Akiko in the Castle of Alia Rellapor Page 3

  “Really now, Spuckler,”

  Mr. Beeba whispered angrily. “I insist that you tell us what you’re up to.”

  “Got it!” Spuckler announced, proudly holding a small metallic box in one hand. He leaped from the top of the Torg to the floor in a single bound and trotted quickly over to the square door.

  I glanced at Poog. He had a slightly troubled look on his face.

  “Um, Spuckler,” I whispered, “what is that thing?”

  “Well, ’Kiko, that all depends on whatcher usin’ it for,” he answered as he attached the little box to a spot on the door just below the keyhole. “Today it’s whatcha might call an automatic door opener—”

  “Spuckler!” Mr. Beeba interrupted. “I don’t like the sound of this one little bit! I demand—I say, I demand you tell us what you’re planning to do!”

  Spuckler pulled a little pin out of the box and stood up.

  “Stan’ back, everybody,” he said, leading us all away from the door to a spot just behind the Torg. “We only got about ten seconds. Or was it five?”

  We all watched the door. Mr. Beeba, perhaps already knowing what was about to happen, turned away and clamped his hands firmly over the sides of his head.

  Chik-chik-chik . . .

  KA-BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

  There was a tremendous flash of light. A whizzing, whistling noise filled the air as something—probably the doorknob—shot by us and ricocheted down the hall. Within seconds the entire room was choked with great clouds of black smoke. My ears were still ringing with the sound of the explosion when I realized I could also hear the Vungers. And they weren’t snoring, either.

  Chapter 8

  “You idiot!” Mr. Beeba cried.

  “Got the door open, didn’ I?” Spuckler replied, admiring his own handiwork.

  Sure enough, there was now practically nothing left of the door but a few scraps of wood near the bottom left side. It would be no trouble for all of us to just walk right in . . .

  . . . except for the Vungers.

  They were growling and snapping and lunging at us with all their might, their long lizardy tails whipping this way and that, bits of saliva flying from their mouths every time they moved.

  “You idiot!” Mr. Beeba repeated. “We’ll never get in there now!”

  “Sure we will,” Spuckler replied nonchalantly. “We’ll jus’ have to run real fast.”

  “R-r-run?” Mr. Beeba asked through clenched teeth, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “We couldn’t get past those beasts if we ran a hundred miles per hour!”

  “We could, uh, get back inside the Torg . . . ,” Spuckler muttered, staring doubtfully at the enormous robot, “. . . and, um, try an’ squeeze through. . . .”

  I looked at the Torg and compared its size to that of the doorway. Any fool could see we’d never get such a large robot through such a small space. I looked at Poog, hoping he might have an idea. He stared blankly back, as if the matter were entirely up to me. Meanwhile the Vungers began howling and yelping like starving wolves. We had to act fast; sooner or later someone was bound to hear them and come to check things out.

  Suddenly it hit me.

  “Gax,” I called.

  “YES, MA’AM?” he replied, poking his squarish little head out of the Torg’s storage compartment to look at me.

  “Did you hear that little robot’s whistle?” I asked. “The one that made the Vungers go to sleep?”

  Spuckler looked at me with his big round eyes, a smile of understanding forming on his lips.

  “I COULD HARDLY HAVE FAILED TO HEAR IT, MA’AM,” Gax answered. “IT WAS EXCESSIVELY LOUD. A VERY HIGH G-SHARP, I BELIEVE.”

  By this time everyone was looking at Gax, Poog included.

  “Can you imitate that sound?” I asked.

  “I . . . ,” said Gax uncertainly, seeming to grow nervous with so many eyes fixed upon him. “I COULD CERTAINLY TRY, MA’AM.”

  “Well, go on, buddy,” Spuckler cried. “We ain’t got all day!”

  Gax stuck his neck out of the storage compartment as far as he could. There was a low grinding sound, almost as if he were clearing his mechanical throat.

  BLEEEEET!

  We all stared hopefully at the Vungers, who continued yelping and clawing at the floor with wild abandon, looking, if anything, even more ferocious than before.

