drifted to the floor.

  “What was that?” Tank hissed.

  “Weaver’s spies?” I said. I didn’t believe it though. Mr. Snag didn’t like Weaver’s spider babies scurrying around down here. He kept the place cobweb free so they’d have no place to hide. Whatever shook the shelf, it wasn’t a spider.

  The shelf trembled again. Dust rained down from the shelves. It glittered in the dim light and drew me closer.

  “What are you doing?” Tank whispered, one foot out the doorway.

  I peered into the darkness behind the boxes on the shelf.

  “Fizz, be careful!” Tank hissed.

  At that moment, I was more curious than scared. Something was moving behind this shelf. I pulled on the shelf, but it didn’t budge.

  “It must be screwed to the wall,” I said.

  “Um, Fizz.” Tank’s eyes went wide. The blood drained from her warty
green skin. “Look at your hands.”

  My hands and clothes were covered in dust. That’s to be expected when you go rummaging around boxes in the school basement.

  “Relax, Tank,” I said to my worried friend. “I’ll wash my hands before lunch.”

  “You’d better not!” she snapped. “Take a closer look at the stuff.”

  I stepped into the light near the door and examined the dust. Immediately I wished I had stayed in the dark.

  Purple dust covered my fingers. The dust glittered and popped, like it was alive.

  Purple dust covered the floor in front of the shelf and many of the boxes in the small room. This much magic in one place could get the school shut down for a long time. Our mystery had just gotten magical. For a goblin detective, that is not a good thing.

  The Shadow Tower loomed over us like an angry gym teacher.

  “Coming here was a bad idea,” I said.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Tank snapped. “But it’s the only place Aleetha could meet us.”

  The thick obsidian walls of the School of Shadows circled the tall tower. Each stone was a perfectly carved square and darker than the bottom of Fang Harbor. Being so close to all this magic sent my tail twitching.

  Tank wasn’t happy either. Her hair had been standing on end since we trekked up here from school.

  “This place radiates magic,” she said. “My phone is going haywire.”

  “I’m surprised you got a message to Aleetha,” I said. “I thought mages couldn’t use technology.”

  Tank’s warty face split into a wide grin.

  “Sort of,” Tank said with a modest shrug of her shoulders. “It’s a work in progress. Right now, we can send short messages to each other. Being this close to so much magic is sending the protocol receivers into overload.”

  “Naturally,” I said. When Tank gets talking technical, it’s easier to just pretend you know what she’s talking about.

  At that moment, I was more concerned with how long this was taking. The light from the glowshrooms lining the path back into town was growing dim. It would be night soon. If I wasn’t home by the time the glowshrooms went dark, Mom would freak. A freaking mom is never a good thing.

  The Shadow Tower stretched upward, reaching the rock ceiling high above Slick City. Made of a single solid chunk of obsidian, the Shadow Tower had been a gift from the Mages of the Spire long ago when the first deposits of the black liquid known as slick were discovered below Fang Harbor. The mages knew the small village would grow to be the city it is today. As more and more machines were powered by slick instead of magic, many monsters thought the mages would go away. They did not. Over the years, a school of wizardry was built around the Shadow Tower. The dark mages within rarely ventured outside the tower. And that was just fine with the monsters of Slick City.

  From goblins to ogres and everything in between, monsters and magic did not get along. As a rule, monsters did not mess with magic. That way, magic did not mess with them. Why bother with the dangers of magic—getting blown up, turned into a toad and all that other nasty stuff—when you could just use technology? Good old slick-powered tech never failed. Okay, hardly ever failed. But at least you didn’t get banished to the Dark Depths because you pressed the wrong button on the TV remote.

  The wall at the base of the Shadow Tower shimmered yellow to form a small doorway. A dark shape stepped out from the glow.

  “Aleetha!” Tank dashed to the lava elf and hugged her so hard that she lifted her off the ground.

  “Great to see you too, Tank!” Aleetha said, struggling to breathe under the troll’s grip. “Try not to break anything.”

  Tank let her down with a thud.

  We hadn’t seen each other since the start of school. Aleetha had grown taller. She now wore the purple robes of a student of magic. It suited her fiery-orange skin and black hair. I could hardly believe that just last year she was in our class at Gravelmuck Elementary. At the end of the year, she went for her magic exams at the School of Shadows and passed them all. She was accepted with full honors and now spent her days and nights inside the university, learning to be a mage under the watchful gaze of the Shadow Tower and the wizards within.

  Personally, I’d rather pick skunk shells in the Tar Wastes north of the city than learn magic. But whatever waggles your tail, right?

