The Secret of Zoone Read online

  Lady Zoone was in good humor, but poor Fusselbone was beside himself. A conjuring of wizards came with a great deal of dangerous luggage, and the little mouse-man issued a special addendum to the regulation handbook with a long list of dos and don’ts for the porters.

  Mostly don’ts.

  “Don’t leave the cases in the sun too long,” Fusselbone would shout from a little upturned box in the porters’ headquarters. “Don’t jiggle the luggage unnecessarily. Don’t antagonize any of the wizards’ familiars, especially if they’re dragonish. Don’t fraternize with the apprentices. Don’t . . .”

  Ozzie didn’t mind the potential hazards that came with wrangling wizardly luggage. It gave him the opportunity to meet the owners firsthand and, hopefully, make a strong impression. Sure, Fidget’s idea about going to the Magic-Makers’ Market was a good one, but why not cover all angles?

  “I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with Nymm,” Ozzie confided to Tug, just before leaving for his first full day of wizardly porting. “But there’s a ton—I mean, a whole conjuring—of wizards arriving. They can’t all be that unfriendly. Right?”

  “Definitely not,” the skyger agreed. “You know, if your right foot’s a problem, then maybe you should try your left.”

  Ozzie didn’t have time to explain himself to the cat; he had to hurry off to work.

  The first wizard to arrive at the station was Adaryn Moonstrom. She came from Ipee-Aru and specialized in transfiguration. When she first stepped through her door and onto the platform, Ozzie thought a magnificent queen had arrived in Zoone. Adaryn had silver hair, with eyes to match, and a long scepterlike staff in her delicate hands. Ozzie was so struck by her that he even bowed.

  “Rise, porter,” Adaryn said gently. Then she looked at him intently and said, “Magic be with you.”

  Next was Torannis Talon, from the Isles of Ishagra. He was an expert in creatures with magical abilities, and he arrived with all sorts of familiars, including a wolf pup with iridescent blue spots.

  Enora and Ersa Sharpe were twin sisters who dwelled in the caves of Avaleen. They were blind, with pupil-less eyes, but as they put it, “Our vision is not to be wasted on things dwelling in present time; it’s for seeing a future realm, beyond the clock’s current chime.”

  Wolfram Bone, from the deserts of Dossandros, studied comparative astronomy. Mysteeria Creed of Rengar specialized in translocation. Tahanu Renn, from the jungles of Sondo, was skilled in magical combat. Dorek Faeng of Veradune was a master of charms. On and on, the list went; in total, 111 magic-makers, plus their apprentices, arrived at Zoone Station. There seemed to be an expert in everything—except, Ozzie couldn’t help noting, magical door repair.

  As busy as he was, a part of Ozzie’s mind continued to dwell on Salamanda. He kept an eye out for her all through his hectic shifts, but as it turned out, he didn’t see her again until the night the convention was to officially begin. He had just finished porting the bags for one of the late arrivals and was about to leave the north inn tower when he caught a whiff of a terrible odor. It was almost as dreadful as the reek of Mr. Crudge’s tonic.

  Curious, Ozzie followed the stench and found himself standing in front of the familiar door to Isidorus Nymm’s suite.

  What’s he brewing in there? Ozzie wondered.

  The door swung open and Ozzie found himself face-to-face with Salamanda.

  “Oh!” Ozzie exclaimed. He knew his cheeks were turning beet red. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that he looked better than Salamanda. Her hair was wild, her face splotchy, and her eyes bulging. She looked like she had been crying—a lot.

  “Ozzie!” Salamanda sputtered. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

  “I smelled something. Something bad.”

  Salamanda sighed. “It’s Master Nymm’s elixir.”

  “His what?” Ozzie asked.

  “A potion,” Salamanda explained in a whisper, casting worried looks up and down the corridor. “It’s something he always has me brew for him. He says it keeps him ‘strong and vigorous.’”

  “Does it actually work?” Ozzie asked, wrinkling his nose. The stench was stronger now that the door was open. “It smells . . . atrocious.”

  “Don’t tell anyone about it,” Salamanda implored. “Please. Master Nymm likes these kinds of things kept private. If he finds out I told you . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” Ozzie assured her. “The secret’s safe with me. But are you okay?”

