Another Whole Nother Story Read online

  “I’ll be okay. Just go. Now!”

  Reluctantly, Chip turned and sprinted down the road. The others followed, Pinky being the last to pull herself away. Big clapped her hands and pointed to a spot on the ground near her feet. “Digs. Right here.”

  Digs began digging furiously, carving out a six-inch-deep hole in no time. “And here.” Digs dug another hole. Twice more Big pointed to spots on the ground, and each time Digs tore at the earth like a backhoe.

  Bon Mot was not about to let these witches escape and ruin his perfect witch-hunting record. He kicked Claude in the ribs to hurry him along. Claude thought briefly about how nice it would be to kick Bon Mot similarly but instead did what he was told and increased his speed. All that stood between Bon Mot and his prey were several hundred feet of dirt road, a young girl in a blue baseball cap and her small brown fox, and two men in knee-length pants, hobbling along in their big-buckled shoes.

  “Out of zee way, you wig-wearing simpletons!” he shouted. “Zay are getting away!”

  When Gateman and the professor saw the tiny Frenchman atop the mighty, arrogant horse charging directly toward them, their faces nearly exploded with fear. Quickly they dove out of the way, one to each side, and rolled across the dusty ground just as Claude thundered by, right where they had stood a fraction of a second before. This marked the second time that day that they had been run off the road by horses and, despite the refreshing cloud of dust kicked up by Claude’s hooves, Gateman was not happy.

  “You’ll pay for this!” he shouted as he and the professor stood up and dusted off their knee-length pants and fancy buttoned jackets. “Well, I must say, I can’t wait to get back home, where there are five-star hotels and crosswalks.”

  “He seems to be after Ethan Cheeseman,” said Professor Boxley. “But why? Who would want to hurt the greatest scientist of our time?”

  “Yes,” said Gateman. “What kind of … sicko would want to do something like that?”

  “Hurry, Digs!” shouted Big as Bon Mot closed to within a mere fifty feet. Digs completed one last hole and then he and Big turned, ran, and hoped for the best.

  Bon Mot leaned forward in the saddle to decrease wind resistance and improve his aerodynamics. The horse lengthened his gait. His oversized hooves punished the ground beneath them. Then, quite suddenly, the ground had its revenge as one of those obnoxiously large hooves—the right front one to be exact—landed in a freshly dug hole just deep enough to cause the horse to stumble forward.

  Bon Mot took to the air like a circus clown shot from a cannon. A second later, the hard, angry ground offered his tiny body a most unpleasant welcome.

  He landed chest first, his ruffled shirt providing little padding as he slid across the path, down a slight embankment, and into a good-sized blackberry bush. If it had been his habit to do so, he would have rated the sharpness of the stickers at an impressively high eight-point-nine. And if the fall hadn’t knocked the wind out of him, he certainly would have been screaming in pain by now. Instead he just lay there, surrounded by thorns, afraid to move.

  And so Claude did the moving for him. The horse walked down to where Bon Mot lay and took the heel of his master’s protruding left shoe between his enormous white teeth. Claude put himself in reverse and dragged the battered witch hunter from the bush. Bon Mot made a wobbly transition to standing and gasped at the sight of himself. His white ruffled shirt was covered in blood. He gasped again, until he realized the blood was actually blackberry juice. Claude gave him a lick. Yes, definitely blackberry juice.

  But there was no time for a Bon Mot smoothie right now. The witches were heading to the river. While Bon Mot searched the area for a way to get back onto his horse, the two men he had nearly run over just moments before came sprinting toward him. He moved to the middle of road and waved his arms, determined to flag them down.

  “Stop! It is I, Jacques Bon Mot, and I command your assistance!”

  Professor Boxley gave Bon Mot no assistance. Nor did Gateman, who instead gave him a hard hip check as he ran by, causing Bon Mot to topple over and slide down the embankment into the blackberry bush again. With his face somewhere in the middle of the undergrowth, Bon Mot missed out on seeing a most rare occurrence in nature: the sight of a horse smiling.

