The Grimjinx Rebellion (5 page)

Luda galloped away at full pace. As soon as she was out of sight, I bolted toward the city gates where Ma, Da, and Maloch were waiting with our mang-drawn wagon. A moment later, Callie appeared with a backpack, and together, we climbed aboard.

As Da drove the wagon under the portcullis, Callie produced a piece of paper. The edge was jagged, like it had been torn from a book.

“From Talian's secret library,” she said. “It details the Creche's magical defenses. Between my spellsphere and your pouches, Jaxter, we should have no problem getting to Aubrin.”

“Bangers, Callie,” I said. “This'll be easy.”

It was
not
easy.

7

Gobek and Mavra

“Need is a fickle taskmaster.”

—par-Goblin proverb

“N
ow remember,” I said, “kids sent to work at the Creche are hardened criminals. Only the lowest of the low are punished like this. Callie, stop smiling. Look meaner. Scowl a bit. Maloch, you . . . No, never mind, you're fine the way you are. Ready?”

The three of us stood, staring at the Creche looming before us. A perfect sphere of shimmering gold, it was nearly the size of a mountain. Beautiful whorls, wide as rivers, covered the surface. Occasionally, streams of magical energy would race through the whorl gullies, making the entire sphere flicker.

Nearby, Ma and Da were putting on their stateguard disguises. “Remember,” Ma said, donning her helmet, “you've got a week to find Aubrin and then a week to reach Vesta. We'll be waiting there.”

Maloch hadn't stopped gawping at the massive structure. “Is that enough time? This place is huge. If there are only a handful of seers every generation, why is it so big?”

“I guess we'll find out,” I said.

Directly in front of us, a small alcove at the base of the sphere hid the only door we could find. Lowering the visors on their helmets, Ma and Da stood on either side of us. Da reached out, gripped the long rope that dangled near the door, and gave a hard tug. A muffled bell clanged.

Several minutes later, we heard clicks and rattling from within, like locks being unhitched. Then, the round door slid to the side, just enough to reveal a small figure within.

The creature was unlike anything I'd ever seen. He stood upright like a human, but that's where the resemblance ended. His eyes took up most of his face, with just a tiny nose and mouth below. Stubby arms hung from the sides of his bulbous body. Broad, gelatinous legs brought him up to my chest. His greasy, mottled gray skin looked like wet clay.

Those huge eyes glistened when he spotted us. “Is visitors!” he declared joyously with a thick accent. Then he frowned and said, “Is not allowed.” With a tug, he slammed the door shut.

We stood there, unsure what to do. So Da rang the bell again. When the door slid open, the creature acted like he hadn't just seen us.

“Is visitors!” he cried again.

“No!” Ma said, before he could slam the door shut. “We're not visitors. We've been ordered to bring these prisoners to you.”

Da held up the documents bearing both Talian's and Castellan Jorn's forged signatures. The creature waddled outside, grimacing with each step. He examined the papers closely.

“Is not first of month,” the creature muttered, poking at Talian's wax seal. “Is first of month, is time for new workers.”

“Ah, yes,” Ma said, “but you see, these ruffians have been very bad. They're really quite terrible. Couldn't wait for the first of the month to get rid of them.”

The creature shrugged. “Is making no difference to Gobek. Is always needing new workers. Is following me.”

He turned and went inside, pushing the door wider so we could all come in. Holding tight to Tree Bag, I stepped over the threshold and caught a glimpse of a plaque that hung over the doorway.

The plaque read:
YESTERDAY IS TODAY
.

My heart skipped a beat at seeing Kolo's last words engraved over the door. I'd never been one to believe in coincidence.
This is what Kolo meant,
I thought.
He wanted me to come here.
I had a feeling I'd find more than Aubrin in these halls.

Iron pots filled with magical green-blue fire floated above our heads. A single corridor led us deeper into the sphere. Instead of walls made from stone or wood, the passages were formed by sheer yellow curtains that hung from above. The creature stopped in the middle of the room and groaned.

“Are you okay?” Callie asked.

“Is very difficult being Gobek,” the creature said, pain pinching his voice.

“Can we help?”

Maloch cleared his throat and glared at Callie. We were supposed to be outlaws. Callie's concern wasn't helping our story.

But Gobek didn't seem to notice. He waved his hand and smiled. “Is nice of you, young criminal lady. Gobek is not able to help being Gobek. Is to be Gobek, is to be hurting. Is way of things.”

Now even
I
was feeling bad for him. Every gesture, every step seemed to hurt. Still, he kept smiling at us.

