[Janitors 04] Strike of the Sweepers (34 page)

“This is ridiculous!” exclaimed the middle Witch. “Whoever thought of this exit plan, anyway? My dress is utterly ruined!”

“Oh, shut up, Holga,” said the first Witch. She was patting the pockets of her cloak. “I simply must find my wand. There’s work to be done.”

Holga began to laugh, a true witch’s cackle. “Please, Ninfa,” she said to the first Witch. “You haven’t done a day of work in your life! I wouldn’t be surprised if your wand grew legs and walked away, it felt so neglected.”

“Liar!” Ninfa shouted. “My wand was always prettier than yours. You finally grew jealous enough to steal it! Now give it back!”

Belzora finally stepped between them, her voice sharp and commanding. “Silence your bickering!” Ninfa and Holga suddenly seemed to grow aware that other people stood nearby.

Belzora lowered her voice. “One of these mortals holds our wands.”

“I have them.” Walter stepped forward, opening his palm and showing the three bronze nails. An excited look passed over Belzora’s face.

“Are you a warlock?” she asked.

Walter nodded his bald head. “Yes.”

“Have you done what was asked in the Warlocks Box?” Belzora pressed.

Spencer felt a pang of worry pass through him. Walter knew nothing of the Warlocks Box. Mr. Clean had opened it before Walter had stolen Ninfa and the nail.

“Yes,” Spencer said from the confines of his rake cage. “We have solved the thirteen clues from the Warlocks Box.”

Belzora turned her long, wrinkly face toward him. “And who are you, young lad?”

“My name is Spencer Zumbro.”

Holga took a shuffling step closer, sniffing the air. “White hair,” she muttered. “White hair and the ageless smell of Auran about him.”

“I am an Auran,” he said. “I’m new. But I’m friends with Olin, Sach, and Aryl.”

“Aww,” Ninfa said. “How are the children?”

“Good, I guess,” Spencer said.

“Are they getting along?”

It seemed weird to be talking about it while Mr. Clean and his BEM Sweepers stood watching in silence. “Well,” Spencer said, “the girls panned the boys about two hundred years ago, and they’ve been archenemies ever since.”

“Oh,” Ninfa said with a sweet smile. “That’s nice.”

“Enough chat,” Belzora said. “Has everything else been prepared for our arrival?”

Spencer and Walter exchanged a puzzled glance.

“What do you mean?” Walter asked.

“The other instructions in the Warlocks Box,” Belzora asked. “Did you fulfill them all?”

Spencer’s head turned slowly to Mr. Clean, whose lips were curling in a gradual smirk. The big Sweeper stepped forward. The Witches turned to him as he dropped respectfully onto one knee in the hallway.

“New Forest Academy is ready,” Mr. Clean said. “Just as you commanded.”

Spencer felt his heart stop. A flush of fear and shock crawled across his skin as the Founding Witches nodded their approval at Mr. Clean’s words.

“One more thing,” Professor DeFleur muttered to Spencer and Walter. “I never gave you the translation of the final chapter—the part where it explains that the Founding Witches are on
our
side.”

Chapter 55

“Give me the nails!”

Spencer felt the panic, causing him to rattle and shake at the bars of his rake cage. They needed to run. But he was trapped, and Walter seemed frozen. The Rebel warlock closed his hand tightly around the three bronze nails. “What is going on?” he finally muttered.

“We are ready to visit the Academy,” Belzora said. She turned to Walter. “Give us our wands.”

Walter took an unsteady step backward. “You know about New Forest Academy?”

“Obviously,” Belzora said. “We left specific instructions for the Academy to be started in the Hopeless Day.”

“Is that today?” Holga asked.

“Of course it’s today,” Ninfa said. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have opened the Warlocks Box, and we wouldn’t be here.”

Walter looked so confused. Mr. Clean had told Spencer a little bit about the Warlocks Box, though apparently not everything. He had said that the Witches had prophesied of a Hopeless Day, when there would be nothing but sin and corruption in the world. That was why Mr. Clean and Garcia had opened the Warlocks Box. But it wasn’t right!

“There’s been a mistake,” Spencer said. “It’s not the Hopeless Day. There’s still a lot of good in the world out there!”

Mr. Clean stood up, whirling to face the boy. “Your lies are evidence of the Hopeless Day!” he bellowed, causing Spencer to shrink to the back of his cage.

