by Tara Omar
“She snores like a speedboat with a rusty rudder after one of those,” said Rob, chuckling. Margaret shot him a dirty look.
“I think they’re still working on the name for these,” said Gabe. “They’re not on the market yet.”
“Oooh, look at you with the fresh drugs. I guess that’s one of the perks of owning the company, huh?” asked Dominic, smirking.
“They do enjoy using me as a guinea pig, yes,” said Gabe, taking the pill with a glass of water. “Rather me than someone else, though. We all know I would not be forgiven if I caused this society any undue pain; the Lady would make sure of it.”
Margaret smiled sympathetically.
“Whoops,” said Gabe. A tikihune knocked the jar of pills with the water glass, scattering them all over. Several more tikihune rushed to the scene to pick up the fallen capsules. They handed them back in a sealed plastic bag, atop a porcelain plate and linen napkin.
“Are they all here?” asked Gabe.
The tikihune nodded nervously.
“Thank you,” said Gabe. He brushed the tikihune on the head and pocketed the bag.
“Well, I think I shall be going now,” said Gabe. “Apologies for cutting out early, but I think I may need some rest.”
“Yeah, get to bed, man. You look like you need it,” said Dominic. “You should take tomorrow off, too. Get yourself a hot nurse to keep you comfortable. I can keep the Rosy Herald distracted if you’d like.”
Gabe laughed.
“Perhaps in another life; in this one there is too much to do,” said Gabe. “Good night.”
“It’s unfortunate that we didn’t get to have more conversation, David,” said Gabe, handing him his card. “Perhaps when you’re near the Zodic you can pop in for lunch. It’ll be on me.”
He turned and left through the walkway on the side of the house.
“Shame. Such a nice man,” said Margaret.
“Agreed, a very good man,” said Rob. “I especially enjoy that he takes people where they’re at, instead of trying to change them all the time.”
Margaret smiled.
“Looks like the work is weighing on him, though,” said Aidric.
“How can it not, with the Lady preaching that he’s a snake all the time?” said Margaret. “It must be quite difficult.”
“The Lady is just a jealous joke; she has nothing better to do these days,” said Dominic.
“She still has a following, eh?” said Aidric. “You can’t write her off entirely.”
“Some people will believe anything,” said Rob.
Dominic slammed his hand on the table.
“I believe you just busted, Sir,” said Aidric.
“Damn,” said Dominic, turning his head.
“You should learn when to stop,” said Aidric.
“Yeah, yeah. Take your chips, you cheek,” said Dominic. “Let’s deal again.”
By the end of the night, Dominic had lost ninety-six chips and Aidric nearly as much. Rob, who barely seemed interested in the game, somehow managed to amass mostly everyone’s chips, including his wife’s. He left around one o’clock with a gracious bow and a promise to meet Dominic about possible business ventures. The last guest tottered out around four, but David had crashed on Gill’s leather couch long before then, which had reappeared when the tikihune had begun handing out after-dinner oranges and putting things back to normal, politely hinting to guests that it was time to leave.
As David slept he found himself again among the tapestries in the ornate room of his dream the night before, his cello lying where he had left it. He moved toward the hidden compartment under the throne like last time because he had the curious feeling that whatever was in there was for him, though he moved hesitantly for fear of the snake. As he bent down to unlock it, he noticed an elegant, bare foot on the edge of the seat, peeking out from under a colourful flare of skin. He looked up. A mera was sitting on the throne with her arm around her knee. She appeared to be staring at him, though David couldn’t really tell; the scene was blurred. She sat on her feet and leaned toward the edge of the throne so her face was nearer to his. David opened his eyes and jolted. Norbert was staring at him, his face barely three centimetres from the end of David’s nose. David grimaced.
“Norbert, it’s five am, can’t you come back in an hour?”
“No,” said Norbert, pulling him up.
“But the party just…”
“Your shenanigans do not concern me,” said Norbert, offering him a glass of guava juice. “You must get up now. The package is here.”
