The Dragon's Tooth (28 page)

Leon writhed and snapped as they left, banging his shell forward, bending iron.

Four doors down, Cyrus threw another dead bolt and opened the door, and the three of them stepped into another cage. Wooden roosts were mounted to one wall in an enormous tangle. Bones were strewn across the floor. The bars of the cage were not bent and were not merely missing. They had been torn to pieces.

Dennis froze, giggling nervously. Cyrus and Antigone pulled him through the bones, through the fragmented bars, and out into the main room. The three of them stopped and stared.

“Oh my,” Antigone said. “Cy, are you seeing this?”

Cyrus nodded. He had no words. Leon the impossible turtle was still grunting and trying to fight his way into the cage, but Cyrus couldn’t even be bothered to look at him. The room was much bigger than he’d been able to see through the bars of a cage, and it was not a room. It was a neoclassical indoor jungle. Second- and third-story mezzanines held open cages and palm trees. Vines climbed eighty feet from the floor to the upper peaks of the skylights. At the far end, so distant as to be visible but noiseless, a small waterfall flowed off the upper mezzanine and into a pool. A few long-tailed birds circled high above.

“This was the biggest wing of the zoo,” Dennis said quietly. “It’s slightly amazing.”

“Slightly,” said Antigone. “I’d say.”

The white astronaut was waiting for them. He glanced back at Leon and up at the birds.

“Cheese, Leon!” it yelled. “Go get your cheese!”

Instantly, the turtle tore its head free and began scraping its way quickly back in the other direction, its tail slithering and its huge spiny back bobbing as it went.

The white shape put club fists on wide hips. “Now maybe you’ll tell me how you got in here. Not that it matters. The O of B will have your bags packed in the morning for this. Some of the Keepers don’t even want me in here.”

“What are you?” Antigone asked.

The white thing reached up and twisted its head counterclockwise until it popped off.

On top of the enormous white body was the small, red, sweating face of a twelve-year-old boy, wet hair glued to his forehead. “I’m James Axelrotter, zookeeper. You can call me Jax. Who are you?”

“Jax!” Cyrus said. “We needed to find you. We have to get some animal tutoring or something.”

The boy scrunched his face. “I don’t tutor. And if I did, why would I start with trespassers and rulebreakers?” He glanced up at the birds in profile against the skylights, and then back over his shoulder.

“We can talk about that later,” said Antigone. “We need to get out of this place and find Greeves. Right away.”

Jax nodded and pointed them toward a distant door at the end of the room. “That is the closest exit. Stay with me.” He began waddling, and Cyrus followed him, examining the boy’s white suit.

“What are you wearing?”

“An artificial exoskeleton,” Jax said, scanning the room while he walked. “Made from more than half a million interwoven and rubberized Golden Orb-weaver webs—among other things. It’s the only way I can survive very long in here. This place was the Crypto wing—unusual, bizarre, especially deadly, and supranatural creatures. Construction began after the Civil War. Axel-rotters have always overseen it. Leon was one of the first to be housed here.”

“But they lost control of the animals,” Dennis said. “That’s why it’s closed.”

Jax tried to glare at him over his enormous white shoulder. “They did not
lose
control of the animals. Twenty-four years ago, a Keeper named Edwin Laughlin—Phoenix to everyone now—was inspired by Leon and altered these animals. My grandfather and a number of his staff were killed as a result.”

“I don’t understand,” Cyrus said. “Inspired by Leon? You mean he made the animals big?”

Jax again glanced up, and then turned a full circle as he moved, eyes all over the room. “No. He did not. Though it can have that effect eventually. At first, he modified the personalities—animalities, I guess—of particular animals. Then he exchanged consciousnesses—animal to animal. He ended by modifying and blending animals physically. That is when he was caught. But not before his final phase was executed on more than a few of them—the Leon phase.”

Jax looked up and around. “Stay close. I want you alive when I turn you in to Mr. Greeves.”

“Terrific,” said Antigone. “Right. That’s what we want, too.”

Cyrus looked over his shoulder. Dennis was huddling quite close to him. “What’s the Leon phase?”

“Leon is named after Ponce de León.” Jax glanced back. “Spanish explorer. Found the Fountain of Youth in Florida. But it wasn’t much of a fountain. It was a murky swamp pool deep in the Everglades. They were even swampier then. Leon is how he knew he had found it.”

