Monsterland

by James Crowley

  “He has taken what life the sun had to offer. More rest and you will see. I am sure he will be up and about before you know it.”

  The Prime Minister examined the horses’ injuries and saw that they had also improved. He gathered the rest of Franklin’s rigging from Faust and loaded the saddle into a wagon the marauders had left behind. They buried Faust as best they could in the loose rock and then built up the fire.

  As night fell, howling cries rang with the wind that rose off the desert, but the Prime Minister assured them that they were safe. He saw that Abigail and Zalika had blankets so that they could sleep warmly around the fire, and then the Prime Minister sat with Charlie at the Monster’s side and they talked late into the night. They spoke of the battle and of Franklin’s strength and bravery. And they spoke of the impending war.

  “I am afraid,” the Prime Minister said, “that this is not the last we have seen of these troubles. I am not sure this Tok is willing to engage in talks that will truly lead to a lasting peace.”

  The vampire looked tired. The many years spent as Prime Minister seemed to weigh heavily on him.

  “It saddens me, Charlie, that it has come to this, but I would think it was somewhat expected. This noble experiment that we have engaged in with your government may have been doomed from the beginning, and I fear that if we do not resolve these issues soon, all parties will lose patience.”

  “I don’t understand,” Charlie said. “If they lose patience . . .”

  “Then, I would imagine, there will be war in this valley, an all-out war of the like we monsters have never seen,” the Prime Minister said. “And if war does not resolve the conflict, then I am afraid that your government would have little choice but to terminate our agreement and dissolve the Council, essentially putting an end to all of this.”

  “Put an end to it? What does that mean?” Charlie asked, thinking about all the terrible stories that Old Joe had told him about war.

  “I am afraid that without this place, well, where else would this modern world allow us to be?” The Prime Minister sighed. “The price we will end up paying for, to put it simply, not getting along.”

  The conversation fell silent. It was all too much, Charlie thought. After everything that had happened, he couldn’t bear the idea that a war could put an end to Monsterland, leaving Franklin, the Prime Minister, and all of this land’s many inhabitants with nowhere to go. He tossed and turned that night, eventually falling into a troubled sleep. He dreamed of Billy. Franklin, Abigail, and Zalika were there too, but the dream was muddled and confused, fragmented with the recent horrors that clouded his memory.

  When he woke, he was curled up in a saddle blanket in the sand at the base of the flat rock. It was morning, and Franklin and the Prime Minister were gone, Abigail’s wreath of flowers lying where the Monster’s head had been. Charlie stood and saw Abigail, Zalika, and Ringo still asleep around the fire.

  He climbed into the odd rock formations and found Franklin on a ledge looking out over the salt flat. The Monster knelt in prayer facing the rising sun, his head hung low. Charlie was quiet as he approached, and then stood against the rock, watching Franklin, waiting for the Monster to raise his head.

  “You’re back,” Charlie whispered after some time, unable to hold in the tears that had welled in his eyes.

  “I am.” Franklin coughed, standing slowly and wrapping the knotted piece of rope around his hand. “And you, no worse for wear?” he asked, turning to face Charlie.

  “Just a few cuts and bruises—” Charlie started to say, but then he broke away from the rock and threw his arms around the Monster.

  “Now, now,” Franklin said awkwardly, patting the boy on the back. “What is all this?”

  “I thought you were gone,” Charlie cried. “Gone for good . . .”

  “Come now, from the likes of them?” Franklin scoffed playfully. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

  “You’re Franklin,” Charlie said, fighting back his tears. “You’re Franklin Prometheus—the Monster of all Monsters . . .”

  “That’s right, and don’t you forget it,” Franklin replied with a half grin.

  “There were so many, Franklin. It was horrible. They just kept coming,” Charlie said.

  “Ah, but it is over now and we are here. Are we not? Our chins up, still standing,” Franklin crouched down to Charlie’s level.

  “Yep,” Charlie said, collecting himself. “Chins up, still standing.”

