“Lucky shot,” the clown said. “There’s still five more.”
THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! In rapid succession, the daggers hit their marks spot-on! Warren wanted to let out a cheer, but he dared not make a noise, lest it distract Chef.
“Just one more!” Petula whispered, clinging to Warren’s arm.
“Hmph,” the clown grunted. “This is too easy!” He stepped up to the bull’s-eye and gave it a push. It began to spin like a wheel, and Beatrice along with it.
“That’s not fair!” Petula cried. “How is he supposed to know where to aim?”
“Don’t you worry,” Chef said reassuringly. “I have more senses than sight alone!”
He licked his finger and tested the air, then sniffed a couple whiffs with his bulbous nose. Warren had no clue how this might help him land the dagger, but who was he to question Chef’s ways?
WHOOSH! The final dagger flipped through the air in a blur and seemed as though it was headed right for Beatrice’s face. THUNK! But Chef’s timing was perfect—the dagger hit the mark just above her head.
“Impossible!” snarled the clown.
“Remarkable!” cried Mr. Vanderbelly.
The sound of machinery whirred to life when the dagger hit its final mark, and the bull’s-eye swung away, revealing another passage.
“Let’s move on!” Warren said, helping Petula undo Beatrice’s straps.
“No! You can’t proceed!” the clown cried, leaping in front of the doorway. “The ringleader will have my head!”
“We passed the test fair and square!” Chef Bunion said. “Get out of the way!”
“I won’t let you pass!” The clown let out a sharp whistle, and in burst several acrobatic fire-dancers, twirling batons of flame.
Chef wrestled the clown away from the exit as Beatrice leaped forward to spar with the acrobats, flipping and dodging streaks of fire as she kicked the legs out from beneath them.
“Go on!” Chef yelled to Warren. “We’ll hold them off!”
Warren nodded. He felt a little uneasy leaving his friends behind, but he knew they could handle anything. The sound of cheering grew louder as Warren, Petula, and Mr. Vanderbelly raced into the next room.
“Sounds like we’re getting closer!” Petula said.
This new space appeared empty, save for a small stage at the far end.
“The coast is clear,” Warren said. “Hurry!”
They ran across the room toward the exit, but just as they passed the stage, a spotlight flicked on and a loud voice proclaimed: “Step right up! Step right up! You’re about to witness the most bizarre, the most grotesque, the most SHOCKING sideshow attraction you’ve ever seen!”
Despite themselves, Warren and the others stopped to stare as the curtain parted and a burly man in a lumberjack outfit stepped onto the stage. His golden beard caught the light strangely. In fact, it seemed to be moving.
Warren squinted. What the—?
“Bees!” he realized with horror.
“That’s right!” the voice continued. “It’s the infamous Man with the Beard of Bees! Formerly a lumberjack from the Malwoods, Mr. Bee Beard made the grave mistake of destroying a hive while chopping down a tree. He has since been doomed to use his own face as their nest—or risk their wrath!”
“It’s been twenty years,” said Mr. Bee Beard in a gravelly voice. “I can barely remember the look o’ my own face. My wife screamed and turned me away. Even my own mother wouldn’t take me in. So I roamed the forests and the mountains, hungry and lost, till I found my home in this here sideshow.”
“That’s awful,” Warren said, feeling genuinely moved.
“One good thing about having a beard of bees is having a thousand friends at all times,” the man continued. “I tell ’em my secrets. I teach ’em tricks.”
“Well, that’s nice?” Warren agreed.
“I trained my bees well. They respect me and follow my commands.”
“Err…good?” Warren said. “Anyhow, it was lovely meeting you, but we must be on our way. Good luck with your, uh, beard!”
Warren, Petula, and Mr. Vanderbelly moved on to the exit, only to find it locked with a padlock.
“Drat!” Warren cried. “Not another lock!”
“No worries! I can melt this with a fireball,” Petula said. “It’ll just take a minute.”
A flame emerged from the tip of her finger and she set to work, engulfing the lock in a flame.
