by Tara Omar
Silver frowned.
“Check.”
“What?” asked David.
“Check,” said Silver, pointing to the board. He spun it around and moved another piece, continuing with his game. David stared at him.
“Uh, Silver?” asked David, but he didn’t move.
“Silver.”
“Hmm?” asked Silver, looking up.
“Were you even listening?” asked David.
“Were you listening?” asked Silver.
“Can you please just tell me if Raphael is Rahul?” asked David. “Or if he is causing the famine?”
Silver picked up the king and turned it in his hand.
“David, for the whole of your time here, you’ve been a pawn in another’s game, bent on killing the King. Since you’ve woken up in this world, you’ve been told what to think, what to do, how to act, what to say. They’ve even dressed you. Now you are commanding I bow as though you are the player that moves pieces. Have you made such a big leap overnight?”
He moved a seahorse-shaped piece, taking another prawn.
“So what are you saying—that I should just keep the status quo and allow myself to be led around the board blindly, causing undue harm to anyone the others choose?”
“I am simply stating the obvious fact that you do not know how to move the pieces in your game. Whether you move them by mutual agreement or forceful aggression is a matter of personal judgement, but at present it is irrelevant, for you lack the capacity for either.”
“Please just tell me what I need to know,” said David.
“Are you not listening?” asked Silver. “Your argument lacks persuasiveness.”
“Persuasiveness? A lot of people are going to die, Silver. What more persuasion do I need?”
“You assume I care about people dying,” said Silver.
“Don’t you?”
“You should know the answer if you are attempting to persuade me,” said Silver.
“This is ridiculous. I need answers, not half-hearted, metaphorical advice that says nothing,” said David.
“And now you insult me when you still want something from me,” said Silver. He snapped his fingers, conjuring up a bouquet of two-toned, yellow flowers.
“For you,” said Silver, handing him the bouquet.
“Daffodils?” asked David.
“Also called Narcissus, yes? They seem fitting,” said Silver.
David glared at him.
“Now get out before you make a bigger fool of yourself,” said Silver, “unless you want to pray.”
David huffed and turned toward the door, nearly falling into one of the ponds as he left.
“Watch your step,” said Silver.
“Yeah, why do you have these things in here anyway?” asked David, whirling around.
“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Silver, moving a piece. “They keep you on the path.” He smiled. “Check mate.”
David shook his head. He stormed out of the Temple and out the front doors of the Palace, ignoring the reprimands of the guard about not leaving through the servants’ entrance. He plopped himself down on a park bench in a courtyard of the nearby public gardens, dropping the bouquet of daffodils next to him.
“Silver doesn’t give a damn if the mers and humans wipe each other out over a completely pointless war, but I’m the one who’s self-centred and narcissistic,” said David, shaking his head. “The whole world is ready to fall to pieces, and what does he do? He sits there playing chess. These people with power are something else. If I had even half his knowledge I’d… I’d fix the whole world if I could.”
David leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, staring out at a fountain without really looking at it. The garden in which he sat was a floral masterpiece, filled with tumbling waves of flowers that had sprouted from soft, white sands, while bubbles of water nestled among the blooms, filled with colourful corals and plant-like animals. Bunches of tubeworms swayed in bubbles of water on either side of his bench; they looked like pink versions of the daffodils beside him. Among them, he noticed a roach; it waved its arms and pointed to a tubeworm that looked similar but not identical to the others—a bamboo shoot attached to a plastic daffodil.
“Stew, is that you?” asked David.
The roach nodded and pointed. David picked up the shoot and pulled out a rolled piece of paper. He opened it to find a note scribbled in Norbert’s hand.
Poison, not poison, it’s not. Poison the same as Gabe’s new headache tablets. Repeat, poison equals headache tablets. Purples confirmed. Best of luck.—N.B.
“Stew, is he serious? Was the poison really just headache tablets?” asked David.
Stew jumped up on his hind legs and nodded, but became dizzy and started to stagger. He fell on his back with his hairy legs waving in the air.
“Hey, careful,” said David, flipping him over with the very tip of his finger. “You must be exhausted after that long journey, huh?” Stew nodded again.
“Here, let’s get you home.” He scooped Stew up in the bamboo and headed back to the Lotkins’ house at Ten-on-Farm, carrying the enfeebled roach and note in hand.
“Hey Natalie, is your dad home?” asked David as he came down the stairs. Natalie was reading an article on the computer near her microscope while Albert played with a plastic coil nearby.
“No, he’s out running errands. Why?” asked Natalie.
“I have a surprise for you,” said David. He handed her the bamboo with the plastic daffodil on top.
“A fake tubeworm?” asked Natalie.
Stew popped his head out of the top. Natalie squealed.
“Compliments of Aeroth,” said David.
“Oh Silence, you’re so cute,” said Natalie. “Oh, isn’t he cute, Albert?” She set him down on the counter near her computer. Albert crawled over and promptly sat on him. Natalie shrieked.
