There was a deep-throated croaking sound somewhere overhead. Spencer barely shut his eyes as an Extension Rubbish swooped down, a cloud of black soot issuing from its long beak. Spencer coughed on the grit. In his momentary blindness, he felt Dez suddenly lift away from him.
Spencer dragged himself along the carpet between two rows of chairs, the Sweeper potion clutched in his sweaty hand. Peering between chair legs, he checked on his friends.
One of the Extension Grimes had been destroyed. Its scaly armor was in a formless heap over a puddle of pale goo on the carpet. The dismounted Plugger was lying motionless beside his fallen Toxite.
Penny had just knocked another Plugger from his Filth saddle. Her razorblade flashed downward and severed the extension cord in a burst of magical sparks. The beast reared up, sensing its sudden freedom. With that realization came the animal instinct to hide. But a creature so large was not going to find a hiding spot easily.
The loose Filth charged, its armored head smashing into chairs. The thick horn on its mask impaled a music stand, and it thrashed wildly to lose the awkward accessory.
Spencer saw an opening and stumbled to his feet. Reaching behind his back, he dropped the vial of Sweeper potion safely into his janitorial belt pouch. He’d need both hands for this fight.
Spencer’s dad, Walter, and Penny were teaming up on the last Grime Plugger, but a woman on a Filth was trying to rout them. Spencer couldn’t see Dez anywhere, but he could hear his annoying voice, so he knew he wasn’t far.
It was Daisy who needed help. She stood alone near the back of the room, surrounded by a bunch of percussion instruments. The Extension Filth was hunkered nearby, its wet nostrils flaring like a nervous animal. And the Plugger who had been separated from his ride was moving on foot toward Daisy, a pushbroom in his hands.
As soon as Spencer moved to help her, the stray Filth charged in panic. Spencer saw it coming with just enough time to leap around the large bass drum and come shoulder to shoulder with his friend.
“Hi, Spencer,” Daisy said, releasing a shot of vanilla air freshener. There was a rending boom, and the bass drum split open. The Filth’s huge armored face ripped through the drumheads, desperate for a place to hide. Spencer fell back, the creature’s galvanized horn passing inches from his chest.
The Filth began to bellow and buck like a rodeo bull. The frame of the big drum was wrapped around its neck, and somehow one of its front legs had become entangled in the mess.
The dismounted Plugger backed away from the rabid beast. In the confusion, Spencer saw Director Garcia cutting across the room toward Alan. Spencer acted quickly, his mop strings flicking out and catching Garcia around the middle. The man went down, and a flip of the handle caused the mop strings to retract, dragging the director toward Spencer.
Before Garcia could recover, Spencer pounced. His knee came down hard on Director Garcia’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. Spencer jerked at the director’s suit coat. He and his dad had found Holga there once before, just before they threw Garcia into the dumpster prison. It would be different this time. If Spencer found the bronze hammer, he intended to keep it.
Daisy squared off against the other man, trying to buy time for the search. Spencer couldn’t keep Garcia down for long. The director gasped for breath and heaved the boy aside.
On hands and knees, Director Garcia began to scurry away, always avoiding a fight. He might have escaped if Daisy hadn’t bumped into the crash cymbals. The round pieces of metal toppled to the floor with a deafening sound. The sharp edge of one cymbal caught Garcia across the side of the head and he collapsed, hair matting with blood.
Daisy gasped when she saw what she’d done.
“Perfect timing on the crash cymbals, Daisy!” Spencer said.
“I’m not even in the band!” Daisy answered. “I didn’t crash them on purpose!”
“That’s okay,” said Spencer, “the kids in the band never do either.”
Spencer rolled Director Garcia onto his side. The man was breathing but seemed completely dazed. Before Spencer could complete his search, Dez’s voice rasped out from overhead.
“Up here, you chumps! Help me out!”
Spencer’s eyes turned toward the high ceiling of the band room. Dez dangled from the armored talons of a giant Rubbish. The Plugger leaned in the saddle, keeping his creature balanced in midair.
Spencer grunted in frustration. Then he turned to Daisy. “Find Holga before Garcia wakes up!”