  “Oh,” Salamanda said, touching her cheek self-consciously. “Yes, I’m okay. It’s just that I spilled part of the ingredients kit this morning and contaminated nearly our entire stock of . . . well, it’s for Master Nymm’s potion, and he really gave me a tongue-lashing. I feel like he’s running me off my feet, commanding me to do this, to do that. . . . I’m just really stressed. Sorry—I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” Ozzie claimed.

  “Thank you,” Salamanda said, nervously wringing her wrist with a blotchy hand. “It’s nice to be able to talk to someone. It’s been kind of lonely here so far. All the other apprentices have been so cruel, so competitive.”

  Just like school, Ozzie thought, instantly sympathizing with her. “You know, I’m about to finish my shift,” he said, mustering his courage. “Maybe we could . . . er, do something.”

  As soon as the words left his lips, he remembered Fusselbone’s don’t-fraternize-with-the-apprentices rule. But the feeling fluttering in his stomach seemed way more important than any regulation.

  “I’d love to do something with you,” Salamanda said dejectedly. “But the convention starts in a couple of hours, so I have a lot to do. . . .” She trailed off before suddenly grabbing Ozzie by the arm and pulling him into Nymm’s suite. “I have an idea!” she said as she quickly closed the door behind them. “Why don’t you come with me to the opening ceremonies?”

  The stench in the suite was staggering—there was even a yellow haze floating in the air—but Ozzie couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He suddenly felt important. Special. Nymm’s bat fluttered out of the smoke and landed on his shoulder, but nothing could distract him from enjoying the moment. Ozzie just continued standing there, beaming.

  “Um . . . are you going to say something?” Salamanda wondered.

  “Oh—yeah!” Ozzie stammered. “Go to the convention. I’d love—” He was interrupted by a cough from Nymm’s bat, as if it wanted to remind him that not only was it against the rules to hang out with apprentices, but that it was especially forbidden to attend the convention with them. “Darn,” Ozzie muttered, rubbing what was suddenly his very warm cheek. “There’s no way I’d be allowed.”

  “Not officially,” Salamanda agreed. “But I have a spare robe that will fit you, and if I charm it, you can sneak past security.”

  “There’s security?” Ozzie gulped, taking his cap off to scratch his head. Maybe sneaking into the convention was too risky—after the incidents with the Ophidian spitting cobra and Miss Mongo’s suitcase, he didn’t need to invite any more trouble. But he was also remembering his meeting with Nymm and how the ornery wizard had denied him the opportunity to speak to the council.

  Ozzie put his cap back on and contemplated Salamanda. Who needs Nymm’s permission when I have his apprentice to help me? he thought smugly. This is my opportunity to hear the council talk about my door, maybe even hear about the glibber’s apprentice. Maybe I got it wrong with Fidget, but everyone thinks there’s one lurking around the station and—

  “Ozzie?” Salamanda prompted, gently touching his arm. “Where did you go?”

  “Sorry!” Ozzie said, his cheeks burning (and not from the bat). “I was just thinking. Okay! I’ll do it—I’ll come with you. I just need to change out of my uniform.”

  Salamanda smiled brightly. “Just having you there . . . you have no idea how much better it makes me feel.” Her ring started blinking. “Drat,” she muttered, her smile melting. �
��Told you—that’s Master Nymm needing something. I’ll attend to him while you go change. Meet you back here in a half hour. Okay?”

  Ozzie didn’t waste a second to even nod. He turned, flung open the door, and began racing down the hallway—only to realize that Nymm’s bat was still perched on his shoulder. He quickly scrambled back, thrust the critter into Salamanda’s hands, then sped toward the porters’ headquarters. When he arrived, it was to find Tug stretched across the floor in the changing room, snoring gently. The skyger lazily opened one eye, but as soon as he saw Ozzie, he sprang to all fours.

  “There you are! I thought you’d never get off shift. Want to go fetch a late-night snack?”

  “Oh,” Ozzie said as he hung up his porter’s hat. “Actually, I’m going to meet with . . . a friend.”

  “Ooh, Fidget,” Tug said, twitching his tail excitedly. “Just to tell you, I like her. Where are we going?”

