Akiko in the Castle of Alia Rellapor (4 page)

 Chapter 7 

Gax continued to
follow the little robot, stopping periodically to “work” a bit on the walls. Eventually we came to a point where the corridor opened into a large rectangular room with one smallish square door at the far end. Two large lizardy-looking animals with shiny gray-green skin and pointy yellow teeth were guarding the door, one chained at either side. When the robot arrived, they jumped up and yanked against their chains, growling and snapping at the air like rabid pit bulls.

“Vungers,” Spuckler whispered to me. “They’re snow lizards. Pretty fierce little critters. They could eat a guy like Beebs for breakfast an’ still have room for pancakes.”

Mr. Beeba shot Spuckler an annoyed glance and raised his head for a better view.

TWEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
 

The little robot emitted a piercing whistle so high-pitched I could barely hear it. My skin broke out in goose pimples, and a weird shiver ran up and down my spine. The two lizards suddenly lay down with their jaws on the floor, closed their beady black eyes, and fell fast asleep.

The little robot inserted a small key into a keyhole on the right-hand side of the door and gave it series of turns.

KAK! P’CHIK! KREEEEEEE . . . 

The robot opened the door, closing it quickly behind itself after entering the room. A few seconds passed before the door opened again and the robot reemerged, this time without the tray of food.

“Gax!” Spuckler growled. “Work, buddy,
work
!”

Gax quickly resumed his fixing-the-walls routine, turning the entire Torg toward the wall as if it had just discovered a particularly troublesome spot. The little robot beeped loudly as it passed and clattered back down the hallway, eyeing us suspiciously as it disappeared from view.

“The Prince is in that room!” I said, pushing the hatch up with both hands and rising to my feet. “I
know
it!”

“I hope you’re right, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba said, tucking his handkerchief back under his belt. “It would make this whole rescuing business
ever
so much easier.”

Spuckler disconnected the cable linking Gax to the head of the Torg, then stopped, seeming to think better of it.

“You better stay here with th’ Torg, ol’ buddy,” he explained as he reconnected the thick metallic cord. “We might need t’ make a speedy getaway or somethin’, ya know what I mean?”

“
CERTAINLY, SIR
,” Gax answered, sounding as if he feared our getaway would be anything but speedy.

“Atta boy,” said Spuckler.

I helped Mr. Beeba lower himself to the floor, then jumped down to join him. Spuckler and Poog followed, and we all tiptoed carefully across the room, trying our best not to awaken the snoozing Vungers. A troubled silence fell over us as we stared at the solid-looking door. Spuckler tried turning the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

“We could try picking the lock,” I suggested, even though I didn’t know the first thing about lock picking. I’d seen my uncle Koji do it once back in Middleton, but I had no idea
how
he did it.

“Pickin’ locks is for sissies,” said Spuckler as he strutted back to the Torg and began climbing up to the storage compartment. “I got a better idea.”

Mr. Beeba gave me a nervous glance. He looked as if he might need his handkerchief again soon.

“Spuckler!” I called as loudly as I could without waking the Vungers. “What, um,
sort
of idea do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see!” he replied cheerfully.

Every once in a while he’d pop up out of the Torg’s head to examine some tool in the torchlight, then toss it back in and dive down for another look.

“That ain’t it. . . . Naw, this ain’t it neither. . . .”

“Really now, Spuckler,”

Mr. Beeba whispered angrily. “I
insist
that you tell us what you’re up to.”

“Got it!” Spuckler announced, proudly holding a small metallic box in one hand. He leaped from the top of
the Torg to the floor in a
single bound and trotted quickly over to the square door.

I glanced at Poog. He had a slightly troubled look on his face.

“Um, Spuckler,” I whispered, “what
is
that thing?”

“Well, ’Kiko, that all depends on whatcher
usin’
it for,” he answered as he attached the little box to a spot on the door just below the keyhole. “Today it’s whatcha might call an automatic door opener—”

“Spuckler!” Mr. Beeba interrupted. “I don’t like the sound of this one little bit! I demand—I say, I
demand
you tell us what you’re planning to do!”

Spuckler pulled a little pin out of the box and stood up.

“Stan’ back, everybody,” he said, leading us all away from the door to a spot just behind the Torg. “We only got about ten seconds. Or was it five?”

We all watched the door. Mr. Beeba, perhaps already knowing what was about to happen, turned away and clamped his hands firmly over the sides of his head.

Chik-chik-chik . . . 