  “PERHAPS I WAS A BIT FLAT,” said Gax apologetically.

  We all held our tongues as Gax prepared for another try. Mr. Beeba, in particular, looked as though he was about to faint with anxiety.

  Gax raised his head as far as his scrawny little neck could reach and made another low grinding sound, this time quivering a bit and rocking ever so slightly from side to side.

  TWEEEET!

  Suddenly one of the Vungers leaped forward so violently it actually snapped its chain and hurled itself across the room. It tumbled comically across the floor before getting to its feet and confronting all of us from a mere three or four feet away, its enormous body neatly blocking the hallway. It was now cutting off our only means of escape.

  Mr. Beeba’s teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, and even Spuckler looked a little unsure of what to do next. I backed up until I was flat against the wall behind me. There was nowhere left to run.

  TWEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

  The Vungers each gave one last yelp before collapsing to the floor. Within seconds they were sound asleep, one still chained to the side of the door, the other just inches from Spuckler’s feet.

  “All right!” I cried, reflexively undoing the buttons of my thick warm coat. I was sweating all over.

  “Good goin’, Gax!” Spuckler cheered. “Try t’ remember that sound, now. Ya never know when it’s gonna come in handy.”

  “Very finely executed, my rusty-headed friend,” said Mr. Beeba. “I never doubted you for an instant.” (If you ask me, he’d never stopped doubting anyone in his entire life.)

  “Who is that out there?” came a small voice from the other side of the doorway.

  Spuckler and Mr. Beeba shot each other a knowing glance. Poog stared intently at me, the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

  “That’s him!” said Mr. Beeba. “Prince Froptoppit!”

  Chapter 9

  One by one we tiptoed through the charred remains of the doorway. The room was small and slightly damp, with just one weakly flickering torch on the wall. I saw a simple bed, a wooden table and chair, and a large chest of drawers. And there, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, was Prince Froptoppit.

  He looked about eight years old. He was covered from head to toe in a clean white suit of clothes, with silvery bands on his arms, a large round cap on his head, and a short white cape hanging from his shoulders to the middle of his back. He had big brown eyes, pale pink cheeks, and longish black hair that was neatly cropped just above his shoulders. He was kind of cute, actually, in his own way. But he looked slightly dazed.

  “Mr. Beeba?” he asked, an excited smile spreading across his face. “Poog?”

  “Relax, dear boy!” Mr. Beeba said, rushing to his side. “Don’t get up just yet. I can see you’ve been through no end of trauma these last few weeks.”

  “Man oh man,” Spuckler said, dropping down on one knee. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Prince Froptoppit. You got no idea what we been through t’ get here.”

  The Prince turned his attention to me.

  “Wh-who are you?”

  “This is Akiko, Your Highness,” Mr. Beeba explained, raising an opened hand in my direction. “She’s from the planet Earth.”

  “A Keego?” said Prince Froptoppit, trying his best to pronounce my name.

  “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Prince Froptoppit,” I said, hardly believing that I’d finally come face to face with him after all this time. He was smaller and less princely-looking than I’d pictured him, but believe me, I’ve never been so happy to meet someone in my entire life.

  “D-do you want some cookie
s?” he asked, turning to look at the empty tray beside him. “Uh-oh,” he added, looking a little embarrassed. “I already ate them all.”

  “Well, at least they’ve been feeding you,” Mr. Beeba said, picking up the empty glass from the tray and sniffing it suspiciously. “Hopefully more than just cookies!”

  “Yes, Mr. Beeba,” Prince Froptoppit replied. “I get all the food I need. I’m awfully lonely, though. I miss my father.”

  “And he misses you, Prince Froptoppit, more than words can say!” Mr. Beeba said, helping the Prince to his feet. “Come on. We’re getting you out of here. Right now.”

  With that Spuckler swept the Prince into his arms and carried him out of the room. The rest of us followed, walking gingerly past the sleeping Vungers, which—thank goodness—snored loudly and steadily the whole time.

