The secret zoo, p.6
The Secret Zoo, page 6
Surprised, Noah looked at the porcelain figurines and considered this. The clown was upside down, his white head planted between Noah’s knees.
Mr. Darby carefully gathered the pieces of velvet from the shelf. Then he walked over to Noah, took away his velvet, and neatly folded all the pieces before gently placing them in his pocket.
“A new magic,” Mr. Darby said. “And an emergency strategy.”
Noah had no idea what the old man was getting at.
“Think of the portals in the Clarksville Zoo,” Mr. Darby said. “What if we could make them open to a single spot—a secure spot within the Secret Zoo? What if we could contain DeGraff’s army, stop it from invading your world?”
Noah sat up so straight that one of the knickknacks, the woman playing the piano, fell to the carpet. “How?”
“How what, Noah?”
“The curtains at the Clarksville Zoo—they’re designed to open to different spots.”
“They just need to be redesigned,” Mr. Darby said. He tapped his pocket and added, “Like these.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes. But can we do it in time? That I don’t know.” Mr. Darby stroked his beard to a point and added, “The portal will need to lead to a big, open space. We have a place in mind: the courtyard in Koala Kastle.”
Noah considered everything. “So any animal on its way to the Clarksville Zoo would end up in Koala Kastle instead?”
“Correct.” The old man became quiet for a bit and then added, “There is one issue, though.”
Noah waited for Mr. Darby to continue. The seconds that passed seemed like eternity.
“We can’t reverse the magic,” Mr. Darby said at last.
“What…what do you mean?”
“Once we implement the Multipoint, we can’t change the portals back.”
“So you’re saying that every portal in the Clarksville Zoo will have a one-way ticket to Koala Kastle? Forever?”
“Correct. The portals will never function correctly again. They’ll be decommissioned. Our worlds will become separate.”
Noah slowly shook his head. The Secret Zoo, gone forever. Podgy, Blizzard, Little Bighorn—he would never see them again.
“I’m afraid the time has come for Operation Division,” Mr. Darby said. “An emergency plan for the segregation of the Secret Zoo from your world. It’s been known for years, and reserved for a moment such as this.” Mr. Darby frowned, and his shoulders slumped. He slowly shook his head, and it was clear to Noah that he hated the idea of the zoos dividing.
“But the animals…your mission. The Secret Society protects endangered—”
“The work of the Secret Society wouldn’t end,” Mr. Darby said. “Its individual groups would continue to protect endangered species, just in secret pockets around the world, like they once did.”
Noah didn’t understand at first, but then he remembered that some Crossers lived on the Outside. Policemen, teachers, politicians—all were part of the Secret Society, a band of humans committed to animal conservation. He opened his mouth to protest but words wouldn’t come. He thought of his animal friends again. Podgy, Blizzard, Marlo—gone forever.
“There has to be another way,” Noah said. He stood up and the two knickknacks still in his lap dropped to the carpet. “There must—”
“There isn’t,” Mr. Darby said. “And right now, we need to focus on keeping our worlds safe, and what is necessary to do that.”
Noah reluctantly nodded and tried not to think about saying good-bye to his animal friends for the last time.
Mr. Darby picked up the fallen knickknacks. As he returned them to the shelf, Noah glanced out the window toward the street and thought about everything. Just outside his door, a war was brewing.
“Mr. Darby?”
“Yes?”
“Are you scared?”
The old man smiled, but there was no joy in it. “I’ve been scared for a long time, young man.”
“About the Secret Zoo?”
“About…lots of things.”
Mr. Darby was acting strangely, just like he had the previous day in the Institute of Light. As Noah watched the leader of the Secret Society organize the knickknacks, he said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“The other day, on the staircase in the museum, you were holding something. A photograph.”
Mr. Darby continued to arrange the knickknacks. “Yes.”
“Who was in the picture?”
Mr. Darby clasped his hands behind his back. Then he slowly turned and faced Noah. “I think it would be best to stay focused on our current predicament. The past isn’t something we can—”
“No!” Noah said, surprised by his sharp tone. “I need to know what’s going on—with you.”
