Hyacinth and the Secrets Beneath

by Jacob Sager Weinstein

  It would be crazy to try the same thing now. Who knew how much this giant mosquito-headed thing could suck up of whatever it was sucking?

  But it was the only idea I had, and somehow I knew that if I didn’t try it, I’d never have another idea again. So I tightened my muscles, just like Aunt Rainey had done. Having a giant mosquito in my arm had been disgusting enough, but holding it there added a whole other layer of yuck.

  Fortunately, he didn’t look like he was enjoying it, either. He tried to jerk back, but he was stuck. He tried to say something—probably to call for help—but the only thing that came out was a little suffocated gurgle.

  My knees started to buckle, but I could see him getting more and more panicked. I don’t have to last forever, I thought. I just have to last longer than him. It was just a question of willpower. And now that he had sucked out all my imagination, willpower was all I had left.

  His forehead was starting to bulge. At first, it was a little bump the size of a pea, but it was growing.

  All around me, the room was fading. If Backwards Head hadn’t been holding me so tightly, I would have collapsed.

  The bump in Geoffrey Noctofimus’s head was now the size of a quarter. Then a hockey puck. And suddenly, his whole head puffed up like a blowfish, and then his arms and his legs and his shoulders did, too. The other prisoners finally realized something was wrong—I could hear them shouting, but everything sounded very far away to me.

  And then Geoffrey Noctofimus exploded. Bits of mosquito brain and burning tuxedo went everywhere as an enormous ball of flame erupted out of his head and the rest of his body collapsed onto the floor.

  The force of the explosion knocked Backwards Head backwards. Or maybe it knocked him forwards, depending on which way you looked at it. Either way, I went with him. As he slammed into the ground, his arms flung open, and I rolled free.

  Meanwhile, the ball of flame that had exploded out of Geoffrey Noctofimus was zipping around the room as if looking for something. Then it spotted me and dove into my chest. I was ready to scream again, but as soon as it touched me, I realized it wasn’t going to hurt me. It was whatever Geoffrey Noctofimus had stolen from me. It melted into me gently, and I felt all the color in the world flooding back.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Then all the other prisoners let out an angry roar and began yanking on their chains with obvious fury. Their handcuffs were not going to last much longer.

  Behind me, I heard the cell door open. “Inspector Sands!” I cried, spinning around. “Thank God you—”

  But it wasn’t Inspector Sands who was standing there grinning at me.

  “Well, well, well. Soak me in sack!” said Longface Lucky. “I told you as we’d find the young lady, didn’t I? Dead or alive.”

  “It looks like she’s the second possibility, and very soon going to be the first one, if you see what I mean,” said Richard the Raker.

  The two toshers were wearing clean white trousers and clean white shirts instead of the dirty jackets I had last seen them in, but I didn’t have long to wonder at the change.

  From all around the cell, I heard a series of sharp snaps that could only be one thing: chains breaking.

  Under the circumstances, there wasn’t much of a choice. I leapt through the door and slammed it behind me.

  Richard the Raker grabbed my arm. I shook it off. “You guys know how to get out of here. I don’t. I promise: until we get out of here, I’m sticking with you.”

  That satisfied Richard, but not Longface Lucky. “And as to after we gets out? Making any promises as to that?”

  I bit my lip. I wasn’t going to make any promises I couldn’t keep. Unfortunately, my silence gave them all the information they needed. They each grabbed an arm and began dragging me down the corridor.

  I didn’t fight them. I figured I’d save my energy for when it counted.

  “Where’s Newfangled Troy?” I asked, as casually as I could ask anything while being dragged along a corridor.

  Richard snorted angrily. “That lying laystall? We’re well shot of him.”

  The toshers dragged me through a series of fluorescent-lit corridors with the same confidence they had displayed in the sewers. I wondered whether they just had a particularly good sense of direction, or if they had been here before.

