Surviving the Improbable Quest Page 7

  “This is my parking spot.” It puts a clawed foot on the edge of the boat and leans its crane-neck way over the edge of his boat. The bird’s head tips to the side as it inspects Allan. “Funny looking goat, in a stolen boat,” it says. It leaps with a single flap of its wings and lands in Allan’s boat. The boat rocks then slams into the canal wall. As fast as the strike of a rattlesnake, the bird seizes Allan by the arm. It rips off the worn and bent top hat and grabs Allan’s chin. It’s three times Allan’s size and as strong as a gorilla “A boy.” it shouts.

  “Please. I’m looking for. . .”

  The bird pulls Allan off the bench, turns him around and grabs him around the neck. “Oh, don’t you worry little boy from the Waiting Place. You’re gonna make me some money.” Allan struggles to slip out of the bird’s grasp. It stinks and is hunted by hungry flies. “So, you want to fight me. Please! I love a good fight.” The bird’s grip tightens until Allan can’t breathe. Allan twists his torso and pulls at the bird’s feathers. The feathers come out easily, but the bird doesn’t even notice.

  The bird leaps to its boat with Allan dangling like a rag doll.

  “I’ve just the thing. . .” the bird says. It sweeps cans and trash off a filthy blanket then rips it aside. Underneath the blanket is a cage. It’s rusted and bent up and looks too small for Allan, but the bird shoves him in anyway.

  “Move your legs or I’ll cut them off,” the bird hisses like a viper. It tries to close the cage door.

  “I . . . can’t move my legs,” Allan gasps, his neck aching.

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “They’re broken.”

  The ratty-bird lifts up Allan’s limp legs and shoves them into the cage. “Scrit! You won’t be worth half as much.” It slams its fist on the side of the boat. After a moment of silence it concludes, “But I guess anything’s better than nothing.” It takes a hold of the long oar that extends out the back of the boat and starts turning it in a circle. The boat pulls away from the canal’s edge embracing the center current in a silent gesture. “So welcome, boy, to the rest of your life. Dantia is a wonderful city, and as long as you can work you won’t get whipped.” The ratty-bird cackles.

  Fish bones, what looks like rotting apple cores and mud are everywhere. It stinks.

  “Excuse me?” Allan says trying to reason with the ratty-bird. Maybe it has a heart somewhere under its filth. Maybe he’ll promise it diamonds and gold.

  “Zip it, lock it up and throw away the key,” the ratty-bird mumbles.

  “Please, I don’t know where I am. I need help. My uncle is hurt. We have gold. Lots of it.” But the ratty-bird isn’t listening.

  As the boat floats deeper into the city, the canal widens. Tributaries split off in all directions. The buildings tower overhead, and all have stairways winding around the outer walls that go up and up and up. The sun doesn’t rise above the skyline because the city seems above the sun, above the clouds, above all that is good.

  Allan wants his mother. He wants to go back in time so he can cry in her chest and be hugged. He wants someone to tell him it will be okay even if he doesn’t believe them. The boat turns and enters a narrow waterway. Strangely dressed people and creatures of all shapes and sizes are everywhere, all busy. Others with long feathers and large wings fly through the air. There are shops on the first floors of the tall buildings. They have oversized doors next to large windows filled with displays. Plants and vines grow over the bricks, but there are modern elements as well. Signs stick out of the walls, crooked oil-burning lamps are posted on every corner and a few horse-drawn carriages come and go—though the horses aren’t horses at all but smaller, hairier versions.

  There’s a shop with huge cakes on display, a place called The Tailor and a clothing store displaying suits on mannequins. A mannequin sips on a drink from a long spiral straw leading to a ceramic mug on the floor. So they’re not mannequins showing off the latest fashions, but slaves. The next shop is a butcher. Its window is packed edge-to-edge with skinned animals as small as mice and as large as pigs. The corpses have smeared blood on the windows. Allan looks away, fearful of losing the fruity sandwich he’d eaten.

  The boat approaches a corner crowded with creatures and odd-looking humans. They surround a tall man standing on a box. He wears a ragged white and purple striped suit. His head is shielded by a metal pot adorned with dials and gadgets. He’s yelling to the crowd when his attention turns to the boat. The crowd complains at the man’s departure, but he pushes through anyway and runs to the edge of the canal. “You there. Have you captured Jibbawk?” The man has one green eye and one orange eye and is missing two front teeth.

