Spellbound statues, p.19
Spellbound Statues, page 19
Reg got up and paced restlessly to the window to stick her head out and look down at Davyn, who was still standing by the car but was in a relaxed posture now. He was leaning against it while he looked up toward the tower. He waved at Reg and folded his arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
There was a mechanical noise similar to the one that had sounded before the monkeys had been released, and Reg was instantly alert. She looked around and cocked her head, trying to see what was happening. The noise was coming from within the tower, so she couldn’t see anything.
Doors opened to Sarah’s right, and a tall man with a clipboard stepped into the control room. He looked around at the intruder, the broken windows, the monkeys and the detritus they had left lying around, and the dragon sitting there waiting patiently. “What the heck is going on here?” he demanded, outraged. He looked down at his clipboard as if he expected to see the answer there. Maybe a block on his schedule that said “Attempted Invasion.”
Sarah turned her head to look at him. “Oh, hello,” she said in a friendly voice. Her old grandmotherly attitude made it seem like she was just there for tea and had brought along some cookies for him. “Are you the mechanic?”
“I’m not the mechanic,” he growled, indicating his clipboard. “I am the manager!”
“Oh, yes, of course. Is the mechanic available?”
“For what? What are you doing here? How did you get in here, and what do you think you’re doing?”
“There is a problem with the Zephyr Pearl,” Sarah told him. “I’m sure it can all be straightened out quickly enough. But I think we need the mechanic.”
“You can’t be in here. You don’t work here, and…” he looked down at his clipboard, “…you don’t have an appointment!”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. Our timeframe was rather limited. What with everyone being petrified. We needed to get over here to deal with it quickly. So… the mechanic…?”
“He is working on maintenance issues.” The supervisor looked around the room again, his nostrils flaring at the chaos left behind by the monkeys. He spotted the most loyal guards who had stayed behind to try to work out the problem of how to get the dragon out of the room and then deal with the human intruder once the threat had been removed. “What are you doing inside? Shoo! Shoo! Get out!”
The monkeys resisted at first, their postures aggressive, taking a few steps to charge him. But the manager wasn’t about to be bullied by his own staff.
“Go on! Go on, get out!”
The last few monkeys were chased out of the control room, their wings flapping loudly as they made their retreat.
“Who are you?” the man demanded of Sarah. “And is this your dragon?”
“Yes, sorry about that. It was the monkeys…”
He shook his head, sighing loudly. “Have you ever tried to supervise flying monkeys? It is like herding cats. And I would know.”
He frowned, studying what Sarah was doing on the machinery. She moved over slightly to block his view of what she was up to.
“Well, if you could call the mechanic up here, I could be out of here much sooner.”
He shifted, trying again to see over her shoulder. “What exactly are you doing?”
“I told you, it is a problem with the Zephyr Pearl. Now, if I could just get that, I can take care of it, and we will have it back in place in no time. The longer you take, the longer the machinery will be down for maintenance.”
“But we have a schedule,” the man protested. “It is very important to stick to the schedule. The maintenance protocol takes two hours, and we must be back online again immediately after completion.”
“Exactly. I need to get the Pearl. We need to take it out for cleaning. Otherwise, your performance is going to continue to suffer.”
He flipped through several pages of his clipboard, frowning worriedly. “Why wasn’t I told that it needed to be sent out for cleaning? This delay could have been avoided if everyone would just follow the communication protocols that are in place for exactly this reason.”
“Tell me about it,” Sarah agreed.
Reg focused on the manager, trying to feed him as many pictures as she could of low-efficiency graphs, downward trend lines, and chaotic schedules. He grew noticeably more agitated. He clicked the button of the walkie-talkie mounted to his shoulder.
“I need Spanner up here right away. Why can’t anyone keep me informed on these developments?”
There was a staticky reply on the walkie-talkie that Reg could not understand. Maybe it was in a different language. She had a feeling that the man was something other than human. His rigid reactions to what was happening and Sarah’s calm replies to being discovered were baffling. She had expected a big scene, more guards, and having to hold off any other employees while she gave Sarah more time to get the Pearl.
The man paced back and forth, grumbling and flipping through the pages of his clipboard. He gave sharp orders over the walkie-talkie several times, addressing different sectors and activating different protocols. He even called the research department to get back to him on protocols regarding dragons in the control room, but they were slow to respond with any helpful answer.
The doors opened again and, this time, a tiny old man came out. He was as short as Forst, Sarah’s garden gnome, with a very wrinkled, wizened face. He had huge, foxlike ears, and his skin had a greenish-brown cast. He looked around the control room and did not take it as calmly as the man with the clipboard.
“What is going on here? Where are the Sylphs? How could you let a dragon into the control room? You’re the one who is always so stuck on following policies and procedures, are you telling me this is according to policy? And you?” he yelled at Sarah, “Who are you? What are you doing in my control room?”
“Your control room?” the man with the clipboard demanded, “According to the policy manual, as your supervisor, it is my—”
“I don’t care what the policy manual says, Skippy. If you want this control room to keep operating, it is my control room. Now get the dragon out of here, and you,” he indicated Sarah, “I want to know how you got in here!”
