The Midnight Market

by Beth McMullen

  Got it. Don’t act like a bully or a jerk. Behave. If not, prepare to swim. When I turn to Jin to make a joke about us always ending up in the water, one way or another, he’s gone.

  “Hey.” I nudge Hannah. “Where is Jin?” Hannah, laser-focused on the task at hand, does not know or particularly care.

  “He’s here somewhere,” she mutters. “Hard to get lost on a boat.” Tables fill every inch of space on the barge deck. As we weave in and out, searching, we see some very interesting things. A jar of iridescent slimy worms that, when eaten, enable a person to understand any language or form of communication for twenty-four hours. But do not eat them and drink soda at the same time because you might explode.

  There are rows of exquisite-looking chocolate bonbons that will turn you into a temporary genius. But if you eat more than one at a time, your brain may heat up and fry. There is Cinderella’s glass slipper on a purple pillow with yellow tassels. No really. I swear. We stop briefly to examine a table of breathtakingly beautiful walnut-size glass balls filled with oozy, glowing glitter. The seller grins, exposing a mouth of rotten teeth.

  “Nice, eh?” she says. Her eyes are milky and clouded, and I get the weird sensation that she can see right into my brain. “Princess crystals. In the minor-magic category but still very useful. They won’t make you invisible or let you fly or get you endless future wishes or shower you in gold coins. Not the sort of thing you might use to take over the world, you know…” At this point she stops to laugh at her own joke, which I have to say I do not find funny at all, considering the circumstances. “But if you need a little nudge of magic, if you have a simple wish that needs answering, princess crystals come highly recommended. Choosing wisely is the key. Not all crystals like all people.”

  Great. Cranky crystal balls. “No thanks,” I say politely. “We are looking for something else.”

  “We are all searching all the time,” the seller says with a wink.

  Huh? I barely have time to process her meaning before Hannah gives me a shove. “Let’s go!” There will be no browsing magical mythical potentially dangerous treasures today.

  We rush past a table of enchanted Instant Pots. The sign reads:

  WILL COOK ANYTHING YOUR HEART DESIRES IN AN INSTANT!

  WARNING: MAY SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST

  There are strings of effervescent necklace beads designed to make you feel bubbly; gurgling purple potions to jinx your enemies; spells and hexes, scribbled on parchment, to further your most nefarious objective. There are flying bird feathers with sharpened poisoned points and frogs that, if you kiss them, do not turn into princes but instead cover your body with warts. Are people really dumb enough to fall for that?

  There are stockpot-size cast-iron cauldrons, claiming to perform modern alchemy on your stove top. Add a few shakes of special salt, a base metal, and some water. Boil for ten minutes and, boom, gold coins!

  A row of aromatic candles turn introverts into extroverts. PERFECT FOR THAT PARTY YOU REALLY DON’T WANT TO GO TO BUT HAVE TO ANYWAY, claims the sign. The next table sports a collection of handheld mirrors, bedazzled with rhinestones, promising fifty minutes of exquisite inner and outer beauty. The small print warns that the mirrors’ definition of inner and outer beauty may not align with that of the person gazing upon it. Well, that is reassuring.

  There is even a seller who claims to have the Honjo Masamune, a legendary samurai sword that went missing from Japan during World War II, but I can tell, even from a distance, that it’s fake. I’m not famous archaeologist Lawrence Benko’s daughter for nothing.

  “Hey, Lola?”

  “Hey, Hannah?” I reply, my gaze still on the sword.

  “There.” Hannah points to a table piled high with cheap baseball hats, embroidered with ordinary team logos, all slightly off. But nestled in with the hats is a gleaming golden crown, heavy with jewels and stamped with an ivy pattern. The Helm is a crown? Well, sure it is. Back in the olden times of mythology, people wore crowns. It was no big thing.

  Behind the table is a bedraggled older man in a tattered safari vest who looks like he could use a good meal and a nap. His mustache aspires to be handlebar, but the damp air has left it limp. Straggly ends hang down below his chin, making him the spitting image of a walrus.

  “Interested in hats?” he asks, bushy eyebrows twitching. “Well, I have the most important hats, hats that do something very mind-blowing. Something life-changing. Something epic. Do you want to know what that is?”

