by Sean Cullen
To the Hollow Mountainers, he said, “Eat and rest for a while. You are welcome among us. When you are refreshed, we will discuss our course of action in the council chamber of the Temple of the Crystal Fountain. Tonight, let no worry cloud your minds. You are safe here. As in the days of old, when Atlantis ruled the world, my forefathers swore that—”
Xnasha interrupted him. “Enough of your speechifying, brother. They need food, not words.”
Xnasos raised his hands and tugged at his white hair in frustration. “Why can’t I make one little speech? How often do I get to make a speech?”
“Once is too often,” Xnasha retorted.
Xnasos grumbled to himself and waved his staff. “Prepare the feast.”
The Atlanteans hurried to their tasks as the Hollow Mountain children chattered excitedly, discussing their newfound refuge.
HOURS LATER, Mimi finally lay back in a comfortable bed in the house of Xnasos and Xnasha after a long night of merriment and feasting under the great dome of the sea. At first it had been quite disconcerting to sit at the long trestle tables laden with fish, prawns,48 shellfish, and seaweed salads heavily laced with salt and strange spices while the weight of the ocean loomed above, but she soon grew comfortable in the company of the Atlanteans. The odd folk were quite taken with the children, chatting and singing to them as they ate, telling them wondrous tales of the distant past, of great machines and beautiful ships that sailed above and below the sea. They played music on harps, pipes fashioned from the shells of sea creatures, and bizarre stringed instruments with bows of ivory and twine wound from sea plants. Everywhere Mimi looked, children ate and laughed happily as their hosts looked after their every need.
The music of the Atlanteans fell weirdly on her ear, reminiscent of waves and the cries of sea animals, sad and slow and complex. Mimi studied the Atlanteans, watching their clever little faces and hands as they played, and sensed an underlying sadness, a loneliness born of isolation in their underwater home. Xnasha, courteous and friendly, sat at Mimi’s side, asking many, many questions about the surface world.
Xnasha asked very funny questions: she wanted to know what the sun looked like, what the wind felt like. What did a tree smell like? Had Mimi ever seen grass? Was it true that there were millions of people on the surface and that they rode on the backs of animals and in machines over the land and even in the air? Xnasos frowned at Xnasha’s open curiosity from his place at Mimi’s other elbow. Mimi answered every question as best she could. She realized that the Atlanteans’ knowledge of the upper world was quite detailed, considering they hadn’t ventured there in what seemed like centuries or even thousands of years. Xnasha deflected Mimi’s own questions, saying, “Tomorrow. You will hear everything tomorrow. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time for us to bore you tomorrow.”
Finally, having eaten her fill of the delicious food, drunk all the clear, cold, slightly bitter watered wine49 she felt she could hold, and even sampled the ice cream made from whale milk, Mimi began to yawn uncontrollably. The feast broke up and the children were taken to the homes of the people who would shelter them for the night.
Mimi followed Xnasos and Xnasha to a stone house just off the square. The furnishings were beautifully carved from ivory and dark wood. Xnasha took her to a bedroom on the upper floor. They walked along a hallway, passing other rooms that looked as though they hadn’t been used in years, dust thick on the floor. Xnasha took her into a room with a balcony that looked out over the square where the people of Atlantis were busy cleaning up after the celebration. A bed was set out for her on the balcony, and a small table held a basin of hot water for washing. Xnasha bid Mimi good night.
Mimi splashed her face with water but had no energy for a more thorough bath. She stripped off her filthy Guards uniform and let it fall to the floor, putting on a fluffy robe Xnasha had set out for her. She fell into bed and pulled the soft blanket (woven from seaweed) up to her chin.
The air was warm and a light breeze wafted over her as she gazed up into the ocean overhead. Her eyes were heavy. She was glad of the safety and the food and the new friends. Tomorrow, she would make plans. They had to find Parveen and Aidan. They had to rescue the other children. She wondered where Hamish X was right now.
“He can take care of himself, wherever he is,” she mumbled. “I just hope Parveen is okay.”