  “Then let us see to what is left of the horses. We are not to the safety of the coast yet, are we?”

  “No, sir, not yet.”

  “And let’s hope that the Ranger and young Dwight York did not encounter the troubles we found here. Not to mention what’s ever become of Rohmetall, that overblown bucket of bolts.” With that, Charlie and Franklin walked back to the camp to join the girls by the fire.

  They packed their things, and Franklin thanked Abigail for her wreath of flowers.

  “First thing I saw when I woke, a glorious sight indeed,” he said. She gave him a nod and a small smile in return.

  Charlie helped Franklin fasten a harness and tie the horses they liberated from the marauders to the scavenged wagon.

  “You should ride in back,” Charlie offered. “Continue to rest.”

  “Nonsense,” Franklin said, pulling himself up onto Goliath. Compared to riding Faust, he seemed to dwarf the smaller Clydesdale. “You drive the wagon. I would think I have enough left in me to sit in a saddle for a ride to the coast.”

  Charlie smiled and climbed up on the bench seat with Abigail next to him. Zalika sat beside Franklin’s saddle in the back of the wagon, letting her mummified legs dangle from the bed as they bounced back onto the salt flat heading north.

  THEY RODE SLOWLY THROUGH THE MORNING, AND AFTER A few hours the flat broke and turned to rocky sand. Franklin led them at a slow trot with Ringo walking along in Goliath’s shadow. From time to time, Franklin’s head slumped forward, and he seemed to sleep most of the day as they rode.

  They drank the last of their water at midday when they stopped to take a compass measurement, pulling their cloaks over their heads to shield them from the relentless sun. Gulls and other seabirds appeared in flocks on the sand, and soon they could sense moisture in the air, even though they still could not see the water.

  They rode on and on, and as the sun hung low late that afternoon, Charlie could see a shimmer in the distance when he stood on the wagon’s bench.

  “Look, there it is!” Charlie shouted. “Could it be a mirage?”

  “No. Not a mirage. Look at the horses,” Franklin said with a laugh. “They can smell the water. We have made it, Charlie, we made it!”

  The horses quickened their pace, and soon they reached the low dunes and the hard, packed sand of the beach. Franklin rode at a gallop and did not let up on the horse until Goliath was chest-deep in the small waves that lapped the shore. Franklin turned to Charlie, who followed close behind, letting the marauders’ horses pull the wagon until they stood with the water up to their bellies. Charlie dropped the reins and fell off the seat to land with a splash at Goliath’s feet.

  “Well done, Charlie, well done,” Franklin said, then slid from Goliath’s back and landed next to the boy with a giant splash of his own.

  Abigail stayed seated on the wagon along with Zalika and Ringo. But Charlie and Franklin could not see them. They were floating on their backs, looking up at the last of the day’s fading light, watching the sunset on the water at the end of the great salt flat.

  — chapter 36 —

  Port

  THAT NIGHT THEY slept on the beach, and in the morning they rode up the coast. Franklin was still weak and rode slumped in the saddle with his crossbow laid over his lap. At midday they passed the rusted hull of a steamship, then the wrecks of wooden schooners, cutters, and sloops—their skeletal ribs
exposed and bleached white by the desert sun. They rode through the debris, following the coast until they came upon a cluster of low buildings made of salvaged wood, eroded metal, and stone. A jetty of heavy rock harbored a rotted dock that jutted out from the beach and stood over a few boats, some of them sunk. They made their way down the row of ramshackle buildings to an inn with a carved wooden sign that swung on rusty chains. The sign read, THE BANSHEE’S BOOT.

  “Hello,” Franklin called. He turned his horse and steadied his crossbow. “We seek lodging.”

  Ringo jumped down from the wagon, ran up the steps, and stood at the shuttered doors, whimpering.

  “Aye, what is with all this shouting?”

  The doors swung open, and a skeleton-thin man with one arm and a wooden leg stood in the doorway, propped up on a driftwood crutch. A black leather patch covered his right eye, and he wore a greasy captain’s hat that was heavy with salt.

