The Octopus Effect (30 page)

That wasn't enough for my descriptive tastes; I'd say he was a full moon made flesh. Polished ivory crossbred with an albino rat fed a strict diet of white paint. Just to underline my point, I'll add some adverbs: the man was luminously, gleamingly, blindingly pale. His eyes, by the way, were chestnut brown.

There was a gleam in those brown eyes that made the man seem a bit off. Unstable, in an active volcano sort of way. That barely maintained sanity, coupled with the assorted lab devices around the room, led me to believe he really was a mad scientist.

That, and the white lab coat he wore. Always a dead giveaway.

The other man stayed by the doorway, cloaked in shadow. Usually not the sign of a warm and sunny personality. I could tell he was tall, thin, and not afraid of the dark.

The mad scientist—LaCurru—gestured to a cushioned table, like in a doctor's examination room. He used a sheet of tissue paper from a thick roll to cover it.

Sirabetta climbed up, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts. It took me a moment to realize what was strange about that sight. Then it hit me—I was seeing bare skin. Her tattoos were gone!

“Removing the old tattoos was simple for someone of my talent and knowledge,” LaCurru said. “My esteemed Keeper Lombaro couldn't have done it,” he muttered, “yet
my
special solvent made short work of them.” He frowned. “Putting new ones on will be challenging, even for
me
. It'll be a long night, Sir; brace yourself for more pain.”

“We've done this before,” Sirabetta said. “It's a pain I know well. Just make sure you do it right. Aleadra, be ready to do your part: make sure they adhere to my skin and attach to my nervous system properly. And make the changes we talked about.”

The ageless woman nodded. “I've done it before, too. Remember, we both have special gifts from him.” She gestured to the figure still standing in shadow. “But can your thirteen-year-old form handle the strain? With the changes you want, these are going to hurt a lot more than before. Especially when you use them.”

Sirabetta clenched her teeth. “Oh, I'll handle it. I have even more reason to bear the suffering than I did before. And remember,” Sirabetta said to LaCurru, “arrange them the way I said.”

“Maybe we don't have to do this. Are you sure our forces failed?” Aleadra asked.

“I've gotten word from Willoughby Wanderby,” the thin, tall man said from the shadows in a cold and emotionless voice. “The others were captured, but he escaped.”

“I knew before Wanderby called in,” Sirabetta said. She noted LaCurru's puzzled look. “An ability left over from my days in the Order of Psychology.”

“That sounds useful,” LaCurru said. “How does it work?”

“I can displace my consciousness,” Sirabetta answered. “Send part of my awareness somewhere else. It came in handy both times the Union wiped my memories, though I needed help bringing them back. It also lets me sense what's happening beyond where my physical form is. That's really hard to do, though, and it doesn't always work. But it was enough to let me watch part of the brats' battle with our forces.”

“You always were a marvel,” the hidden man said. Once again his voice was flat, but there might have been a hint of something . . . pride, perhaps? “But surely Bloom and his friends will guess you'd go to Chemistry? It's the rational next step.”

“Not everyone is as rigidly logical as you,” Sirabetta said. “And the captured Biology members didn't know the plan. Now, have you brought what I need?”

The thin man nodded and handed several sheets of paper to LaCurru. The mad scientist took them gingerly . . . even fearfully . . . though it wasn't clear if he was afraid of the papers or the man handing them over. Or both.

“Is that all you need from me?” the shadowy man asked.

LaCurru nodded. “Yes, thank you. I wouldn't have needed to bother you at all, but the old papers disintegrated after I tattooed her last time.”

“As it must be,” the other man responded emotionlessly. “These are only meant to be used as backups for the Books. There are many in my organization who wouldn't approve of our using these papers for this purpose. If they were even to discover I'd taken them, it would be a disaster. At least before we're ready.”

LaCurru nodded. “I was wondering about the other Board—”

“Never refer to them aloud,” the shadowy man said, his voice extra cold.

“Of course not!” LaCurru said quickly. “My apologies.”

“It is unwise to mention them—it might draw their attention.” While the man's voice had been emotionless before, it somehow became even more so, like something lifeless managing to die twice over. “It is bad enough that I had to return here. See to it that I never have to again.”

“Enough chatting, gentleman,” Sirabetta said, irritation plain in her voice. “I have some suffering to do . . . before I can share it with others.”

LaCurru gulped and held up one of the pages he'd gotten from the hidden man. “We'll start with this one,” he said. With his other hand he picked up what resembled a yellow, thick-handled pen with a sharp, yellow, glowing point. He touched the point of the pen onto the surface of the paper, and the tip became multicolored.

“Sir, please give me your palm,” LaCurru said.

Sirabetta closed her eyes, and Aleadra put her hands on her shoulders, ready to aid the process. The pen was about to touch Sirabetta's palm when she clenched it into a fist.

“Wait—I'm sensing something!” Sirabetta said. She opened her eyes. “It's Bloom's Narrator—he's watching us!”

“Are you certain?” the thin man asked from the shadows.

Sirabetta nodded. “I started to detach my awareness to help deal with the pain the tattooing would bring. I felt his presence; he's narrating all this.”

“I don't have a shielding device, has he seen me?” the shadowy man asked.