C H A P T E R 2 8
A rectangular parcel sat at the centre of Norbert’s desk, with a mound of junk pushed respectfully out of the way on either side. Norbert approached it with caution, donning his oven mitts and goggles.
“Let’s see what the Lady sent us, shall we?” asked Norbert. With the precision of a surgeon Norbert untied the twine and removed the paper with a pair of chopsticks. He flung open the lid and jumped back. When it appeared that nothing dangerous or scary was going to show itself, Norbert ventured a peek inside.
“Oh my worms,” said Norbert.
“What is it?” asked David, looking over Norbert’s shoulder.
A sheathed dagger lay next to a small, blue bottle, pressed into memory foam. Atop the dagger lay two small cards. One was a boat ticket, the other was a note on which someone had scribbled,
Nephesh amphibian. The One.
Norbert gasped. He spun around; his eyes darted across David’s neck with the utmost urgency, squinting as he looked below David’s right ear. David instinctively reached to cover his neck with his hand, but Norbert was too quick for him; he ripped the concealing bandage off with a chopstick.
“Ahh,” said David, rubbing his neck. Norbert stepped back.
“So that’s the merman’s mark,” said Norbert, stroking his goatee. “Interesting.”
“You know about it?” asked David.
“There were always legends of a possible merman,” said Norbert, “though no one’s ever seen it until now.” Norbert shook his head. “Davey, Davey, I never would’ve guessed it. Why you?”
“I wish I knew,” said David shrugging.
Norbert eyed him carefully.
“You’ve lost your memories,” said Norbert, staring at him.
David nodded.
“Probably better for it. Memories are like thistles stuck in a warbler’s wing, they are, with you being the warbler. Though that does mean we’ll have to start from the beginning.”
Norbert rummaged through a pile of junk in the corner, throwing stuff behind him as he dived deeper into the mound.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” said Norbert. He tossed a ladle across the room.
“May I help you with something?” asked David.
“Nope, nope, nope,” said Norbert. “This’ll only take a minute. Have a seat.” He glanced at David’s feet. “And put on your rain boots, Davey. One can never be too careful. We don’t want you turning all merish on us yet, we don’t.”
David sat down on the pouf and put on his rubber boots, while Norbert continued tossing broken tools and old bottles from one side of the shack to the other. When the pile was almost diminished he stood up, triumphant.
“Ah, here we are,” said Norbert, holding what appeared to be a chunky-looking waffle-maker. “Pay close attention now. This is important.”
Norbert set it on the floor in the centre of the room and gave it a few kicks with his boot; it whizzed to life. Then he pressed play. The choppy waves of the coastline rose out of the centre of the waffle-maker and floated above their heads, filling the shack. A much younger Norbert burst through the top of the sea, carrying a shovel and a flat piece of wood in his hands; a line of Nephil warriors was fighting in the distance.
“Well, praise Avinoam for that!” said th
e young Norbert, looking at the glittering backs of the Nephil warriors. He arched his head back as the sea swelled over him. As the water ebbed and pushed forward again Norbert thrust the wood under his stomach and paddled with all his might, pulling himself up onto a wave. He held his shovel between his teeth as he surfed behind the Nephil army, aiming for the mer King. He unzipped his wetsuit to the waist and caught the small, blue bottle he had tucked there. Then he took the shovel in his other hand.
“Here we go, Melinda!” said Norbert, flexing his fingers.
A hooded warrior turned his head, his eyes wide with surprise as he saw Norbert nearing the mer King. Norbert wasted no time.
