The Secret of Zoone Page 9

  “Yes, I do!” Ozzie protested. “Most people call me Ozzie.”

  “I’m Panya,” the older girl greeted him. “You know, you might want to try and make your deliveries in a timelier fashion. It’s not wise to upset Miss Mongo. You want to stay on her good side.”

  “And, just to be clear,” Piper added, “that’s her outside.”

  “Miss Mongo’s a groll,” Panya continued. “Which means she might decide to put you on the menu. She ate her first husband, you know.”

  “And her second,” Piper offered.

  “No, that one ran away,” Panya said. “But she gobbled up the third, sure enough.”

  It was at that moment that Miss Mongo herself entered the scene, or rather oozed, by Ozzie’s estimation. She looked like a lump of melted wax with green spots, or maybe an extra gooey pizza that had been left out overnight on the counter. Ozzie couldn’t exactly tell where her eyes were. Or how many she had. But he could see where her mouth was; in fact, Miss Mongo seemed mostly mouth, with a whole lot of stomach thrown in for good measure.

  And then she spoke, which was rather a surprise, because it didn’t remotely match how she looked. Ozzie had expected her to speak in growls and snorts, but her voice was sweet and tender.

  “Don’t pay ’em any mind, luv,” Miss Mongo told Ozzie with what might have been a friendly wink. “I don’t eat wee pups like yerself. Just mischievous sisters what do get on me nerves. And they ought to stop foolin’ about and get to work. Because there’s plenty o’ it to be done. Master Nymm’s comin’ tomorrow.”

  “Master Nymm?” Ozzie asked. “The head wizard?”

  “That’s right, luv,” Miss Mongo said, all her lumps jiggling as she spoke. “He’s sent a quirl this mornin’ announcin’ that he’s comin’ to Zoone early. He means to inspect the station and make sure everything’s in order for the convention. Put Fusselbone in a right state, he has. And me, too. He loves Snardassian shrimp, that Master Nymm, he does, so I ought to have it on the menu for tomorrow. I’ve ordered a whole crate of ’em. Should be here by now. Be a dear and go fetch it for me, will you, luv? Door 285 on the east platform.”

  “Er,” Ozzie began. He wasn’t really supposed to take porting orders unless they came from the command tower. But Piper made a dramatic chewing and swallowing motion from behind Miss Mongo’s back, so he simply said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go right away.”

  And he darted out to the west platform.

  But it wasn’t shrimp he found at Door 285; it was a girl. And she didn’t need help with luggage. Or directions. She didn’t even need a friendly greeting.

  What she needed was rescuing.

  11

  The Girl with Inappropriately Purple Hair

  The girl was collapsed against the frame of Door 285, shivering as if she had just stepped out of a snowstorm. Which, it suddenly occurred to Ozzie, she had. The door was still open and an icy wind was gusting out of it. The girl looked to be twelve or thirteen, though it was hard to be sure—because she certainly wasn’t human. This Ozzie could tell by her pointed ears, purple eyes, and even purpler hair. Even her eyebrows and eyelashes were purple. She reminded Ozzie of one of his favorite manga characters, the one Aunt Temperance always referred to as “inappropriately purple.”

  That’s what she would say now, too, Ozzie thought as he stared at the girl in the doorway.

  Then there was the girl’s skin. It seemed rather blue. Though, Ozzie mused, that might be because—

  “I’m freezing,” the girl announced, finishing Ozzie’s thought with a chatter of teeth.

  She was wearing a dress with only a thin shawl overtop, and a thick frosting of snow covered her head, shoulders, and arms. It occurred to Ozzie that the girl’s outfit had once been rather chic (to use an Aunt Temperance word), but now it was ragged and streaked with grime. As for her shoes—well, she had none. Her feet were bare, and as dirty as her clothes.

  The girl staggered forward, and Ozzie hastened to close the door. It resisted. Is this normal? he wondered. It didn’t help that a strong wind was blowing from the track behind it.

  “Hurry!” the girl gasped.

  She leaned against the door and, together, they managed to shut it. There was a door knocker on the front, consisting of a strange winged creature perched on a heavy metal ring. Ozzie couldn’t decide if the creature was an ugly-looking parrot or a pretty-looking gargoyle—whatever it was, the horrid thing growled at them, prompting the girl to turn and give the door a brazen kick with her bare foot.

