The Secret of Zoone Read online

  “Punish me,” Salamanda replied. “Severely. Please, Ozzie?”

  “Don’t be such a Quogglebrain,” Fidget told Ozzie. “You can’t just leave the nexus.”

  “Please,” Salamanda begged, gazing at him intently.

  “Don’t worry,” Ozzie said. “I’ll do it for you.”

  Fidget rolled her eyes, but Salamanda was already pressing a key into Ozzie’s hands. “It’s Door 89 on the north platform,” she told him. She threw a sidelong glance at Fidget, then, giving Ozzie a knowing look, added, “The key will allow multiple travelers; you can take someone with you. You know, it might help to figure out . . . I mean, you know, what we talked about. Last night.”

  “What in the worlds is that supposed to mean?” Fidget snarled.

  But Salamanda didn’t respond—her ring was suddenly blinking. “See?” Salamanda sighed. “Master Nymm needs me again.” Giving Ozzie one last meaningful glance, she scampered off.

  “Last night?” Fidget asked, crossing her arms and staring expectantly at Ozzie. “What happened last night, exactly?”

  “Never mind,” Ozzie said, tucking the key into his pocket. “She works for Nymm, you know, head of the council. I have to do anything I can to get on his good side.”

  “You think running errands for Little Miss Smink is going to help you get your door fixed?” Fidget asked incredulously.

  “Well, what do you know about it?”

  “I know that I don’t trust her,” Fidget retorted.

  And I don’t trust you, Ozzie thought.

  “I’ll come with you, Ozzie,” Tug announced, disrupting the tension. “We’re a team, after all.”

  Fidget groaned. “Well, I guess our game of chess is over one way or the other. Come on, then.”

  “You don’t have to come,” Ozzie said. Sure, it might help to see how she behaved once they left the station—but what if she decided to eat him the moment they were on the track? “Maybe you should, uh . . . you know, stay here.”

  “I’m not getting left behind to take all the blame when you two don’t come back,” Fidget griped. “Just let me grab an umbrella.”

  “Why?” Ozzie wondered.

  “It might be raining in Isendell,” Fidget replied. “I’m not taking any chances. Water is disastrous for me. Don’t you get it?”

  Yeah, I get it, Ozzie thought. Especially that it might reveal who you really are.

  The north platform was as subdued as it had been all day, with just a few travelers tramping to and from the station and the odd quirl scurrying to deliver a message. The sun had set and the fireflies of Zoone—buzzles, they were called—danced among the doors in radiant, multicolored swirls.

  “What a peaceful night,” Fidget observed with a grumbling tone. “The kind that’s perfect for playing a quiet game of Quoxxian chess. Don’t you think, Oz?”

  “It’s Ozzie,” he retorted. He didn’t actually mind the nickname, but not when it was coming from someone who could be a glibber. “And, if you ask me,” he added, “Quoxxian chess is anything but quiet.”

  It didn’t take them long to find Door 89. It kind of stood out, and not exactly in a good way. It was a jumble of jagged, rusted blades of metal, jutting this way and that. Upon closer inspection, Ozzie realized that they were supposed to be leaves, as part of an overall floral design, but they were the types of plants that looked about as friendly as serrated knives. Set in the center of the door was a corroded door knocker in the shape of a hideous reptilian face with enormous eyes. Ozzie tried to ignore it, but as soon as he inserted the key, the door knocker came to life with an ominous snigger.

  “Does anyone else think this is a bad idea?” Fidget asked.

  “Oh, sure,” Tug said cheerfully.

  “Then why are you agreeing to go?” she demanded.

  “Because Ozzie’s going,” Tug answered. “And we’re a—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Fidget groaned. “You’re a team.”

  Ozzie turned the key and pushed the door open with a mournful creak. The track beyond wasn’t at all like the others Ozzie had come to know in Zoone. There were no swirling lights here—just a dull curtain of gray. But the most peculiar thing was that the track was barely moving.

  “This is ridiculous,” Fidget said. “I always thought Isendell was a happy, peaceful world.”

  Ozzie shrugged. He was having second thoughts himself, but he wasn’t going to give Fidget the satisfaction of knowing it. “I’m going, with or without you,” he said, slogging forward with Tug fast on his heels.

