Beasties, p.12
Beasties, page 12
“Back to the piano?” Dylan cried. “So Foofy can actually kill me this time? No!”
“Or I can use my photographic recall to memorize the melody!” Kate chirped.
I was concentrating on that panel. There had to be a reason it was divided up like that. Each of those squares was the size of a fingertip.
Maybe Kate’s guess wasn’t far off after all. Maybe you did have to press something.
Buttz was bouncing desperately from foot to foot. I concentrated hard.
Five horizontal lines . . .
Kate’s voice was coming back to me. Her human voice—in Central Park, only minutes before we became Beasties.
Those lines and spaces represent the seven notes of the octave, which are lettered A through G only . . .
“Faded . . . dead . . . face,” I said softly, picturing the words in my head.
Dylan cackled. “Who knew rats were tone deaf?”
“I wasn’t singing,” I said. “Just thinking about Gould’s song. He said he was obsessed with it. All those letters—f, a, d, e, d, and then d, e, a, d, and f, a, c, e—I may be wrong, but—”
Kate let out a squawk. “They all could be musical notes! They’re all between A and G!”
“Right!” I said. “Plus, look at the panel. It has five horizontal lines. That’s what you write notes on—a staff with five lines.”
“Whoa,” Mason said. “And the other lines, the vertical ones, they divide the staff into . . . um, one, two, three, four—”
“THIRTEEN SECTIONS, LEFT TO RIGHT,” Sara said.
“And ‘faded dead face’ has . . . wait a minute . . .” Kate mumbled to herself a bit, then blurted out, “thirteen letters!”
“So maybe the guy was tapping out the letters,” I said. “And singing just to remind himself what the notes were. The singing didn’t matter, it was the tapping!”
Sara quickly explained the idea to Buttz, whose eyes lit up. “So all I need do is press the F, and then the A, the D, the E, the D, et cetera?”
He lunged for the panel, exhaled, and pressed the first two notes with his fingers.
The panel immediately lit up:
“Whoa,” Mason said. “It’s working!”
But Buttz’s hand was frozen over the panel. “D is next. But the note D occurs on a line, not a space like F and A.”
“SO PRESS THE LINE AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!” Sara urged.
Before he could react, the curtain slid aside with a loud ssshhhhhink.
Buttz jumped so suddenly I thought we’d all explode out of the bag. I had to scramble to see out the little hole.
Old Baldy with the earbuds was staring at Buttz, his eyes hidden behind mirror sunglasses. His voice was a growl.
“What the heck are you doing back here, pal?”
“Trying very hard . . .” Buttz squeaked, “not to pee.”
38Well, except Dylan, who was moaning so hard that Kate had to wrap a wing around his muzzle.
24
I COULD SEE THE massive guy through the bag’s hole, and he looked like he could destroy Buttz with his breath. “This ain’t a bathroom,” he rasped. “There’s one by the ugly wire sculpture.”
“My good man—that voice!” Buttz blurted out. “Are you by any chance a heldentenor?”
The big guy cocked his head. “Urmn, held-in what?”
“That tone! That timbre! That resonance!” Buttz gushed. “I don’t hear a voice like this every day! Are you a professional singer, my good man?”
“Well, uh, I sound pretty good in the shower . . .” the guy said with a chuckle.
“I must get your name and set up an audition at the Metropolitan Opera at once!” Buttz exclaimed.
The guy’s eyes bulged. “You can do that?”
“Go to Mr. Gould and have him vocalize you for ten minutes! Tell him the circumstances. I shall be right along. All right, Mr. . . . ?”
“Stritch,” the big guy said, turning to leave. “Bruno Stritch. Rhymes with itch. And . . . thank you!”
As Bruno bounced away, humming, Sara squawked, “THAT WAS BRILLIANT.”
“I’ve spent a life in the theater. I understand egos.” Buttz spun back to the locked door and flexed his fingers over the panel. Carefully he filled in the rest:
With a soft click, the door opened.
“Awesome!” Dylan cried out.
Buttz stepped into the room. I felt a blast of cooler air.
