The Deavys (15 page)

“If you don't want money, then how can I tip you?” As he posed the question, Simwan was backing slowly away from the counter.

“Don't want a handful of coins,” the goblin told him. “Maybe just a hand. Or two.” He gestured behind the increasingly wary young man. “Eyes of young girl also very nice. Make good base for jellied consommé.” And with that he leaped right over the high glassed-in counter, brandishing a huge, bloodstained blade in one hand.

Anticipating what was coming, Simwan was ready for him. Stepping back into a karate stance, he uttered a defiant “Hee-yah!” and raised his hands, edge on. As the rest of the store crew rushed the coubet, the goblin who had served them let out a high-pitched shriek and plunged the knife it held straight toward Simwan's heart.

Simwan blocked the blow exactly as he had been taught in Mr. Othmul's class, bringing his left hand up in an ascending chopping motion. There was a sick, slick, shearing sound as the goblin's hand was sliced off cleanly at the wrist. Green blood spurted. Following up on his surprise and advantage, Simwan darted forward, stiffening his fingers and jabbing. His fingertips went right through the goblin's neck. When he drew back his hand in a single sharp, pulling motion, blood the color of pea soup gushed everywhere. Clutching at its throat, the choking, dying goblin collapsed onto the sawdust-covered floor. Simwan eyed it for a moment to make sure it no longer posed any threat, then raced to the aid of his sisters.

All those long hours spent repeating and rehearsing moves in Mr. Othmul's special classes had certainly paid off. Not for nothing had he studied how to combine the traditional moves of Tang Soo Do with everything he had learned while helping his mother cut up vegetables for dozens of Deavy dinners.

The girls didn't need his help. As soon as the attack came in their direction, they had risen from their seats and formed a coubet triangle. Standing back to back, facing three directions simultaneously, they cast at the oncoming goblins such a farrago of spells, incantations, charms, summonses, and forthright preteen angst that the poor creatures never knew what hit them.

One found itself turned into a green carp. It fell to the floor where it lay flopping helplessly, fighting for oxygen. Two others were lifted into the air. Slammed together, they became fused at the head. This made it difficult for them to stand, much less attack anything. Seeing what was happening to its cohorts, a fourth goblin tried to flee by leaping back behind the counter. A flurry of force from N/Ice left it diced and sliced and neatly laid out on a platter inside the refrigerated case between slabs of marbled beef and well-trimmed buffalo.

Breathing hard, Simwan emerged from his defensive pose and looked around the shop. All was quiet, the shade-darkened space around them devoid of motion, except that the last of the surviving caperers took the opportunity to flee N/Ice's unwatched plate.

“Trish was right to warn us.” Lowering her hands, which tingled from the aftereffects of casting strong magic, Rose walked back to their table, picked up her soda, and drained the last dregs from the bottle. “I hate fighting goblins. They're so predictable.”

“WOT'S ALL THIS, NOW?” bellowed a voice from the back of the shop.

Slamming both double doors out of its way so forcefully that one hung broken and loose from its upper hinge, a gigantic figure appeared from the back room. Its yellow-brown flesh was blotchy and scarred from a thousand minor nicks and cuts. The broad flat face flaunted a wart-strewn nose pierced by a single massive metal ring. Hugely protruding ears resembled dead stingrays that had been stapled to the sides of the head. Wild bulging eyes looked down on the startled Deavy brood. A butcher knife the size of a headsman's ax dangled from one massive fist while the tentlike meat cutter's apron the apparition wore was flocked with half a dozen different kinds and colors of blood.

Straightaway appraising the carnage around him, the lumbering ogre threw out a massive, hairy arm and caught Amber, who was still near the freezers, around her neck. Effortlessly drawing her back to him, it held her tightly against his chest as yellow eyes glared out at the rest of the stunned, hard-breathing children from beneath protruding brows that were like ledges formed of granite.

Simwan stared in shock. Any karate moves, even those enhanced by practice in his mom's kitchen, were unlikely to have much effect on the hulking figure that had lurched into the front room of the butcher shop. Rose and N/Ice likewise held back, uncertain how to respond. Any sudden moves on their part and the infuriated monster might snap their sister's neck like a dry twig. With her arms pinned to her sides, the frightened Amber couldn't raise them to work any spells herself.

