Akiko in the Castle of Alia Rellapor (3 page)

 Chapter 5 

After a few
more false starts, Gax finally began to move the Torg forward step by step at a fairly steady pace. I imagine the giant robot must have looked like a one-year-old who’d just learned to walk. Thankfully I don’t think any other robots saw us at this point. Ten or fifteen minutes later Gax had the Torg walking around like an old pro.

Gax instructed the Torg to walk down to the castle and find an entrance. I waited and watched as we caught glimpses of scenery through the nearly closed storage hatch. I’d see a sliver of the morning sky or a slice of the castle itself, growing ever larger as we approached it. Eventually I saw other Torgs, stalking back and forth among the snow-covered boulders at the base of the castle. One of them crossed our path just a few feet in front of us, and we very nearly smashed right into it.

“
SORRY ABOUT THAT
,” Gax said. “
A RATHER CLOSE CALL, WASN’T IT?
”

Mr. Beeba made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a moan.

Finally we arrived at the front entrance of the castle. It was an enormous iron gate held in place by an ornate stone archway, with two flickering torches on either side. At the very top, in the exact center of the arch, a tiny robotic camera perched on the end of a short mechanical arm. It clicked and buzzed, apparently focusing intently on us.

“It’s a surveillance robot,” Spuckler explained. “It decides who gets to come in and who doesn’t. With any luck the li’l feller’s been programmed to ’open sesame’ for any Torg that comes along.”

With any luck. Well, it just wasn’t our day.

GRICKLE-SPRICKLE-BOK-BOK!

The little camera vibrated, producing a series of strange mechanical noises. It sounded like a hyperactive pinball machine.

MIRKLE-BIRKLE-CHEEK-CHEEK-CHEEK!

“What’s going on?” I asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

“
HE’S SCOLDING ME,”
Gax explained
. “HE SAYS I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BACK HERE HALF AN HOUR AGO
.”

“Quick!” Spuckler whispered. “Somebody come up with a good excuse!”

There was a short pause as we all struggled to think of something.

“I’ve got it!” Mr. Beeba said excitedly. “Tell him you were admiring the morning sunlight . . . as it cascaded upon the newly fallen snow . . . and you were so enchanted by it that you lost all track of time!”

“Robots are
machines,
you idiot!” Spuckler snapped. “They don’t
do
stuff like that!”

“Er . . . enjoying the fresh mountain air, perhaps?”

Spuckler smacked Mr. Beeba soundly on the forehead, making a noise like a thumped pumpkin.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “What if you say your navigation circuits blew out and you had trouble finding your way back to the castle?”

There was a moment of silence as Spuckler, Mr. Beeba, and Gax all turned to me with stunned expressions. Even Poog looked impressed, as if he hadn’t expected this out of me.

“Now
that,
” Spuckler said with an upraised finger, “is an
excuse
.”

“Well done, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba said, grinning enviously.

“Go on, Gax,” Spuckler said. “Tell it to the robot, exactly like Akiko said.”

Gax shivered a bit, and a moment later noises began to come out of the Torg’s head.

NIRKLE-GIRKLE-DOK-DOK. DIRKLE-DIRKLE-GWEEEEK!

There was a long pause. The camera robot stayed motionless, its lens still pointed at us. It moved slowly back and forth, then made a brief mechanical noise.

KIRKLE-POTCH!

“Well?” Mr. Beeba asked.

“
HE SAYS IT’S THE WORST EXCUSE HE’S EVER HEARD
,” Gax translated.

Nevertheless, there was a loud rumbling-groaning noise, followed by a piercing rusty screech, and the iron gate slowly began to rise. A moment later the passageway was wide open, and Gax was able to make the Torg march inconspicuously into the castle.

Spuckler pushed the hatch open a bit farther so we could get a better look at our surroundings. We were in the middle of a gigantic hallway with a smooth marble floor. Orange-flamed torches lined the walls on both sides, providing just enough light to see from one end of the hallway to the other. Every square inch of the place seemed to be covered with strange carvings and decorations, and I found myself wondering if it was the prettiest place I’d ever been in or just the creepiest.

Gax kept the Torg moving one step at a time, each motion producing a soft echo.

“Where we goin’, Gax?” Spuckler asked.

“
I HAVEN’T THE FAINTEST IDEA, SIR
,” Gax replied. “
I ASSUME WE HAVE TO KEEP MOVING, THOUGH, IF WE ARE TO AVOID AROUSING SUSPICION
.”

“Good thinking, Gax,” said Mr. Beeba. “Still, we need to find some means of discerning the Prince’s whereabouts. In a castle this size, it could take us months to search the place!”

Months?
I didn’t want to stay in that castle more than a few minutes! We’d
have
to find a better way.

Suddenly there was a warbly, gurgling sound: Poog was talking. It had been a while since I’d heard his alien language, so it caught me a bit off guard. We all turned and looked at Poog. He had a serious look on his face. The orange flames of the torches shimmered in his big black eyes. He finished what he had to say, shut his mouth, and blinked once or twice.

