CHAPTER 16

In which the chief’s secret (and very evil) plan is revealed, but no one believes it

You run your company from an underground dungeon?” Elliot asked.

Dr. Heppleworth shook his broad, creaturely head. His mouth curled into a sad smile. “It was the great success of my products that attracted the attention of the Chief and his ghorks. One product in particular brought them here. Something I called Knoo-Yoo-Juice.”

Leslie nodded. “We know all about that stuff. It’s an elixir that disguises creatures as people.”

Heppleworth nodded. “There will always be creatures who wish to . . . how shall I put it? Cross over, I suppose. Knowing this, I began experimenting, and the result was Knoo-Yoo-Juice.”

“Is that why the ghorks took over?” asked Elliot. “They want to disguise themselves as people?”

Heppleworth shook his head. “No. I’m afraid it’s something much worse. What the ghorks want is quite the opposite.”

It took a moment for Heppleworth’s words to sink in, but when the old creature’s meaning took shape in their minds, Leslie and Elliot looked at each other in horror.

“Oh, no,” said Leslie. “You mean . . .”

Elliot gasped. “They want to turn people into ghorks!”

“That’s right,” Heppleworth croaked. “You see, ghorks aren’t the cleverest of creatures. More than anything else, they lack creativity. I believe this may be an unintended result of spending so many generations breeding themselves to augment a single sense. Creativity, you see, has much in common with food and drink. Like any great meal, it requires all the senses working in concert. The ghorks, however, each obsessed with only one sense at a time, have lost all vestiges of inspiration and inventiveness.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Elliot, even though he was reluctant to admit that inventiveness had much in common with appreciating food, which was basically what his parents did for a living.

“Those ghorks,” Heppleworth went on, “can see no better way of improving something apart from making it bigger. More beautiful? More subtle? More complex? More interesting? All these measures are meaningless to ghorks! Now I’m afraid they plan to apply this same idea to their armies. They intend to start here, in Simmersville, at the food festival.”

“But how will taking over the food festival help make their army bigger?”

“Simple,” said Heppleworth, “by turning everyone at the festival into a ghork soldier.”

“When?” asked Leslie. She was thinking of her mother, who would be right at the center of everything.

“Their plan is to do it tomorrow, when everyone is gathered together for the Costume Cabaret. They’ll put the elixir into the Final Feast, which is traditionally served following the cabaret.” Heppleworth shut his eyes. “My only hope is they won’t discover the formula in time.”

“You mean they don’t have the elixir?” asked Leslie. “One that’ll turn people into ghorks?”

Heppleworth shook his head. “Not yet, but they’re very close. Already they’ve been testing their formulas on the townsfolk, secretly slipping it into dishes at some local restaurant. A place called . . . The Smiling Mudsucker.”

Leslie and Elliot looked at each other.

“Oh, no,” said Leslie. “We had dinner there tonight!”

“I had The Special,” said Elliot.

Heppleworth approached the iron bars of his cell. “Turn around,” he said. “Let me have a good look at you.”

Elliot and Leslie each spun in a circle.

“No horns, no tails, no wings, no claws, no unwanted hair.” Heppleworth sighed in relief. “So far, so good.”

“What about that girl we saw?” said Leslie. “Emily, the clerk at the hotel. There was something wrong with her arm. It was all green and scaly. It must have happened because she drank one of the ghorks’ experimental formulas.” She looked to Heppleworth. “But it didn’t look like she was turning into a ghork at all. That skin we saw on her arm—it looked like something else. Like a snake or a lizard.”

Dr. Heppleworth nodded wearily. “That’s the problem. There are just so many different kinds of creatures in the world. Ghorks are only one. So far, they’ve produced elixirs that turn people into one sort of creature or another, but not yet ghorks—thank goodness!” He stroked his leathery, mustard-colored chin. “The scaly green skin of a snake, you say? Yes, definitely not a ghork, but oh! That poor girl!”

“I wish we could help her,” said Elliot.

“You must,” said Heppleworth, grasping the bars with long yellow fingers. “Because it gets worse.”

“How could it get any worse?”