Skippy, if that was the supervisor’s real name, did not make any attempt to push Reg out the window or to call on the flying monkeys to carry her away. She was happy she was too big for a flying monkey to pick up. Or even several flying monkeys.
He held his hand up to demand silence from Spanner, the mechanic. “This woman needs the Pearl. It needs to be cleaned if we are to get the efficiency that we need. It’s no wonder our numbers have been decreasing the last few months.”
“This woman? Who is this woman? I haven’t asked anyone to clean the Pearl.”
“Well, you aren’t part of management, are you? You do what I tell you to. She needs the Pearl. Let’s get this done. The sooner she can get it, the sooner we can get it back.”
“She’s going to take it away?” the little man sputtered.
“How else is she going to clean it?”
“You can’t just give the Pearl to anyone who comes here asking for it!”
“Does it look like that’s what I’m doing?” Skippy displayed his clipboard, which had several crossed out entries and new notes about Sarah’s role in the maintenance of the Pearl. “If it’s on my clipboard—”
“You just wrote that on your clipboard! That’s not official. This woman hasn’t been vetted!”
“It’s on the clipboard,” Skippy insisted.
“Let me see that.”
Spanner stepped forward and reached out his hand for the clipboard. Skippy held it in front of his face but wouldn’t let him grab it out of his hand. “It’s my clipboard; you are the mechanic. You don’t get a clipboard.”
Spanner grabbed at it several times, but Skippy was much taller and kept pulling it back from him. Then Spanner went postal and launched himself at Skippy, biting and tearing at him until he managed to wrestle the clipboard out of his hand and leap away with it. The clipboard snagged on Skippy’s blue uniform, and buttons popped as Spanner tore the clipboard away. Skippy’s shirt was ripped, exposing his undershirt.
Spanner froze, looking at what he had done. Skippy was flapping his hand, which Spanner had bitten to get the clipboard away, and didn’t notice his open shirt for a moment. They all stared at the silk-screened words on the t-shirt beneath his uniform for a long moment.
World’s Best Troll
Skippy pulled his shirt closed, muttering something to cover up his embarrassment. He made a couple of calls on his walkie-talkie, giving random orders.
“You need to give my clipboard back,” he told Spanner. “I told them you were going to be trouble the day you first interviewed. ‘We’re an equal opportunity employer,’ they said. ‘We have to give everybody an opportunity based on their performance, not prejudices.’ I told them that hiring a gremlin as a mechanic was not a good idea! The last mechanic never bit me! And his efficiency ratings were much higher than yours! Hiring a gremlin as a mechanic. They think they’re so progressive. Diversity hires might look good in the annual report. But not when your efficiency tanks!”
CHAPTER FORTY
With the large, iridescent pearl clamped under her arm like a motorcycle helmet, Sarah stepped aboard her Roomba hovercraft, flew out the window, and gently descended to the ground. Reg had a more difficult time reversing her position and getting back out of the hole she had widened in the side of the control room, but she managed to squeeze her way through it again. Skippy stood near the large hole, frowning at the damage and making copious notes on his recovered clipboard.
Reg braced herself for another attack from the flying monkeys, but instead of dive-bombing Sarah, they simply hovered, flapping their wings slowly, watching Reg as she exited the Cyclone Tower and followed Sarah to the ground. They chattered comments to each other, but they were not the threatening or panicked cries Reg had heard from them before, but calm, possibly sarcastic tones that she was glad she didn’t understand. She didn’t need to know what they were saying about the dragon who had bested them or stultified supervisor Skippy and his mistreatment of them. Reg thought that a couple of them had sustained fire damage but, on closer examination, saw that they were smoking fat cigars as they watched the witch and the dragon leave the tower with the Pearl.
At the bottom of the tower, Sarah stepped off of her vacuum and put it back into the trunk of the car. Davyn stared at the soccer ball-sized pearl clamped under her arm.
“You got it? What happened up there?”
Sarah shrugged. “We asked them nicely, and they gave it to us.”
Davyn looked at Reg in disbelief. She couldn’t communicate with him very well in her current form, but she did manage a stiff shrug. Davyn looked back at Sarah.
“You asked them, and they gave it to you.”
“Yes,” Sarah agreed.
“Asked who? I can’t imagine they let you simply walk away with it.”
“Well, I did promise to clean it and return it to them. Which I will do after we finish with it. A witch should always follow through on her promises.”
“Of course,” Davyn agreed. His eyes were narrow.
“They were very accommodating once we got past the initial communication issues.”
“I see.”
They both climbed into the car. Davyn looked at Reg. “Do you want to transform and come with us?”
Reg always found transforming back to human a little awkward and embarrassing. She enjoyed her dragon form and was never too eager to leave it behind. Especially if she thought there were any danger of a further attack or other circumstance that might require her special powers as a dragon.
She no longer feared that she might be unable to transform into a dragon. It seemed that when it was a necessity, the transformation was easy enough.
