Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island

by Sean Cullen

“Over here! This way,” the brother and sister called.

  Mimi led her horde across the catwalk and through the door. Inside, she found the open bay strewn with wreckage and burning equipment. Transport pods were ranged all around the walls of the vast bay. She looked straight across and saw the open elevator waiting. Parveen waved from the side of the door. The elevator was truly enormous, meant to carry the huge cargo pods. All the children from the Hall of Batteries had been loaded aboard the elevator and there was still plenty of room to spare.

  Mimi pointed to the elevator and shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” The former agents needed no urging. They sped across the bay and began boarding the elevator, joining the children freshly liberated by Parveen.

  “Who are they?” Parveen asked, pointing at the crowd of children following Mimi.

  “They was Grey Agents, but now thur children again.” She waved off further explanation. “No time fer talk. Hamish is holding things together long enough fer us ta git. Now let’s git.”

  Satisfied that the loading was underway, Mimi turned back and walked out the door onto the catwalk.

  “Where are you going?” Maggie demanded.

  “I’m goin’ back for Hamish.”

  “Then we’re coming, too,” Thomas announced.

  Mimi was about to argue when a gigantic, rumbling crash rolled across them. The stone floor beneath them heaved like a living thing. Looking out through the bay door, they saw the entire far wall of the gate chamber crumble. Behind the wall millions of litres of seawater from Narragansett Bay surged to fill the gap. Steam billowed as the fires were swiftly extinguished. The ziggurat teetered, then dissolved under the weight of the water. The tiny figure that was Hamish disappeared in the foaming deluge.

  “Holy jumpin’,” Mimi said softly. She knew that any chance of returning to save Hamish was gone. The water swept swiftly towards the door. Mimi, Maggie, and Thomas backed into the transport bay. As soon as they were safely across the threshold, the steel door lowered to seal off the bay.

  “Thanks, Hamish,” Mimi rasped, dashing tears from her eyes with her sleeve. Loudly she said, “Let’s get outta here!”

  The three children turned and ran for the elevator.

  The elevator rose slowly. The rumble of explosions and the surge of water faded.

  Parveen sat beside Mimi with their backs to the wall. They were exhausted, but they had to make sure everyone was safe. Maggie and Thomas had introduced themselves, and Mimi had taken an instant dislike to the brassy girl with the curly hair.

  Parveen chuckled at that.

  “It’s because you two are exactly alike, you know.”

  “Are not.” But Mimi didn’t have the heart to argue. She looked around the elevator. The children who had been agents looked a little shell-shocked and confused but otherwise healthy. Mimi’s heart went out to them. She could only imagine how horrible it must have been to live with those creatures inside your body for so long. They would need to heal.

  In one corner, Cara sat with her brother’s head in her lap. She stroked Aidan’s bald scalp as the boy slept. Bundles of wires still sprouted from his skull, but his skin was already taking on a more natural pinkish hue. Cara looked up as Mimi passed. They shared a smile.

  Noor sat beside Parveen, chatting quietly. She and the other children who had been in the Hall of Batteries looked surprisingly well. They had been fed and rested, but lack of activity had made them stiff. After Parveen had unhooked them from the cables and pumps, they had regained consciousness very quickly. They had managed to get to the elevator under their own steam.

  Satisfied, Mimi returned to her place beside Parveen and sat down, allowing her eyes to close for the briefest moment.

  The elevator shuddered to a halt. The doors slid open to reveal the back of the house on Angell Street. They had come up in its garage. Sunlight streamed into the elevator, and the warm smell of cut grass flooded Mimi’s nostrils. Mimi and Parveen left Maggie and Thomas to unload the escapees while they went around to the front of the house.

  The grass was strewn with the wreckage of the shattered window. In the middle of the perfectly manicured lawn, a knot of wounded Guards stood gathered around Mrs. Francis where she sat holding Mr. Kipling’s head against her chest and rocking gently back and forth.

  As Mimi and Parveen drew near, they could see that Mrs. Francis’s face was streaked with the tracks of drying tears. She looked up and her eyes were red. Seeing Parveen, she smiled sadly. “I knew you could take care of yourself, Parveen.”