  The corridors grew more and more modern, with peeling white paint replacing stone walls, and faded linoleum replacing stone floors. We went through a set of swinging doors. This corridor didn’t look any different to me, but Richard and Longface relaxed a little. “Nearly home free now,” said Longface Lucky.

  We turned another corner and found ourselves in the midst of the most bizarre creatures I had seen in ages.

  Then I blinked, and I realized why they seemed so strange: they were completely normal. They were just ordinary people, with no horns, and with heads pointing the usual way on their necks. They were wearing clothes that hadn’t been ripped to shreds by rats or soaked for hours in sewer water.

  I had never felt more out of place in my life.

  I was about to call to them for help when I saw what they were doing. They were sorting (non-glowing) mail into (non-magical-looking) carts. That meant they worked for the Royal Mail. I didn’t know if that put them in league with the Saltpetre Men, but I couldn’t risk it.

  Fortunately, the magical alarm didn’t seem to penetrate into this part of the facility. The workers ignored us as the toshers hurried me through the room, down a series of corridors, and out a door.

  At long last, I was outside in daylight. In a moment, I would need to think about escaping, and then finding Lady Roslyn and my mom. But I gave myself a few seconds to take a deep breath and enjoy the sunlight on my face, and to gather my energy for my escape.

  “Now then, missy,” said Longface Lucky. “We’ve got us a buyer as we needs to see.”

  “A buyer? For what?” I asked.

  They looked at me greedily, and I suddenly remembered I was a tosheroon.

  Okay. Energy gathered. Time for that escape.

  I yanked my arms out from their hands and ran.

  I made it a full two steps away before Richard the Raker tackled me. While he sat on me, Longface Lucky tied my wrists together.

  He hailed a passing taxi. Richard heaved me up and threw me into the back of it.

  “Sixty-eight Belsize Square,” Longface told the driver.

  “Ignore him!” I said. “These men are kidnapping me. Take us to the police.”

  “Ignore her,” Longface said calmly. “This poor unfortunate lass ain’t right in the head-like. She threw herself into the sewers, if you can believe such a thing. We’re taking her back to the embrace of her family, which waits for her loving-like, at the address as what I gave you.”

  The driver looked at me in his rearview mirror. I could see his eyes taking in my filthy clothes. He sniffed, and I could imagine what I must have smelled like.

  I realized why the toshers had dressed in white uniforms. They looked like orderlies from an insane asylum.

  The driver nodded and focused his attention back on the road.

  “I’m not crazy!” I yelled at him. “I’m not!”

  Maybe that wasn’t helping my case.

  I struggled furiously with the ropes around my wrists, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Don’t you worry none,” said Longface Lucky. “The doctor as we’re taking you to, he’s going to fix you up, real special-like.”

  “You isn’t going to have no complaints, never again, and that’s the verulam,” said Richard the Raker.

  I still hadn’t managed to get anywhere with the ropes around my wrists. Time to try a different approach. “Whoever this buyer is, I hope you’re getting a good price for me.”

  “Oh, we’ll be swimming in sausage. Don’t you worry none,” said Longface Lucky.

  “Because if I was selling something valuable, I’d make sure I knew exactly what it was and what it could do, just so I didn’t g
et cheated.”

  “Oh, we knows enough,” said Richard the Raker. “We knows you keep turning up in significant places, and we know you wielded Bazalgette’s Trowel, which means as your bloodline must be—”

  Longface Lucky glared at him. “Phsh! Can’t you see she’s pumping you for knowledge? Shut your gob.”

  “Yes, Richard, listen to Lucky. He’s obviously the brains of the operation.”

  Longface chuckled. “This little lady knows what’s what.”

  I kept my eyes on Richard. “The problem is, the brain counts the money. And he what counts—I mean, he who counts the money gets to count it however he wants.”

  Longface wasn’t chuckling anymore. “I don’t like as you’re implying.”

  “You want me to shut my gob, too, is that it?”

  “Right you is.”

