Brass Monkeys Page 7

  “Listen, I read a ton of stuff,” I began. A stinky sock landed on my shoulder and I snatched it off fast. “But I still don’t have the slight—”

  “Told you to watch out for the music and incense so it didn’t change you into a fur brain. Maybe too late now.” He tossed some boxer shorts back that would have hit me right in the face, but luckily I batted them away. “And of course you really botched up the deal with Harriet Grove. Smartest kid in the school, and I knew she’d be the one, to help you so I let her know you were coming.”

  “You wrote the note to Harriet,” I blurted out.

  “Of course I did! I told you in the last letter she’d be your contact. You were supposed to bring her tonight.” He shook his head. “Totally fouled that up.”

  “Okay, look,” I said, “I see what happened. I never got your dumb let—”

  But he was rattling loudly in some pots and pans—evidently his cooking equipment—and not listening at all.

  “Couldn’t figure out where you were living,” he grumbled on. “And of course after I escaped, all I could find to travel around on was this stupid bike.”

  “Escaped?” I said. I was sure he meant from a mental ward, or maybe jail.

  “Yes, escaped!” he snapped. You know, from there.”

  “Right,” I said, trying to humor him. “There.”

  “Then I finally spotted you by the laundromat,” he continued, “tried to follow you to your house but fell down and nearly killed myself. On top of that, I had to keep chasing off this local character called Funny Frank who wanted to be my friend.” He lifted out a frying pan, examined the grease in the bottom, then tossed it down. “And while I’m doing all this running around,” he went on, “I’m worried sick about how Mingley would be driving all of you into the Monkeymind zone.”

  “Uh, well,” I began, “it’s funny you should mention that because today—”

  A clatter of dishes drowned me out. He was waving off my response anyway with a know-it-all look. “I figured so. It takes her about this long to darken them, ruin their imaginations, and put them into that awful helpless funk. And once she starts using the word ‘Monkeymind,’ then it’s just about zero hour—”

  He froze suddenly and peered off, his eyes wide and crazy looking. “Bells,” he whispered. “They’re circling back.” He began scrabbling wildly in the suitcase. He flung aside some old newspapers. “Yes, here’s my little baby right here. All nice and safe.”

  12

  brass monkeys

  He brought up a book. In the beam of light I could see the cover was red, but I couldn’t see a title or an author’s name.

  Webster’s gray eyes sharpened. “McGinty’s book,” he whispered. “Good old Brass Monkeys.” He handed it to me and, like a brainless squash, I took it.

  “It’s all yours now,” he went on. “You’re the one. You can save Harriet Grove and every kid in the country, or you can let them sink. It’s all up to you.”

  I stared at him. “You mean I can still help Harriet? With this book?”

  He looked at me like I needed a brain transplant. “Of course you can still help her! You nougat head! That’s what we’ve been talking about for days. Do you want to help her and the others, or not?”

  “Oh man, do I ever,” I blurted out. “More than anything.” I felt my eyes filling. “See, I did something really rotten at school.” I was stopped by the sound of voices.

  “They’re getting close,” hissed Webster. “Got to move fast now. That means I do a review and you listen.” He yanked me up by my coat collar. “You listening?”

  I managed to bob my head. “I’m listening.”

  He lowered his voice and began speaking in a rapid whisper. “Tomorrow is the bad day and the book is the key to everything. Remember, Mingley is scared to death of it, yet she wants to get her hands on it more than anything. So when you get to school, keep it hidden.” In his excitement he twisted my collar and nearly shut off my air. “And when zero hour hits—usually around nine o’clock—just hang on for dear life and take the ride.”

  “The ride?”

  “It’s a beauty—blam, right through a crack in time and back practically before you can blink. So when you get there you gotta find McGinty fast and give him his book. Say his name!”

  “McGinty,” I managed to gurgle out.