  “What is it? Who goes there?” he called out.

  “I am Franklin, Franklin Prometheus. We seek lodging.”

  “Franklin, what? Pro-me-tot-toes . . . heh . . . heh . . . Pro-me-tat-toes? . . . My, my, that’s a mouthful.” He chuckled to himself, adjusting the patch. “Ah, yes, Captain Alfred Dedmon at your service.”

  The captain stepped out on his crutch. His face was marred with burns and his skin was tight and pulled back around his good eye.

  “I’m proprietor here and the harbormaster for what it’s worth, only permanent resident, actually. Your man, the metal fellow, told me you’d be by. I’ve prepared rooms. Only rooms in Port, but well priced nonetheless,” he said with a one-eyed wink. “I’ve got a chowder on if you’re hungry.”

  “Good. We will see to the horses first, and thank you for your hospitality,” Franklin said.

  “He’s round back with them other fellows, the metal man, that is . . . ,” the captain added.

  They found Rohmetall, Dwight York, and the Ranger Ignacio Santos at the horse stables and were greeted enthusiastically. Rohmetall informed Franklin that he had secured lodging, and Zalika relayed their ordeal, noting Franklin and Charlie’s exceptional bravery, to which Ignacio Santos replied, “I would expect nothing less.”

  As it turned out, the Ranger and Dwight York had been in a skirmish themselves.

  “We found some stragglers from the marauders you met, a nasty lot. They told us what happened out there on the flats . . .”

  “After some persuasion, mind you,” Ignacio added.

  “We feared the worst,” Dwight York continued, “so good to see you all still in one piece. All that being relative, I suppose.”

  “Yes, you should rest, big fellow,” Ignacio said, slapping Franklin on the back. “We’ll check those bandages and tuck you in for the night. Sounds like you’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”

  They settled in around a wood-burning stove and ate the chowder offered by the captain. As usual, Abigail seemed indifferent to the meal, but Franklin ate several helpings after Ignacio and Zalika saw to his bandages. It could have just been the fire, or maybe the big pot of the captain’s chowder that sat on top of the old potbelly stove—Charlie wasn’t sure. But he knew he felt a certain warmth about him as he looked around the room. A shared sense of what they had accomplished and the feeling that they were finally safe, for the night at least, after what they had all somehow survived.

  When the embers of the fire had begun to fade, Franklin excused himself and retired to his room. After Charlie ate all he could, he left Ringo with Dwight York and headed up the creaky wooden stairs too. Everything had happened so fast Charlie hadn’t realized just how tired he was. He drifted off the moment his head hit the pillow and slept soundly that night with the window open and the wind whistling through the old ramshackle building. While he did not wake, Charlie did dream, but there were no deserts, or shadows or clouds of swirling birds. He did dream of Billy, though. He was there with him in the woods by Old Joe’s house. They were running through the high trees in the sunshine, and in this dream, they were laughing.

  IN THE MORNING, CHARLIE FOUND FRANKLIN WITH ABIGAIL, Ringo, and Rohmetall on the beach. The Monster sat in the sand with his arms draped over his raised knees, and a short distance away, Abigail was untangling fish from the net that Rohmetall held in his steel hands.

  “I never minded the fishing,” Abigail said with a shrug.

  Charlie sat down next to Franklin, and they watched as Abigail and Rohmetall moved farther down the beach to cast the net. Ringo ran next to them, unsuccessfully snapping at seagulls.

  “There is something strange about this girl,” Franklin said once they were out of earshot. “Have you noticed it too? How peaceful she seems here with us, and yet, she does not seem of this place.”

  Charlie dug the heels of his feet into the sand. “Back when we left the river, she told me she was just starting to remember, remember before that dock.”

  “And?”

  “Well, she said she thought she was going somewhere, but that was it. She wasn’t sure where, or why even.” Charlie looked up at Franklin. “She just wondered if anyone missed her, really.”