“NOW!” shouted Norbert. He tapped the shovel with his gloved hand and leapt off the board, hurling his body toward the back of the mer King. Melinda sparked and split in the air as Norbert pushed the King from the wave; the two of them tumbled through the water, crashing into the sand below. When he landed on the shore Norbert held in his hand a pair of pruning shears; he pinned down the mer King’s arm and smashed the bottle over the King’s mouth. The glass shards bounced harmlessly away as the powder clouded around his face and settled on his lips. The mer King looked surprised at first and then amused. He grabbed Norbert by the neck and lifted him from the ground, choking him. Norbert began to turn purple, but the King relaxed his grip. As Norbert sat up the King stared at him with wide, stony eyes, dead. Norbert picked up the thick, greyish-black band as a Nephil warrior aimed his wrist at Norbert, but a Renaultan soldier pushed Norbert out of the way just as he released the blades. Norbert fell backward and lost his grip on the band; it flew out of his hands, and the real Norbert pressed pause. He caught it in mid-air as the film characters shrunk in size and fell to the ground.
“Hey, you can’t have that, you can’t,” squeaked the mini Norbert, stamping his tiny foot on the floor.
“Oh hush, I’m only borrowing it,” said Norbert, examining the band between his fingers. The tiny Norbert charged at Norbert’s ankle but stopped in mid run as one of the H-gang stood in front and reared its head. The tiny Norbert darted behind a fallen Nephil warrior who was sitting in a puddle, rubbing his knees.
“Well, this is the shield, Davey,” said the real Norbert, holding the shrunken band in his palm so David could see. “The actual shield is much bigger, of course. Let’s see if I can zoom in.” Norbert pinched and opened his fingers above the shield; it grew as he stretched his hand.
“There we go. That’s better,” said Norbert. The shield was now the size of a towel. David could see a swarm of what looked like tiny, greyish, pig-looking things huddled together.
“What are those?” asked David.
“Tardigrades,” said Norbert, “or rather a special subspecies of them. They’re the hardiest things on the planet, they are. You can burn them, boil them, freeze them, irradiate them, even poke them with the point of a pick axe; nothing will kill these buggers. And they’re very protective of their food, which is why they make a good shield.”
“The shield is alive?” asked David.
“Yep,” said Norbert. “A whole colony squished into the size of a bracelet. When their food supply is in danger they move like a shoal, sticking their little armoured bodies in between the wearer and whatever wants to harm the wearer, so fast you can’t even see it.”
“What do they eat?” asked David.
“Bad bacteria on the skin, meaning the shielded one is also the cleanest body of the bunch. Such a mutually beneficial relationship it is, and a very loyal one too; you can tell it’s right out of Paradise.”
“Aren’t there more of them?” asked David.
“Nope, this is the only group, and they stick together. There’s no spawning or separating to be had,” said Norbert. David looked toward the tiny mer King sprawled atop the waffle-maker.
“So the only way to get between the shield and the mer King is to break a bottle over his mouth?” asked David.
Norbert tossed the shield onto the tiny Norbert and pressed the play button on the remote. Then he rewound, swiping the blue bottle out of the young Norbert’s hand as he held it above his head. The film characters crashed to the ground again with the tiny Norbert charging Norbert’s ankle. Again one of the H-gang intervened.
“Do you know what this is?” asked Norbert, holding up the blue bottle.
“No,” said David.
“Extract of wild cherry pits,” said Norbert, shaking the holographic powder into his hand, “also known as cyanide.”
“Poison,” said David, stepping back. “I have to poison the King?”
“Yebo. That’s the only way to kill him without the shield suspecting. Even the buggers know the King has to eat. The mouth is the most vulnerable part.”
“Can’t I just steal it?”
Norbert shot him a judgemental look.
“And just how would you do that, Davey? It’s clamped on the mer King’s wrist and it makes the wearer invincible; it’s how the Nephtali family came to rule. Uriel’s not just going to take it off, he’s not. I’m afraid the only way you can get the shield is to make these little buggers leave him, and you’ll have to kill him to do that.”
“When I made my vow, the Lady and King only told me I had to get the shield. No one mentioned anything about murdering anybody.”
“Well, they did now. The devil’s always in the details, isn’t it? Actually it’s a bit of tit-tit for tat, I would say. They poison us, we poison them, footsies for finsies and all that justice.”