Then, lowering his voice, Clean turned back to the Witches. “There is no good left in the world. But we have done everything you asked. The Bureau of Educational Maintenance has followed every instruction found in the Warlocks Box. We allowed Toxites to take over schools. We raised a private Academy in the mountains, protecting only the most cunning students. We followed the thirteen clues to find the Auran landfill and the
Manualis Custodem.
We have brought you back into this corrupt world so you can rule it and set things right again.”

Belzora nodded. “A sensible follower. What is your name?”

“They call me Mr. Clean,” he answered, which brought a cackle from Holga. Spencer had never seen anyone laugh at the Sweeper warlock and live to tell about it. But Mr. Clean was no longer in charge. “Reginald McClean,” he amended, head slightly bowed.

Walter was shaking his head, face ashen white. “This was planned?” he mumbled.

“Don’t you see?” Mr. Clean said to Walter and Spencer. “You’ve been set up.”

“It was a trap.” Walter’s voice was barely audible, the shock and disappointment ripe in his expression.

“Much more than a trap,” answered Mr. Clean. “This was a way to get you to do the hard work. Professor DeFleur’s translation told you just what you wanted to hear. We
let
you steal Holga and Belzora. You already had the School Board,” he said. “And we didn’t know how else to get the spit of an Auran.” He grinned. “We used you to reopen the source and bring back the Witches.”

Belzora turned to Walter. “You did not welcome our arrival, warlock?”

Walter shook his head. “Not like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Your majesties,” Mr. Clean said to the Witches. “This man is a traitor to your cause. He has raised an organization of Rebels who ignore my orders and continue to fight Toxites.”

“Rebel!” Ninfa shouted, pointing a finger at Walter.

“Heretic!” Holga shrieked.

Belzora remained calm. “Is this true, warlock?”

“Yes,” Walter said. “The Rebel Underground works to uphold education. We thought it was the desire of the Founding Witches.”

“Now you see you are mistaken,” Belzora said. “We mean to cleanse the world. To start civilization anew with our chosen students at the Academy.” She reached out her thin hand. “Give me the bronze nails.”

Walter drew his clenched fist over his heart. “You will not have them.”

“Do you really think you can resist us?” asked Belzora. “Give me the nails!”

Walter stepped behind Spencer’s cage. With his free hand, he reached through the bars and twisted the rake handle. The metal prongs snapped away and the rake fell to the hallway floor.

Finally free, Spencer instantly reached for the weapons on his janitorial belt. But Walter, standing close behind, rested a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. He lowered his head and spoke quietly in Spencer’s ear. “You’re a good boy, Spencer Zumbro. I’m proud of you.” He patted Spencer softly on the back.

“Give me the nails!” Belzora was screaming, ratty black hair shaking in her fury.

Walter Jamison stepped away from Spencer, hand clenched impossibly tight. “I will not give in to your demands.” Spencer saw the Rebel warlock swallow, his Adam’s apple sliding nervously along his throat. “There is so much good in this world,” he said. “And I will never stop fighting for that.”

“So be it,” Belzora said. “You have made new enemies today.”

Her hand shot out with alarming speed, catching Walter by the wrist. Spencer heard his elbow crack, and Walter cried out in pain. Belzora pulled him, twisting his arm until his clenched fist was just above the gurgling Glop source.

Through the pain and intensity, Walter’s eyes found Spencer. The old warlock opened his mouth and whispered one word.

“Run.”

Then Belzora forced Walter’s hand open. The Witch’s mouth twisted in a cry of dismay at what she found.

The bronze nails were not there! Walter’s hand was empty!

The Founding Witches screamed in unison, their shriek an awful harpy sound.

“Kill!” Belzora yelled. “Kill him!”

Mr. Clean stepped forward, his deadly rag already twisted into a tight rope. Spencer opened his mouth to scream, but his lungs seemed unable to draw air.

Clean’s rag snapped through the air, rippling with magic as it struck Walter in the chest with a terrible
crack!
Then he was gone without a trace. That goodly old man, Spencer’s friend and mentor, reduced instantly to a wisp of nothingness.

Walter Jamison was dead.

Chapter 56

“Retreat!”

Spencer’s mind was numb. It was as though all his senses had turned off. He stared blindly at the spot where Walter had stood.

This couldn’t be real. Not Walter.

Then Belzora turned her wrinkled face toward him, and Walter’s final word echoed in Spencer’s mind.

“Run.”

