Garbage Island

by Fred Koehler

  “How is he?” asked the shrew.

  “He’ll live,” Mr. Popli replied. And he realized he was happy about it.

  Chapter 23

  “Pie,” said Archie. “Mushroom pie. Seaweed pie. Squid-kidney pie. Pie of every kind. Pie of any kind! I don’t care as long as it’s pie.”

  “For me it’s Old Lady Toad’s dandelion tea,” Mr. Popli replied. “With fresh barnacle bread right out of the oven.” The mouse huffed and puffed as he pedaled the Abigail, guided by Huxley’s internal compass, toward the growing speck on the horizon.

  Home. Mr. Popli wondered whether the citizens had been able to repair the wall. He worried what conflicts Edward the Dung had stirred up. He hoped beyond hope to see the flutter of a small yellow bird.

  Archie turned to smile at the juvenile snake. “I don’t suppose you could miss anything about home, could you, Huxley?” asked Archie. “You were just an egg.”

  “There was darkness,” said the snake. “And warmness. And … music.”

  “Music?” Mr. Popli thought about the former mouse colony and all that had been there before Colubra’s arrival. He remembered many sounds, but nothing at all like music.

  “No, not music,” the snake mused. “A song.”

  “Colubra—I mean, your mother. She sang to you?!” asked Mr. Popli, intrigued.

  “Yes!” said Huxley, recalling. “A slow, wishful song. About bright scales and soft nests and hatchlings, safe and warm.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Popli had only ever considered Colubra as an enemy and a predator, never as a mother. Especially not the kind who would sing lullabies to her unhatched eggs.

  Familiar flotsam now littered the waterway. The iceberg-like corner of a pine casket. The gilded masthead of an ancient dragon boat. Mr. Popli exhaled a deep sigh.

  “What is it?” asked Archie.

  “It’s just … We’re nearly home. It’s been too long since we’ve seen friendly waters.”

  With a whistle and a splash, a projectile sailed right over their heads and into the sea three waves away. The friends looked anxiously to see what had nearly hit them.

  “TURN BACK OR PREPARE TO SINK!” a voice thundered. “THESE WATERS ARE CLOSED!”

  A sailboat the size of a washtub (in fact, it had once been a washtub) came round from behind a bobbing whiskey barrel. Armed lizards and armored beetles lined the forecastle and main decks.

  “Ahoy!” yelled Mr. Popli, waving his arms. “It’s Mayor Popli and Archibald Shrew! Ahoy!”

  Captain Shift, the same gecko who had served as bailiff during Archie’s trial, stared down at them from the much larger boat. Mr. Popli noticed that neither she nor her companions wore the symbol of the Order of the Silver Moon any longer.

  “It certainly sounds like you, Mayor Popli,” said Captain Shift. “But these are strange times. And I’m under orders that anyone approaching the island should be turned back.”

  “I assure you, we are friends!” said the mouse. “And citizens! We must be allowed to come home. Who gave these orders? Who’s in charge now?”

  The gecko paused. She looked careworn as she glanced back and forth to the hardened faces on either side of her. Mr. Popli could tell that she wanted to believe him, to help. Something was wrong and she wished the mouse could make it right. All he had to do was convince her that he was on her side.

  Only then did she notice Huxley, hiding between Archie’s legs. “SNAKE!” the gecko yelled. At once all of the soldiers lifted heavy spears with sharp, metallic blades that looked easily capable of piercing the houseboat’s insubstantial hull, not to mention small, castaway animals.

  “I can explain,” said Mr. Popli.

  “No more talking. This is the last warning you get. If I see this boat again, I will sink it.” A look of warning in the gecko’s eye assured Mr. Popli that she meant it.

  The mouse pedaled the Abigail away from the patrol ship.

  “Well,” he said, “that was not quite the welcome I was hoping for.”

  “I was just hoping for pie,” Archie huffed.

  “Something’s wrong. We need to get home to figure out what it is.”

  “But they’ve threatened to sink our ship!”

  “Let them try.”

