Good Ogre (17 page)

“Just do it!” Dwight shouted. “We're out of time!”

At the sound of Dwight's voice the spider sprang into action, suddenly moving much faster than it had any right
to. Max narrowed his focus on the
Codex
, trying not to think about the monster bearing down on him. He found the familiar magic of the book waiting for him, and pressed deeper to where the Prime Spells were hidden. But as before, it felt as if the spells pushed back, refusing to be summoned. He chanced a look at the rushing spider and realized he wasn't going to make it.

“Why did you have to say ‘hot dog'!” Sydney exclaimed. “You've doomed us all!”

Max made a clumsy grab for one of the Prime Spells. He no longer cared which one—any one of them would have to do.

“Hope we die quick,” the kobold said.

Suddenly there was a sizzling sound and the smell of something burning. Max lost hold of the
Codex
and tried desperately to twist so he could see what was happening. Then he caught sight of an orange-and-white blur on the ground. It was Moki. The little fire kitten snarled, arching his back as a bright blue flame came to life on the end of his tail.

“Nasty spider!” Moki called out. Then he began flinging crackling blue balls of fire at the tarantula. They were so hot that Max could feel them on his skin even as
they traveled across the room. The tarantula didn't stand a chance: It ignited with a horrible screeching sound, falling from the web as it landed and continued to burn, finally shriveling into black ash.

“Moki!” Max exclaimed.

“And you didn't hit the web!” Melvin shouted. “That's some sharpshooting there!”

Moki frowned, the flame on his tail going out with a puff of white smoke. He hadn't thought about the web at all. “It's not nice to eat people,” he finally announced. Moki backed up and made a run at Max, leaping into the air and grabbing hold of the webbing with his claws. He used them to cut through the silken layers. Max fell to the floor, landing less than gracefully but without injury. He watched as the fire kitten bounded from person to person, freeing each of them in turn.

“I'm officially declaring fire kittens the ultimate bane of spiders,” Dirk announced.

Broduken approached Max, bowing slightly. “Broduken will live now. Thank you.”

“How did you come to be trapped here, woodland creature?” Melvin asked.

The kobold shrugged. “Broduken work at Malaspire.”

Dwight hesitated pulling the last of the spider web from his beard. “Wait, you mean this evil, Shadrus-inspired tower has a
staff
?”

Broduken nodded. “Of course. Who do you think does all the work?”

Megan kneeled down before the kobold. “Were you forced to serve here? Are you a slave?”

“Yes,” Broduken announced. “Me work for temp agency.”

“Can you help us, Broduken?” Max asked. “I'm looking for my friend. A girl with auburn hair, wearing a white cloak.”

“I can help,” the kobold said. “The master take her to temple.”

Max shared a look with the others—at least Sarah was still alive. “I have to get to her,” he continued. “Do you know the way?”

Broduken nodded again. “Sure. We on level one. Door to temple on level twenty-seven.”

“So
twenty-six
more to go?” Dwight asked, not liking the sound of it.

“Yes. Level one is spider level.”

Melvin frowned. “What's on level two?”

“Level two Ice Yeti of Boombasa. Very bad. No good level two.”

“I don't think I like this spire thing very much,” Sydney said.

“Just what else do we have to look forward to?” Puff asked. “How many traps and monsters are there?”

Broduken stroked his chin before answering: “Level three swarming vorpal hornets; level four mechanical spinning wheel of death; level five lava snake pit; level six Theater of Unfathomable Horror—”

“Unfathomable horror . . . ?” Megan asked.

The kobold shuddered. “Yes—only plays Jaden Smith movies. No one makes it past level six.”

“
Every
level has something horrible in it?” Melvin asked.

“Monsters and traps till level twelve. That fitness room.”

“Looks like that's as far as Max gets,” Glenn chimed in.

“Me work kitchen. Level sixteen.”

“Then how'd you get down here?” Dwight asked, sounding suspicious.

“Dumbwaiter take Broduken to wrong floor,” the kobold replied, motioning to a far wall. “I show you.”

They followed the little kobold to the far corner where he pointed to the stove. It appeared just like a normal wall, but when Broduken gently knocked a small door swung open, revealing a narrow elevator shaft.

“Oh, I get it,” Melvin said. “Not a
dumb
waiter, but an actual dumbwaiter.”