Mr. Darby raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses. “With me?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “With you.”
“Sorry, Noah—I don’t understand.”
“You have a jacket that’s made from the same velvet used for the portals—a jacket that keeps you from getting sick.”
“Sick? What are you—”
“The time at Chickadee Lane—you came to the Clarksville Zoo without your jacket and stayed too long. You couldn’t keep your balance, and you started forgetting things. You even forgot the names of the animals, which you never do.”
“I…I don’t recall.”
But it was clear by his hesitation that he did recall.
“And there are other weird things, too. Like the time the Descenders let DeGraff escape. You got mad at them, and they kneeled in front of you, right in the street. They bowed to you like you were a king.” Noah recalled the sight of the Descenders, each on one knee. “Are you, Mr. Darby? Are you a king?”
Mr. Darby almost laughed. “I’m no king, dear boy.” He looked away and added, “I’m a man, just like any other.”
Noah took a slow step toward Mr. Darby, saying, “But you have a secret. And I think it’s even bigger than the Secret Zoo.”
Mr. Darby adjusted his sunglasses and kept quiet.
“What is it? What’s your secret?”
The old man’s gaze went to the window, the foyer, the blank television screen—anything but Noah.
“C’mon,” Noah said. “Think of all that’s happened between us. Don’t you trust me yet?”
“Trust is not the issue,” Mr. Darby shot back.
“Then what is?”
Mr. Darby seemed to think about something for a minute. “The unwillingness to go to a place I’d rather forget.”
Noah had no idea what the old man was talking about.
After a few seconds, Mr. Darby added, “Do you recall the story of Frederick and his father, Mr. Jackson?”
Noah tried to remember. Frederick was the young son of Mr. Jackson, a rich businessman in Clarksville who created the Clarksville Zoo after the tragic death of his wife. “Yeah,” Noah said. “Most of it.”
“Do you remember Simon the Simian?”
Noah nodded. “Mr. Jackson and Frederick were out for a walk one day and they came across a barn. The farmer was moving, and he had a strange pet that he couldn’t take with him. A monkey.”
“A langur,” Mr. Darby said in a lifeless tone. “Simon made Frederick smile for the first time in years, and Mr. Jackson took the monkey home, no questions asked. Mr. Jackson built a cage for Simon in his yard, and people came from all around to see him.” Mr. Darby began to stroll across the room, saying, “Soon, people began to show up with other unwanted animals—exotic creatures, most of them. The animals made Frederick so happy that Mr. Jackson couldn’t turn them away. He built more and more cages on his property, and the Clarksville Zoo was born.”
Hearing the story again reminded Noah of the first time he’d heard it, the day the scouts had discovered the Secret Zoo. In Hummingbird Hideout, they’d listened to Mr. Darby tell the tale while hummingbirds darted around them, streaks of color across a green landscape. It had been so long ago, but in a way, it felt like yesterday.
Mr. Darby turned and looked at a wall covered with family photographs, his back to Noah. As he began to scan the pictures, he said, “I’m sure you remember the part that comes next.”
“Frederick died,” Noah said. “In his sleep, just before he turned thirteen.”
Mr. Darby nodded. “And the best part of Mr. Jackson died with him, I’m afraid.” His attention stopped on a picture of Noah playing football with his father. “How old are you in this one?” he asked in his strange flat tone.
“About nine,” Noah said, his tone equally flat as he tried to figure things out. “Maybe ten.”
“Frederick’s age,” Mr. Darby said, “when his mother died.” He leaned in for a closer look at the picture and said, “Frederick never knew such happiness at that age. Can you imagine losing your mother the way he did?”
Noah quickly shook his head. He remembered how he’d felt when Megan was missing. He’d had an endless ache—not just in his body, but in his soul.
Mr. Darby slowly walked over to another picture, one of Megan standing in her swimsuit by a blue lake. A young teenage boy was standing beside her. “Who’s this?”