  As a thin sliver of moon appeared in the sky, Crazy Nellie didn’t expect any more business this late in the day. With the money Captain Jibby had paid her earlier, she walked out the rickety door of her equally rickety shack and prepared to set out for town when who should come running down the path along the river but another customer, a boy with a wiry, athletic build and a mustache that resembled poorly watered alfalfa sprouts in all but color.

  “Excuse me,” said Chip, trying to temper the urgency in his voice and sound as casual as the circumstances would allow so as not to raise suspicion. “Are you Crazy Nellie?”

  The old woman flashed her shiny, tip-jar grin. “What can I do for you today?”

  Nellie was pleased and surprised to see three more customers come running up, along with the strangest-looking dog she had ever seen. This was turning out to be a very good day indeed. “We need a boat,” said Chip. “Our friend Big told us you have boats for sale.”

  “I do indeed,” said Nellie. “Right this way.”

  “Any sign of her?” Chip asked his father as Crazy Nellie led her new customers down to the waterline.

  “I don’t see her,” said Mr. Cheeseman, looking back over his shoulder.

  “She’ll be okay, Chip,” said Penny. “Don’t worry.”

  “I have two left,” said Nellie. Chip paid little attention to the boats, gently nudging each other in the shallow water of the river’s edge. Instead he kept his eye on the road, waiting and hoping that any second Big and Digs would appear.

  Mr. Cheeseman looked doubtfully at the two boats. “I don’t know,” he said. “Are they seaworthy? We need to get to Boston Harbor.”

  “They’re one hundred percent guaranteed,” said Crazy Nellie. “Except the blue one, which comes with a free bailer.” She looked around in the tall grass for the cast-iron pot but couldn’t find it. “Hmm. It was here a minute ago.”

  “We’ll take the red one then.” Mr. Cheeseman dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.

  “Excellent choice,” said Crazy Nellie. “Will you be needing any oars with that?”

  “It doesn’t come with oars?”

  “No, but if you buy three I’ll throw in a free vest.”

  “Two oars will be fine. Listen, we’re in a bit of a hurry here.”

  “It’s a very nice vest. Even comes with a free bonus sleeve.”

  While Mr. Cheeseman negotiated with Crazy Nellie, Chip wandered back up the path, looking, waiting, and hoping. Pinky followed, also looking, waiting, and hoping. Despite all the looking, waiting, and hoping, they saw nothing but trees running along each side of an empty path.

  “Chip! Let’s go!” Penny, Teddy, and Rat-Face Roy sat in the creaky red rowboat and Mr. Cheeseman prepared to push off. Chip took one last look and Pinky took one last sniff before they started down toward the boat. Chip lifted Pinky into the boat, then climbed in himself and sat next to Teddy, who looked a bit shaken.

  “You okay, Teddy?” asked Chip.

  “Hmm?” Teddy certainly did not look okay. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time in his young life when he had felt worse. He gave this horrible nauseated feeling an equally horrible rating of zero-point-zero.

  With everyone aboard, Mr. Cheeseman waded into the ice-cold water, pushing the boat toward the swift center of the river. He was about to step into the boat when he heard, “Dad, wait!”

  In the fading light, Chip was sure he saw a swatch of blue moving through the trees. Mr. Cheeseman waited for a moment but saw nothing. “Chip, I’m sorry.” Chip offered a slow nod of resignation. Mr. Cheeseman climbed into the boat that he hoped was sufficiently seaworthy to take them, by oar and by current, to Boston Harbor.

  Crazy Nellie bar
ely had the chance to admire the shiny new coins Mr. Cheeseman had given her when two tired men came chugging down the path just in time to see the red rowboat disappear around the corner.

  “There they go,” said Professor Boxley. “We have to catch them. We need a boat.”

  “You’ve come to the right place, sir,” said Crazy Nellie. “I’ve got one left and she’s a real beauty.”

  Gateman and the professor looked at the faded blue boat, full of patches and utterly lacking in beauty. A good two inches of water had collected in its hull.

  “Is it seaworthy?” asked the professor.

  “One hundred percent guaranteed,” said Nellie, “or your money back.”

  “Good. We’ll take it.”

  The river grew wider, noisier, and splashier with every stroke of the oars that took Mr. Cheeseman and his family away from the angry mob, away from the LVR, and nearer to safety but farther from hope.

