The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (27 page)

Ernward eyed Root. She could barely stand it.
All of the lost expression of his waxy shapeless face was
shouldered in his eyes. They were black as the marble around her
and as cold. “An Ekladian Brotswin is of high value as I’m sure you
recognize or you wouldn’t be here.” He had taken on a business tone
and yet all the while he was searching for loopholes in her face.
“I estimate several hundred….thousand.”

Root gulped.

“I shall be in need of a second opinion. You
understand, of course.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Will you excuse me?”

“Uh…sure.”

When he was gone Root felt like she could
breathe again. He had left the book, Stinlet on the counter,
obviously trusting his security measures. Or maybe just to dare
her. Either way, Root had to access it again but as her fingers
throbbed she thought a better approach was in order.

“Hey, Stinlet.”

The book sat in silence.

“Look, I’m sorry I…opened you. Like I said, I
was just looking.”

Not even a growl from the thing.

This was going to be difficult. Root absently
picked up a long, black, quilled pen and began rolling it in her
fingers as she thought. The book suddenly shook. She stopped. The
book went as still as a statue again. She could’ve sworn…

Her mind went back to brainstorming. “How can
I….?” She tapped the pen distractedly.

The book shuddered, like a small waft of wind
had tickled its pages.

“What? This?” She held the pen up. The book
shuddered again. She brought the pen closer. The cover lifted
somewhat. Closer. A few pages lifted. And closer still, right up to
Stinlet in fact. The cover splat wide open and the pages flitted in
a fan of activity before halting at a blank one. Ready for the
pen’s entry.

“ Cool.” Root smiled. “But I’m not adding
anything.” She took the pen and moved it left, toward the pages
that were already filled. They began flipping. “Woah, not so fast.”
She slowly moved the pen to the right. The pages turned back until
they came to the last page of entries.

“Bingo.” Root whispered. “Now hold still,
Stinlet. This won’t hurt a bit.” Root took the inside edge of the
page and began to pull.

“I’m afraid they won’t come out.” The voice
was dead calm.

Root started. “I was…”

“Master Vulcherk is renowned for his ability
to maintain his customers’ anonymity. Do you really think the
details of his transactions would be so easy as for a child to
obtain?”

“Oh no, I wasn’t…

The Curator snapped his fingers. At this the
pen whipped from Root’s hand and poised on a blank sheet of the
black book. “One Ekladian Brotswin.” Ernward dictated. “Value. Two
hundred seventy five thousand gilds.” The pen scritched across the
page. “Donated via the last will and testament of its anonymous
owner.”

Root’s eyes bugged. “But, I’m not dead!”

“Not to worry. The details of that have been
arranged. Unfortunate accidents often befall those who insist on
playing where they shouldn’t.”

Ernward slipped a black chain around Root’s
neck so fast she could hardly react. He tightened and pulled her
from the counter.

Vulcherk’s patrons paced about the room
anxiously. It was not a good sign for the bidding to be delayed
like this. Ample space was kept between each other and any
interaction was relegated to shrewd smiles and head shakes. They
had already become bored of the room’s offerings, having seen
similar artwork in their own homes and chambers. A waiter, dressed
with the same impeccable standards as the doorman had done all he
could to keep the guests satisfied but even he was feeling the
discomfort of nerves.

The Curator, entering with a girl on a chain
did nothing for the mood. Other than exacerbate it.

“What is the meaning of this?” A man
asked.

“Ladies, gentlemen.” Ernward proceeded in a
confident voice. “I hope you will accept my apologies for the
delay. It seems on this momentous occasion you will be witness to
some entertainment, in honour of the history taking place” The
history to which he was referring seemed to be displayed in a glass
encasement upon a shiny black podium at the front of the room. Root
saw that the object was oddly shaped and soft white, like ivory.
Root couldn’t imagine the draw of something so very plain.

“You, my dear guests,” Ernward continued
“shall be given the rare privilege of an Ogoz feeding. Indeed, you
shall personally witness the extent of Master Vulcherk’s
confidentiality clause.”