“My cousin. From Florida.”
Mr. Darby nodded. He reached up and touched the picture. “Frederick was this age when he died.”
“How did it happen?” Noah asked. “I mean, I know he died in his sleep, but how?”
“The doctors never figured it out,” Mr. Darby said as he held his gaze on the boy who reminded him of Frederick. “They had…suspicions.”
“Suspicions? What…what do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Mr. Darby took a closer look at another picture, saying, “All these memories—all these life experiences. You are blessed, Noah.”
“I know,” Noah said, but without much conviction. Mr. Darby was beginning to make him nervous.
Mr. Darby took a step and focused on another picture, one of Megan and Noah playing in the snow. “Frederick was buried on a cold gray day, much like”—he tapped his fingertip on the frame—“this. The day had been a blur for Mr. Jackson, and he had been too stunned for tears. But he wept upon returning to his empty house—he wept for days.”
Noah wondered how Mr. Darby could possibly know this. As far as Noah knew, Mr. Darby and Mr. Jackson had never been friends.
“Mr. Jackson spent hours roaming from room to room in his cold, empty house, almost as if he expected to find something. Frederick. Or Frederick’s mother, perhaps. He was suddenly so alone. Most nights, he’d sit on Frederick’s empty bed and pretend to be with his boy.”
There was no way Mr. Darby could know these things. Was he making them up?
Mr. Darby walked to another place along the wall. Noah kept quiet, suddenly lacking courage to speak.
“A good life, Noah,” Mr. Darby said as he looked at a picture of Noah’s mother holding Noah as a baby.
Noah tried to say I know, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Mr. Jackson sank into depression, and then madness. His dreams, when he managed to sleep, were filled with bleak memories.”
Noah couldn’t stand it any longer. “How can you possibly know all this?”
Mr. Darby stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back. Then he slowly turned and faced Noah. His expression was so dull that Noah could barely see any resemblance to the kind man he knew.
“Noah,” the old man said, “I am Mr. Jackson.”
Noah’s insides dropped. He took a step back, still staring at Mr. Darby, and bumped into an end table. The room seemed to teeter one way and then another.
“What…what are you talking about?”
“I’m Frederick’s father.”
Noah shook his head. “Mr. Jackson’s dead!”
“Perhaps,” the old man conceded. “But Mr. Darby is very much alive.”
Noah continued to shake his head. The old man liked to talk in riddles—was he doing that now?
“It’s the magic,” Noah said as he took a slow step away from Mr. Darby. “In your jacket. The magic is keeping you alive, just like the magic in DeGraff’s coat is keeping him alive.”
Mr. Darby reached toward Noah, saying, “Trust that I—”
A low rumble invaded the room. Noah and Mr. Darby looked out the window and saw a vehicle pulling up the driveway. Noah’s mother was home.
Noah grabbed Mr. Darby by the sleeve of his jacket. “C’mon—you have to go!”
Mr. Darby nodded, and the two of them quickly headed upstairs to Noah’s bedroom. Noah ran to his window and peered out. His mother was taking something from her trunk—a bag of groceries. Noah turned around, expecting to see Mr. Darby making his way to the portal in his closet. Instead, the old man was looking around the room.
“Mr. Darby! You have to get out of here!”
“His room was like yours, Noah,” Mr. Darby said. “Trinkets and games—boys haven’t changed so much in a hundred years.”
“Mr. Darby!” Noah shouted. The old man looked his way, and Noah pointed to the closet.
“Yes,” Mr. Darby said. He headed across the room, adding, “You’re right.”
Noah followed him into the closet. At the portal, Mr. Darby paused and looked back. “What if we can’t stop him, Noah?”
“Huh?”
“DeGraff is powerful—surely you’ve seen that.”
It pained Noah to hear the old man sounding so weak, so unexpectedly. “We will. The Multipoint—we’ll make it work.” Noah thought of his family and his good life—all the pictures that Mr. Darby had pointed out on the wall. He had to keep his family safe from DeGraff, no matter what.