  We nod, a captive audience of two, waiting for his words of wisdom.

  “They protect your nose from sunburn!” He laughs, slapping his knee. “And your scalp. Very important. Sunburn is no joke.”

  “Very funny,” Hannah says, planting her feet. “But we are interested in that.” She points at the crown. “It’s the Helm of Darkness. Right?”

  Walrus takes a step back. “Slow down there, little lady. You are talking a big game here, definitely driving outside your lane. Might I suggest you kids run along and buy some princess rocks? They are more your speed.” He gestures toward the princess crystals.

  “We don’t do rocks,” I say bluntly. “Not anymore.”

  “Yeah,” agrees Hannah. “Been there. Done that.”

  “We are shopping for the Helm,” I say.

  “You can’t afford the Helm,” Walrus says with an exasperated sigh. “It’s worth more than your two puny lives put together.”

  Boy, he really woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Is it because we didn’t laugh at his sunburn joke? “You should know our lives are actually worth quite a lot,” Hannah replies.

  “Fine, then,” Walrus scoffs. “Show me what you’ve got to trade that is so valuable.”

  Hannah turns to me. “Show him.” She means the gold bar, but I’m suddenly not keen to part with it. It’s so pretty and, I don’t know, heavy. Maybe there is something else Walrus will accept? I reach deep into my backpack and pull out the Ping-Pong balls.

  “Smoke bombs?” I ask.

  “Are you kidding me?” Walrus replies. I guess not.

  “How about a lavender-infused bandanna with a built-in fan?” I suggest.

  “To help me relax?” he asks, glaring at me.

  “You could use a little relaxing,” I say. “If we’re being honest.”

  “Okay. Enough. Time to move along, you aggravating youngsters. I have real customers waiting.” I stuff the bandanna in my pocket.

  “The gold bar, Lola,” Hannah hisses.

  Walrus’s ears perk right up at that. “A gold bar, you say?”

  Slowly, I extract the bar from my pocket and hold it up. It glows brightly, as if lit from within. By comparison, the crown is shabby. As I turn the bar in my hands, Walrus’s eyes latch on to it, but in a flash his expression goes slack.

  “Could it be?” he breathes. “Is it real?” Leaping from behind his table, he snatches the bar from my outstretched hands before I have time to react.

  “Hey!” I protest.

  But he doesn’t hear me as he turns the gold bar greedily over in his hands. His mustache trembles. “It really is. A Phoenix bar. In the possession of a couple of kids. Where did you get this? Tell me at once.”

  “We have our sources,” Hannah says quickly because really we have no idea. “Now give it back or give us the Helm.”

  “Yes! Yes! Of course!” Walrus falls all over himself agreeing. “You have a deal. Absolutely. Take the Helm. Please.”

  Wait! No! I mean, we came here for the Helm, but part of me feels like we are making a big mistake. It’s that word again. Phoenix. I’m starting to lean toward twist of fate rather than coincidence. Everything is moving too fast! My eyebrow spasms.

  Come on, Lola! Get it together! What is wrong with you?

  Whoever delivered the gold bar meant for us to use it in this way. It means nothing while the Helm means everything.

  But the Walrus doesn’t box up the crown and hand it over. Instead, he pats down the many pockets
of his vest and eventually pulls out a baseball cap, crushed almost beyond recognition. He gives it a few good shakes, and the cap straightens out. Instead of a team logo front and center, the cap has flames, and I swear I see them flicker. The Walrus holds out the hat.

  “The Helm of Darkness,” he says with no ceremony.

  “No way,” replies Hannah. “What about this?” She gestures at the crown.

  “Paperweight,” he says with a shrug. “Literally. It keeps my invoices from blowing away while we’re on this boat. You can have it if you want, but it is worthless.”

  “Prove it,” I say. My unease grows. I do not want to leave here swindled. I don’t think my ego could take another setback.

  “Kids,” Walrus says with a sigh. “So annoying.” He does a once-over of all those pockets again, removing a phone, a watch, and a set of headphones. “FYI, the hat will fry your electronics. Learned that lesson the hard way.” Satisfied, he gently places the cap on his matted thatch of hair.

  And Walrus disappears.

  “Oh. Wow.” Hannah and I lean into each other.

