The Order of Odd-Fish Read Free

out, shouting, “All right, where is he? Let me at him!”
    The boy, his hedgehog costume askew, spotted Korsakov and strode over to them.
    Jo’s eyes went wide. The boy had something black, gleaming—a pistol.
    “Get up!” shouted the hedgehog, waving his gun at the old Russian.
    Colonel Korsakov slowly rose.
    “I’m—I’m a violent guy!” stammered the hedgehog.
    Korsakov said, “You are an ass.”
    “What? Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?” said the hedgehog. “Listen—”
    “If I were you, sir, I would move from that spot,” said Colonel Korsakov. And Jo saw that the hedgehog was standing exactly on the X Korsakov had drawn in the sand.
    “Is that a challenge?” shouted the hedgehog.
    Jo couldn’t move. She looked around—everyone else was frozen, too, even Aunt Lily. But Korsakov was silent, and seemingly calm.
    This made the hedgehog even angrier. “You better apologize, old man, or I’ll shoot!”
    Korsakov sighed. “Then shoot me, for God’s sake, or put your gun away. But please, move off that spot.”
    “I’m standing right here until you apologize.”
    “I strongly advise you to move from that spot.”
    “Not until you take back—”
    “Sir! For your own safety—move away from that spot!”
    “I’ll give you three,” squeaked the boy, the gun shaking in his hands. “One…two…”
    “Don’t shoot!” shouted Jo.
    The hedgehog whirled, pointing his gun at Jo. “You again? Shut—”
    And at that moment, several things happened.
    There was a shrieking blast of wind that sent sand flying, paper lanterns swaying. A plane roared far above—and something fell from the sky, down into the garden, and down onto the hedgehog’s head.
    The hedgehog collapsed. His gun accidentally fired.
    Something like a mountain threw itself in front of Jo. Her ears exploded, the world reeled, and then everything was silent except for a faint ringing in her ears.
    Colonel Korsakov staggered backward, clutching his shoulder, about to topple. He had been shot.
    But he managed to glance at his watch.
    “Precisely on time.”
    Then he fell.
    Jo scrambled back, just barely avoiding Korsakov as he thudded into the sand, and tripped over the thing that had fallen from the sky—a brown cardboard package, with these words written across the top:

    TO: JO LAROUCHE
    FROM: THE ORDER OF ODD-FISH

    After that, everyone had the leisure to start screaming.

T HERE was something ridiculous about the ruby palace by day. It looked tired, not exuberant; its concrete walls were cracked, its paint faded and stained. The debris of last night’s party lay strewn about in the harsh daylight—ripped streamers, broken champagne glasses, burnt-out torches, and some guy’s underwear floating in the pool.
    It was a blisteringly hot Christmas. When Jo woke up she was already sweating. The palace’s ancient air conditioner was churning at full blast, but Jo still felt uncomfortably hot—and nervous, what with a wounded Russian upstairs, groaning and rolling about on his creaky bed.
    Jo opened her eyes and looked around her bedroom. The walls swooped away all around her, blanketed with fake gems, arching upward and drawing back together in the gloomy, cobwebby ceiling far above her head. Her little bed, plastic table, and scattered clothes were dwarfed inside the vast sparkling gaudiness, as if lost in a giant jeweled egg.
    Who
was
Colonel Korsakov? Jo went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and squinted at herself in the mirror. In the morning light, she found it hard to believe Korsakov really existed. Still, she could hear him grunting and shifting upstairs; it made her uneasy, as if there were a wild rhinoceros in the house.
    Jo padded out of the bathroom, glanced dully at the party-wrecked halls, and thought about the package that had fallen from the sky. The package with her name on it. And…the Order of Odd-Fish?
    She hadn’t opened it. She had left the package in Korsakov’s room, almost