Return of the Wordmonger Read online

  TYPO

  SQUAD

  BOOK II:

  RETURN OF THE WORDMONGER

  STEPHEN LOMER

  Copyright © 2018 Port Nine Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  The events and characters presented in this book are works of fiction.

  Any similarity to persons or places living or dead is purely coincidental and unintended.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the proper written permission of the appropriate copyright holder, unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal and international copyright law.

  www.stephenlomer.com

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this book, like Typo Squad before it, to the proofreaders and copy editors of the world. You are my people and my tribe, and the last line of defense between order and chaos. Keep fighting the good fight.

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my wife, Teresa, for all her patience, love, and support as I continue on this journey.

  Thank you to all the amazing authors I’ve met who have taught me, inspired me, and made me strive for greatness.

  Thank you to my amazing beta readers, who are always so willing to take a peek at what I’ve cooked up.

  And the biggest thank you of all to Stacey Longo Harris, who made this book better than it had any right to be.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Where are we going?” Dick asked from the passenger seat.

  “You’ll see,” Commander Peck said vaguely, navigating the streets of Las Palabras with a practiced ease.

  Dick was mildly annoyed. Since taking over Typo Squad from the now-deceased Lieutenant Tanka, his days were filled with meetings, budget reports, staffing requests, and seemingly endless bureaucracy. He was behind on all of it because of his stubborn insistence on staying in the field, but none of it was going away, and taking a day trip with Commander Peck wasn’t helping. Still, when the highest-ranking officer in the Typo Squad organization requested your company, you didn’t say no.

  They crossed over into a part of the city that had recently gone through gentrification. New cafés and art studios lined the brick sidewalks, and park benches sat on bright new patches of grass. At the heart of the new area stood the massive “middle finger” building, so named because of the massive skyscraper at its center and the four shorter connected towers at its base. To Dick’s knowledge, the middle finger building remained unoccupied.

  Dick was surprised when Peck pulled the car over in front of the building and stopped. He exited the car and Dick assumed it was his cue to do so as well. The two men stood in front of the immense glass-and-steel structure and stared up at it.

  “So,” Peck said. “What do you think?”

  “Think?” Dick asked. “Think of what?”

  “Your new headquarters,” Peck said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “My what now?”

  “We’ll have the construction crew carve ‘Typo Squad’ in the keystone to the left of the main entrance there,” Peck said, gesturing toward the front of the building. “And maybe we can have the insignia done in brick on the sidewalk out front.”

  “My what now?” Dick repeated.

  Peck smiled. “We’re moving Typo Squad headquarters here, Dick,” he said, pointing toward the main skyscraper. “And that will be the new location of Typo Academy,” he added, pointing to a smaller building on the left, “and over there will be a full-on training facility. And that will be the new Grammatica. Everything you need in one glorious complex.”

  Dick could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Why?”

  “Why?” laughed Peck. “I told you that Typo Squad would have whatever resources it needed. This is what I believe Typo Squad needs, and the mayor agrees.”

  Dick looked over the entire complex, drinking it all in. “Wow.”

  “Wow indeed,” Peck said. “But don’t go thinking you’ll be running this place like some sort of frat house. I’ll have an office here too.”

  Dick smiled, but it faltered. “I only wish Tanka could have seen this.”

  “As do I,” Peck said soberly. “Which is why the keystone opposite the one that says Typo Squad will inform everyone that they’re entering the Tanka Memorial Building.”

  “He’d have liked that,” Dick said.

  “I know he would,” Peck replied. “Of course I never would’ve done it if he were alive. His ego was far enough out of control as it was.”

  Both men laughed.

  “So,” Dick said. “When’s moving day?”

  As it turned out, moving day became moving week, which quickly bloated into moving month. It was no small feat relocating headquarters, and the academy, and the Grammatica into the new place, and the endless logistics gave Dick countless headaches. Every night he came home exhausted, and collapsed onto the couch, his head in Thea’s lap. Thea, for her part, was doing an exemplary job of being both coworker and girlfriend, and did her best to keep Dick’s spirits up.

  “Just imagine it,” Thea would say brightly, as Dick tried his hardest to stay awake. “Your own office. A conference room with no rusty pipes stuffed with paper towels. A beautiful view. All that cutting-edge tech. It’s gonna be so great!”

  Dick would most often reply with snores.

  Finally, on a bright, sunny Monday morning, Dick and Thea arrived at the dedication ceremony in their dress uniforms, meeting up with the rest of the team on the sidewalk out front: Chris “Big” Whig, his crewcut as tight and flat as ever; Anna Flaxis, with her knowing grin and hands clasped tightly behind her back; Ewan Hoozarmi, his bright eyes peering out from his gently lined face and his mane of white hair reflecting in the sun; and newly promoted Autumn Leeves, her round face filled with barely controlled mirth.

