The Dragon's Tooth (27 page)

Sterling pushed the fishing-poled wheelchair onto the middle of the jetty and eased himself into it. “Llewellyn Douglas,” he said, scanning the waves. “You’re down there, too?” After a moment, a smile rustled beneath his beard, and he stood back up. “Old dog,” he said quietly. “Old trick.”

The wind surged, ringing Ben Sterling’s bells and shivering his beard. Chuckling to himself, he hurried off the jetty.

Cyrus felt the water pressure grow as they slid deeper and deeper down the face of the shelf. Suddenly, the shark veered into it, Cyrus’s legs dragged across stone, and the last of the light died.

A rock grazed Cyrus’s head. His foot. They were moving through a tunnel. He tucked tight against the shark’s body and let himself release most of his air. Dennis was yelling. Bubbling.

Cyrus tried to relax, to forget about what he was doing, to forget about his panicking lungs and his bulging eyes.

The shark thrashed and Cyrus nearly slipped off. They were climbing, winding, ascending.

Time slowed down. Limbs became lead, and then Cyrus felt his foot splash through the surface. He let go of the shark’s fin and kicked up into dark, dank air.

Treading water in emptiness, Cyrus wheezed. “Tigs!” he yelled. “Dennis!”

He heard coughing. “Cy … help. Dennis—”

Someone threw up.

Cyrus swam toward his sister’s voice, but he couldn’t tell if he was moving in the right direction—or moving at all. He stopped and bobbed on the surface he couldn’t even see, swallowing cool lake water.

“Marco!” he yelled.

“Cyrus … it’s not …”

She wasn’t far. Cyrus splashed forward as fast as he could until he slapped something with a stroke.

“Tigs?” Cyrus felt around the body. Dennis’s cape. He was still below the surface. From behind, Cyrus got his arms under Dennis’s and rocked backward to get the porter’s face above the water. The caped body shook, kicked Cyrus in the shin, and then threw up on his hands.

Antigone gasped beside them.

“Tigs, I’m here, I’m here,” Cyrus said.

“Dennis was pulling … me down.” She coughed hard, and then gagged. “I tried, couldn’t hold … kept sinking.”

“I got him,” Cyrus said. “You okay? Can you help me keep him up?”

With a sharp clank and a buzzing, flickering explosion, the darkness sizzled into blinding light.

Cyrus closed his eyes against the pain, and then opened them into a squint. The blur solidified. They were bobbing in a pool. High walls were covered with white tiles, cracked and stained and occasionally missing, but glistening beneath a ceiling crowded with caged lights.

The water looked as black as liquid coal, and a large dorsal fin was carving it in slow circles.

“Mr. Douglas!” Cyrus yelled. “Where are you?”

“Over here, boy. Get out and help the cripple.”

Antigone sputtered laughter. “Turn, Cy. We’re right at the edge. Would suck to drown right here.”

Cyrus kicked slowly while Dennis flailed his arms. “Would suck to drown anywhere,” he said, spitting water.

Two yards behind him, the pool ended and a tile floor stuck out its lip a foot above the water.

Antigone swam to the wall, boosted her waist up onto the edge, hooked a knee, and rolled out.

When Cyrus reached the wall, he braced himself while Antigone grabbed Dennis’s arms and Cyrus heaved the groaning porter up onto the tiles. His wet cape dripped over the edge, and his crushed bowler hat—still tied on—covered his eyes.

Cyrus flopped out of the water and looked around. The room was littered with small wooden crates and old rusted gear on collapsed shelving.

From the other side of the room, Mr. Douglas, pale and dripping, grinned at him. He was sitting with his back against the wall beside a doorway, just beneath a large metal electrical switch. A wet trail on the dirty tile showed where he’d dragged himself across the floor.

“Always hated Benjamin Sterling,” the old man said. “Mr. Whispers and Secrets, we used to call him. A plotter and that’s that. I won’t touch his cooking.”

