by Tara Omar
“Praise Silence you’re still speaking! I thought for sure you’d have been taken,” said John. He threw himself at David in the biggest bear hug of his life, squeezing David around the middle until his arms pressed painfully into his ribs.
“I’m okay, just a bit shaken,” said David, as he patted John’s back. Albert crawled up David’s front and kissed his nose with his beaky underside, covering David’s entire face with his body. David pulled the bottom tentacles away from his mouth.
“Hi Albert,” said David.
“Albert, give the boy some breathing space,” said John, peeling the octopus off David’s face. David wiped his eyes.
“Where’s Natalie?” asked David.
“Downstairs watching for you,” said John. “I couldn’t drag her away from that television if her own life depended on it. You’d better go show her you’re okay; she’s as worried as a brooding cichlid.”
As David headed down the stairs he saw Natalie sitting on her jelly less than a metre from the television, her eyes glued to the passing images of the ballroom disaster. She heard the footsteps and spun around. David stopped.
“You were right,” said David, shrugging. “Rahul was—”
Natalie threw herself onto him, gripping him by the neck as she hugged him, while her jelly, freed from her weight, floated to the ceiling like a helium balloon. They sank to the floor; Natalie cried and stroked his head while David held her tightly in his arms. He smiled and wiped her eyes.
“Shh, shh, I’m okay,” said David, hugging her again. Natalie sniffled.
“What happened? What caused the explosion? Was there any intruder, or did it just happen? On TV it looked like some sort of sonic—”
David touched his fingers to her mouth.
“Leave it for now. We’ll talk about it later,” said David. “Right now, you owe me a date.”
“What?”
He got up and flicked through the channels on the television. Natalie watched from the floor behind the couch.
“David, what are you doing?” asked Natalie.
“You are going to dance,” said David.
“What?”
“Just watch,” said David.
He found a channel playing soft music with a simple melody, a lullaby of love and memory. David put Natalie’s arms around his neck and scooped her from the floor, lifting her above him. She slid down until her face was near his, her forest-green fins brushing the floor near his feet.
“Could you maybe pull your legs up?” asked David.
“Like this?” asked Natalie, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“Perfect. Much better,” said David. He locked his arms underneath her, supporting her weight on his arms. Natalie glanced at his hands.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing. Sir Michelson, you are a naughty merman,” said Natalie.
“Would you rather I left you on the floor, then?” asked David.
“No,” said Natalie.
He swayed and moved in small steps around in a circle, rocking to the rhythm of the song.
“So this is dancing?” asked Natalie.
“Yep, for humans, this is dancing,” said David. Natalie nodded.
“I like this, dancing with you,” said Natalie.
“Me too,” said David.
She rested her head on his shoulder, nestling her nose into his neck. David touched his cheek to her hair, smiling as they danced. Then he looked up. John was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking as though he had just swallowed a rodent. The colour had drained from his face and he had a curiously dangerous look about him. David set Natalie on the top of the couch and stammered.
“John, Sir, um, we were just…”
“David, it’s alright,” said Natalie. “What is it, Dad?”
“The accident at the ball,” said John.
“What about it?”
“They think it must be the humans. They’re crying for war now. I think we might just go to war now, because of the humans,” said John.
“Dad, you’re not talking sense; the humans can’t come here,” said Natalie.
“Yes, they can, and they did,” said John, looking dazed. “Someone was badly injured. Piece of glass right through the chest.”
“And? They were able to heal it, right?” asked Natalie.
John frowned.
“She’s dead.”
The reality of John’s words hit them like a wrecking ball. As far as anyone knew, no mer had ever been involved in the direct killing of another mer in a proven case. The explosion, already deemed an act of terrorism, was bad enough; a death would create widespread unrest and panic among the mers.
It would mean war.
C H A P T E R 7 1
Silver strode through the halls of the Palace on his way to the loggerhead meeting room, whistling as he walked. He plucked a flower from the bouquet of jasmine in front of the ballroom doors, which the royal family had placed there in memory of Florence Pickerel, the semi-disagreeable widow who had been stabbed by a glass shard during the recent disaster. He smelled its sweet centre before tossing the blossom behind him; it landed back in the bouquet and reattached itself to the broken stem, just as Silver reached the meeting room doors. He took a seat around a table with Uriel and his advisers, smiling as he conjured himself a shot of espresso.
“Evening, Sirs; I see everyone has healed nicely,” said Silver, adding cream to his cup.
“Yes, no thanks to you,” said Gerard.
“Excuse me?” asked Silver.
“You suggested a royal viewing ball. Why would you suggest something if you knew it would end in disaster?” asked Gerard.
“I suggested no such thing,” said Silver.
“Yes, you did,” said Tobias.
“So in other words, you are saying you are too obtuse to relate painfully obvious pieces of knowledge, like Zahara’s pregnancy, to your own desires, such as your want for a distraction?” said Silver.
