The Slippery Map Page 16

  This door didn’t have a lock, just two enormous cast iron knockers.

  “Should we knock?” Oyster asked.

  Hopps shook his head. “’Course not! Surprise attack!”

  “There’s no surprise for them now.” Oyster picked up the knocker and let it drop. The doors instantly opened onto a short set of stairs. Overhead, they could see the night sky lit by the fiery Torch. They walked up the last set of stairs slowly, and found themselves standing at the top of the tower. All Oyster could see at first was white, a dusty white presence, at least ten times his size. There were Vicious Goggles, a ghastly row of teeth and restless tongues, guarding the presence—but what was it? Slowly he could make out the stone wall around the circular tower, the wood floor, and the vast view of the valley, and on the other side of the valley, the Orwise Suspar and Sons Refinery sign, glowing in the haze of sugar. Boneland looked like a small village caught in a snow globe.

  In the center of the tower was the Torch, lit with a great fire on top. The chalky white mass seemed to have grown around the Torch—the way bread dough will puff and spill out around an object. Was this Dark Mouth? Oyster couldn’t make out any features, only whiteness.

  The Torch was surrounded by even taller flowers. They were the tallest, grandest flowers Oyster had ever seen—but they were pale and stiff an turned to bone.

  Oyster and Hopps stood side by side, and then Vince Vance’s voice boomed. “Welcome to the Dark Mouth Show! Starring the beloved Dark Mouth…with the minor roles going to a boy and his beast, plus an embarrassing trio, pathetic in size and stature, and an old woman who appears from nowhere, trying to save the day. Tonight’s show, the grand finale, promises to be heart-wrenching! A real tearjerker.” Vince Vance emerged from the shadows behind the large white form, holding a long sword like a staff. He held out his arm and a bunch of Vicious Goggles herded out Sister Mary Many Pockets so that she stood between the white mass on one side and Oyster and Hopps on the other.

  Hopps stood stiff, his eyes darting nervously around the room. But Oyster had locked eyes with Sister Mary Many Pockets. They were speaking in the rushed urgent language of their hearts.

  You came to save me and look what I’ve gotten you into! Oyster’s heart said.

  Have faith, Oyster. We aren’t sunk yet. There’s breath in our lungs and love in our hearts.

  I don’t want to lose you again, sister!

  Oyster, her heart said, love goes on forever, in all directions, and our love for each other here—it’s just a sample. There is so much love for you! So much! The world has only begun to show you, only just begun. Your parents, Oyster…

  Oyster’s heart seized. He hadn’t wanted her to know about them. He thought that it would hurt her feelings that he’d come all this way, in part, to know them.

  We can all love you.

  The white mass lolled slowly, menacingly, revealing two dark holes—perhaps its eyes—nearly lost in the hefty rolls of what was now clearly a face. A hollow appeared below the eyes: a black, toothless mouth, a dark pit. Oyster was terrified of the mouth. It spoke. “I am a giant force. I am a hale source of evil. And I am hungry.”

  Hopps’s ire rose up. He couldn’t help it. “Don’t you have enough sugar to eat! We make it for you day and night. We’re dying across that valley, dying because we have to feed you.”

  “Tonight I will eat something other than sugar!” Dark Mouth said in a voice so deep and loud that Oyster could feel the vibrations in his ribs.

  A metal arm swung out from the stone Torch. Two figures were tied to a hook at the end of the arm—a sharp, silver hook. A man and a woman.

  They looked so ordinary. The man had pale eyebrows and a soft face. The woman had long brown hair and a furrowed brow. Maybe to someone else, they looked like two people from anywhere, two people plucked from their sofas in the middle of the afternoon watching an old movie—in their cardigan sweaters. (His mother’s was missing a few buttons.) But they weren’t just anyone from anywhere. They were Oyster’s parents. He had his mother’s dark hair and his father’s rounded face. They were both weary, but their eyes were quick—desperately so—and they fell on Oyster almost immediately. Then their eyes filled with tears, their faces broke open into an expression of joy and sorrow. They looked at Oyster with so much love that he could barely keep his eyes on them, but he did. He drank in the love. They were his parents.

  “You can’t do this!” Hopps yelled.

  And then Oyster realized that his parents were dangling near the black hole on Dark Mouth’s face. They bobbed on the metal hook.

