The Guardians of Zoone Page 5

  “Oh, raptorial,” Tug said affably. “That’s me all right.”

  “I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean what you think it does,” Fidget chipped in.

  Tug purred as a response, but then everyone went quiet because at that moment their net was reeled through a hatch in the underbelly of the ship, instantly enveloping them in darkness. They were still being hoisted upward, but they couldn’t even see where they were going.

  I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one, Ozzie thought.

  He had faced plenty of dangers on his last trip to Zoone, but there had always been adults nearby to swoop in and help out, like Captain Cho or Lady Zoone. Aunt Temperance was technically an adult, but Ozzie wasn’t sure she counted in a situation like this.

  Soft light flooded over them as the net rose out of the shaft and they found themselves suspended above the uppermost deck of the ship, surrounded by the starscape of the damaged portal. Ozzie peered down to see two pirates working a crankshaft attached to the towline and net, which they now dangled over an open-roofed cage. Without warning, the entire net was dropped inside. After some groaning and grunting, Ozzie managed to clamber free of the mesh, along with everyone else. More pirates scrambled forward to slide a grid of iron bars over the top of the cage, completely imprisoning them, and then pulled the now-empty net out from the side—cautiously, Ozzie noticed, keeping well clear of Tug’s jaws.

  The deck was a clutter of wheezing pipes, flickering control panels, and sagging cables. Ozzie was put in mind of Aunt Temperance’s old Volkswagen Bug; each time they parked, they were never quite sure if it would start up again. And, like Aunt Temperance’s car, every scrap of metal on the ship seemed scarred and rusted, boasting of adventures past. Even the masts looked slightly askew, though they were draped with beautiful sails made out of some sort of diaphanous fabric. Ozzie wasn’t sure why the ship needed sails—there was no wind in the portals—but then he saw them shimmer silver, which caused him to wonder if they were for absorbing some sort of cosmic energy.

  Ratbeard appeared from below deck. “All aboard and accounted for!” he shouted, and the ship lurched so violently that Ozzie had to clutch the cage bars to keep his footing.

  Aunt Temperance groaned, cradling her pack against her chest. “Now what’s happening?”

  “I think you’re about to discover the vastness of the multiverse,” Fidget announced.

  The ship pivoted and, after rumbling back through the split it had made in the side of the tunnel, emerged into a fabulous skyscape. All about them were clusters of nebulae colored blue and indigo and festooned with stars. It would have been . . . well, ensorcelling, Ozzie thought, to steal an Aunt Temperance word, if their plight wasn’t so dire.

  “How can we breathe up here if we’re in space?” Aunt Temperance marveled.

  “We’re not in space,” Fidget replied. “I don’t think we’re anywhere. I told you: This is the realm between the portals.”

  “We have to be somewhere,” Aunt Temperance insisted.

  “Yeah,” Fidget retorted. “It’s called ‘in trouble.’”

  “I’ve been there before,” Tug said. “Plenty of times. Usually with Ozzie.”

  “So, here’s our quarry,” Ratbeard announced, lumbering to their cage. Still careful to keep his distance from Tug, he reached through the bars and prodded Ozzie with his gun hand. “No worse for wear, I see. Nothin’ broken or busted.”

  “That’s more than you can say for our portal,” Ozzie retorted.

  “The track should repair itself,” Ratbeard said. “Most of ’em do. No reason to get your knickers in a knot. You got other troubles.” He allowed himself a chuckle before lifting his chin to shout, “Ahoy, Cap’n! Prisoners ready for inspection!”

  Ozzie followed his gaze into the rigging above to see a solitary silhouette darting along one of the mast arms, so high up that it made him dizzy. The figure leaped down from spar to spar to land gracefully on the deck.

  “Captain Traxx,” Fidget murmured. “Queen of the Cosmos.” She almost seemed starry-eyed.

  “Ask for her autograph, why don’t you?” Ozzie grumbled. “She’s kidnapped us, remember?”

  But as Captain Traxx marched up to their cage, Ozzie had to admit that she was impressive. Most of her crew seemed scruffy and vulgar, but the captain was extremely elegant. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, except for her cheeks, which were dotted with bright, pomegranate-red freckles. Her thick, luxurious hair was the same color, as were her eyes. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long peacock-blue coat, punctuated by a bejeweled belt. She looked like the type of person you might find at a fancy costume ball or a masquerade, rubbing elbows with Sir Pomposity.