  “That’s right! And no one else! Get his book to him so he can finish it. If he can, that’ll be the end of Mingley. It’ll expose her entire operation. There’s also a map in the back and that’s the only way he can get you out of that place. Just remember if you don’t succeed, she’ll get your Amberlight, and you know what that means!”

  “Well,” I began, “ah …”

  “Oh, good grief,” he groaned. “And McGinty said you were smart!” He gritted his teeth and got right in my face. “She’ll suck out your hopes and dreams—your juice! Your Amberlight!”

  “Oh right, that,” I said. “My … juice and stuff.” Then it sort of hit me and I blurted out, “Wait, you actually mean my hopes and—?”

  He shook his head angrily. “Kid, I know you’re scared out of your gourd, but you’re going to have to shake it off. Get with it!” He grabbed up his sword and dragged me toward the door. He turned and the last of the “review” spilled out in a low, hissing whisper.

  “When you get there, go to the Avenue of Musicians. You’ll find your contact, the fabulous Lulu at the Blue Goat. And don’t forget what you’re supposed to tell her. You remember, right?”

  “Sort of,” I said, faintly. Had he said Lulu? “But a little review—”

  He rolled his eyes, then hissed out, “McGinty’s in the ruins.”

  “Right,” I said. “Got it.”

  “And remember what he looks like. He’s blond, he usually wears that ratty-looking white sportcoat, and every Stormie in the territory will be after him.” He paused. “This will be the adventure of your life, kid.” He gave me a bleak grin. “If you live to tell about it. Okay, I’m going to lead ‘em off now. You run for it.”

  “Wait,” I whispered desperately. “There’s stuff I need to know—”

  “Too late, kid. Gotta roll.”

  But I grabbed his arm. “How did you know about my dumb nickname and the B.B. thing?”

  He gave me a baffled look. “Kid, McGinty knows everything about you. That’s why he chose you.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

  Without another word, he opened the door and ran out into the blowing snow.

  Nothing happened for several seconds, then a loud chorus of yells went up and I knew they were after him like hounds.

  For a moment I was frozen with fear. Then a single cry rose above the battle, a frightening, fierce sound that jarred me out of it. With the red book clutched tightly in my hand, I bolted for the house.

  I crashed into the back hallway and frantically locked the door behind me. I waited a breathless second or two, then took a look outside. I couldn’t see a thing. Then I remembered that the other doors and windows were unlocked. I raced around like a madman bolting and fastening everything.

  I had just skidded back to the kitchen door to make sure it was locked when the phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my underwear. It was Mom.

  “Honey, Doris just tried to bring me home, but our road is drifted shut.” Her voice sounded like it was coming from China. “Can you handle things until I get back in the morning?”

  “Mom, Mom, listen,” I whispered in a rush. “I’ve got to tell you something.” I tried to control my voice. “The biggest, most totally crazy—”

  But here the line went nuts and started making a loud whistling sound. Mom’s voice came through once more and I heard, “You sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Mom, for crying out loud, I’m not okay! I’m in big trouble here—”

  “That’s wonderful, sweetie.”

  I heard some corn-popping sounds.

  “I knew you could handle it,” she burbled on. “Remember the bus at s
even.”

  And the line went dead.

  “Okay, this is really great,” I muttered. “Now what?” Maybe I should try to run to town and get help from the police. But what would I tell the cops? “Uh, officers, there’s these guys with bells on their coats. They’re called Storm Teachers and they work for my English teacher Mrs. Mingley. And, oh yeah, they’re carrying these curved swords and their hair looks like it was combed with a vacuum cleaner.”

  Right, Duwang. I turned in a dithering little circle, trying to figure out what I should do. I saw a butcher knife on the counter and I grabbed that.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, “they better watch out. Bunch of Stormies. I’m not afraid.” That’s when I dropped down and crawled under the kitchen table, something I used to do when I was about five. I sat under there looking like a prime dodo, and every sound I heard made me moan with fear. Once I crawled out and tried the phone, thinking I’d call Mom or maybe even Harriet. I wanted desperately to tell her I was really the great B.B. after all, and the only person who could save her from Ming and the awful thing that would happen at nine o’clock tomorrow. But the line was still dead.