“Are we joking right now?” Cyrus asked.

Jax shook his head while he walked. “That was five hundred years ago, and Leon was already huge and ancient, snacking on gators. Leon is what happens when an alligator snapping turtle lives in the Swamp of Youth for a few centuries. He’ll still be alive after our grandchildren are dead. Ponce told the Order about the huge turtle, and
they
put Leon on the Sage lists and sent Journeymen out to check on him every so often. Then when the swamps were drained off for farming and the fountain was lost, Leon went on the move. He started eating horses on some ranch. That’s when the O of B collected him.”

“I would never believe any of that,” Antigone said. “But I’ve already seen the turtle. So the Leon phase of the experiments …”

Jax sighed. “Transmortality. Nearly immortal animals.”

“
Nearly
immortal?” Cyrus asked.

“Not one has died yet,” said Jax. “But it’s only been two decades. The Sages in the Orbis put all the transmortaled creatures in here, and then they sealed it up. I come in, do my best to clean, and feed them and try to keep everything from going too wild. Not much else I can do.”

Something slapped onto the floor behind them.

Cyrus spun around, and Antigone grabbed his arm. Dennis squeaked. Jax swore.

The birds were descending. But they weren’t birds.

A fat-bodied red snake slithered toward them, rearing to strike. When it reared, it spread two wings, glistening with white feathers.

Another snake hit the floor. And another.

Jax shoved Cyrus toward the end of the room. “Get to the door! Run! And keep your eyes up!”

Raising his helmet, Jax twisted it back into place. “Now!” he yelled. “Go!” And he lumbered toward the snakes.

Cyrus, Antigone, and Dennis ran.

White wings churned the air above them.

nineteen

BRENDAN

A
RED CURLING
tail brushed through Cyrus’s hair, and the viper dropped to the floor six feet in front of him. Others were dropping farther ahead, closer to the door.

Behind him, Antigone screamed.

Cyrus spun around, nearly colliding with Dennis. The porter veered off, but he didn’t stop sprinting.

While Cyrus watched, his sister grabbed a snake by the tail and plucked it out of the air. Swinging it hard, she knocked two others to the ground behind her, hurling her serpent club away as she did.

“Duck!” she yelled at Cyrus.

Turning, Cyrus ducked as another diving viper grazed his ear. He dodged around two on the ground.

“Tigs!” he yelled, slowing.

“Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cyrus’s bare heels stopped touching the cold marble floor as his strides lengthened. Ahead of him, a viper coiled and reared to strike, wings spread.

Cyrus didn’t turn and he didn’t slow down. He vaulted, launching into the air and spreading his legs as the snake struck.

His shins folded back the white wings. A fang caught in the thigh of his pants, whipping the snake around and spinning it across the dusty floor as he landed.

“Tigs?” he yelled again.

Dennis had reached the door. He was pulling it open. Cyrus was almost there.

“Tigs!” Cyrus broke down his sprint and turned around.

A big, four-legged shape slid out from the shadow of the mezzanine, rumbling a growl like distant drums. Cyrus froze. It was a bear, long-legged, short-faced, and with a body the size of a bull. It was black, but its belly was tiger-striped with white. White rings circled its eyes, and white fangs dangled beneath its heavy upper lip.

Bounding forward, it rose onto its hind legs, towering twice Cyrus’s height, swatting at the vipers. The snakes climbed, circling out of the bear’s reach.

Cyrus backed toward the door. The bear dropped to all fours and moved toward Cyrus, claws like flamingo beaks clicking as it came. He couldn’t see Antigone behind it.

“Antigone!” Cyrus shouted. “Jax!”

Small bells jingled beside him.

“Gone if she’s in there, lad,” Sterling said. “Wish I’d gotten here sooner, but these legs aren’t made for sprinting.” The cook patted Cyrus on the shoulder as the bear bellowed, stringing drool from a drooping lip.

“Let’s get this door closed and bolted behind us.”

“No.” Cyrus shook his head. “Tigs!” He stepped forward, but Sterling grabbed his shirt and held him back.

Cyrus wrenched himself free and staggered toward the bear. “Tigs!” he yelled. The big animal crouched, waiting.

Cyrus took a step to one side and braced himself, preparing to run.

