Brass Monkeys (11 page)

I let out a terrified cry and grabbed up a duffel bag to hold in front of me. Peering out at their faces and clothing, I realized I could still tell one student from another. Even Harriet, covered with a brown coating of fur, was still pretty and didn’t look like the other girls. But they were all monkeys, no doubt about it.

Besides the hair, they were making chimpy sounds and their movements were quicker and more monkey-like. To top it off—or bottom it off—
they had tails
.

In a panic, I checked myself for fur and a tail but found nothing. I remembered now that Webster had said Ming’s music and incense could turn me into a “fur brain.” This was obviously what he’d meant—the end result of Monkeymind. I just hoped I hadn’t been exposed long enough to turn into one myself.

The chattering of the kids was punctuated by a screech of fear—mine—as we blew out of the tunnel into a blinding light. With a tremendous hissing of brakes, we finally slowed to a point where the blur of objects flying by began changing into a real landscape. What I saw left me speechless with wonder.

During the ride down I was convinced we were headed for some dark, hellish place near the Earth’s core. But what I saw outside was a vast, sunlit desert. The sand itself seemed a blend of pleasant pastel colors. To complete the friendly picture, golden-colored rock formations sparkled in the light.

The train slowed some more and I began to see shrubs and trees that had thorny trunks like cactuses, except that they came in a variety of pastel colors. The “sunlight” that played over everything seemed to come from a gigantic rectangle of lights that appeared suspended from the top of this strange world.

I was still trembling like crazy, but the other kids seemed to be losing their fear. They were craning around, taking in the sights, and grunting in a chimp-like manner. Only Harriet stood quietly, looking out with a fearful gaze. I glanced ahead and saw a huge metal archway over the tracks. On top of the arch sat a large, grinning brass monkey, identical to Ming’s incense burner. Just below it was a sign that read:
WELCOME TO MONKEYOPOLIS
.

We flashed through the gateway, and ahead of us I could see the first buildings of what appeared to be a huge city. As we drew nearer my eyes widened. The houses were wild, crazy-looking structures, put together from a hodgepodge
of … school junk!

We rocked rapidly past the first of the fantastic houses and my mouth hung open in astonishment. I spotted walls made from basketball backboards, gym bleachers, and colored desk tops. Mixed in crazily were dozens of classroom odds and ends. I saw sections of buildings made out of ballpoint pens and doorways framed with pencils, compasses, and rulers. Entire rooftops were constructed from what appeared to be flattened pieces of world globes; maps and colorful illustrations, probably taken from encyclopedias, were plastered willy-nilly over everything. I saw plastic bubble skylights and parts of aquariums being used for windows, and weird chimneys made out of band instruments, mostly trombones, French horns, and tubas.

At first I saw only the yellow-faced, wild-haired Storm Teachers moving around the buildings and along sidewalks lined with the cactus-like “trees.” It was like an entire suburb of Stormies, but then the Big Monkey turned and we clattered on into the heart of the city. I started seeing other people on the streets—normal-looking men, women, and children. I say “normal,” because their faces looked totally human, but there was one strange detail: they all wore white tunics, and sewn on the front of each tunic was a letter of the alphabet.

I was trying to puzzle this out when I saw the first of the motorized vehicles. I was amazed by the bizarre look of them. It was as if some of my classmates—the ones who spent hours in class drawing wacked-out cars and motorcycles—had been hired on as designers.

Right away I spotted three basic designs. There was a big, bulbous-looking truck whose body seemed to be made from blackboards, janitor carts, and gutted computer monitors. Then there was a two-seater car with what looked like a solar panel “engine” made out of aquarium glass. Finally, there was a weird motorcycle with a football-tackling dummy frame and an engine made from what appeared to be—I swear—three-ring notebooks and cafeteria silverware!

I was actually starting to enjoy myself a little when I spotted the first of the strange hills ahead. Seconds later I realized what they were—gigantic stacks of paper. I mean, paper seemed to be flying everywhere. Big hoses snaked overhead, spitting out streams of the stuff, which was then picked up and stacked by people wearing those white tunics. The stacks had large signs in front that said things like: LATEST BORING SEVENTH GRADE TESTS; NEW, WEIRD, AND ODD-BALL ASSIGNMENTS FOR EIGHTH GRADE; MINGLEY’S TESTS ON PITTS, POTTS, AND HIGGENBOTTOM—GUARANTEED TO LEAVE EVERY KID BEHIND; and my favorite, LECTURES THAT CREATE NINTH GRADE ZOMBIES!