  “He’s gone,” I whisper.

  “It really is the Helm.”

  “We found it.”

  “Of course we did,” Hannah whispers. “You didn’t doubt us, did you?”

  Well, maybe a little. Once or twice. Walrus’s disembodied voice floats out from empty space. “If you wear the cap and touch another person, they, too, will become invisible.” Suddenly, Hannah vanishes. I yelp in surprise, knocking Walrus’s water bottle into the air. When the spilled water hits him, I can see the faintest shimmering outline of his arm.

  “Hannah!”

  She giggles. “I’m right here.” I can feel her fingers tickle my face, but I can’t see them. It takes weird to a whole new level. Walrus pulls off the cap, and he and Hannah reappear. Hannah shakes herself out like a wet dog. “So strange. Like being walked all over by a million tiny kitten paws.”

  “You probably get used to it if you wear the cap enough,” Walrus says. “Are you satisfied?” He clutches the gold bar in such a way that I think even if we decide not to take the Helm, we won’t get the bar back.

  “Yes,” I say finally. “Done deal.” And I take the Helm of Darkness from Walrus’s gnarled hand.

  CHAPTER 34 NOW IT’S A PARTY!

  I’D LIKE TO SAY THAT in the next moment we celebrate our victory by taking turns donning the Helm and vanishing, just for kicks. But no. That would be too simple, and one thing I have learned is that hunting for magical mythical potentially dangerous treasures is never simple.

  Because before we can revel in our success, before Hannah can explain about the kitten paws, a blaring siren shatters the night, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. Everyone on board the second barge freezes in place. An announcement crackles over the PA system. It’s Sparkle Lady. “Sorry, folks. Party’s over. Our friends are incoming. Three minutes to disembark.”

  Huh? I glance at Hannah, who shakes her head. She’s clueless too. But our fellow passengers know the drill. Without missing a beat, the sellers swiftly pack up their wares, while the buyers begin to throw the lifeboats overboard. As soon as the black bundles hit the water, they pop and fizz like shaken cans of soda and explode outward, quickly taking shape.

  “Abandon ship!” Sparkle Lady shouts gleefully. No one panics. I think they are actually having fun. Black boats fill the water, barely visible. Passengers climb up onto the railings and leap into them with hoots of laughter.

  I clutch the Helm to my chest. Where is Jin? The barge is in full-chaos mode now, with people throwing themselves overboard with wild abandon. More boats pop and fizz until the ocean is awash with them.

  And that’s when a police boat, lights flashing, emerges from the fog. Oh, so that’s the problem. “We need to get out of here,” I say. “Like, now. Where is Jin?”

  “I don’t know!” Hannah yells. In the darkness, it’s impossible to see who is who. “He probably got off already. Let’s go!”

  Would Jin do that, jump off without us? My instincts say no, but as the police boat closes in, we are left with little choice. Hannah charges for the railing. But when I attempt to follow, something holds me fast. Or someone. It’s Sparkle Lady, grinning in a way that seems totally out of place, considering the circumstances.

  “Here,” she says. “Take these. They come in handy at the strangest moments.” She presses a pair of princess crystals into my hands, but she doesn’t let go. She gazes at me. “You look so much like her, it really is remarkable.”

  What? Who do I look like? Behind me, Hannah bellows for me to hurry up. And in that split second when I’m distracted, Sparkle Lady folds into the fray and I hear a musical note, like tinkling bells, or shattering glass or crystal butterfly wings. Her necklaces.

  “Lola! Now!” The urgency in Hannah’s voice snaps me back to the rather critical present. Midnight Market. Police. Escape. Got it.

  “I’m coming!” I yell, shoving the princess crystals deep in my pocket.

  Hannah and I scale the railing and, holding hands, hurl ourselves into the closest floaty boat. But a wave rolls in and tosses the stern of the lightweight vessel up in the air. Which means I land in the ocean.

  At least the Atlantic Ocean in summer is fairly pleasant, even if it does feel like I’m on the spin cycle in a washing machine. A wave crashes over my head. I hang on to the Helm for dear life, my backpack suddenly an anchor pulling me down.

