The Guardians of Zoone Read online

  Aunt Temperance jumped to her feet. “Captain!” she cried, even as Ozzie’s chest was swelling with pride. “You can’t send the children to face danger.”

  “What in Quoggswoggle have we been doing up till now?” Fidget demanded.

  Ozzie ignored his aunt. “We can do it, Cho,” he declared.

  “Are you sure?” Fusselbone asked, tugging on Ozzie’s leg. “What do you know about espionage? Have you ever cracked an Ormese cipher? Read The Spy Who Came through the Red Door? Administered the antidote for a Simmean spider dart? You’ve got to watch your heels, my boy, watch your heels!”

  “Er . . . ,” Ozzie mumbled.

  “I’m coming with you,” Aunt Temperance announced.

  “You don’t know the station,” Ozzie argued. “Fidget and I do.”

  “They have a better chance of success than any of us,” Cho assured Aunt Temperance.

  “You came all the way here to save your boyfriend,” Fidget told her. “Well, I came here to save Zoone. And that’s what I plan to do.”

  “Me, too,” Ozzie said, leveling a look of determination at Aunt Temperance.

  She finally sighed in capitulation. “What if they get in trouble?” she challenged Cho. “How will we know?”

  “I’ll take the quirl,” Ozzie suggested. “If something happens, I’ll send her down.” As if to agree with this idea, the tiny rodent leaped from his hair to his shoulder and began chirping.

  Aunt Temperance blinked in surprise. “That’s a quirl? I thought they would be . . . bigger. Where did it come from?”

  “She’s part o’ the Underground,” Miss Mongo answered. “Clever rodent knows what side to take. The one with the best cook.”

  “So, we’re agreed?” Cho asked Aunt Temperance.

  She didn’t reply; instead, she paced into the nearest alcove and stared into the bricks.

  Ozzie followed her. “Cho trusts me. Why don’t you?”

  Aunt Temperance turned and wrapped her arms around him, which was a bit embarrassing, especially in front of Fidget and the rest of the Zoone crew. “Oh, Ozzie. I trust you. It’s just . . .”

  “What?”

  “You told me so many things about this world. These worlds. And now I’m seeing them firsthand, and . . . now I see it.”

  “See what?”

  “It’s not just me anymore. It’s not just you.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s not just us.” She sighed and hugged him tighter. “Be careful, Ozzie. Really careful.”

  Ozzie and Fidget knew the station, but they didn’t know the catacombs, which meant Minus was assigned to lead them through the labyrinthine network while the rest of the crew prepared for a rescue operation. Just before leaving the headquarters, Ozzie took one last look at the ragtag crew: Cho had attached a homemade blueprint of the station to the wall and was conferring with Fusselbone, Miss Mongo was polishing her rolling pin, Scoot was cleaning her blender gun, and Tug was curled up in the corner, taking a nap. Then there was Aunt Temperance. Mostly, she was pacing.

  “If this doesn’t end soon, I think she’ll explode,” Ozzie confided to Fidget as they plodded after Minus. The quirl, perched on his shoulder, offered a sympathetic chirp.

  “Yeah, well, ‘soon’ may never happen,” the princess whispered. “Minus is as slow as a Hibian sloth.”

  Minus glanced over his shoulder. “I heard that.”

  “What kind of name is Minus anyway?” Fidget wondered.

  “Just a nickname,” the soft-spoken boy replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s because of my age. Basically, I’m a walking cadaver.”

  “But you’re still alive,” Ozzie said to Minus, before quickly adding, “aren’t you?” Maybe he was some sort of zombie. In a place like Zoone, anything was possible.

  “I’m alive,” Minus replied sullenly. “But I shouldn’t be. I’m technically minus-ten years old.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Ozzie said.

  “I’m from Numerria,” Minus responded, as if this was all the explanation required.

  “Oh,” Fidget said as they rounded a corner. “Numerria. When you’re born, they calculate your life expectancy with statistics and stuff, which means you start life with a final estimated age. Then you count down by one each year.” She looked at Minus. “Right?”

  Minus nodded. “I started at age eight and reached zero ten years ago. But I didn’t die.”