“Look wot you've done to my staff!” the giant howled in fury and disbelief as it took in the carnage that littered the floor. “
DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND GOOD HELP IN THIS CITY?
”

Holding the enormous meat-cutting knife high in one hand like the blade of doom itself and clutching the terrified Amber tightly to him with the other, Tybolt the Butcher took the first of several earth-shaking steps directly toward the staring, wide-eyed Deavys.

XIII

Frightened as they were both for themselves and their sister, Rose and N/Ice weren't about to let any of them be sliced up and added to the butcher shop's selection of prime cuts. Raising their hands, they prepared to fling what they could at the stout, threatening giant while simultaneously hoping to free their trapped sibling. Tybolt the Butcher was an ogre. Big, menacingly big, he was also no fool. Observing their preparations, he stopped where he was and took stock. “OI, SO THAT'S 'OW IT IS, IS IT? WICKED LITTLE MAGICIANS, BE THEE? NO WONDER YOU MANAGED TO COST ME SO MANY GOOD EMPLOYEES.” Grinning evilly and flashing snaggled, broken teeth, he swiftly brought the edge of the enormous chopping knife right up to Amber's neck. Instantly, she stopped struggling. One stiff shove of that massive hunk of razor-sharp steel, an agonized Simwan realized, and Amber's head would go rolling across the floor. He knew incantations for stopping bleeding, and for repairing injured limbs, but he didn't know any spells strong enough to reattach the head of a loved one. From the alarmed looks on the faces of Rose and N/Ice, they didn't either. “SUBMIT!” Tybolt the Butcher bellowed, pressing the edge of the knife into Amber's neck so that it just barely dimpled her smooth skin. “SUBMIT TO ME NOW, OR I'LL MAKE THIS GIRL'S SKULL INTO A PLAY-PRETTY TO DANGLE FROM ME EAR!”

Simwan looked around frantically, urgently, as if help might materialize simply from the wishing for it. Rose was no less panicked, and N/Ice was crying tears that vanished into elsewhere before they could hit the floor. They
couldn't
give their binding submission. To do so would be to look forward to an unrewarding future as cold cuts in someone else's freezer. But
not
to do so would mean seeing their sister decapitated right in front of them. As he struggled desperately with how to respond, how to reply, Simwan thought he heard something in the silence of the room. It was so subtle and soft as to be nearly inaudible. It barely tickled his ears.

Was that a meow?

He was almost afraid to turn around, almost afraid to do much of anything. But at the moment, the ogre's attention was fixed on Amber's sisters. Glancing around as furtively as he could manage, Simwan found himself the focus of Pithfwid's urgent stare. His fur all bottled up and presently the color of pure silver, Pithfwid was standing next to one wall, the claws of his right rear foot pressed up against it and dangerously close to …

It was something Simwan had seen the cat do before. Whether it would work this time, and have any effect if it did work, he had no way of telling. Not knowing what else to do, he determined to do his part. It couldn't worsen the situation, and it was certainly more promising than doing nothing. He returned his attention to Tybolt the Butcher and the ogre's limp, helpless prisoner.

“If you touch one hair of my sister's head!” Simwan began warningly. “Just one single hair, I'll …” His voice trailed off.

Grinning unpleasantly, the butcher accepted the challenge. Using two fingers of the hand that was holding the slablike knife, he fingered one of Amber's auburn tresses and tugged it out straight. She winced and let out a little whimper of pain. The ogre's smile grew wider. At that precise instant, Pithfwid promptly jammed one of the claws on his rear foot into the wall socket it had been concealing, raised the index claw on his left front foot, and stabbed it forward. Simultaneously, the captive Amber reached out in the direction of her pet.

The interior of the shop shook as a single bolt of channeled lightning traveled from the wall socket, through Pithfwid, out his forward-facing front claw, and into Amber's extended fingers. High voltage and low expectations coursed through her. Every one of her hairs stood on end, electricity dancing violently from tip to tip. The powerful charge also raced through her captor. He began to vibrate uncontrollably, smoke rising from his ringed nose and Dumbo-like ears. The huge knife blade quivered against Amber's throat, but did not push inward. Ungrounded by relevant cat magic, he suddenly and slowly toppled forward, like a tree that had just been felled. Amber let out a scream and threw herself sideways. Freed from the ogre's grasp, she just managed to avoid landing on top of the still lethal blade.