  “No, it’s not Fidget,” Ozzie corrected him. “And . . . er, well, it’s a secret. It’s just by invitation and she—I mean, my friend, said . . . she said no skygers.”

  Tug turned a doleful gray. “No skygers? Why?”

  “Well, she said it could be, well, it might lead to . . . a calamity,” Ozzie said, grasping for a strong Aunt Temperance word.

  “But skygers love calamities,” Tug persisted. Then, after a pause, he added, “They taste delicious, right?”

  “No, a calamity means . . . Look, where we’re going is just too small for skygers,” Ozzie fibbed. He felt slightly guilty about lying to Tug, but then he thought of the earnest look in Salamanda’s eyes and his stomach started to flutter again. “Listen, Tug,” Ozzie said, “I can’t tell you exactly what this is about, but it’s a way I can find out about the door to my world. It’s a way to help my aunt. So, I have to do it.”

  “Okay, Ozzie,” Tug said, his fur slowly returning to blue. “I understand. I’ll just wait for you in our room. But if there’s any extra calamities, can you sneak some back for me?”

  That night, at the stroke of midnight, a celebratory display of fireworks marked the official start of the Convention of Wizardry. Ozzie, disguised by his borrowed cloak, was thankful for the booms and roars of fireworks; it helped him fight his drowsiness.

  “This goes all night?” Ozzie griped. “Why don’t they start earlier?”

  “Wizards prefer to confer by moonlight,” Salamanda informed him as they made their way to the upper balcony of the conference hall, where they would be sitting with all the other apprentices. “This is going to be my life for the next eleven nights.”

  Ozzie looked over the railing to gaze upon the main conference floor, where the 111 wizards were assembling. The chamber was a circle with the speakers’ podium in the very center. It was a stately room, decorated with tall tapestries and regal portraits of past and present stationmasters, which Ozzie worked out when he spotted a painting of Lady Zoone.

  Ozzie had never been in this sort of situation before. He wondered if this was what it would be like to attend a ceremony at the United Nations, or some other important international meeting. I bet my parents get to attend things like this all the time, he thought, though without the usual bitterness—because for once he was the one with a front-row seat to the action. He was even wearing a disguise. This is what it must feel like to be a ninja, he gloated.

  As soon as the fireworks finished, Master Nymm rose to the podium in the center of the chamber. As he began to speak, the podium slowly rotated, so that the entire audience was given a view of his tall and impressive countenance. “Welcome to the eight hundred seventy-sixth Convention of Wizardry!” Nymm boomed, his peculiar eyebrows twitching. “I, Isidorus Nymm, leader of the council, officially declare this convention begun! May magic be with you.”

  “May magic be with you!” came a chorus of responses, and Ozzie hurried to add his own.

  “We have much to discuss and debate over the course of the next eleven nights,” Nymm declared. “But before I present our agenda, we shall begin, as is tradition of the council, by announcing our members. I, Isidorus Nymm, of the Land of Gresswyden, will introduce each of you, one by one. We start with Adaryn Moonstrom, second in command on this council, she of Ipee-Aru.”

  Ozzie leaned forward, straining to see the magical silver-haired woman he had first met on the platforms. Before he could spot her, however, a lustrous unicorn bounded from one of the seats and galloped around the podium. It was one of the most beautiful creatures Ozzie had ever seen. Then, suddenly, the unicorn morphed into the figure of Sorceress Moonstrom.

  “What the . . . ?” Ozzie gasped. “That was . . . spectacular. Is that norm—”

  “Shhh!” hissed an apprentice sitting on the other side of Salamanda, glaring at Ozzie with amber eyes.

  “Sorry, Snedley,” Salamanda whispered to the apprentice. “He’s new, and he’s never seen someone who could transfigure before, and—”

  “Act appropriately, Salamander,” Snedley growled. “Apprentices should be seen, not heard.”

  Ozzie glared at the amber-eyed apprentice. He reminded him of the kids back home. “He’s probably just jealous of you,” Ozzie whispered to Salamanda, trying to be encouraging. “You know, because you’re the apprentice to the leader of the council.”

  Salamanda smiled and mouthed a “thank you.”