  I nodded. “Hmm. Interesting. Well, Richard, Longface obviously doesn’t want you to hear what I have to say, so I suppose I’d better shut up.”

  Richard’s big eyes narrowed. “Now, just a minute, Longface Lucky. I don’t see as how it’s your leather if this girl wants to bring something to my attention.”

  I had to phrase what I said next very carefully. I couldn’t lie outright, because for all I knew, I still had some river water in my lungs. “Gosh, Richard,” I said. “Do you think Longface Lucky might have had some secret deal with Newfangled Troy?”

  “That’s preposterous!” Longface spluttered. “If you’re saying I’d slice up a deal with that—”

  “Oh, I’m not saying that! Not at all! But now that you mention it, if you did want to squeeze Richard out of his fair share, that would have been the perfect plan. Troy could pretend to steal Bazalgette’s Trowel, you could let him get away, and then at some point, you could ditch Richard and meet up with Troy and split the cash.”

  “You shut up, young lady—”

  “I notice you’re not denying it,” I interrupted.

  “Hey!” Richard said. “Why isn’t you denying it, Longface?”

  “Fine!” Longface said. “I hereby—”

  I couldn’t afford to let him finish. “Yeah, Longface, why aren’t you denying it?”

  “I’m trying, but you keep—”

  “You sure are taking your time with it.”

  “No, you’re—”

  “I don’t think he’s going to deny it,” I told Richard. “I think he’s going— What did you call it when Lady Roslyn did it? I think he’s going around the glasshouse.”

  Richard was turning bright red with fury. “Is you pulling a glasshouse on me, Longface?”

  Longface looked just as angry. “If you’d let me finish-like—”

  “Yes, let him finish, Richard! Let him use that silver tongue of his to convince you of anything he wants! That’s what he always does, isn’t it?”

  “It is!” Richard bellowed. “By God, it is!”

  Richard jumped for Longface.

  Which was exactly what I had been hoping would happen, but there was a flaw in my plan: starting a fistfight between two large, angry men probably would have been a better idea if I hadn’t been sitting between them in the back of a taxicab.

  I tried to duck out of the way of their flying fists, but my hands were still tied behind my back, and I didn’t exactly have a lot of room to maneuver. I’d say I took one punch for every three that either of them took.

  Fortunately, they both got tired of hitting pretty quickly and moved on to choking each other. This didn’t last long, either, because Longface Lucky’s neck was as thick as his face was long, which is a pretty big advantage in a choking contest. Within moments, Richard’s round face had turned bright purple, and his eyes were wobbling, and he had loosened his grip on Longface’s neck. One hand still choking Richard, Longface swung open the door with his other. He shoved Richard onto the pavement.

  Then he slammed the door and turned to me. “Our client was a-willing to pay more for you if you was alive, but I’m thinking the dosh ain’t worth the dolors.” He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and flicked it open.

  Before he could use it, the cab screeched to a stop. Longface and I both looked up in surprise as the driver hopped out of the front and swung open the rear door. “I believe we’ve arrived at your destination, sir.”

  Longface and I both looked out. We had pulled over in the middle of Blackfriars Bridge. “Is you daft?” Longface said. “This ain’t where I’m getting out.”

  “Oh, I think it is, sir,” the cabdriver said, and for the first time, he bent down far enough that we could see his face. We both recognized him at once.

  “Newfangled Troy?” shouted Longface Lucky. “What the dickens is—” Before he could finish the question, Troy placed one hand on Lucky’s collar and one on his trousers and chucked him out of the cab. Lucky landed on a small piece of metal jutting out of the side of the bridge and dangled there high above the water, futiley flailing.

  All I could do was stare. “What are you—how did you—why—”

  “Tell you what,” Newfangled Troy said as he worked the knots around my wrists loose. “If you’ll just trust me, I’ll take you someplace where you can get some answers. Willing to put yourself in my hands?”

  “Sure,” I said, but only because this was the second time he had saved me, which proved he was trustworthy. My willingness to go with him had absolutely nothing to do with how cute he looked, especially now that he was all cleaned up and smelling even better.