“A dumb what?” Sydney asked, looking confused.

“It's what they used to call these small elevators a long time ago,” Dirk answered. “People used them to carry food and stuff up and down to different floors.”

“I don't think that's a very nice name,” Sydney added.

“I ride dumbwaiter,” Broduken continued. “Take to wrong floor. Spider waiting. Big mistake.”

Max scratched his head. “So you're saying this elevator goes all the way to the top?”

“Ah, smart human. Now know spire secret.”

Max turned to the others. “Are you guys thinking what I am?”

“That there's still no way you're getting past the workout room?” Dirk replied.

“No,” Dwight said, swatting Dirk on the back of the head. “We ride the dumbwaiter all the way to the top.”

“I like going up,” Moki added.

“Me show you how to work it,” Broduken continued. “Even now for saving Broduken's life.”

Max agreed, happy to accept a bit of good luck for a change. He just hoped it would last.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BATHROOM BUDDIES

T
HEY HAD TO RIDE THE
dumbwaiter one at a time. There was a moment when they weren't sure Max was going to fit, but he sucked his breath in and squeezed. Max wasn't exactly fond of tight spaces: Once when his Boy Scout troop decided to go hiking, he'd been forced to crawl through a drainage pipe. Three hours, seven firemen, and one industrial winch later, they managed to pull him free. Max tried not to think about
that
while the elevator made its slow crawl upward.

They were ultimately deposited in a small alcove on the twenty-seventh floor. They said their farewells to Broduken and moved into a large hallway. The floors and ceilings had lost the random scattering of red brick and gray stone. Instead, the hallway was lined with what
looked like black marble. On closer inspection, however, the veins in the stone actually pulsed. It was also free of dust and debris—so much so that the hallway practically glittered under the light of the torches that lined the wall.

“Looks clean,” Dirk said. “A little
too
clean.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Melvin asked.

“Can't trust anything so spotless,” Dirk continued.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Megan asked.

Dirk sighed. “Think about it. . . . Carnivals, zoos, arcades, movie theaters—all basically dirty yet awesome. Hospitals, schools, clothing stores—very clean and to be avoided at all costs.”

“I like shopping for clothes,” Sydney protested. But Max had long since learned that you shouldn't always dismiss one of Dirk's crazy thoughts. There
was
something suspicious about a place that was too clean.

Suddenly a figure stepped out ahead of them. “Urinal cakes aren't really cakes, you know,” the man said. Max recognized the voice—or at least a version of the voice, which had once belonged to the school custodian,
Mr. Lizar. There wasn't a kid in the entire middle school who wasn't already afraid of Mr. Lizar, even before the umbraverse messed everything up. He had wild, thick hair that rose straight up on his head and small lips that stretched across a mouth crammed full of yellow, uneven teeth. He was tall and thin, and wore a threadbare scarf and gray tweed jacket that was decorated with several old army medals. His eyes seemed a little too close and a little too big, and each was topped with a thick brown eyebrow that clung to his forehead like a fuzzy caterpillar. The person standing before them now was essentially the same, with a mop slung over his shoulder and a bucket in his hand—only now he wore an eye patch.

“Hey, that's Mr. Lizar,” Melvin noted.

“Except something happened to his eye,” Megan added.

“Eye patch—the sure sign of evil,” Dirk announced.

Max scanned the place for exits: Behind Mr. Lizar was a large door, but just ahead there were two other doors, one pink and one blue, on opposite sides of the hallway. The bright colors seemed especially out of place given the pulsing black marble.

“Like the patch, do ya?” the former Mr. Lizar called out to them. “See, I'm the Jan Man now. And the Jan Man has the power to wield the one and only mop-dusa!” The Jan Man gave the mop on his shoulder a twirl and Max noticed something very strange about the way the mop seemed to keep moving—like it was alive.

“What's more,” the Jan Man continued, “I don't scrub and clean for ungrateful kids. Not no more.”

“I'm not ungrateful,” Sydney added. “I appreciate all you do to keep our school clean.”

“Me too,” Megan pointed out. “I thought you did a great job.”

The Jan Man lowered his bucket to the floor. “You did?”

“And that time someone wrote about me on the wall, it was gone by the next day,” Melvin said.