“Who called him that?” Cyrus asked.

“My own self and all my dead brothers. He poisoned my Evelyn ten years back—I don’t doubt it—and still he’s cooking for the Order.” He shook his head. “No-legged liar with a bit of charcoal for a heart.”

Cyrus looked at the old man’s sagging ribs and skeletal legs. “We need to get you some clothes. Can you stand up?”

“No, I can’t stand up. Didn’t you bring along my wheelchair?” Llewellyn cackled laughter and then checked his teeth. “And no need for clothes. We’ll stay here for a touch, and when Benjamin Filthy Sterling has moved along, Lilly will take us back. Haven’t had a swim or a bit of adventure in two ages. Feels like an old friend.”

“Who’s Lilly?” Antigone asked. She had rolled Dennis onto his belly.

“The last of my bulls,” Llewellyn said. “The one the Keepers missed. I raised hundreds of pups in this pool right here. My sweet Lilly was from the final brood—before my legs gave. The biggest I ever bred, too. She’s six meters for sure. An ancient lady now—thirty years old—but she still remembers old Llew.”

“You want to go back out of here on that shark?” Antigone asked. “Dennis is half dead. I almost drowned. Isn’t there another way? What’s through that door?”

“Locks and more locks,” Llewellyn said. “And stairs and tunnels that lead up to the Crypto wing of the zoo. This was part of it. Been locked for decades—since the Keepers lost control of the collections.”

Cyrus glanced at the man’s underwear and looked back at his sister. “Tigs, I’m gonna need Dennis’s cape over here.”

Antigone reached around Dennis and undid his cape. She threw it toward Cyrus, and the heavy, wet cloth slapped to the floor. Then she grabbed at her pockets.

“Cyrus, my Quick Water’s gone.”

“Already lost mine,” Cyrus said. “It doesn’t like real water.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” The old man pointed at the pool. “If you dropped it in here, I’m sure Lilly will have eaten it. She’s waiting around for a treat like a good little sharklet. Not that I have one for her.” He turned to Cyrus. “She bolted your glowing ball right down. Can’t blame her—not many twinklings in the deep water.”

Cyrus walked to the edge of the pool and watched the big shark carve her circles.

“Pull me over there.” Llewellyn rocked in place. “Let’s see how much the old girl remembers.”

While Dennis, still facedown, moaned and coughed and spat on the tile, Cyrus and Antigone tied the wet cape around Llewellyn’s neck like an apron, and then dragged him to the edge of the pool.

Sitting with his feet in the water, the old man stretched his fist out over the surface. Lilly’s circles changed. The dorsal did one loop at the far wall and then disappeared.

Llewellyn slapped the tile floor.

“Stand back,” he said, and the water exploded.

Eighteen feet of shark flew out of the water and slammed onto the tile floor. A pectoral fin smacked the old man, and he tumbled toward Dennis. Cyrus and Antigone both yelled, jumping back with the heavy spray. Cyrus slipped on the wet tile and landed on his back.

Antigone kept her feet, eyes wide and heart racing. Lilly’s yellow eye rolled in its socket, scanning the room.

The old man army-crawled back toward the shark. “Beautiful girl,” he said, like he was talking to a puppy. “Look at you … lovely Lillith!” The shark’s gills flapped, and she swiped the pool with her tail, sending a wave of water up onto Dennis.

Moaning, dripping, Dennis Gilly finally pushed himself up onto his knees and slid back his hat.

His eyes widened and he squealed, scurrying backward into a pile of wooden crates.

Llewellyn stroked the shark’s blunt head, cooing and chattering all the time. Then he made a fist and tapped her nose.

“What’s in your belly, beautiful girl?” he asked. “What have you been eating to get so big?”

Lilly levered up her head, wrinkling the skin on her dark, thick back. She opened a gaping, cavernous mouth full of teeth, and then, with a noise like ten pigs belching, she regurgitated a huge load of diced fish.

