Locksmith Read online

  “Almost there!” he yelled. “Two more pins to go!”

  “I’s wudn’t do dat,” the driver said.

  “Hurry, Lewis!” Todrus urged. “We’re almost at the highway!”

  “I’m on the last pin! There! Let’s open the door!”

  “I’s warned yuhs!” the driver snarled.

  As Lewis and Todrus threw their weight against the door and Gibiwink flicked his tongue in and out and Adelaide asked what was going on and Alfonse jabbered on about The Bombardier, a red gas wafted out from under the seats. Instantly, the group felt their muscles slacken.

  The frogs collapsed to the floor of the car. Alfonse fell over with his feet in the air. Adelaide slithered against the back of the seat, repeating in her sleep, “What’s going on? What’s going on?” With a supreme act of will, Lewis kept his eyes open, but he couldn’t move a finger … or open the door.

  The driver laughed. “I’s gots tuh hand it tuh yuhs, kid. Yuh soitenly know yer way around locks. But yuhs woint expectin’ sleepin’ gas, was yuhs? So say nighty night an’ shut yer eyes an’ I’ll get yuhs tuh de boss safe ’n sound.”

  By now the limousine was whizzing along the highway, passing every car and truck on the road. Lewis felt as if he were watching a movie as he propped his head against the window and fields and farms zipped past in a blur. On and on the greenery sprawled, with the occasional farmer driving along on his tractor, or a herd of cows wandering in search of breakfast.

  Most beautiful of all was the shadow on the horizon. Huge it was, miles long, and poised at its heart was a series of towers, whose sides were catching the odd sunbeam and reflecting its brilliance a hundred times over. New York City. Despite his dopiness, Lewis smiled weakly as he remembered how his family had visited the city, often in search of tools for their workshop. He had loved the crush and smell of the subway, the parade of characters in the various parks, the music jumping out from a hundred different corners, the feeling he was everywhere in the world at once, yet safe within the embrace of his parents … his parents … his parents …

  Darkness hit him like a boxer’s glove.

  He awoke a while later. The limousine was in the heart of the city and stalled in a traffic jam of buses, cabs, and delivery trucks. The drivers were waving their hands impatiently, blaring their horns, and cursing everyone around them. Although the sky was glorious with not a cloud on the horizon, they were on an avenue that was immersed in shadow: a wall of buildings, each fifty storeys tall, was preventing the light from reaching the street. Shoulder to shoulder the skyscrapers stood, some stone, some metal, some broken-down, some sparkling new, like giants gathering to have their pictures taken.

  Again Lewis tried to jimmy the lock. The limousine was entering the business district, and the sidewalks were packed with lines of New Yorkers who would stop the car and arrest the driver if Lewis could only attract their attention …

  “Watch dat, sonny,” the driver growled, “or I’ll gives yuhs anudder dose uv de gas. Besides, wer almost dere.”

  Taking advantage of a break in the traffic, the driver turned into a tiny lane — barely missing a truck — and barrelled past a row of buildings with fire escapes clinging to their walls like ivy. The car veered right, then left, then left again, down alleys that were ridiculously narrow, with bits of paper careering in its wake. As Lewis tried to get his bearings, the car stopped outside a heavy metal doorway. Above the plating, on a length of pitted limestone, a sign read: GRUMPEL CHEMICALS: DELIVERY ENTRANCE.

  “This is it?” Lewis asked. He had been expecting something fancy, a stainless-steel tower with a gold-trimmed lobby perhaps, and not the plain, low structure that confronted them now. Sitting up, he shook the Pangettis awake. The frogs, for their part, were beginning to stir.

  The metal door swung open. The limousine inched into a cramped garage, its dimensions barely large enough to contain the car. As soon as the car came to a standstill, the door closed behind them, leaving them in darkness. A hum started up — the garage was descending.

  “Wake up, everyone!” Lewis cried. “We’re almost there!”

  “Where’s there?” Alfonse groaned.

  “I don’t know. Somewhere underground in New York.”

  “What’s going on?” Adelaide muttered, repeating her last train of thought.