  There was no conversation now. Just a sense of relief and a sense of dread mingling in the air above them. Ethan rowed steadily and mechanically while the children sat and stared at whatever happened to occupy the space directly in front of them.

  What occupied the space in front of Chip was the forest—trees of green and brown and, for a brief moment, what looked possibly like a tiny patch of blue. But he’d been wrong before and so he chalked it up to a fluttering blue jay perhaps, or, more likely, wishful thinking.

  As the red rowboat continued downstream, it took its silent, sullen crew around a long, sweeping bend. The first star appeared in the sky and Chip made a wish. Penny made a wish too. Teddy just stared straight ahead. Then Chip saw it. Not a tiny, possible splash of blue but a real, definite splash of blue.

  It sat atop Big’s head in the form of a Police Pals baseball cap. She and Digs stood on a fallen tree that stretched out over the river, perhaps five feet above the surface. “Look!” Chip shouted over the rush of the water. “It’s Big.” Chip waved and Big smiled ever so slightly. She crouched down as the boat neared and Digs inched forward to the very edge of the log. Chip and Teddy moved aside to make room. Though it had been years since he’d been at the oars, Ethan was still an expert rower, having been captain of the sculling team at Southwestern North Dakota State University. Deftly he guided the boat directly toward Big and Digs. He hoped the fragile boat could withstand the impact.

  Big and Digs jumped, taking into account the speed of the boat and the distance to the water. What they did not and could not take into account was the boat meeting with a strong undercurrent, causing it to yaw sharply to the left at that very moment. Digs landed in Penny’s lap, knocking her backward and nearly forcing the wind out of her. Big missed the boat altogether. Actually, she didn’t quite miss it entirely. Her right arm collided with the side of the boat as she plunged into the cold, white water, disappearing in an instant.

  “Big!” yelled Chip, searching for a sign of her in the churning river. A second later he saw the blue cap spring to the surface. But just the cap and nothing else. Quickly he removed his shoes.

  “Chip, wait!” said Mr. Cheeseman, fighting to keep the boat from spinning around in the absolute wrong direction. But Chip did not wait. He dove into the river and vanished beneath the swirling rapids. Mr. Cheeseman knew that his son was a good swimmer but not a great swimmer, especially in conditions like these.

  Under the water, Chip could see nothing but the water itself, full of bubbles, sand, and debris. He searched and searched with his hands, groping into the murky river for any sign of Big. By now his lungs were full of air but very little of it was oxygen. He needed to surface but was unable to determine which direction was up. Then he saw something float by, only inches from his face. It was bright red and light blue—the beads on Big’s ponytail.

  “Chiiiiiip!” yelled Penny. It had been nearly a full minute since her brother disappeared beneath the water’s surface. Teddy just sat mumbling, tears streaming down his face.

  Finally, after the longest sixty seconds in the history of mankind, Chip surfaced with a desperate gasp for air that might have been heard miles away. He’d been dragged downstream, ahead of the boat. “There he is!” Penny alerted her father. Mr. Cheeseman dug in and paddled toward his son. Chip swam for the boat as best he could with only one arm, the other wrapped around Big, towing her behind him. Big helped paddle with her left arm, the right one having been rendered completely useless by its collision with the boat.

  Chip took hold of an oar and his father reeled him in, bit by bit, until Chip was able to grasp the side of the boat. Mr. Cheeseman and Penny grabbed Big’s buckskin shirt and dragged her aboard, then pulled Chip from the freezing water.

  For the first few moments, no one said a word. Chip and Big coughed up the water they had swallowed while Penny fought to catch her breath and Teddy rocked back and forth, his top teeth grinding against the lower ones. Digs sat in Penny’s lap, whining softly.

  “Are you okay?” asked Mr. Cheeseman when he had regained control of the boat. Chip nodded and noticed Big was clutching her right arm, her face locked in a grimace. Chip knelt over her.

  “Your arm? Is it broken?”

  “I’m not certain,” said Big.

  “Dad,” said Chip. “The Empathizer.”

  Mr. Cheeseman tucked one oar under his arm, then reached into his pocket and fetched the magical black box. As the river tossed the boat violently, Chip attached one suction cup to his temple. “Where does it hurt?”

