now, of course. I can feel your heart pumping its last few beats. And Hazel Levesque…I’m afraid you’ll have to die for collapsing my throne room on top of me. Very naughty trick. But this McCaffrey child…I’m in such a good mood, I might let her flee for her life and spread word of my great victory! That is, of course, if you cooperate and explain”—he pointed at the cat—“the meaning of this.”
“It’s a cat,” I said.
So much for Tarquin’s good mood. He snarled, and another wave of pain turned my spine to putty. Meg grabbed my arm before my face could hit the carpet.
“Leave him alone!” she yelled at the king. “There’s no way I’m fleeing anywhere.”
“Where are the Sibylline Books?” Tarquin demanded. “They are none of these!” He gestured dismissively at the shelves, then glared at Aristophanes. “And this creature will not speak! The harpy and the Cyclops who were rewriting the prophecies—I can smell that they were here, but they are gone. Where are they?”
I said a silent prayer of thanks for stubborn harpies. Ella and Tyson must’ve still been waiting at Temple Hill for divine help that wasn’t coming.
Meg snorted. “You’re stupid for a king. The Books aren’t here. They’re not even books.”
Tarquin regarded my small master, then turned to his zombies. “What language is she speaking? Did that make sense to anyone?”
The zombies stared at him unhelpfully. The ghouls were too busy reading about vultures and eating Great Expectations.
Tarquin faced me again. “What does the girl mean? Where are the Books, and how are they not books?”
Again, my chest constricted. The words burst out of me: “Tyson. Cyclops. Prophecies tattooed on his skin. He’s on Temple Hill with—”
“Quiet!” Meg ordered. My mouth clamped shut, but it was too late. The words were out of the barn. Was that the right expression?
Tarquin tilted his skull. “The chair in the back room…Yes. Yes, I see now. Ingenious! I will have to keep this harpy alive and watch her practice her art. Prophecies on flesh? Oh, I can work with that!”
“You’ll never leave this place,” Hazel growled. “My troops are cleaning up the last of your invaders. It’s just us now. And you’re about to rest in pieces.”
Tarquin hissed a laugh. “Oh, my dear. Did you think that was the invasion? Those troops were just my skirmishers, tasked with keeping you all divided and confused while I came here to secure the Books. Now I know where they are, which means the city can be properly pillaged! The rest of my army should be coming through your sewers right about”—he snapped his bone fingers—“now.”
Captain Underpants
Does not appear in this book
issues
I WAITED FOR THE sounds of renewed combat outside. The bookstore was so quiet I could almost hear the zombies breathing.
The city remained silent.
“Right about now,” Tarquin repeated, snapping his finger bones again.
“Having communications issues?” Hazel asked.
Tarquin hissed. “What have you done?”
“Me? Nothing yet.” Hazel drew her spatha. “That’s about to change.”
Aristophanes struck first. Of course the cat would make the fight all about him. With an outraged mewl and no apparent provocation, the giant orange tub of fur launched himself at Tarquin’s face, fastening his foreclaws on the skull’s eye sockets and kicking his back feet against Tarquin’s rotten teeth. The king staggered under this surprise assault, screaming in Latin, his words garbled because of the cat paws in his mouth. And so the Battle of the Bookstore began.
Hazel launched herself at Tarquin. Meg seemed to accept that Hazel had first dibs on the big baddie, considering what had happened to Frank, so she concentrated on the zombies instead, using her double blades to stab and hack and push them toward the nonfiction section.
I drew an arrow, intending to shoot the ghoul on the balcony, but my hands trembled too badly. I couldn’t get to my feet. My eyesight was dim and red. On top of all that, I realized I’d drawn the only arrow remaining in my original quiver: the Arrow of Dodona.
HOLDEST THOU ON, APOLLO! the arrow said in my mind. YIELDETH THYSELF NOT TO THE UNDEAD KING!
Through my fog of pain, I wondered if I was going crazy.
“Are you giving me a pep talk?” The idea made me giggle. “Whew, I’m tired.”
I collapsed on my butt.
Meg stepped over me and slashed a zombie who had been about to eat my face.
“Thank you,” I muttered, but she’d already moved on. The ghouls had reluctantly put down their books and were now closing in on her.