  The introductions dragged on for many hours. At first, Ozzie found everything exciting, even the roll call, but as Nymm proceeded through the long list of attendees, he found his head nodding forward. He must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, an excited rumble of conversation was rippling through the crowd.

  “What is it?” he muttered drowsily. “What’s going on? Are the introductions over?”

  “You can say that again,” Salamanda told him. “You’ve been asleep half the night. But now they’re moving on to the important stuff.”

  “Are they talking about my door?” Ozzie asked hopefully.

  “Something else,” Salamanda replied, clinging to his arm. “The glibber king.”

  17

  A Glimpse at the Glibber King

  The mention of the glibber king was enough to really wake Ozzie up. Over the past few days, he had heard so many people gossiping about Crogus. But none of them were sitting where he was now. None of them had Ozzie’s chance to listen in on a clandestine conversation about one of the most infamous villains in the multiverse.

  “. . . as you all know,” the sorceress Adaryn Moonstrom was saying, “there have been many concerns regarding the incarceration of Crogus, king of the glibbers.”

  Nymm seemed to be forming an angry response to her remarks, but before he could speak, the blind sorceresses, Enora and Ersa Sharpe, rose from their seats. Even from the balcony, Ozzie could see their glowing, blank eyes. It made him shiver, and it didn’t help that they spoke in perfect unison.

  “The stars tell of an impending danger to the nexus of the ’verse. A stranger arrives from a dismal world, one empty of wonder and its magic terse. He will cause havoc for our conference before all is complete. Danger and doom blush on the horizon; there is a threat we must defeat.”

  Dorek Faeng, master of charms, stood tall. He had ebony skin and sideburns so thick and long that he reminded Ozzie of a lion. When he spoke, his voice was so deep that he sounded like one, too. “Sisters,” Faeng began, “do you refer to the rumor that the glibber king has an apprentice working for him? Do you believe this apprentice has come to Zoone?”

  “We speak only of what we have been able to glimpse and glean,” the two sorceresses responded. “But of the glibber apprentice, this much our vacant eyes have seen: Verily, the enemy lurks among the visitors to Zoone. A wicked plan is in place; the deceiver enacts it soon.”

  A collective murmur reverberated through the hall, but Nymm silenced it with a loud clearing of his throat.

  “This is what I think, sisters,” the tall wizard announced, ire flashing in his eyes. “Pathetic, half-percolated prophe
cies and childish chatter are not proof of anything—let alone some so-called apprentice. As leader of this conjuring, I suggest we turn our attention to more pressing topics.”

  “Master Nymm,” Faeng countered, “what is more pressing than the threat posed by the glibber king?” He turned with outstretched hands, appealing to the entire chamber. “Members of the esteemed council, we should not underestimate Crogus. Lest we forget, he once sat on this very council, in this very chamber, posing as an honorable wizard, while all the time campaigning, politicking—and murdering anyone who stood in his way—to become the next stationmaster. Lest we forget, he even murdered Lady Zoone’s predecessor. Only at the last moment did we discover his plot.”

  “Yes, we did discover it!” Nymm snapped, his tangled eyebrows prickling with rage. “Which is why we cast him into the prison world of Morindu! May he rot there until the end of the cosmos.”

  The chamber was boiling with tension. Ozzie glanced at Salamanda, but she was focused intently on the heated discussion taking place in the arena below.

  Suddenly, a woman draped in a midnight-blue robe and wearing her hair in loops of the same color was standing right in front of Nymm. It was as if she had appeared by magic—which, Ozzie quickly realized, was because it was magic. This was Mysteeria Creed, whose specialty was translocation.

  “Master Nymm,” the sorceress said, “I will ask the question that lingers on the lips of every magic-maker in our presence: Where is Crogus now? Does he remain incarcerated on Morindu?”

  A rumbling of whispers erupted in the chamber. Ozzie leaned against the railing in front of him. It wasn’t just the council who wanted to know the answer to this question; it seemed the entire station, the entire multiverse, wanted to know. And now, Ozzie thought, I’m going to get the answer.

  All eyes turned to Nymm. A sour expression spread across the wizard’s face, like he had just taken a sip of one of Aunt Temperance’s vitamin concoctions.