The Secret of Zoone Read online

  Keeva’s response was to shrug, but when Fusselbone heard the news a few minutes later, he erupted. “You can’t port for Nymm!” he screeched, hopping up and down in front of Ozzie. “It should be someone with more experience. And more . . . height! Besides, what do you know about handling explosions?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?!” Ozzie cried.

  “You clearly haven’t met a lot of wizards,” Fusselbone replied. “They tend to pack recklessly. Well, I suppose it’ll have to be you, my diminutive boy. Yes, it’ll have to be! Lady Zoone told me this morning to make sure that you were assigned to Master Nymm.”

  “Then why are we even having this argument?” Ozzie wondered in exasperation.

  “Off you go, my boy, off you go.” Fusselbone spurred him, jabbing Ozzie in the back of the knee. “Master Nymm is arriving through Door 9 from Gresswyden—any minute now. Lady Zoone said she’d meet you there, so don’t say a word to him, Ozzie, not a word! Just stand up straight, smile, and port! Is your jacket done up properly?”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” Ozzie said, hastily fiddling with his buttons.

  And he was off.

  Ozzie was familiar with Door 9; it was one of the busier ones on the south platform and, though he had only been working in Zoone a short time, he had already ported for a few travelers arriving through it. The door was tall and narrow, painted in hues of red with a pair of fanciful hinges and the emblem of a batlike creature hanging from a door knocker. Lush crimson-colored ivy grew all along the doorway’s arch and it often had a fragrant smell, like fresh-cut grass on a summer morning.

  Though, on this particular visit to the platform, Ozzie couldn’t see much of Door 9. That was because there was a gigantic pile of luggage in front of it and, standing in front of that, a tall and imposing man Ozzie presumed to be Master Nymm. He was pacing impatiently and looking down at Ozzie in much the same way a hawk looks at a mouse.

  “Where’s the porter?” Nymm demanded.

  Ozzie glanced around for Lady Zoone, but she was nowhere in sight. “Er . . . that’s me, Master Nymm,” Ozzie stammered, before hastily adding, “Sir.”

  Even though he was eager to make a good impression, he couldn’t help the stammering part. He had no idea how to address a wizard properly. Especially a wizard like Nymm, who was tall, broad-chested, and clothed in regal robes of scarlet, black, and gold. He was wearing a large gemstone on one finger and he had a staff that looked like it meant serious business, the I-could-turn-you-into-a-toad type of business. But it was the wizard’s face that really made Ozzie shudder. Not so much his thick beard, sharp nose, or intense eyes. It was his eyebrows. They were the longest, wildest things that Ozzie had ever seen.

  They could make a comb consider a career change, Ozzie thought. They gave the impression that the wizard was permanently upset.

  And perhaps he was.

  “Tell me, porter,” Nymm said sternly. “Where do you come from?”

  “Come from?” Ozzie echoed.

  “Yes,” Nymm growled. “What world?”

  “Earth . . . well, Eridea, I mean.”

  “No one visits Zoone from that world,” Nymm informed Ozzie. “There is no magic left there. You can tell by everyone’s hair.”

  “Hair?” Ozzie said uncertainly.

  “Why do you repeat everything I say?” Nymm demanded. “You sound like a Revellian monkey.”

  “Sorry,” Ozzie murmured. Maybe he was too short to port for the wizard—because he suddenly felt like he was in over his head.

  “Eridean hair is rather dull,” Nymm continued. “You can always measure someone’s magic by his hair. Tell me, Eridean boy, do you plan to return to your dull and dying world?”

  Ozzie gulped. If Nymm was a hawk, it felt like he was circling. “Well, I can’t,” he managed to say. “The door . . . it . . . collapsed.”

  Nymm looked like he was about to swoop. “What do you mean?” he snarled.

  Uh-oh, Ozzie thought, remembering, all too late, Fusselbone’s warning to keep his mouth shut.

  “Why was no official report submitted?” Nymm demanded, wagging a long finger in Ozzie’s direction. “Does Zaria know of this?”

  It took Ozzie a moment to figure out that he meant Lady Zoone. “Y-yes, sir, wizard. Sir.” Ugh. He sounded like an idiot. He paused, trying to collect himself, realizing that he needed to make a better impression—a much better one. Trying to stand as tall as possible, he said, “We need to fix the door, sir. Do you think it can be done?”