“Is Gobek. Is caretaker. Is welcoming you to Creche. Is being good? Is treated good. Is being bad? Is not treated good. Is simple.”

The curtains gave way to stone walls that curved widely to the right. All the while, Gobek chattered amiably about how he hoped we would enjoy working at the Creche. Truth be told, I got the idea that working under Gobek wouldn't be much punishment at all. He seemed rather nice. Talkative, but nice.

The corridor opened up into an expansive library. Kids our age and slightly older scuttled around with feather dusters, cleaning the bookshelves. The caretaker took us across the room to a tall, Aviard girl with short black feathers. She was throwing logs into the fireplace and prodding the embers with a poker. Actually, the way she did it was more like stabbing. And each stab made her frown more deeply.

“Is looking at this, Mavra,” Gobek said to the girl. “Is new workers!”

Gobek had said they could always use new workers. The look on this girl's face suggested otherwise. She swung the poker around furiously, narrowly missing Gobek.

“It's not the first of the month!” she shouted. Nearly every worker in the room jumped when she spoke. “I just trained the last batch.”

“Is in charge of workers,” Gobek explained to us brightly, pointing at Mavra as if he hadn't even noticed how angry the girl was. Which was hard to miss. Dead people could have seen how angry she was.

“Is special circumstance,” Gobek continued. “Is just three more.” Before Mavra could protest again, Gobek said to us, “Gobek is leaving you in Mavra's care. Is listening to her carefully. Is being good.” With that, he turned and waddled away.

Mavra's beak clicked furiously. She growled, then she spun to face away from us.

“So, Mavra,” I said brightly. “I know this is
really
inconvenient for you. Believe me, it puts us out too. But we won't cause any trouble. My name is Tyrius, by the way. In case, you know, you ever want to say, ‘Hey, Tyrius, go sweep out the seers' quarters—'”

Mavra squeezed a large bellows into the fireplace. “For now, just shut up and do what you're told. Stand in the hall, out of the way. When we're done here, I'll show you to the worker barracks. And stay away from the seers until
I
tell you it's okay.”

We did as we were told and waited.

“Well,” Callie whispered, “she's
lovely.
”

“She's the one in charge,” I said.

“So?” Maloch asked.

“So, it's like my great-aunt Rodina Grimjinx always says, ‘A friend in charge means rewards large.'”

“Ugh,” Maloch said. “It sounds like Rodina's been talking to Holm.”

I peered at Mavra, who darted around the library, shouting orders at the other servants like a general in the Provincial Guard. “If Mavra's in charge, she must know everything about the Creche. We get her on our side, and we can have Aubrin out of here in a day. Two days, tops.”

Callie wasn't convinced. “I'm getting the idea she doesn't make friends easily. How are you going to do this?”

I pushed my glasses up to the bridge of my nose. “Grimjinx charm is a force to be reckoned with. You wait and see: by the end of the night, Mavra and I will be best friends.”

8

A Baking Accident

“To steal a purse, first steal the heart.”

—Ganjar Grimjinx, master thief of Yonick Province

A
pparently, I was a mite out of practice using Grimjinx charm.

By the end of that night, Mavra and I were
not
best friends. In fact, days went by and the harder I tried to charm the Aviard, the more she seemed to hate me. When the week was nearly out, not only was Aubrin still nowhere to be seen but also Mavra's talons were wrapped around my throat and she was trying to kill me.

To be fair, I could see why she was angry. Her feathery eyebrows had just been singed off when the scorchcake I'd placed in the oven exploded. But I didn't do it on purpose. Singe her eyebrows, I mean.

The explosion, though, was very much planned.

Every surface in the kitchen was covered in hot, gooey cake batter. Servants slipped across the floor, trying to put out the oven fire. In the middle of the chaos, Mavra had pinned me up against a wall. Thankfully, the batter on her hands made it hard to get a good grip. I slid from her clutches and ducked under a table.

“Now, Mavra,” I said, scrambling away, “killing me won't solve anything.”

“Wrong!” She dug her talons into the stone floor. “It will solve the biggest problem I have. You!”

Mavra was only four years older than me but she was as huge as any adult Aviard. Her beak dropped open, emitting a terrible screech, and she lurched at me. She tried to spread her wings and come at me from above, but the cake batter prevented her from flying. I pushed off the table, sliding across the room.

She began hurling everything she could get her talons on: rolling pins, ladles, egg whisks. I did a good job dodging them until a well-aimed wooden spoon hit me right between the eyes and sent me down into the muck on the floor. Before I could recover, Mavra was on top of me.