“I’m afraid my bees and I cannot allow that!” Mr. Bee Beard yelled from the stage. “SIC ’EM!”
There was a loud humming noise as the bees moved in a swarm away from the man’s face.
“Oh, no!” Warren cried, hearing them buzzing angrily. He looked around for someplace to hide, but there was no refuge from the impending attack. Surely they’d be stung to death!
“Fear not!” Mr. Vanderbelly announced valiantly. “I once wrote an article all about bees, I know their weakness!”
“You what?” Warren exclaimed as Mr. Vanderbelly leaped into action. He tore several sheets of paper from his notebook, curled them into a cone, and waved them in front of Petula’s flame until they caught fire.
“What are you doing?” Petula yelled.
“Just worry about that lock!” Mr. Vanderbelly said. “I’ll hold off those pesky bees!”
Warren watched in astonishment as Mr. Vanderbelly waved the flaming paper cone in the air. Almost instantly, the cloud of bees faltered, appearing dazed as smoke from the fire wafted about them. They buzzed in confused circles, knocking into the walls and ceiling.
“My bees!” Mr. Bee Beard cried in horror. “What are you doing to them? Stop it!”
“Smoke,” Mr. Vanderbelly explained. “It relaxes them.”
THUNK! At last, the molten padlock fell to the floor. “It’s open!” Petula announced.
“Come on!” Warren yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”
“You go on ahead!” Mr. Vanderbelly said. “If I stop smoking the bees, they’ll be twice as angry and chase us for miles!”
“Are you sure?” Warren said, shocked at Mr. Vanderbelly’s sudden show of selflessness.
“I can handle it! Go on!”
“Thanks!” Warren said, and then he followed Petula out the door. This was a side of the journalist he hadn’t seen until now, and he rather liked it.
arren and Petula emerged from the chaos and stepped into a new room. It was dimly lit and wavered with soothing blue light that reflected off a lazy, artificial river, which snaked its way from one end of the room to the other, disappearing into a tunnel twinkling with fairy lights. Overhead, a banner in curly script read: “Tunnel of Love.” Upon the water was a series of vacant swan-shaped boats, slowly drifting along the current in a row. One by one, they disappeared into the tunnel as a sappy melody crackled over a speaker.
Warren and Petula said in unison.
“Looks like there’s only one way forward,” Petula said, gesturing toward one of the boats.
Warren hopped in, then helped Petula in after him. They both sighed wearily as the boat drifted toward the tunnel at a gentle pace. It felt good to rest their feet after so much activity. Within seconds, the love tunnel had engulfed them, and Warren could barely make out Petula sitting beside him, save for the barest outline provided by the dim illumination from the twinkle lights overhead. The music swelled into a sweeping crescendo, and Warren coughed nervously while Petula fidgeted. The boat was moving awfully slow, and Warren wondered how long the lazy river actually was.
“So,” Warren said.
“So,” Petula said back.
There was an awkward silence as Warren tried to think of something to say. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Petula asked.
“For not believing you about Bonny. I should have listened.
”
Petula sighed. “It’s one of my favorite things about you—you always see the best in everyone. I’m just sorry Bonny let you down.”
“Me, too. But I can’t dwell on that now. What matters is bringing Sketchy home.”
“Exactly,” Petula said, squeezing his hand. “And we’re getting close. I can feel it!”
Almost as if on cue, the tunnel brightened as they approached the exit. The romantic melody was smothered by blaring circus trumpets, drums, and the sound of boisterous cheers. The scent of buttery popcorn filled the air as the tunnel opened up into the big top. The enormous center ring was circled with stands, all packed with rowdy pirate spectators. Up above, a trio of acrobats were holding onto one another’s ankles as they swung precariously on a trapeze. Spotlights swerved to and fro, illuminating them and making their sequined outfits sparkle. In the ring below, a strong man hefted an enormous barbell in one arm as roaring lions and tigers prowled around him. A lion tamer kept them at bay with a smart snap of her whip. As though that spectacle wasn’t enough, a group of clowns were gathered on the sidelines, causing mischief and throwing pies at one another to make the audience laugh. Warren was so dazzled by all the sights, he almost forgot to exit the boat before it disappeared back into another tunnel.