“I don’t know the details, but there is another reason the ghorks want to increase their numbers. It has something to do with a prophecy. I’ve heard my guards talking about it, something about a new leader. They’ve brought him here to Simmersville, and they believe he will guide them to a great victory.”

“So it is true,” Leslie whispered.

“The Sixth Ghork,” said Elliot.

Heppleworth’s already bulging eyes widened even further. “A sixth ghork? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Nobody has,” said Leslie. “But if they brought him to the festival, then maybe—”

Leslie stopped. The sound of marching feet came down the tunnel. Ghorks were coming!

“Hurry!” Heppleworth whispered through the bars. “As of this moment, we three are the only ones who know what Quazicom and the ghorks are really up to. With me locked in here, you two are the only ones who can stop them!” He pointed farther down the tunnel that had brought them here. “Keep going that way. At every fork, turn left. That should lead you back to the market square.”

“We can’t just leave you in here,” said Elliot.

Heppleworth shrugged. “I’ve already been in here a long time. One more day won’t hurt. But please, hurry! They’re almost here!”

Reluctantly, they backed away from DUNJIN #1 and scurried into the shadows, just as the ghorks came pounding around the corner. Elliot and Leslie ran and ran, taking the left side every time the tunnel split.

Eventually, they saw crisscrosses of yellow lamplight, shining down through drainage grates above. At last, they reached a rusty ladder that led up to a grate they could push open. They emerged into an alleyway similar to the one where they had hidden from Grinner. At the end of the alley, they heard the babble and buzz of the Simmersville market square, just as Heppleworth had promised.

“Leslie Fang! Where have you been?!” Leslie’s mother came rushing across the square. “We’ve been looking all over town for you two!”

Elliot’s mother followed close behind. She grabbed her son tightly by his arm. “We’ve been worried sick,” she told Elliot in her sternest voice. “Perhaps you’d like to explain where you’ve been all this time!”

“You know where we’ve been,” Elliot protested. “We’ve been running away from ghorks all night long!”

His father frowned in disbelief. “You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?”

“You were there! You saw him! Grinner even tied you guys up in a tablecloth!”

“Please, Elliot,” said his mother. “We’ve had quite enough of your creature stories.”

“Your mother’s right,” said his father. “That incident in the hotel was nothing more than an eccentric chef in a very good costume. After you two ran off, the waiter apologized—profusely.” He shook his head, obviously recalling the fuss. “You know how these genius chefs are. Temperamental!”

Elliot waved his arms around the square, indicating the crowd of festivalgoers. “You guys are as bad as everyone else! Why won’t anyone believe us?”

“Because,” said his mother, “you are quite clearly making all of this up.”

“So that’s it!” said Leslie’s mother. She pulled her daughter until they were face to face. “I just knew it!” She waved a finger at Elliot. “You little Lothario! I’ll bet you dragged Leslie off for more of your sneaky smooching!”

“What?! No!” Leslie fought free of her mother’s grip. “And what do you mean—more? We’ve never smooched, not even once! Everything Elliot said is true!”

“Please,” Elliot told his parents. “You have to believe me! I know you think they’re weird, and yes, they’re all creatures, but they’re still my friends, and they’re in trouble!”

“Friends?” asked his mother. “What about Leslie? Isn’t she your friend?”

“Not if they’ve been smooching, she isn’t,” said Leslie’s mother.

“Mom! Enough with the smooching! Elliot’s right, and those creatures are my friends, too.”

Elliot’s father crouched down until he and Elliot were face-to-face. “You may not like to hear this,” he said, “but listen, son. Have you and Leslie ever considered finding some new friends?”

Elliot’s mother nodded. “Maybe some that aren’t so . . . creaturely.”

When he heard this, Elliot felt sick. It wasn’t simply that his parents didn’t believe his friends were in trouble. It was that they didn’t believe he should even be friends with them in the first place. He wondered if what he had told Leslie in the darkness of the Coleopter-copter might really be true. Maybe he and his parents were just too different to understand one other.

As his parents dragged him back to the hotel, Elliot was convinced he and his parents might truly be of a different species. If that’s true, he thought, maybe I don’t belong with them at all. Maybe I belong . . . in creaturedom.