Dirk smiled. “Oh yeah, I remember that one: ‘Melvin is a dork' written in big letters by the shop-class door. Classic.”

“If you think we didn't appreciate you, well, that's just not true,” Max insisted, building on what the others had said. They seemed to be onto something—maybe they could reach Mr. Lizar with a little kindness? Maybe all he
needed was to know that he mattered, and it would break whatever spell he was under?

“I never knew. Excuse me for just a moment,” the Jan Man said, fighting back a sniffle. He pulled what looked like a long handkerchief from his pocket and then lowered it into the bucket.

“I think he's crying,” Sydney said. “I think we touched his heart with our kindness.”

“He just needed to know we cared,” Melvin noted. “Not all monsters on the outside are monsters on the inside.”

Max was about to move toward the Jan Man when he heard the sound of muffled laughter. The Jan Man straightened, something about the size of a hockey puck hanging from his handkerchief. The laughter continued to build, filling the hallway until the former Mr. Lizar was practically howling.

“Oh, how sweet!” the Jan Man mocked. “You actually thought that would work, didn't you? That your kind words would turn me from my evil ways?”

“Maybe a little,” Max admitted.

“The poor misunderstood monster,” the Jan Man continued. “Just needed a friend to tell me how wonderful I
am and everything's all better. What'd you do, read that in a comic book or something?”

Dirk bristled at the remark. “Don't go mocking comic books.”

The Jan Man raised the handkerchief over his head and began swinging it like a sling. “Poor little children. I think you just need some friends to play with. I make friends, you know . . . just like I make the urinal cakes. Kind of ironic, since
urine
a lot of trouble.”

“That's like the worst pun ever,” Melvin remarked.

The Jan Man frowned and continued swinging the urinal cake over his head, taking aim at the group.

“What the heck's a urinal cake anyway?” Sydney asked.

“It's that stupid thing in the bottom of boys' toilets. Like a deodorizer or something,” Dirk answered.

Sydney frowned, looking even more confused. “Why would anybody name that
cake
?”

“No idea, but maybe not the most important thing at the moment,” Max called back. “I think we better take cover!” He pointed to the blue door. “In there!”

Nobody argued. Max ran to the blue door just as the
Jan Man launched the urinal cake. It careened toward them, then dipped and smashed on the floor.

“Incoming!” Dirk shouted.

Max pulled the door open and held it as the others scrambled in. The Jan Man had loaded a new urinal cake in his makeshift sling and was preparing another attack. “Hurry up!” he shouted, not liking the idea of being exposed while some kind of urinal cake projectile was being flung at him. The others ran past; only Sydney stopped in the doorway, her eyes wide.

“I can't go in THERE!” she protested.

There was a whizzing sound as another urinal cake flew down the hall. This one also seemed to veer off course and slam to the floor. Max was about to think the Jan Man was a pretty horrible shot when he noticed something was growing out of the black, pulsing marble—something very much the consistency of a blue urinal cake, only with a head, torso, and arms. To his disbelief, the urinal cakes were turning into urinal . . . men? That seemed like the absolute worst name for a monster
ever
.

“Sydney, get in there!” Megan shouted behind her pixie sister.

“I can't! It's the
boys'
bathroom!”

Max watched as the urinal man moved forward, stepping out of the strange marble stone like it was climbing out of a swimming pool.

“We don't have time to argue about this!” Megan shouted, giving her sister a shove through the doorway.

“Eww!” Max heard her scream as she flew inside.

The urinal man started toward them as another began to grow from the projectile remains. The Jan Man whooped and sent a third projectile flying in their direction. The urinal cake smashed into the ground and exploded just as the others had.

Max followed Megan into the boys' bathroom. He slammed the door and called the others over. “Hold this while I try and lock it!”

The others ran to the door and pressed their weight against it.

BOOM!

The door opened a few inches as the urinal man crashed into it, but the group managed to push it closed again. Max opened the
Codex
and began looking for a locking spell.

BOOM!
This time the door opened further before
they were able to shut it. “That felt like more than one!” Dwight grunted through clenched teeth. “Hurry it up, Max!”

Max moved through the old spell book as quickly as he could: level four spell of Grass Leveling; level twelve spell of Insect Speak; level twenty spell of Pantaloon Protection.

BOOM!
The door flew halfway open.