  “Fine,” the door knocker sulked. “Be that way.”

  “Quoggswoggle!” the girl uttered. “The snow is melting.”

  It took a moment for Ozzie to understand her. Then he realized that all the snow and ice was dripping off her in the heat of the Zoone afternoon and forming a large puddle at her feet. The girl started to shriek.

  Ozzie stared at the pool of water. It was moving, but not like water usually moves, with a ripple. This bit of water began to bubble and boil, like there was a stove beneath it. Then Ozzie realized the water wasn’t moving because of heat. It was moving because it was full of . . . things.

  Slimy little things—worms, eels, and tadpole-like monstrosities—were oozing out of the water and wriggling around the girl’s bare ankles. Ozzie instantly felt queasy.

  Creepy-crawlies, he groaned inwardly. Why does it have to be creepy-crawlies?

  For a moment, he just stood there, paralyzed with fear. He was vaguely aware that other travelers on the platform had come to a halt and were staring at the girl, too. Ozzie hoped one of them would step in and do something. But no one did.

  Creepy-crawlies or not, it was up to him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to use his whistle for a second time in one morning, but there were no two ways about it—this definitely was an emergency. He blew the whistle. Then, knowing that he simply couldn’t stand there and wait, he swallowed his fear and cautiously stamped at one of the eellike creatures. The nasty little thing hissed at him, showing teeth.

  “Get rid of the water!” the girl screeched.

  “What?” Ozzie wondered, dumbfounded.

  “The water!” the girl repeated, climbing up the side of Door 285 in an attempt to escape the beasties. “Get rid of the water and they’ll go away.”

  Ozzie kicked at the puddle, trying to spread it out. Thankfully, only a moment later, Cho was on the scene. Ozzie couldn’t help noticing that no other security men showed up; perhaps they thought it was just another case of Ozzie overreacting.

  “What in the name of Zoone . . . ?” the captain murmured when he saw the snapping wrigglers.

  “We have to get her dry,” Ozzie said.

  Cho nodded. By this time, the girl had fallen off the door frame and back to the ground. Cho quickly began brushing the remaining snow from her head and shoulders. Then he pulled her away from the puddle, took off his long jacket, and threw it around her like a blanket.

  Ozzie looked at what was left of the pool of water. As the ground absorbed it, the worms and other creatures retreated into the soil. Soon, it was as if they had never existed—though Ozzie knew it was a sight he’d never forget.

  Cho cradled the girl close to his body, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “You reek of dark magic,” he told her.

  “And you just plain reek,” the girl snarled in response, though Ozzie could see that her heart really wasn’t in the retort. Her skin was even paler than before.

  “Is she a witch?” Ozzie asked, wide-eyed.

  “I think she’s been charmed,” Cho replied. He tilted the girl’s chin, and looked intently into her eyes. “Who did this to you, lass?”

  But the girl’s pep had run out. Ozzie watched her eyelids flutter. Then she fainted in Cho’s arms—which was the exact moment that Fusselbone arrived.

  “What in the worlds has happened?!” the little mouse-man cried, his whiskery ears twitching.

  “That’s what we’re trying to sort out,” Cho replied.

  “This is pre
posasterous,” Fusselbone squealed. “Another strange arrival”—he threw a glare in Ozzie’s direction—“and a day—a day—before Master Nymm comes. Captain, we ought to interrogate her. Immediately.”

  “That will be rather difficult, since she’s unconscious,” Cho pointed out.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” Fusselbone moaned. “Is she all right? What if she’s dead? Or worse? What if she’s a glibber spy? What if she’s here to ruin the convention?”

  “She’s not dead,” Cho assured him. “And I’m certain she’s not a spy. What we need to do is try and stay calm.”

  “Calm! Yes, that’s right!” Fusselbone said, though he was still hopping up and down.

  Cho lifted the girl in his mighty arms. “The best place for her right now is the infirmary. Once she awakens, we can interview her.”

  “Yes, yes,” Fusselbone agreed. “Take her away, Captain. I’ll go fetch Lady Zoone and tell her to meet you there. She’ll want to hear about this immediately. Immediately!”