  “Buzz off, Mister Zlack.” yells the ratty-bird. “I’ve got another one of your kind and he’s going to Killian Crow. He’ll fetch me two hundred coins, unless you’re offering more?”

  The man stares at Allan for a moment. “I see nothing but a small speck of dust blowing through the air.”

  The ratty-bird elongates its neck toward the man as they slowly drift by. “Good. Then we have no problem.”

  “You must put your efforts into capturing Jibbawk, not some boy from the Waiting Place. Jibbawk is the real threat to all of us.” The crowd behind Mr. Zlack roars in agreement. The ratty-bird laughs and turns the oar harder leaving Mr. Zlack and the crowd behind.

  Allan wonders about Jibbawk. Who is it and why is everyone so afraid? Could it be more dangerous than all the other creatures? Allan imagines a huge thing with scales, bloody teeth and big muscles. Then Allan hears loud grunts. He turns to look. The canal leads to a roundabout where a dozen elephants drink water through their long trunks. They are smaller than Earth elephants and have pointy heads. They chat with each other, push their neighbors playfully and take turns drinking the water.

  The ratty-bird stops before entering the roundabout. Off to the side is a wooden dock with three narrow slots, two of which are occupied by large, ostentatious boats with canopies, gold statues embedded in carved wood poles and red pillows. The ratty-bird’s boat slips into the empty space. The ratty-bird ties a rope to an ornate gold handle. It grabs the filthy blanket that is crumpled on the floor of the boat. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay quiet, boy.” It pecks the metal cage, and as the metal plate of its beak hits the bars, sparks fly. “You a long way from home.” It clicks its metal-tipped fingers together then whips the blanket over the cage.

  Allan can feel the boat rock as the ratty-bird leaps out. His stomach tightens, overwhelmed by the odor of the blanket. He must do something. In just a few minutes he’ll be taken to Killian Crow, whoever that is. Allan pinches the blanket and pulls it little by little until it slips off the cage. The building in front of the boat is taller than all the others. It is littered with windows, and gold figurines adorn the window sills and doorways. The ratty-bird is hoisted up the side of the building in an exterior elevator rigged with thick oily ropes, wheels and pulleys.

  “Help!” Allan yells. He rocks the cage back and forth. “Somebody. Please!” He turns and looks through the back of the cage. He sees the roundabout and the elephants. “Help me!” He screams over and over. Someone has to help. Someone in this god-forsaken world has to lift a finger for someone like me.

  An elephant looks toward him. “Yes. Come here. I need you.” The elephant leans to a neighbor. Soon all the elephants look at Allan. Finally, one comes lumbering toward the boat. It’s wearing a tall gold crown on its head, and a jewel-laden saddle sits upon its back. A few other elephants follow.

  The crowned elephant reaches into the boat with its long muscular trunk and pulls the cage out. It sets the cage down between it and another elephant.

  A different elephant’s foot presses the top of the cage while another elephant’s trunk wraps around the door and yanks it off. The Queen Elephant reaches in and pulls Allan out by the waist.

  “Thank you! Now, please, get me out of here. That ratty-bird is coming back.”

  The Queen Elephant set
s Allan on his feet, but his legs fold like puppet limbs under his weight. “Why, he can’t walk,” said the elephant. “Poor boy.”

  “Please, I need to get home. My uncle is hurt and he needs help. I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t even know where here is.”

  With a momentary screech, the elevator on the side of the tall building starts back down. A grey bird with a short beak and a navy-blue top hat pokes its head out of the side of the elevator.

  “Who comes?” The Queen elephant asks.

  “Crow comes. Killian Crow comes,” says a different elephant.

  The Queen lifts Allan off the ground then hands him off to another elephant. Allan is passed, from trunk to trunk.

  “You down there.” yells Killian Crow. “There is a valuable fair in that boat. Guard it. Make sure it is not mistreated.”