She plastered the dismounted Plugger with a dose of vacuum dust and dropped down to finish the search for Director Garcia’s bronze hammer.
Spencer backed up, his hand reaching into his janitorial belt. Dez was weaponless, but Spencer knew just the tool that would do the trick. As the Plugger winged around, setting a course to smash Dez against the wall, Spencer shouted the bully’s name and tossed the weapon into the air.
It was the small handle of a razorblade. Spencer didn’t have to explain how to use it. Dez must have seen one before. The bully caught the handle and pushed the button with his thumb. A long, double-edged blade extended, ten times the length of the little handle. The sharp tip pierced past plates of armor and stabbed into the hairy belly of the Rubbish. The wound gushed black dust.
The Rubbish made a horrendous shrieking sound and the talons released Dez. Leaving the razorblade embedded in the Rubbish’s gut, the big kid dropped heavily. He smashed through the drumhead of the nearest timpani and came to rest lying cradled in the big kettledrum.
The injured Rubbish made a final desperate swoop for Spencer. At the last moment, he ducked under the xylophone. The reinforced claws clinked along the bars, scraping out an ugly scale. Spencer felt flakes of disintegrating Toxite filter down on him through the gaps in the xylophone bars. He could see the handle of the razorblade wedged between two plates of armor, piercing the creature’s belly.
Spencer quickly reached between the broken xylophone bars, and, seizing the handle of the razorblade, he twisted sharply. The damage was too much for the huge Rubbish. Its leathery wings flailed, scraping an eerie glissando across the instrument. Its body spasmed, and it leapt into the air.
The Plugger felt his bird breaking apart and tried to bail from the saddle. But the Toxite’s final burst of energy was too strong, and the rider hit the wall with bone-breaking force.
Daisy leapt to her feet, a triumphant grin on her face. “I found Holga!” she shouted, holding the bronze hammer aloft.
Spencer glanced around the room nervously, but no one seemed to be able to devote any attention to Daisy’s announcement. The riderless Filth that had tangled itself in the bass drum was gone. The Rebels had killed the other Grime, and its rider was incapacitated. Alan and Walter were flanking the final Filth Plugger while Penny went hand to hand with a BEM woman.
“This way, Daisy!” Spencer grabbed her by the arm. In a second, the two kids were kneeling at the back wall, Dez climbing out of the timpani.
“Let me do it,” he said, elbowing between them.
“No way!” Spencer shoved him away. “Go ahead, Daisy.”
Spencer was relieved to have his friend pull the nail. It would have been complicated for him to try resisting the bronze visions while holding Holga. The removal process was simple. Nothing would happen to Daisy. She wouldn’t even have to exert herself since the magic of the hammer would draw the nail out of the wall. Spencer had done it a few times before. But he had taken it one step further when he had pounded Ninfa’s bronze nail into the School Board. That had brought a serious side effect, introducing Glop into his bloodstream and turning him into an Auran.
Daisy pressed the hammer against the flat head of the bronze nail. Immediately, a burst of golden light formed between the two objects. Daisy pulled back, magically plucking the ancient nail from its place in the wall.
The small object fell to the ground, and Dez snatched it. “This is what you guys came for, right?” He rolled the nail between his stout fingers. “Now, how do we get
out of here?”
Daisy had clipped the squeegee into her janitorial belt. But it was useless now anyway, since both squeegees were in the same room and no one was back at Welcher to complete the portal.
Spencer held out his hand, acting as if Dez would fork over the nail without an argument. “You can’t be trusted with it,” he said.
“You chumps still think I’m a bad guy?” Dez did his best to look shocked. “The whole reason I left you guys was so I could get some cool stuff from the BEM and then betray them.”
“Wait a minute,” Daisy said. “You betrayed us so you could betray them?”
“Duh,” Dez said. “It’s called a double cross.”
“I can do those with a jump rope,” Daisy said.
Alan suddenly ducked over to the kids, his eyes quickly finding the bronze nail in Dez’s hand and the hammer in Daisy’s. He nodded in approval, taking both items before Dez could protest.
“This way,” Alan said. Walter and Penny had succeeded in clearing a path to the doorway of the band room.