  “Hey, there’s the boss!” Big exclaimed as Dick and Thea approached, nestling his dress cap on his head. “And the boss’s woman.”

  “You’re just jealous you’re not the boss’s woman,” Thea said playfully, slapping the brim of Big’s cap so it flipped off and landed on the sidewalk.

  “Hey!” Big said, scooping up the cap. “There are photographers here! I don’t want pictures of me with hat hair all over the internet.”

  He turned to Ewan and nudged him in the ribs. “Right? Pictures all over the internet? Betcha got a real good zinger for that one!”

  Ewan sighed. “Sorry, no.”

  “You know, lately you’re really living up to the stereotype of British people not having senses of humor,” Big said.

  Ewan said nothing.

  “And liking really bland food,” Big continued. “And having really messed-up teeth.”

  Ewan continued to remain silent. Dick was about to say something, but the feedback whine of a microphone cut him off. The mayor of Las Palabras, flanked by Commander Peck and several other dignitaries, had stepped up to the podium. Dick and the others lined up properly and stood at attention as the mayor addressed the press gathered for the event.

  “I want to thank you all for coming today,” the mayor
began. “As you all know, several months ago, our fair city saw the rise of an extremely disturbed and truly violent criminal, Anton Nym. I won’t go into his attempted atrocities here—frankly, I don’t want to give him the press—but suffice it to say that Nym represents an alarming escalation in the errorist threat that our city, and indeed our nation, now faces. Nym’s current whereabouts are unknown, but we have it on good authority he’s recruiting heavily to assemble possibly the most powerful errorist cell we have ever known.”

  An uneasy murmur ran through the crowd.

  “But know this—we will not be cowed, we will not be intimidated, and we will not be caught unawares. We have invested in our own resources to help keep our city and our citizens safe. We have invested in Typo Squad, whose sole purpose is to keep us all safe from typos and the errorist threat. To that end, I am proud to christen this beautiful complex Typo Square, and to dedicate this building to a much-loved and fallen Typo Squad hero.”

  An assistant handed the mayor a pair of oversized scissors, which he opened and placed around a bright yellow ribbon. “Henceforth, Typo Squad will have its permanent home in the Tanka Memorial Building.”

  He cut the ribbon, which fell away, and the gathered crowd applauded politely. The mayor shook hands with Commander Peck, then made his way down the line, shaking hands with Autumn, Anna, Ewan, Big, Thea, and Dick. As he gripped Dick’s hand, he pulled him in slightly and whispered through his smile, “You get this son of a bitch. Understood?”

  Dick nodded and the mayor moved on, waving and smiling at the cameras.

  The team made its way into the cavernous lobby, and the building manager met them at the reception desk. He was impeccably dressed, with a pocket square that matched both his tie and his jacket’s lining. His eyes were alight, and when he smiled, you could count every single tooth in his head.

  “Typo Squad!” he exclaimed, throwing his hand up dramatically. “Welcome, welcome! I’m Benny Factor. I manage the property. So lovely to see you all!”

  He shook hands all around, then directed the group toward the two banks of elevators past the front desk.

  “Do you know we almost had an accounting firm take up residence here?” he asked, leading them all into the first elevator to arrive. “Can you imagine? Are there any two more boring words in the English language than ‘accounting firm’?”

  “How do you know we’re not boring?” Thea asked.

  “Oh, please!” Benny said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You guys are Typo Squad! Out there in the thick of it, taking down errorists, protecting the public! Boring? You? Hah!”

  They arrived on the ninth floor and Benny led them off the elevator. He stopped and spread his arms wide, letting the scene speak for itself.

  Before them was an enormous atrium, with palm trees reaching toward the massive skylight positioned above. Small, clear waterfalls trickled down over huge rock formations, and here and there, small birds twittered and took flight from treetop to treetop. In the center sat an impossibly tall escalator that stretched up to the tenth floor.

  “Holy shit,” Big said, while the others all stared in stunned silence.

  “Holy shit indeed.” Benny smiled. “Now, if you’ll all follow me? Make sure you have your permission slips, and stick with your field trip buddy.”

  He led them to the escalator and they rode up, looking around at the tropical scene surrounding them. They rolled off at the top and found themselves in an open area with glass walls all around. Benny began pointing in different directions, narrating as he went.

  “Down there you’ll find the locker rooms, over here is a series of conference rooms and briefing rooms, over there are your offices, and . . . oh, I simply must show you this.”

  They followed him down a short hallway and stopped at a door of smoked glass, blocking what lay beyond. Benny opened the door with a theatrical flourish and stepped aside so the team could pass through.

  “I give you . . . the war room,” he said.