  The catapult payloads resembled oversized sand burrs made of glass and jagged metal, held together with muck and string. Another one slammed into the side of the Abigail. Dauntless, she chugged onward toward the island—although slowed down by the armor they’d scabbed to her hull. Hard-shell plastic packaging, disposable coffee lids, and can cozies covered her sides like scales.

  But the night watch guards were expert shots. One by one, projectiles dislodged armor and pierced her plastic sides. With each direct hit she crumpled a bit more and slipped a little lower into the water. Eventually, the engine no longer had the thrust to propel her forward. Only the tip of the coil spring could be seen above the waterline. The Abigail had sunk.

  Chapter 24

  When Archie had revealed the existence of the secret entrance under the Watchtower, he’d thought the mouse would be livid. They’d just finished attaching the armor to the houseboat.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. There might be another way into the island.”

  “There might?”

  “Well, technically speaking, by might I mean there is.”

  But Mr. Popli had beamed at the news, calling the shrew a “clever little genius.” And so, instead of chugging full speed toward the wall inside the Abigail, they’d wound the spring as tight as it would go and set her on a collision course with the gate.

  As the sun came up, Archie, Mr. Popli, and Huxley swam behind a rubber duck, pushing it in front of them under the looming Watchtower, hoping to disguise their presence. As it happened, they didn’t need the duck. All guards had been sent to the front gate to defend the island from the Abigail. The trio safely slunk through the secret door.

  “I hate all this scurrying and hiding! I’m the mayor! I’ll go straight to the council!” Mr. Popli exploded as soon as Archie had carefully closed the door behind them.

  “No. You’re an enemy intruder who was threatened with death should you do exactly what we’re doing right now.”

  “I don’t like it one bit. It makes me feel like a criminal!”

  “You get used to it.”

  Mr. Popli thoughtfully considered Archie’s comment. Is this how Archie always feels? No one trusts him because he doesn’t follow the rules. And he doesn’t follow the rules because no one trusts him. No wonder he’s always in trouble.

  Not daring to use the main thoroughfares, the trio clambered over a laundry detergent bottle and into the recess of a length of Styrofoam packing. Archie helped Huxley up, over, and down. From there, they watched passersby on a section of the driftwood highway that connected parts of the island.

  “Something’s definitely wrong,” said the mouse eventually. “Everyone has their heads down. No one’s laughing. No one’s talking. We’d better stay out of sight until we can figure out what’s what. Archibald, your workshop would be the perfect place to hide out!”

  “A brilliant idea! If it wasn’t boarded up and locked tight, remember? Even I couldn’t break in. And I may have possibly tried.”

  “Oh, no. And Merri had the key. Wait—you did what?”

  “Only six or seven times. But let’s focus on what’s important here. If you gave the key to Merri, where would she keep it?”

  “In her perch.”

  They looked inland. From the center of the island Merri’s perch ascended—an impenetrable fortress atop an impossible climb of jagged metal. Built from scraps no one else wanted, in a place no other islander would consider, Merri had created a home that did not exactly invite casual guests. In fact, neither shrew nor mouse had ever been up to visit.

  Archie’s whiskers shuddered. “Shall we play odds and evens to see who goes climbing?”

  “I’ll take evens.”

  “Ready? One, two, three
.”

  “Snakespit,” said Mr. Popli.

  Chapter 25

  Fierce wind buffeted Mr. Popli. His tail flapped behind him. A paw lost its grip. He looked down and immediately wished he hadn’t. A rope might have been a good idea. Especially on the way down.

  Carefully, but with many a nick and scratch, the mouse negotiated his way toward the nest towering high above the island. From the outside, Merri’s home looked as inviting as a serpent’s den—it was supported by a broken metal pipe pockmarked with serrated holes and flaking rust. At the pinnacle sat an orb of tangled wires, interwoven with sharp slivers of hardened plastic. The only entrance was a tiny hole, promising danger to any trespasser. It resembled ammunition for the catapult more than a home.

  Hanging below the nest, Mr. Popli marveled at its construction. The sphere was perfect in shape and balance—no mouse could have done better. Without a single tool or anyone’s help, Merri had built the most impenetrable structure on the island. Shards of colored glass spiked out from the equally dangerous woven mesh at irregular intervals, making it as beautiful as it was daunting.