  “I don’t have much time,” Aleetha said. “My enchantment class is starting soon.”

  “School in the evening?” Tank said.

  Aleetha smiled. “No rest for us wizards.”

  When she finished school, Aleetha would be licensed to practice magic. Considering what we had found in Mr. Snag’s office, she was the perfect person to answer our question.

  “Go on,” Tank said to me. “Show her.”

  “Even the chance of some answers is better than nothing,” Tank said. “Thanks, Aleetha.”

  The elf smiled. “Anything for my old detective partners.” The wall behind us shimmered yellow again.

  “That’s my signal,” Aleetha said. “I better not be late for class. Detention around here is not fun. Trust me.”

  I shivered at the thought of being at the mercy of a teacher with magic powers.

  Aleetha moved back to the glowing doorway she’d come through. She held up the jar of purple dust. “I’ll message you with the results, Tank.”

  She stepped into the yellow light and vanished. The wall became dark again. It was like she had never been there.

  The glowshrooms were nearly out. Hanging around a wizard school at night was not my idea of a good time, so I got my tail away from there as quickly as I could.

  We walked in silence, but my brain rang loudly with questions. Who would use magic at our school? What did that strange dust do? Why was that garbage truck following us?

  “Tank,” I said under my breath, “when is garbage pick-up day?”

  Behind us, a large garbage truck rumbled around the corner and stopped in the middle of the quiet street.

  “Not until next week. Why?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. The truck was close to us. A big, filthy, grumbling, smoke-spewing mass of machinery. I could see inside the front window. A hairy ogre sat in the driver’s seat. Staring at us.

  “I have a feeling we’re next on the pick-up schedule.”

  The garbage truck roared to life. It charged down the street toward us.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  Someone was hammering in my brain.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  That someone was my mom. But it wasn’t a hammer. It was a computer. All that clacking was the sound of inspiration. Mom was writing. I pictured her in the other room, staring at the computer screen, completely focused on her article for the newspaper.

  My detective brain went through the facts.

  And the weekend meant no school. Is there anything better than waking up to a day with no school?

  I pulled the covers back over my head. Time for more shut-eye. Detectives need a lot of sleep. But those runaway slimes were running laps around my brain.

  Whoever released the slimes had a key to the front door of the school. They knew where to find the slimes and how to lead them outside. Mr. Snag had both the key and the skill to lead slimes. I just couldn’t see him putting his beasts in that much danger. Where were the slimes? No one could answer that question either. The poor things were probably starving. I hoped that wherever they were, they had some dirt to chew on.

  And what was with Principal Weaver hauling us into her office? We didn’t do anything wrong. And now she was all buddy-buddy with Mr. Zallin, the new caretaker with the cleaning machines. Weaver’s sticky webs were wrapped up in this mystery somehow.

  Which left me wondering about the deranged garbage ogre from the night before. We had managed to outrun him, but I had a feeling we hadn’t seen the last of Mr. Ugly and his garbage truck. Who in the name of Rockfall Mountain was he? And why did he chase us?

  This mystery had more
questions than one of Mr. Mantle’s pop quizzes.

  My stomach grumbled, telling my brain to stop working so hard. I took its advice and stumbled into the kitchen to get some breakfast.

  Mom didn’t look up from her computer when I walked in. I figured she must be on a roll with the writing. I poured a bowl of Crunchy Critter cereal and plopped down beside her on the couch. She had her feet up on the coffee table, computer in her lap and mug of coffee steaming beside her. Full-on writer mode.

  “Did you know,” she announced without even taking her eyes from her computer screen, “that the Gremlin Gang has robbed six art galleries, museums and antique shops in the last six months?”

  “They have good taste,” I said, crunching sugary critters in my mouth.

  “They use their magic to get into banks and galleries,” she said.

  “I thought only elves used magic.”

  “Elves and demons from the Dark Depths, way down deep under the mountain. Apparently, gremlins are minor demons. They can perform lesser magic. Break machines, open locks, that type of thing. They’re ugly-looking too.”

  “That is Snatch Monsoon, the Gremlin Gang leader and a master of disguise. He’s wanted in five cities across Rockfall Mountain.” Mom paused to sip her coffee. “Last month, Snatch disguised himself as the owner of an art gallery in Lava Hills, not far from Slick City. He walked into the gallery and told the employees to pack all the paintings into the back of his truck. The real owner showed up an hour later to an empty gallery and a very confused group of employees.”

  “Gremlins get points for being creative,” I said.