Then we passed a series of bustling factories that all seemed to be turning out school supplies. Big signs blared from the rooftops advertising things like CHEAP BAND INSTRUMENTS—GUARANTEED TO DISCOURAGE BEGINNING STUDENTS, STOMACH-TURNING CAFETERIA MENUS, TEXTBOOKS COMPLETE WITH MUSTY ODOR AND GUARANTEED TO NAUSEATE, and finally, LESSON PLANS FOR THE INCOMPETENT INSTRUCTOR WHO WANDERED INTO TEACHING BY MISTAKE.

After the factories, we began angling downhill toward some buildings that formed a huge unloading area. I could see other black and yellow roller coasters sitting on various tracks.

But now I saw something that turned my legs to jelly. About a hundred yards down the track was a platform filled with Storm Teachers, and we were headed straight toward them. With an added zing of panic, I noticed the Stormies were heavily armed with big, alien-looking rifles and pistols. I ducked to the floor.

“Get a grip, son,” I muttered. “Focus.”

The coaster brakes hissed again and slowly we drifted past a large billboard. When I looked up at it, my mouth sagged open. The billboard displayed a huge “wanted” poster of McGinty. Below the picture were these ominous words:
WANTED JOHN MCGINTY—DEAD OR ALIVE!
I was stunned. There he was, the very guy I needed to find!

Webster’s fierce voice came hurtling back:
When you get there … find McGinty fast and give him his book. Say his name!”

The picture of McGinty must have been taken by a hidden camera, because the face was kind of blurred and all it showed was a man in a white sport coat hurrying down a street of school-junk houses.

The roller coaster jerked to a stop, and I heard a loud cheer from, the Storm Teachers on the platform. That brought me back with a fearful start and I knew I had to look. Trembling, I raised my head and peeked out.

The first car had stopped by the platform and Ming, Strobe, Fundabore, and the other Stormies from the kidnapping were getting out. This was causing all the cheering. I saw Ming talking to the Storm Teachers on the platform and then gesturing back at the cars. It didn’t take a world-class thinker to know she was talking about me. But what was I going to do about it? If I jumped out now, they’d spot me for sure. And there was nowhere to hide on board the roller coaster.

I was jarred from my thoughts by a loud jingling of bells that rose from the platform. The Stormies on the loading dock were headed for the first cars.
To unload them
.

The kids set up a great chimpy racket as they were unstrapped and herded outside. My heart pounding, I watched as Ming picked up a microphone.

“Go car to car!” she bellowed. “I know Eugene’s in there!”

I groaned and sank back down. I tried to think of a way to save myself, but my head felt like cement. With a loud
sshhoup
the doors on the car just ahead opened and I heard the Stormies yelling, “Get out! Out!”

The kids in my car began chattering with fear. I glanced up at Harriet and found her looking down at me. There was a deep pleading look in her golden-brown eyes. She was struggling to speak.

“Help … us”
she said. Her voice seemed to come from far away.

I rose to a crouch. All my feelings of anger, guilt, and determination surged to the surface. It was my big moment of truth, and I wanted desperately to say something heroic to Harriet. I yanked out McGinty’s book and held it up, but what came out of my mouth sounded stupid. “I will! Don’t be worry! I help!”

Harriet’s desperate eyes burned into me and she grasped my arm.
“Promise?”

“Promise!” I said grimly. I glanced over at Alvin and Weeser. Strangely, they were watching me. I gestured wildly at them with the book. “I’ll help!” I cried. “I’ll get you out of here!” They didn’t react at all.

But Harriet did. She nodded, then seemed to lose herself and was pulled back into the mindless hysteria. I jammed the book back under my shirt and lunged into the littered aisle. I heard the doors opening on the front of my car. I crawled blindly down the aisle and crashed through the connecting door into the next car.

The kids in there were screeching as they watched the others being whipped out from my car. They didn’t even see me scrabbling past.

“Watch the exits!” Ming cried out on the microphone. “He’ll be coming out! And remember, I doubt he’s transformed. He’ll be the same funny-looking boy.”

In a burst of pure terror, I went galumphing into the next car and found myself in the middle of a bunch of Grindsville teachers—now
all reddish orangutans
. They were gabbling loudly and scratching themselves. They never even glanced my way as I slithered down the aisle. I lost count of the cars I went through, but I could tell the unloading was well behind me. And then I was in the last car.

