ELEVEN
“I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
The voice came from the other side of the curtain. It was dry and rasping—not just old but ancient. Robert’s hands began to tremble, as if his subconscious sensed a threat of grave and immediate danger.
“Forgive me, Your Excellency. I’m sorry to barge in like this.” Robert recognized this second voice as Howard Mergler’s. “I have good news, and I wanted to share it right away.”
Robert shifted the curtain a fraction of an inch, just enough to peer into the room. He saw an enormous study. The walls were lined with tall shelves of old, cloth-covered books. Howard sat in a guest chair, a clipboard of notes balanced on his lap. Robert couldn’t see the man sitting across from him, yet he knew at once that it must be Crawford Tillinghast.
“First frost arrived this morning,” Howard continued, “but thanks to some smart planning, I managed to stay ahead of it. I’ve now corralled more than a hundred thousand insects.”
“Where are you keeping them?”
“In an underground burrow. Directly below the soccer field. With enough heat and food to ensure that reproduction continues throughout the winter. By springtime, the army will be ten times its current size!”
If Tillinghast was pleased, he didn’t show it. “What if someone discovers them?”
“Impossible, Your Excellency. The entrance is in the basement mechanical room. No teachers or students are allowed down there.”
“Suppose someone trespasses.”
“It’s very well concealed. Not even the janitors will discover it.”
Robert’s stomach growled and he realized that skipping breakfast had been a terrible mistake. Now his appetite was catching up with him, and the timing couldn’t be worse. He clutched his hands over his belly, but it squealed again.
“Did you hear that?” Tillinghast asked.
“Hear what?”
“That noise. Like the howl of a dog.”
They both waited for the sound to be repeated, and Robert was relieved to find that his stomach had settled down.
“Probably just my sister snooping about,” Tillinghast concluded. “All last night, I could hear her pacing outside my office. Back and forth, back and forth, waiting for me to leave. She’s up to something, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll interrogate her at once,” Howard offered.
“Another time. I want to see this burrow you’ve created.”
Howard was surprised. “But is it safe to leave the study? If Your Excellency has concerns about a security breach …”
“It will be fine for a few minutes. Ethugu will keep an eye on things.”
Tillinghast rose from his chair and Robert ducked behind the curtain. The old man’s voice was awful enough; Robert was too afraid to actually look at him. His hands were still shaking beyond his control.
He waited until Tillinghast and Howard had left the study, then lingered in his hiding place for another minute, listening for sounds or movement. There were none. He peered out from behind the curtain, scanning the study from one end to another.
Ethugu will keep an eye on things.
What was Ethugu? Where was Ethugu? Robert had no idea. He seemed to have the room entirely to himself. He imagined that someone (or, more likely, some thing) named Ethugu was standing guard just outside the door. He would have to be very quiet.
But now what?
The keys are in the lock. Robert stepped into the study, and the wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Over the door was a wide tapestry portraying a group of men and women dressed in bright red tunics, like ancient Romans; they were holding hands in a circle, surrounding a ring of fire. As Robert studied the tapestry, he felt like he was being watched—but when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that he was still alone.
He began pacing around the room, pulling on desk drawers and cabinet doors, but everything in the study was locked and none of the locks contained keys. In one corner stood a large wooden globe; Robert spun it with his fingers, checking for Africa or Australia or any of the places he was learning about in Social Studies. He realized that none of the continents on this globe looked even remotely familiar. It was a map of some other place, a world whose oceans were teeming with serpents and whales and leviathans.
Robert knew he was running out of time. He turned to the bookshelves, as if one of the thousands of dusty hardcover volumes might contain the answer. Many of the books were so old that their titles were illegible, but they appeared to be arranged alphabetically by author. Jonathan Byrd. Alfred Cable. Eugene Carp.
The keys are in the lock.
Suddenly, Robert had an idea. He circled the perimeter of the study, following the author surnames, moving from C and D to K to L, from La and Le to Li and Lo.
Until he found the lock.
The Collected Works of John Locke.
As soon as Robert lifted the volume from the shelf, he realized it was no ordinary book. Hundreds of keys spilled from it and clattered to the wooden floor.
Robert ducked behind the desk. He was terrified that Ethugu, hearing the noise, would enter the study to investigate. As he huddled in wait, he realized the book was nothing more than a box; its pages had been hollowed out to form a sort of hiding place.
Unfortunately, it contained more keys than Robert could fit in his pockets. He would have to search until he found the right one. All the keys were different shapes and sizes, but each one was labeled with a tiny inscription: “East Ext. Door” or “Rm. 223” or “Art Closet.” As Robert sifted through them, he again felt the sensation of being watched. It was stronger than ever, but the door to the office remained closed.
“Come on,” he whispered to himself, checking the labels as quickly as he could. “Where are you?”
He was answered by a wet gurgling noise, the sound of water swirling down a clogged drain. Robert looked over his shoulder to see a pair of blinking blue eyes looking back at him.
No, several pairs of eyes, dozens of them, all embedded in a blob of green ooze descending from the ceiling.
Robert looked up and discovered that he had never been alone in the study. This thing, this eyeslime, this Ethugu—it had been clinging to the ceiling and watching him the entire time.
The creature bulged toward him and Robert backed away, slipping on the keys and losing his balance. He fell to the floor, and Ethugu oozed down all around him, blinking furiously, surrounding him in a cocoon of glistening green mucus. Everywhere Robert looked, Ethugu looked back at him. Its eyes were furious, as though it was daring him to try to break free.
Instead, Robert remained perfectly still, his arms at his sides. After a few moments, he noticed that the slime seemed to be getting darker, that everything was getting darker.
But it was only a trick of his imagination. In truth, he had depleted all the oxygen in the cocoon. Robert was blacking out.