  Fidget reluctantly took up the rear. “It’s freezing in here,” she muttered. “Salamander Smink could have bothered to tell us what season it is in Isendell.”

  They trudged on for about half an hour before a door, identical to the one they had come through, appeared in front of them. Ozzie eagerly pushed it open and they stepped into the Land of Isendell.

  Everything before them was desolate and gray. Ozzie couldn’t see a tree, a flower, or even a blade of grass—just a stretch of flat ground. Behind them was a high wall of crumbling stone. The only direction to go was forward.

  “This is Isendell?” Ozzie asked in bewilderment.

  “I’m not sure,” Fidget replied, pursing her lips. “I’ve never been here. Look at the paper Salamander gave you. Where does it say to go?”

  Ozzie unfolded Salamanda’s instructions. “Nothing in this place matches what she wrote down! What if we came through the wrong door?”

  “We better go back and double-check,” Fidget advised.

  The door was already closed behind them. It looked different on this side, old and weathered with flecks of turquoise.

  Like the door that leads to Zoone in my world, Ozzie thought.

  He inserted his key, but nothing happened. With a frown, Ozzie jiggled and turned it, but the door didn’t budge.

  “What’s going on?” Fidget demanded. She nudged Ozzie out of the way and tried the key herself, but with no success. “I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Why won’t it work?”

  “Uh-oh,” Ozzie fretted, yanking out the key and turning it over in his hands. “I think it’s just a one-way key. What are we going to do now?”

  “Quoggswoggle,” Fidget murmured. “We’re stuck.”

  19

  Things Get Creepy-Crawly

  Tug turned a perturbed pink. So did Fidget—for a moment, anyway. Then her cheeks flushed as inappropriately purple as her hair.

  “That little Smink!” she erupted. “She tricked us!”

  “She didn’t trick us,” Ozzie argued. “She must have made a mistake.”

  “Right,” Fidget growled, snatching the key away from him.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Ozzie asked.

  “Well, for one thing, if we ever get back, I’m going to stick it up Salamander’s nose and pull it out her ear.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Tug told her. “It might hurt her.”

  “I told you all along this was a stupid idea,” Fidget seethed at Ozzie. “But did you listen? Nooooo. You’re as bad as my little sister. She’s five, by the way.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to come,” Ozzie fumed.

  “That’s what friends do, don’t they?” Fidget retorted, crossing her arms.

  How am I supposed to know? Ozzie thought scornfully, kicking at the dry ground. It wasn’t like he had a wealth of friend experience. Besides, how could you be friends with someone who might be a glibber?

  He felt something tease his cheek and looked up to see Tug’s whiskery face staring at him in earnest. “You know,” the giant cat said, “skygers aren’t really good at solving problems. But maybe we should take a look around. We might find someone who can help us.”

  “It beats standing here in the dust,” Fidget agreed. “Come on.”

  Ozzie hesitated, but Tug and Fidget had already set off across the dismal landscape, so he plodded after them. It was hard to be certain about Fidget, but he wasn’t about to let Tug out of his
sight.

  The view did not improve as they tramped across the stretch of hard, cracked earth. It was as if the entire plain had once been mud or silt, but now the water was gone, leaving behind baked and splitting clay. Every step brought up a cloud of fine gray dust. Above them, the sun beat down from a bleary, colorless sky. Part of Ozzie was tempted to turn back, but there was nothing behind them but a wall and a locked door. So, onward they trudged.

  After almost half an hour, they reached the outskirts of a city—at least what was left of one. Ozzie had the sense that it had once been a spectacular metropolis: strong, mighty, and vast. Now it was nothing more than one long debris field, punctuated with enormous craters and the stumps of buildings that jutted from the wreckage like broken teeth.

  Not knowing what else to do, they continued into the ruins. Instead of being straight, the streets were curved and, more peculiarly, Ozzie noticed that they were carved into the ground like shallow troughs. It occurred to him that they might have once been canals, though the water had long ago evaporated or been drained away. Whatever the case, the streets were now deserted, as were the empty shells of the structures they passed.

  “Not much left of this place,” Fidget observed. “The architecture reminds me of the shape of cattails or seaweed.”