  Dark Mouth spoke again. “Bring out the Slippery Map.”

  Vince Vance had the Slippery Map in his arms, but it was bucking like something wild—much worse than it had when Sister Mary Many Pockets had been lodged inside of the Gulf of Wind and Darkness. It jumped and spun and pounded with such force that Vince Vance was kicked around by it. The rowdiness of the Map cheered Oyster a bit. Last time it had been Sister Mary Many Pockets come to save him…and this time?

  “Roll it out!” Dark Mouth shouted.

  Vince Vance dropped it on the floor in front of Oyster and flipped it open as far as it would go in either direction, but still it jumped and bounced wildly. With a poke of his sword, Vince Vance ordered Goggles to sit on either end to keep it taut.

  “Let’s see how it works,” Vince Vance said. “Do you want him to make a passage? So you can slip through to the other side?”

  “No,” Dark Mouth said. “I want to destroy it!”

  Destroy it? This surprised everyone. Didn’t he want to go through it to rule on the other side? Didn’t he want to take over? Wasn’t his greed without limit?

  “But, but,” Vince Vance said, nearly in tears, “I thought we were going through!”

  “I never said that!” Dark Mouth roared.

  “You can’t destroy the Map,” Hopps said. “It’s how we were created. It’s our history!”

  “It doesn’t belong to you,” Oyster said.

  Sister Mary Many Pockets was wringing her hands. She was thinking the same things that Oyster was thinking. Who was inside of the Gulf of Wind and Darkness? Wouldn’t they be trapped? And if the Map was destroyed, how would they get home again? The Map rattled and jerked thunderously.

  “I want this Map destroyed, and you will be the one to do it, Oyster,” Dark Mouth said. “YOU!”

  Oyster looked up at Dark Mouth, but he felt his eyes burning and tearing up.

  “Do it now!” Dark Mouth shouted.

  His parents stared at him. They nodded in a way that said, Do what you have to do.

  Sister Mary Many Pockets told him, with her heart, to listen to his own.

  Hopps stood still. “It’s your decision, Oyster.”

  “Give him your sword!” Dark Mouth shouted to Vince Vance.

  Vince Vance handed it to him. Oyster couldn’t let his parents and then Hopps, Sister Mary Many Pockets, and himself get eaten. But he couldn’t destroy the Map either.

  Oyster looked up, one last time, at those who were waiting. He thought of brave Leatherbelly, wherever his bravery had taken him. They loved him. They trusted him. And he didn’t feel lonesome. He didn’t feel like an outsider. He belonged to these people, this odd group. He had to do what he had to do, but he had a plan.

  He raised the sword overhead, but then backed up and let it gently swing down to the surface of the Map, and then he gave the center a little jab.

  The Map, however, was ready to burst. Like a crack in ice shattering across a lake, the hole expanded and split up the center. It opened wide, a monstrous, gaping hole.

  A wind kicked up, and then a body popped out. Another flew after it, and another and another. They soared out of a giant hole in the map: Sister Elizabeth Thick Glasses, Sister Margaret of the Long Sighs and Withering Glare, Sister Clare of the Mighty Flyswatter, Sister Alice Self-Defense, Sister Helen Quick Fingers, Sister Bertha Nervous Lips, Sister Hilda Prone to Asthma, Sister Patricia Tough-Pork, Sis
ter Augusta of the Elaborate Belches, Sister Elouise of the Occasional Cigarette, Sister Theresa Raised on a Farm, and even Mother Superior, still clutching the blue umbrella. They were tossed up and out, and landed in heaps across the flooring.

  But each nun jumped quickly to her feet, spry and ready. They had their stiff hands ready to chop an attacker in two, their knees bent. They’d been preparing for an attacker for years, and Sister Alice Self-Defense looked steely eyed; she was confident in her troop.

  Meanwhile, the Map had been ripped in two. Its halves snapped and rolled into themselves. Oyster felt sick. He looked to Hopps, but he just shook his head sadly. Oyster’s parents, too, had let out a gasp. Oyster knew that the Map was ruined. It couldn’t be fixed.

  Dark Mouth laughed. “It is destroyed after all, and this is who has come to save you? Ha!”

  Vince Vance knelt next to the Map. “Can it be mended?” he asked in a quavering voice.

  “Leave the Map, Vince Vance. Look at it. It is limp and powerless now. These people want to do battle. Let’s enjoy! This is all they’ve got!”