  “Isn’t that a relief?” Fidget prompted.

  “Not really,” Minus said. “How would you feel if you were supposed to die a decade ago?”

  “Happy?” Ozzie suggested.

  “I’m a walking time bomb,” Minus moaned. “It could happen any day now. I mean, I am minus-ten. Well. Here we are.”

  They had arrived at the foot of a spiraling set of stone steps. “These lead into the station’s kitchens,” Minus revealed as he began a laboring ascent. “Unless the motos discovered the entrance. Maybe they blocked the stairs. Which is likely.”

  “Why?” Fidget asked.

  “Because,” Minus answered, “bad things always seem to happen to me.”

  “Well, you’ve outlived your due date,” Fidget reminded the morose boy. “Don’t you think that’s a positive, um . . . Minus?”

  The only reply she received was a sigh, so up they continued, without further words. The corkscrew staircase ended at a cast-iron hatch. It was only once they had popped it open and climbed out that Ozzie realized that they had come through the belly of an enormous cauldron. It was sitting dormant in a fireplace in a forgotten nook of the kitchens. It was a perfectly hidden doorway.

  Ozzie took a deep breath. He didn’t detect any of the delicious smells that usually wafted through the kitchen. But at least he was here, in Zoone. Proper Zoone.

  “I suppose I better stick around,” Minus told them. “You know, do some work. I’m technically on shift. Only managed to sneak away because 33-487B assigned me to clean the storage room.”

  “33-487B?” Ozzie repeated.

  “The new head cook,” Minus answered. “There’s a door at the end of the hall, a shortcut to the west platform.”

  “All we need is the keyhole,” Fidget told Ozzie as they hurried down the corridor.

  “Right,” Ozzie said, grabbing the handle. “But, first, I want to take a peek outside.”

  “That’s not our mission!”

  Ozzie stared her down. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get back here?”

  “Do you know how dangerous it is?” she snapped.

  “Fine,” he said. But before she could react, he twisted the handle and stepped through the door, and onto the platform.

  24

  A Nexus Turned Navy

  Ozzie took his first few steps across the cobblestones of the west platform, drinking in the sights and sounds of the station. I’m here, he thought. Actually here. He was looking at Zoone—not through a daydream, a memory marble, or a TV screen, but at the actual, real-life nexus. He could see the countless doors radiating out before him in concentric circles, doors made of wood and metal and stone. Doors of every shape and color. Doors that led to different corners of the multiverse. He took a few more steps, only to come to a sudden stop.

  “We have to go back inside,” Fidget hissed, coming up behind him.

  “Something’s wrong,” Ozzie told her.

  “No kidding. The station has been taken over by motos.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not it,” Ozzie murmured as the quirl leaped from his shoulder back into his hair. He slowly turned, pondering the scene around him. The nexus was busy, just as he remembered it. Travelers were coming and going out of doors, headed this way and that, from one end of the multiverse to the other. On the surface, everything was running smoothly.

  And that was exactly the thing that was needling Ozzie.

  It was too efficient.

  There was no hustle or bustle on the platform, no energy, no . . . life. Where were the travelers with t
heir misplaced tickets? Where were the lost toddlers who had wandered away from their parents? Where were the Sir Pomposities and their runaway pets? Now, as Ozzie ambled in bewilderment around the platform, it looked like the most thrilling thing that might happen would be a sticky door handle. Travelers were walking not quickly, not slowly—just methodically, eyes planted on the platform below their feet, as if eager not to draw attention to themselves.

  Ozzie shifted his focus to the motos. The mechanical men were systematically patrolling the platform, stopping various travelers to examine their tickets and to interrogate them about their destinations.

  “It’s gotten so much worse since I was last here,” Fidget said.

  “Worse than what we saw on the monitors,” Ozzie added as he slowly turned around to contemplate the station house. Something was wrong with it, too. There was scaffolding set up in one section, and a half-dozen motos were at work on the walls. It took a moment for Ozzie to work out what they were doing. The station was supposed to be a vibrant turquoise blue, but it was being repainted.

  “Navy?!” Ozzie cried. “They’re painting it navy?!”