As Buttz shut the door quietly behind him, I pressed my face to the small hole and scanned the room. Just like the other one, it had paintings, statues, and sculptures on display. There weren’t many people, maybe four or five couples. Each couple had a private guide, wearing a gold SGE pin on a lapel. Circling around the place were lots of guards who looked like Bruno clones, wearing sunglasses and earbuds. They stood against the walls, silently watching.
“WHAT’S WITH ALL THE GOONS?” Sara asked.
“Obviously this is the extravaluable stuff,” Dylan said. “Just like Riley said. He was right, for once in his life.”
Buttz made it to the bathroom just in time. The less said about that the better, but immediately afterward, he stopped by a glass case. Inside it were fragments of white marble arranged to form two arms. Next to it was a photo of a statue with no arms. “Oh my, Bestials!” Buttz murmured. “I believe these are the arms of the famous Venus de Milo statue. I was under the impression they have never been located.”
“SORRY, THAT’S INTERESTING, BUT IT’S REALLY TIGHT IN HERE,” Sara said. “KEEP MOVING.”
But Buttz was wandering off toward a large painting of a woman in an ornate frame. A few feet away, he froze. “Can it be? The famous painting stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardiner museum and never found—”
“I’m hu-u-u-ungry!” interrupted a weird animal voice.
Just to our right, in the center of the room was a glass cube lined with plants and grasses. In the center, a scaly head peered up, staring straight toward me. A red, forked tongue darted out of its mouth, flicking against the glass wall. As it moved back and forth in the cube, its scales glinted in the light. “Come visssssit!” it hissed.
“What the heck is that?” Kate whispered.
“And what’s it doing in an art gallery?” Mason asked.
“Whoa. So cool looking! Mummy should buy it.” Dylan stretched upward, unhooking one of the snaps that was keeping the bag shut. Placing his paws on the lip of the bag, he peered over the top.
“What are you doing, you fool?” Kate said, pecking at his legs.
Dylan kicked her. “I want to see it. No one will notice me—”
Whap!
Now the giant lizard was pawing the glass hungrily, trying to bust out. It was crazed with hunger at the sight of a fat, juicy raccoon.
Whap!
Whap!
Whap!
“Hello?” a silky voice called out. “May I help you, sir?”
As Buttz turned, I saw a woman in business-y gray outfit marching toward us with a concerned look.
“Yeeps,” Dylan said, ducking back down.
“Ah!” Buttz said. “Mr. Gould directed us back here, Miss . . . ?”
“Gloria Twombley,” the woman said. Now she was glancing down at an iPad, swiping up and down. “And you? I’m sorry, but I don’t have anyone scheduled for this time slot.”
“Lionel Roosevelt. Of the New York City Roosevelts. A collector of great renown. Mr. Gould sent me but was . . . erm, distracted by a kerfuffle with a poodle.”
Ms. Twombley nodded. Her eyes darted over toward the lizard, who was still pawing the glass. “Shall we talk about our Komodo dragon? You seem to be intrigued. She certainly is. We can negotiate a price.”
Kate shuddered again. “Komodo d— ow!”
I’m pretty sure the ow was Mason biting her to keep her quiet.
Buttz imitated Kate’s squeak (sort of) to cover for her outburst. “Eek! Awk! I thought that’s what it was. A commode of dragon! Yes, a perfect specimen.”
“Perfect for display in a grand foyer, it is the ultimate conversation piece,” Ms. Twombley said. “And if you prefer, some say the meat is exquisite. Because of its rarity, it’s only available to our most exclusive clients. Follow me, Mr. Roosevelt.”
“Meat?” Kate said. “She said meat! Like, for eating! This is outrageous!” Both Dylan and Sara were hugging Kate tight to smother her shrieks.
Buttz followed Ms. Twombley to a polished wooden door. She rapped lightly on it. “I believe there is a transaction going on inside the office. Let me check. Excuse me.”
As she opened the door and ducked inside, Kate shook off Sara and Dylan. “Don’t you see what’s happening here?” she said. “The painting was stolen. The arms for that statue must have been stolen. Worst of all, the Komodo dragon is one of the most endangered species in the world. The only way they could have gotten it is from an illegal poacher. And she’s selling it for meat!”
“So?” Dylan said.