  “Lola!” Hannah holds out her hand, and I lunge for it but come up short. Treading frantically, I pull the lavender bandanna from my pocket and wave it toward her to extend my reach. But it is not enough, and her boat drifts away, leaving me swirling in the murky waves.

  I can’t give up, however I’m seriously considering it, when there is a voice behind me. “Hang on!” Water fills my mouth when I try to answer, but I wave the bandanna overhead like an SOS flag. I’m here!

  Two boats bear down on my location. In seconds, one of the boats is practically on my head, but I can’t get a grip on the slippery rubber side and rescue myself. We do always end up in the water. Why is that?

  Hey, Lola! Save that mystery until you are not actively drowning! Jeez!

  Right. First things first. Sandwiched between the two rubber boats, I hold up the bandanna and someone grabs it, yanking me close enough that I can get ahold of a tether clipped to the end of the raft. With no grace, I heave myself directly into an empty boat, where I sprawl across the bottom, gasping for air. “Thank you,” I mutter, getting to my hands and knees. Water streams from my hair. I experience a wave of nausea that I attribute to drinking a Big Gulp of salt water.

  My rescuer, drifting away in the second boat, replies, “You are so welcome.” This is followed by laughter, the kind that makes the little hairs on my arms stand up. I squint to get a better look at who it is and catch a flash of… something? But another wave broadsides the boat, and I grab the handle with an empty hand just before pitching overboard.

  My empty hand. The Helm is gone.

  “No! No! No!” I drop back to my knees and frantically search the bottom of the boat. I know I had it! And there is no way I dropped it. “This cannot be happening,” I groan. When I glance up, the perfectly camouflaged boats have dispersed, dozens of them traveling in different directions, like a herd of spooked sheep. It’s virtually impossible for the police to see them or round them up. It’s a brilliant escape plan. If I weren’t in the armpit of complete despair, I’d take a moment to admire its simplicity. My little boat is equipped with a silent electric motor that automatically propels me toward a distant shore.

  I’m completely alone. No friends. No Helm. They even stole my lavender-infused bandanna with the built-in fan! Who does that? And everything had gone so well! Of course, that is the first sign that you are headed for disaster. I tuck myself against the side of the boat and bury my head in my knees.

  I’m about to cry. Seriously. I normally save crying for extreme circumstances, but an
inventory of what just happened proves this might qualify. Tears brim at the corners of my eyes when Zeus swoops out of the darkness and perches on my shoulder, like nothing eventful has happened. I’m so happy to see him that the tears spill over. This is pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable behavior in a crisis.

  “Zeus!” He nestles into my neck and coos. I stroke his damp feathers. “Where’s Jin? Where’s Hannah? Are you okay? Where am I?”

  “Lola.” Zeus sounds serious, as if he is about to deliver grave information. “Dinner, Lola.”

  He digs his claws into my shoulder to make sure I understand.

  “Quit that,” I say. “I’ll get you something to eat when we land.” Whenever and wherever that is. The little boat moves along at a good clip, slicing through the water. The city lights come into focus. We are back in the mouth of the river. The fog dissipates. My eyes are still hazy from salt water, but ahead of me are a dozen other black lifeboats, all heading in different directions, rendering the police effort completely pointless. It really is a brilliant escape plan.

  In the distance, the Statue of Liberty looms. She looks disappointed in me. Great. Fifteen minutes later, my boat glides to a pier at Ellis Island, the world’s busiest immigration port until the 1950s, and now one of the biggest tourist attractions along with the Statue of Liberty. The dock is designed for ferryboats, which makes climbing out no joke. As soon as my feet are clear, the little boat navigates back into the river, vanishing in the night.

  Oh, I am going to be in such trouble when they find me in the morning. My friends are missing. The Helm is gone, and I’m stranded in the middle of New York Harbor. I lie on the grass and stare up at the night sky while Zeus hops around, nudging me, as if he’s worried I’ve gone and died before fetching him the promised meal. Struggling, I get to my feet. And that’s when Hannah charges me.

  “Oh my God!” she wails. “I thought you drowned!” She hugs me hard. But quickly pushes me away. “Do you have it? Where is it?”

  I shake my head, the tears welling up once again. “I don’t know what happened,” I cry. “I had it in my hand. And then I got pulled onto a boat. And then I don’t know…”