“Poog says we’ve got to keep our eyes open,” Mr. Beeba translated. “If we look carefully enough, we’ll be able to see some sort of clue as to where the Prince is being held.”

“Why doesn’t he just
tell
us where he’s bein’ held,” Spuckler grumbled, “’stead of being Mr. Mysterious all the time?”

“Hush, Spuckler,” Mr. Beeba scolded. “It is not for us to decide what Poog will or will not tell us!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Spuckler muttered, sounding as though he’d heard Mr. Beeba say this many times before.

So Gax kept the Torg going, and we all peered out of our dark little compartment into the dim orange light, hoping to see something cluelike. Once, another Torg came into view, heading to some other part of the castle. It made a short beeping sound as it passed, one that Gax was careful to repeat. I figured that was the way Torgs greeted one another, like people back in Middleton saying “Hi” as they passed on the street.

“This is crazy,” Spuckler said after a few minutes. “We’re not gonna get anywhere wanderin’ around like this. I say we climb down an’ check the place out on foot.”

“Absolutely not,” Mr. Beeba replied sternly. “This Torg is the only thing keeping us from being discovered!”

“Yeah,” Spuckler protested. “But it’s so
boring
!”

Suddenly I saw a tiny robot pass in front of us. It was about three feet tall and clattered across the floor like a vacuum cleaner
with legs. It made three high-pitched beeps and continued on its way. I looked
down and saw that it was carrying a tray in one of its mechanical hands. On the tray was . . . well, I know it sounds crazy, but I’d swear it looked exactly like
milk and cookies
!

 Chapter 6 

“Gax,” I said
excitedly. “Follow that robot!”

“
BUT, MA’AM
—” Gax began.

“Just follow it!” I said again. “I’ll bet
anything
that little guy’s heading straight to the Prince!”

“Do what she says, Gax,” Spuckler said, not sounding entirely sure why he was saying it. “’Kiko’s got her mind made up on this one.”

So Gax made the Torg stop, pivot, and follow the miniature robot down a corridor that branched off from the main hallway. Gax left twenty-five or thirty feet between the two robots, evidently trying not to look too suspicious.

The corridor was darker and had fewer decorations on its walls than the grand hallway we’d just come from. The ceiling was also pretty low, leaving just enough space for the Torg to get through. It occurred to me that we were making rather a lot of noise walking down the hallway with our robot’s enormous metal feet. Could the miniature robot hear us?

GREEEEEET!

As if it had heard my question, the little robot abruptly came to a stop and spun its head around to confront us. I couldn’t tell if it looked angry or not (How could I? It didn’t have any eyebrows!), but it

didn’t seem particularly happy to see us either.

“Keep goin’, Gax!” Spuckler whispered. “He’ll get suspicious if we stop!”

Gax obediently made the Torg walk right by the little robot as if we were on our way somewhere. The other robot’s head slowly swiveled as we passed, its mechanical eyes locked on us.

“But, Spuckler,” I whispered, “if we keep going like this, we’re going to lose the trail!”

“Don’t worry, ’Kiko. I got a plan.”

Mr. Beeba whimpered quietly like a wounded dog. I think he tended to get really nervous whenever Spuckler had a plan.

Gax kept the Torg walking until we were forty-five or fifty feet ahead of the little robot. Then Spuckler spoke again.

“All right, Gax,” he said, “stop here and act like you’re workin’ on the walls.”

“
WORKING ON THE WALLS, SIR
?” Gax asked, sounding thoroughly mystified.

“Pretend you’re waterproofin’, or fixin’ the caulk or something.”

“
THERE
IS
NO CAULK, SIR 
. . . ,” said Gax.

Spuckler growled.

“. . . 
BUT I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO
,” Gax added hastily.

With that he raised one of the Torg’s arms and began urgently poking at a spot where the wall met the ceiling.

It was eerily quiet as Spuckler, Mr. Beeba, Poog, Gax, and I huddled together in the dark compartment, waiting to find out what would happen next. Mr. Beeba pulled a handkerchief from under his belt and began patting his damp forehead.

Finally we heard the light skittering sound of the little robot’s feet on the stone floor as it approached us from behind. Gax made several of the Torg’s arms shoot out to fiddle even more vigorously with various areas of the wall, producing an impressive variety of noises. It sounded like a whole team of construction workers using everything from jackhammers to power drills. I don’t know whether Gax really had any idea what he was supposed to be doing, but he was definitely making the Torg look
busy
.

NIRKLE-NIRKLE GLEEP-GLEEP!

The little robot passed us and continued down the corridor, its tray of milk and cookies held proudly before it in two mechanical fists.

“Wh-what did he say?” Mr. Beeba asked, mopping his forehead.

“
HE TOLD ME I MISSED A SPOT
.”