Spencer leapt forward, extending his razorblade and slashing through the nearest Sweeper. The Filth man fell, his Glopified half melting away and leaving him unconscious. Several others tried to lay their hands on him, but the latex glove worked its magic, helping him slide easily through their grasp.

Spencer’s feet thundered through the hallway. His senses seemed heightened now, and he was painfully aware of the pursuing Sweepers right behind. He’d never be able to outrun them. They would capture him, and Walter’s death would be for nothing.

Tears streamed down Spencer’s cheeks, and his heart raced as he fought the urge to throw up. He stumbled and went down, striking his knee on the hard floor.

He lay there, waiting for death. Waiting for the evil Witches to overtake him.

A Rubbish Sweeper dove from above. But before her talon hands could rend him, Marv leapt around the corner, delivering a powerful blow with a pushbroom.

The big janitor seized Spencer with one hand and pulled him around the corner. Penny, Dez, and Bookworm rushed past them, meeting the incoming Sweepers head-on. Dez opened his mouth, using a stored-up belch to fill the hallway with black dust.

“What happened?” Daisy asked.

Spencer was shaking. He couldn’t speak.

“Where’s the boss?” Marv asked. “Where’s Walter?”

“He’s . . .” Spencer squinted his eyes shut. “Dead.” The last word was barely audible. Daisy gasped, her big eyes instantly filling with tears. Spencer took a sobbing gasp of air and tried to explain the horror of their situation. “The Witches . . . they killed him.”

Spencer sensed the fear unravel in his companions. Spencer opened his eyes again. Closing them only made him relive Walter’s final moment. Belzora had opened the warlock’s hand, but the bronze nails weren’t there.

Then Spencer remembered something—a soft pat on the back as Walter had whispered in his ear.

Spencer reached around, putting his hand into the spillproof pouch on the back of his janitorial belt. Even with his latex glove on, Spencer could clearly feel the three sharp bronze nails that Walter had slipped into his pouch.

Spencer held the nails out for the others to see. “We can’t let the Witches get these,” he said. “Walter died for that.”

Marv was slumped against the wall, the strength seeming to have leaked out of him. His eyes were full of tears, but he blinked them away, jaw tightening in rage.

“Marv,” Alan tried to say, but the janitor leapt to his feet, a terrible force to be reckoned with. Drawing a razorblade and a dustpan shield, he let out a roar of grief and jumped around the corner, fighting with the strength of ten men.

“We have to go,” Spencer said, rising on shaky legs. “We have to get away from them.”

Alan nodded, pulling Daisy and Spencer into a tight hug. “Bernard is on his way,” said Alan. “He went to get the truck.”

Just then, Big Bertha’s headlights glinted through the glass doors at the end of the hallway.

“Retreat!” Alan yelled, pulling the kids toward the exit. Spencer went without hesitation, the bronze nails now clenched firmly in his own fist.

Still unaware of Walter’s death, Dez, Penny, and the Thingamajunk fell into a quick retreat. But Marv refused to fall back, determined to avenge his old boss.

“Bookworm,” Daisy said, when she saw what was happening. “Go get Marv!”

The Thingamajunk bounded back into the fray, seizing the hefty janitor with one trash arm and dragging him down the hallway.

Bernard flung open the school doors, and the Rebels began piling into the cab of the garbage truck. The trashcannons were armed and ready, and as soon as the Rebels were clear, Bernard slammed his fist on the red button, firing a high-speed slug of garbage at the Sweepers in the hallway.

Big Bertha peeled away from Welcher Elementary School, leaving behind the source of all Glop and the Founding Witches who were supposed to be their allies.

Everything had gone wrong. Walter was dead. The Witches were bad.

Spencer took a deep breath and forced the tears to stop. He stared at the three little bronze nails in his gloved palm.

An old memory came back to Spencer. At the very beginning of all this, Walter Jamison had told Spencer that he feared a war was brewing. It seemed the warlock was right. The war was upon them now. And Spencer was determined to win.

He closed his fist around the nails. He would win it for Walter.

Acknowledgments

Thank you, reader, for sticking with this series. I wouldn’t be anywhere without you. It’s been a pleasure meeting you at schools and book signings. I hope you enjoyed
Strike of the Sweepers.

I was a Sweeper once. No, seriously! Many of my ideas for this series came while I worked as a part-time custodian at a local middle school. Since I worked only a few hours each evening, I never earned the official title of janitor. The nightly crew was called something else: We were Sweepers.