  Using the tiny claws at the tips of his fingers, Mr. Popli found paw-holds between the plastic, glass, and metal. He gripped with one paw. Then the other. Slow as the rising moon, he picked his way under and across Merri’s nest. It was like climbing through a jungle of twisted fangs. The wind, still gusting, drove his body against a tangled fray of wire. He winced and let go with one paw. At least we didn’t try Archibald’s idea of launching me up here in a catapult.

  He regained his grip, stretched as far as his legs would allow, and grabbed ahold of a dangling spike that jutted from the entrance. With a heave and a long scratch down his belly, Mr. Popli pulled himself into Merri’s nest.

  He paused just inside the entrance. Shattered light sent shadows dancing across the interior. Mr. Popli had expected the home of a warrior, sparse and spartan. What he found made his heart clog his throat.

  For all of its intimidating exterior, the inside of Merri’s home resembled a museum. Photographs and drawings filled the space, covering the floors, walls, and ceiling. And all were images of birds! Mr. Popli recognized herons and eagles and wrens. There were dozens of other birds he’d never seen or heard of. What Merri hadn’t salvaged from the garbage, she’d drawn with her beak or crudely outlined with lengths of string. This was the work of an artist.

  Mr. Popli stepped farther in. A shadow twitched above his head. He spun, drawing his knife. It was the shape and size of a bird. “Merri?” He squinted and saw not one but a dozen shapes perched high in the shadows! They all looked ready to swoop down on the mouse.

  Mr. Popli had fought outnumbered more times than he could count, but a single bird could outmaneuver and overpower a mouse with ease. Where had they come from? How had they gotten onto the island unnoticed? His muscles tensed, he bared his teeth and prepared for an attack. But it never came.

  And then a ray of light shined through one of the birds. They were hollow—sculptures assembled from bits of trash woven together with fine thread. Glass beads and gleaming buttons looked like real eyes. They balanced impossibly and beautifully, filling the room with an impression of life. He relaxed and put his knife back in the sheath tied to his leg.

  Deeper inside, Mr. Popli saw the key. It hung on a hook next to a sweeping mural that covered a large section of the east wall. As he got closer, he recognized it as a map of the island. He gaped at the detailed depiction, along with Colubra’s lair to the north and other smaller patches of garbage beyond the wall. And then he saw the lines. Merri had drawn dotted lines radiating out from their island, some longer, some shorter. There were hundreds.

  This must be every place she’s flown! And look at the different animals! Mr. Popli noted drawings of insects and reptiles and mammals in their colonies, well outside the range of their ships. But this map was so much more detailed than the crude ones he’d seen other animals make. Merri had trimmed her drawing with ornate flourishes. She used elegant patterns to contrast islands and the sea. It was as beautiful, in its own way, as her statues.

  The mouse hung the key around his neck, his paw lingering to trace the map. Garbage Island only wanted Merri the messenger. Merri the worker. Merri the warrior. He saw that. But still, Merri, why did you keep your creativity hidden away?

  Without warning, a feathery shadow zipped past him into the room. It was like the twitching shadows of the false birds above him, but this one was real. Mr. Popli felt the rush of wind. Startled, he backpedaled toward the entrance. The shadowy figure spun. Mr. Popli took another step backward. He was teetering on the edge of the entryway. A whisker farther and he’d fall.

  “Mr. Popli?” came a voice.

  His foot slipped. And then Mr. Popli fell.

  Chapter 26

  A dozen thoughts raced through Mr. Popli’s mind. Visions of his mother. Colubra. The war. Even Archibald.

  A claw seized his tail. Mr. Popli swung into the side of Merri’s nest, his head racing toward a needlelike splinter of glass. He spun his head sideways and bit down on the glass. It cracked. So did a tooth.

  “Mayor Popli? It can’t be!”

  “Yes,” the mouse answered, dangling. “And I could use a bit of assistance.”

  Merri held his tail till Mr. Popli found grips for his claws. Slowly, he climbed back into her nest.

  Once inside, she hopped and fluttered excitedly, peppering the mouse with feathery hugs and kisses.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” he said, surprised. In all his time, he’d never seen Merri express this kind of affection, except maybe with Archibald.