“Dude!” Dirk yelled as he and the others tried to force the door closed. Blue hands wrapped around the door as the magical creatures fought to force their way in.

Max flipped the page and found what he was looking for: level twenty-two Dead Bolt of Extreme Awesomeness. “I think I've got something—just get the door shut!”

“Oh, sure, good idea,” Dwight exclaimed. “Why didn't I think of that?” The dwarf groaned as he and the others pushed against the bathroom door.

“They're too strong!” Megan called out.

Puff had backed into the door and was pushing with all he had. He looked down at Moki, who was standing upright with two paws on the blue surface. It was more cute than actually effective. Then Puff had an idea. “Moki,
why don't you try flinging a few fireballs at them?” The fire kitten nodded, liking any idea that involved making fireballs, and left his spot to circle toward the opening. He produced a small orange flame and closed his eye, taking aim.

Max began uttering the spell under his breath.

BOOM!
This time the door flew open and the group fell backward. But Moki was ready, and began flinging softball-sized fireballs through the opening. The volley went on several moments before the urinal men slipped back, their blue skin melting from the heat. Dwight sprang to his feet and shoved the door closed.

Max followed with the spell. Suddenly a giant dead bolt, made from heavy iron and a complex series of gears, materialized in the door. The gears spun, and a heavy bar slammed into place, locking the door with an impressive
clank
.

There was a collective sigh of relief as the others stooped to catch their breaths. The pounding on the door resumed, but the lock held fast. The door, however, was another matter. Eventually the urinal men would break through.

Max turned to take a better look at the bathroom. It was definitely a boys' bathroom, with a long row of
urinals along the wall and bathroom stalls that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, but each had a heavy key lock attached to the front. Sydney noticed the locks as well. “Wait a second, boys get locking stalls? No fair!”

“I wish,” Dirk said, climbing back to his feet with the others. Max approached the first stall. “Weird . . . these are much bigger than I remember.”

Meanwhile Sydney had inched toward the closest urinal and peeked in. “Oh, so that's a urinal cake. Boys are gross.”

Melvin frowned. “Maybe we should, you know, use the facilities as long as we're here? There seem to be plenty of private stalls.”

“True,” Dirk said, walking toward one of them. “No one can be truly heroic with a full bladder.” He turned and pulled on the handle, but it refused to open. Shrugging, he moved to the next, but with the same result. There were at least twenty stalls stretched out along the blue tiled bathroom, and not one of them appeared to be open. “Now I get it!” Dirk exclaimed. “All these toilets and they're locked? The Maelshadow is a true monster!”

In response to Dirk's cry, a voice came from one of the closed stalls. “Hey, who's out there?”

Max and the others shared a look, then cautiously moved to the door. In the background, the pounding of the urinal men against the door continued.

“Who are you?” Max asked.

“Max? Max Spencer?”

“Nice try,” Dirk said. “Max is out here.”

“No duh,” the voice continued. “And you're Dirk, aren't you? Figures.”

Suddenly Max knew exactly who it was. “Ricky? Ricky Reynolds?”

“Yep.”

Melvin frowned.

“Ricky ‘the Kraken' Reynolds?” Megan asked. “That's who's in there?” Max nodded. Of course Megan, Sydney, and Melvin had no idea of his history with Ricky, but that didn't matter. Ricky's reputation around the school with kids like them was bad enough.

“Well, that's easy,” Dirk said. “As long as he's locked in there he's not a problem.” But something didn't seem right to Max. Why was Ricky locked inside a bathroom stall that was more like a prison cell?

“What happened?” Max asked through the door.

“You tell me. We were just in the bathroom after practice and everything went crazy. We got sucked into these stalls. I'm going nuts in here—you gotta get me out, Spencer.”

“What else changed?” Dirk called out. “Are you like some horrible creature with tentacles now?”

“What? What are talking about?”

“Is your skin more scale-based than usual,” Dirk continued, “or do you now have more talons than you used to?”

“Max,” Ricky cried out, “I don't know what Dirk's talking about. Get me out of here . . .
please
.” Max had never known Ricky to use the
P
word before. Things must have been really desperate in there.

“So you're still . . . you?” Max asked. He really didn't know how else to put it.

“Of course—what are you talking about? What's going on out there? This has something to do with you, doesn't it?”