Spencer took one final glance at Director Garcia. The man was finally stirring, a hand pressed to the injured side of his head. He was still a warlock, but without the hammer and nail, Garcia was useless.
“It is over!” Director Garcia managed, his hand outstretched. “You will not escape.” There was a current of panic in his voice that caused Spencer to stop. “He is here.”
Spencer didn’t have to ask who Garcia was referring to. It was Mr. Clean. It was always Mr. Clean, standing on the sidelines and controlling everything.
“He will kill you,” Director Garcia said. “And he will kill me for my failures.”
Daisy tugged on Spencer’s arm, reminding him of the urgency of their escape. Spencer didn’t look back at Garcia. He was a villain, and whatever fate awaited him would be the result of his own dark choices.
Spencer and Daisy ducked out the doorway and into the dim hallway, leaving Director Carlos Garcia broken and powerless on the band room floor.
Chapter 10
“No whiff from me.”
The Rebels burst out of the Arts Building and into the cool night. They paused in the lamplight, scanning the area for enemies as Walter searched for something on his janitorial belt.
“How are we getting out of here?” Spencer whispered to his dad. With both Glopified squeegees in once place, there was no way to make a portal back to Welcher. Spencer knew from his time at New Forest Academy that the private school was sequestered several miles up a canyon road. Going on foot could take them all night.
“Walter had a backup plan in position,” Alan whispered. “In case things didn’t work out with . . .” He didn’t say Dez’s name, but Spencer saw his dad’s eyes flick over to the kid. It had been risky to use Dez in the first place. Spencer still hadn’t decided if the risk was worth it. Dez had double-crossed the BEM and helped the Rebels find Holga and the nail, but what was he really up to?
The old warlock unclipped a walkie-talkie radio from his belt. A slight trace of magic shimmered around the device as he whispered into it; the radio was clearly Glopified. Spencer wondered who Walter was contacting, until a familiar voice crackled through the speaker in response.
“Dr. Bernard Weizmann, at your service.”
Daisy shot Spencer an excited glance. They hadn’t seen the garbologist since their adventure into the Auran landfill two months ago. He was an odd man, with a tweed jacket, duct-tape necktie, and rubber boots. But, most important, he was a trusted Rebel, which was hard to come by these days.
“I’m in the parking lot,” Bernard’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. “But you might want to hurry. I think I’ve been detected.” There was a loud sound that caused the radio speaker to pop. “Scratch that,” Bernard said. “I know I’ve been detected!”
Walter clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt and took off at a run. The group didn’t pause again until they stood at the base of the Academy’s outer wall. Then, one by one, they unclipped their brooms and drifted to the top of the wall.
Balancing there, staring down into the parking lot with Daisy by his side, Spencer was suddenly reminded of his week at New Forest Academy. They had spied on Slick from this same vantage point. So much had happened since then, and Slick seemed weak compared to their more recent enemies.
Idling in the center of the parking lot was Bernard’s garbage truck. Technically, the truck was Rho’s, but Bernard had commandeered it when they left the landfill. Since then, he had been driving it around the country, doing whatever garbologists did. It was a sturdy vehicle, and the Aurans had reinforced it with many Glopified enhancements: puncture-proof tires, unbreakable glass, and an engine that could run forever without gasoline.
But even these extra security features didn’t stop Bernard’s garbage truck from getting surrounded. From high upon the brick wall, Spencer counted eight figures stationed around the vehicle. Several were hammering on the cab’s glass, and Spencer knew by the eerie, inhuman way that they moved—these were Sweepers.
“It’s Mr. Clean,” Spencer whispered. He couldn’t tell which of the Sweepers below was the warlock, but he knew. Garcia had said that Clean would be there any moment. But even more than that, Spencer’s Auran sense seemed to tell him that the BEM warlock was nearby.
“Yeah,” Dez said, squinting. “I think that’s him by the front of the truck. Hard to tell from up here.”
“You know Clean?” Spencer asked.
Dez shrugged. “He stops into the Academy sometimes. I’ve seen him around. He likes to yell at Garcia.”
“We’ll have to find another way out,” Walter muttered.