“I don't know,” Sirabetta said. “LaCurru designed this lab to be able to block out spies; it should at least limit the Historical Society. But you'd better go, to be safe.”

The man backed into the doorway and pulled out what looked like an ordinary clipboard. He tapped it a few times with a thin, black stick. “Very well. You have all the tools you need for your mission, Sirabetta. Do not fail again.” He tapped the clipboard again and disappeared in a flash of multicolored light.

“I don't trust him,” Aleadra said.

“You should've thought of that thirty-three years ago,” Sirabetta said.

“Nobody likes a smart aleck,” Aleadra said.

“I don't trust him either, but he's serving our purpose. When we're done, will it matter?” Sirabetta angled her head so she was looking right at me, and then she glared. “But first, our observer has gotten too much information as it is; I'll have him taken care of soon. For now, block him out, LaCurru, and then get back to work on my tattoos.”

LaCurru reached for a switch on the wall. “Yes, Sir,” he said. Then he flipped the switch, and I was left staring at the blank Viewing Screen.

Sirabetta had two more allies, and she was about to get her tattoos back! Plus she could sense me, and one of her allies had a way to block my narrating abilities!

I was shaking. From confusion? From worry? From fear? All of them, I realized. And, of course, the usual helplessness.

“Not this time,” I whispered to myself. I had an idea—a way that might save Simon and his friends. And, as so often was the case, salvation rested with pizza.

It was Friday morning; Simon and his friends were at Gilio's, chatting over the remains of breakfast.

Kender, no longer in his exoskeleton, looked sheepishly at his Keeper. “Sorry to say, Gilio, but there were plenty of rumors of dissent in the Order.”

“I've been a fool,” Gilio said with a shake of his head. “I've long suspected this but did nothing. Clearly I've isolated myself too much from my people.”

“Most of the traitors were new members,” Targa said. “Maybe because they hadn't fully established loyalties to you yet?”

“Makes sense,” Flangelo said. “New members usually only have one Biology ability and could be greedy for more.”

“Doesn't explain Preto, though,” Gilio grumbled. “He's been a member since before I was Keeper. I even taught him that silly half-man, half-manta form.”

“How did you infiltrate the traitors?” Flangelo asked Kender, Targa, and Cassaro.

“It was easy once we found out kids were in the dome,” Targa said.

“There are lots of toadstools in the grasslands they walked through,” Cassaro said. He noticed the kids' perplexed looks. “Oh, I'm able to sense things through fungi.”

“Right, so we knew you were here and exactly where you were,” Targa said.

“And none of the Order members has their kids living in the domain,” Kender added. He nodded to Simon, Alysha, and Owen. “Union rules: no parents can tell their children about their secret until they're of age and have passed certain Union tests.”

“That's a stupid rule,” Alysha said.

“Yeah,” Owen said. “Just because we're not allowed to drive or do fancy grown-up stuff doesn't mean kids can't do a lot of other things!”

“Indeed,” Gilio said. “A pity your talents don't include grammar or syntax.”

“So we still don't know who controlled the mammoths and oryx?” Simon asked.

“As I said before, nobody in my Order should be able to,” Gilio said.

“A lady sent different insects after us, and there was that gibbon guy,” Owen said.

“Demara's
communication
ability only lets her control insects,” Gilio said. “And Najolo can command gibbons because he can transform into an alpha of their species. A leader. It's the same with Flangelo; when you last fought Sirabetta, he was able to command sparrows in Dunkerhook Woods because he took the role as alpha of their flock. If he found a flock of emu, he'd be able to do the same.”

“Maybe it's this
her
that Kender heard the traitors talking about,” Simon said.

“Can't you make the prisoners tell you?” Alysha asked.

“You can't go around shoving a handful of electricity into everyone's face demanding information,” Gilio said. “Besides, a Board member took the traitors away last night, soon after I contacted them. Which is odd—the Board is usually slow, with maddening procedures and paperwork. I thought it would be days before they came.”

“The BOA will tell you if they find out anything, right?” Owen asked.

“One would hope,” Gilio said.

A tapping sound came from a window at the far end of the dining room. Gilio walked over and spoke quietly with the source: a large sunflower leaning over from the garden. A moment later, Gilio returned to the table.

“That's . . . interesting,” he said. “I have animals patrolling the beaches near the dome. They keep an eye out for nosy Outsiders or suspicious-acting Union members that haven't been invited.”

“Except Sirabetta,” Alysha said.

Gilio ignored her. “A seagull sent word through the chain of command: an item was left on the beach at the exact spot the
X
was left for you three.”

“What was it?” Simon asked.

“A pizza box, prepaid and delivered from a pizzeria in the nearest town.” He frowned. “That's going to raise suspicions; I'll move the dome by midday.”

“So someone left a pizza on the beach, big deal,” Alysha said.

“Ah, but this pizza had black olives carefully placed to spell out: ‘Simon, hurry: visit Narrator',” Gilio said. “Take note, Owen Walters—they even had anchovies for punctuation.”

Simon coughed on the juice he was drinking. “It's Greygor!” He ignored Gilio's puzzled expression and turned to the people at the table. “Anyone up for a trip to New Jersey?”