[Janitors 04] Strike of the Sweepers (33 page)

The next ingredient seemed puzzling to Spencer.

Ash of the School Board

“There’s no turning back now,” Walter said, sliding the School Board into the middle of the hallway. He withdrew a lighter from his back pocket.

“We have to burn the School Board?” Spencer asked. It seemed obvious, but he thought he must be missing something.

“It’s the only way to make ash,” Walter said. “I disabled the hallway smoke detectors. The last thing we need is the local fire department checking in on us.”

Walter sparked the lighter, and a little flame appeared. He lowered it toward the School Board but paused just before it touched the wood. Walter glanced up, and Spencer thought he saw a need for validation in the old man’s eyes.

“This is final, Spencer,” Walter said. “If we burn the School Board, there can be no new warlocks.”

Spencer took a deep breath and nodded his understanding. “If we succeed, there won’t be hammers or nails, either. We won’t need warlocks,” Spencer reassured. “We’ll have the Witches.”

Without another word, Walter Jamison touched the little flame to the School Board.

Spencer had seen various ways of starting campfires. His dad used to try to ignite a fire with a single match and one piece of newspaper. Daisy’s dad liked to douse the wood in lighter fluid. But the School Board lit like nothing Spencer had ever seen before.

It caught fire immediately, large flames lapping across the wooden surface. The colors were unusual, too. The flames flickered between deep purple and hues of brilliant green.

“Why does it burn like that?” Spencer finally asked.

“The
Manualis Custodem
says that the School Board was cut from an ancient piece of wood growing at the heart of a Glop lagoon,” Walter said.

Spencer looked at him in surprise. “The Broomstaff?”

The old warlock nodded. “The Board was cut from the Broomstaff and brought into civilization as a way to regulate the transfer of power from one warlock to another.”

Spencer knew the process. When one of the bronze hammers was passed on to another person, the new warlock had to reset the power by driving the nail into the School Board and pulling it out again.

“I always thought I understood the purpose of the School Board,” Walter continued. “I thought it was for
us,
the warlocks. But now I realize that
this,
” he pointed to the blazing wood, “is what it was made for.” The warlock nodded. “The School Board
wants
to burn. The Witches knew we would need its ash to bring them back.”

Spencer and Walter stood in silence, transfixed by the multicolored flames as the School Board burned. Then it began to smolder. The wood turned to ashen embers that blazed a fierce golden when Walter knelt down and breathed on them.

Walter prodded the charred School Board with his razorblade until it cracked in half, weakened to charcoal from the magical flames that had consumed it. Nudging the ruined wood with his foot, Walter slid the smoldering remains aside, leaving a little pile of white ash in the middle of the hallway.

The old warlock drew a dustpan from his belt. Instead of opening it into a magical shield, he used it for its original purpose. Once Walter finished scooping the ashes into the dustpan, he stepped over to the drinking fountain and upended it into the brew.

The School Board ashes swirled into the viscous liquid, and the whole mixture began to glow a deep red. Thick bubbles rose and splattered like magma, with bits of the glowing substance dripping down the side of the fountain.

Two more ingredients to go.

Keys of a warlock

Walter reached down to the ring of keys that was always hooked through his pants belt loop. Spencer didn’t know why he carried so many keys, but there were certainly a lot of doors in Welcher Elementary School, and he figured the janitor had a key for every lock.

Walter stretched out his arm until the keys were dangling above the lavalike Glop formula. He took a deep breath and dropped them. The keys landed with a
clink
in the drinking fountain, though there was so much vapor and smoke that Spencer couldn’t see where they fell. The mixture accepted the keys with an aerial shower of sparks, like Fourth of July fireworks in the hallway.

Walter stepped away from the drinking fountain. “It’s up to you for the last ingredient,” he said.

Spit of an Auran

Spencer swished a bit of saliva in his mouth. At least he didn’t have to spit on his hand this time. He secretly wondered if his spit would work in the formula. It hadn’t been very long since he’d Glopified the leaf blower. And the Glop in his system took time to recharge. Besides, the Founding Witches would surely be expecting one of the original Aurans to spit into the mixture. Would this suffice?

Spencer stepped up to the drinking fountain, feeling the heat of the gurgling Glop formula on his face. He’d seen lots of kids spit into the water fountains at school. That was one of the main reasons why Spencer vowed never to drink from one.

He told himself that this was different. If he and Walter succeeded in turning this water fountain into the source of all Glop, then Spencer was pretty sure no one would be drinking from it again.

Spencer leaned forward. If he waited any longer, his mouth would dry up from the heat of the Glop and the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Spencer opened his mouth and spat into the drinking fountain.

The final ingredient in the Witches’ recipe hit the mixture with a loud
pop!
Spencer staggered backward as black smoke began billowing out. The red glow brightened until Spencer was forced to squint. Then all went dark and silent, and the smoke cleared.

Gurgling out the top of the ruined drinking fountain was the source of all Glop.

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.

Chapter 54

“There’s work to be done.”

The first Witch emerged rather suddenly, rising up out of the Glop. The sludge spat her onto the ground, where she rose to her knees, dripping.

She was old, with bony fingers that she used to brush the snarly gray hair from her wrinkled face. Her thin frame was draped in a thick cloak of black, with a hood bunched around her neck.

Spencer had barely looked her over when the next Witch bubbled up out of the Glop source. She landed beside her sister, wiping sticky Glop from her eyes and tugging at the ill-fitting black dress she wore.

In no time at all, the final Witch gurgled into view. She landed more gracefully than the previous two and stomped her feet to shake the Glop from her tall leather boots. She lifted her arms, as if to embrace her freedom, and Spencer saw more than a dozen shiny bangle bracelets adorning her right wrist.