  Mimi knelt beside Mrs. Francis and looked at the face of Mr. Kipling. He looked as if he could be asleep, save for the ashen pallor of his skin. His eyes were closed. He looked peaceful.

  “Silly, brave old man,” Mrs. Francis said softly. “He saved me. We made it through so much together and in the end, I lose him to a teapot.” She smiled weakly and stroked her husband’s head. “Sweet, silly, brave old man.”

  Mimi felt the tears start anew. She’d thought she couldn’t possibly have any more, but they came.

  “He loved flowers,” Mrs. Francis said. “And he loved you, Mimi. Like a daughter. And you, too, Parveen and Hamish X. We were his little family.”

  At that, Parveen broke down and wept. Mimi had never seen such an outburst from the little boy who had crossed the world with her, shared so many adventures, and always kept his feelings to himself. The most he ever gave was a fleeting smile, but for the old naval officer he wept hot with great, shuddering sobs. Mimi wrapped her arms around Parveen and pulled him close. Then Mrs. Francis reached out with her soft, plump arm and pulled them all into her warm embrace.

  Chapter 34

  You’ve heard the expression that a person can be a shadow of his or her former self. One might puzzle over what the opposite of being a shadow of one’s former self might be. I bring this conundrum to your attention because that is the situation with the city of Atlantis. The city had been a pale representation of its former glory, but with the injection of youthful enthusiasm brought by the settling of the Hollow Mountain refugees and the demise of the threat of the ODA, Atlantis was now not a shadow of its former self but a brighter, shinier version more in keeping with the original. One couldn’t say it was a shadow of a shadow of its former self because that would be very dark indeed and not convey the overall good feeling of the situation or reflect the reality of the renaissance of the ancient city beneath the waves.

  After the destruction of ODA Headquarters in Providence, Rhode Island, Mimi had led the survivors back to the submarine. Noor and Parveen, working in concert, had managed to quickly master the controls. On the journey back to Atlantis, everyone had told one another their own versions of events. Each story filled in a little of the puzzle. Before too long, Maggie and Mimi were getting along like a house on fire.92 They found comfort in their growing friendship, as it kept their minds off the loss of Hamish X … or Hamish, as he had told them all to call him before the end.

  His loss hung over them like a cloud that refused to open and drop its rain. They had no proof of his death. Though it was foolish, each held out hope that he had been able to escape the fires, the explosion, and the flood that had marked the demise of ODA Headquarters. They all knew in their heart of hearts that the chance was very slim indeed.

  Maggie and Thomas were left on the beach in Turkey whence Captain Ironbuttocks had plucked them weeks before. They promised not to breathe a word of what had really happened and swore they would find a way to keep in touch.

  The return to Atlantis was an occasion of joy and sorry. The death of his sister hit Xnasos hard. He wept in his home for several days before finally emerging into the company of his fellows again.

  The funerals of Xnasha and Mr. Kipling were sad affairs. Xnasha’s body still lay in the depths of the wreckage of Angell Street. Mrs. Francis dressed her husband in his finest uniform, lovingly repaired and restored. Mimi had lost the sabre during the fight with the bugs, so the scabbard hung empty until Xnasos came forward with a blad
e salvaged from the Hall of Objects. Mimi, Parveen, Cara, and Aidan all cried, but Mrs. Francis comforted them.

  “He was a good man,” she said, offering each child a clean handkerchief from the endless supply secreted up her sleeve. “We were lucky to know him even for a little while.”

  “It ain’t fair,” Mimi sobbed. “You only just met him and now he’s gone.”

  Mrs. Francis crushed Mimi in her ample embrace. “No, honey, it isn’t fair. But some people go through their whole lives without having anyone love them. I was lucky. And now I have you.”

  Speeches were made over Mr. Kipling and Xnasha. Songs were sung in the strange yet beautiful Atlantean language. Mr. Kipling was lowered into a stone tomb carved in the vaults beneath the Temple of the Crystal Fountain. In lieu of her body, some of Xnasha’s favourite items were placed in a box and lowered into a tomb as well. The tombs were sealed and the funeral ended.

