I remembered being covered in the rakkhosh’s reeking snot. I looked around for a spittoon, but didn’t see one. I continued walking until I saw the next sign.
Any rakkhosh, khokkosh, magical beast, or half human caught eating a spittoon will be prosecuted. Any human caught eating one will become very ill. And probably die.
(Stop eating the transit spittoons, we know who you are.)
The line came to an end a few feet away from the entrance of the cave. In front of me was a podium—the kind of stand Principal Chen used during auditorium assemblies at school. On it was a teeny tiny bell and a sign that read:
Ring here for transit officer. Be not afraid. (If you can help it.)
I looked around the deserted hilltop and down into the rocky valley. I wasn’t anywhere near Alexander Hamilton Middle School or Parsippany anymore. I felt very small and very far away from anything I knew. What I would give to see a familiar face. Even giggly-mean Jovi’s.
The wind shrieked around me, lifting my hair with jagged fingers. I shuddered.
There was nowhere to go but forward. I had to get to my parents before they got sucked into some alternate dimension or black hole or spoiled spell or whatever. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—even imagine the alternative. As weird as they were, they were my weirdos, and nothing in the universe could ever be right without them.
With a courage that came from somewhere deep but still unfamiliar, I picked up the petite bell with two fingers. Then I shook it.
I didn’t hear anything, so I shook it again. It wasn’t until the third shake that a deafening gong-like noise from the bell startled me into almost dropping it.
In a few seconds, the ground beneath me began to shake. And then the most horrible-looking creature emerged from the darkness of the cave. I sucked in my breath.
The transit officer wasn’t as tall as the rakkhosh had been and looked nothing like that hairy, warty demon. Instead, it had a face like a cross between a lion and a rooster. On its head were a ginormous crown and three curved horns. Beneath its googly eyes and hooked nose was a toothy mouth. I took in the giraffe’s neck, the man’s arms and chest, the porcupine’s quill-filled tail. And I saw the spike-covered club that the creature dragged behind it on the ground. I swallowed hard. Then it … smiled at me? double gulp
The beast shouted:
“Fear not, fear not, fear not! You won’t be maimed or shot!
Truth be told I can’t hold my own against one so strong, I’m a bag of bones!
Sharp horns have I, but I use them not, my joints are old, my muscles shot.
I have a club with spiky ends, but I won’t hit you, my dearest friend!
Come closer, chum, into my cave. You’re tasty, young, and far too brave!
Are you afraid? Are you insane? Do you want me all your blood to drain?
Myself and I and my nine boys, we’ll grab your legs like two stick toys.
You’re such a doll, you’re such a dear, we’ll eat you up if you have such fears!”
It took a forcible effort to shut my mouth, which had dropped stupidly open during the officer’s speech. I couldn’t think of anything to say. The creature’s words and expression seemed—if not pleasant—at least not actively harmful. On the other hand, I’d rather not meet the transit officer’s nine mini-mes, and having my blood drained as a punishment for being afraid didn’t seem like an ideal plan either.
“Um … are you the transit officer?” I finally asked.
“No papers, eh? That’s such a shame.” The creature’s eyes went buggy. “Well then, we’ll have to play a game.”
“What kind of game?” I wondered if the princes were through their checkpoint yet. Would they rescue me if the game this overgrown chicken was thinking about involved having me for lunch?
“Answer these, my pretty, please!” The officer clucked. “What’s black and white and—”
Really? Was this a joke?
“And read all over?” I finished. “A newspaper!” My fifth-grade teacher Mrs. Ury had actually taught me that one—red and read were homophones—when you spoke them aloud they sounded the same and that was the root of the joke.
The creature seemed so sad, I actually felt sorry for it. “Try another one,” I encouraged.
“What has four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, three legs in the evening—”
“Man!” I practically laughed as I blurted out the answer. It was the old question that the Sphinx was supposed to have asked the Greek hero Oedipus. Human beings crawled in the morning—hence the four legs—they walked on two when they were grown, and then walked with a cane when they were old. I’d seen that one on a documentary I’d watched at Zuzu’s house about the ancient Greeks.
The transit officer was pacing around now, stomping its giant rooster feet. I was careful to stay out of the way of its porcupine tail as it moved back and forth. But something like hope was blossoming in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I’d make it through this test and be able to rescue Ma and Baba after all.
“I reach to the sky, I touch the ground, sometimes I leave, but I’m always around?” The officer’s chicken wattle wobbled in agitation.
This was an oldie but goodie from one of Niko’s joke books.
“Yeah, I know that one too; it’s a tree,” I said. “Listen, don’t get upset. It’s not your fault. Can I go now? I bet my friends will be worried about me.”
This was obviously the wrong thing to say, because the officer’s bloodshot eyes narrowed in my direction. My heart gave a jerky leap.
“Friends?” it spat. “Kik, kik, ri gee! You’ve got friends, have you? Oh my, oh gee!”
I licked my dry lips. “They’re not really good friends.”
“Those were just practices, my pretty, my sweet,” the officer huffed, baring its yellow teeth. “If you don’t get this one, I’ll eat your feet!
“The ocean’s pearl, a grain of sand
More precious than all the gold in the land
Life would be flat, life would be bland
Without this diamond in your hand.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I hadn’t heard this one before. And now the transit officer was angry with me. I wondered even if I were to get the answer right, would it ever let me go?
“The ocean’s pearl?” I stalled.
“Kluk!”
“Life would be flat?”
“Kik ri gi!” the creature crowed. It was suddenly looking much happier. “Into my stomach with thee!”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, I’m thinking,” I protested. “Besides, I probably don’t taste very good.”
“Princesses taste so very nice! I won’t even need a spice!”
At the officer’s words, the childhood nursery rhyme about “sugar and spice and everything nice” popped into my head.
“Hold on.” I grinned. “I’ve got it!”
“No, you don’t! All lies and stuff! Princess makes a big old bluff!” But the officer looked worried. Its spiny tail swished in the rocky soil.
What’s from the ocean, like a grain of sand, a diamond in your hand? I got a flash of a day trip I had taken with my parents last summer to Atlantic City: the surf, the sand, the gritty taste of the waves on my lips.
I smirked confidently at the officer. “Salt.”