  “What about Archie?” asked the bird.

  “Alive and impetuous as ever. But you’ll never guess what happened!”

  “You stole an egg from Colubra and out hatched a baby snake?”

  Mr. Popli’s eyebrows bristled in surprise. “But—how would you know?”

  “Since we lost you, Colubra’s been attacking the island every day. Different times. Different tactics. Raving about her kidnapped egg. Somehow, one of her snake skins washed up against the wall and got stuck on it. She thinks the islanders did it to taunt her. An envoy was sent, members of the Order. Angus, Mildred, and Lester. They never came back. She won’t stop until she figures out how to tear down the wall. I don’t even think she wants to eat the citizens. She just wants the island … exterminated.”

  Mayor Popli sat down hard. It was worse than he’d imagined. Could they escape? Abandon the island and flee as the mice had when she’d come to the colony? But then Mr. Popli thought of old Mrs. Toad. She wouldn’t last a week on the open sea. He thought of the dozens of members of the Order who had volunteered, at his request, to risk life and limb for this dream. Colubra was a riddle he had to solve.

  “The whole island is in a panic. There’s a war council with representatives from each of the clans. Edward the Dung is in charge, and he’s handled things like a real dung beetle. No one knows what to do.”

  “What’s happened to the Order?”

  “All conscripted into military service. The lifesaving boats converted to warships. The volunteers turned into soldiers.” The thought made Mr. Popli’s stomach turn. The Order of the Silver Moon had been established as a rescue squad, trained to save lives. Not to fight.

  “Oh Merri! But how did you make it back? Why didn’t you sound the bell?”

  Then Merri told him how she’d raced the storm to the island and lost, getting dashed by the driving wind into a wave. How a hurt wing had kept her from taking off again. How she’d flapped and fluttered to the wall as lightning crashed and the waves grew. How no one had heard her call for help. How she’d spent the night clinging to a drifting scrap of Styrofoam.

  “They found me the next day, but wouldn’t let me fly to look for you. I’m afraid I pecked poor Nurse Salamander right on the shin when she refused to take the splint off my wing. And then Colubra came and it’s been a crisis every day since. But you’re home! Let’
s go get Archie and meet with the council. With the two of you back, a plan can be made to set things right. I just know it.”

  Chapter 27

  They’re going to murder us. I just know it. Archie peered through the tiny metal mesh of the cage in which he and Huxley were trapped. Dozens of angry citizens surrounded them.

  What had happened was this: Archie, having become bored while waiting on Mr. Popli, had a wonderful (terrible) idea.

  “Would you like to see the city, Huxley?”

  “Is it wise? It seems we should stay in one place.”

  “Don’t worry. I grew up in this heap. I know every nook and cranny. Wait till you see the algae beds being harvested across the lagoon! Smell the fish pies from the bakers’ square!”

  The notion of fish pies was too good for Huxley to pass up. When the soldiers caught them, reclining in an alleyway, each licking bits of pilfered fish pie from their faces, they knew they were in deep trouble.

  “Snakespit,” said Huxley.

  Merri and Mr. Popli arrived just in time. Few of the citizens had ever seen Colubra, and many assumed that they’d caught her sneaking into the island, that she was now caged with Archie.

  “She doesn’t look so big!”

  “Hand me that spear, I’ll solve all our problems right now!”

  “Try it and you’ll learn to fly the hard way.” Merri landed in a fury, every feather puffed to make her look twice her size. A wild gleam pulsed in her eyes. Mr. Popli had never seen her so menacing, so fierce. This was the bird the citizens feared.

  The offending party stumbled backward, pushing the crowd away from the cage.

  “Merri?” asked Archie, pressing his face up against the mesh.

  “Hello, Archie. You’re in a squall of trouble.”

  News spread quickly of a snake on the island, rumors of Colubra being captured alongside a traitorous accomplice. The war council gathered for an emergency session, and Mr. Popli found himself seated, with Archie, in a familiar plastic cereal bowl. No one, not even Merri, would consider letting Huxley out of the cage beside them.