Now they got it. And where Root thought she
would witness outrage on the faces of the bidders, instead she was
shocked to see hungry, eager anticipation. Ernward smirked,
self-satisfaction and indeed his own avid suspense assembling in
his eyes. He signaled to the waiter. “The Ogoz, if you please.”

The waiter returned with a glass cage. Within
it a writhing mass of black feathers had been provoked by the move
and now tore around the cage in upset, leaving a tar-like smear
across the glass. Root thought she would faint. The cage was placed
in the centre of the room. Root couldn’t take her eyes off it and
so hadn’t noticed that the guests had been spread out along the
walls as spectators would. When she did finally notice, it was too
late. Another great wall of glass was rising around her, this for
their ‘viewing pleasure.’

The Curator held the chain firmly around
Root’s neck before abandoning her to her fate. She ran after him
but whereas he simply seeped right through the glass wall, she
crashed into it, to the delight of the audience. She recovered and
pounded on the glass, plastered herself to it in hopes that she
might somehow slip through as well. All to further delight. She
realized she was no different than any of the other creatures
brought to this evil place. She was a mere amusement. A sick
fascination for sick, sick minds.

She heard a noise and turned. Her heart
stopped. The lid was lifting from the smaller glass enclosure. A
thick snake of black feathers began to spill out with an ugly
gurgle. Root went rigid. The creature moved quickly. In a matter of
seconds it would be upon her.

“Close the door, please, Stevlyn.” Ernward
said to the waiter.

As Stevlyn dutifully reached for and was just
about to lock the door, it was suddenly bashed open, blasted right
off its hinges. Before Stevlyn could even react he was hurled like
a rag doll into a nearby wall.

The guests of the Zero-th floor turned to see
a hideous creature lunging toward them. Its eyes were mad with fury
and a steam seemed to come from its nostrils. Vulcherk’s patrons
flew from its path as it kicked its way into the glass cage,
shattering it into a million sparkling pieces.

“CPR!” Root cried, never, ever, ever so happy
to see anyone in her entire life, especially her beloved mangy
pet.

The Ogoz rose into the air, taking on the
deadly stance of a cobra. There, on its underbelly Root could see
millions of teeth zippering down the length of it. And then, like
lightning a green tongue shot out and had her. It coiled around her
neck and began to squeeze. Nothing of sound or even breath could
escape. Root scrambled for air while the tongue, thick as a cord
towed her in.

An unexpected bite at the other end of the
Ogoz sent it into a blood chilling rage. Its tongue spun free of
Root and snapped at its attacker, each strike cracking the air like
a whip. Yet, try as it might it could not manage a direct hit. CPR
was too fast, and too driven by something the Ogoz could not even
fathom. Indeed, the devotion that CPR had for Root was the mighty
force that propelled her. And nothing, no parking lot leash and
certainly no Ogoz was going to come between them.

CPR had the writhing thing clenched in her
jaws and was shaking madly when Root pointed toward the on-looking
patrons. “CPR, throw it over there!” she screamed.

Any and all semblance of calm disappeared
once the Ogoz landed and began thrashing its way toward Vulcherk’s
guests. Taking advantage of the distraction, CPR raced toward Root,
intent upon escape.

But the Curator got to Root first. He swiftly
stuck a razored point into her back. “Tell it to stop.” He
whispered.

“CPR! Stop!”

CPR froze and looked at Root. Only a fraction
of a moment grew between them before she flew forward again with
even greater speed and fury. Before Ernward could do anything she
pounced, sending him flying back into the bidding podium and
knocking it to the ground. The small ivory treasure went up and
landed in CPR’s jaws.

“Nooooo!” Ernward screamed.

But CPR had already spun back around and
raced with Root out the door.

“Stop them!” Ernward screeched, rising to his
feet.

Root led CPR not to the main door but to the
back of the gallery where she snatched the black book from the
counter. She grabbed the pen and waited while the pages
flipped.

“Get her!” shrieked Ernward. At once, from
all manner of places the room was filling with Squawnches.

“Not again,” Root groaned. “Hurry! Hurry, you
stupid thing!”

