Orphan of Mythcorp (25 page)

Poundings and screeching and curses rolled
down the walkway.

While raising the blade behind me to draw
some momentum, I heard Nimrod shout “Malthus!” He was close. No
time. I reared back and shoved the blade into the breaker box.

Nothing. Jeez, you’d think
something
from the movies would be
true. No sparks at all. A pipe burst somewhere nearby. I jerked
back and fell to hands and knees. Nimrod and Malthus were going to
tear this place apart if they kept this up. Through the haze I
could see the brown bearskin cloak Nimrod always sported. He
must’ve been sweating like crazy.

All right, no more messing around. I stepped
up to the circuit box and swiped at the gray plastic conduit
concealing the wires beneath the box. The slash tore a gash in the
tubing. After sliding the sword back in the shaft, I yanked on the
conduit, nearly yanking my shoulder out of its socket. But after
three heaving pulls it gave. Lights flickered overhead.

This time there were sparks.

With the bottom of the cane gripped tightly,
I leaned back and stretched out, pointing the crow eyes at the
exposed and sparking wires. I raised my right hand to protect my
peepers, but just as a bolt of electricity arced towards the cane,
something huge and hard and foul smelling slammed into me.

The cane flew out of my grasp. I panicked,
and not just because my only weapon had suddenly flown the coop:
lying on top of me was Malthus. Well, one of his enormous legs was
lying on top of me. It felt like a tree trunk. I wiggled. Couldn’t
even budge it.

Nimrod emerged from the mist, all
nightmare-like, black blood dripping off the end of the notched
foot-long blade in his hand, right augmetic peeper glowing red. He
looked like a fugitive of Hells Most Wanted.

I shook Malthus. Nothing. As Nimrod moved in
for the kill (me or Malthus or both, I wasn’t sure) I reared back
and socked Malthus in the face. “Ah jeez!” My knuckles were all
tore up. Whatever Malthus was made of, it wasn’t flimsy feckless
human skin. No sir. Instead of punching him again, I stretched for
my cane, which lay just a couple inches out of reach.

Pain began to bloom in my knee and all over
my back while I struggled to slide out from under the demon.
Sobriety was returning as the drugs leached out through my sweat.
Nimrod was two feet away from Malthus’ stompers now. I stretched
until my middle finger grazed the bottom of the cane. A shape
suddenly detached from the steam beyond us.

“
Marie?” I gasped. “Help
me.”

The spook took one glance at the obamafest,
floated over to Nimrod, and merged with him. My peepers just about
popped out of their sockets. I mean, when I asked her for help, I
hadn’t actually expected anything more than a sympathetic ‘Oh, poor
baby.’ Certainly not a possession.

Nimrod paused in mid stride. He seemed to be
going through some sort of internal debate. While he was
distracted, I grabbed a pipe climbing the wall beside me, and
pulled myself up just a tad. I’m no muscle head but this effort did
give me another couple inches of reach. Just enough to grip the
cane and shove the crow-head into the arcing wires of the circuit
box.

Reflex (and possibly cowardice) impelled me
to recoil from the shower of sparks and the smattering of
light-bolts shooting from the box into the peepers of the canes
top. But I was tired of fear and at this point my nerves were
pretty much shot. So I stayed my hand.

The lights flickered, the buzz of electricity
hummed louder and louder, and I lost sight of Nimrod.

Finally, after twenty or so terrifying ticks,
I pulled the cane away from the box. The lights clicked back to
full power. Nimrod was holding his knife up to his neck, his face
distorted in the effort to resist Marie. He appeared to be winning,
as Marie’s essence was flickering in and out of his body. Give the
Hunter his due; he had the willpower of Batman. I looked down at
Malthus where he lay on top of my numb legs. He had to wake up or
we’d be minced-meat pie soon.

I looked at the pulsating peepers of the
crow-head, then back at Malthus. Hmm.

After taking aim at the demon, I pressed the
button briefly. I didn’t want to fry him.

ZAP.

He woke instantly and was not careful in
getting to his feet: his elbow mashed my gonads.

Without even stopping to apologize for this
transgression, Malthus stepped up to Nimrod and barreled a huge
fist into the Hunters gut. The blow was so great that it knocked
Nimrod back into a row of pipes and even dislodged Marie.