  My head was crawling with questions. I swallowed hard and determined to save them until we’d gotten out of the castle. There would be plenty of time for sorting things out once we’d escaped.

  “This is almos’ too easy,” Spuckler said as he carried the Prince to the top of the Torg. “Now if we can jus’ clear on outta here before anyone catches on . . .”

  After we had everyone settled in (it took a bit of rearranging to make space for the Prince), Spuckler lowered the hatch and ordered Gax to go back to the main hallway. Prince Froptoppit leaned his head against my shoulder. I think it had been a long, long time since he’d been surrounded by friends. Gax made the Torg move forward as we carefully retraced our steps out of the castle.

  Spuckler was right. It was almost too easy.

  A moment later we were back in the big hallway, making our way toward the main entrance. My heart was pounding. Another twenty yards or so and we’d be free. I had a very vivid picture in my mind of King Froptoppit shaking my hand after we’d returned to the palace.

  “You see, Akiko?” I imagined him saying with a big toothy smile. “I told you you were the perfect person for this job!”

  Ten more yards to the gate. I thought there would be another robot camera thing asking us questions before we left, but it was actually much simpler to leave the castle than to get in. By merely approaching the door we somehow triggered it to open, just like an automatic door at the supermarket. We all peered out excitedly as the enormous gate began to rise, piercing the air with a rusty screeching. I had to squint as my eyes readjusted to the bright light of the outdoors. Gax made the Torg take the last few steps out into the snow, then suddenly stopped.

  “I knew it,” said Spuckler.

  My heart sank as I looked out the half-open hatch. It was Throck. He was standing there waiting for us.

  Chapter 10

  HHSSSSSSSSHHH!

  He stood with his arms folded, his powerful legs ankle-deep in the snow, his black-and-gray armor every so often sending a great cloud of steam up into the pale sunlight. Behind him were more than a dozen Torgs, spread out like a battalion of tanks.

  They were armed with all sorts of guns and missiles and stuff, and every last piece of their weaponry was aimed directly at us.

  HHSSSSSSSSHHH!

  Another cloud of exhaust rose from behind Throck’s head as he savored his moment of victory. His short-cropped hair was nearly as white as the mountain peaks above him. His scar-ravaged face was scrunched up in an expression of disdain.

  “Leaving so soon?” he sneered. “Rather impolite of you, don’t you think?”

  Spuckler opened the hatch and rose to his feet. Mr. Beeba gasped hoarsely and crouched farther down on the floor of the compartment.

  “Out of our way, Throck,” Spuckler shouted without the slightest trace of fear. “We got the Prince, and we’re takin’ him back home where he belongs!”

  HHSSSSSSSSHHH!

  Throck squinted and clenched his teeth.

  “You’re going nowhere!” he growled.

  Raising one hand in the air, Throck ordered the group of Torgs to open fire on us.

  With lightning-fast reflexes, Spuckler pulled the hatch firmly shut. A split second later our Torg began rocking from side to side under a barrage of laser fire. With the hatch closed the compartment was pitch-black. The noise of laser blasts grew louder and louder, and our Torg shook violently under the strain. We were thrown first in one direction, then another, before finally whirling around and slamming to the ground.

  Throck barked an order and the shooting stopped.

  I lay there in the darkness almost unable to breathe. The compartment filled with oily-smelling fumes. I could feel the Prince’s face pushed up against me on one side. Mr. Beeba’s oversized feet jabbed into my ribs on the other.

  T- T- K’CHAK!

  Throck pried the hatch open and we all tumbled out into the snow. Encircled by Torgs, their weapons still smoking from the attack, we huddled together on our knees in the hazy midday light. The Prince, now wide awake, quivered and curled up next to me like a small frightened animal. Only Poog seemed unconcerned by this latest turn of events. He floated proudly above us, staring at Throck with an expression of unshakable determination.

  HHSSSSSSSSHHH!

  “I’ve got to hand it to you people,” Throck muttered, carefully directing his gaze away from Poog. “Your persistence knows no bounds.”