  The elevator arrives and the door opens. Killian Crow steps out casually and with grace. He has a pressed navy suit and a bow tie. The ratty-bird follows him, chatting. Allan is set on the ground and pushed underneath one of the elephants. The ratty-bird runs to the smashed cage. “What is this?” He lifts the door. “The elephants stole my catch.” He kicks the cage off the dock where it clatters onto his boat. “This is an outrage!”

  Killian Crow turns to the Queen elephant. “Is this true?” He eases out a short pole then whips it toward the ground. It clicks as it elongates. Killian thrusts it at the elephant. When it hits the elephant’s skin it snaps and sparks, and the elephant cries out. All the elephants start to back up toward the roundabout. Some run up the small hill in between the tall buildings. “You don’t steal from me.” He zaps the elephant again.

  “He was freed by a band of Chicubs, sire. They came from the buildings and took him away. We came to stop them but could not.”

  The ratty-bird marches up to the Queen elephant. “She’s lying! There are no sneaky Chicubs anywhere.”

  Killian waves his wing and the Queen moves aside. “Then let’s have a look around, shall we?”

  Allan is shoved behind a baby elephant who sits, blocking Killian Crow’s view. Killian Crow and the ratty-bird push through the elephant crowd and peek behind a tree growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. They’re getting closer and closer to Allan, and even though the elephants did their best, Killian Crow is going to find him. There is nowhere to crawl.

  Chapter 12

  The Inventor and the Lie

  Allan feels panic rising from the pit of his stomach as Killian Crow moves closer to his hiding spot. He contemplates calling out, giving himself up to get it over with. It doesn’t seem like the elephants can distract Killian and the ratty-bird any longer. They’re good creatures, like the balloon creatures, but they’re no match for the ruthlessness of everyone and everything around them.

  Then the Queen elephant flops her trunk in agitation. “I’m telling you, the Chicubs clambered down from the side of the building like vampire bats and took the boy. We could not move fast enough to catch them. They are fast like fleas, you know.”

  “Move aside.” Killian orders the baby elephant. It doesn’t move. Allan feels a tickle on his arm. He looks down and sees a rope that twitches. But it isn’t a rope, it’s a tail covered in bright orange fur. It twitches again. Horton points his trunk at the building. “Look. I see the Chicubs. They mean to get into your building and steal your gold, too.”

  Killian Crow turns as slow as a ticking clock and looks up. Something hangs on to the side of the building a few stories up. It’s dark and small and upside down. It notices everyone looking at it.

  “Grab on and hold tight.” The baby elephant hisses. Allan grabs the tail with both hands. All the elephants make a trumpet sound to cover the noise of Allan being dragged away at high speed.

  Killian Crow raises his shock pole. It fires a bolt of electricity at the little thing hanging onto the building. The thing darts away and the bolt hits the building, darkening the brick with a burn marks. “Damn those Chicubs. They are nothing but snipping snappers. I hate them. We must kill them all!” Killian pivots to face the ratty-bird. “You have lost your fare and cost me my precious time. Leave at once or else.” Killian points the shock pole at the ratty-bird but rethinks his aggression. “You will go and try to find this boy and bring him to me, do you understand?” Killian steps back toward the elevator with deliberate steps.

  “Yes I will. Bu. . .but. I will need some money to get this done. I’ve already spent my coin to get him here. Just a little coin or two,” the ratty-bird asks, its filthy fingers clasped together over its belly. Killian ignores its plea and steps into his rickety elevator.

  Allan holds the tail in a vice grip as he slides over the rough bricks, around and through elephant legs and over a curb of rough stone. His shirt tears under the friction. Pain stings from his ribs where the ground scrapes his skin. The tail is connected to a small creature that is driving an odd vehicle the size of a go-kart. It looks like some kind of rat. The vehicle has large back tires and skids on the front. Its motor belches black smoke from pipes on the back.

  The creature speeds up the small hill, and when Allan hits the top, his body lifts off the grass for a moment.

  He lands hard. A moan escapes his lips and his bones vibrate like tuning forks. He is pulled under large shapes. They loom over him and resemble mushrooms. Some are taller than him, some are not, but the biggest of the big have caps as large as cars.