“Hold, lad,” Sterling said. “You don’t have a chance. Ah, well, I hate to do it, may the animal gods forgive me.”

Cyrus glanced back. The bearded cook extended a four-barreled gun. The gun belched, and a sphere of white fire corkscrewed forward, erupting into the bear’s chest. The animal leapt into the air and then bolted for the cages like an avalanche of smoking fur. But Sterling wasn’t done. Firing at the circling vipers, he jingled forward until he stood beside Cyrus, and then, with a quick jerk, he brought the butt of the gun down onto Cyrus’s skull.

Antigone was standing beside an open window at the end of a long, curving hallway dotted with closed doors. The window behind her was three stories up. The doors went to … she didn’t know where.

Her heart was still racing. It hadn’t stopped since she’d gotten out of the zoo. Her face was still flushed. Jax had just managed to pull her into a cage. The bars had kept out the bigger animals—the smoking bear and the four-winged vultures—but the snakes … A heavy bone had been her only weapon, and her arms ached from swinging. Her hands were blistered. She should have died.

She slipped her Quick Water back into her jacket pocket. It still showed her nothing but darkness.

She’d told Rupert everything. But she didn’t care about Sterling. Where was Cyrus? He’d been ahead of her. He had to have made it out. But then where was he? She’d been stuck inside with Jax for almost an hour. Another hour had passed since she’d gotten out and no one had seen Cyrus.

A sick lump of worry sat in her throat. She shivered and slapped her arms, staring out the open window. She wasn’t cold. Even with the early storm wind, the air was warping with heat. The storm still hadn’t broken, but the sun seemed to be gone for good, swallowed by flickering clouds.

She wanted Cyrus. She wanted Dan. She wanted to sit beside her mother.

Behind her, a door opened and Jax stepped out beside Rupert Greeves. The boy’s face was still red, but rings of salt from his sweat had dried onto his cheeks and forehead. His clothes were soaked through, and he held a glass bottle full of water in one hand.

Greeves filled the hall. He scratched his bandaged jaw, eyeing Antigone.

“We need to go back,” she said. “Right now. Cyrus and Dennis might still be in there.”

Jax shook his head. “I looked everywhere. They’re gone.”

“What about the fireballs? Who was shooting those?”

“I was busy saving your life at the time,” Jax sniffed. “I was unable to locate the source of the fireballs.”

“You know,” said Antigone, “you don’t talk like a twelve-year-old.”

“Thank you,” said Jax, and he took a swig of water.

Rupert Greeves sighed. “Mr. Axelrotter, you’re free to go. I may speak with you again. Miss Smith, the Brendan has asked to see you. Walk with me.” His hand closed around her arm.

Rupert led her down the hallway and past the flight of stairs she and Jax had ascended.

After a few bends and a long curve, the hall dead-ended in a white paneled wall. Rupert pushed the paneling in and slid it to the side, revealing what looked like an elevator’s strange and distant cousin.

“You didn’t see that,” he said, “because I wasted time we don’t have following protocol, blindfolding you and spinning you around seventy-seven times before leading you here. Remember that if anyone asks.” He stepped in.

The sides and floor were brass wire mesh. Two thick cables ran down through holes in the ceiling and out of the floor. There were no buttons—only a large needled dial on one wall and a small lever beneath it.

“I thought we were in a hurry,” Rupert said, looking back at Antigone.

She stepped in beside him, and he slid the paneling closed. The needle on the dial bounced. Rupert twisted the casing around it, and then he pulled the lever.

The elevator—and one of the two cables—began to rise smoothly.

After a few moments, the cage bumped and began to climb diagonally. It shifted again, rocking gently as it moved horizontally, finally bumping again and ascending up another vertical shaft.

Antigone didn’t say anything. She was staring through the brass mesh, watching the overmortared backside of stone walls creep by, broken up by the occasional boarded-up door.

Rupert glanced at Antigone and then looked back through the ceiling and up the shaft. “Show respect and speak truth. And his name isn’t Brendan. That’s his title. His name is Oliver Laughlin.”

Greeves slid a panel open and stepped out of the elevator.

Antigone held back. “What do I call him? Mr. Laughlin? Mr. The Brendan?”

“Call him sir.”

