In the center, an anchor plopped into the water and the boat came to a halt.
On the deck, Solas tossed a second anchor to a thud. It landed by Davy’s feet.
Davy had nodded off. He was cutting in-and-out of one of his recurring dreams—the one in which he sailed in the air, floating with his father’s sailboat over the crater.
At this moment, in his dream, he sailed in air with his father, who stood before him with a smile.
But his smile turned to a sudden frown.
“Where’s my lake, son? Where’s my lake?”
Davy looked around him. Soon, his smile also broke, for as he looked around, he saw that the crater had turned to a tub of blood.
A tub of blood.
Damn that Namiane! It was the voice of his father's spirit. Witch!
The triangle of lights burned Davy’s eye sockets and he soon awakened. The white light blinded him. But moments of squinting passed, and he could see again. First, he saw the water, and he thought he was dead in Heaven, for it radiated the brightest of turquoises.
But he wasn’t dead in Heaven, nor was he in a dream. It was reality. His father’s dream had manifested; Davy had accomplished his mission. He was back on his lake.
At long last! He felt the boat rock; he heard footsteps across the deck. He looked and saw his father, and he smiled.
But on second glance it was not his father. It was someone else with greater, unpleasant wrinkles. And then Davy shrieked. He felt the knives of his locks crack on his forehead, as his head tensed and tightened. He felt his lips crack and pour blood as he tasted it. His mind had bobbled around like the boat—how did he get here?—he was on. Just whose boat was this?
He wanted to rise, but the handcuffs on his wrists restricted his movement. He felt claustrophobic. He pressed against the stanchion, and he toppled over.
In what part of his father’s grand vision did Davy deserve to have his hands tied up, on a stranger's boat? What Hell was this?
Solas swatted at the wind with his hands as if it was a pesky fly. “Damn it, wind!” He yelled out, twice as loud, “Stop the wind!”
From the hills of the compound, a distant voice: “Yes, Mr. Solas.”
Solas lost his balance as the boat creaked and swayed. All those cigars that night must have made him dizzy—he collapsed to the deck. He rose and brushed himself off. He paced back-and-forth with the binoculars in his hands—he stopped often to scan the now-brightened desert. Every time he checked he sighed of relief when he saw his guards patrol outside the fences, each with a flashlight, flashing rays at the trees and the rocks, and the blowing sand. But he noticed a snake of water, seeped across the desert. It likely came from the leaky tube the Thieves had placed around the pipe and removed during their retreat.
Solas yelled out to the guards and ordered them to dig for the spilled water. The guards scattered in a hurry to figure out this newest ridiculous order from the old man.
Solas yet felt harassed by the wind; the guards had not yet stopped it. And he checked the desert to find that pesky “giant fan” himself. But there was no such thing within the brightened quarter-mile that he could see.
The wind burst more than ever, and Solas swiped at it again, before he jumped to take a hold of the mast. When the wind ended, Solas took a deep breath. His eyes aged a hundred years extra within the hour. He even seemed to develop a twitch. He saw Davy in the corner of his eye. He had forgotten the young man was there; he jumped himself back up, recovered his composure, and assumed a powerful demeanor. A phony one.
“So, boy.”
Davy, still drenched in water, shook as the wind froze his clothes to his skin. Upon hearing the old fool’s voice, he shuttered and realized where he was.
“I should’ve known. I should’ve known.” Solas walked across the deck and gathered a handful of rope.
Davy looked at the anchor that Solas had dropped by his feet. He jerked his body to grab it, but he forgot about the handcuffs which restricted him. Solas chuckled.
“No,” Davy said, out of breath. “You shouldn’t have known. And you didn’t.”
Solas laughed again and crouched in front of Davy. He smiled a big smile, the lighting exposing the last few teeth he had lodged in those gums.
They sat in silence. Solas glared at Davy, scratching his chin. He dug for something in his pockets and pulled out another cigar and a lighter. He burned it, blowing smoke at Davy’s face.