  Mimi was extremely busy. The Hollow Mountainers chose in a vote to name Mimi as interim Queen of Switzerland, Mimi the First. She accepted, but only until someone better could be found. Cara and Aidan took up their old posts as first and second in command of the Royal Swiss Guards.

  Parveen and Noor were hard at work figuring out the arcane technologies of the Atlantean civilization. Bit by bit, they began to restore the mysterious machinery and return the ancient mythical city to its former glory. The one thing that continued to puzzle the brother and sister was the exact nature of the Crystal Fountain. They knew it controlled everything in the city, but … well, how?

  When Parveen and Noor entered the temple and saw the artifact within, they simply stood, mouths open in wonder. When Parveen finally broke the silence, he did so with a single word.

  “Cool.”

  George was dug out of the lava flow in the Hollow Mountain and brought to Atlantis, where he worked with Parveen and Noor. He was a bit sulky at first about being left in the solid stone for so long, but he soon came around and began the manufacture of a new batch of robot servitors: lobsters, in keeping with the Atlantean theme.

  And so, Atlantis became, in essence, the new Hollow Mountain. In concert with the Atlantean council, Mimi watched over the children in jeopardy all over the world from her headquarters and hidden refuge beneath the sea. The world had become a less dangerous place for children since the demise of the Orphan Disposal Agency and the banishment of the Grey Agents. But there are still children in danger. The world is a big place. There are bad people.

  But don’t worry. If anyone gets uppity, Queen Mimi the First is gonna kick their butts.

  So there you have it: the saga of Hamish X is complete. The heroes win. The bad people lose, and harmony is restored. My work here is done. Have a nice day. Goodbye.

  What?

  You’re still here?

  WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT? Three books full of words aren’t enough for you?

  You’re upset, you say? Hamish X, or rather Hamish, is dead? What did you expect? You can’t have everything.

  I know Hamish’s death is hard to accept, but you’re going to have to come to terms with it. He’s gone. You have to move on.

  Hmm.

  You still aren’t happy, are you? Oh. I see.

  Well, reader, I wasn’t supposed to do this. He a specifically not to publish this next bit. He wanted a little privacy and I respected his wishes. Now, I see how upset you are, so I think I’m going to have to break my promise to him. But don’t let anyone know. This is between you and me. If the Guild heard about it, they’d have my licence and I’d be heavily fined.

  Here is the epilogue. Just don’t tell anyone I let you read it.

  EPILOGUE

  She sat at the table in the kitchen, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. The window over the sink was open a crack, though the weather had been cool lately. She liked the smell of the ocean, a hint of salt and seaweed that filled the room.

  Early morning was the hardest still. The loss could creep up on her even after all these years. She could go for days and weeks without thinking of him. But when it came back like it did today, she was crippled. She had called in sick to work because she knew the day would be a write-off: she would push papers around, try to look busy, but nothing would get done. Better to be home, where she could keep the tears to herself.

  She sipped her tea and found it had gone cold. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stood, pushing back the chair with her thighs, and went to the counter to put the kettle back on to boil. In the act of pouring the cold tea into the sink, she froze.

  She heard the front door open. The distinct sound of the door creaking made her start. She had often thought she should get that fixed, oil it or whatever, but such little details seemed so unimportant somehow and she had let it go.

  She turned to face the kitchen doorway. The hall ran straight to the kitchen from the front door. She heard soft footfalls approaching on the carpeted floor.

  She knew she should reach for the phone on the counter-top, dial for help. The police could be there in an instant. There was an intruder in the house. She was alone. She should call the police.

  But she didn’t. She stood cradling the cup in her hands, half full of ice-cold tea, waiting.

  He stepped into the kitchen, his bare feet soundless on the tiles. He looked at her and smiled.

  “Momma?”

  The cup shattered on the tiles. Tea pooled in the cracks. She stared in disbelief. He was exactly as she had remembered: the unruly hair, the eyes that were so like her own, the sweet, crooked smile. It was all so perfect, a dream come to life. It was the dream she had every night: he came home.

