The Owl Keeper (22 page)

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At once his head felt strange and airy as if his skull had been hollowed out. He realized that this had been no ordinary muffin, but a megastrength one. Mrs. Crumlin had added some medicinal ingredient to the muffin mix, a toxic flavoring to dull his mind.

"What did you put inside this?" he tried to say, but the words got jumbled inside his throat.

Mrs. Crumlin, smelling of bleach and bitter chocolate, loomed over him. "It will be dreadful if they send you to Children's Prison. Imagine being locked inside a cell all day long. No windows, no trees, no Mrs. Crumlin to cheer you up with goodies and mugs of hot cocoa. Solitary confinement for life will not be a fun time. And that's what under-thirteens get for murder."

Confused and angry, Max stared up at her, convinced she was trying to frighten him. Gran said the High Echelon had always used fear to control people--it was their most powerful weapon--and Mrs. Crumlin obviously took her cues from the High Echelon. She would do whatever it took, he realized, to carry out orders.

"Run, Max!" hollered Rose.

"I didn't kill the doctor, I just threatened him!" cried Max, shaking with rage. "The dog pushed him over and you know it."

"Ah, but the authorities don't know, do they?" Grabbing his arm, Mrs. Crumlin pulled him roughly to his feet. "When I file my report, whom do you think the High Echelon will believe? An underage runaway--or me?"

Max didn't answer. The gut-numbing vertigo was back and he could no longer think straight. Thoughts fell and scattered in his head like board game chips.

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"Forty years I've worked for them, so I think we know the answer to that." Nudging him forward, Mrs. Crumlin steered him to the gap in the bridge. "It certainly is a long way to the bottom, isn't it? Takes one's breath away. Avert your eyes--I would."

Max gazed into the black raging river and his head began to spin. Images of Dr. Tredegar came flooding back.

"You're traumatized, Maxwell, you've had a severe shock," said Mrs. Crumlin in a condescending tone. "Come along now, time to go home."

Traumatized. Shock.
Max thought the words sounded scary and ugly.
Home.
That was a good word. It made Max think of food and warmth and eiderdown quilts, silent evening meals and rounds of Dome Delirium in the parlor. Mugs of hot cocoa, Mrs. Crumlin slamming around mixing bowls, songs on the radio--

A voice cut through his thoughts. "She's lying, Max, she's deranged!" shouted Rose. "Remember the Owl Keeper!"

"Block that voice out of your head," ordered Mrs. Crumlin. As she led him off the bridge, he felt the last of his willpower slip away.

His thoughts reduced to sludge, Max stepped into the field. There was a bitter taste inside his mouth: that disgusting muffin. Never mind, he told himself, it was important to obey his guardian and he must never, ever talk back to her. She was the voice of authority.

"The wind-borne vessel!" cried Mrs. Crumlin, pointing. "They've moved it to the other side of the field. Hmmph! Seems we have a walk ahead of us."

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Max tried to speak, but his mind was mixed up like batter. He knew he should be excited to be returning home, but for some reason he wasn't.

"The owls!" That voice again, as distant as the stars. Rose's voice. "We have to find the silver owls!"

Totally blank on the inside, Max waded through the tall grass. Cold tendrils of fog moved shadowlike through his head. Who was Rose? And why was she shouting about silver owls if they were extinct?

And if they weren't yet extinct, he told himself, it was going to be his job to make sure they were soon.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

[Image: Mrs. Crumlin.]

Hunched against the wind, Max plodded across the field, his mind as blank as a sheet of paper. In the distance a high voice was shouting his name, but he no longer knew whose voice it was. His will to fight was gone.

Dark clouds blotted out the sun and a heavy mist drifted down. The wind-borne vessel hovered wraithlike over the field. Max knew he should be brimming with excitement--he'd never ridden in a wind-borne vessel before--but he was too detached from everything around him to even care. Only one thing was real, and he saw it each time he closed his

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eyes: a tiny human shape with yellow wings, spinning down and down in an endless spiral. The image terrified him.

"Did you hear me, Maxwell?" asked Mrs. Crumlin in an icy voice. "I asked you to hand over the InjectaPort."

Max threw her a quizzical look. The InjectaPort, he knew, was somehow important.