“Davy Bay. The great Water Thief. A kid—the biggest criminal in the land.”
“No—”
Solas slapped his knee with realization. “The son of my former best friend is the biggest criminal in the land. My God! I should’ve known the blood of Wesley Bay was no damn good.”
“Make no mistake, Solas—there’s no bigger criminal than Governor Vendicatore.”
Solas rolled his eyes. He leaned back and crossed his arms, the burning cigar dangling from his mouth.
“Where’s Penelope?”
Solas pointed with his head to the quarterdeck. “Inside. I’ll let her free when I’m done with you. I’m sure she has nothing to do with this sick thing you’ve got going on. The poor girl.”
“You know nothing about us.”
“Boy, you’re right about that one. Why don’t you reintroduce yourself. What is it that you want?”
“What do I want?”
“That’s what I said. Surely, you’re thieving just for fun at this point. How much more water could you possibly need?”
“More. So that my tormented father can finally be at peace.”
Solas looked puzzled. “Your father’s dead. How much more peace could he need?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“It’s none of your business.”
Solas yanked the cigar from his mouth and huffed. “You try to steal my beautiful reservoir. My need to know why is none of my goddamn business?”
“What I want . . . what my father wants. Is the refilling of his lake.”
Solas put the cigar back inside his mouth, dangling between his lips. He arched his eyebrows. “Pardon me?”
“That’s right.”
“You’ve slaughtered an entire country. You’re telling me all this was for a lake?”
Davy jumped to the defense: “Everyone has killed. Everyone! I’m just the best of killers. Vendicatore has created this environment of savages. Don’t forget that. He’s stolen every single lake, every single river. Everything is gone. Everything! Everyone is killing each other to survive—why shouldn't I?”
“Don’t turn the subject on the V-word, boy.”
Davy heard fear in the old man’s voice. Solas had an aura of war about him, but he was nothing but a scared old fool.
“Your favorite topic seems to be Vendicatore. Let’s talk Vendicatore.”
“Sure. Let’s talk Vendicatore. You’re the Water Thief, and you ignore him! Your greatest threat! You best believe he’s got his goons all around the country looking for your stash with a bunch of metal detectors. Yet you waste your time coming for me?”
Nonsense, Davy thought. Davy’s father, as a ghost, was a spy. He always reassured Davy that Vendicatore had no knowledge of his identity and the coordinates of his main underground water reserve.
Davy tried to move his frozen lips to smile. “I can say the same thing to you.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re the biggest Hoarder.”
Solas gave an offended sniff. “Don’t dare call me that word. What a nasty word!”
“Hoarder,” Davy antagonized. “You’re the biggest legal water owner in this thirsty country. Not to mention you’ve got an entire orchard here, on top of it all. You should be worried about Vendicatore, not me. Especially when the governor has the entire country rallied against you.”
“Cut the crap. You own double what I got! And you got the audacity to call me a Hoarder—”
“Difference is, my water is off the map
. Vendicatore hasn’t a clue where it’s at. You are a lawful water owner. Everyone knows where your water is. Everyone knows about this reservoir. You’re Vendicatore’s priority, not me. You’re easy.”
“Easy!”
“Why do you think I tried to get your water?” Davy continued. “I wanted it before he got it.”
“You know, I’ve been waiting for the Water-Thieves to try me. See what the ruckus was all about. What a circus! Honestly, how have you been able to survive up until this point?”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“I’ll tell you what happened. Your girl was caught twisting open the drain, while you were trying to pin it on Vendicatore to me in the ballroom. I’m a bit disappointed in this performance, to tell you the truth.”
“Sorry.”
“This is the Water Thief!” Solas laughed. He took the rope and wrapped it around the anchor and knotted it tight. He wrapped the other end around Davy’s ankle. He knotted it.
Davy smiled. “Solas. You keep deflecting.”
Solas tightened the knot around Davy’s ankle. “Pardon?”