“Good girl!” Llewellyn said, slapping her head. He looked over his shoulder at the shocked kids. “It’s one of the first things I taught the pups. You have to monitor diet early on. Only fish for my sharks. People notice if geese and Labradors start getting pulled under.”

Looking at the pile, Antigone cringed. “People notice if
people
start getting pulled under. What would you do if there was a foot in there?”

The old man laughed and patted the shark’s rippling gills. Lilly began writhing, slapping her fins and wriggling her way back toward the water.

“There wouldn’t be. I taught my little girl well. And she knows you now, too. She could smell you across the lake. She’ll be a friend to you if you ever need one.” He nodded at Cyrus. “Your glowing jelly will be in that pile there. Maybe the girl’s, too. Dig around.”

Lilly the bull shark tipped over the edge and sent another wave rushing across the tile and swirling through the pile of once-eaten fish.

A clear, gelatinous ball rolled free.

“Pick it up, Cyrus,” Antigone said. “I’m not touching that gunk.”

Panting in the crates, Dennis pointed at the old man. “I need my cape back.”

“No,” Cyrus said, glancing at Llewellyn. “No, you don’t.” He scooped up the Quick Water, squeezed it in half, and tossed a piece to Antigone. He dropped his piece back into his wet pocket. “Mr. Douglas, we’re gonna try the doors. I like Lilly fine, but I don’t want to do that again. Do you want to come?”

“No,” said the old man. “I do not.”

“He has to,” Antigone said. “He can’t go back on the shark alone. How would he get out of the water?”

“I do not have to do anything, young lady. How did I get out of the water here?” Llewellyn shrugged his shoulders free of the cape and raised his Halloween limbs. “I have arms.”

“I don’t want to come,” said Dennis. “And I don’t want to go back.”

“Don’t be dumb, Dennis,” said Antigone. “We have to do something.”

“I don’t know,” said Cyrus. “He could survive on Lilly’s fish bits for a while.”

“Cy … I’m not even going to say anything.” Antigone walked over to the metal door and banged it open. “Not locked.” Reaching around inside, she found a switch. The doorway brightened with a click. “Stairs,” she said. “Pick up the old man and come on.”

“Don’t touch me,” Llewellyn said. “I’m your diving tutor, aren’t I? Show some respect. Besides, even if the doors to the zoo are unlocked, you don’t want to go that way. Those creatures are less than friendly.”

“Yeah?” Antigone put her hands on her hips. “What about sharks? When did they become friendly?”

“Lilly came in a litter of thirty and she was the friendliest pup of them all. Always was and always will be. Never a nip from Lilly.”

“Um …” Cyrus pointed at the black pool. “What about that one?”

Llewellyn squinted at the water. A second dorsal, badly scarred, was tailing behind Lilly’s figure eights.

“Well, snicker my doodle,” Llewellyn said. “Lilly’s found a friend.” He laughed, giddy as a birthday boy. “A wild bull! And all this time, I’ve been thinking she’s lonely. I’ve been sitting out on that jetty worried about my girl.”

The old man slid his feet back in the water and rested his chin on his hands, watching the two dorsals swirl.

He sighed, scrunched his wrinkled face, and glanced back at the kids, dabbing his eyes. “If I had a daughter, which I don’t, I imagine this is what it would be like seeing her coming down the aisle in white.” He pointed at the second dorsal. “You treat her right, you hear me? I’ll come in there. I will! I’ll come for you.”

“Right,” said Cyrus. “You’re a kook, and we’re not going back in there.”

“Suit yourselves,” Llewellyn said. He took off the cape and threw it at Dennis. “We’ll meet again,” he said. “If you survive the zoo.”

Pushing off the floor, Llewellyn Douglas dropped into the shark pool.

Cyrus looked at his sister, widened his eyes, and shook his head. “He’s crazy.”

Antigone shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s pretty unappetizing. He might be fine.” She jerked her thumb at the door. “Want to go now, or wait and watch?”