And with a last thought of her little friend, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter 10
HAMISH X
The stern of the ship loomed large above Hamish X as he fluttered his powerful boots. The pull of the current was strong and aided him in his pursuit of the vessel. Five minutes of dedicated fluttering allowed him to reach the rusty hull of the Christmas Is Cancelled, but having arrived there, he realized he had no way of reboarding the wayward ship. The hull was slick with algae and slime. The Captain rarely took the time to clean the hull, and as a result, Hamish X was forced to cling to the housing of the keel and rack his brain for options. He was at a loss until a length of rope fell from above, striking him firmly on the top of the skull.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing his scalp. He craned his neck and looked up to see Maggie peering down at him, hanging over the ship’s rail.
“I thought you might need a hand,” the girl called.
“Thanks,” Hamish X answered. Gripping the rope, he began to haul himself up hand over hand until, with much effort, he finally pulled himself over the metal railing and lay puffing on the deck.
“Good work,” Maggie congratulated him, extending a hand and pulling him to his feet.
“We aren’t out of the woods yet.” Hamish X pointed forward to the looming reef. “The engines are ruined. We have no way of avoiding a crash.”
Thomas ran up to them, his face flushed with excitement. “I don’t know what you did, but it worked! The ship is ours.”
“We may not hold it for long.” Hamish X explained the danger they faced. Thomas took in the new situation and thought for a moment. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers.
“What about the anchor?” Thomas asked.
“I used the chain to foul the propeller.”
“The lifeboats! There are lifeboats on the forward deck,” he said. “We’ll load everyone aboard and abandon ship. If Ironbuttocks wants to keep this ship, he can have it.”
“Good thinking.” Hamish X slapped Thomas on the back. “Let’s get the boats in the water. Stand guard outside the bridge hatchway to make sure the Captain doesn’t escape. Maggie and I will organize the kids!”
The three children dashed off to perform their tasks. Minutes later, they were faced with another dilemma. Maggie and Hamish X surveyed the condition of the lifeboats and soon came to the awful realization that the craft, like the rest of the systems on the ship, had rarely experienced any form of maintenance. All four lifeboats were completely devoid of supplies, and three of them were so full of holes as to be totally unseaworthy. One lifeboat would not be enough to carry all the children to safety.
“What’ll we do?” Maggie asked Hamish X. “We can’t leave anyone behind. There’s no way we can get all the kids into one boat. One big wave and we’ll capsize.”
“Not to mention the crew and the Captain,” Hamish X pointed out.
Maggie’s mouth hung open in astonishment. “Are you kidding me? We leave ’em here! What do we care if the crew or the stinking, rusty-bummed Captain survive? They made our lives a misery! They stole us from our parents! They were gonna sell us as slaves! If the tables were turned, they’d leave us here to die without a second thought!”
Hamish X smiled and nodded. “You’ve hit upon it there, Maggie. If we left them to die, we’d be just as bad as they are. That’s the danger of dealing with bad people: after a while you start to act like they do.” He shook his head. “No. We’ll have to think of something else.”
He turned and headed along the deck to the bridge with Maggie in tow. They found Thomas and four children prying at the bridge hatchwa
y with a long metal bar. As they approached, the bar slipped and rattled to the deck. Thomas kicked the door in frustration.
“Darn it! The door is so bent in its frame it’s wedged shut. We won’t be able to get it open without some explosives. We’ll never get in now.”
“That’s the least of our worries,” Maggie said. “There’s only one lifeboat. The rest are junk. There’s no way we’ll get all of us off the boat before we crash into those rocks. Captain Ironbuttocks can rot in there for all I care.”
Hamish X ran a hand thoughtfully over the dented surface of the hatch. “No. I think not. The Captain can still be of some use.”
“How?” Thomas and Maggie asked.
“First,” Hamish X tapped the hatch with the toe of one shiny boot, “we have to get in there.” Thomas held the pry bar out to Hamish X. The boy looked at it and raised a hand in polite refusal. “Thank you, no. I’ll do this my way. See if you can rig an anchor, Maggie.” Maggie nodded and dashed off. Hamish X turned to the hatch. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated on his boots.
INSIDE THE BRIDGE, Captain Ironbuttocks had begun to think they had forgotten about him. He’d felt the jarring shudder that announced the destruction of the ship’s engines. He had cursed Hamish X roundly, pounding his fists on the ship’s wheel in frustration.