Spencer didn’t like what he was hearing, and Daisy voiced his concern. “What about Bernard?”
“He knew the risks,” said Walter. “The BEM will hold him alive for questioning. Let’s make for the trees.”
“Wait,” Dez said. “Why aren’t we going down there to fight those guys?”
Penny shook her head. “Eight Sweepers, one of them Mr. Clean. They’d tear us apart.”
“Not if I go down first,” Dez said.
Spencer couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Oh, please,” he said. “We’re supposed to believe that you’re some kind of amazing fighter now?”
“I’m not going to fight them,” Dez said. “I’m going to tell them that Garcia has you all captured inside.”
“But that’s not true,” Daisy pointed out.
“Duh,” said Dez. “It’s called deception.”
“That’s a pretty big word for you,” Spencer said.
Dez grinned, taking it as a compliment. “I learned it at the Academy.”
To Spencer’s horror, Walter began to nod. “It might actually work,” the warlock muttered.
“No way!” Spencer said. “He just admitted that he learned deception at the Academy! Remember, this is the same kid that double-crossed us. What if he does it again?”
“Would that make it a triple cross or a quadruple cross?” Daisy asked.
“Let me do this,” Dez said. “I’ll prove that I’m really on your side.”
“I don’t know,” Penny finally said. “I don’t like the idea of having him down there without any way of knowing what he’s telling Mr. Clean.”
Alan drew Garcia’s bronze hammer from a pouch on his janitorial belt. His eyes turned to Spencer. “Could you use Holga?” He offered the hammer to his son. “If Mr. Clean is down there, then you’ll be able to see through him, right?” Alan asked.
Spencer nodded, realizing what his dad was suggesting. “I’ll be watching you, Dez,” Spencer said. “If I even catch a whiff of betrayal, I’m breaking off the vision and we’re leaving you behind.”
“No whiff from me,” Dez answered. “I didn’t eat the refried beans at lunch.” Then he launched himself from the top of the wall, using a broom to drift down toward the Sweepers and the garbage truck.
When one of the Sweepers raised a cry of alarm, Spencer reached out and g
rabbed the handle of Holga, pulling the hammer from his dad’s grasp.
The night bleached, and when his vision returned, Spencer was seeing through Mr. Clean’s eyes. The large warlock turned away from the garbage truck, his gaze instantly finding Dez’s silhouette in the moonlight.
Dez touched down on the blacktop and released a hiss of vanilla air freshener to combat any Sweeper breath. Dez was really only susceptible to Rubbish breath, so Mr. Clean’s Grime-human mix wouldn’t be a problem. Still, Spencer was surprised by Dez’s precautions as Mr. Clean moved to greet him.
“What are you doing here, boy?” The warlock’s voice was rich and deep as the words rolled off his snakelike tongue.
Dez’s eyes were downcast and he didn’t look up when he spoke. “Garcia sent me to find you. Wants to know why you’re late.”
“He’s in a hurry to see me?” Mr. Clean asked.
Dez shrugged. “He’s got the Rebels cornered in the band room. He’s just waiting for you to tell him what to do.”
Mr. Clean began to pace slowly around Dez while the boy fidgeted under his gaze. “Fool, Garcia,” Clean said. “He has the Rebels in his clutches and he sends a child to find me.” He finished his circle and stopped in front of Dez. His voice was low and his words slow. “Are you sure the Rebels have been captured?”
As a silent observer, Spencer felt his heartbeat quicken. There was a lot of pressure on Dez, and his “deception” didn’t appear to be going smoothly.
“Well, yeah.” Dez was trying to sound nonchalant, but Spencer could hear the tension in his voice. “That’s why Garcia sent me out here.”
Mr. Clean paused for a moment. “Work with me honestly, and I can give you anything you like,” he said. “Lie to me, and I shall be very upset.” He bent down until his face was close to Dez’s. Even through the warlock’s eyes, Spencer could see the thick tongue curling out. “Does Garcia really have the Rebels?”
Dez stood petrified in the BEM warlock’s gaze. High upon the brick wall, Spencer held his breath, preparing to sever his connection with Holga and tell the Rebels to retreat.
Strike of the Sweepers Page 5