“You keep deflecting. Let’s talk more about Vendicatore.”
“No need to talk about him any longer.”
“Okay. How about Tidewater?”
The word made Solas’ face sour greater than when Davy first mentioned it. It made his breathing grow shorter. He so wanted to resist the urge to brush the topic off, but he could not.
“What . . .” Solas said, biting his cigar “. . . what about it?”
“Everything I told you about Tidewater is true, except for when it would happen. It’s happening tomorrow night, not tonight. Vendicatore’s has got the whole country against you. They’re an angry mob. They dip sticks in the wildfires and march around the palace with the torches. Chanting your name. Pleading Vendicatore. They want your head. Tomorrow night, before dawn, they’ll finally get their wish.”
Solas motioned for the guard at the door of the quarterdeck. The guard opened the door and entered.
“They want to stick their straws in your lake and suck it dry.”
“Enough.” Solas tugged at the knot, tightening it until Davy’s ankle turned pale white.
“You can only ignore it until you wake up with a giant ditch in front of your house, like me and my father did.”
Solas huffed. The cigar fell out of his mouth. He did not want to hear any more.
“You will suffer the same fate as my father. A pancake, Solas.”
The guard emerged from the quarterdeck, dragging Penelope across the deck. She was half-unconscious, but she saw Davy, and Davy saw her.
While Davy focused on her, Solas lifted the anchor and dangled it over the boat.
“Enough!”
And the rope slipped through his hand, and the anchor plopped into the water as Davy yelled, “I will stop it!”
And as Penelope screamed Davy’s body flipped over the boat from the great force.
But Solas leaped and grabbed Davy’s wrist, almost going into the depths with him.
But his foot locked and tangled with the stanchion, and held him.
The boat tipped over with the great force, and Penelope slid across the deck. The guard, struggling to keep balance, dashed across and grabbed Solas’ torso. He pulled him back with all his strength, to no avail.
“Cut the rope, you goddamn nimrod!”
The guard scurried for a knife. He found one on the deck and leaned over the stanchion. He cut the rope around Davy’s ankle. Davy screamed as the guard sliced the flesh of his leg.
But the rope split.
Solas and Davy flung across the boat, nearly falling into the water again, on the other side, but the stanchion caught them like the ropes of a boxing ring.
The boat swayed back-and-forth. It slowed and settled until only the waves disturbed it.
Davy and Solas breathed hard. Davy yelped—he sat upside-down, lying on his neck. Solas turned him over. His back hit the deck to a loud thud.
Davy huffed. He struggled to speak, but let out, “I will stop it. I will stop it. I’ll steal the plans.”
The two men caught their breath.
“Steal the plans? What good is this to me?”
“There’s a guard who defected from Vendicatore. He says there’s a secret in the Tidewater plans that exposes the government’s weakness. If you got a hold of that secret, you’ll be able to stop him.”
Solas scratched his chin. “Interesting. So we’ll steal the plans.”
“We?”
“I will go with you. I need to see everything for myself. I need to make sure the job gets done in an honest manner. I want those plans in my hands. Straight from the palace. Not from you. I need them raw. I just need you to take me to them, behind that army of yours. If there is a secret inside, then I must have it. If it doesn’t have a code, then at least stealing Tidewater will delay the operation. It’ll put it on hold, and I will get a chance to read through it and make preparations with my men.”
“The defected guard knows the palace, all the nooks and crannies. He will know where the plans are. I’ve kept him close to me for this reason.”
“Now who is this defected guard you spoke of? Why did he defect? I must vet him. I won’t be lured into a trap.”
Rodney Bight. Davy thought of the name, and the disgusting man it represented. Davy knew little of his father’s plan for Rodney Bight. He had to improvise.
“No, not a trap.” Davy hated the man, Rodney Bight. The bastard. He was one of many people responsible for the death of his father. He choked on air as he said, “He’s a . . . good man. Yes. Good.”