Finally, he sat down hard in his Captain’s chair and assessed the situation.
“They have escaped from the cargo hold,” he said to no one in particular. He felt better speaking out loud and listing his woes. “They have trapped me in the bridge. They have broken my beautiful engines. All is lost.” Tears streamed down his puffy face, leaving tracks down his dirty cheeks. His cheeks weren’t dirty as a result of the battle with his prisoners. He rarely bathed and so was coated with a thin layer of filth at all times.
“What can a man do when faced with such a defeat?” he said. “What can a man do when all hope is gone?” He pondered the magnitude of his defeat for a long moment. “Ah, of course. A man can eat a very spicy sausage.” And having so decided, he put his words into action. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he retrieved a lint-covered, greasy pepperoni, dusted it off with clumsy delicacy, and bit the end from it, chewing thoughtfully. “Yes … the world seems better with a spicy, stinky sausage in my mouth. Things seem … clearer somehow.” He cast his gaze around the bridge and instantly saw that an option still lay open to him. He dreaded the option. He loathed the option. He feared the option. “But I have no other option.”
Transferring his sausage to his left hand, he leaned over the radio console. He thumbed the power on and the transmitter hummed gently to life. He hesitated. Calling his employers was a last resort. They would not be happy with him. He had heard tales of ships and captains who were never seen again when they failed the ODA. The Grey Agents were never pleased with failure.
“Choices.” The Captain shook his head. “Choices? I ain’t got no choices.” He pushed the send button and spoke into the microphone. “Mayday! Mayday! This is Captain Ironbuttocks aboard the Christmas Is Cancelled. Mayday! Mayday! I repeat. Mayday.50 Ship requires assistance. Do you read me, Miss Cake?”
At that precise instant, the hatch exploded inward, driven by the right boot of Hamish X. He had gathered all his focus and concentrated all his will into a single strike, and that strike tore the hatch from its hinges. The metal door crashed into the far wall of the bridge, shattering a large glass map that the crew used to track weather formations. The Captain was showered with tiny bits of glass as he fell backwards over his chair. His buttocks struck the floor with a ringing clang and his sausage spun from his hand, splatting against the wall and slowly sliding down to the floor with a wet plop.
Hamish X gathered himself up from the floor where he had landed in a crouch and unfolded himself to his full height. He walked slowly over to the prone Captain, who scrambled backwards until his back was against the wall. Ironbuttocks’s eyes were wide with fear, the white visible all around the irises.
“Don’t kill me, you crazy boot-boy! Don’t kill me!”
Hamish X chuckled softly. “Kill you? No, I won’t kill you.” He raised one boot and pressed it into Ironbuttocks’s chest, pinning him to the wall. “You don’t deserve to live, you miserable, metal-bottomed parasite, but I won’t kill you. I …”
Static hissed loudly from the radio. Hamish X jerked his head and saw that the transmitter was working. He reached for the switch to kill the machine when a flat female voice came through the tinny speakers. “Christmas Is Cancelled, this is ODA cargo helicopter 7A. I am reading you, Captain. However, I am not certain I heard you correctly. You need assistance? What are your coordinates? Please transmit them and we shall rendezvous with you immediately. Respond, over!”
The static returned. Hamish X pressed his boot harder on the Captain’s chest.
“You called for help?” Hamish X hissed. “You little worm!”
“Hey! Who you calling worm? I am no invertebrate.51 I have a bony, bony spinal column.”
“I was speaking metaphorically, you crusty, rusty, greasy, slave-running, cowardly scum!” Hamish X growled then stopped, puzzled. “How do you even know what an invertebrate is, anyway?”
“I was going to be a marine biologist but—”
“But what?”
“But … my little bum, she make me sink!”
Hamish X snarled and ground his boot harder into the Captain’s chest.
“We have no lifeboats because your idea of shipboard safety is exactly like your personal hygiene: nonexistent!”
The Captain frowned, wounded by the remark. “Hey. I comb my hair!”
“Christmas Is Cancelled … Do you read me? Over.” The voice of the Grey Agent named Miss Cake filled the ruined bridge. “Do you require assistance? Over.”
