implosion, but right now there are too many other things to worry about. “It’s cool,” I say. “Honestly.”
“Humans,” she says. Then she adds, “ Boys ,” and then she calls for a guard.
38
A FISH CREATURE COMES TO THE DOOR, mottled and smelly. I can’t tell if he’s the same one who threw us in the cell, but for some reason I picture him playing baseball—getting ready in the batter’s box—and it makes me smile. I’m not handcuffed. God, life is good when you’re not handcuffed.
The batracian hisses at us, “Whatthyou want?”
“I’m sick,” Ada says. “I need to see a nurse.”
“Whathh sickkk on you?”
“It’s private. You wouldn’t understand.”
The fish creature grumbles and unlocks the door. Ada grabs my wrist; as soon as the door is fully open, she squeezes. I guess she forgot that Officer Tendrile scraped me up with his tentacle in that exact spot; I yelp as I jump and run behind her for the door.
The batracian snarls at our unshackled legs and reaches for his spear, but Ada whirls her decuffed handcuffs and thwacks him in the eye. He shrieks. He grabs at her, but he’s too slow. I run out the door after her—right into the passageway between the cells, which is full of batracian guards.
“What do we do?”
Six of the guards point spears and hiss. From the cells on either side, excited prisoners scramble to watch. Ada holds up the cuffs she whacked the guard with and jangles them. They’re dull black metal, and the light from the overhanging lanterns is dim orange, but the guards are as fascinated as if they’re seeing diamonds. They blink their purple eyes. They try to focus on us, but they can’t stop looking at the twitching cuffs. Ada sways them back and forth.
“What are you doing?”
“Distracting them with shiny objects!”
“That works?”
“Of course it works! Haven’t you ever gone fishing?”
“It’s still the first day of camp; I haven’t had a chance! ”
I think part of the magic lies in Ada’s hands, which are so finely put together, with subtle curves ending in glittering fingertips. I’m momentarily distracted too. Then I notice one guard, directly in front of me, aiming his spear harmlessly toward the ground. You have Speed 7 , I remind myself. You shouldn’t do anything drastic. But really, if any moment calls for something drastic, this does.
I grab the spear. The guard falls forward and smacks the ground. The prisoners cheer.
“Good job, little human!”
“Now stab him! Stab him!”
I examine my new weapon. It’s several feet longer than me. I’ve never stabbed anyone in real life; I’m not particularly good at stabbing people in video games; once I cut myself on a plasticbutter knife while eating fish sticks … but I have stabbed people in C&C with Sam. I lunge forward and plunge the spear into the batracian’s shoulder. It goes in with surprising ease—like stabbing nothing. The creature howls. Ada leaps over him and runs back toward the market.
“Wait for me!” I leave the spear in his body and follow. The guards snap out of their trance and hurl their weapons at us. One of them grazes my side, tearing a whispered rip above my pelvic bone, but the princess figure stays safe, and by then, honestly, I think you could have clonked me with a microwave and I’d still be moving.
Ada and I run toward the giant doors. I steal a glance behind me: two of the guards are tending to their injured comrade; the other three are in pursuit.
“Can we— huff— open the doors?” I manage.
“We’ve got to! We need to get you back to the thakerak chamber!”
But that isn’t going to be easy. Two octopus-men—celates—are guarding the doors. They drink coffee on stools. One is Officer Tendrile. He stands and says, “Look at this! Mr. John Johnson Perry Eckert, come back to play.” The other officer steps up behind him, but Officer Tendrile shakes him off and pulls his long sword: sssssing! “Do you believe in God, Mr.
“Humans,” she says. Then she adds, “ Boys ,” and then she calls for a guard.
38
A FISH CREATURE COMES TO THE DOOR, mottled and smelly. I can’t tell if he’s the same one who threw us in the cell, but for some reason I picture him playing baseball—getting ready in the batter’s box—and it makes me smile. I’m not handcuffed. God, life is good when you’re not handcuffed.
The batracian hisses at us, “Whatthyou want?”
“I’m sick,” Ada says. “I need to see a nurse.”
“Whathh sickkk on you?”
“It’s private. You wouldn’t understand.”
The fish creature grumbles and unlocks the door. Ada grabs my wrist; as soon as the door is fully open, she squeezes. I guess she forgot that Officer Tendrile scraped me up with his tentacle in that exact spot; I yelp as I jump and run behind her for the door.
The batracian snarls at our unshackled legs and reaches for his spear, but Ada whirls her decuffed handcuffs and thwacks him in the eye. He shrieks. He grabs at her, but he’s too slow. I run out the door after her—right into the passageway between the cells, which is full of batracian guards.
“What do we do?”
Six of the guards point spears and hiss. From the cells on either side, excited prisoners scramble to watch. Ada holds up the cuffs she whacked the guard with and jangles them. They’re dull black metal, and the light from the overhanging lanterns is dim orange, but the guards are as fascinated as if they’re seeing diamonds. They blink their purple eyes. They try to focus on us, but they can’t stop looking at the twitching cuffs. Ada sways them back and forth.
“What are you doing?”
“Distracting them with shiny objects!”
“That works?”
“Of course it works! Haven’t you ever gone fishing?”
“It’s still the first day of camp; I haven’t had a chance! ”
I think part of the magic lies in Ada’s hands, which are so finely put together, with subtle curves ending in glittering fingertips. I’m momentarily distracted too. Then I notice one guard, directly in front of me, aiming his spear harmlessly toward the ground. You have Speed 7 , I remind myself. You shouldn’t do anything drastic. But really, if any moment calls for something drastic, this does.
I grab the spear. The guard falls forward and smacks the ground. The prisoners cheer.
“Good job, little human!”
“Now stab him! Stab him!”
I examine my new weapon. It’s several feet longer than me. I’ve never stabbed anyone in real life; I’m not particularly good at stabbing people in video games; once I cut myself on a plasticbutter knife while eating fish sticks … but I have stabbed people in C&C with Sam. I lunge forward and plunge the spear into the batracian’s shoulder. It goes in with surprising ease—like stabbing nothing. The creature howls. Ada leaps over him and runs back toward the market.
“Wait for me!” I leave the spear in his body and follow. The guards snap out of their trance and hurl their weapons at us. One of them grazes my side, tearing a whispered rip above my pelvic bone, but the princess figure stays safe, and by then, honestly, I think you could have clonked me with a microwave and I’d still be moving.
Ada and I run toward the giant doors. I steal a glance behind me: two of the guards are tending to their injured comrade; the other three are in pursuit.
“Can we— huff— open the doors?” I manage.
“We’ve got to! We need to get you back to the thakerak chamber!”
But that isn’t going to be easy. Two octopus-men—celates—are guarding the doors. They drink coffee on stools. One is Officer Tendrile. He stands and says, “Look at this! Mr. John Johnson Perry Eckert, come back to play.” The other officer steps up behind him, but Officer Tendrile shakes him off and pulls his long sword: sssssing! “Do you believe in God, Mr.
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