  The fussy little man turned and scampered toward the station. Cho looked at Ozzie, flashed him a wry smile, then followed Fusselbone. All the travelers started to move again, and the next thing he knew, Ozzie was standing there, all alone in front of Door 285.

  “Er . . . what should I do?” he wondered out loud.

  “Don’t ask me,” pouted the door knocker. “But she didn’t have to kick my door.”

  That night, during dinner, the mess hall was awash with gossip. Everyone had temporarily forgotten about the impending arrival of the Wizard Nymm. All anyone wanted to talk about was the girl who had staggered through Door 285.

  Sitting between Cho and Tug at one of the long dining tables, Ozzie listened intently as he poked at his snirf and snarf, which was that night’s main menu item. It looked something like spaghetti—that is, if spaghetti noodles were the color of green ink and the meatballs were made of jelly. After fetching Miss Mongo’s secret ingredient, Ozzie didn’t really have much of an appetite.

  “I heard there was something slippery about the way that girl arrived from Snardassia,” Piper declared.

  “Whatever does that mean?” Mr. Whisk wondered, looking at the kitchen maid.

  “It means she’s suspicious,” Piper replied. “It means she could be a glibber spy. Haven’t you heard the rumors? They say the glibber king has an apprentice on the loose.”

  Cho sighed. “If he did, I’d sniff him out.”

  “She could be in disguise,” Piper continued, ignoring Cho. “It might be part of the plot.”

  “The girl’s Quoxxian, if you ask me,” Mr. Whisk said, stroking his shaggy sideburns. “Her hair’s not the right color, but her pointy ears give it away.”

  “What’s a Quoxxian?” Ozzie asked.

  “Someone from the Empire of Quoxx,” Cho explained. “Though it’s funny to think of land when it comes to Quoxx. There’s a picture of it hanging right behind you.”

  Ozzie turned to study the painting on the wall behind him. It depicted a vast teal ocean, with tall, whimsical cliffs of rock rising from the waves. Perched on many of these rocks were buildings with curving, tiled rooflines. Cho stood and flicked the switch on the side of the picture frame and suddenly the painting came to life, like it was a TV screen—though it was unlike any screen Ozzie had ever known. He could not only see and hear the ocean but smell it, too. He even felt a gentle spray come from the waves that sloshed against the buildings in the scene.

  “That’s Quoxx for you,” Cho chuckled, turning off the picture as Ozzie wiped his cheek. “A world of water, built on channels and seas. I’ve never been there myself, but it sure seems stunning.”

  “There’s trouble brewing in Quoxx these days,” Piper chimed in.

  “There’s always trouble in Quoxx,” Mr. Whisk said. “They’re forever fighting with their neighbors, the Empire of Quogg. I’ve heard that tensions are on the rise again between those two. Captain Cho, show Ozzie the picture of Quogg.”

  Cho activated the picture that was hanging right next to the one of Quoxx. It depicted a vast cavern of rock, the walls of which glinted with metal and gems.

  “Quogg is an underground empire,” Cho told Ozzie. “A people of mining and smelting, those Quoggians. Perhaps that’s why they’re always at odds with Quoxx.”

  “It’s more than that this time,” Piper gossiped as Cho switched off the picture and took his seat again. “I heard that one of them Quoxxian princesses ran away from home. I’ll bet you a hundred zoonderas that’s who landed on our west platform.”

  “I thought you said she was a glibber,” Mr. Whisk harrumphed. “Still, Door 285 leads to Snardassia, not to Quoxx. So, what would a princess from Quoxx be doing in Snardassia?”

  “I told you, she ran off,” Piper insisted. “Ozzie was there. What do you know about it?”

  “I could have been there, too,” Tug announced. “Ozzie and me, we’re a team. It’s just that I was taking a nap.”

  Ozzie threw a pleading glance in Cho’s direction.

  “Don’t look at me, lad,” Cho said, finishing the last of his meal. He cast a critical eye at Piper and added, “I come to the mess hall to eat. Not to spread rumors and hearsay.”

  “Everyone knows that,” Piper said impatiently. “That’s why I’m asking Ozzie.”

  “I don’t know anything about her,” Ozzie said, feeling a bit overwhelmed. If Cho wasn’t going to mention the puddle of wrigglers, neither was he.

  “You must have seen something,” Piper urged.