The Captain wheezed as the pressure on his chest restricted his breathing further. “I have to answer them … They’ll be suspicious …”
“Suspicious …,” Hamish X said thoughtfully, then he grinned his wolfish grin. “Yes … Yes! You have to talk to them. And you will say exactly what I tell you or I’ll kick your buttocks till they’re as flat as a pancake and throw you over the side.”
“Okay,” the Captain agreed fearfully.
“So …,” Hamish X smiled. “Here is what you say …”
Chapter 11
Miss Cake eased back on the throttle of the heavy cargo helicopter and peered through the clear plastic windscreen of the cockpit. The Christmas Is Cancelled floated below, precariously close to a spine of jagged rocks. The only thing restraining the ship from drifting to its destruction was a taut cable running from the bow down into the water, presumably to an anchor lodged in the seabed. No one was visible on deck. The ship appeared to be deserted.
Miss Cake frowned and pressed a finger to the side of her skull just below the brim of her fedora. A cable ran from the base of her skull into the control console in front of her, connecting her to the communications net and her partner riding in the hold aft. “No movement at all, Mr. Cookie. Where is Captain Ironbuttocks? The coordinates are correct, but he and his crew are nowhere in sight.”
“Strange.” Mr. Cookie’s voice crackled inside Miss Cake’s head. “Perhaps they were forced to abandon ship?”
“Negative, Mr. Cookie. I did a full surface radar scan of the sea out to a radius of ten kilometres. There are no lifeboats.”
“What do you suggest we do, Miss Cake?”
Miss Cake tilted her head to the side and thought for a moment. Her dealings with Captain Ironbuttocks had always been smooth and simple. He was a greedy man who took the money he was offered and handed over his cargo without any questions or difficulties.
Miss Cake was the Grey Agent in charge of the ODA’s interests in the Mediterranean, North Africa, and the Black Sea. She had been ordered by Headquarters in Providence to wrap up operations. The gate would be opened soon. The ODA no longer required her to gather children for their purposes. She had been
travelling around, closing down all her operatives one at a time. The call from the Christmas Is Cancelled had forced her to break the logical sequence of her travels, but now or later mattered little. She would take the final shipment of children and close down the project as per her instructions.
Implicit in these instructions was the eradication of any loose ends. The Captain and crew of the Christmas Is Cancelled definitely constituted a loose end. After picking up the cargo of children, Miss Cake had planned to send the ship to the bottom with all hands. Mounted under the belly of the helicopter were six high-explosive, armour-piercing missiles brought along for just such an occasion. Miss Cake caressed the launch button with her gloved thumb in anticipation.
“Miss Cake? Your orders?”
“We’ll take her down and land on the deck. Arm yourself, just in case, Mr. Cookie.”
“Indeed.”
Tugging on the control stick, Miss Cake swung the huge helicopter around and set a course for the derelict ship. The helicopter was enormous, fitted as a personnel carrier capable of airlifting one hundred and fifty Grey Agents and depositing them anywhere within a thousand kilometres of their base of operations. Miss Cake and Mr. Cookie had only just taken off from an ODA operations base on the coast of Libya and were heading for a rendezvous point with the slaver ship just outside Moroccan national waters when the distress call had come in. 7A was converted to carry the human cargo aboard the Christmas Is Cancelled with room to spare.
Miss Cake deftly manoeuvred the aircraft over the gently rising and falling deck, easing off on the throttle and allowing the wheels to touch down with hardly a jolt. She turned off the engine. As the rotors spun down, she punched the clasp on her chest, releasing the safety harness. Climbing out of the seat, she reached up and pulled a stun rifle from the rack on the wall behind her pilot’s seat. She ducked through the small door at the back of the cockpit and entered the cargo area. On both sides of the helicopter, small square cages lined the bulkheads, making the dark, utilitarian space reminiscent of a dog kennel or an animal experimentation lab. These cages were meant for the children aboard Captain Ironbuttocks’s ship. Miss Cake walked briskly down the hallway formed by the lines of cages and joined Mr. Cookie, who nodded and checked his stun rifle. Satisfied, he reached out with one gloved hand and tapped a green button. The door to the helicopter slid open.