  The elevator stopped. There was a sharp, pneumatic hiss, and a door opened briskly, causing them to squint when light flooded the garage. The car rolled forward, then came to a stop. With an unnaturally loud click the locks disengaged. Lewis and Todrus opened a door and, hesitating briefly, stepped outside. The others followed closely behind.

  Their mouths dropped open. Assembled in front of them, in ranks and columns, were thousands of workers dressed in spotless white outfits. This might not have been so unusual except that each was … an overgrown reptile.

  Seven feet tall, muscular-looking, with diamond-shaped heads, light brown scales, and eyes that gleamed with a cold intelligence, they were an intimidating sight to say the least.

  “I’m sleeping still,” Adelaide groaned. “And dreaming about lizards.”

  “They aren’t lizards,” Todrus corrected her. “They’re tiger salamanders. You often see them in the Yellow Swamp region, only they never grow so big.”

  “The chemical spill must have changed them,” Gibiwink said. “But why are they here?”

  “In Bombardier 7,” Alfonse whispered, “Doc Camphor creates an army of spiders —”

  “Shut up about your comics!” Adelaide snapped.

  “No, he’s right,” Lewis murmured. “Grumpel has built himself a powerful army using the same chemicals that —

  “Shhh,” Todrus said to stop him from giving the frogs’ secret away.

  “Sorry,” Lewis apologized, “but why do you think each of them is wearing a ring?” He was referring to a metal band clamped around each reptile’s neck.

  Then Alfonse called out, “Never mind the salamanders! Look above!”

  Gazing upward, everyone gasped. They were standing in an enormous plaza. Four gleaming towers rose from its sides, each fifty storeys tall and containing hundreds of windows. Bridges connected each tower to its neighbour, level after level of them, and when the entire structure was viewed from below, it resembled an intricate spiderweb, only one the size of a miniature city.

  Alfonse gulped. “This place is huge! It must have taken twenty years to build!”

  “More like thirty,” Gibiwink said. “Just digging underground would have taken forever.”

  “But Grumpel’s been in business only five years,” Todrus mused. “How?”

  “There’s your answer,” Lewis said, pointing to five salamanders toiling nearby.

  They were standing near a patch of earth, with what looked like an aerosol can between them. Spraying the earth with a bluish gas, they caused it to bubble and rapidly expand, and as it did, they sculpted it into a wall and cut out holes for the doors and windows. They repeated this operation three more times, and very quickly produced a solid, handsome structure — a garage for the limousine to park in! With a chemical like this to speed things along, no wonder Grumpel had been able to build so swiftly.

  Lewis was going to inspect the garage, but a band of salamander guards closed in. Each was armed with a strange-looking gun whose breech was loaded with coloured marbles.

  “Petriglobes,” Alfonse whispered.

  The chauffeur laughed. “Dese guys will take good care of yuhs.” He was a salamander, too. “I’d say good luck, but no luck’s gonna save yuhs.”

  The guards shoved the group toward a nearby elevator. Moments later they were shooting skyward.

  “Ooh!” Gibiwink squealed. “It’s just like flying!”

  “Why did Grumpel build this complex underground?” Lewis asked, staring at the plaza with its gleaming towers.

  “He’s hiding something,” Alfonse said. “That’s certainly true of Acid Master who has an underground fortress to keep his secrets safe —�
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  “Never mind that!” Adelaide broke in. “Why have we been kidnapped? What does Grumpel want from us?”

  The elevator stopped near the top of the tower — just a couple of floors beneath the ground’s surface. The door whooshed open, and the guards led them out. A hallway received them — it contained a series of doors. The walls were white and antiseptic, and the light overhead was hard on the eyes. At a signal from the salamanders the captives shuffled forward.

  They walked for several minutes. No one spoke. There were signs on each door, and Lewis read them as he and his friends passed. NUCLEIC REACTIONS, one door read, then DEHYDRATION, COMBUSTION, CLONING, ORGANIC, PROTEIN, and METALLIZATION. At one point Lewis heard an assortment of sounds, pops in one case, as if bubbles were bursting, then the roar of blazing fires, followed by a faint explosion and … a bloodcurdling scream!