  Franklin let out a long, labored sigh. “There are far too many lost souls in this valley, but it feels wrong to see one so young,” he said.

  Charlie stared out at what lay on the far side of the water, thinking back to the night they met Draguta Flori. Rohmetall and the book had said something about the confusion of lost souls, those whose paths were unsettled or interrupted. Charlie turned the idea over in his mind as he watched Abigail wrestle with the nets.

  “I was wondering from reading the encyclopedia,” Charlie said, pointing past the small harbor, “if maybe she’s from over there. Or headed there, you know. She’s lost, kinda like Billy.”

  “Could be. Either way I am hoping that someone or something there may know. I would like to see her find a more permanent peace.” The Monster lowered his head toward Charlie. “What about you? Are you ready for the next part of our journey?”

  “I’m ready,” Charlie said. There was no question in his mind, really. He was still afraid, no doubt about it, but he was learning here in Monsterland to live with his fears. And that no matter what he read in a book or how well he prepared and planned, the unknown would always be waiting for him. It was how he handled what scared him that mattered. He might be afraid of what lay ahead, of what they might encounter next, afraid for Franklin and Abigail even, but somehow he was still ready.

  Charlie looked up at the Monster. “And you? Before the marauders, you said we were turning around—”

  “As well we should for your safety. As you’ve seen, even I cannot always protect you here.” Franklin dropped his arms and leaned back in the sand. His bones cracked as he moved, and Charlie could hear his skin pulling tight at his many seams. “But we have come this far, and now we have the girl to think of. Something tells me we should continue. Besides,” Franklin added with a half laugh, “it seems we can’t go back even when we try.”

  The Monster turned to the boy. “So, you are sure of yourself? Your mind is made up to continue, even after all you have seen?”

  Charlie looked out over the water again. The sky was overcast and hung low on the horizon, although there were hints that the sun would eventually find its way through.

  “Yes. I need to find Billy. He could be lost, like Abigail. And like you said, we’ve come this far.”

  “That we have, Charlie,” Franklin said, slapping him on the back. “That we have.”

  — chapter 37 —

  The Lost Island

  FRANKLIN AND CHARLIE returned to the inn and ate breakfast with the captain. Over steaming grits and black coffee, he told them of the strange goings-on across the water, and of the ships whose wrecks were strewn about this section of the shore.

  “It’s the maelstrom that haunts these waters,” the captain explained more th
an once. “And the devils who live within . . .”

  Earlier that morning, Dwight York had volunteered to take Zalika back to the Agrarian Plains. To avoid the wastelands, he had purchased a small boat from the captain, which he was already outfitting for the journey back along the coast. When Charlie went to say good-bye to Zalika, she kissed him on the cheek. He was surprised to find that beneath her wrappings, Zalika’s lips felt warm and alive like his, unlike the touch of Abigail’s cold hands.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she said, kissing his other cheek. “Who knows what we will find upon our return, but you are always welcome among the Mumiya. Safe travels, and please be careful.”

  “You too,” Charlie said, waving good-bye.

  “I have a feeling our paths will cross again,” Dwight York called back as he pushed their boat away from the pier. “And good luck. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

  Once they were gone, Franklin arranged with the Captain for the use of a similar ship, a small sloop with a fixed sail, and it was decided that Rohmetall would stay at the port with Ringo and the horses until they returned. The Ranger asked to join them, and Franklin agreed. With all they had encountered, he said he would be grateful for another set of hands. They spent the rest of the day checking the rigging, stocking the ship with food and water, and loading Franklin’s arsenal of weaponry.

  “None of that’ll do ya no good, not there, not where you’re going,” the captain said. And repeated his warning the next morning on the pier as Franklin was double-checking his crossbow, adding, “But don’t take my word for it . . . You’ll see.”

  Franklin thanked the captain for his hospitality and assured him they could handle themselves before shoving off. “We’ll be fine,” he said, helping Abigail into the boat. “Won’t we, Charlie?”