  He began slowly walking around us with his hands tucked behind him, circling again and again like a prowling tiger.

  “You scaled the Great Wall of Trudd. . . . You marched for hours through slush and snow. . . . You even had the audacity to enter this castle uninvited,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ll do anything to rescue this dear little boy, won’t you?”

  “That’s right! We will!” I heard myself say, startled to realize that I was now standing up and pointing my finger right in Throck’s face. “And that includes putting you behind bars!”

  Mr. Beeba and Spuckler looked at me with popped-out eyes and wide-open mouths. I think I’d succeeded in shocking everyone else as much as I’d shocked myself. My heart was beating at incredible speed, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face. There was a weird tingly feeling all over my body, as if I were surrounded by a warm cloak of electricity.

  Throck stopped and turned to face me, looking half amused, half genuinely surprised.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, little girl,” he said after a long silence. “I’m impressed. It’s a shame old Froptoppit got hold of you before I did—”

  “If you know what’s good for you,” I interrupted, still pointing my finger directly at Throck’s eyes, “you’ll let us go.”

  Throck stared at me so intently that it almost seemed as if he would let us go. He had a very distant look in his eyes, which gradually turned into an almost kindly look. I could nearly imagine that he was quietly smiling behind that black breathing mask of his.

  “Children,” he whispered, seeming to stare at me and through me at the same time. “They have such a simple way of looking at things.”

  He paused, the kindly look in his eyes slowly twisting itself into a menacing scowl.

  “Isn’t it a shame they all have to grow up and see how messy life really is?”

  “You heard the girl, Throck,” Spuckler said, rising to stand right beside me. “Call off your little goon squad here, and then maybe we’ll decide to let you go.”

  “You,” said Throck, his beady little eyes flying open wide, “will let me go?” He tossed his head back and let out a loud cackling laugh that echoed repeatedly off the surrounding mountain walls. Gax rattled uncontrollably, Mr. Beeba moaned, and the Prince scooted as close to me as he possibly could.

  “Perhaps I need to clarify the situation for you,” Throck said, glaring at Spuckler with renewed fury, the volume of his voice growing with every word. “The only reason you are still alive at this moment is because I have allowed it to be so! I could do away with the lot of you right now if I wanted to, and no one would even—”

  Suddenly Throck stopped himself and stepped back, as if he were afraid he’d crossed so
me invisible line. He took one or two more steps back and stood motionless in the snow, a strangely tense expression on his face.

  It was Poog.

  Poog had risen, moved past Spuckler’s shoulder, and was now floating forward, slowly and steadily moving in a straight line toward Throck’s face. He came to a stop just a few inches away from the bridge of Throck’s nose. From where I was sitting I couldn’t see Poog’s face. I can only imagine his expression at that moment.

  Throck was terrified. I could see it in his eyes. His forehead was creased with a maze of deep wrinkles. A single drop of sweat rolled down one side of his face and fell noiselessly into the snow. I’ll bet he’d never been so scared before in his entire life. Still, he seemed determined not to back down.

  Poog said something to Throck in a strange language I’d never heard him use before. It was very different from his usual high-pitched warble. This was a deep, throaty sound that rose and fell between two precise notes, like the chanting of monks in some spooky alien monastery.

  There was a long pause. Throck appeared to be considering what Poog had said to him. Then he answered, replying in the very same language, but with many more pauses and muttering sounds, as if he were far less sure of what he wanted to say than Poog was.

  “Beebs,” I heard Spuckler whisper, “you catchin’ any of this?”

  “Not a word,” Mr. Beeba answered. “It’s a language I’ve never encountered before. But it seems to me that they’re”—he paused, searching for the right word—“negotiating.”

  Every once in a while Throck would raise his voice, slicing his hands through the air in frustration. Poog kept calm, answering Throck’s outbursts with brief, measured sentences, never even pausing to collect his thoughts. After ten or fifteen minutes of going back and forth like this, they finally seemed to come to some sort of agreement. Poog turned and floated back to join us, his face expressionless, businesslike. Throck cleared his throat to speak.