SIXTEEN
Coach repair was not a skill that Kleft possessed in abundance, though to be fair, he never would have tried to claim otherwise. The coach wobbled and creaked and the horses had a terrible time trying to drag it on only two wheels. He was also not a skilled driver, though the horses were more or less traveling in a direction similar to the one he wanted.
Nathan sat next to him. His wrists were bound together with thick rope, as were his feet. He wore a tight gag. Kleft had not been gentle with the tying and gagging process.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” said Kleft. He’d said this at least a dozen times. “You’ve ruined the coach and made me shoot my driver. I rescued you. Don’t you see that? I showed up to give you a better life, and this is how you repay me, by creating a situation in which I was forced to accidentally kill a man who was only trying to do his job? Do you feel that was a grand gesture on your part?”
Nathan said nothing, since he was gagged and not in a position to hold up his end of the conversation.
“His death is on your conscience,” said Kleft. “When you close your eyes and see his screaming face, you will know that it’s your fault he lies buried in a shallow grave.”
Kleft had made this point, including the part about the screaming face, at least fourteen times. Nathan didn’t expect him to tire of making it any time soon.
“Uncomfortable things await you in the afterlife. Uncomfortable things indeed.” Then he shrugged. “But, best not to dwell on them, I suppose. Are you hungry? Would you like some beef jerky?”
Nathan nodded, because he knew that Kleft would have to remove the gag in order to feed him, which might allow Nathan the opportunity to work out some sort of brilliant escape.
“To hell with you!” said Kleft. “All of the beef jerky is going into my own stomach!”
But as the journey progressed, Kleft’s mood seemed to brighten. Then a third wheel popped free of the coach, and his mood soured again. When the fourth wheel came off, he let the horses drag the coach along the ground for a few miles (the horses, it must be repeated, were unharmed and found themselves enjoying the exercise) until he finally gave up and they rode the rest of the way directly on the horses’ backs. Nathan had long-fantasized about riding a horse, though in his fantasies he was not tied up and gagged and bouncing around so hard that his legs had become one giant bruise.
“At last we have arrived,” said Kleft, as they rode through a large town called Apple Falls. They passed inns, restaurants, churches, cemeteries, and a sinister playground before turning onto a long, winding road. At the end, there was a small building, constructed with odd angles and six different types of wood, upon which hung a blood-red sign: Professor Mongrel’s Theatre of the Macabre.
Nathan frowned and said something inquisitive.
“What’s that?” asked Kleft, tugging down the gag.
“I thought it was Professor Kleft’s Parade of the Macabre.”
“It will be,” he said. His face darkened. “Someday.”
The front door opened, and a short, plump man in a black suit and top hat waddled out.
“Kleft! Where in the blazes have you been?” he shouted.
“I apologize, sir,” said Kleft. “There were complications.”
“What in the blazes have you done to my coach?”
“That was among the complications.”
“That enrages me.” He looked at Nathan. “Is that the fang-toothed boy?”
“Yes.”
“Clearly he also possesses superhuman strength. I’m thankful those ropes kept him from overpowering you. Untie him, you fool.”
Kleft muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, then knelt down and began to untie the rope around Nathan’s feet.
The man waddled over to them. “Your name had better be Nathan Pepper,” he said.
Nathan nodded.
“And when you open your mouth immediately after I complete this sentence, your teeth had better be frightening.”
Nathan opened his mouth. The man’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “By the serpents of Medusa, I expected them to be only half as scary!” Then he smiled. “Fine work, Assistant Kleft, fine work. I’ll deduct fewer coins from your pay this week.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Kleft, tossing aside the first rope and going to work on the one that bound Nathan’s wrists.
“What happened to the driver?”
“He was slain.”
“Slain?”
“Slain by this beast of a boy. Do you remember that our driver had a throat when we left?”
“I do.”
“Well, that all changed.”
“Goodness.”
“The boy went at him in a frenzy of fangs and fingernails. So much blood. Apparently all it takes is the utterance of certain common English words—I dare not say which ones—to ignite his kill-lust. Our driver was brave, but bravery doesn’t do much for a man when his windpipe is exposed for the world to see. So very much blood. It took five men to stop him, not including myself, and if you were to see what those five men look like now, your stomach would churn and you would let out a cry of revulsion. ‘Disgusting!’ you would shout. ‘Better that these poor souls should be put out of their misery than to live such a disfigured existence.’ So very, very much blood. It took nearly eight buckets of water to clean the boy up after that rampage. Look at the way he stares at you, like a tiger or a shark sizing up its prey. It chills me.”
“None of that is true,” said Nathan.
“And he speaks lies!” said Kleft. “You sent me on an errand to retrieve an untruthful killing machine. That I am not dead myself is a miracle for which I will be thanking the supreme being for decades to come.”
“Enough,” said the man. “When I asked about the driver, I was seeking an answer lasting three to five seconds, nothing more.” He extended his hand to Nathan. “My name is Professor Mongrel.”
Nathan shook it. “Is that your real name?”
“If you’re asking if my first name is Professor, no, it is not. And if you’re asking if the last name I inherited upon my birth is Mongrel, no, it is not. So the answer to both potential variations on your question is no. But it’s the name I use now. Is Nathan Pepper your real name?”
“Yes.”
“Unimpressive. You need a stage name. How do you feel about The Appalling Biting Boy?”
“I don’t like it.”
“Then how about The Appalling Chewing Boy?”
“I don’t like that, either.”
“The Appalling Munching Boy?”
“No.”
“Is it the ‘Appalling’ part that you dislike?”
“I try not to be appalling.”
“Well, we’ll break you out of that habit. You can’t be part of Professor Mongrel’s Theatre of the Macabre and remain socially acceptable.”
“I don’t want to be part of it,” said Nathan. “I want to go home.”
“Then go home,” said Professor Mongrel. “Nobody is stopping you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Professor Mongrel gave him a bright smile, which suddenly turned dark and sinister. “But you’ll have to walk all the way into town. Alone.”
“I can do that. I lived in the woods for a year all by myself.”
“Oh. I see. I didn’t realize that. Then, yes, I’m afraid somebody is stopping you. Let’s go meet your new friends, shall we? Kleft, repair that coach.”
Mongrel took Nathan by the hand and led him to the building. The front door opened onto a long, dark, hallway that had bare walls and a floor that tilted just a bit to the left.
“Are you scared of spiders?” Mongrel asked as they walked down the hallway, which seemed endless.