  They also went by several groups of workers. All of them were idling about as if they hadn’t any work to keep them busy. They, too, were wearing rings around their necks. An idea struck Lewis. “Those metal bands,” he whispered, “I think Grumpel’s using them to control these creatures.”

  “That’s possible,” Todrus agreed. “He could guide their thoughts with radio signals, and those metal bands would make the perfect receiver. Salamanders, too, are known to be unstable.”

  He would have said more, but they were brought to a stop.

  They were standing before a massive door that looked like a gate on a medieval castle. The guards arranged the friends in a line, then the leader spoke into a box on the wall. A moment later the door opened slowly.

  “Mr. Grumpel will now see you,” the leader announced.

  Nodding curtly, Lewis faced the door, inhaled deeply, and stepped inside. Something told him he would be lucky to escape this place alive.

  CHAPTER 6

  The office was the size of a baseball field. Not only were its walls a great distance from one another, but its ceiling was so outlandishly high that for a moment Lewis thought the sky was above him. The forbidding silence told him otherwise. Even on a quiet day there were always sounds outside: the hum of traffic, an excitable dog, the wind rustling the leaves on a tree. In this space there was no noise whatsoever. The silence reminded Lewis of … death.

  The emptiness didn’t help much, either. The space ran on forever, it seemed, with no carpets or furniture to cheer things up, and there was no one to be seen … Wait, there was someone way in the distance. And beside this person was a massive desk, in front of which another person was seated, though Lewis couldn’t make their details out. Without being told to, Lewis and his compatriots inched forward.

  A minute later both figures were in focus. The person standing was Elizabeth Grumpel, dressed in the outfit Lewis had seen her in last, only it was zebra-striped now. She was rubbing her charm and had a wolf-like grin.

  The seated figure was gaunt and very grim. His eyes were an unsettling shade of green — they looked like flashing Christmas bulbs — and his skin was milky white, as if it hadn’t felt the sun in ages. His hair was grey, yet his face was unwrinkled, probably because he hadn’t smiled in years. He was dressed in a black suit and, like Elizabeth, was wearing a charm around his neck. Beside him was a globe of the world — it was eight feet tall and remarkably detailed, with plastic reconstructions of cities, lakes, and mountains.

  On his desk stood a block of gold engraved with fancy lettering: ERNST K. GRUMPEL. There he was, the great man himself, billionaire, bully, and chemical genius.

  Murderer, too, Lewis was thinking, and it took all his strength to keep his anger in check.

  “Look who’s here,” Elizabeth sneered. “And I see you brought some friends along. Were you too chicken to come alone?”

  “That will do,” her father rumbled in a voice that was deep and emotionless. “Let’s bid our guests welcome. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ernst K. Grumpel, the head of Grumpel Chemicals. And you are Lewis Castorman,” he added, nodding at Lewis and eyeing him closely. “You look the spitting image of your father.”

  “Where is my father?” Lewis demanded, standing in front of the desk. “And why did you attack us with sleeping gas?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “My, we are irritable.”

  “Elizabeth, please,” Grumpel called to his daughter. Then he said to Lewis, “I’ll answer your questions, but first things first. Let’s have a spot of breakfast, shall we?”

  Grumpel pressed a button on his desk. A nearby part of the floor rolled open and a platform appeared, bearing a table and five chairs. In addition to five settings, there was a platter with a dome and three porcelain jugs. Lewis heard his stomach growl.

  “Food!” Todrus murmured. “What a good idea!”

  As they sat at the table, Elizabeth took the dome off the platter. Expecting a feast, the group groaned in disappointment. The platter was piled with newspaper scraps, while the jugs contained nothing but water.

  “That’s a mean trick to play,” Alfonse muttered.

  “After kidnapping us,” Adelaide spoke, “the least you could do —”

  Elizabeth held up a three-inch vial that was fitted with an atomizer and held a bubbling liquid. With a bored look she sprayed the newspaper scraps and the water in the jugs. She then retreated from the table and reached for her charm.

  Seconds later the scraps started smoking. Without warning there was an ear-splitting pop and the platter was covered with a solid, pinkish substance. It looked like rubber but smelled … delicious. The jugs, too, were wafting steam, and a coffee-like fragrance filled the air.