  “The weakest of colors,” Fidget murmured. “Isn’t that what Aunt T said?”

  “It’s . . . it’s . . . an abomination,” Ozzie seethed. “How can they do this?”

  “Halt,” came a voice.

  They turned to see a moto security officer confronting them with its blank, expressionless eyes. “Please state your destination.”

  “Hello to you, too,” Fidget retorted. “Why, welcome to the nexus, the magical center of the multiverse.”

  The moto thrust out a metal claw. “Friends, please present your tickets.”

  The quirl gave a worried squeak; Ozzie felt her tunnel deeper into his hair.

  “Hey, 33-589D,” someone called from across the platform. “I need your assistance here.”

  Ozzie turned to see a non-moto worker waving from the foot of the stairs that led to the station’s west gate. It took a moment for Ozzie to recognize her; it was Keeva, his fellow porter, but her hair had been shaved to the scalp to meet Klaxon’s regulations. Keeva gave Ozzie a knowing wink as she distracted the moto security officer. Fidget quickly pulled Ozzie away and they ducked behind one of the countless doors.

  “We shouldn’t have come out here,” the princess complained. “There are a lot of motos—way more than the last time I was here.”

  “Heyff! You guyth can’t thand there.”

  Ozzie and Fidget exchanged a look of surprise. The voice was coming from the front side of the door, but it was definitely not a moto. They peeked out to see that it was Door 457 to Jeongo. Its wood was painted bright orange with yellow trim and it had an ornament in the middle that seemed part sun, part dragon. It looked fierce, but the door knocker in its teeth caused it to lisp.

  “If you’re going thoo hang out, ath leafth thalk to me,” the knocker implored. “No one haff time for pleathantrieth anymore.”

  “No kidding,” Fidget said. “Well, keep your hinges on, Sunshine. Ozzie, we have to get out of here.”

  They circled the station, away from the moto that had interrogated them, then climbed the stairs to the south gate.

  “Quoggswoggle,” Fidget uttered, coming to a stop once they were inside and gazing at the station hub.

  Before them was another picture of despair. In his time at Zoone, Ozzie had known the hub to be the heart of the station—and possibly the multiverse. But now it was as if that heart had been yanked out and replaced with a cold and emotionless stone. There was a fountain in the center, featuring a statue of Zephyrus Zoone, but it wasn’t even running. Lining the circumference of the cavernous space were many shops and services, but Ozzie noticed that many of them were closed. One of these was the quirlery, as Miss Mongo had mentioned, but the one that really surprised Ozzie was The Squeaky Hinge. He had never been inside the tavern (he was too young), but he had passed it many times while working as a porter. It was usually a lively place, full of boisterous patrons and lively chatter that you could sometimes hear from halfway across the hub. Now? It was boarded up with crooked pieces of wood. Above the shops, lining the upper walls, were schedule boards describing the status of different doors and tracks. Line after line read “canceled” or “closed until further notice.”

  “No one wants to hang around here anymore,” Fidget guessed. “They just want to get to where they’re going.”

  She clutched Ozzie by the arm and led him to the nearest doorway, which led to the crew’s tower in the southeast section of the station. The door was locked, but that didn’t matter; all they needed was the keyhole.

  “Just going to find the right setting,” Fidget murmured as she began spinning the gears on the key. “I’ll take us directly to Lady Zoone’s chambers.”

  “Halt,” sounded another moto voice.

  Ozzie looked over his shoulder to see two of the mechanical men marching toward them.

  “Friends, that area is restricted. We will help you find the right place to go.”

  “You can go to Quogg!” Fidget growled.

  “Hurry!” Ozzie urged. “I thought you knew how to use that thing!”

  “Just hold on!” She plunged the key into the lock and they scrambled through the door.

  Ozzie blinked. “Um, Fidget? This is not Lady Zoone’s study.”

  They were standing on one of Zoone’s many terraces. This one, it appeared, overlooked the south platform.

  “You rushed me,” Fidget grumbled.

  “No, that was the motos,” Ozzie retorted as he wandered over to the railing to take in the view.

