The Curse of the King (20 page)

Aly looked at me in disbelief. “How? Stop the floods with a proclamation?”

“They could think ahead,” I said. “You know, evacuate people from the coasts. Look, we're already changing the climate by burning fossil fuels, right? And people are bombing and killing each other. There's genocide everywhere. It's not like the world is on a path to such a great future. Don't you think we
need
Atlantis?”

“I don't believe I'm hearing this,” Aly said. “From Marco, yes.
He
thinks he's going to be king. But not from a reasonable, intelligent person like you. I say we kill this ridiculous discussion and stick to our plan. We contact the rebels, find out where the shards are hidden, get the other Loculi back, and kick some butt and figure out how to get off the island. That's going to be hard enough. Now, let's go
to eat in the cafeteria, which probably
will
be bugged. Cass, if they drag you and me away to meet with Number One, we have to stay strong.”

Cass giggled. “
Number One
? That's seriously her name?”

As she and Cass marched out the door, my head felt like it was whirling off my neck.

I
WAS GOING
crazy.

I couldn't concentrate.

I thought about Aly's lecture on the great value of sleep. As she and Cass went off to the Comestibule—sorry, cafeteria—I tried to doze off. It didn't work. Being alone scared me.

So I got out of bed and trudged down to the cafeteria myself.

I found Cass downing powdered scrambled eggs as if they were about to go extinct. Old Mustafa the pilot was sitting at a table full of men, all laughing at some joke. Mrs. Petaloude sat a table all by herself with a plate full of bugs. Well, at least that was what it looked like. Aly was chatting
up this skinny old scarecrow of a guy with a stiff gray beard that looked like it could scour pots.

“Jack!” she called out, waving me over. “Meet Professor Grolsch, the Most Interesting Man on the Island. He has like thirteen PhDs—”

“Phineas Grolsch,” the old guy said, extending a bony hand, “and only two PhDs, plus an MA, MD, LLD, and MBA—Oxford, Cambridge, Yale.”

“Um, Jack McKinley, Mortimer P. Reese Middle School,” I squeaked.

“Cass Williams, starving,” Cass said, bolting up from the table. “I'm getting seconds.”

“We were discussing meteorological hypotheticals,” Professor Grolsch said.

“Who?” I said.

Aly gave me a meaningful look. “You know, what would happen to the world if, say, I don't know, a
whole continent
was raised from the deep—”

“Gro-o-olsch!”
Brother Dimitrios's voice snapped.

I spun around. Against the wall, at a long table, sat Dimitrios, Yiorgos, and the guy they called Cyclops, along with a bunch of sour-faced people in black robes. If eyes could kill, Professor Grolsch would be in the ground.

Grolsch's pale skin turned ashen. “Lovely to meet you,” he said quickly and scooted back to his seat. “My oatmeal is getting cold.”

Aly leaned close to me. “You see their reaction? They could tell what we were talking about. Grolsch was stalling. They
know
. About the destruction they're going to cause. But they don't care. What's a few million lives if they can rule the world?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brother Cyclops lumbering toward us. He nearly collided with Cass, who was carrying a plate of muffins, bacon, and doughnuts. “Sorry, you can't have any,” Cass said, placing his tray at our table.

“Neither can you,” Brother Cyclops said. “You have to meet someone.”

“Wait—I—hey—!” Cass yelled as Cyclops pulled him toward the entrance.

Aly and I followed. At the front door, about ten Massa were gathered, busily chattering with someone in their midst. “Clear, please,” Cyclops growled.

The crowd stepped aside, and Number One stepped through. She was dressed in layers of gossamer blue fabric embroidered with gold. As she lifted her hand, tiny jewels caught the morning sunlight. Neither Aly nor Cass shook the outstretched hand, so I did. “Guys, this is Number One.”

Aly stared her square in the eye. “Do you have a real name?”

Number One threw back her head with a laugh. “I am so glad you asked. Yes, dear girl, my given name is Aliyah.
Come. We have much to talk about.”

As the Massa turned back into the cafeteria, Number One turned the other way.

“
Number One
to you,” Cyclops grumbled.

“And to you, too,” Cass said.

Number One led us across the campus. Left and right, people stared in awe. I had the feeling she didn't appear in public very much. As she pointed out this and that new construction project, her voice was clipped and hurried. “As opposed to the Colonial-era foolishness of the Karai, we will have a facility light-years ahead of the technological curve,” she said. “As Jack has seen, our security is quite comprehensive—and, trust me, he has not yet seen everything.”

She gave me a sharp look and suddenly I was worried about our conversation outside the dorm. Had she heard us?

Easy. She's trying to rattle you
.

We were headed toward the long brick building that was once the Karai Command Center. From behind it, I could see a cloud of dust. High-pitched voices rang out, yelling and laughing. But not Massa goon voices.

They were little-kid voices.

“What the—?” Aly said. “Your people bring their
kids
here?”

“Oh, great,” Cass whispered, “we're going to be the Babysitters Club for the Massa nursery.”

As Number One reached the back wall of the building, she turned. “I thought you'd like to see how we are preparing for a glorious future.”