  Nymm fixed Ozzie with a glare. “Perhaps the better question is: Should we fix it? It might be for the best that the door has collapsed. Surely, boy, you prefer Zoone to your dying world?”

  Ozzie felt himself begin to panic. “Zoone is fantastic, sir. But my aunt . . . she’s there. She sort of got left behind. I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Well, there are greater problems in the multiverse than those of a mislaid aunt,” Nymm interrupted. “Isn’t that right, Miss Smink?”

  A girl peeked sheepishly from behind the stack of luggage, giving Ozzie a start. She seemed to be eleven or twelve, about the same age as him. She had thin eyebrows, but just like Nymm’s, they were very long. (That must be a Gresswydian characteristic, Ozzie decided.) Her hair was the color of honey with a bold streak of scarlet.

  But the girl herself didn’t seem very bold. “Oh, yes, Master Nymm,” the girl replied timidly, staring at him with giant doe eyes. “You’re always right.”

  “My apprentice, Salamanda Smink,” Nymm introduced her. “She’s new. And not very competent. But there may be hope for her yet—if she starts putting her mind to things.”

  “Y-yes, Master Nymm,” Salamanda stammered, stepping cautiously out from behind the luggage. Her cloak was a rich crimson color, but it seemed a little too large for her. She stared at Ozzie for a moment before stammering, “Nice to meet you . . . um . . .”

  “Oh,” Ozzie said. “Most people call me Ozzie.”

  “That is not really important to our cause,” Nymm declared. “What is important is having our luggage ported. Shall we move along?”

  Ozzie stared up at the pile of luggage. The cases were battered and worn, which immediately put Nymm in the category of someone who had traveled to the ends of the multiverse. What threw Ozzie a wrinkle was the shape of the suitcases. One was long and wavy, like a stretch of river. Another was in the shape of a gargantuan birdcage and bound with a chain and padlock. Still another was U-shaped. Ozzie could only imagine what sort of strange instruments, devices, or (gulp!) creatures such containers held. The case shaped like a birdcage looked like it had been scorched—from the inside.

  Ozzie pulled out his trolley and did his best to quickly load the luggage. He couldn’t help noticing that the case with the scorch marks was rather warm. But he tried to behave professionally.

  “Really, what is Zaria thinking, hiring an Eridean boy as a porter?” Nymm complained once everything was loaded. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. She has a magic hunter prowling the grounds and a skyger for a pet.”

  Magic hunter? Ozzie thought. No one he knew of hunted magic at Zoone. But there could be no doubt about the skyger. “Tug’s not a pet,” Ozzie said brazenly as he pushed the trolley across the platform toward the station.

  “No, just a killing machine,” Nymm retorted.

  “Tug?!” Ozzie exclaimed. “Have you met him? I’d be more worried about Miss Mongo.”

  “Ah, yes,” Nymm said. “The groll in the kitchen. I’ve heard about her, too. I remember a time when Zoone was operated with some class and dignity.”

  Lady Zoone was at the bottom of the stairs in her usual—sudden—sort of way, as if she had been hiding amid the trees and waiting for the perfect moment to appear. Ozzie wondered why she hadn’t just met them on the platform, as planned.

  “Ah, Isidorus.” She greeted him with a slight bow, which was accentuated by a flurry of birds circling around her tall nest of greenish hair. “Welcome to Zoone. Do
I detect some displeasure about my crew? I had rather hoped you would provide the courtesy of getting to know them before passing such swift judgment.”

  Nymm turned red and his eyebrows began to dance, though not in a good way, Ozzie decided. It was more like the way someone dances when trying to cross hot pavement with bare feet.

  “In particular, I thought you would be interested to meet Ozzie Sparks, our young visitor from Eridea,” Lady Zoone continued, gesturing with her long fingers. “A special sort of boy, don’t you think?”

  Nymm didn’t answer, except, Ozzie noticed, with a grunt.

  “I see you have a new apprentice,” Lady Zoone observed.

  “Yes,” Nymm replied testily. “My previous assistant ineptly awakened a hibernating dragon. It did not end well for him. Hopefully, Miss Smink will show more intellectual fortitude. So far, the forecast has not been very promising.”

  Ozzie watched Salamanda stare uncomfortably at the ground. He wished he could think of something to say to make her feel better.