  They rounded a bend, onto another demolished avenue. The few remaining buildings slumped into the canal streets, as if stricken by disease, spewing broken furniture and other ravaged items from vandalized windows. Doors and shutters hung from mangled hinges; the way they creaked in the wind reminded Ozzie of moans and groans.

  “What happened here?” he wondered. “It’s like everything got thrown into a blender. You think it was an earthquake?”

  “Maybe a war?” Fidget suggested as she ducked beneath a pillar that was twisted precariously across their path. “Thing is, there’s been no war in Isendell. In fact, it’s known as a peaceful world. They haven’t had a war in over a hundred years.”

  “How do you know?” Ozzie asked.

  “I know my history of the ’verse,” Fidget claimed, tapping a finger to her temple. “I tutored with my grandfather up till he died. And he knew everything.”

  Sounds like Aunt T, Ozzie thought. Except Fidget’s grandfather was probably a glibber.

  They arrived in what seemed to have once been a city square. Ozzie wandered over to the remnants of a giant, ornamental fountain. In the center was a sculpture of some strange creature, but because of whatever conflict had happened, the statue was leaning at a perilous angle. Ozzie circled, trying to get a complete look at it. The fountain in the hub of Zoone Station featured the founder of the nexus, Zephyrus Zoone, standing in a noble pose. But the figure here didn’t look remotely regal; it looked monstrous, with bulbous eyes and a humongous, gaping mouth. There was a spout deep in the throat, but instead of water it was now oozing murky slime. The black gunk meandered out between the creature’s stone teeth and seeped to the ground in a long, thick stream.

  Tug thrust his giant snout next to Ozzie. “He has an ugly tongue,” he commented.

  “That’s not a tongue,” Ozzie pointed out. “It’s just slime. . . .” His words faded away. Tug was right. It did look like a tongue. A long, black one, just like . . .

  Ozzie took a step back to gain a different perspective of the statue. The glibber king. He quivered in recognition—because he could now see that the sculpture resembled the beast he had seen in Nymm’s memory. But what would a statue of the glibber king be doing in Isendell? Unless . . .

  “We’re not in Isendell.” He turned to Tug and Fidget. “We’re in Glibbersaug.”

  “What?!” Fidget cried.

  “That’s impossible,” Tug added anxiously. “Skygers don’t like glibbers. We’d never go to Glibbersaug.”

  “That’s the glibber king,” Ozzie said, gesturing wildly to the statue. “So, this must be Glibbersaug.” He fixed his eyes on Fidget, hunting for some sign of the truth. “Isn’t it?”

  Fidget scowled. “How would I know? I haven’t been here before.” She wandered in a wide arc around the statue, scrutinizing it.

  “I thought your grandfather taught you everything.”

  “I said he knew everything,” Fidget retorted. “But . . . you’re right, Ozzie. This statue looks like the pictures I’ve seen of the glibber king. And . . . and look at these other figures carved into the basin, cavorting around him. They must be his glibber minions.”

  “Cavorting?” Ozzie asked.

  “It means dancing.”

  “I know what it means,” Ozzie said. “It’s just a strange word to use when it comes to glibbers, isn’t it?”

  “I’m going to strangle that little Salamander,” Fidget snarled. She stepped away from the statue and began turning in a circle, as if to take in their surroundings anew.

  “Is this really Glibbersaug?” Tug fretted.

  “It has to be,” Fidget uttered. “You know, my grandfather was around back before the door to this place was closed; he showed me the pictures. Though they don’t really do justice to this . . . this mess. He said the glibbers didn’t think about the future. They mined their swamps, polluted their waterways. They devoured their world into famine and starvation and erupted into civil war because of it. They regressed into a verminlike state. All of this . . . they did it to themselves.”

  Ozzie took a deep breath. If Fidget really was a glibber spy, she sure was putting on a good performance of ignorance. He wasn’t sure what to think.

  “That’s why the door is locked,” Fidget continued. “The glibbers aren’t allowed through. Just imagine what would happen if they could reach Zoone.”

  Ozzie stared at the devastation that surrounded them. He tried to visualize what the city—the entire world—might have once looked like, but it was like trying to figure out what picture a box of scattered puzzle pieces would make.