  “No,” Hopps said. “This is not all!” He pointed down the valley to Boneland on the other side. The Orwise Suspar and Sons Refinery sign was missing some letters. It now read: RISE UP FINE. And even at this great distance, they could hear the chants of “Rah-rah! Hoot-hoot!” from the Perths of Boneland.

  “Ringet!” Hopps said. “He did it! He convinced them to rise up, using the sign itself!” Oyster thought of the letters left behind on the back of Hopps’s uniform after the Dragon took its angry swipe. So that’s what Ringet was thinking about, how to get the Perths united, using the lights from the refinery.

  Vince Vance said, “It will take hours for them to reach us.”

  “And by then, you’ll all be eaten up!” Dark Mouth said.

  “I’m not so sure,” Oyster said. Because that wasn’t all either. That’s when the banging at the door below began: The prisoners were free. Oyster was overjoyed to hear Leatherbelly’s shrill barks amid the noise of pounding fists. Some Vicious Goggles rushed down the small set of steps to try to hold them back.

  And then from the valley, a great light was appearing. Wingers, an army of them, rode up toward the tower. They carried Eshma Weegrit through the air and set her down next to Hopps. The rest of the Wingers buzzed in. The prisoners, more Wingers among them, at last bashed their way through the doors and then were overpowering the Goggles with fists and shoves. They stormed up the steps.

  The Vicious Goggles surrounding Dark Mouth froze.

  Dark Mouth howled, “Do something!”

  Vince Vance looked around nervously, then pulled a dagger from his boot and jabbed at the air in front of him. “Stay back!” he shouted. “Back!”

  “And we’re not done yet!” Hopps was shouting because a loud whine had started from underground. It was a noise that Oyster recognized. Growsels, with their hooked claws, were scaling the tower, with Doggers on their backs. They climbed over the tower walls, hundreds of them—Drusser and Ippy leading the way.

  “We’re here!” Drusser shouted, as the Doggers pulled arrows from their quivers and took aim at Dark Mouth and Vince Vance.

  Ippy shook dirt from her hair. “This is the way it was meant to happen, Oyster.”

  Dark Mouth bellowed, “This is war! Commence!”

  And so the Goggles started flinging their angry tongues while more poured into the tower. It was an angry fight. Drusser and Ippy had extra bows and quivers filled with arrows for Oyster and Hopps. Oyster wasn’t a great shot at first, but he caught on quickly. Leatherbelly fought with his teeth, snapping at Goggle legs.

  And the nuns were in the thick of it. Oyster saw them in a way he never had before. Sister Alice Self-Defense and the others flipped Goggles over their backs and kicked them in their soft kidneys. Sister Helen Quick Fingers grabbed tongues midair and, with her bare hands, knit them together. Sister Clare of the Mighty Flyswatter and Sister Elouise of the Occasional Cigarette were both roped by tongues, but Sister Clare smacked the Goggle with her flyswatter right in his eyes, and Sister Elouise burned the other with her lighter. The Goggles howled and released them.

  Sister Elizabeth Thick Glasses wasn’t afraid of the mayhem. Because of her lifelong history of poor eyesight—and occasional run-ins with Oyster for using her eyedropper for things other than eye drops—she was used to the blurry speed that was part of the battle. With great confidence, she closed her eyes and seemed to fight with a sixth sense. She anticipated the tongues flying at her, dodged, and chopped them. She moved through the battle like a master.

  Sister Hilda Prone to Asthma collected some of the nuns’ rosaries and fashioned a lasso. She was wheezing some, yes, but Sister Theresa Raised on a Farm quickly mastered the lasso and the skills of her youth came back to her quickly as she rounded up one Goggle after another, hog-tied them, and threw them into a pile.

  Sister Augusta of the Elaborate Belches cornered a few Goggles with her belches alone—like a lioness. And Sister Margaret of the Long Sighs and Withering Glare had Vince Vance backed against the tower’s wall with her piercing stare.

  The Wingers and the Doggers and prisoners fought hard too. There were bloodshed and cries. Eshma Weegrit was already on her knees tending to some of those lashed by Goggle tongues.

  A Goggle tongue snapped out and stuck onto the middle of Leatherbelly’s long torso, pulling him in toward a set of sharp Goggle teeth. But Oyster reached out quickly, grabbed Leatherbelly by the collar, and pulled him back as hard as he could, stretching the tongue until it snapped.