Petula tugged on his sleeve and whispered: “Come on!”
Warren hopped out of the boat and looked around. Sketchy had to be nearby. A bearded lady emerged from a flap on one side of the tent and made her way toward the ring. A tiny monkey wearing a sport coat and a fez followed at her heels, playing a miniature accordion.
“There!” Warren pointed to the flap the woman had emerged from. “That must be the backstage area.”
He and Petula crept toward the opening, trying to remain hidden. Each time a spotlight swept overheard they froze like rabbits, but thankfully no one seemed to notice them. There were simply too many other wondrous sights to see.
Just when they reached the flap, the lights in the tent dimmed and a drumroll began.
Rustyboots’s voice rang out as he stepped into the center ring. “Tonight, for our most amazing and final act, I promise you a show the likes of which you have never before seen! For the first time ever, I present to you the most legendary, powerful, and elusive creature known to man. That’s right!
The audience roared its approval. “We better hurry!” Warren whispered.
He yanked aside the tent flap an inch and peered through the gap to see if the coast was clear. On the other side was a small room filled with assorted circus props: barbells, Hula-Hoops, costume racks, and barrels of fireworks. A woman in a colorful leotard was seated at a vanity, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Warren was wondering how they would get past her when suddenly she stood, adjusted her feather cap, and made her way toward the exit. Warren and Petula jumped back, covering themselves with the flap as the woman walked past. Warren and Petula let out a sigh of relief, then slipped into the room.
“Sketchy?” Warren said as loud as he dared.
He heard a weak whistle. “Tweee?”
“Sketchy!” he cried, and hurried toward the sound. He shoved aside a clothing rack, revealing a cage. Sketchy was slumped inside; it was wearing a frilly collar and its body was painted with garish makeup to make it look like a sad clown. Despite its morose appearance, Sketchy perked up at once upon seeing its friends. Its tentacles reached through the bars, embracing Warren and Petula as best it could.
“Oh, Sketchy!” Petula cried. “What have they done to you?”
“We’re going to get you out of here!” Warren said, and he began examining the cage, looking for a latch. Heavy chains lashed around the bars, holding them tight.
“Hurry,” Petula said, “I think Jacques Rustyboots is almost done giving his speech, which means it’s Sketchy’s time to go on stage.”
“I can’t open the cage!” Warren cried. “Petula, can you melt these chains with your fire magic?”
“It would take too long,” Petula said. “Oh, I wish my portal was big enough to transport Sketchy back to the hotel!” she lamented. “If only my mom was here.”
“Your magic is stronger than you think,” Warren said. “And together we can figure this out.”
He looked around and found what he was looking for: a sturdy rope. He tied it securely to the bars and handed Petula the other end.
“How’s your rope magic?” he asked.
She smiled. “Stronger than I think?”
“Good answer!” Warren said. “Try to attach this rope to the hotel, and then tell Mr. Friggs to start the engine and take off.”
Petula grinned. “I like where you’re going with this! You got it, Captain!” She grabbed the end of the rope and closed her eyes in concentration. Within seconds, the rope began to jump and wiggle like a snake, and Petula held on tight as it lashed her to and fro. “Whoooooaaa!” she cried.
“You can do it, Petula!” Warren said. “Concentrate!”
Petula nodded and gritted her teeth. “Down, you pesky rope! Stay!” The rope jerked to a stop and seemed to stand at attention. Carefully, Petula released it and stepped back.
“Now, follow my command!” she said. “Lash yourself to the hotel outside, and do it fast!”
The rope seemed to nod and then shot forward, ripping a hole in the tent’s fabric as it made a beeline for the hotel.
Petula drew a portal and hopped in. “I’ll tell Mr. Friggs what to do!” she assured Warren, and then she disappeared into the mist. Warren felt a tug on his end of the rope as it lashed itself to the hotel.