  Is this what happens after a door closes? Ozzie wondered. Is this where my world is headed? He knew Eridea had plenty of problems, but this . . . this was something else. “No wonder Crogus wants to take over Zoone,” he pondered aloud. “This world is all eaten up. And now they say he has an accomplice trying to break him out, so he can have another try at it.” He steadied his gaze on Fidget as he said this last part.

  “That’s just a rumor,” Fidget claimed. “Have you been listening to those kitchen sisters again? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because! How do you know so much about all of this?”

  “I told you: my grandfather,” Fidget growled. “You want to ask questions? Then ask little Salamander Smink why she had a key to this forbidden place. That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Stop calling her that,” Ozzie fumed. “It’s a one-way key. And it’s easy enough to figure out why she has one. She’s the apprentice to the leader of the Council of Wizardry, you know! He probably has keys to all kinds of worlds. Knowing Salamanda, she probably just got mixed up and gave us the wrong one.”

  Fidget frowned and sat down on a cracked block of stone. “Something’s fishy about all of this.”

  “It sure is,” Tug said, his giant blue nose twitching. “I can smell it.”

  It was true. The city had a certain reek to it, like the stench of dying, rotting fish. Ozzie knew that wasn’t what Fidget had meant, but now the smell was becoming more intense, almost suffocating.

  “Ugh!” Fidget gasped. “Where’s it coming from?”

  Tug released a frightful mew. “I can hear them,” he wailed, his ears twitching.

  “Who?” Ozzie asked.

  But Tug didn’t answer. Instead he just swished his tail, so violently that it swatted Ozzie across the back of his legs and caused him to stumble right into Fidget. But he didn’t blame Tug. Because now Ozzie could hear it, too; it was a sound like the scurry of thousands of flippery feet. It was becoming louder by the moment, though it was almost impossible to know from which direction.

  “Glibbers!” Fidget cried.

  They c
ame in the dozens, slithering, slipping, and scuttling out of the wreckage, through the busted windows and doorways, like poisoned water spurting through cracks in a dam. They were hunched and slimy, with grayish-green skin, crooked limbs, and webbed hands and feet. Some had spots or stripes, while others had barbed fins sticking out of their backs. Many of them were wearing armor: battered helmets, rusty chest plates, and snatches of fur and leather. Some carried crude weapons like broken clubs or rusty pipes—though, in Ozzie’s mind, these didn’t look half as dangerous as the rows of sharp teeth he could see bursting from the glibbers’ mouths. The terrible creatures swarmed around the outskirts of the square, leering.

  “Creepy-crawlies,” Ozzie groaned. “Giant ones.”

  In actual fact, the glibbers were pretty small, perhaps only half the size of Ozzie. What they lacked in size, however, they made up for in numbers; there were so many of them, all spilling over each other, like an infestation of insects.

  Tug began to yowl. His long curly ears flattened against his head and he went chalk white, even his stripes. Then he attempted something that Ozzie had never seen before: He tried to fly. Tug furiously beat his stunted wings, but the only thing he managed to do was create a stir of wind.

  “Stop it!” Fidget growled. “You’re getting dust in my eyes!”

  “Just to tell you—”

  “I know!” Fidget said, brandishing her umbrella as if it were a sword. “You don’t like glibbers.”

  “If I had proper wings, I could fly us away from here,” Tug mewled forlornly.

  “It’s okay,” Fidget consoled the cat over her shoulder. “Just stay behind me. I’ll—”

  At that moment, as if on some inaudible signal, the glibbers charged.

  Fidget whacked the first one so hard with her umbrella that it went reeling backward, into its horde, like a bowling ball into pins.

  Ozzie gaped at her. What is she doing? he thought. Why would she attack her own people? Shouldn’t this be the exact moment she turns us over, the exact moment she—

  “Ozzie!” Fidget screeched. “What are you staring at?! COME ON!”

  She grabbed him by the arm and yanked him through a break in the glibber swarm, Tug hard on her heels. Through the city they fled, doing their best to navigate the despoiled streets and the crumbled remnants of buildings. Glibbers seemed to lunge at them from every direction.