  It was now nearing the end of the day, the fingers of the sun retracting across the grounds, but they still had a good vantage point to observe the south platform and the Infinite Wood that lay beyond—or at least what was left of it. Giant swaths of the forest were missing.

  “It’s being wiped clean,” Ozzie said, his voice cracking as he stared at the expanse of stumps. “Like Untaar.” He could picture the gauge in the control hub on Moton. What does it say now? he wondered. Ten percent? Fifteen? Twenty?

  “We’re not going to let the same thing happen here,” Fidget told him. “We’re not.” She tugged him back to the door they had just stepped through. “I’ll get it right this time,” she promised, twisting the gears on the key again.

  When she was done, she led them through the door and they arrived directly into Lady Zoone’s study.

  The place had been ransacked. Chairs and shelves had been tipped over. Books littered the floor. There was an assortment of strange relics in the study, but Ozzie noticed that many were smashed against the floor.

  “Klaxon did this!” Fidget growled.

  Ozzie nodded, but the worst thing, he decided, was how deathly quiet it was. The last time he had visited this room, it had been alive with the sounds of the birds and rodents that lived with Lady Zoone. Now it felt like an abandoned museum.

  “Lady Zoone obviously hasn’t been here for a long time,” Fidget said, using her toe to nudge at the remnants of a broken hourglass.

  “Where to now?” Ozzie wondered.

  Fidget frowned. “I’m not sure.” She ambled over to a statue situated in a nearby alcove. It depicted a man with wide, crazed eyes and a sneering lip. In one fist he was clutching a set of shackles. Behind him, on the wall, was a stone-relief carving of a door.

  Ozzie studied the plaque at the base of the statue. “Dreyuss Atroxi,” he read before looking to Fidget. “Who’s that?”

  “A former steward of Zoone,” Fidget answered. “There hasn’t been a prison in the station, at least not during Lady Zoone’s tenure. But there used to be, when Atroxi was in command. It’s said he became so mad with power, so paranoid, that he started imprisoning staff. When he was finally removed as steward, they boarded up his tower.”

  “Why would Lady Zoone keep a statue of him?” Ozzie wondered.

  “She told me it was to remind her of the responsibilities of be
ing a steward. I wonder . . .”

  Fidget squeezed behind the statue and touched the keyhole in the stone-relief door with her finger. There was the grinding of stone, and the door creaked inward.

  Ozzie gaped at her. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t,” the princess replied. “But I grew up in a palace. Finding secret passageways is kind of my thing. Come on.”

  They stepped through the door and found themselves transported to another alcove, opening onto a dimly lit corridor.

  Ozzie glanced up and down the passage. The walls were lined with empty cells. “Your hunch was right,” he whispered to Fidget. “This must be the abandoned prison tower.”

  “Maybe not abandoned anymore,” Fidget said. “Let’s explore.”

  Ozzie followed her into the corridor, only for the quirl to scamper out of his hair, down his body, and onto the floor, where she began chittering loudly.

  “Shh!” Fidget hissed. “You’re going to get us caught.”

  But the tiny rodent didn’t stop—and now she began darting around their feet.

  Fidget scowled. “What’s going on with this thing?”

  “I think she wants us to go back and report to Cho,” Ozzie guessed.

  “We haven’t found out anything yet,” Fidget argued. She turned to go farther down the hall, but the quirl nipped at her ankle. “OW!” she yelped, kicking the rodent away.

  “Hey—careful!” Ozzie said. The quirl squealed, then disappeared back through the keyhole in the wall behind them. “Great,” Ozzie complained to Fidget. “Now she’s gone. You didn’t have to kick her.”

  “She didn’t have to bite me!” Fidget retorted. “Scaredy quirl. Look, Lady Zoone might be here. We have to find out for sure.”

  She was already halfway down the passage, so Ozzie hurried after her. Every cell they passed was empty, but then they turned a corner and suddenly saw multiple faces staring at them.

  Zoonian faces.

  Ozzie’s mouth dropped open. These were the people he had come to know during his time at Zoone. He had worked side by side with them, eaten meals with them in the mess hall, traded stories with them. And now they barely looked like themselves; their heads were shaved and their faces were pale and gaunt.