Chapter 11

Saturday, February 1, 1936

En Route to Higgsmarket, Royal Kingdom

 

The journey to Higgsmarket was a slow, ninety-mile trek north through thick fog. The town car couldn’t have been going more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour. But the interminable drive gave Johnny and Nina plenty of time to hear what Rex Ward had to tell them about current intelligence from MacFreithshire.

The county was still cut off, with roving gangs of zombies terrorizing residents who had stayed. It was hard for the army and police to stop the scoundrels, because they appeared and vanished with unseemly ease. The patchy fog—which came and went without warning—also made things difficult for the good guys. But somewhere those zombies had to have a base. And when it was found, the army would act decisively.

As excited as Johnny felt, it was strange not having his sister or Uncle Louie with him.

Uncle Louie was on his way to the Rowestoft aeroboat port, to take up duty repairing Como Eagles. Right up until he left, he had expressed doubt about leaving Johnny and Nina, even for just a few weeks. But Johnny could tell that this was what Uncle Louie really wanted. He had been raising kids for a long time and deserved an adventure on his own.

Mel, of course, stayed at Wickenham with Dame Honoria and Professor DeNimes, studying the piles and piles of papers and books that Percy had left. When Johnny heard what Dame Honoria had planned for Ozzie—the sneaky zombie spy who was still lurking around the neighborhood—he had a good laugh. Hopefully, her scheme would work.

On the drive to Higgsmarket, Nina wore her etheric goggles. She kept looking through the car’s rear window, apparently to make sure that the colonel and his boys were still galloping along behind. And she intently lip-read everything that Rex said, asking him to repeat himself a few times. At one point she asked why he had on a Barovian uniform, since he wasn’t a Barovian. And what about the target over his heart? Johnny had wondered the same thing.

“My stock in trade,” the ghost answered, “was spy craft. My superior sent me on a secret mission to Barovia late in the war, to find out about certain troop movements. I speak perfect Barovian, and I wore this enemy uniform, so I wouldn’t be detected. But someone betrayed me. They captured me, tortured me, and summarily put me before a firing squad. Shot to death. I think you’ll find five bullet holes in my chest. And, of course, I’m doomed to wear these blasted enemy rags through all of eternity. What I’d give to have died in a nice tuxedo or even a tweed hunting jacket.”

“So what will be happening when we get to Higgsmarket?” Johnny asked, eager to get off the topic of gentlemen’s attire.

“We’ll meet up with your official guide. Goes by the name of Marko. He comes highly recommended, I’m told. He’ll want to brief you on his strategy for guiding you through hostile country. Remember, you’re under instructions to only observe and report.”

Johnny was anxious and apprehensive about working with this new guy. He and Nina would have to depend on him to keep them safe during the mission. He sure hoped that Marko knew his stuff.

“You can enjoy a little sight-seeing in Higgsmarket and get a good night’s sleep,” Rex continued. “Then tomorrow morning we’ll head down to the rail yard to board Old Sal.”

“What’s Sal like?” Johnny asked.

Rex looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Best that you wait and see.”

 

* * *

 

Back in Royalton, people had seemed oblivious to the crisis in the north. But in Higgsmarket, Johnny sensed an air of nervousness. People rushed up and down the sidewalks. Johnny didn’t see very many smiles, just grim and wary looks. He caught snatches of conversations as he and Nina walked along.

“… have enough water and food for a week…”

“… sending the young ’uns to Gran’s in the south…”

“… don’t think they’re telling us everything…”

When they walked by a grocery store, Johnny was shocked to see that most of the shelves had been stripped nearly bare. This is what people did when they were facing natural disasters and other emergencies—stock up on food and additional supplies. And there seemed to be a lot of soldiers and police officers about.

Johnny took a few pictures of the main shopping street and caught a glowering look from a policewoman directing traffic at a busy intersection. No, things definitely did not seem normal in Higgsmarket.

In the teashop where Johnny and Nina had lunch—delicious little sandwiches of ham and deviled eggs—Johnny asked the waitress why everyone seemed so jumpy. He was anxious to hear what the locals knew.

“Well, m’dear,” the rosy-cheeked woman said, “you’d be jumpy too, with that business in MacFreithshire being so close. Lots of people think that whatever is happening up there might be more than gangsters run amok.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asked.

“My sister Agnes lives near Chippington, and her letter said that those that’ve seen the hooligans say they don’t look human. Brown as mahogany, they are. Odd of figure. Terrible strong.”

The waitress patted Nina’s hand. “Not that there’s anything wrong with dark skin, m’dear. But their skin isn’t soft and pretty like yours. It’s leathery and unnatural. And what kind of monsters take children, yet ask for no ransom. There’s more here than meets the eye, if you ask old Stella.”

“I wish we could tell her what we know,” Nina whispered just before the dessert tray arrived, loaded with small pieces of cake.

“I wish we could too, Sparks,” Johnny said. “But telling her about Percy and the zombies would only make things worse.”

As Nina wrote down some notes for their first story in her narrow reporter’s tablet, Johnny placed his camera bag down on the floor next to his stool. He told her some of the things that she might want to jot down, and she shared her thoughts.

The two friends were sitting at the counter with their back to the door. Johnny sipped on his cup of tea and nibbled on his chocolate cake, thinking about what a huge scoop their articles and photos would be—once publication was allowed. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if their stories won some big awards. Though he didn’t brag about it, Johnny was awfully proud of winning the Clarion’s Newshawk award at the end of last year. He could make a habit of something like that.

He was daydreaming about future accolades, with a goofy grin on his face, when the rosy-cheeked waitress came out of the kitchen. Her jovial face morphed into a mask of indignation.

“You there!” she barked, looking right between Nina and Johnny. “Out! Or I’ll have the police on you!”

Johnny twisted violently around, nearly falling off his stool.

There, facing him in a half-crouch, was a boy about his own age, with wild, shaggy blond hair and a grimy face.

The two of them briefly made eye contact—both equally startled.

The boy took a few steps backward, then turned and bolted out the teashop door.

With Johnny’s camera bag in his left hand!