“And if we can’t?”
Noah thought of the backpack by his front door—the incredible power inside it. “Then we’ll fight. Win or lose, we’ll fight the same.”
“Yes,” Mr. Darby said. “A fight will feel good.” The old man’s expression changed. “Noah…there’s more to the story.”
“More?”
Mr. Darby nodded.
Noah heard the front door open. “Tell me later. You have to go.”
“Don’t forget to take care of Blizzard,” Mr. Darby said. Then he stepped through the curtain and fled Noah’s world.
Chapter 9
Unsealing the Ceiling
“This way!” Ella said. “Are you even behind me?”
“Yeah, right here,” Evie said.
The two girls were making their way through the halls of Clarksville Elementary just after eight o’clock at night. They were in full camouflage. Getting into Clarksville Elementary had been easy enough; it wasn’t difficult to sneak into places when you had a magical key and could walk around like a ghost. And getting out of Ella’s house hadn’t been an issue because it was her mother’s bowling league night. The other scouts and Specters had stayed back, mostly because getting the scouts out of their houses would have been difficult.
“Here,” Ella said as she pointed to the ROOM 112 sign beside the door to her classroom, before realizing Evie couldn’t see her. She checked the handle—locked. Ella fit the key into the lock and then pushed open the door. Inside the room, there was no risk of being seen, and the girls came out of their camouflage. Ella turned on the lights.
“Over there,” Ella said as she pointed to the front of the room. The girls weaved between the student desks and stepped in behind Mrs. Simons’s. “See the hole?” She pointed to the tile just above the whiteboard. “Megan thinks the centipede fell through that.”
Evie tucked her long bangs behind her ear and glanced around the room. Then she walked over to one side of Mrs. Simons’s desk and said, “C’mon—help me.”
Ella, knowing what Evie had in mind, moved to the opposite side of the desk, and the girls carried it over to the wall with the whiteboard. Evie heaved a chair onto the desktop, scattering a stack of papers and knocking over a picture of a buck-toothed girl with braces: Mrs. Simons’s daughter.
Ella jumped onto the desk and said, “I’ll check it out—you hold the chair.” Then she stood on the plastic seat, squatting a bit so her head wouldn’t touch the ceiling. She planted her hands on the tile with the piece missing. Then she applied a little pressure, and the square tile shifted in its metal frame—it was going to be easy to move.
“Ready?” Ella asked.
“Ready,” Evie answered, still clutching the legs of the chair.
Ella pushed softly. The tile slowly rose—one inch, two.
The space above the ceiling was revealed as a thin black gap. Ella peered into it. “I can’t see anything,” she said. “It’s too—”
A creature fell through the gap and dangled near her head. It had dozens of pointy legs and a long segmented body—another giant centipede. It whipped back and forth, and when its hard head touched Ella’s wrist, Ella freaked and dropped one arm. The ceiling tile tipped and more than a dozen centipedes came pouring out. They rained down on Evie, a few landing on her shoulders and back, one getting caught in her hair.
Ella fell off the chair. She came down hard on the desk and then rolled onto the floor. When she felt dozens of little pricks on her neck, she grabbed the end of a long centipede and flung it across the room. Then she jumped up. The centipedes were crawling around the legs of the desks, fleeing to new places. One was trying to burrow beneath a mat.
Squirming and groaning, Evie swatted two centipedes off her body. Then she gestured toward the ceiling. “Are there more?”
“I didn’t see.”
Evie hopped onto Mrs. Simons’s desk, saying, “I need a light—a flashlight or something.”
Ella knew emergency items were kept in the back of the room. She retrieved the flashlight and gave it to Evie.
Evie, standing on the chair, aimed the beam of the light into the dark opening and slowly stood up straight. Her head went into the ceiling, and then her neck and shoulders. She swept the flashlight beam around, and in its dim glow, Ella could see the Specter’s worried face. Then she jumped to the top of the desk, and then to the floor.