"I saw you sneak it into your pocket." Her tone was sharp. "Dig it out. Now!"

Automatically he reached into his jacket pocket, thinking how it must be true that Mrs. Crumlin had eyes in the back of her head. He pulled out a thin metal object and held it in his hand. When he shook the InjectaPort, he could see liquid sloshing inside. That sparkly stuff meant something, but he couldn't remember what. Fog thickened around him, shrouding the wind-borne vessel and blurring Mrs. Crumlin, giving the scene an air of unreality.

"This way to the aircraft." Mrs. Crumlin steered him to the right. "The InjectaPort, Maxwell. Hand it over."

Max held the InjectaPort at his side, unwilling to let go of it. He stole a glance at his guardian's big, billowing frame as she stomped through the grass in her quilted raincoat, its hem muddied and torn. Unlike his grandmother, who had loved the outdoors, Mrs. Crumlin seemed awkward and out of place.

A stray thought entered his head and he struggled to keep a hold on it. Something about Gran ... Had Mrs. Crumlin, he wondered, ever known his gran? Did she know what Gran had died of or where she was buried?

"Did you know my grandmother?" he blurted out.

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"I did not." Her voice was cold and dark. Around her eyes he could see the skin was crumpled.

"But you remember when she died, right?" Max persisted, eager for any crumb of information. "I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, but I just wondered if maybe you ..." His voice trailed off.

Mrs. Crumlin ground to a halt. She looked Max evenly in the eye and a small grin took hold of the corners of her mouth. "There was no funeral. Your grandmother isn't dead." With fussy, brisk movements, she patted down her rain-frizzled hair. "Celeste Unger was sent to prison--a life sentence."

Max opened his mouth, then shut it again, unable to utter a word. His beloved gran was in
prison?
The knowledge was like a blow to the head, jolting him out of his stupor.

"I don't believe you," he said at last, his voice thick and muffled. "My granny's dead."

"Ah, but I should know, Maxwell," came Mrs. Crumlin's steely reply, "seeing as I was the one hired to monitor your grandmother's subversive activities."

The shock of her revelation set his dulled thoughts into motion. Max realized he was thinking clearly once again. "You spied on my granny?"

"Of course I did; I work for the government and that's my job. Celeste Unger had the audacity to defy the High Echelon. She was a traitor, a betrayer of the cause!" railed Mrs. Crumlin. "Rash, impulsive, crazy as a June bug, that was your grandmother--always stirring up trouble. They had no choice but to shut her away."

Max swallowed hard, stunned by this discovery. When he thought of the years he'd spent without Gran, missing her

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desperately, believing she was gone forever, a deep sorrow cut through his heart. But she wasn't dead, she was
alive!
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"The government put up with her antics far too long," Mrs. Crumlin added with a sniff. "Time and again she lied to the authorities. All those banned books she kept hidden inside her house. A travesty, if you ask me. Scandalous!"

Rage swept through Max as he thought of all the years Mrs. Crumlin had deceived him, feeding him one lie after another. Most of her lies hadn't amounted to much, but this one was different. This one had broken his heart.

"You knew about my gran?" He could hardly get the words out. "And you
never told me?"

"We had our orders. Everyone, including your parents, believed Celeste Unger was dead. Only I knew her true fate--and the High Echelon, of course. That is how the government works, you silly boy," she said irritably. "Remember your school slogan: All We Do Is for the Higher Good. There it is: we are here to serve the High Echelon." She gave a slow, self-satisfied smile, beaming with pride, obviously pleased to serve such an all-powerful authority.

"Not me!" shouted Max, sickened by her pompous words and sly expression. "I'm not serving anybody!" Why had she fabricated all those stories? Why hadn't she wanted him to know his grandmother was alive? And why would the High Echelon choose a traitor's grandson to become a Skræsk Master?

"Listen to me, Maxwell." Eyes glittering, Mrs. Crumlin gripped his wrists. "The no-fear gene will render you strong and

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fearless. You won't be a weird sickly child anymore, you'll have superhuman abilities." A shrewd look spread over her face. "Forget your grandmother. The High Echelon has chosen you, Maxwell Unger, to safeguard this country." Her voice fell to a reverential whisper. "To be a Skræk Master and fly with the skræks is an honorable destiny indeed." Somewhere in the mist an owl hooted.