Running to her, her sisters strained to extricate her from beneath the smoking, weighty, cleanly electrocuted corpse of Tybolt the Butcher.

“Amber, are you all right?” Rose eyed her sister anxiously, looking her up and down.

N/Ice was so upset she kept blinking wildly in and out of reality. “Amber, did he hurt you?”

Climbing to her feet, the object of their concern blinked once, adjusted her clothing, and then felt gingerly of her shock-straightened hair. Her eyes went wide. “Omigod, omigod—somebody give me a hairbrush! In Aphrodite's name, somebody give me a hairbrush!”

While the coubet fussed and fretted over Amber's explosively straightened coiffure, a relieved Simwan wandered back to where Pithfwid sat quietly, licking his still tingling front left foot.

“That was fast thinking on your part,” he complimented the cat.

“Don't be too hard on yourself, Simwan. Everything happened very fast.” Whiskers twitched expressively. “A shocking development, to be sure.”

Simwan nodded gravely. “Electrifying, even.”

“Every dangerous encounter inevitably contains elements of both the negative and positive.” Concluding his tongue bath, Pithfwid rose onto all fours, arched his back into a stretch, relaxed, and padded past his human. “Though we have concluded our business with the proprietor of this onerous and odiferous establishment, there still remains the small matter of obtaining the information we came in search of.”

“Oh, right,” remembered Simwan. “How to find the Crub.” He indicated the dead butcher. “But if we can't get it from him …”

“Then we will ask it of his surviving employee,” finished Pithfwid as he raised his freshly groomed front paw and pointed, “who is presently cowering behind the far end of the meat counter trying to pretend he does not exist.”

Simwan looked up sharply. Sure enough, an apron-clad goblin not much bigger than Pithfwid was peeking out from behind counter's edge. Realizing it had been spotted, it uttered a squeal of dismay and bolted for the front door. Simwan reached into a pocket and withdrew the door key that Uncle Herkimer had given him so that he and his sisters could let themselves back into the apartment if their host had laid himself to rest for the night. Or the day, or a week or so.

“
Seal the wheel!
” the most senior Deavy present yelled.

The goblin leaped and grabbed for the door handle. As he did so, the now glowing key flew from Simwan's fingers and slammed into the center of the door. A burst of subtle radiance radiated from the chunk of molded brass and spread in a circle to all four corners of the portal. No matter how hard the goblin yanked on the handle with both green hands, no matter how ear-burningly he cursed at it, it would not open for him.

A moment later it didn't matter, because he found himself surrounded by three Deavy girls. After what had nearly happened to Amber, none of them were in a mood to be courteous.

“We've got a question or two for you,” Rose growled threateningly.

“Yeah. And you'd better answer straight and true. We'll know if you lie.” N/Ice flashed an expression that was redder than any blush.

“You especially don't want
me
to lose my temper.” A grim-faced Amber extended one hand in the diminutive goblin's direction. “I'm not feeling real sociable right now.”

“Pleases, pleases, don't hurts!” Shrinking back against the sealed door, the goblin threw both hands up to protect its face. “You asks what yous wants, I tells you. Anything you wants.” Its glance traveled across the room to the large lump of motionless meat that moments before had been its master. Satisfied with the effect the coubet had produced, Simwan stepped forward. “We're from out of town, and we've come looking for the Crub.”

“I knows, I knows.”

Simwan blinked. The girls exchanged a glance. Pithfwid sighed resignedly. “You knows—I mean, you know?” Simwan replied.

Lowering his hands, the goblin nodded. “Word comes in not longs before you gets here. ‘Watch for strange young non-Ords,' it says. ‘Means ills for good customer the Crub,' it says. Master Tybolt instructs us take care if we sees such peoples. Instructs we captures such young peoples.”

“And do what?” Amber asked menacingly.

Once more the goblin threw up his green, long-fingered hands. “We tolds to keeps you around untils Master comes. Master has standing order for certain kind of sausage, and likes to watch making of.”

Simwan leaned toward the cringing goblin. “What was your master's connection to the Crub? How close were they?”