She could follow the car in flight and ensure that no winged monkeys attacked it and that there were no hazards on the road ahead. But the monkeys seemed to be off the clock and showed no interest in any of them.
Reg took a deep dragon breath and pictured herself in her human form, sitting in the car and digging into the cooler for another snack. Looking down at herself, she saw that she had transformed back to her familiar human form. She opened the back passenger door.
“That was… interesting,” she commented.
Sarah made a noise of agreement as she put on her seatbelt and settled in for the ride. “Do you think you could find me something edible in there?” she indicated the cooler. “Maybe some fruit or cookies?”
Reg held up a banana, and Sarah shook her head. Reg dug further and decided that even though Sarah had suggested fruit, that really wasn’t what she wanted. Reg found a package of Oreo cookies and ripped it open. Sarah took a couple of cookies for herself and handed two more to Davyn. Reg put on her seatbelt and relaxed into the comfortable seat, eating one of the cookies herself before asking anything else.
She washed it down with water. It was too bad that Davyn had only packed water and energy drinks. It was the one circumstance where Reg would have preferred milk.
“What was Skippy? A troll?”
“Yes,” Sarah agreed. “They do remarkably well in supervisory positions. At least, those where the supervisor is expected to follow strict policies and procedures and not to do a lot of creative thinking or deal with unforeseen circumstances.”
“You encountered a troll?” Davyn repeated.
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t smell bad,” Reg pointed out.
“No, they are usually reasonably clean creatures.”
“But the one in the Everglades, Tybalt, he…” Reg wrinkled her nose, remembering the rank, rotting smell that had hung around their tour guide.
“In the Everglades? That wasn’t a troll,” Davyn told Reg. “That was a swamp goblin, from what Julian said.”
“Oh, right.” Reg tried to remember the details. “They’re not the same thing?”
“Trolls and goblins?” Sarah asked. “Oh, no. They’re as different as night and day. I don’t think I would want to run into either one in a swamp, but trolls are usually quite reasonable. Territorial, mind; you don’t want to cross a bridge guarded by a troll without the proper toll and travel papers. But they aren’t as likely to kill and eat you as a swamp goblin.” She grimaced and shook her head. “Foul creatures. You can’t reason with a goblin.”
“No.” Reg sniffled and wiped her nose, the memory bringing back the foul smell and the terror she had felt when Tybalt had captured her and there did not seem to be any way to escape. She shuddered and shoved another Oreo in her mouth. “I wouldn’t have wanted to run into one of those in the tower,” she said around the cookie.
“Oh, but you wouldn’t,” Sarah assured her. “Swamp goblins do not like heights.”
Reg snorted, barely managing to avoid inhaling cookie crumbs. “Oh, of course.”
Sarah nodded and reached her hand back toward Reg, who gave her a few more cookies.
“And the other guy? Spanner? He wasn’t a troll or a goblin.”
“No, a gremlin. Nothing like the creatures in the movie,” she declared, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes it is hard to believe how far Hollywood gets from the truth.”
“A gremlin. And they’re not like trolls or goblins.”
“Not much,” Sarah agreed. “I mean, they are all humanoid and have been portrayed in fiction as being evil or bloodthirsty creatures. But in real life, you can’t paint them all with the same brush. Prejudice is alive and well in interspecies communications, and we must be careful not to adopt other people’s stereotypes.”
“Like hiring gremlins as mechanics.”
“They are not usually considered suitable for such things,” Sarah admitted. “They are associated with the sabotage of mechanical equipment. Putting a wrench in the hand of a gremlin and giving him the go-ahead on fixing your equipment would normally be considered… folly at best.”
“He seemed like he was capable.”
Sarah shrugged. “He didn’t have any trouble sorting the computer out and retrieving the Pearl when he was ordered to. It was… quite a complex machine. They say that only good can come from increased diversity in the workplace.”
But there was doubt in her voice. She might have misgivings and prejudices of her own about the suitability of gremlins in the workplace.
“They aren’t normally good with machinery?”
“Good at breaking it. The RAF experienced a significant number of problems with gremlins in World War One. They were quite a problem for the Allies, especially causing problems with the aircraft.”
“Gremlins were working against the Allies in World War One?”
“Oh, yes. There was quite a bit written on the problem. If you are interested in reading about them—”
“No,” Reg hurried to stop any suggestion that she read through Sarah’s thick tomes on gremlins or any other magical creatures. If she did any research on the matter—and she really didn’t care anything about gremlins as long as they were not fouling up her car—then it would be using Theodore and YouTube. “That’s okay. I was just wondering because I hadn’t ever heard of a gremlin in that kind of position before. He seemed perfectly capable.”
Hyperactive, maybe, but Reg couldn’t fault him for that. Some jobs took a lot of energy and might as well be filled by those who had it. Spanner had jumped back and forth between a number of tasks in quick succession, but he had been able to sort out the computer and fetch Sarah the Pearl.
“So what is our next step?” Davyn asked. “We now have the two remaining elementals. What do we intend to do with them? I had hoped that Corvin would hold the answer, since he was involved in binding them in the first place. But now that he has been petrified, he will not have any answers for us.”