The pages finally halted at their
destination. Root scanned the entries. She was thrilled to see, as
she had hoped, that only one transaction had been done today.

999 Lampfire Lane.

Now all she needed was…

CPR began a tirade against the Squawnches,
which were now upon them in full force.

…scissors!

Root grabbed them and threw them on the
paper. She pointed at the single receipt. “That one! Cut!” The
scissors opened and slid into the page with ease.

“Whatchya doin’, o miss?” A Squawnch appeared
from under the counter. Root grabbed the pen and stabbed. The
Squawnch fell back shrieking.

The scissors went still. Root grabbed the
receipt and plunged it into her pocket. “C’mon CPR!” she called and
they raced for the main doors.

Of course not before knocking down the cages
of all sorts of foul, nasty things. If there is one thing that will
stop a fleet of Squawnches in their tracks, a breakout of foul,
nasty things would be it.

“Shut down the store!” Root heard Ernward
scream as she and CPR barely managed to slip through the sliding
doors. The walkway was just beginning to fade. They leapt forward
hoping beyond hope that it would last to the other side.

No such luck.

Three quarters of the way across, the walkway
vanished altogether. Root felt her feet give out from under her.
She closed her eyes and braced herself for the fiery explosion.

She opened them only once she realized her
feet had landed and she was still alive. Her loyal staircase had
just managed to catch them…in the knick of time as its scorched and
now smoldering lower step could attest.

The staircase lurched them forward, through
the threshold of the Zero-th floor and out into…chaos.

A siren was screaming as hundreds of people
were being cattled off floors and taken to the main lobby.

“The front doors!” Root yelled. Her staircase
jerked forward. CPR and Root scrambled to stay on.

Closer, closer they got, dodging other
scrambling staircases and the reach of far too many Squawnches to
count.

They were so close now. Root could see the
outside.

Stogie! Her beloved Hovermutt was on the
other side of the doors, seeking desperately to get at her.

Oh no! That meant….the staircase
screeeeeeched to a stop…the doors were locked.

Root and CPR fell forward and landed in a
slump at the foot of the doors. Behind them, scratching madly at
the glass was Stogie. Root could hear his whimper.

A laugh. An awful, raspy,
fingernails-on-the-chalkboard laugh. Ernward was walking toward
them. His smile was lost in the melted, unmoving skin of his
face.

“Give it to me,” he said in his bland, cold
way.

Root backed up.

“Take it out of that creature’s mouth. You
have ten seconds.”

Root looked at CPR who still had the ivory
prize in her jaws. Root could see it was spongy now and made a
slight squeak as CPR clenched it.
She thinks it’s a squeaky
toy
, Root thought and was about to take it. But then it
occurred to her that, even if Ernward got it back, he would still
kill them. Could she at least use it as leverage somehow?

“Five…four…”

A movement, high up at a slightly tinted
window behind Ernward caught Root’s attention.

She knew exactly what it was. She backed up
again, pretending to be scared but really checking to make sure
both she and CPR were still sitting on the staircase. The staircase
stiffened under her movement, preparing. Amazing that it could
already read her unspoken signals. “Now!” Root screamed and at once
the staircase jerked its passengers forward and up.

“Nooooo! Stop her!” Ernward screeched.

Up Root flew, not stopping for the window but
crashing right through it. Immediately she felt her staircase lose
its power now that it was out of Vulcherk’s domain. They began to
fall.

Stogie’s soft, furry padded back caught them
all just as another fleet of Squawnches was piling out of the
building.

Root had no idea where they could go. Maybe
they could hide. She looked around the surroundings of the building
and spotted something familiar.

“Is that a landing pool?” she asked herself.
She stared at the still round pool of water that was nearly hidden
amongst Vulcherk’s refuse.

The Squawnches were rounding the corner. She
could hear the Curator screaming.

There was no choice.

“Down Stogie! Dive!”

With Root, CPR and now a limp staircase on
his back Stogie dove for the black waters. It was the oddest thing
for Root to see her reflection getting bigger and bigger as they
plunged forward. She grabbed a full breath of air just before they
went under, praying it wasn’t just a puddle.