“Not personal close. Only business,” the goblin insisted. “Crub's servants steal things in New York proper. Brings them here to trades for scraps and trimmings of rare meats.”

Amber nodded understandingly. “Brings them here from where? Where can we find the Crub?”

“In the great park, the Central Park,” the goblin told her.

Blowing into an open palm, N/Ice brandished a handful of fire under the goblin's chin. “
Where
in the park?”

“I don't know, I don't know!” the goblin gibbered as it shrank back from that threatening blaze. “I only works front counter.”

Amber looked at her sisters. “Well, at least that narrows it down. New York City's a big place, and now we know the only part we have to search is Central Park.”

Simwan considered. If the goblin was telling the truth, then contact between the Crub and Tybolt the Butcher was not constant. That meant with a little luck, they might catch it before news spread. Providing, of course, that in the interim it was not informed otherwise.

They hauled the squealing, protesting little creature to the back of the store. N/Ice opened the freezer while Rose, Amber, and Simwan tossed their captive inside. “Waits, waits!” A green arm thrust outward as Simwan prepared to slam shut the heavy steel door.

“What?” he asked impatiently.

A small green head popped out to eye him accusingly. “You still nots leave tip for your sandwiches.”

“Get back in there!” N/Ice raised a threatening hand. With a last squeak, the pitiful creature ducked back inside and Simwan and his sisters slammed the door shut, making sure to drop the locking handle into place.

Goblins dealt quite well with being frozen. Eventually, someone would arrive to check on the business and sooner or later open the freezer where the Deavys had chosen to store him. Even as a satisfied Simwan was making sure the freezer door was tightly closed and latched, a rising whine drew everyone's attention.

“Sirens!” Amber yelped. “Police sirens, maybe.”

“Someone outside must have heard all the noise and called the cops.” Amber hurried toward the front door, still brushing frantically at her hair.

It was time to go. At least now they knew where to look for the Crub, even if it
was
somewhere within the boundaries of one of the country's largest municipal parks. Raising a hand, Simwan stretched it out toward the front door.

“
Steal the feel, unseal the wheel
,” he recited. His enunciation was perfect. His teachers would have been proud.

Once more, the door glowed slightly. The key that had jammed itself into the center flew backward to land in Simwan's hand. Returning it to a pocket, he hurried to join his sisters.

Cautiously opening the door, all three girls peered out, one head above the other. Just as when they had entered, the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians: some human, many not. Although the wail of the approaching siren was louder now, no one on the street paid it any attention. This was, after all, New York, where the sound of a siren was as common as that of the wind. The traffic and its indifference, Simwan saw, would help to slow the arrival of the authorities.

Not that he minded having to answer a question or two. They had responded to Tybolt and his murderous employees in self-defense. It would have to be an addled cop indeed who upon scrutinizing the carnage inside the butcher shop came to the conclusion that a teenage boy, his three younger sisters, and a cat had acted with intent to commit unprovoked mass murder—upon a passel of knife-wielding goblins and their monstrous ogre of a master, no less.

It was just that he did not want to waste the time that would be needed to answer such questions. Also, if they were picked up by the authorities, the police might insist on getting in touch with their parents. He and his sisters couldn't allow that. It would only upset their father and worry their mother, and in her present condition, the last thing she needed was that kind of additional stress.

“I don't see any uniforms,” N/Ice whispered tautly.

“Let's go!” Pushing from behind, Simwan and Pithfwid forced their way out. Amber and N/Ice were right behind them. Only Rose lingered briefly, to etch the glowing word
closed
onto the front door as she pulled it shut behind her.

They strode resolutely onward, even remembering to glance at occasional shop windows, trying to blend into the crowd and make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. Behind them, the complaining screech of the siren steadied. It did not disappear, but it stopped coming closer.

Simwan badly wanted to look back to see what was happening, but forced himself not to. “Sounds like maybe they've stopped outside the butcher shop. If they go in, that ought to keep them busy for a while.”

N/Ice had a sudden thought that nearly caused her to blink out of existence. “Oh gosh—what if they find the goblin we left in the freezer? He won't be frozen yet.” Unable to stop herself, she turned and looked back.

“N/Ice …” Simwan began warningly, “don't—”