  After a while I calmed down a bit. I picked up McGinty’s book and opened it, trying to see why it was such a big deal. I checked inside the cover for the title or author’s name, but there was nothing. Even stranger, the pages were written by hand, and it was in some kind of weird code. It made no sense at all. On top of that, the writing only went about halfway through the book. I figured that meant McGinty had to finish the rest in order to expose Ming and “her entire operation.”

  I shivered. That sounded like she was the head of something more vast and terrifying than Grindsville Middle School.

  I checked in the back of the book and found the map stapled to the last page. I opened one corner, but it was just a jumble of lines, arrows, and strange icons.

  I couldn’t begin to understand it, so I refastened it. I sat for a long time in a daze, trying to sort everything out. The biggest part of the puzzle was how the mysterious McGinty could ever imagine I was “brave” enough for a mission like this. “It’s totally crazy,” I muttered. But then, maybe McGinty knew something about me that I didn’t. Maybe it was all tied up with fate, like Harriet said, and I was simply too stupid to understand. Maybe. All I knew was, I had a chance to win back my friends. And I wanted that chance more than anything in the world.

  13

  hunting the dumb new Kid

  Later I drifted off to sleep. The next thing I heard was the sound of a big vehicle in low gear. The school bus. I lunged to my feet and banged my head on the kitchen table. I crouched there swaying in pain and tried to figure out where I was. I saw the butcher knife on the floor, then the book with the red cover, and it all came back with a rush. Today was the “bad day” at Grindsville Middle School, and I was the only one who could save Harriet and maybe every kid in the country. I checked the clock and groaned. It was already 7:30.

  I rushed out on the porch and tried to flag down the bus. I figured with the deep snow it wouldn’t be moving very fast. But the plows had already been out and the bus went rumbling past at nearly top speed. I ran out into the drive and flapped my arms like a demented chicken, but I could tell no one saw me.

  I hurried back inside. Maybe I could still get ahold of Mom, I thought desperately. But when I tried the stupid phone it was still dead.

  “Okay, Mr. Billy Bumpus. It’s all up to you. If you’re going to save anybody, you’ll have to hoof it to school.”

  I stuck Brass Monkeys into my backpack, then grabbed my coat and trumpet and went flying out the door. I tried to trot along the road, but my load was too heavy, I ended up walking as fast as I could. I kept repeating a little worry chant from childhood, “Hurry trouble, hurry trouble,” as I went. I stopped that finally and said, “Get a grip, son. And get a plan.” I was probably frowning and looking cross-eyed because I couldn’t think of a thing.

  “Talk to Harriet, you fool,” I muttered. “She’ll know what to do.” The truth was, I could hardly wait to tell her what had happened. I imagined how her eyes would glow when I told her about Webster and how I had the book—the single means to save her and the entire school. More than anything, I wanted to be part of the “Mohicans” again.

  When I reached the outskirts of town, it began to snow again, and by the time I got to school it was storming like crazy. I stopped by the flagpole and tried to control my trembling knees. I was late, and I mean lethally, fatally, big-time late. I could see kids sitting at their desks so I knew first-hour classes had started.

  But then I saw something that changed everything. Harriet appeared at one of the windows in Strobe’s room. She seemed to be looking right at me. I gave her a hesitant wave and, sure enough, she gave me a small wave back. My heart beat faster. That little gesture was enough for me. All my nagging doubts fell away and I knew right then that I’d risk everything to win her back.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, men, it’s all or nothing. We’re going in.” I started toward the front entrance, but when I reached the double doors, I got a nasty shock. They were locked. I tried the first door again, then the other. Locked. I rapped timidly on the glass. I could see a couple of teachers walking down the hallway. I knocked louder, but they kept right on going. I ran around to the side entrance and tried those doors. Locked. I groaned and slumped against the building. But right at that moment, I happened to look up and spot a window that was open just the barest crack. I crossed to it quickly. It was almost at eye level and, because of the small size, I was sure it wasn’t a window leading to a classroom. There was no light on inside, and I thought maybe it was a storage room. I put my hands under the window and shoved. Up it went with a whisper.