  “Well,” Lady Zoone said, breaking an uncomfortable silence, “I invite you to my study, Isidorus, so we can discuss our preparations for the convention. Ozzie can escort your apprentice to your suite in the north tower inn.”

  Just like that, Ozzie was left alone with Salamanda. Now that she was free of her master, she seemed far more relaxed. And pretty. Not in the way girls at school thought they were pretty, with expensive right-side-out tops and too-cool rolls of the eyes, but in a gentle, kind way. Aunt Temperance called that the girl-next-door look—though the only person who lived next to them was old Mrs. Yang, and Ozzie had a hard time believing she had ever been a girl. For a moment, Ozzie leaned against his trolley and stared at Salamanda.

  “Shouldn’t we be moving along?” she asked eventually.

  “Uh, yeah—of course!” Ozzie said, snapping to attention, giving himself a mental kick. “It’s this way to the inn, Miss Smink.”

  “Call me Salamanda,” the girl said. She even sounded friendly. “You know, it’s my first time here. Zoone is really quite amazing, isn’t it?”

  “You bet,” Ozzie chimed eagerly as he pushed the trolley up the ramp, toward the hub. He noticed that one suitcase seemed to be trickling smoke. He tried to ignore it. “You know . . . I’d be happy to give you a tour.”

  “I’m not sure my master would allow such a thing,” Salamanda confessed once they reached the top of the ramp. “See this?” She lifted a slender hand to show Ozzie an ornate ring on her finger. The gemstone was a swirl of colors.

  “It looks beautiful,” Ozzie commented.

  “It’s a pain,” Salamanda retorted. “Whenever Master Nymm needs me for something—which is most of the time—this gemstone will start to blink.”

  “I guess it’s hard to be a wizard’s apprentice,” Ozzie said as they made their way into the hub.

  “It’s just that he’s so . . . strict,” Salamanda complained. “But let’s talk about something else. So, the door to Eridea collapsed? What happened?”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Ozzie said defensively. “I mean, not exactly.”

  “You can tell me,” she said, suddenly clutching his arm. “I love a good mystery. Was it because you didn’t have the right key?”

  “I have a key,” Ozzie said, though he was finding it difficult to concentrate with her touching his arm. Even though they were in the middle of the busy hub, he brought the trolley to a halt and extracted his key, which he always carried on the cord around his neck. “It’s not as pretty as your ring.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Salamanda said. “It’s an old key, isn’t it?”

  Ozzie nodded. He tucked the key back into his shirt and continued navigating the trolley across the hub and through the entrance to the north tower inn. “Do you think your master can repair the door?” he asked Salamanda as they came to a stop at the front desk.

  “Possibly,” Salamanda said, biting her bottom lip. “If he chooses to.”

  “Ahem,” came a voice from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

  Ozzie looked at the clerk with surprise. It was the girl with the inappropriately purple hair. She was wearing a name tag that read Fidget.

  I guess Lady Zoone found a job for her, Ozzie thought.

  But if Ozzie was surprised, then Fidget seemed even more so. She returned Ozzie’s stare with a flash of embarrassed recognition.

  “Are you all right?” Salamanda asked the girl. “Ozzie, maybe you should get her some water.”

  “NO!” Fidget cried abruptly. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Then, composing herself, she asked, “Are you here to check in?”

  Salamanda nodded. “There should be a reservation for Isidorus Nymm.”

  “Ah, the famous Nymm,” Fidget muttered, flipping through a pile of paperwork. “And you are?”

  “His apprentice, Salamanda Smink.”

  Ozzie saw one of Fidget’s purple eyebrows arch. “Salamanda? Strange name.”

  “That’s rather amusing, coming from someone with a name tag that says Fidget,” Salamanda said.

  Fidget scowled, but Ozzie found himself agreeing with Salamanda. Just between him and himself, he thought Salamanda’s name was rather pretty.

  Fidget eventually finished the check-in and, with luggage in tow, Ozzie escorted Salamanda up to Master Nymm’s suite.

  “Is that case okay?” Ozzie asked. “There’s a lot of smoke gushing out of it.”

  “It’s just Master Nymm’s bat,” Salamanda assured him. “Gresswydian breed—they breathe fire, you know. Well, here’s a little something for your trouble,” she added, pressing a coin into Ozzie’s hand. “Maybe I’ll see you around the station.”