“Now,” said Cyrus. “Quick. If he gets chomped, I’ll have to jump in.”

eighteen

ZOO

C
YRUS AND
A
NTIGONE
stood in a long hall lined with metal doors. The stairs hadn’t been long, but they led to a tangle of hallways. Cyrus and Antigone and a moping Dennis had been wandering for a while, dead-ending in storage rooms full of dry grain or tools or scrap metal cut away from cages.

Dennis had been no help at all.

The floor was grimy, and lightbulbs dotted the ceiling in both directions—only a few of them working. Cyrus scanned the filthy floor and then glanced at the bottom of his bare foot. It looked like it was layered in axle grease.

Antigone pointed down the hallway. “I think we’ve been down there.” She turned around. “But that looks familiar, too.”

“It’s all the same,” Cyrus said. “Maybe the old guy was wrong. There’s not a way up out of here.”

“Not an option,” said Antigone. “I’m not getting back in the water with any sharks.” She groaned, shifting uncomfortably. “I hate wet clothes. These pants are starting to chafe, and my feet are blistering.”

“Take off your boots,” Cyrus said, wiggling his toes and kicking a rotting rag against the wall. “Bare feet are so much better in a place like this.”

Antigone turned to Dennis. The drenched porter was carrying his cape in a wad beneath his arm, and he still hadn’t untied his crushed bowler hat. He was leaning against a wall, staring at absolutely nothing.

“Dennis,” Antigone said. “Please, tell us about this place. You might not think you know anything, but you definitely know more than we do. Anything? Have you heard anything, read anything, dreamed anything?”

“They’re going to fire me,” Dennis said. “Sterling doesn’t need to kill me. I’ll be thrown out of Ashtown. Where will I go?”

“Why would you be thrown out?” Cyrus asked. “Sterling’s the one who’ll be in trouble.”

Dennis shook his head. “Who will they believe? Dennis Gilly, failed Acolyte, failed porter? Or Benjamin Sterling? Everyone loves him. He’s been the cook for—I don’t know how long—since he lost his legs. Greeves will think I’m crazy.”

“Well,” said Antigone. “We’ll tell him you’re not crazy.”

“How do you know?” Dennis asked. “Maybe I am.” He sighed. “I’m not like you two. I had to go into the service corps and now I’ll even lose my bed in the porter’s dorm. I don’t have any family. Where will I go? What state is around Ashtown?”

“Wisconsin,” said Cyrus.

“I’ll be out in Wisconsin. What do they do in Wisconsin? Nothing I’m good at, I’m sure.”

Antigone stepped in front of the damp porter. “Cyrus and I think you’re great, Dennis. Don’t we, Cy?”

“Sure,” said Cyrus.

Dennis looked up and shook his head. “You’re both 1914 Acolytes. I wouldn’t have made the 1969 standards … even if I could have afforded the dues. I just wanted to sail. Who cares about Latin?”

“Not me,” said Cyrus. “Not at all.”

Antigone nodded at her brother and slowly rolled her hands for him to go on.

Cyrus smiled. “Hey,” he said. “How would you like to be a Polygoner, Dennis?”

Antigone dropped her hands, surprised.

Cyrus continued. “If you get kicked out, you can stay with us. We’ll hide you. But if you don’t get kicked out, you can still be a Polygoner.”

Dennis looked at Antigone. She smiled. He turned back to Cyrus.

“Really? Are you just trying to get me to feel better? Are you making something up?”

Cyrus shook his head. “We’re not making it up.” He slapped the boxing monkey on his leather shoulder. “That’s our symbol or logo or whatever. But there are only two Polygoners right now. Three if we count Nolan. We need more.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Well.” Cyrus grinned. “You have to help us, and that will mean doing whatever we say.”

“Cyrus …” Antigone’s voice was all warning.

“There are other rules, too,” Cyrus said quickly. “But we can explain those later.”