  I tossed my stuff inside, then boosted myself up onto the ledge. I was doing great until lost my balance and went crashing into the room. When I picked myself up, I realized I was in a bathroom. A girl’s bathroom.

  I barely had time to put the window down, when the door opened and I heard voices. I ducked inside one of the stalls just as the light went on. Peering out through the door crack, I watched two girls cross to the sinks and begin combing their hair. One was blonde and tall, while the other had brown hair and was short and kind of pudgy. They both had on yellow blouses and black skirts. Spies.

  “So where do you think he is?” said the tall girl.

  “Beats me,” said her companion. “But he’s a new kid and they say he isn’t very bright. Maybe he got his classes mixed up. Or maybe he’s just hiding.”

  “Why do they want him so bad?”

  “I don’t know. I heard Mrs. Mingley wants to grill him about something that happened last night and about some book. They’re all in an uproar.”

  “Well, let’s get hunting then,” said the tall girl. “I don’t want trouble.”

  They hurried out. I stood there a few seconds, my scalp tingling. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to know what “new kid” they were hunting and what book they were talking about. And they were dead right about me not being very bright.

  Here I was, like Mr. Hamster Brain, carrying Brass Monkeys in the most obvious place in the world—my backpack.

  I took the book out and tried to think of a better plan. Somehow I had to sneak into Strobe’s class and warn Harriet and the others. But where could I hide the book so it wouldn’t be found so easily? My brain felt like it was frozen solid and I ended up sticking the book under my shirt.

  “Okay, men,” I said. “We’re going to wing it. Play it by ear. Easy does it.” I knew I was babbling from pure fright. I picked up my trumpet case and backpack, opened the door, and peered out. The hall was empty, but I noticed right away how smoky it was. Ming and the others must be burning a ton of incense. I was about to step out, when I heard the music start up on the hall speakers, and so I stopped. The hair lifted on the back of my neck. It was the drum part of the “March of the Midnight Scholars.” Right on the heels of that, I heard the sound of marching
feet. I eased the door back to a crack and watched, wide-eyed, as a large crowd came into view, marching down the hall, heading toward me. It looked like the whole student body was on the move and I let out a little gasp of fear when I saw the figures leading the group. There were five or six of them, and even though they didn’t have their black cloaks on, I recognized the weird, up-swept hair. Storm Teachers.

  Keeping the door open a bare sliver, I watched as some of the “worst of the worst” marched past. After that closer look I wished I’d closed the door entirely. There were three men “Stormies” and two women in that first group. And their clothes! The men wore maroon plaid sport coats over pukey, peanut-butter-colored shirts and pants. Sewn along the fringes of their coats were small silver bells that gave off that scary, jangling sound. The women had on horrible pea-green dresses with pale red roses embroidered on their sagging hems. Their narrow belts were black and carried the same small bells.

  All that was horrible enough, but the faces of the Storm Teachers were even worse: they were powdery yellow and their lips were coal black; their wild gray hair shuddered and bounced as they marched. But it was their eyes that riveted me: they were like pale marbles—yellow, blue, green and red—and each pair radiated such hate and anger. A few seconds later a second group of Stormies passed, then some regular Grindsville teachers marched along with the kids. Finally there was a section with just students, and that’s when I spotted Weeser and Alvin.

  “It’s now or never,” I whispered. I waited until they were just opposite me, then I slipped out and into the line behind them. The kids in my row never batted an eye but simply moved aside and let me in; judging from their expressions I’m not even sure they saw me.

  “Weeser, Alvin,” I whispered. I reached ahead and tapped Weeser on the shoulder. “It’s me.”