  “Well,” Ozzie considered, “she was very cold.”

  “Of course she was,” Piper huffed. “She came through the door from Snardassia. It’s winter three-quarters of the year.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you,” Ozzie said.

  “Trouble follows you, I guess,” Piper said with a shrug, plowing her fork back into her snirf and snarf. “I’ve never heard of a porter blowing his emergency whistle twice in one day before.”

  “You know about that?” Ozzie groaned.

  “Sure,” Piper replied. “The whole station knows.”

  Ozzie looked at Cho, but he knew it hadn’t been the captain who had betrayed him. Needles and Bones, Ozzie guessed.

  “Don’t worry about it, lad,” Cho consoled him. “One thing is for sure: There’s not a dull moment in Zoone.”

  No kidding, Ozzie thought. “What will happen to the Quoxxian girl now?” he asked. “Will she have to go back home?”

  “Lady Zoone won’t make her if she doesn’t want to,” Cho replied. “She’d keep her here, and protect her.”

  “Well, she’s going to have to pull her weight,” Piper prattled. “I know we could use the extra hand in the kitchen. But, apparently, Lady Zoone said there won’t be any laundry or kitchen work for that girl.”

  “I can help in the kitchen,” Tug announced.

  Piper snorted. “I’ve told you a million times, Tug. We prefer soap to clean our bowls, not skyger tongues. But if you ask me, that Quoxxian girl is too delicate to do any real work. She probably wouldn’t know a sink if she stumbled into one on the way to the ball.”

  Ozzie thought about the pool of water and how it had swarmed with all the creepy-crawlies. There had been a lot of those beasties, and that had just been a small puddle. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if you put that girl in the kitchen or laundry, where she’d be surrounded by water. It would be a wriggler whirlpool before you knew it. Ozzie leaned back in his seat, thinking. He had seen some pretty crazy things in his short time in Zoone, but nothing like the girl and her creepy-crawly disease.

  “It’s like she’s allergic to water,” Ozzie whispered to Tug. “Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

  “Sounds pretty strange to me,” Tug replied. “By the way, are you going to eat the rest of your dinner? Since we’re a team, I don’t mind finishing it for you.”

  Ozzie stared down at his snirf and snarf. It was so long and noodley that he couldn’t help being reminded of the wr
iggling worms he’d seen at Door 285. Gratefully, he slid his plate over to the skyger, who licked it clean with one swipe of his enormous blue tongue.

  “Just to tell you,” Tug purred, “skygers love snirf and snarf.”

  12

  The Wizard with Wild Eyebrows

  Ozzie decided to keep an eye out for the girl. She couldn’t be too difficult to spot, not with hair that was so inappropriately purple.

  “They should make that an official color,” Ozzie told Tug after dinner. “It could get its own crayon. Inappropriately purple. Aunt Temperance could get the credit, since she came up with the name in the first place.”

  “I can turn inappropriately purple,” Tug declared. He squeezed his eyes shut in a moment of intense concentration. Despite his best efforts, he remained blue. Ozzie wasn’t surprised; as far as he could tell, Tug had no control of when and how his color changed.

  “Oh well,” Tug said. “I could be inappropriately purple if I really wanted. I probably just need more dessert. By the way, what’s crayon? Does it taste good?”

  Ozzie didn’t see the purple-haired girl that night. Nor did she come to the mess hall for breakfast the next morning. And then Ozzie had to hustle off to work and he temporarily forgot about her, since it was the big day—the day that Isidorus Nymm, head of the Council of Wizardry, was due to arrive.

  When Ozzie entered the headquarters, all the porters were huddled around, arguing over who would be assigned to port for the infamous wizard. No one wanted to do it.

  “Let’s play a few rounds of rock-parchment-keys,” Keeva suggested. “Loser ports for Nymm.”

  “I’ll port for him,” Ozzie volunteered.

  Keeva frowned. “You’re just a kid. I mean, you have your whole life ahead of you. You’re too young to . . .”

  “Too young to what?” Ozzie pressed. He wasn’t sure if Keeva was joking or not, but he quickly decided it didn’t matter. “Look, I’ll do it,” he announced. Then, to himself, he added, I need to. This is my chance to make an impression on the head wizard. My chance to help Aunt T. And the world, I guess.