“No,” said Gerard.
“So it was your idea, then?” asked Silver, sipping his coffee.
“Yes—No—Why did you suggest we have a viewing ball?” asked Gerard.
“You would have arrived at the same conclusion with or without me; I merely expedited the process so as to avoid being in your presence any longer than was necessary,” said Silver.
Gerard stared at him.
“You’re making this up,” said Gerard.
“Possibly. Either that or I know everything,” said Silver.
“And you couldn’t warn us the humans were infiltrating Larimar?” asked François.
“Since when do you listen to a jinn?” asked Silver.
“You are impossible. I don’t know why we must bother with you,” said Gerard.
“Point proven,” said Silver.
“Enough,” said Uriel. “We’re just waiting on the guard. He’s bringing the footage from the ball.”
Just then the doors opened; Kajal entered with the guard close behind her.
“Good evening, Father, Sirs,” said Kajal.
Silver rose and offered her his seat.
“Thank you, Silver,” said Kajal.
He nodded and snapped his fingers, conjuring up another chair for himself. Uriel frowned.
“Daughter, this does not concern you,” said Uriel.
“I will be ruling within the year. It is high time I started moving in, don’t you think?” asked Kajal. “Proceed.”
“Show the footage from the explosion,” said Uriel, rubbing his forehead.
The guard set a box on the table and clicked the remote, watching as the floor of the ballroom unfolded like a chessboard, with all the people dancing on top. Kajal saw herself dancing with David near the opposite cameramer. There was an explosion of glass; the floor twisted to the side like
a wall as the camera dropped, just as the floor ignited into a ball of flames. They watched the feet of mers as they stampeded out the doors, before the flames reached the camera and turned the image to black.
“Horrible. Absolutely horrible,” said François, shaking his head. Kajal frowned.
“Go back again,” said Kajal. The guard rewound the tape until the image was at the beginning, with the mers dancing across the floor. Kajal pointed to an empty table.
“Zoom in there,” said Kajal. The guard pinched and opened his fingers near the image, zooming in behind Kajal and David. There they saw, for a glimmer of an instant, a small, grey head peek out from under the tablecloth.
“What is that?” asked Gerard.
“Is the cloth a movable image?” asked Kajal.
“Yes, Miss,” said the guard. He lifted the tablecloth with his fingers, revealing a fat, grey bird with a pointy beak and long, comb-like tail feathers.
“Is it some sort of chicken?” asked François.
“It looks like a superb lyrebird,” said Tobias.
“A what?”
“A superb lyrebird. Superb lyrebirds are masters of imitation, the best in the world. They imitate the sounds they hear to enhance their courtship displays,” said Tobias.
“What was it doing at the ball?” asked François.
“Look, he’s displaying right before the explosion,” said Tobias, pointing. The bird under the table pulled its feathers over its head like an elaborate, feathery umbrella and opened its mouth to call.
“Is that a microphone lying next to it?” asked Kajal, pointing to a black cord near the bird’s feet.
“Looks like it,” said Tobias.
As the bird displayed, the glass in the ballroom began to shatter, including the mirrors on the walls and the glass floor. Kajal waved her wrist, spinning her coral filament into a small, glass flower. She held it between her fingers.
“Play it again,” said Kajal.
The guard rewound the tape and played it again. As the lyrebird opened its mouth, the flower in Kajal’s hand burst into pieces.
“He’s calling at a frequency that shatters glass,” said Kajal.
“Can a bird even hit that register?” asked Tobias.
“Apparently,” said Silver.
“A mer must have trained him to make that sound, and planted him in the ballroom,” said Tobias.
“So it wasn’t the humans. A lyrebird killed the woman in its quest for a mate,” said François.
“But someone obviously wanted the disaster,” said Gerard.
“Who would do that?” asked Tobias.
“There are people burning buildings in front of the Palace and you ask who would do that?” asked Gerard.
“Clearly this took more intelligence than simply throwing flaming projectiles through panes of glass,” said Tobias.
“Someone is trying to excite the people,” said François.
“But why, though? The famine is over now; what reason would they have?” asked Tobias.
“Go back again,” said Uriel.
The guard replayed the tape again from the same spot. Uriel watched closely as David bowed to Kajal and headed for the door.
“Michelson. Why is he leaving? He’s nearly at the door before the explosion,” said Uriel.
“He was leaving to visit his girlfriend,” said Kajal.
“Do we have any confirmation yet that he’s from Scuttlebrook?” asked Uriel, ignoring his daughter.
“No, Your Majesty,” said the guard.
“How far are we on the register?” asked Uriel.
“Nothing as of yet, but as you know that’s deep rural country. Information from that area is shoddy and mismanaged,” said the guard.
“Run a full background check. Ask him about his family. I want the names of his next-of-kin and his approximate address, references, everything. Leave nothing out,” said Uriel.