  In the center of it all, the Goggles protected Dark Mouth with a ringed fortress of flicking tongues. He cried out in anguish, “Where are my vultures? Send in the vultures!”

  Quickly, the sky grew dark with the black, beating wings of large birds. The Blood-Beaked Vultures circled overhead, sometimes diving and snapping up Wingers. The vultures swooped and jabbed Growsels, and as the Doggers got distracted and took aim at the Blood-Beaked Vultures the Goggles attacked more aggressively.

  Sister Mary Many Pockets was the first to start flapping at the Blood-Beaked Vultures, but soon the other nuns did, too. They stood tall and bobbed on their toes, clapping their arms over their heads. Their skirts buoyed. Their veils rose and fell.

  The vultures were frightened. One vulture who’d begun to dive-bomb a clutch of prisoners got frightened and flew off. Another who was racing toward a delicate Winger stopped midair and began to beat its wings in reverse, then took off for the night sky.

  “Yes!” Oyster cheered. “Keep going!”

  Quickly, the Blood-Beaked Vultures peeled off and flew away.

  The retreating vultures allowed Oyster and his compadres a chance to reattack the Goggles, who were, by and large, pinned to the floor with arrows.

  Oyster had an idea. He yelled to Sister Margaret of the Long Sighs and Withering Glare, “I need your cross!”

  She pulled it off of her neck and tossed it to him.

  Sister Mary Many Pockets was fending off Goggles. “I need your cross and some rope,” Oyster called.

  Of course she had rope. She had everything in her many pockets. She tossed him her heavy cross necklace and a long piece of rope. He lassoed the top of the bone-flower that leaned over the metal hook holding his parents, and using the two crosses as a grappling hook, he scaled the flower. He climbed out to the tip of the flower. Here, he saw his parents up close for the first time.

  “You’re here,” Oyster’s mother said, her eyes glassy with tears. “After all this time…it’s really you.”

  “We’ve missed you so much,” his father said through a sad smile.

  Oyster said what he’d wanted to say to someone for a long time now, but, before this adventure, he never could have imagined getting to say it to his very own parents: “I’m here to save you.”

  Then he shouted to the nuns below, “I need your help!”

  Sister Mary Many Pockets knew exactly what he needed. She got
the nuns to gather below Oyster’s parents and to use their skirts as a net. Oyster’s parents watched him as he stretched and reached and stretched some more until he was close enough to use the sword to slice the rope holding them to the hook. His parents dropped quickly and were caught by the net of black skirts, and gently lowered to the ground.

  But Oyster wasn’t yet finished. Sister Mary Many Pockets knew his plan. She guided him to just the right High-Tipping Bluebell. As a candle snuffer in the nunnery for years and years, she knew how to help him. Oyster chopped the High-Tipping Bluebell, hacking at it with the sword. Its bell-shaped bloom, now the consistency of bone, fell on the flame of the Torch. It stuck there, stem in the air.

  The fire went out.

  And a cheer rose up—a cheer from the Wingers, chests aglow; the Doggers, Ippy, and Drusser; Hopps and all of the nuns; the prisoners and Oyster’s parents; Leatherbelly yipping joyfully. The cheer poured into the valley and clear across to Boneland on the other side.

  The Goggles were weary. Vince Vance, cornered by Sister Margaret of the Long Sighs and Withering Glare, dropped his dagger. Dark Mouth suddenly looked scared. With no one to protect him, the crowd was inching around him menacingly.

  “No! No!” he roared.

  From his high perch, Oyster had to catch his breath for a moment. He looked out across the valley to Boneland. It looked like a quaint, little winter scene. The snow looked like moths flitting, which made Oyster think of his moth collection. How he loved to keep them in the mesh box and watch them, and pretend that they understood that he was their friend. And in an instant, Oyster thought he might understand Dark Mouth. Maybe he’d wanted the Perths as pets. He’d wanted to pretend that they were his friends without ever really knowing how to talk to them or really be friends with them. He didn’t turn the flowers to stony bones to kill them, it struck Oyster now, but…

  Oyster looked down at Dark Mouth and the tightening knot of the angry crowd. He shouted, “Wait! Wait! Listen. I think I understand him.”