“This is insane. You’re all insane.”
“What else can you do?” asked Norbert.
“I don’t know, something. Not this.”
“The King saved your life.”
“And I will not pay for it with the life of another,” said David.
Norbert’s chest puffed as he took a deep breath.
“Now you listen to me, you noble nitwit. The death of King Saladin in war…”
“Merits automatic surrender, I know,” said David.
“The mers want us dead, Davey, and Saladin is a sitting duck,” said Norbert, visibly upset. “Dominion means nothing. We cannot rule from the low ground.”
“What you’re planning seems pretty low to me,” said David.
“And you think the mers will show us mercy the next time they attack?” asked Norbert. “When you get the shield, you will guarantee peace for the humans. You will finish what should have been finished the first time.”
“Perhaps you did not hear me clearly,” said David. “I am not an assassin.”
He grabbed David by the arms.
“Do you have any idea what those mers can do to you?” asked Norbert. “What they did to me?”
A knock sounded.
“Norbert, can you get the door?” asked Gill through the open window.
Norbert twisted his face.
“Ough choogh shoosh boush. Um-ha huuum,” mumbled Norbert. He let go of David and walked mechanically to the door, his expression blank as he opened it. David hurriedly pressed another concealing bandage over his neck, hiding the mark.
“Norbert, could you look at my bromeliad? I think it might be sick.”
He fumbled with the sprawling potted plant in his arms, its broad, waxy leaves limp and slightly brownish. Norbert took the potted plant from him and set it on his work bench. Then he walked back to Gill and gave him a hard slap across the face.
“You stupid, mangy mud mugger. Why did you push me?” asked Norbert, pacing back and forth.
“What?” asked Gill, rubbing his cheek. He noticed the waffle-maker lying at the centre of the floor; he looked at it both knowingly and annoyed.
“You pushed me, and we lost the shield,” said Norbert flailing his arms about. He kicked a sack of dirt leaning against the wall.
“Norbert, we’ve been through this,” said Gill, ducking as a pi
llow spun past his head. “We can’t change the past.”
“Have I survived only to watch our last hope be bungled by a bumptious bullock?” asked Norbert, chucking another pillow at him.
“Norbert, calm down,” said Gill. “You just need to calm down.”
“GET OUT. Both of you!” said Norbert.
“Norbert,” said Gill.
“NOW!” shouted Norbert. “Before I butcher your bromeliad.”
“Let’s go, David,” said Gill, motioning toward the doorway. David followed him, closing the door behind them.
Gill sighed heavily.
“I told you where Norbert lived because you said the Lady had sent you. I assumed she would’ve had enough sense to leave things of the war alone,” said Gill, glaring at David.
“It’s my fault,” said David. “I didn’t know about the war when I arrived, but after I saw Norbert on the cover of your book, the subject sort of came up. I didn’t know it would cause trouble, honest.”
Gill nodded. “Walk with me,” he said.
David and Gill started toward the seafront.
“No one saw it coming, the war. No one even knew the mers existed, for that matter,” said Gill, offering a sad chuckle. “We paid a very high price for surviving—no one more than Norbert. Most of us moved on with our lives, tried to rebuild what we could and to forget. But Norbert never did. Forget, I mean. He tries to keep distracted with his garden, but he can’t let it go. He lives every day as if it was yesterday, and it’s eating him from the inside out.”
David shook his head. “What does his son say? Can’t he take him for help?”
“His son?” asked Gill.
“Charlie, the biologist,” said David.
Gill stopped walking.
“Charlie is dead,” said Gill.
“What?” asked David.
“Charlie died as a young boy, nearly three hundred years ago.”
“But the picture he showed me…”
“…was clipped from a magazine years ago,” said Gill. “Norbert imagines it’s his son—what Charlie would’ve done had he lived. Norbert’s never even met the man in the photograph.”