  Through the mushroom field Allan races. His fingers weaken until he has to let go of the tail. When he does, he scrapes to a stop. The tail stops, too, and the vehicle turns around. Allan looks up to the canopy of a large blue mushroom. Its insides are pink slots that resemble the turbine of a jet engine. Around the mushrooms are tall grasses and ball-capped bushes that look like peas on sticks. The air is even thicker and bugs are everywhere.

  The long-tailed creature hops out of his vehicle and walks up to Allan. Its nose is long and round and it has small round ears. It wears a long robe with large buttons. The creature coils its tail neatly.

  “Thank you.” Allan sits up on his elbows. His shirt is ripped and threadbare and his scratches sting, but they aren’t bleeding badly.

  “We shouldn’t stop here long, but you can rest. You’re mostly safe now,” It says with a voice that is nasally. “My name is Mizzi.”

  “Hi.” Allan wads a clump of his shirt in his hand and presses it on one of the bigger scrapes. “Why are you helping me?” He asks, grimacing in pain.

  “You need it. Is there any other reason?”

  Allan isn’t sure he should trust this creature yet. “I’m supposed to be helping my uncle. He’s hurt.”

  “Why are you helping him?”

  “He’s all I have. I . . . guess I love him.”

  “It is easier for some to love than for others,” Mizzi says, licking the fur on his arms and cleaning himself like a cat.

  “Not too many people around here love anything but themselves or money.”

  “It may seem that way at first, but the longer you look the more love you’ll find.” Something rustles the bushes nearby. Mizzi studies the terrain for a moment. “We should go. My home is nearby.” Mizzi hands his tail to Allan then turns and runs back to his vehicle. Its engine rumbles but is surprisingly quiet for something that goes so fast.

  “Ah, come on. Is there a better way for me to get around?” Allan does not like being dragged.

  The mushroom in the distance topples with a crash. Something comes toward Allan.

  “Hurry!”

  The crashing in the bushes gets closer. Whatever it is, it’s big. Allan closes his eyes. The tail finally snaps taut and yanks Allan. He slides through the path made by Mizzi. The creature zigs and zags through the mushroom stalks. Allan whacks a smaller mushroom, but it’s foamy and soft. He bounces off unhurt then laughs as fear releases him. The mushrooms thin, replaced by towering trees with thick trunks and wide, dense canopies.

  Mizzi parks next to a large tree trunk and leaps up like a squirrel. Allan
stops at the base. At the top of the tall tree is a house made of woven grasses and twigs tucked between thick tree trunks and branches. When Mizzi gets to the tree house, he sits on a platform outside a small doorway. He wraps the part of his tail that is closest to his body around a wheel mounted to the tree trunk. “Keep holding my tail. Wrap your arm around it if you have to. Don’t worry, my tail is as strong as Mythheather,” he calls from above. Mizzi cranks a lever and the wheel winds up his long tail. Allan is pulled off the ground in one easy motion. The tree trunk is smooth on this side, obviously having pulled up many objects before. The higher Allan gets off the ground the tighter his grip gets. When Allan is within reach, Mizzi grabs him by the elbow and pulls him inside.

  The tree house is huge though the ceiling is low and the windows small. Allan pulls himself onto a long couch. A table is in the center of the room and is covered in metal bars, gears and wires. A clock on the wall ticks. The kitchen is a single tub nested inside a narrow counter. Candelabras line the walls and flicker light throughout the home.

  Mizzi opens a cabinet made of the same interwoven grass that the walls are made of and pulls out a cup. The waterspout above the kitchen tub is a metal faucet that protrudes out of a thick tree branch. Mizzi turns the spout handle and waits. A moment later a thick substance comes out. It takes a while for the cup to fill. When it’s filled, Mizzi hands it to Allan who takes the glass and smells the liquid.

  “You’ll love it. Tastes sweet.”

  Allan tentatively sips the liquid and then slurps it up. It tastes like watery maple syrup.

  “I’ll get you more. You just have to wait for it. It teaches you patience, drinking from a tree.”

  Allan looks at all the stuff on the table. “Are you building something?”

  “I’m an inventor.”

  “Your house isn’t filled with inventions. Shouldn’t there be little gadgets everywhere?” Allan points out the primitive candles, the tap stuck into the tree trunk and the woven grass walls.