  “Well, well, Mr. Burr,” Captain Traxx addressed Ratbeard. “I see you’ve captured a family. How brave of you.”

  Her voice was sharp and eloquent, and though she paced calmly before them, hands clasped behind her back, Ozzie detected a hint of danger burbling beneath her surface. It made him rethink his original impression of her. Maybe she was the type of person you could find at a masquerade, but she’d probably be just as comfortable in the middle of a bloodthirsty pirate brawl. Neither situation would require a change of outfit.

  “Well, and a skyger,” Ratbeard—Mr. Burr, apparently—replied, cowering sycophantically. “If we can get the beast to the black market, we’ll be swimmin’ in coin.”

  “If,” Captain Traxx repeated. “Surely, Mr. Burr, you’ve heard of the Balindor Massacre?”

  “Well, they said it was a whole cloud of skygers that attacked them folks in Balindor, but they weren’t pirates and—”

  “Do you know what I think, Mr. Burr?” Captain Traxx asked, turning swiftly on the cringing pirate. “I think you’ve made us either very rich or very dead.”

  Then, without warning, she snatched Ratbeard by the collar, and slammed him against the cage so that his face was pressed against the bars, right in front of Tug’s snout.

  “Go ahead, beast,” Captain Traxx offered. “Have a taste.”

  Ozzie heard the rest of the crew gasp, but he kept his eyes on Ratbeard, squealing and squirming at the end of Captain Traxx’s powerful arm. Tug smiled—or at least appeared to, because it was difficult to tell with skygers. Then the cat cautiously extended his snout to snuffle the man.

  “Ew!” Tug moaned, wrinkling his giant nose. “Just to tell you, if you’re hiding a snack somewhere in your pockets, I think it’s started to rot.”

  Captain Traxx laughed, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “I think what your keen nose detects is the aroma of Mr. Burr himself.”

  She thrust the pirate aside, sending him sprawling into a nearby crate. He appeared too weak-kneed to stand up, but Captain Traxx didn’t seem to care. Instead, she reached into the cage and scratched Tug’s chin with her slender fingers. Ozzie noticed that her fingernails were polished and expertly manicured.

  “What kind of skyger are you?” she mused.

  “A Zoonian one,” Tug declared.

  Captain Traxx raised an eyebrow. “No savage temper or ravenous appetite?”

  “Oh, he has the appetite, all right,” Fidget spoke up.

  Captain Traxx turned to the princess. “Is that so? He is clearly a kitten otherwise. We’ll have to do our best to conceal his true nature if we want him to fetch a suitable price. And you, my purple-haired girl—you’re dressed fashionably. What world do you hail from? A wealthy one, I presume.”

  Fidget blushed; for once she didn’t seem to have a comeback.

  “Ah, yes, a world where you sip tea, attend parties, and watch the common folk toil away—that’s it, isn’t it? A world where you dream of fancy weddings and bat your eyes at boys.” Captain Traxx gestured to Ozzie. “Not this one, I hope. He needs a haircut. And I believe his socks are two different colors.”

  Ozzie checked to see if the captain was right about his socks (she was). Then he glanced at Fidget and found that her cheeks had turned even more purple. Fidget didn’t
dream of fancy weddings, but that was exactly what her parents wanted for her, already having arranged her marriage to the prince of Quogg. Ozzie felt a wave of sympathy for his friend, especially now that his own parents had decided to ship him off to boarding school.

  “As for me, I come from no such privilege,” the pirate captain continued, her bright freckles flaring with pride. “Yet, here I am, Aurelia Traxx, captain of the Empyrean Thunder, the finest ship in the ’verse. And this”—she turned, gesticulating to the multicolored skyscape—“is my kingdom. Out here, we are free of the mundane obligations that plague your pathetic lives. Which, I regret to inform you, are about to become a great deal more pathetic.”

  At that moment, as if on cue, a bundle of fur shot across the deck and scampered up the captain’s side to perch on her shoulder.

  “Shiny stuff! Shiny stuff!” the bundle squawked. It had the voice of a parrot, but it looked more like a lemur, one with reddish fur and a pair of large eyes that were fixed greedily on the chain dangling from Aunt Temperance’s neck.