I wanted to simply yank the door open and run for my life, but I was sure Mingley would have guards near each car. Then, proving me right, I heard guttural voices just outside. Suddenly there was a loud racket down the line.

Ming’s voice knifed above the noise. “Is it him? Is it Wise? Hold him!” A wave of frantic chittering swept through the kids and ended with the Grindsville teachers grunting wildly. I heard the Stormies just outside talking excitedly, then their shadows swept past, heading back along the cars. I grabbed the door handle and opened the door a crack. It looked clear.

Now Ming screamed out, “No, no, that one’s transformed. It’s not Eugene!”

My tiny opportunity was vanishing! I pushed the door open and jumped out. For a moment I stood in a daze. The heat from the desert floor was suffocating. Then I recovered myself and ran awkwardly toward a huge stack of discarded school clothes. I expected a yell of discovery, but nothing happened as I lunged behind the stack and threw myself to the ground. When I hit the sand, the book popped out of my shirt. I grabbed it and then lay cradling it under my cheek. “Hang on, son,” I whispered. “Nerve, nerve.”

I tried to clear my head and think. Luckily, Webster’s voice came back sharply: “Go
to the Avenue of Musicians and the fabulous Lulu’s place.”

“Right,” I murmured. “Simple. Avenue of the Musicians and get help from the fabulous Lulu. Piece of cake. I can do this.” Holding the book up out of the sand, I crawled on around the stack. I paused a moment to blow the sweat off the end of my nose. That’s when I spotted the white, belted coat in the pile and the brilliant idea hit me. I grabbed the coat and put it on quickly and fastened the belt. It must have been a girl’s spring coat, but it looked an awful lot like the tunics I had seen earlier. Maybe I could mix in with those people.

I was congratulating myself on this cunning scheme when a voice jarred me.

“Rudy, for heaven’s sakes, now what are you doing?”

I snapped around to find an elderly, gray-haired man in a white tunic pushing a wheelbarrow full of books. He peered at me through thick glasses.

I stared back in confusion. “Well, I’m uh—”

“You’re dawdling,” cried the old man. “You’ve seen searches before and Mingley always catches ‘em. So get busy. We’ve got a stack of books to move.”

“Right,” I said. The old guy frowned suspiciously and moved closer. But even with lenses as thick as a spyglass, I could tell he didn’t see me clearly.

“Where’s your letter?” he snapped. “Are you wearing something over it again?”

“Ah—my letter?” I stared at him blankly and then realized he was gesturing at the large “F” that was sewn on his tunic front. “Oh, that,” I said. “It got torn off.”

“Well, good heavens, go get another tunic! If any Stormies should happen to stop by, how will they know what you are? You should try to cooperate, Rudy, and quit acting so harum-scarum. Look how I display my letter. I’m proud of being a drone, and I don’t mind a bit if I’m known as a Fussbudget.”

“Right,” I said. I stood there like a stump. I had no idea which way to move.

“Well, get cracking! Go back to the market and buy one, right now.” He pointed off toward some stacks of clothes. “Wait a moment. What’s that in your hand? Did you pick up one of the books again?”

“Not exactly,” I stammered. I tried to shove the book inside my coat, but the old guy moved quickly and caught my arm in an iron grip.

He leaned in close and studied the book, then raised up and stared at me, nose to nose. “You’re not Rudy,” he hissed.

I yanked my arm free and turned to run, stumbling awkwardly over a stack of books.

“You come back here!” I heard him cry out. I jammed the book under my coat, then broke into a run, zigzagging around a couple of huge mounds of books. When I glanced back, there was no sign of the old guy. I slowed and tried to control my nerves.

More yells rose from the direction of the roller coaster. Now Ming’s shrill voice floated over. “Go through the cars again! He has to be in there!”

I hurried around a huge stack of cheap-looking lunch boxes, complete with poorly-drawn cartoon characters. Then I rushed past several stacks of boxed cookies. A big sign next to them advertised, STORM TEACHER COOKIES MADE OF CARDBOARD, PIECES OF LINT, YAK HAIRS, AND GROUND MOUSE DUNG. FOR THAT SPECIAL CLASS!

A giant pile of the Stormies’ cheap musical instruments formed the last stack near the street. I skidded to a stop behind it and knelt down. Right away I spotted several trumpets that made me think of my own. How I wished I were back home playing “Malagueña” in my room.