Chapter 53

“That is incorrect.”

Spencer and Walter stood side by side in the hallway, watching the Glop bubbling upward. The lower half of the drinking fountain looked the same, but the top had melted away, spigot, drain, metal, and all. In its place was a deep opening, Glop spewing upward from the unknown depths.

“I suppose it’s time,” Walter said, drawing Ninfa from his pocket. He took a moment of silent reprieve with the bronze hammer. Spencer understood. As soon as Walter extracted the nail, his domain would collapse. But even more than that, the moment he threw the hammer into the mixture, Walter would give up his warlock powers forever.

Walter stepped over to the large mirror beside the fountain. His reflection looked worn and weary—a man burdened by the huge responsibility of saving the future of education.

Walter sighed as he placed Ninfa against the nail. The magic bond formed and the nail slipped easily from the wall beside the mirror.

Spencer withdrew Belzora and the nail from his belt pouch. The latex glove he still wore prevented him from going into a vision. Walter took the items, gripping the nails in one hand while holding all three hammers in the other. Ninfa, Holga, and Belzora.

It was strange to see the complete set of bronze hammers in one place. They weren’t large, and each was slightly different. But they seemed to radiate an unseen power.

Walter looked at Spencer, their faces alight in the magical luminescence of the Glop source. Then, suddenly, the silence was broken by a bit of static radio noise. The static cut out and a voice came through.

“Spencer? Spencer, do you copy?”

It was Min. And at a time like this!

Spencer had almost forgotten about the walkie-talkie on his belt. Since they’d succeeded in rescuing Walter, he hadn’t given any thought to Min and his efforts to translate the Manualis Custodem.

Spencer unclipped the radio and pressed it to his lips. “I’m here, Min. Reading you loud and clear.”

“I have nearly completed the translation you asked for,” the boy said. “All but the final chapter.”

Spencer smiled. “Why are you even awake? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I have worked nonstop,” Min said. “You told me it was urgent.”

“Not too urgent anymore,” Spencer said. “We did it, Min. Walter and I just reopened the source of all Glop.”

“Just you and Walter?” Min said. “Where is Daisy? Where are the others?”

“They’re waiting outside,” Spencer answered. “Walter and I had to do this alone, just like the Manualis said.”

“The Manualis Custodem said nothing about that,” Min said.

Spencer paused, confused. He looked to Walter, who stooped over the translated binder and turned back a page.

“Says it right here,” Spencer said into the radio. “On the page before the Glop formula recipe.” Walter pointed to the line and Spencer read it: “Only a warlock and an Auran are permitted to be present at the time of the source’s opening.”

“That is incorrect.” Min said it so matter-of-factly that Spencer instantly believed him. “That sentence is not written on that page of the Manualis Custodem.”

Walter leaned in to say something, and Spencer pressed the button for him. “Perhaps you made a mistake.”

Spencer could imagine Min shaking his head. “It’s much more likely that your first translator made a mistake.”

“Professor DeFleur?” Spencer said. “That’s a pretty big mistake to write in there.”

“Unless, of course, it wasn’t a mistake,” Min said. “Perhaps this professor wanted to isolate you and Walter Jamison from the rest of the Rebels.”

“But why would he do that?” Spencer said. “He died trying to help us escape with the translation.”

“You saw him die?” Min asked.

“Yeah,” said Spencer. “Mr. Clean swallowed him whole.”

There was a sound behind Spencer and Walter, a shuffling footfall punctuated by the click of a cane. Spencer turned to find himself staring at a figure he had never expected to see again.

Professor Dustin DeFleur hobbled forward, his thin cane tapping across the hard floor. He paused beside the smoldering remnants of the School Board and turned his wizened face toward them.

There was a little grin on his face as he spoke. “Did you know that a small person can survive for several minutes inside the belly of a Grime?” Professor DeFleur said. “Quite an unpleasant experience, I must say.”

“How did you get in here?” Walter asked. Spencer was wondering the same thing. It seemed unlikely that the old professor could have been stealthy enough to slip past the Rebels standing guard outside.

“I’ve been here all day,” said Professor DeFleur, “waiting in the gym for you Rebels to show up. I work here now. Principal Poach just hired me to be the new P.E. teacher.”

Spencer scoffed. “You?” he said, pointing at the hunched man’s cane. “The P.E. teacher? You’re like a hundred years old!”

“I’m faster than I look,” said Professor DeFleur. He swung his cane, hidden metal prongs extending from the tip to form a rake. He slammed his concealed rake at Spencer’s feet, the impact knocking the walkie-talkie from the boy’s grasp. The metal bars folded around Spencer in a heartbeat, and the momentum from the attack sent his cage sliding across the hallway and clattering into the wall.

Walter was still free, his entire body tense as he guarded the drinking fountain, standing firmly between Professor DeFleur and Spencer’s cage.

The old professor drew a razorblade from the pocket of his linen shirt. The blade extended, and he thrust the tip into the fallen walkie-talkie, crushing the Glopified device in a spray of sparks.

“We trusted you,” Walter muttered, but the professor ignored him.

Professor DeFleur turned his gaze upon the drinking fountain. “Is that it?” He pointed a crooked finger at the gurgling mess. “Is that the source of all Glop?”

Spencer couldn’t believe that the old professor was alive! And even more unbelievable—he had turned against the Rebels. Spencer gripped the bars of his cage, staring speechlessly at the old man standing alone in the hallway. He was terrified by his arrival and disgusted by the fact that DeFleur’s death had been a lie.

Professor DeFleur took a step closer to the drinking fountain. “Stay back!” Walter threatened, reaching for his janitorial belt. “We have help waiting outside. You’re alone and outnumbered.”

The professor’s bushy white eyebrows raised. “How alone am I?” he asked.

His wrinkly hand flashed to his side, drawing a short-handled rubber squeegee that had been tucked in his belt. Leaning forward, DeFleur dragged the squeegee across the large hallway mirror beside the drinking fountain.

Walter stepped backward, bumping into Spencer’s cage as a magical portal opened. In a moment, the two Rebels were outnumbered as a dozen Sweepers poured into the hallway.

The last to arrive was Mr. Clean, his white lab coat still damp from the flooded laboratory.

The Sweeper warlock greeted Professor DeFleur with a nod before turning to Walter and Spencer. “Your Rebel uprising ends tonight,” he said.

Professor DeFleur chuckled and looked at Walter. “Now it seems you are alone and outnumbered.”

“But you’ve made a mistake,” Walter said. “We’re not alone either.”

Then Walter turned and flung the bronze hammers into the bubbling Glop source.