KA-BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

There was a tremendous flash of light. A whizzing, whistling noise filled the air as something—probably the doorknob—shot by us and ricocheted down the hall. Within seconds the entire room was choked with great clouds of black smoke. My ears were still ringing with the sound of the explosion when I realized I could also hear the Vungers. And they weren’t snoring, either.

 Chapter 8 

“You idiot!”
Mr. Beeba cried.

“Got the door open, didn’ I?” Spuckler replied, admiring his own handiwork.

Sure enough, there was now practically nothing
left
of the door but a few scraps of wood near the bottom left side. It would be no trouble for all of us to just walk right in . . . 

. . . except for the Vungers.

They were growling and snapping and lunging at us with all their might, their long lizardy tails whipping this way and that, bits of saliva flying from their mouths every time they moved.

“You
idiot
!” Mr. Beeba repeated. “We’ll
never
get in there now!”

“Sure we will,” Spuckler replied nonchalantly. “We’ll jus’ have to run
real
fast.”

“R-r-run?” Mr. Beeba asked through clenched teeth, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “We couldn’t get past those beasts if we ran a hundred miles per
hour
!”

“We could, uh, get back inside the Torg . . . ,” Spuckler muttered, staring doubtfully at the enormous robot, “. . . and, um, try an’
squeeze
through. . . .”

I looked at the Torg and compared its size to that of the doorway. Any fool could see we’d never get such a large robot through such a small space. I looked at Poog, hoping he might have an idea. He stared blankly back, as if the matter were entirely up to me. Meanwhile the Vungers began howling and yelping like starving wolves. We had to act fast; sooner or later someone was bound to hear them and come to check things out.

Suddenly it hit me.

“Gax,” I called.

“
YES, MA’AM?
” he replied, poking his squarish little head out of the Torg’s storage compartment to look at me.

“Did you hear that little robot’s whistle?” I asked. “The one that made the Vungers go to sleep?”

Spuckler looked at me with his big round eyes, a smile of understanding forming on his lips.

“
I COULD HARDLY HAVE FAILED TO HEAR IT, MA’AM
,” Gax answered. “
IT WAS EXCESSIVELY LOUD. A VERY HIGH G-SHARP, I BELIEVE.
”

By this time everyone was looking at Gax, Poog included.

“Can you imitate that sound?” I asked.

“
I
 . . . ,” said Gax uncertainly, seeming to grow nervous with so many eyes fixed upon him. “
I COULD CERTAINLY
TRY
,
MA’AM
.”

“Well, go on, buddy,” Spuckler cried. “We ain’t got all day!”

Gax stuck his neck out of the storage compartment as far as he could. There was a low grinding sound, almost as if he were clearing his mechanical throat.

BLEEEEET!

We all stared hopefully at the Vungers, who continued yelping and clawing at the floor with wild abandon, looking, if anything, even
more
ferocious than before.

“
PERHAPS I WAS A BIT FLAT,
” said Gax apologetically.

We all held our tongues as Gax prepared for another try. Mr. Beeba, in particular, looked as though he was about to faint with anxiety.

Gax raised his head as far as his scrawny little neck could reach and made another low grinding sound, this time quivering a bit and rocking ever so slightly from side to side.

TWEEEET!

Suddenly one of the Vungers leaped forward so
violently it actually snapped its chain and hurled itself across the room. It tumbled comically across the floor before getting to its feet and confronting all of us from a mere three or four feet away, its enormous body
neatly blocking the hallway. It was now cutting off our only means of escape.

Mr. Beeba’s teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, and even Spuckler looked a little unsure of what to do next. I backed up until I was flat against the wall behind me. There was nowhere left to run.

TWEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
 

The Vungers each gave one last yelp before collapsing to the floor. Within seconds they were sound asleep, one still chained to the side of the door, the other just inches from Spuckler’s feet.

“All
right
!” I cried, reflexively undoing the buttons of my thick warm coat. I was sweating all over.

“Good goin’, Gax!” Spuckler cheered. “Try t’ remember that sound, now. Ya never know when it’s gonna come in handy.”

“Very finely executed, my rusty-headed friend,” said Mr. Beeba. “I never doubted you for an instant.” (If you ask me, he’d never
stopped
doubting anyone in his entire
life
.)

“Who
is
that out there?” came a small voice from the other side of the doorway.

Spuckler and Mr. Beeba shot each other a knowing glance. Poog stared intently at me, the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

“That’s him!” said Mr. Beeba.
“Prince Froptoppit!”