“
Darn.”

Malthus wheel-housed and delivered another
killer punch. Nimrod hunched over, holding his gut. He looked out
for the count, but when Malthus paused to collect himself, the
Hunter whipped his blade around. The edge caught the demon on his
bare chest, slicing open a gash.

In his shock, Malthus gave Nimrod another
opening, and the Hunter took full advantage.

I’d crawled out of the way by then, so when
Malthus staggered back, he didn’t crush me (or my precious stones)
against the wall. Bits of concrete crumpled and clattered to the
floor. As he clutched at his wounds, Malthus exposed his back to
Nimrod. The Hunter moved in for the kill.

I raised my cane to unleash the full measure
of power within, but there was no need. That kooky scampering
returned, this time accompanied by what sounded like the mad
barking of a dozen bloodhounds. As it reached its apex—a terrifying
clamor you could feel in your head—Nimrod halted his assault. His
peepers went big (well, his right went big, his augmetic peeper
went bright red) and he unleashed a megabomb screech. It wasn’t
girly by any means, but it wasn’t very manly either. No sir, this
was the caterwaul of the dying.

More mad-dog growling, and then Nimrod
pitched forward, dropping to his hands and face. As I stood gawking
in complete surprise, the Mighty Hunter kicked with his free leg at
the monster chomping on his other leg.

From what I could make out through the steam,
Pellinore’s beastie was long and scaly, like an alligator, only
beefier, and with the head of a giant snake. It dragged Nimrod
away. I couldn’t decide which the more hellish sound was: Nimrod’s
anguished cries, or the beasties’ shrieks, like a kennel of rabid
dogs all barking at once. I shivered.

Mumbles of ‘Holy-moly-crap-holy-moly-crap’
were still emanating from me as Pellinore emerged from the gloom.
He looked almost winded, but was not sweating. Blasted lucky Morai
genes. His whites zipped from Malthus to me to the dark blood
staining the floor, to the sparking circuit box.

“
What are you doing down here?” he
asked. “Did you see it? Did you see the beastie?”

He’d really let himself go. His long white
hair was flowing wildly, all over, with even the crimps from the
usual Morai braid now gone.

“
Yeah,” I confessed, “I saw it, Pells.
It’s real. It’s actually . . . just real. You were
right.”

He smiled; his opaque gums nearly as
brilliant as his teeth. “I told you. I told everyone.”

“
You did,” I said. “But how come it
hasn’t killed you? You’ve been down here all this time. It’s just
left you alone?” While speaking, I sliced a strip of my flannel
shirt and offered it to Malthus to sop up his wounds. He took the
cloth without a word.

“
I think the beastie only hurts bad
people,” Pellinore said, awe in his voice. “When I buggered up the
AC system—because it likes the heat and I thought it might wander
the rest of the school to investigate new heat, and then everyone
would see it was real—it had a chance to kill me. But it didn’t. It
just sniffed me and then turned to leave.” Pellinore stood up
ramrod straight and declared: “I’ve decided to make him my pet. I’m
going to call him Glatisant. What do you think?”

“
It’s dynamite,” I mumbled. “Listen,
Pells, is there a way outside from down here?”

He began to step closer but halted like he’d
run into a wall. It was as if he hadn’t seen Malthus until now.
“What is that?” He asked, walking around the towering behemoth.

“
This is Malthus,” I explained. “He’s .
. . a friend. I’m fifty per cent sure he’s a friend,
anyway.”

Pellinore nodded. “Aha. And I take it the
thing Glatisant dragged off wasn’t a friend?”

“
Pells, the way out?” I could hear
students tramping back inside above us, and the air conditioning
repair guys were bound to come stomping down here soon.

Pellinore nodded and led me down a path that
led past a row of square hot water heaters, steam hissing at us out
of vents. We reached a set of concrete steps. Pellinore pointed up
these steps at a pair of doors set at an extreme angle. “Emergency
doors. Dynamite. Thanks Pells.”

He nodded, gave a sudden yelp as he was
lifted into the air. Malthus set him down and jostled me aside to
stomp up the stairs. With a mighty shove he opened the doors.
Morning light attacked our peepers. In two ticks the demon was out
of sight.