  “Breakfast is served,” Grumpel announced.

  No one moved. The smells might be tempting, but this goop was nothing more than old newsprint.

  “How bad can it be?” Alfonse finally asked, cutting off a corner of the pinkish substance.

  “Well?” his friends asked, expecting him to gag.

  Instead Alfonse cut himself a larger portion. “It’s great! It’s sweet and juicy and … help yourselves!”

  The group began to dig in. Alfonse was right. The food was … interesting. It tasted a lot like scrambled eggs and provided everyone with a feeling of wellness.

  As they ate, Grumpel explained how the vial’s spray could transform any natural “base” — wood, earth, paper, stone — into an edible substance that was nutritious and tasty. He also said this single vial could prepare enough food to last a family for a year.

  “All done?” Grumpel asked, once the group stopped eating. “In that case would you stand back from the table, please?”

  As the group stood and retreated a few steps, Elizabeth took a second vial from her pocket and let a single, shiny drop spill out — it was like molten silver. As soon as this liquid touched the table, the plates, platters, jugs, and cutlery vanished in a puff of smoke. And with the click of a button the platform disappeared.

  “Back to business,” Lewis declared. “Where’s my father?”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” Grumpel waved a hand dismissively. “Do you realize that, of all the locksmiths I tested, not one of them, besides your father, was as skilled as you?”

  “Why do you need a locksmith?” Todrus asked.

  “Why do you think? To open a lock! A complicated lock, I might add, a specialty job that took weeks to install. You’ve heard of Yellow Swamp?”

  “I know all about Yellow Swamp!” Lewis cried, unable to control his temper any longer. “You destroyed the region and killed my mother in the process!”

  “Goodness me!” Grumpel said. “Do you have any evidence to support this theory? If you’re going to make such wild accusations, you should be able to prove them at least.”

  “I have witnesses!” Lewis hollered, forgetting to be cautious. “My friends saw your henchmen dump some stuff into the swamp. They also watched my mother die.”

  “Are you referring,” the chemist purred, “to those frogs by your side? If so, who would take their word over mine?”

  “How did he know?” Gib
iwink asked, while Todrus glanced in Adelaide’s direction.

  “Are you really frogs?” she asked in a slightly strangled tone.

  “We are,” Todrus admitted, lifting his moustache for an instant.

  Adelaide flinched. “What happened? I mean, how —”

  “That’s my doing!” Grumpel roared. “I gave them intelligence and I can take it away. Yes, Lewis Castorman, your mother’s dead because of me,” he added, “but I only acted to protect my secrets. Great deeds sometimes require the deaths of small people.”

  Lewis charged the desk. Grumpel merely smirked. Lifting a plain aerosol can, he sprayed it once, and a green cloud took shape. As soon as Lewis struck this gas, he was catapulted back as if shot from a cannon. If the frogs hadn’t caught him, he would have flown fifty feet.

  “Now listen closely,” Grumpel said, pointing on his globe to northern Alberta. “Your mother constructed a lock in Yellow Swamp. A helicopter will fly you out to this region, where you’ll find this lock and break it open. This task should be mere child’s play for a locksmith of your calibre.”

  “But Yellow Swamp is closed,” Todrus protested. “The area’s too unstable.”

  “Never mind that!” Grumpel snarled. “I want that lock open and you will do as I say! And by this I mean all of you!”

  “Forget it,” Lewis said. “I refuse to help my mother’s —”

  Grumpel pressed a second button on his desk. The wall behind him clouded over and revealed a giant TV screen. A shadowy image gradually took shape: a man was lying in a sunken chamber, his arms and legs frozen solid. Three figures were poised above him, each armed with a gun. In the background the sound of dripping water could be heard.

  “You asked about your father,” Grumpel said. “I’m afraid he isn’t well.”

  The angle changed, and the man’s face filled the screen. Lewis’s hair stood on end. This ragged figure was none other than his father. His face was pale and filthy, he had a straggly beard, and his clothes were in tatters. His father’s shirt bore a bright orange stain, and Lewis understood why his limbs weren’t moving — he had been hit with a Petriglobe.