  Big put her hand to her shoulder. Chip reached beneath her buckskin sleeve and attached the second suction cup. He powered up the Empathizer and Big watched as it came alive with lime-green light. Chip cried out and quickly turned off the machine.

  “Broken?” said Penny.

  “I don’t think so,” said Chip. “Feels like the time I dislocated my shoulder diving for a ground ball.”

  “Okay,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “There’s not much we can do about it now. Just make her as comfortable as possible and we’ll get it looked at the minute we get to Boston.”

  “Looked at?” said Chip. “By the guy who drills holes in people’s heads? I’m not letting him near her.” Chip placed his hand beneath Big’s head, giving it some manner of cushioning against the hard wooden hull of the boat. Though he was wet, cold, and near exhaustion, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had been so happy to see someone.

  “You saved my life, Chip,” said Big, clutching Chip’s hand in hers.

  “Just paying you back for saving ours,” said Chip.

  “My friend Digs did all the work. All I did was nearly get you killed by taking you to that awful little town. And I’m sorry you never got to see your friends.”

  “Friends?” said Chip. “What friends?”

  Big described the two wigged men she met in the woods and how one of them carried a strange painting of a very young Ethan Cheeseman. In addition to Mr. Cheeseman’s likeness, the painting featured words as well and, though Big could not remember all of them, she did recall the phrase “Scientist of Tomorrow.”

  Mr. Cheeseman considered it necessary, under the circumstances, to deny any knowledge of such a painting. But to Ethan and his children, Big’s story could only mean one thing: someone from the future was looking for them. The very thought of it consumed their imaginations and momentarily drew attention away from the forest that ran along the river. For if they had been watching, they might have noticed a splash of white moving swiftly through the trees.

  Chapter 12

  Their feet were numb, their ankles swollen, their grasp on reality waning. Three and a half hours after the competition began, there was no end in sight to the battle of Dizzy and the Mailman. (Incidentally, a very good title for a sitcom. Dizzy and the Mailman. Thursdays at 8:00.)

  Each man was soaked with perspiration and drowning in fatigue. The Mailman’s crewmen were leaning ever farther to one side, by now listing at a near forty-five-degree angle. Dizzy tried not to look at them, instead focusing his gaze on a p
ainting hanging on the wall, which, unbeknownst to him, Shifty had tilted to one side. Still, he kept his balance.

  Tension in the crowded room grew by the second. The onlookers either cheered or groaned each time one of the balancers teetered or tottered.

  Captain Jibby was not cheering. He just sat, biting his knuckles. The stakes were too high. If Dizzy won, they’d have the ship they needed to sail to Denmark and return the White Gold Chalice, thus ending the terrible curse. If Dizzy lost, they’d have no ship and a lot of explaining to do.

  Then, just when it seemed the battle would go on forever, the Mailman appeared to be wavering. Dizzy’s victory seemed a foregone conclusion when suddenly there could be heard, over the clamor of the crowd, a very high beeping noise. It came in three short, consecutive beeps. No one knew quite what to make of it, since they lived in a time long before beeping had been invented. No more than a half-minute had passed when the strange sound occurred again—and it seemed to be coming from Dizzy’s head.

  It may have seemed that way, but it was actually coming from Dizzy’s earmuffs, which were, at the most inopportune time imaginable, emitting a low-battery signal. Because Mr. Cheeseman had given Dizzy the earmuffs just a few weeks ago (or several hundred years from now), he had never found it necessary to change the batteries and, in fact, had never given it much thought at all.

  The beeping sounded once more, and then it was Dizzy’s turn to panic. The earmuffs went dead and Dizzy’s artificial sense of balance died with them. Dizzy nearly fell over that very instant but managed to avoid it by taking two giant hops to the left and then three hops backward. Then he began hopping forward, unable to stop.

  Jibby removed his knuckles from his mouth and shouted, “No!”

  The crowd parted down the middle and Dizzy hopped across the room, right for the opposite wall, stopping just inches short of slamming into it face-first. He hopped backward, then did a quick pirouette and hopped straight for the exit, where Dr. Dignan was now standing.