“Why did he defect?”
“I don’t know. It’s not important.”
“What? Not important?”
“We’ll use him to get inside and get you those plans. Once that’s over, if he wants the plans for himself, you can shoot him for all I care and keep them yourself.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Penelope squealed from the deck. Her hair was snow. She wrestled with her handcuffs and shook; she screamed for Davy to help her.
Davy’s eyes ached at the sight.
“Now uncuff me or give her a goddamn towel, won’t you?”
Solas motioned for the guard; the guard dug into his pockets for keys and unlocked Davy’s cuffs. Davy ran across the deck and tripped from the remaining sliced rope tied to his ankle. But he crawled to her, and held her close, and kept her warm.
CHAPTER 7
Thrown into the black desert, Davy and Penelope lied together on the sand underneath the stars, shivering so violently that they bled from their mouths.
The Big Dipper still emitted its glow—the main light that night. Davy always marveled at it. Aspired to it. But this time the wondrous grouping of stars mocked him. Yet, he could not look away. He stared at it for as long as he could. That is, until his short breaths turned into a cloud cover, and blocked it out.
Before the cover could fade Davy jerked his head to Penelope. She trembled; her teeth chattered. Her bangs were now icicles on her forehead.
Davy did not hesitate to lay on her; they both required the warmth. He breathed on her, trying to melt the ice, and rubbed her arms.
They spoke with slurred, shaky words.
“I’m sorry, David,” she said.
“You’re sorry?”
“I always screw up. Always. That’s why you never loved me, isn’t it?”
Davy stared at her suffering eyes. He touched her dress. It was still soaked. “You need to take your dress off. You’re gonna get hypothermia.”
With these words, Davy threw water on her flame. He never answered the question.
“No, please. Just let me die.”
Davy attempted to rise—his necktie was frozen to her dress, and it lifted her off the ground as he rose. He yanked it off, helped her take her dress off, and wrapped her in the towel Solas had given them.
His clothes also swamped him. He took of
f his blazer, unbuttoned his dress shirt and took it off. He pulled his belt off, pulled down his pants. But they glued against his thighs. He unzipped them, stuck his hands in the fly, and ripped the pants apart. He pulled them down his ankles and kicked them off. His legs were purple.
He rolled back onto Penelope. They trembled together in the sand, keeping warm. She struggled to lift her head, but she succeeded, and she pressed Davy’s head against hers. She breathed hard, teeth clanging, with him. She moved her head to the side of his and brushed against his ear, before lowering her head back against the sand with his.
“One of the guys will come by with my truck any second, Penelope. Don’t worry. Hang on a little longer.” They lied for a long while, there in the sand, lost in the middle of the blackness. The collective chattering of their shaking teeth was the lone sound, challenging the quietness.
In the distance, a speck of white light flickered. The light grew larger and shined on the pair in the sand. Penelope cracked open her frozen eyelids to see it.
“David. It’s your father.”
Davy raised his head to see the light. He squinted at it. His father never looked so odd.
That wasn’t his father, Davy thought. His father’s spirit was green, indistinct. Not a flash of white light.
The light grew even larger on him, blinding him, and the sound of an engine accompanied it. Frozen in place, Davy rose upright. He got up and limped toward the light, jumping up-and-down, seeking its attention. He yelled at it. And the light found him. As it enlarged it broke into two rays—headlights.
It was Davy’s pickup truck. It pulled up. As Davy helped Penelope rise, a young man, of Davy’s age, emerged from the driver’s seat, dressed like Rafael. In black rags. A Water Thief.
“Get in, boss” the young man said.
Davy wanted to push the young man against the truck and beat him silly. He wanted to extract an explanation about what happened. But Davy was weak, and the young thief was not, and he held Penelope’s arm over his shoulder.
The young man opened the side door. Davy helped her into the truck. He entered after her and slammed the door closed to the black desert. The young man circled around, and the truck drove off.
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