The Slippery Map Read Free

HIGH-SCHOOL-DIPLOMA-IN-A-BOTTLE KIT, FISHING AND HUNTING LICENSES, AND COUPONS FOR HAIR WEAVES.
    The nuns went to Dr. Fromler when their teeth went bad. Oyster had never been to a dentist. But the billboard reminded Oyster of the outside world—and how it could have good things: enhanced brains, pumped-up muscles, calmed children, hair weaves! Oyster wasn’t exactly sure what it all meant, but he loved the set of sparkling teeth on the billboard smiling down on him. At night the smile was lit with big white bulbs. The smile made him feel less lonesome.
    More and more, Oyster wanted to go out there into the world, just for a quick exploration. But Sister Mary Many Pockets always reminded him of the dangers: thieves, slashers, looters, rioters, fire-eaters, evildoers, carjackers (Mrs. Fishback had taught her this term), gunslingers. The nuns had always been afraid of the outside world. For as long as he could remember, every Tuesday morning Sister Alice Self-Defense had beenteaching all of the other nuns how to protect themselves in case of attack. Oyster didn’t want to be thieved or slashed or looted or rioted against; and more than that, he didn’t want to leave because Sister Mary Many Pockets would worry and fret and be swallowed up in sorrow (this is what she’d written to Oyster on her little slips of paper).
    On this eventful day, Oyster was looking out the window when he heard a commotion downstairs: excessive screeching and much bustling. He heard more screeching and bustling down the hall of bedrooms. And there was even more screeching and bustling overhead. Screeching and bustling usually were bad news for Oyster.
    This time, Sister Margaret of the Long Sighs and Withering Glare had twisted her ankle on one of his worm holes and had dragged herself into the parlor, gathering a nervous crowd along the way. At the same time, Sister Elizabeth Thick Glasses was suffering an attack of blurred vision, because Oyster had once again borrowed her eyedropper and she blindly staggered into her own locked door.
    Oyster had left his moth collection in the attic by accident, and Sister Clare of the Mighty Flyswatter, on annual attic reorganization duty, had knocked over its lid. She pulled out her mighty flyswatter and waved it madly at the cloud of moths that rose, but her specialtywas flies and so the moths now roamed the nunnery in a cloud.
    There were so many uprisings that even the bird sitting in its nest on Oyster’s desk was rattled and launched itself into the air. Oyster was overjoyed and opened his bedroom door to let it out.
    Unfortunately, at exactly that moment, Mother Superior (who’d just dipped her fingers into the holy water and had been jolted by the sight of a small leaping frog—Oyster’s tadpole had finally matured!) was marching to find Oyster and was charged by the bird instead. Oyster watched the flapping bird and the flapping nun, and knew that he was doomed. He ran down a set of back stairs that led to the kitchen.
    The kitchen was empty except for Leatherbelly, who’d flopped on one side on the tile floor, his belly ballooning up. Oyster was a little afraid of Leatherbelly. Mrs. Fishback had taught Leatherbelly to growl at Oyster, from a smack on the nose and the command “Growl!” Leatherbelly would do his best. He’d growl, pant to catch his breath, and growl some more. Right now he just stared at Oyster with his big eyes, too lazy to growl without Mrs. Fishback around to smack his nose.
    Oyster could hear a herd of footsteps: nuns. How many of them? Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to a herd of nuns before, but because of the rubbertexture of the soles of their shoes, it’s impossible to guess how many might be coming at you at any one time. Even Oyster, who had much experience with nuns and the sound of their shoes, was at a loss.
    Shoving his shoulders to his ears, he quickly slipped into the broom closet. It was a very