  “Yes, my pet,” Captain Traxx soothed it, stroking the animal with a delicate hand. “You may fetch the valuables.”

  The creature bounded into the cage, prompting Aunt Temperance to shriek and hurl her pack at it. She missed; the bag struck the bars, slid to the floor of their prison, and disgorged its assortment of contents, the most embarrassing of which was Ozzie’s superhero underwear. He hoped nobody, especially Fidget, was paying close attention. Thankfully, Captain Traxx’s pet was causing a suitable distraction.

  “Shiny stuff!” it cackled as it leaped onto Aunt Temperance’s shoulder and used its nimble fingers to pluck her chain free.

  “Horrible little weasel!” Aunt Temperance cried, ripping it from her shoulder and tossing it into the air. The creature deftly caught one of the bars in the ceiling, then hung there, grinning smugly with Aunt Temperance’s chain clenched in its tail.

  “Weezle-weezle-weezle!” it mimicked.

  “Weasel?” Captain Traxx said with some amusement. “Meep is a specimen of the rare Revellian monkey. You should feel privileged to meet him.”

  “He’s not the first monkey I’ve dealt with,” Aunt Temperance snapped. Of course, the circus, Ozzie thought, still a bit baffled by that revelation. “He could learn some manners—and so could you.”

  “Easy, dear,” Captain Traxx threatened. Her freckles burned hot and red, like flashing alarm signals. “You are already plain—make sure you do not become a pain.”

  Aunt Temperance frowned. Then, as if suddenly recognizing her disheveled appearance, she began anxiously trying to rebraid her hair. Ozzie had never really known her to be self-conscious about her looks, but you didn’t normally bump into someone like Captain Traxx in their neighborhood back home. The pirate queen had the type of personality that went after you with a club.

  Meep began to search the rest of them. Tug had nothing of value, but Fidget and Ozzie each had something all too precious: their Zoone keys. Ozzie played—and lost—a fierce game of tug-of-war with the monkey for his.

  “Keep! Keep!” the creature cackled after returning to Traxx’s arm.

  “Yes, you may keep the boy’s key, my pet,” the captain said, turning her attention to the other pilfered property.

  “Thief,” Aunt Temperance fumed.

  Captain Traxx offered her an apathetic shrug. “Such trinkets will not help you in the slave markets of Kardoome.” She gave Lady Zoone’s key, with all its gears and cogs, a mere glance before tucking it away in a pocket. Aunt Temperance’s necklace was a different story. She lifted it and scrutinized the ring, pulsing with its strange power. “This stone is amelthium. How did you come by it?”

  “It’s none of your concern,” Aunt Temperance said.

  “Everything on this ship is my concern,” the pirate queen responded, though she now turned her attention to the locket. As soon as she opened it, a gasp escaped her. For once, she seemed off-kilter. Glaring at Aunt Temperance, she demanded, “Why do you have a picture of this man?”

  Aunt Temperance hesitated. “He was—”

  “Her friend,” Ozzie quickly intervened. “But you know him, too,” he suddenly realized. “How? He’s from our world. Eridea.”

  Captain Traxx threw a hostile glance at Ozzie, then returned her gaze to the picture. “Yes,” she admitted eventually. “I knew him.”

  Aunt Temperance scrambled to the front of the cage. “How? When?”

  Captain Traxx trained her pomegranate eyes on Aunt Temperance. “Knew him,” the pirate queen emphasized. “He was . . . one of mine.”

  Aunt Temperance gasped. “Your prisoner?”

  “One of my crew,” Captain Traxx said slowly. “For a short while.” She closed the locket with a resounding snap. “We marooned him on the dead world of Creon. He begged us to do so. I could not refuse him.”

  “Creon?” Aunt Temperance questioned. “Where’s that? Why is it dead?”

  Captain Traxx flashed them a cryptic smile. “This man,” Captain Traxx said carefully, “he was important to you? It—well, it doesn’t matter. I assure you, my dear, he would not have survived Creon. He has certainly perished.”

  “No!” Aunt Temperance cried. She yanked on the bars of the cage, as if she could somehow split them asunder. “You’re wrong. He’s alive.”

  Captain Traxx’s eyebrows arched. “You do not know Creon.”

  Aunt Temperance dropped her hands to her sides. “You don’t know Mercurio.”