“So?” If we weren’t squashed together, I think Kate would have slashed him with her talons. “This isn’t just a gallery, Dylan. It’s a front for a multimillion-dollar theft ring. Maybe multibillion!”
“Cool!” Dylan said.
“Not cool!” I shot back. “Your mom is involved in this. If her boyfriend is caught, she could go to jail with him.”
“May I ask what you are all squawking about?” Buttz hissed. “This is very awkward.”
“SORRY,” Sara said. “ACTUALLY, NOT SORRY. THIS IS A DANGEROUS PLACE. THESE VALUABLES ARE ILLEGAL. SILAS GOULD IS A THIEF. WHATEVER YOU DO, GET MS. WHAT’S-HER-NAME TO LOCATE PROTEUS TWO ASAP SO WE CAN GET OUT OF HERE!”
As Ms. Twombley emerged from the door, we all fell silent. Behind her, two smiling people left from the room inside, taking away a painting wrapped in canvas.
“I am ready to talk,” Buttz said, striding confidently toward the door.
“Just a second,” said Ms. Twombley. “I just have a few questions to ask you.”
Buttz stopped in his tracks. “Questions? About what?”
“First of all,” Ms. Twombley said, “you will start by explaining the animal in your shoulder bag.”
25
WE WERE BUSTED.
I began chewing on the leather. I didn’t try to do it, I just did. My rat instincts were kicking into escape mode.
“Animal?” Buttz said. “I—I—I beg your pardon?”
“Come now, Mr. Roosevelt,” Ms. Twombley said. “I spotted those two eyes peeking out of the bag. We do have strict rules here.”
“Dylan, I told you not to show yourself!” Kate hissed.
“Madam, how dare you insult my best friend!” Buttz protested. “No one calls my dear Rocky a mere animal! Do they, my little booboola?”
Rocky?
Booboola?
Buttz was opening the snaps of the leather bag now. But Dylan was hunkered down, shivering with fright. His eyes were the size of marshmallows. “What do I do?”
“He’s acting!” Mason said. “Go along with it.”
“Let Riley do it!” Dylan protested.
I bit him on the butt.
“Yeeeeow!” Dylan shot upward. He gripped the rim of the bag, his face peering out into the room. “Hi! Bye!”
Before he could duck back down, Buttz grabbed him by the back and lifted him out of the bag.
Dylan hung in the air, his legs wriggling and his ringed tail flopping left and right. “You see how frightened he is?” Buttz said. “Be calm, sweet prince; dear Gloria loves you and would do nothing to separate a Roosevelt from his beloved . . . service raccoon.”
“Service—?” Ms. Twombley sputtered.
“Much more portable than a service dog, don’t you think? Quiet, unobtrusive, clean.” Buttz dropped Dylan back into the bag and snapped it shut. “My doctor prescribed him for my chronic laparosemia. Are you afflicted also? Your eyes show signs of it.”
“They do?” Ms. Twombley said.
“I will give you my doctor’s contact info, just in case,” Buttz said. “Now, shall we do business?”
As Ms. Twombley turned to open the office door, I whispered, “Laparowhat?”
“I think he made it up,” Mason said. “He’s good. As for Dyls, though . . .”
Kate was trying not to crack up. “Our hero,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome,” Dylan snapped.
I kept my face pressed to the hole. We were heading into an office with walls of polished, ornately carved wood. Ms. Twombley sat behind an old-fashioned desk on a red leather chair and gestured for Buttz to take the chair opposite her.
The door swung shut, muffling the music from the other room. Now we would have to be totally silent.
“What a lovely place to do business,” Buttz said, walking around the office.
Walking very slowly.
He was doing this so we could survey the place. The others arranged themselves so they could also look through the bag’s tiny brass openings.39 Behind Ms. Twombley’s desk was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. It contained leather-bound hardcover books, a couple of plaques, framed documents, and various boxes.
I could read Kate’s mind as she shot me a look. Could Proteus 2 be inside one of them?
I hoped I’d feel that tingling. But I didn’t. I realized the only other time I’d had that tingly feeling, Proteus 1 was out of the box. If Proteus 2 was inside a box, would I feel it? Maybe not.