  The room was in semidarkness, but one entire wall was lit with monitors showing live feeds from around Las Palabras, digital charts and graphs, maps, headshots and dossiers, and more. In the center of the room sat a square table with a touchscreen surface, all of the information on the wall mirrored in its shiny black surface.

  “This is unbelievable,” Anna said, the awe clear in her voice.

  “Oh, honey,” Benny said. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Benny spent the rest of the morning walking them through the various floors and areas of their new headquarters. They saw, among other things, the shooting range, the armory, the quartermaster’s office, the gym, the pool, the library, the lounge, the sleeping quarters for agents working double shifts, the cafeteria, the research and development lab, and finally, the Typo Academy building.

  It did Dick’s heart good to see how many recruits were being put through their paces, their distinctive red uniforms and caps bright under the plentiful natural light the building offered. They would certainly need all the agents they could get.

  As Benny wrapped up the tour and directed them back toward the main tower, Dick heard a voice call out.

  “Yo! Lieutenant Shonnary!”

  Dick turned and saw two recruits he immediately recognized—Brackets and Caret, the former members of the Blueliners gang who had so tragically lost their friend Superscript at the hands of Anton Nym.

  “Well, look at you two,” Dick said, smiling broadly. They snapped to attention and saluted smartly. Dick saluted back and told them to stand at ease.

  “We just wanted to thank you again, sir,” Caret said. “For vouching for us. For believing in us, that we could be part of Typo Squad someday.”

  “You’re both entirely welcome,” Dick said. “Now which of you is planning to graduate at the top of your class?”

  “I am, sir!” they both answered enthusiastically.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Dick said. “Dismissed.”

  Caret and Brackets jogged off toward the other recruits and Dick rejoined the rest of his team.

  “Good kids,” Anna said.

  “Yeah. Yeah, they are,” Dick said. “My apologies, Benny. Lead on.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything left to show you,” Benny said. “I’ll leave you to get settled in?”

  “Oh,” Dick said. “Good. Fine, then. Thank you for your time.”

  Benny turned to leave.

  “Um,” Dick said, and Benny turned back. “Where are our offices again?”

  An hour later, Dick stood looking out his office’s expansive picture window while Thea lounged on one of the two sofas facing each other over a coffee table in the middle of the room.

  “So,” she said brightly, “nice digs, huh?”

  “I suppose,” Dick replied.

  “You suppose?” she asked incredulously. “Weren’t we on the same tour just now? Did you have your eyes open the entire time?”

  “Yeah, I saw the whole thing, thank you very much.” He crossed the room, settling into the couch next to her. She threw an arm around his shoulders and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know,” Dick replied. “The old headquarters was . . . well, old, but it had a lot of character. It felt homey. This place is a bit . . .”

  “Awesome?” Thea offered. “Amazing?”

  “Sterile.”

  “You’ll get used to it, sweets.” Thea smiled. “Besides, it was the team that made the old place feel homey.”

  “Hey, speaking of the team,” Dick said. “What’s up with Ewan lately?”

  “I don’t know. I just assumed he was dealing with the loss of Tanka like a Brit. You know, stiff upper lip?”

  “I don’t think that’s it. He and Tanka weren’t that close. And I can’t think of anything that would bring him down so far that he wouldn’t zing Big,” Dick said. “Especially since Big has been lobbing him some real softballs lately.”
<
br />   Thea stood and stretched. “Well, my dear, you’re the ranking officer now. If someone on your team has a problem, it’s up to you to fix it.”

  Dick sighed. “You know,” he said, “some days I wish Tanka had just left me up on that mountain.”

  “Ah, but then you wouldn’t have met me.” She grinned. “Think what a terrible life that would have been.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dick wandered around the building for a while, trying his best to look like he knew where he was going. There were a lot of new faces now, and he nodded to everyone he passed, making a mental note to start learning names.

  He happened upon the cafeteria entirely by accident, but spotted a mane of perfectly coiffed white hair behind a hefty novel in the far corner, an untouched cup of tea on the table. He made his way over.

  “May I join you?” Dick asked. Ewan’s face appeared from behind his book.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Shonnary,” Ewan said. “But of course.”

  Dick sat. “Since when am I Lieutenant Shonnary?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I assumed with your new rank and title, you’d prefer it,” Ewan said.

  “Maybe from the recruits,” Dick said, “but to you I’m still Richard. Though, as you know, I prefer Dick.”

  “Very well then.”

  Dick stared at the older man. “Well, circle this day on the calendar. That has to be the first time anyone has ever passed on making an ‘I prefer Dick’ joke.”

  Ewan stared blankly at the table.

  “Okay,” Dick said at last. “Are we gonna have to go through an extended song-and-dance number, or will you do me the courtesy of just telling me what’s wrong?”

  Ewan gathered up his book and began to rise from his chair. “I really . . . I ought to . . .”