Antigone followed Rupert Greeves down a polished hall with a black-and-white mosaic floor, into a sprawling room dotted with thick carpets and couches. There were no bookshelves. No books. No pictures. Intricately carved beams held up the low ceiling. A wall of paned windows looked down a sloping roof, past a row of titanic stone statues guarding the gutters, and then out over the lake. The glass panes quivered in the wind.

Rupert led Antigone away, around a long table and into the far corner of the room, where two walls of windows met. An old man was lying on a couch, piled beneath blankets. His empty eyes were focused on the ceiling. Two chairs sat across from him. His hair was thin and white, but long, reaching just below his pointed jaw. His skin was blotched and carved with deep creases. He was unshaven and had been for some time.

Beside the window, a boy with a sharp, freckled face stood with his back to the glass and his arms crossed. The boy. The boy from the Galleria, from the picture—the boy who nodded and everyone obeyed.

For a moment, his eyes were on Antigone’s, and then he turned to Rupert.

“Go ahead, Mr. Greeves,” the boy said. “He will hear you.”

Rupert quickly reported what Antigone had told him. Antigone watched the boy’s face sharpen and his brow furrow. When he spoke, his voice was crisp.

“Sterling and Rhodes are condemned because of what an Acolyte says that a porter said that he overheard?”

“No,” Rupert said. “Not condemned. Not yet. I will speak with them both when they’ve been found.”

The old man on the couch shifted, but his eyes were still on the ceiling. “Phoenix is coming.”

Greeves faced him quickly. “Yes, sir. Maybe. But the gates have been strengthened, the guards have been doubled, and the Keepers have been warned. All of my hunters will be out tonight.”

The Brendan waved at the chairs in front of him. “Sit.”

Rupert nodded Antigone into a chair, and then he sat.

The old man coughed, and then spoke. A rattle in his throat roughened his smooth drawl—like sand in butter. “It has been more than two decades since my brother defied the Order, two years since he last raised his voice to me. He is now ready, and he is unafraid. What of the tooth? What of the Smith children?”

“I have brought one of them with me, sir. Antigone Smith is seated across from you.”

The old man sat up quickly, easily, and turned suddenly sharp, pale-blue eyes on Antigone. The blankets fell onto his lap.

“Miss Smith,” he said, taking in her skin, her hair, her hands. She was wrapped in a damp leather jacket, and she still felt undressed.

“My father was an evil man, Miss Smith. My brother Edwin—Phoenix by his own naming—is an evil man. Do you hold them against me?”

Antigone glanced at Rupert for help. Hard creases were set into his dark face. His eyes were on the Brendan.

“Should I?” Antigone asked.

“No,” the Brendan said. “But if you are alive tomorrow, perhaps you will. Where is the tooth, Miss Smith? The shard of the serpent’s fang, left to you by William Skelton, the thief and liar.”

“I don’t know where the tooth is,” Antigone said. “My brother is missing. We should be looking for him. He has it.”

The old man sniffed and ran a bony hand through his long, thin hair. His eyes drifted out of focus. “You are now searching for two brothers. And I dearly wish never to see mine again. But wishing is useless. He is coming, Miss Smith. Tonight. Your time at Ashtown will be short. This Estate nears its end.”

Rupert stood, his fists and jaws clenching. The Brendan sighed. “Wait a moment, Greeves. Do not rush off to war so quickly. There is something she should see.”

He pointed behind his couch to a half-opened door. “Inside.”

Antigone followed Rupert across the room to the door. She glanced back at the boy. His arms were still crossed. His lips were tight.

The door opened into a dim, strange-smelling room. A large bed was crowned with a tangle of rumpled sheets. Bowls of burned-down incense sticks lined a shelf on the headboard in front of small, tarnished metal images.

In front of a closet, Antigone’s movie screen had been set up. Her projector sat propped on a stack of books on a small table, positioned and ready. Her two cameras sat in their open cases beside it.

“What’s going on?” Antigone jumped forward. “How did these get here? Someone fixed the lenses. They’d melted.” She looked at her half-molten projector. “There’s no reel. There’s nothing to play.”

Rupert flipped the switch, and the empty spools began to turn. Light beamed through the air and danced on the screen.

Dan was driving. The wipers were beating silently.

“That’s my movie,” Antigone said. “Where’s it coming from? How is this happening?”

“The lens,” Rupert said. “He’s trapped it all in the lens.”

Antigone crouched to examine her projector. Rupert pulled her back to her feet.