  “Yeah . . . that would be . . . er, cool,” Ozzie stammered, and immediately wished he had been able to come up with any other response.

  “I best start unpacking,” Salamanda declared. “If I don’t have everything arranged and sorted before Master Nymm arrives . . . I’ll be in a heap of trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Ozzie asked.

  “He’s just not very kind,” Salamanda said bashfully. She suddenly looked as if she was about to cry. “But don’t worry about me, Ozzie.”

  She closed the door and Ozzie stood there for a moment in the hallway, clutching the coin that she had given him. He imagined her behind the door, trying not to cry. He knew that feeling, being bossed around by adults who weren’t the least bit interested in listening to what was important to you.

  Well, that was that. He wasn’t ever going to spend the coin she had given him. Ever. And he would worry about her, he decided. Very much so.

  13

  The Spy and the Spell Book

  At the end of his shift, when it came time to hang up his porter’s hat and change into his regular clothes, Ozzie allowed himself a quiet exhale. It had been a long day but also an adventurous one. Like Cho had said, there was never a dull moment in Zoone. And, unlike life in Apartment 2B, for once Ozzie was in the center of the action.

  I’m surrounded by a world of potential here, he thought. Actually, make that worlds of potential.

  Of course, one such potential was catching another glimpse of Salamanda. But he had not been called to assist her or her master again, and now his shift was over. He considered swinging by to knock on her door, but then he thought of Nymm’s furious eyebrows and decided against it.

  Instead, he caught a bite to eat in the mess hall with Tug (thankfully, it wasn’t leftover snirf and snarf), then headed to the common room to hang out with the giant cat. Located on the third floor of the crew’s tower, the common room had become the place where Ozzie liked to spend his off hours. It was cozy, full of nooks and crannies, and offered the perfect place to curl up and read a book (if you were Ozzie) or to purr away a nap (if you were Tug). There was a small library of books from around the multiverse and Ozzie had started to work his way through them. He had already read a short volume of Ophidian fairy tales, which were mostly about dragons
that needed rescuing from greedy, gold-hoarding princesses. Today, he decided he would try a book on Gresswydian myths.

  Ozzie curled up on his favorite window seat with Tug sprawled on the floor by his side. The sun had set and the many moons of Zoone were rising into the sky. The stars soon joined the action, winking across the night-scape. You didn’t get views like this from Apartment 2B, Ozzie realized—but how could you? The stars in Zoone were different from back home. They seemed bigger here. Closer.

  He sighed in satisfaction, then settled into his book.

  Even though the myths were interesting, it was quiet in the common room (Ozzie knew most of the staff were busy preparing for the wizards’ arrival) and he eventually dozed off. When he awoke, it was because of a loud thud. Ozzie’s eyes flew open. He slipped off the window seat and navigated past Tug’s slumbering body and twitching tail to peer around a corner. A mysterious figure was lurking near the bookshelves, on the far side of the tower. He was casting furtive glances over his shoulder, but because he was wearing a hooded robe, Ozzie couldn’t see his face. Then he leaned down and began struggling to lift a large, heavy-looking book from the floor; Ozzie realized that the thud must have come from him dropping it.

  Tug’s head suddenly appeared alongside Ozzie’s.

  “Shhh,” Ozzie warned him quietly, before gesturing to the cloaked figure. “Do you know who that is?”

  “No,” Tug replied. “Why are we whispering?”

  “Because whoever it is, he looks suspicious,” Ozzie said. “Maybe he’s the glibber spy everyone’s talking about. Come on, time to get ninja.”

  “Ooh, okay,” Tug purred. “By the way, how do you know his name is Ninja?”

  “Just follow me,” Ozzie said. “We have to be quiet. And cautious.”

  They tiptoed after the figure, who was on the move through the bookshelves. Ozzie made sure to hold Tug’s tail in case the skyger thumped it against the floor or shelves and blew their cover. Eventually, the figure reached an archway that led onto a terrace. He leaned out, as if to check that the coast was clear, then crept outside. Ozzie and Tug followed as far as the archway, then stopped and peered through with curiosity. There was a fountain burbling in the center of the balcony; the cloaked figure stopped in front of it, set his book on the ground, and, after a few more conspiratorial glances, began flipping through it.