With a shudder, Max wrenched himself from her grasp. He remembered those disgusting dreams: flapping beside creatures that smelled of blood and decay, slime dripping from their half-formed faces. His stomach twisted at the memory.

"Now give me the InjectaPort, Maxwell." Mrs. Crumlin held out her hand.

"Whoo-hoo!" hooted the owl again.

The silver owl! With a start Max recognized her warning call. How could he have forgotten her? Feelings of remorse and confusion washed over him. How could he have run off and left his owl behind?

Something inside him snapped. "You can't turn me into a Skræk Master!" he shouted. "I'm Max Unger, the boy who loves owls, and that's who I'll always be!" Purple droplets sprayed from the tiny needles as he waved the InjectaPort around. "I don't care about your stupid no-fear gene! So what if I'm not strong and fearless? I have Rose, and my mom and dad! I have my silver owl! My gran, too! They're the things that matter to me!"

Mrs. Crumlin threw him a withering smile. "You have no choice, Maxwell, it is not your decision to make." She lumbered toward him, her eyes bulging with fury. "Give--the--InjectaPort--to--me."

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"Get away!" he screamed, alarmed at her fanatical expression.

Mrs. Crumlin lunged forward. Terrified, Max leapt to one side; then, to his horror, he slipped in the wet grass. Falling to the ground, he landed on his back. Before he knew what was happening, the InjectaPort flew from his grasp.

Startled, he watched it soar overhead in a gleaming arc, vanishing into the fog. He waited to hear it thump to the ground. But everything was silent. This was a field, with no trees overhead to snag it--so where had it gone? he wondered. Perplexed, he struggled to his feet, staring up into the fog.

"Where did the InjectaPort go?" demanded Mrs. Crumlin, stomping in circles. Max could see red splotches flaring up on her neck and ears. "It can't stay in the air indefinitely!"

Had the fog muffled the sound of the InjectaPort when it fell to earth? Max ran through the tall grass, guessing roughly where it might have landed, but there was no sign of the InjectaPort.

From overhead came a whirring sound; he looked up and glimpsed a shape, wheeling in intricate patterns through the fog. The silver owl! Max could see the InjectaPort clasped in her beak. Her eyes were fierce and unblinking. Smart bird, he thought, grinning. She's coming to my rescue again!

"This blasted fog isn't helping any," grumbled Mrs. Crumlin. She clumped back and forth, her bloodshot eyes glued to Max. "What are you grinning at, you miserable boy?"

Before he could reply, the owl gave a triumphant hoot.

"Hear that?" cried Mrs. Crumlin. "The silver owl is back! Oooh, just wait, I'll wring its skinny neck--"

Max glanced up to see the silver owl open her beak and let go

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of the InjectaPort. It hurtled down, falling straight toward Mrs. Crumlin. She gave a thin cry of rage as it struck her shoulder.

"Take it out!" she screamed, thrashing around like a wounded animal. "Do something, Maxwell!"

Max reeled back, staring at the top half of the InjectaPort. He could see that the bottom part had gone right through Mrs. Crumlin's raincoat and lodged firmly in her shoulder.

"You're useless!" she shrieked, her face contorted in rage. "You always were! Do something!"

Max kept his distance, afraid of going any closer. He watched Mrs. Crumlin grip the InjectaPort and wrench it out of her shoulder. Pale with shock, she held it up. The InjectaPort was empty.

Max felt relief flood through him.

"This was meant for you!" screeched Mrs. Crumlin, swaying back and forth, eyelids fluttering.
"You
were supposed to get the no-fear gene!"

Nauseated, Max watched her shriek and sway, clawing at her shoulder.

"Ten times the normal dose!" she howled. "We needed
ten times
to start the Transmutation! This isn't fair, Maxwell! I was only doing my job!"

Max grimaced, watching the blotches on her skin turn a cadaverous shade of gray. Was she going to die? Her arms slumped to her sides and her puffy face went slack, as if all the wrinkles had been shaken out. Then she collapsed with a thud into the grass.