“I’ll do it,” said Kajal.
“I don’t want you near him,” said Uriel.
“He just saved Larimar from the famine; I will not have him interrogated like a criminal,” said Kajal.
“This is no time to be emotional,” said Uriel.
“I am not emotional. Sir Michelson has shown his worth and may still be of use to Larimar. I do not think it right to sour relations with him because he happened to be near the door when the explosion occurred. If you treat him harshly and he is as he says—which is likely—you will project an image of a weak and fearful king both to him and to the media,” said Kajal.
“Your daughter is right, Sire. We have bigger concerns at the moment than personal fears, however worthy they might be,” said François.
“Silver?” asked Uriel.
“I need not tell you about what evil lurks in the shadows. You already know,” said Silver.
Uriel fell silent.
“What are you talking about?” asked Kajal.
“Nothing,” said Uriel.
“Father, this is no time for—”
“Leave it. Get the information required. Beyond that, the topic is closed,” said Uriel.
“So what will the royal response be to this act of terrorism?” asked François.
“Nothing,” said Uriel.
“What?” asked Gerard.
“Say nothing. Do nothing. Send our condolences to the family of Miss Pickerel. Play it off as an accident,” said Uriel.
“You saw the footage. How can we call it an accident?” asked François.
“Ban all footage from the ball out of respect for the injured. Get an expert to confirm it was seismic activity,” said Uriel.
“And the people? Your Majesty, now would be an opportune time to take the land. The people are incensed, the weapons are ready—you will not get a better chance to claim dominion for the mers,” said Gerard.
“The acquisition of Aeroth does not interest me. I will not tempt Silence with war just to give the people an enemy. It was a tremor. Understood?” said Uriel.
“Your Highness, this criminal is still out there,” said Tobias.
“Leave it,” said Uriel.
“But—”
“That is an order,” said Uriel, standing to leave. “Good day, gentlemen. Silver, daughter.”
He stormed out of the meeting room with the guard close behind. Kajal looked at the table, thoughtful.
“Your father is becoming cowardly,” said Gerard.
“On the contrary, he is above sensationalism. Refusal to exploit the emotions of others is not cowardice,” said Kajal.
“Are we to be sitting prey then, waiting for whoever this is to pick us off one by one like the Disappeared? Or let the humans reign over us when we have the chance to act?” asked Gerard.
“The King knows something he is not telling us,” said François.
“What, then?” asked Gerard.
They glanced at Silver, who was attempting to balance his espresso cup on the tip of its handle. He looked up.
“Well, don’t everyone look at me,” said Silver.
Gerard rolled his eyes.
“This is a waste of time now. If you’ll excuse me, good day,” said Gerard.
“Good day, Princess,” said François.
“Good day,” said Tobias.
The three advisers left the meeting room, leaving Kajal alone with Silver. He rose and walked toward the window, staring out at the gardens below.
“Why does my father suspect David? Is this fatherly paranoia or something else?” asked Kajal.
“What do you think?” asked Silver.
“I don’t know.”
“Then perhaps it is neither and both,” said Silver.
“You do not talk sense.”
“Evil is senseless; that’s why it is evil. Otherwise it is interest.�
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“So interest is akin to evil, then?” asked Kajal.
“Certain kinds, yes,” said Silver.
Kajal walked up behind him and leaned toward his ear.
“Which kinds?” asked Kajal.
Silver stared straight ahead, as cold and solid as a stone statue. He did not answer her; instead he focused his mind on faraway things, ignoring the places on his body that were becoming hot. Kajal smiled.
“Good day,” said Kajal.
“Princess,” said Silver, bowing.
Kajal left the meeting room, leaving Silver alone with his thoughts.
C H A P T E R 7 2
John Lotkin sat on the couch in the downstairs of his house at Ten-on-Farm, eating sardines from a tin with a pair of chopsticks. A serious-looking mera was speaking to him from above the television; she stood in front of a hospital bed where two mers in lab coats were peeling bandages off the forehead of an elderly mer, revealing smooth, perfectly healed skin underneath. She turned to the couch and spoke.
The healings still continue at the Highlands hospital, where mers are working around the clock to mend extensive cuts and burns on the more than 850 victims of the recent tremor, said the mera. As you can see the healings are going well, but it will take at least another week to attend to all the—
It’s the humans to blame! shouted a half-crazed mer, jumping in front of her. They want to kill us all! We must fight! We must take the land! For our children!
Two guards pulled the mer away as the mera reporter smoothed her hair and continued her speech.
As you can see the healings are going well—
John shook his head.
“How crazy can people get? I mean, how many mers confirmed it was a tremor? They know the humans can’t come here. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s politics, Dad. It doesn’t have to be logical; it just has to be promising,” said Natalie, flipping the page of her magazine. She was sitting on the couch next to him, reading about bonobos monkeys in her Wildlife Weekly.