Dennis straightened. “Do you really think I’m good enough?”

Cyrus laughed. “What do you think, Tigs? Is he good enough?”

“Dennis Gilly,” Antigone said. “You just swam with a shark. How many people do you know who have done that?”

Dennis thought for a moment. “You two and Mr. Douglas.”

“Right,” said Cyrus. “You’re as good as we are. And you like to sail? Are you good at it?”

Dennis nodded solemnly.

“Good,” said Cyrus. “Then you can be our sailing tutor, too.”

“Mr. Cyrus—”

Cyrus shook his head. “Don’t ever call me that again. If you do, we’ll kick you out.”

Dennis nodded seriously. “Right. I won’t. What do Polygoners do?”

“Whatever needs to be done,” said Cyrus.

“And right now,” Antigone said, “we need to find a way out of here.”

Dennis looked in both directions. “But I’ve never—”

Cyrus raised his hands, and Dennis’s mouth clicked shut. “This is the first test, Dennis. We’re not going to help you.”

Nodding slowly, Dennis squinted down the hall, and then turned and moved to the first metal door. He opened it and walked in.

Gasping, he staggered back out. “Stuff,” he said. “Rotting stuff.” He pointed down the hall. “I think we should go that way.”

“Don’t think, Dennis,” Cyrus said. “Do. We’re following you.”

The porter threw his wet cape against the wall. “Wait here,” he said, and strode down the hallway, opening doors.

“Cyrus,” Antigone whispered. “You’re evil.”

“What are you talking about? Look at him! He just turned into Napoleon.”

“Yeah, but what will he do when he finds out that there’s no club? It’ll break his heart.”

“He won’t find out, because there
is
a club—maybe a gang or a full-on league. And we’re in charge. Well, technically I’m in charge, but you can be the secretary or something.”

“Yeah,” said Antigone. “Sure. That’ll happen.”

“Treasurer?” Cyrus asked. “Or do you want to be the Avengel, like Greeves? You can enforce my proclamations. Or you can just be the mascot. Your call.”

“Copresident.”

“Ha.” Cyrus eyed his sister. “A second ago, you were denying that the league existed, and now you want to muscle in on my leadership?”

“Shut up, Rus, or I’ll drop the ‘co.’ ”

“Hey!” Dennis yelled. “I’ve found a way … somewhere.”

When Cyrus and Antigone reached him, Dennis was beaming with pride beside an open rusty door. Ancient hay bales had been stacked on one side of the room. On the far wall, a ladder ran straight up to a trapdoor in the ceiling.

“I’ll bet it goes up to the feeding rooms behind the cages,” Dennis said. He scurried up the ladder and lifted the trap. “At least, I think so. It’s a little dark.”

“Okay,” Cyrus said. “Hop down, Dennis. We’ll check it out.”

Dennis stared at him. “No. You said this was a test. There are rules. You can’t trick me. I always follow rules.”

Cyrus opened his mouth and then shut it. He had nothing to say. Dennis climbed up, wriggled through the trapdoor, and let it bang behind him.

“Terrific,” said Antigone. “Dennis always follows rules, and you are now his rule book. Pull the plug now, Cy.”

“Pull the plug on this new, amazing Dennis?” Cyrus shook his head and moved out of the way. “Go ahead. Ladies first.”

Antigone climbed the ladder, and Cyrus climbed behind her. With each step, leather water dripped out of her boots and onto Cyrus’s head.

When she reached the top, she threw open the trap and climbed through.

When Cyrus reached the top, he stuck his head up and into pure reek.

“Oh …” He groaned, gagging.

“Get up here, Cy. Plug your nose. I think Dennis passed out.”

The room was extremely dim, but Cyrus could just make out his sister’s shape. The only light was seeping in through the seams around a heavy door and a smaller, square hatch set into it at head height.

Cyrus stood up and covered his nose. “Did an elephant die? I can taste it.”