“Albert, where are your manners? Spit him out,” said Natalie.
The octopus shook his head.
“Albert,” said Natalie.
Albert gave her a dirty look as he pulled up his body, while Stew scurried out from under his tentacles. Natalie smiled.
“I’ve got just the bed for you,” said Natalie. She pulled a clamshell from a drawer and spun him a tiny blanket. “There you go. What does he eat?”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure anything would be okay,” said David.
Stew settled into his clamshell while Natalie floated up the stairs, returning a minute later with a white and brown sugar cube on a leaf of sea lettuce.
“What is he doing here?” asked Natalie. She set the lettuce next to the shell. David handed her the paper.
“He came to give me this,” said David.
As Natalie read the note, Albert stretched out his tentacle and inched the lettuce leaf nearer to him. Natalie looked up.
“Albert!” She pointed to a small treasure chest near the top of the bookshelf. Albert skulked toward it and climbed inside, eyeing her and Stew as he closed the lid. Natalie shook her head.
“It’s a good thing you didn’t try to poison the King then, or you would’ve been in serious trouble by now, huh?”
“Yeah,” said David. “Raphael must’ve messed with the poison. He’s one of the few people who knew about the plan,” said David.
“Do you have any proof?” asked Natalie.
“No,” said David.
“Well, I’ll add it to the case,” said Natalie. “Even so, this is compelling evidence that someone is trying to sabotage your efforts, or at least get you killed. Did your meeting get you any info?”
“No,” said David. Natalie glanced at Stew who was now nestled among the blanket in his shell.
“Oh, you’re so cute,” said Natalie. “Look how cute…”
“Natalie. Focus,” said David.
“Okay, okay, I’m done now,” said Natalie, clearing her throat.
“Have you found anything?” asked David.
“According to the records Rahul’s funeral was attended by four unnamed witnesses. They were sworn to secrecy to avoid public attention or retribution at the grave. No one knows where he was buried.”
“Except you, I imagine?” asked David.
“Yep. He’s buried in a far corner of Spirit Lake Cemetery, in an unmarked grave. I have the lot and section number here,” said Natalie.
“How did he die again?” asked David.
“Execution by orca hunt,” said Natalie.
David nodded. “What’s an orca hunt?” he asked.
“Basically they set you loose and tell the orcas to chase you down and chew you to pieces,” said Natalie.
“Is it possible he got away?”
“Not really. The orcas are seriously good hunters and really fast. No one escapes an orca hunt, unless the orcas aren’t hunting.”
“A fake hunt could’ve been orchestrated,” said David.
“The only way we’ll know is if you get me a piece of bone from this grave for testing,” said Natalie.
“Get a bone? As in I have to rob the grave?” asked David.
“Yep. Do you have a better idea?”
“What about a picture? Aren’t there any photos of Rahul? I can maybe identify if it’s Raphael,” said David.
“Admittedly that would be easier, but unfortunately not possible. After Rahul’s death his face was stricken from everything by royal decree, and they did an insanely good job at erasing him. I’ve tried for years to track down a picture, with no luck. There might be something in the grave though. Sometimes they bury a mer with mementos. Maybe you’ll find something there.”
David nodded.
“You can take Albert with you to help,” said Natalie. As she finished her sentence Albert stuck his tentacle through the keyhole of his chest and attached a padlock, locking himself inside.
“Or not,” said Natalie.
“How about you, Stew?” asked David.
“You can’t ask him to go after he made such a long journey,” said Natalie. Stew pulled his blanket up to his face.
“Guess I go it alone then,” said David.
“You’ll be fine,” said Natalie, waving her hand. “Though there is one more thing.”
“What?”
“There is stuff in the water.”
“Stuff? What kind of stuff? Bad stuff?” asked David.
“You know what, it’s better if you don’t know. With the right outfit and a potent first aid kit, you’ll be fine.”
She floated toward the bathroom, returning a minute later with her arms full of repellents, antivenins and a book on how to spin tourniquets.
“So I take it this cemetery is looking for new members?” asked David, looking at the book. Natalie set the bottles and syringes on the counter.
“And you may want to practice your lasso,” said Natalie, turning to him.
“My lasso?”
A stuffed eel toy launched from the bookshelf near Albert’s chest, right at David; Natalie shot a strand of forest-green filament at it, hooking it around the mouth. The eel fell to the carpet with a thick, elastic band around its jaws like a muzzle. David looked at her.
“Just in case,” said Natalie.
“Right then, to Spirit Lake it is,” said David, raising his eyebrows. “Let’s go rob some graves.”
C H A P T E R 6 1
Spirit Lake was the kind of cemetery where people went to if they wanted to die elegantly. With meandering pathways, picturesque bridges and rambling gardens, the grounds atop Spirit Lake were more akin to a floating park than a graveyard, where death was almost an afterthought. Occasionally one would see a lantern nestled among a bunch of forget-me-nots, under a tree or even at the centre of its own gazebo, marking the place where a mer was buried in the water below. It was near one of those gazebos that David now stood with a backpack full of antivenins, hidden among a grove of apple trees. It was almost sunset, the time that the cemetery closed. David glanced around, but could see no one. He took off his street clothes and pulled a protective mask over his face, zipping it to his diving suit around the neck.