  “Hamish?” She could barely make herself speak the word, the only word that mattered to her: her son’s name.

  “Hello, Momma. I’m home.” He stood in the doorway, looking uncertain.

  It was impossible, but it didn’t matter. She rushed across the kitchen, her old yellow slippers smearing the spilled tea. She gathered the boy into her arms and crushed him close, savouring the smell of him, the weight of him. She plastered his face with kisses. It was impossible. Impossible! She didn’t care. He was back. Her Hamish had come home.

  “Momma,” Hamish said in her ear.

  “Yes, my beautiful boy? What is it?”

  “Can you make me French toast?”

  So. There it is. Done. You know everything that I know. I hope you’re satisfied. Hamish is back with his real mother. End of story.

  Or is it? That’s the beauty of stories. No matter how final and fatal the end may be, there is always a slight chance there will be more to tell. Of course, I, your humble narrator, will always have tales to tell. I’m assigned new ones all the time. In fact, one came across my desk this morning that I bet you will enjoy. I can’t tell you what it’s about: that is forbidden by the Guild. All I can say is, Pester your librarian! Bother your bookseller! Make sure they let you know when the next story comes out.

  Yes, Hamish X is done, but who’s to say when something new may come to light? You never know. If you wish hard enough, anything is possible.

  1 There are no actual chickens. It’s just an expression that means all the loose ends will be tied up . . . which is another expression that means . . . oh, it just means that the story will end! All right? All right.

  2 Advanced Narrators’ Certification College in Helsinki. See Book I.

  3 Originally, the books were to be accompanied by a scratch-and-sniff card highlighting some of the more thrilling odours featured in the story. Sadly, budget constraints have forced me to cancel the cards. If only you were able to smell the sea captain’s rust-stained trousers for yourself! Alas, it was not to be.

  4 One instance of these terrible punishments occurred in 1768 in Portsmouth, England. A narrator was telling the story of the Tortoise and the Hare to a group of children when he stood up too quickly, bumped his head on a low beam, and knocked himself unconscious. As a result of the blow to the head, he couldn’t recall the end of the story and therefore couldn�
��t finish it. The Guild was swift to enact their punishment. The narrator was forced to marry a fish. The Guild was not without sympathy for the poor man. As it had been an accidental lapse, they made sure the fish was very pretty indeed.

  5 The sound of a crying toddler is the most piercing noise in nature. There is no sound more capable of destroying the mind of an adult human being. In ancient Parthia, the armies of the King commonly sent in front of their invading forces a corps of soldiers wearing wax plugs in their ears and crying infants strapped to their chests. These Babytroopers completely demoralized the enemy, driving them mad, making conquest much simpler. Of course, in ancient times, babies were much angrier and therefore more deadly.

  6 Slaloming, the act of skiing back and forth as one descends a mountain slope, is named for its inventor, Gustav Slalom. He discovered the manoeuvre accidentally while trying to avoid bears that he believed were leaping out at him as he skied down a mountain in Austria in 1772. The bears were a hallucination, induced when Slalom drank a keg of tainted corn syrup. Observers were delighted by the manoeuvre and began to imitate Slalom’s style. (No one ever learned why Gustav had drunk an entire keg of corn syrup.)

  7 Green about the gills is an expression meaning sickly or on the verge of vomiting. The expression comes from the Mediterranean Sea where one fish in particular, the Regurgitrix, is known to throw up when cornered, much as an octopus releases ink. The warning sign is when the Regurgitrix’s gills turn a brilliant green. Fishermen know to throw the fish back when the gills turn green or receive a faceful of the fish’s last meal. The Regurgatrix feeds exclusively on rotting vegetation and fish poop, so one really doesn’t want to experience a shower of said material if one knows what is good for one.

  8 As is usually the case in such junctures in a story, something did happen. Otherwise, there would have been many pages spent describing the shore of the lake, the rocks, the saltiness of the water, the darkness, Mr. Kipling’s pants, etc. That would be very, very boring. How lucky for you, dear readers, that you will be spared such a boring passage by what happened next.