“It smells like skunk plus last year’s fish,” Antigone said. She nudged Dennis’s crumpled shape with her toe. “What do we do with him?”

“What do we do with us?” Cyrus asked.

“No! Leon, down!” A boy’s shout echoed through the darkness. “Down!”

A bubbling bellow drowned out the voice. A second later, the floor shook with a crash. Birds shrieked. Unknown animals whooped with excitement.

Cyrus and Antigone jumped to the light-outlined door. Cyrus found a bolt and jerked it back with a loud crack. The heavy metal door swung open into a cage.

The two of them stepped through onto a dry floor dusted with old straw. The walls on each side were gray stone. In front, thick iron bars separated them from a bright and immensely large room lined with cages.

Cyrus walked to the bars and pressed his face between them. Antigone squeezed beside him. The foul-smelling zoo was beautiful, but battered. Marble floors were smeared with filth. Cracked stone columns grew into steel girders, which peaked in Gothic arches, carrying a paned mountain range of skylights that ran the length of the room.

The place was alive with daylight.

Cages lined the walls and mezzanines, but Cyrus didn’t look to see how many were full. His eyes were on an armored white shape attempting to run down the middle of the room. It looked part astronaut and part white fire hydrant, rocking forward on thick, awkward limbs.

Chasing it, clattering and clawing, grunting and snapping, was a turtle the size of a van. A tail that looked like a whole crocodile dragged behind it. Clawed, elephant-size feet thumped beneath it, and its long, rocking, spiny shell was the size of a smaller car all by itself.

“Leon!” the white shape shouted, hopping slowly. “Stop!”

The turtle stretched out a wrinkly, scaled head that would have been big on a buffalo and opened a mouth large enough to swallow pumpkins. Its neck sprang forward, and its mouth snapped shut around the white shape’s head. It clamped and reclamped, while thick white legs kicked and thick white arms flailed. Then, lifting the shape up off the ground by its head, it began shaking its prey from side to side, banging legs against its spined shell.

“Hey!” Antigone yelled. “Over here! Come over here!”

“What are you doing?” Cyrus asked. He reached for his sister’s mouth.

But Leon the turtle had already heard. The thick white chew toy clattered to the floor.

“We have bars,” Antigone said. “We’ll be fine.”

Cyrus looked at the iron in his hands, and then he looked at the turtle as it flared its lopsided nostrils and stepped toward them.

“I don’t think these bars have a chance.”

The white thing tried to sit up but couldn’t. It flopped side to side and managed to roll onto its face. When it looked up, Cyrus blinked. It had two large silver mesh eyes and an upside-down triangle for a mouth.

“What are you doing in here?” it asked. “You better get out fast.”

Leon the turtle was approaching slowly. And then he levered open his enormous mouth. A long piece of skin in the back of his throat writhed like a snake.

Cyrus and Antigone took a step back from the bars. When they did, the turtle bellowed, raised its shell off the floor, and thundered forward.

Before it hit the bars, Cyrus and Antigone shot back through the rear door, tripped over Dennis as he sat up, and tumbled into a wall.

The iron bars screamed under the turtle’s impact.

So did Dennis.

The bars bent, but they did not break. The turtle twisted his head to the side, hooked a single bar with his beak, and ripped it free.

“That’s Leon!” Dennis yelled. “We’re going to die!”

A second bar clattered to the floor.

Antigone stood and kicked Dennis. “Get up and start acting like a Polygoner!”

The white shape appeared behind Leon and pointed. “Four doors down!” it yelled. “That way!” And then it lumbered off.

Leon tore two more bars out at once, then he wormed his head through the gap. He needed to show off his bait.

The huge turtle dropped its shell belly to the floor, cranked open its mouth, wrinkling its puckered old-man face, and held very still—all but the attractively wiggly bit of skin.

Cyrus grimaced, watching the turtle’s snake-size uvula twist and slither. “That’s disgusting.”

Antigone grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the dim hallway behind the cages.