  Troy got back into the driver’s seat and pulled away. I had so many questions to ask, I couldn’t possibly choose, so I picked one pretty much at random.

  “Are you old enough to get a license?” I asked.

  “You don’t need a license if you never get pulled over,” he said.

  “And what happened to your accent?” I asked.

  Troy grinned and suddenly switched back to the thick, growly voice he had used when I met him: “What, you means, why ain’t I talking all tosher-like?” Then he switched back to what I guessed was his London cabbie accent. “Sometimes you’ve got to hold down more than one job to make ends meet. And some jobs are easier to get if you talk the talk.”

  “But which one is your real voice?”

  “They’re both my real voice,” he said. “I speak a lot of different languages.” Then, in a pretty good imitation of my accent, he added, “I’m even learning American. How am I doing?”

  “Sounds like you’ve been paying attention to me.”

  “Maybe I have.” He laughed.

  He turned off the main road, and we found ourselves on an underground road. Not a mysterious magical underground road—just an ordinary road running through a wide tunnel. Troy pulled up on the side of it, and we got out. He gestured to a little green shack tucked off to one side, next to a dingy pile of cardboard boxes. “A fine restaurant, exclusively for cabdrivers and their honored guests. After you.”

  I stepped through the door, followed by Troy. It was even dimmer inside than it was outside, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I could see a small room, as narrow as a Tube car, with a tiny kitchen, a counter, and three tables squeezed in.

  And in the back, behind one of the tables, sat Little Ben and Oaroboarus.

  Troy nodded at them cheerfully, then held out his hand, palm up. “I believe you said something about cash on delivery?” he said.

  I stared at him. “They paid you to bring me to them?”

  “I told you. Sometimes you’ve got to hold down more than one job to make ends meet.”

  Little Ben handed him a bulging envelope. Troy opened it up and riffled through the bundle of bills inside. “Looks right to me. A pleasure doing business with you.” He turned towards the door.

  “And now you’re just leaving me with Little Ben? After you told me to put myself in your hands?” An unpleasant thought occurred to me. “Wait a minute. Was that like with Bazalgette’s Trowel, where it was worth more if I gave it to you? Did you get more for me because I c
ame willingly?”

  Troy winked at me, which I did not consider a satisfactory answer. Then he slipped out the door and was gone.

  That lying laystall, I thought. I turned back to Little Ben. “What’s to stop me from running out that door myself?”

  “Wow, gosh, I guess nothing,” Little Ben said. “Except maybe it would be kind of rude? Because I just paid Troy all the money I had to rescue you. Oh, but I saved enough to buy you a sandwich! And some tea!”

  Oaroboarus rooted around in his pouch for a moment, then, one by one, threw a few cards onto the edge of the table.

  “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

  “Because the sandwiches here are pretty good?” Little Ben said.

  “But…,” I said. “But you’re some kind of evil wizard or something.”

  There were a lot of different ways I might have imagined somebody would react to being called an evil wizard. But I wouldn’t have expected the one Little Ben actually chose. He got a big smile on his face and started bouncing excitedly on his chair, like I had just told him it was his birthday. “Really? I am? That’s pretty cool! I mean, I wouldn’t like being evil, but I could reform. And then I’d still be a wizard!”

  “I’m not speculating. I know you’re evil. I sensed it!”

  “Is that why you ran away the other time? You kind of hurt my feelings.”

  “I hurt your feelings?? I could sense your malice, deep in my bones.”

  Once again, he didn’t react the way I expected. “Ooooh, cool! But wait. Why aren’t you running away now? I should be just as evil as last time, right?”

  He kind of had a point there. After the initial shock of seeing him and Oaroboarus had worn off, I wasn’t feeling particularly frightened. He just seemed like an ordinary eleven-year-old boy. Or, at least, an ordinary eleven-year-old boy sitting next to an ordinary giant pig in a bathing suit.