“Get ready for liftoff,” Warren said to Sketchy as he climbed to the top of the cage. He held on tight, anticipating a rough ride.
Suddenly, the flap flew open and Jacques Rustyboots stormed in. “You again!” he yelled in shock. “You weren’t supposed to make it this far!”
“Surprise! I got past all your obstacles!” Warren said proudly. “And now I’m leaving with what I came for!”
Rustyboots snarled and stormed toward the cage. “I think not!”
“Anytime now, Petula,” Warren whispered anxiously.
Rustyboots reached the cage and tried to grab ahold of Warren. Sketchy whistled sharply and used its tentacles to try to bat Rustyboots away, but it couldn’t do much behind bars. Warren edged backward as Rustyboots’s hand grazed his foot. The man’s eyes flashed with rage, making him look more like a lunatic and less like the hero Warren knew from his beloved books.
“Get over here, you little—”
Suddenly, a sound rattled through the air—RATATATATATATATAT! It was the hotel’s propellers!
In an instant, the cage lifted off the ground, ripping through the ceiling and knocking aside the support beams. Jacques Rustyboots fell backward in shock as the tent collapsed around him, revealing the stunned audience seated within the big top. The spectators struggled amidst yards of torn fabric and gawped at the unusual sight of a giant hotel hovering overhead, its many propellers slicing the air with deafening noise.
“Get back here!” Rustyboots roared.
The hotel rose higher and higher, and with it Warren and Sketchy, the cage trailing by the end of the rope.
“Stop them!” Rustyboots cried, stumbling into the center ring. “Fifty thousand doubloons to the one who brings me that squid!”
The announcement of such a large sum immediately attracted the pirates’ attention. The mob of them poured out of the stands and scurried toward their ships anchored nearby. They cheered lustily and waved their cutlasses, hungry for the promised reward.
Warren watched the commotion below, confident that he and Sketchy were safely out of reach…
WHOOSH! A harpoon tied to a rope sliced through the air, shot from a pirate ship below.
“Oh, no!” Warren cried, and Sketchy released a teakettle sound of alarm as cannons boomed. More and more
harpoons whizzed past.
“Higher!” Warren yelled, even though he knew no one in the hotel could hear him.
THUNK! A harpoon landed on the side of the hotel, its barbed metal sinking into the wood. THUNK! THUNK! Two more hit home, and the hotel gave a jerk before stopping in its tracks.
Warren looked down and saw pirates scaling the ropes to the hotel, clenching daggers between their teeth.
“AAAARGH! Hold ’em off, crew!” commanded Captain Grayishwhitishbeard from above.
Warren looked up to see the Calm Waves pirates leaning out of windows as they threw books, silverware, pottery, furniture, and anything else they could get their hands on at the encroaching invaders. Several of the opposing pirates were knocked from their harpoon ropes and splashed into the sea. But for every pirate who was stopped, three more were climbing up. The assault was unrelenting. Warren wished he could do something to help.
He decided that he could at least call out some encouragement. “You’re doing a great job!” he yelled. “I believe in every one of you!”
“Tweeeeeee!” Sketchy added helpfully.
“How sweet,” came a voice from behind. Warren spun around to see Jacques Rustyboots hovering midair! Then he realized Rustyboots wasn’t actually floating—he was being carried by parrots, including McCrackers McCaw.
“Tweeeeeeeee!” Sketchy trilled angrily. It tried to use its tentacles to bat Rustyboots away, but it was no use. The parrots deposited their leader on top of the cage and swooped off. Rustyboots pulled out his cutlass and began sawing at the rope that connected the cage to the hotel above.
“Nooooo!” Warren cried, trying to stop his pursuer. But he was just a thirteen-year-old boy, and Jacques Rustyboots was a tall and strapping former pirate. Warren’s efforts were about as effective as a gnat’s. The cage shuddered as the rope began to unravel. Rustyboots’s face was a rictus of glee and fury as he continued to cut through the many layers of twine.
Warren the 13th and the Thirteen-Year Curse Page 11