Behind the building, completely hidden from the campus, was a field of sparse grass that stretched at least fifty yards to an old barn. Fifteen or so kids were playing on it, arranged into groups with color-coded shirts. The oldest were about ten years old, the youngest around seven. Some were practicing jumps and headstands. A fire-hydrant-sized girl sprang past us doing backflips. Another girl was commanding a robot made from a dead stuffed monkey, making it walk in circles. Two others were racing up a huge tree, scaling it at impossible speed with only their hands.

“These aren't kids, they're freaks,” Aly muttered under her breath.

Number One's eyes scanned the field. “Their teacher is supposed to be with them. . . .”

But I was looking toward a sudden commotion at the side of the field. There, three kids were reaching through a hole in a six-foot-high chain-link fence, taunting a pig using sticks and a cape, like matadors.

I stepped closer, and I realized it wasn't a pig.

“Is that . . . a
vromaski
?” I asked.

Number One's face stiffened. “They disabled the electrical protection. Children . . . children!
Where is your trainer?
”

She and I ran toward them, but the kids ignored her. As
one of them poked the vromaski, the bristles along its back stood on end. It swung around fiercely, spraying drool, its rubbery nose slapping against its own cheek. It eyed the attacker, a girl with dark skin and wild curly hair. She stuck out her tongue and did a mocking little dance. “Heeeere, piggy, piggy, piggy!” she called out.

“That kid is crazy,” Cass said. “She's going to be killed!”

The vromaski coiled its hind legs and leaped up on to the side of the fence, grappling up the chain links with all four legs. It hauled its thick body upward before perching at the top, eyeing the dancing little girl. Its jaw dropped open, revealing a row of knife-sharp teeth.

Licking its lips, the vromaski leaped at its prey.

“Watch out!”
I sprinted toward the girl, knocking her out of the beast's path.

Above me I heard a noise like a lion's roar crossed with a broken vacuum cleaner as the beast landed behind us. I scrambled to my feet. The vromaski turned and leaped again, its hairy ears swept back, a spray of drool flying from both sides of its mouth.

“No-o-o-o—”

Before I could move, its belly connected with my face.

I
FELL TO
the ground. I struggled to keep my nostrils open, but the stench of the beast closed them back up again.

Pushing against the mud-encrusted belly of the beast was like trying to lift a subway car. It planted its clawed feet on the ground to either side of me, roaring, as it raised one tightly sinewed leg like a hawk after its prey.

Jamming my knees into the beast's underside, I rolled to the right and dug my teeth into the vromaski's other leg. It jerked away, its claws ripping a small hank of hair from my head.

I tasted blood. My mouth was on fire. I thought my tongue would shrivel up in my mouth. The spot where my hair had been ripped out felt as if someone had sliced it with
a knife. The vromaski was jumping around now, letting out a sound between a squeal and a roar, pawing the ground wildly.

I sprang away from the slavering creature. It was surrounded now—kids with sharp sticks poking its sides, the curly-haired girl yanking on its neck with a lasso. Cass, Aly, and Number One ran over, grabbing the beast's collar, pulling it toward the pen.

“Trainer!”
Number One cried out angrily.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pair of thick-muscled legs heading from the direction of the barn. A body hurtled toward the vromaski, colliding against its flank. The beast fell over, flailing its legs.

“Vromaski-tipping, my favorite pastime,” a familiar voice said. “Wait till he farts. That's really fun.”

I scrambled to my feet and caught a glimpse of my rescuer. The mop of shoulder-length hair was unmistakable. Not to mention shoulders as thick as a side of beef. His skin was tanned and his hair looked a shade lighter than I remembered, almost blond. His T-shirt and shorts were emblazoned with the Massa insignia, and an arsenal of weapons and instruments hung from his black leather belt.

He looked amazingly powerful, but you would expect that of a Select whose main talent was sports.

Aly's jaw was shaking as if the muscles were loose.

“Mar-
co
! Mar-
co
! Mar-
co
! Mar-
co
!!” the kids screamed.

The little girl, with a few quick motions, hog-tied the beast's feet together. “Ta-da!” she cried out.

Marco turned. “Good work,” he said. “Okay, time to go home, Porky.”

Grabbing the rope, he threw the squealing beast back into the pen.

“I did not just see that,” Cass said.

Marco bounded toward us, a big smile on his face. “Heyyy, it's a Select reunion!”

I had never been so happy to see a traitor I hated so much. But what could I say to him?
Good to see you?
That wasn't true. So I settled for “Thanks, Marco.”

“You know how much I hate vromaskis, Brother Jack.” Marco held his arms wide. I think he expected us to rush toward him, but we didn't. Not even Aly.

Standing there a moment, he cast a nervous glance toward Number One. “So, you left your charges alone,” she said.

“Yo, sorry, Numero Uno,” he said. “I was teaching Gilbert to tie his shoes . . .”

“Ah, very important task indeed,” Number One said dryly, “but important enough to put the rest of the trainees' lives at risk?”

“
I
lassoed it!” the curly-haired girl cried out. “It was
me
! Marco came out afterward!”

A group of boys giggled and began chanting, “Eloise,
smelloise, brain is made from Jelloise.”

“I'll lasso you, too!”
Eloise screamed, stepping toward the boys, who ran off giggling.