I looked back at Pellinore. “Did you know he
was following us?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t even hear him.
You’d think someone that big would make some kind of sound.”

“
You’d think.” I hobbled up the steps
but turned back at the top. “If Ash or Lamorak shows up, don’t tell
them you helped me leave. Don’t even tell them I was down here.” I
waited to make sure Pellinore agreed—which he did—before turning
and stepping out into the light.

“
Where are you going?” he called
out.

I smiled, a plan forming in my noodle. “I
have to see about a dwarf.”

Kana and Faustus, assuming they agreed to
help me, would be serious assets in getting into Mythcorp, but if
those dart-shooting gangster-kids were still perched atop the
buildings around Mythcorp, then it wouldn’t matter. However, if I
brought Izzy, well, they might hesitate at the sight of someone who
looked—from a distance—like a tiny child.

‘
Are you going to stop Ash from hurting
those Iconocops and Mesmerizing the Senator?’ Marie
asked.

“
I wouldn’t get within twenty yards of
him now,” I said. “He knows what we did to Sanson. He’d Mesmerize
me or worse. No, it’s a race to Mythcorp now. And I have the head
start.”

Sanson

That night Dr. Wilmut patched me up with a
few dendrimers. He even injected something into my nose, making the
swelling go down. The following morning mom insisted I stay home,
but I had a perfect attendance record going all the way back to my
first day as a freshman, just after my original treatments with the
good doctor, and I saw no reason to end my streak. Eventually I
convinced her I felt fine and after kissing me senseless, mom let
me go.

By the time I arrived—late—everyone else was
outside on the lawn, even the teachers and Iconocops. I searched
the crowd for awhile, eventually finding Ash (he’s so short that
everyone around him concealed him). “Hey,” tapping him on the
shoulder, “what’s going on?”

He smiled at the sight of me. “Hello Charlie.
Fire drill.”

The tiny Morai led me away from the large
group over to the Willow. Lamorak, Agravaine and Gareth trailed us.
After making sure no one was eavesdropping, Ash turned to me: “Did
Nimrod find you? Did he give you the package?”

I nodded and he seemed to relax. The Morai
then traded glances, making me feel like an outsider. “Let me see
your wounds, please.”

“
How did you know about them?” but as
soon as I spoke, I realized Nimrod must’ve told him. (How they’d
communicated though I had no idea.) Big Agravaine stepped up to
conceal me from the crowd as I lifted my shirt. The green and black
dendrimers were moist and gave my wounds a decidedly gangrenous
look. I received a few gratifying ooh’s and aah’s.

“
If you want retribution,” Ash said,
“it has already been done. I spoke with Morgan’s smidge girlfriend
Izzy McCawber. Morgan will suffer the next time he sees her.” He
said this with neither pride nor shame. He might’ve been describing
the weather. With his creepy eyes it was downright
chilling.

“
Actually,” I lowered my shirt as we
started heading back inside, “I sent Nimrod after him.”

All three Morai stopped. Ash pressed a hand
to my shoulder to stop me. “You did what? That was . . . ill
advised.” For once the little tyke seemed disturbed. He closed his
eyes and shook his head while the other two gave me dirty
looks.

“
What?”

“
We do not hurt each other,” they
chimed in unison. “Nimrod is . . . old school. He will not show
restraint.”

I was about to ask how he knew this Nimrod
yahoo so well but he shushed me. Half the student body was inside
and the four of us were surrounded, trudging up the steps on our
way to the detectors. Here we go. I inhaled and stepped through the
metal detector. BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP. Today’s wander was Mr. Dodds. He
waved me through as usual, distracted by the strange noises
gurgling up from the basement.

Ash met up with me outside second period
Theorics. “You okay?” pointing at my chest.

I looked down. “Gosh darn it.” Seepage had
ruined my t-shirt. Mom was going to freak; zombies go through a
butt load of shirts. It’s usually the stench of decay.

“
Do me a favor,” I said. “Tell Mr.
Pribeck why I’m late?”

Ash nodded. “Of course. In exchange for my
excuse-making,” he actually smiled for once, “make sure Damien is
aware of what’s going on after school today. Morgan was supposed to
let him in on it, but considering his recent treachery, I doubt he
got around to it.”