Buttz was walking slowly, rotating so we could see all four walls. I kept my eyes open. Across from the desk, the office branched. The room was shaped like an L. The bottom part of that L, where the room formed a little hallway, contained two more doors, one at the end and one on the side wall.
The side door was ajar, and I could see a sink. But I was way more curious about the other door.
“Before we begin,” Buttz said, “may I trouble you to use your restroom?”
“Again?” Mason hissed.
“Of course,” Ms. Twombley said. “You can leave your shoulder bag here if you like.”
Dylan let out a squeak.
“I’m afraid booboola would protest fiercely,” Buttz said.
As he walked quickly toward the little hallway, he unsnapped the bag and moved it to his other shoulder. Now we were between him and the wall. We couldn’t see Ms. Twombley any longer.
“Bestials,” he whispered, “pay attention.”
Instead of entering the bathroom, he turned. Quickly he reached for the knob of the other door, at the end of the hallway.
When it clicked open, Buttz slipped inside.
“Oh, not that one, Mr. Roosevelt!” came Ms. Twombley’s voice.
We were in a nearly pitch-dark room, a huge, stuffy storage area crammed with boxes and filing cabinets. “Out of the bag! Quickly!” Buttz whispered. “I will find you later.”
Kate and Sara immediately flew out, disappearing into the blackness. I scrambled out and dropped to the floor.
“It’s really dark,” Dylan whined, peering over the edge. “Maybe I’ll stay?”
“You are such a wuss!” Kate called out.
“Let booboola stay with Buttz,” Mason urged. “If the bag is empty, it looks suspicious.”
“Never, ever call me booboola!” Dylan spat.
As he ducked down into the bag, Ms. Twombley appeared behind Buttz. “Mr. Roosevelt, I’m afraid this room is off-limits!”
“Oh dear, yes, ho ho ho, I was just saying to myself, ‘This doesn’t look like a restroom, old fellow!’” Buttz replied. He was standing between me and Ms. Twombley, blocking her view. “Please, pardon me.”
As Buttz swung the door shut, the room plunged into total blackness.
39Plus the gash I had chewed into the leather when I was nervous. No matter what people say, I can be useful.
26
IT WAS BAD ENOUGH I couldn’t see anything. But I heard strange thumps a few feet above me.
“What the heck is going on?” I called out.
“Your sister,” chirped Mason, “is banging herself against the wall.”
“I’m trying . . .” Kate said.
Thwack.
“to find . . .”
Thud.
“the light switch. . . .”
Click.
That did it. As a blinding white light flooded the room, Kate flew shakily onto a pile of boxes. “It was the only way I could turn it on,” she said. “It’s the kind of switch that’s SO INCREDIBLY EASY TO PRESS WHEN YOU’RE A NORMAL HUMAN.” She fluffed out her wings angrily as she said that, then took a deep breath. “Sorry, had to get that out of my system.”
“Thanks, Kate,” I said.
“WHERE DO WE EVEN BEGIN?” Sara asked.
It was a good question. I looked around the room. It was at least ten times the size of the museum’s room 26. Instead of cabinets neatly placed against each other, the place looked like stuff had just been shoved in. There were statues in huge wooden crates, piles of cardboard boxes and plastic containers, and heavy-duty industrial metal shelves against the walls crammed with random objects. Nearly everything was marked “Fragile.”
In the corners of the room, I heard tiny, skittering footsteps and little snatches of conversation. A couple of cockroaches were warning each other of intruders. Wings fluttered as a moth escaped from a hole in a cardboard box. The whole place smelled of mildew, and here and there I caught the musty aroma of old wool and ancient grime. I saw an ant carrying away a poppy seed and a fruit fly resting on the spine of an old book.
In that moment I realized what our first step had to be.
“We have to use our superpowers,” I said. “Our animal senses. We can smell, hear, and see things better than we did when we were human.”
“Dude, we’re looking for a box,” Mason said. “What does a box smell like?”
“Do you remember what it felt like when you got near Proteus One?” I reminded him. “We’re looking for that feeling. I know, I know, Proteus One was outside the box, but—”
“You’re darn right it was,” Mason said. “We won’t feel a thing. The box protects Proteus Two from its effects.”