  The pirate queen stared at Ozzie’s aunt with a quizzical expression. She was, Ozzie decided, like a bead of rain meandering down a windowpane—beautiful and graceful, yet slightly erratic at the same time. You couldn’t predict which direction she might go—though, if forced to choose, Ozzie would have said ballistic. But, to his surprise, the volatile pirate simply turned away from Aunt Temperance and said to her first mate, “Mr. Burr? Have you quite recovered from your near-death encounter with the skyger? I think it’s time you send our prisoners to the brig. They can languish there until we make port at Kardoome.”

  “Aye, Cap’n!” the one-eyed pirate responded, struggling to his feet. He scuttled over to a control panel and flicked a few switches, and the entire cage began to sink into the deck, on some kind of elevator platform.

  Aunt Temperance never took her eyes from Captain Traxx and the chain, containing the locket and ring, that she clutched in her fingerless glove. Even after the imposing pirate queen disappeared from sight, even after the cage lurched to a halt on the floor of some lower deck, Aunt Temperance didn’t flinch. She just stared straight ahead into the dim reaches of their prison.

  Something’s going on here, Ozzie thought. Something big.

  And it was definitely something he didn’t like.

  7

  Attack of the Cosmic Storm

  “Well,” Tug offered after no one else had spoken, “at least we weren’t captured by dentists.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Fidget groused.

  “He’s not trying to be funny,” Ozzie said. “You know that.”

  Fidget rolled her eyes and slouched against the bars. Ozzie stared out into the gloom and sniffed the air. It smelled stale and close, like something gone bad at the back of the refrigerator. Artificial lights ran along the interior of the hull, revealing many other cages crammed into the hold, but they were all empty. Then the muted but raucous sound of pirates singing came from above. It was a sort of call-and-response sea shanty:

  “WAY-HO!”

  “Do you hear the Thunder?”

  “WAY-HO!”

  “Do you hear the Thunder?”

  “WAY-HO!”

  “Do you hear the Thunder?”

  “Here we come to plun-der!”

  “I don’t hear any thunder,” Tug commented.

  “I think they mean this ship,” Ozzie explained patiently. “The Empyrean Thunder.”

  “They’re probably planning to raid more portals,” Fidget said. “So they can fill up t
hese cages. And then it’s off to the slave markets of Kardoome.”

  “At least we’re together,” Tug said as he flopped to the floor with a slumberous yawn.

  Then, even though the pirates were still bellowing their song, the skyger curled his tail around his body and fell fast asleep. Ozzie wasn’t surprised by Tug’s ability to switch off, but he definitely envied it. Tug certainly wasn’t “too sensitive.” And he didn’t get worked up about anything—unless there was food involved.

  Ozzie looked over at Aunt Temperance, but she was still staring into nothingness, so he returned his attention to Fidget. “You’re a princess of Quoxx. If you tell Captain Traxx that, maybe she’ll release us.”

  “Are you kidding me? She’d just try to ransom me off or something. Then I’m back to . . . all the complications.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  “Okay,” Ozzie said. “I’m sorry, I just . . .”

  Fidget turned away and began thumping her head against the bars. “I’m stuck. Stuck, stuck, stuck.”

  “Stop it!” Ozzie hissed, clutching her shoulders. “I’m stuck, too, you know. My parents want to send me away to boarding school. I won’t be able to live at home anymore. I’ve seen photos of the place, and it’s the worst. Everyone wears these navy blue uniforms and—”

  “Really?” Fidget interrupted. “You’re comparing uniforms to my problem? If I go back to Quoxx—I can’t marry the prince of Quogg! I can’t! And now, not even Zoone’s safe. My problem is forever, Ozzie. So what if you have to wear navy for a couple of years?”

  “Well, navy is the weakest of all colors,” Aunt Temperance declared, finally rousing from her torpor. “It’s not black. It’s not blue. Just hides in between.”

  Fidget wiped a wrist across her eyes. “You’re a strange person, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Aunt Temperance said. “And, just so both of you know, pain is not a competition. Listen, things look particularly calamitous right now. But we can’t give up.”

  She began tapping her hands together, up near her chin, which was what she always did when she was formulating a plan—though, usually, the most exciting thing she needed to strategize about was what type of tea to drink. “Don’t worry; we’re going to bust out of here,” she announced.