“Are you ready to go?” asked a voice from his suit. David jumped.
“Shh, Natalie, I’m not in the water yet,” said David.
“Oh, sorry.”
David took one more look around before hoisting himself up onto the ledge of the gazebo. He swung his legs over the edge and slipped into the bordering pond.
“Oh good, you’re in; I heard the water,” said Natalie. The radio crackled in his suit.
“Now remember, since you can’t talk with your gills you have three buttons wired into your glove. Thumb pressed to index is yes, thumb pressed to middle is no, making a fist will set off the emergency signal. Can you test those buttons for me?”
David pressed his fingers together one by one and then made a fist.
“Good, they’re all working. I’m turning on the live feed now.”
David heard a crunchy twist like the focusing of a lens in the mask near his temple. Natalie chuckled.
“Whoa, it’s really dark down there,” she said.
David nodded. The underside of Spirit Lake reminded him of the desolate blackness of the Abyss but creepier, as though the water had trapped fear between its molecules, and it was forever screaming out. He instinctively pushed himself back a step, bumping into what felt like a very toothy fish. He spun around and shot a lasso at it, hooking its mouth.
“What was that?” asked Natalie. “Never mind, let me turn on your light.” A dim light shone from near his forehead, illuminating a long, silver fish with fangs like a tiger. Its mouth was clamped shut.
“Aw David, that’s a vampire fish. They won’t bother you,” said Natalie. “Cut him loose.”
David pressed his thumb to his middle finger.
“David, you can’t just lasso something because you’re scared of it; cut him loose,” said Natalie.
David huffed. He flicked his hand; a small strand of filament teetered from his wrist, hardening into a crudely cut knife. David reached out and cut the lasso from the vampire fish. It snapped at him before swimming away.
“There we go,” said Natalie. “Rahul’s grave is on the other side of Spirit Lake, about a kilometre behind you. Turn around, slowly, so I can get your bearings right.”
As David turned he came face to face with a hairy, black spider the size of a grapefruit. It stared at him through a bubble of air around its head like an astronaut, which it seemed to be using to breathe. David fell back. He hated bugs, with the exception of maybe Stew, and he definitely hated spiders. Natalie clapped her hands through the radio.
“Well, that’s interesting, a diving spider. I’m going to increase your light before you start swimming as they usually dive in…”
Natalie paused.
“Swarms.”
As Natalie turned up the light, an army of grapefruit-sized astronaut spiders came into view, scattered at various heights from the bottom to the surface. They seemed to stretch for kilometres in every direction; many turned to face the light and were now staring at him. David felt faint.
“Are you okay?” asked Natalie.
David pressed his thumb to his middle finger.
“Don’t worry; you’ll be fine,” said Natalie. “Here’s what you’re going to do. With any luck, none of the spiders will even touch you. Are you ready?”
No, signalled David.
“Okay. Directly beside you at the bottom of the lake, there should be a disk in the sediment, attached to a chain that seems to go to the surface. Can you find it?” ask
ed Natalie.
David paddled toward the bottom where a metal link chain seemed to be connecting the lakebed to the surface. He brushed away some of the sand. Sure enough, there was a metal disk surrounding the chain, like the cover of a manhole.
Yes, he signalled.
“Good. That chain connects the lantern on the surface to the casket down below. I’m going to need you to float on your back near the bottom, and swim as straight as you can until you hit the next chain, below the swarm of spiders. When you get to the next one, signal me; I’ll tell you which way to turn. Got it?” asked Natalie.
Yes, he signalled.
“Good,” said Natalie. “I’m going to have to dim the lights so they don’t show through to the surface. Signal me when you reach the next chain.”
David flared his gills as though taking a deep breath. He had a sick feeling in his stomach, and his fins felt cold and clammy, as though they might freeze up at any moment. As David lay on his back, Natalie reduced the light. He reached his arms over his head and kicked, propelling himself forward, just under the sea of spiders.
“You’re doing well, David; just stay focused,” said Natalie. “You’re almost at the next chain.”
David’s heart raced so fast it felt like it had stopped altogether, while the spiders, still visible in the dim light, jiggled their legs and shifted as he passed. David closed and opened his eyes at length until his hands clasped the cold metal of the chain.
“Excellent, David. You’re doing very well,” said Natalie through his suit. “I need you to walk yourself around the chain about fifteen degrees, and start swimming just as you’re doing.”
David moved as he was told.
“Good work. The next chain you’re going to hit with your fins this time. Just hang in there.”
David and Natalie continued working their way from chain to chain in the strange, backward balancing act under the army of aquatic arachnids. The further David moved, the number he became, until his whole body felt like a cold lump of misery that would never be right again. He barely heard her when Natalie finally called.