My fellow servants were not exactly helpful. Once they put the oven fire out, they surrounded us, cheering on whoever they thought was winning. In other words, they were rooting for Mavra.

She slapped at me while I flailed around, pitching handfuls of batter into her eyes. This, of course, made her howl louder and pummel harder.

“Is too loud!”

Mavra froze, just as she grabbed my smock. Gobek tread carefully through the batter on the floor, wincing with every step. He took in the mess and shook his head. “Is not going to be good cake,” he announced. Several of the kitchen staff laughed.

Mavra jumped to her feet and pointed at me. “Tyrius did this, Gobek.”

“It w-was an accident,” I stammered, doing my best to look sorry. “It's not as bad as you think. You look good with batter in your feathers.”

The Aviard cried out and leaped at me, but Gobek gently pulled her away.

“Is not good being angry, Mavra,” Gobek said. Then, his tiny mouth pursed into what looked like a vertical smile. “Gobek is knowing what is to be making Mavra happy.”

He took a step back and bowed his head. As he did, his greasy flesh began to slide and swirl. His short, fat legs grew long and thin, while talons sprang from his feet. Multicolored feathers popped out all over a torso that had become lean and triangular. His head melted and was replaced with two long and springy necks, each sporting a new, single-eyed head with a beak that curved upward.

Gobek had become a garfluk, widely known as the stupidest bird in all the Five Provinces. One of Gobek's two heads warbled while the other head laughed. He ran in place, flapping his green-feathered wings and kicking his legs in a bizarre dance.

The other servants laughed as the Gobek garfluk pranced around the kitchen, bumping into tables and behaving like a buffoon. In the past few days, I'd seen Gobek change shape maybe a dozen times. He did it to entertain the servants. It only added to his mystery. In all my studies with the Dowager, I'd never heard of a creature that could change from one thing into another.

While the other servants were enjoying the show, Mavra was not. She shoved a small girl toward a basket filled with vegetables. “Get back to work!”

The laughter died as everyone returned to their tasks. Gobek stopped, his heads dropping. The garfluk folded in on itself. The feathers dissolved and stretched out to become Gobek's claylike flesh. Soon, the small chubby creature was back to his normal form.

“Gobek is usually making Mavra happy with garfluk. Is maybe happier if Gobek becomes sprybird?”

Mavra's taloned fingers balled into a pair of nasty-looking fists. “He's been nothing but trouble since he got here!”

I scrunched my face up in the most repentant look possible. It worked. Gobek took pity on me. “Is new here. Is still learning. Is careful to remember Mavra was new once too.”

Even as Gobek tried to calm her, Mavra continued to rant. I looked past Gobek in time to see Maloch and Callie slip into the kitchen from the hall and blend in with the assembled crowd. They caught my eye and touched their temples. I gave a small nod.

“Let me tell you,” I said loudly, interrupting Mavra, “that I have really learned my lesson. Yes, sir, no more baking for Tyrius, that's for sure. How about I just clean up this mess and we'll call it good?”

I didn't give Mavra a chance to argue. I pushed past her and headed to the supply closet.

“Is seeing?” Gobek asked, patting her hand. “Is cleaning up. Is all better now, yes?”

Mavra spun on the other servants, who gaped from the far side of the kitchen. “What are you all looking at?” she demanded, sending everyone scurrying.

I took my time at the supply closet, selecting just the right mop for the job. Maloch and Callie strolled over, pretending they didn't know I was there.

“Did you get it?” I asked softly.

Maloch turned his cupped hand toward me. A small tarnished key sat nestled in his palm. “Swiped it the minute Gobek heard the commotion and came here.” He surveyed the batter-spattered kitchen. “Nice diversion.”

“Jaxter, what did you do?” Callie asked, trying to look horrified, but all she could manage was highly amused.

“Bit of baking,” I said. I pulled up the smock that covered my front, revealing my pouches. “For future reference, jellyweed does
not
bake well. But then, I already knew that.” I touched my temple and nodded at Callie. “You know where to meet us. Midnight.”

Callie touched her temple and walked away.

“Tyrius!” Mavra bellowed.

I grabbed a mop and bucket and shambled over to the Aviard. She began directing me where to mop, as if I couldn't tell that the batter was literally everywhere. But I didn't question it. I played my part, the faithful servant, and did as I was told. For now.

It had all worked exactly as planned. The cake explosion, Gobek leaving his quarters in a hurry so Maloch could steal the key.

Tonight, after nearly a week of trying to find Aubrin, we'd finally have some answers.