by Tara Omar
“Will you be together with Moai again?” asked David.
“Hongi don’t know.”
“Do you want to be?”
“Hongi been here a very long time. The Nephtalis been very nice to Hongi. Will hurt them very much if Hongi leave.”
“And Moai?”
“Moai…”
Hongi started sobbing over her coconut. David knelt down and patted her back.
“Hey there, don’t cry. It’s okay,” said David. “Why don’t you come with me, Hongi? If I get out, you can see him again.”
“Hongi can’t.”
“Why not?” asked David.
“Because Hongi can’t, that’s why. Tatu make Hongi sad with all this talk of pork chops. Leave Hongi to her coconuts.”
David nodded and walked slowly toward the door, his insides twisted tight with the hope that she’d call him back. He placed his hand on the door handle.
“Wait,” said Hongi, wiping her nose. David turned.
“Does Moai have a kitchen?”
“Moai has an awesome kitchen,” said David, smiling. “He lives with a nice man and some tikihune on the beach overlooking the sea. The man is always looking for pastries for his parties. The whole of Aeroth knows him for his parties.”
“Hmph. He can’t be that famous without good pastries, and no one make good pastries like Hongi. Hongi can make him much more famouser.”
“And you’ll get to be with your pork chop,” said David.
Hongi hopped up from her pile of banana leaves and waddled back toward the kitchen, leaving her coconut behind. She paused at the door.
“Do you think Moai will still like me?”
“How can anyone not like you, Hongi?” said David. “Moai must know you’re something special, if he’s been waiting for you all these centuries.”
“Tatu right. The sea has been nice time, but Hongi must go home. Moai been too long without a woman, and Hongi too long without a man. When you leave?”
“I have to get the shield first.”
“And how is Tatu going to do that?” asked Hongi.
“I’m thinking if a team comes together, we might be able to take it easily without harming anyone.”
“Does Tatu need help from Hongi?”
“That would be awesome, yeah,” said David.
“Who else is Tatu thinking?”
“A few friends of mine and Maude.”
“Maude, the fancy bang-bang prawn?” asked Hongi.
“Yeah, I was going to go see her now.”
Hongi shook her head.
“Eh-eh. Maude won’t help, especially now after the boom-boom in the ballroom. Maude locked herself in studio; she too upset about all her work getting burned crispy-crisp that day. Too many tears in fabrics mean many tears from Maude.”
“Do you think there’s any way to persuade her to help?”
“Maybe if Tatu has something she wants and can’t make, like a fancy shell or something. Then she might help. Does he have something?”
David pulled the pendant from his neck and showed it to Hongi.
“Could this work?” asked David. Hongi took the pendant in her hands.
“Blue tree snot. Very rare, especially in Larimar,” said Hongi, giving it back to him. “Yah. That could work.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you later tonight here in the kitchen to go over the plans. Is that okay?”
“Hongi will be here,” she said, as she checked her roasting cocoa beans. They were now dark brown in colour with a papery shell. Hongi dumped them into a pan and started popping off the shells, throwing the smooth, mosaic-looking beans into another bowl.
“Excellent. See you soon,” said David.
“Wait,” said Hongi.
“Take a crab koeksister to Bang-Bang,” said Hongi, pointing to a plate of syrupy, crab-shaped doughnuts, “and one for Tatu also.”
“Awesome. Hongi, you’re the best,” said David.
“Yah, yah, go mahn. Hongi have work to do now-now,” said Hongi as she tossed another bean into the bowl. “Will see Tatu after he persuades the fancy prawn.”
C H A P T E R 7 4
Natalie sat on the front porch of her salmon-coloured house, under the string of paper lanterns. There was a sad, heavy feeling in her stomach as though she had swallowed a stone; it seemed to double in weight and size as John’s pneumatophore docked in their watery driveway, returning David and her dad from work. She stared at the frog pond without really seeing it.
“Hey you,” said John, smiling at his daughter as he closed the hatch to the pneumatophore. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just enjoying the frogs. Do you mind if I have a minute with David?”
“No, not at all. I’ll just be inside,” said John, heading toward the door.
Natalie nodded. She looked solemn; the colour had drained from her face. David stopped. He saw his bag against the wall and knew it was time.
“When did Zahara go into labour?” asked David.
“About twenty minutes ago,” said Natalie. “Albert and Stew are already in the throne room. Your bag is here.”
“Thanks,” said David, forcing a smile. He stared at her as he would an art piece in a museum, taking in all her features as though he was seeing her smile for the last time. He felt a lump gather in his throat.
“You know you could just stay. Put on the shield yourself. They’d probably make you king,” said Natalie.
“And have to marry Kajal?” asked David. “Never.”
Natalie laughed.
“David, I’m serious,” said Natalie. “Maybe you don’t have to go.”
He shook his head.
“I made a promise, Natalie. Saladin saved my life,” said David. “Besides, I’m no king. I don’t have the heart for it.”
“Yeah well, it was worth a suggestion,” said Natalie.
“We’ll see each other again someday. We have to,” said David.
Natalie’s resolve broke like a bursting dam; she threw her arms around David and kissed him. David held her tight and kissed her back. He buried his nose in her neck.
“I’m going to miss you, Natalie,” said David, framing her face with his hands. “More than you can know.”
The frogs in the pond started croaking impatiently. As David looked up he saw Natalie’s empty jelly had begun to float away and was now being held to the pond by a line of frogs holding hands like a strange-looking kite. He pulled the jelly down and set Natalie back on it. She smiled.
“It’s um… yeah. I probably should get going. See you around, then?” asked David.
“Yeah, see you around,” said Natalie.
He nodded and took off down the porch. Natalie went inside, where John was sitting on the couch near the grandfather clock. He jumped up.
“Nellie, what happened? Where’s David?” asked John.
“He left,” said Natalie.
“For the Palace?”
“No, for good. He got an urgent message from his family requesting his return immediately. A death or something.”
“And he didn’t even say goodbye?” asked John, going to the window. “What a shame. Work’s going to be boring without him, and he showed so much promise making clouds. I hope he makes it home okay. I could’ve at least taken him to the depot.”
Natalie floated down the stairs toward David’s room. There, on top of the writing desk was a jewellery box, inlaid with pictures of monkeys swinging through the leaves. A handwritten note was taped to the outside.
To help you find your feet.
Natalie opened the lid. Two figures popped up near a mirror; they were dancing to the tinkling sound of a music box playing a soft, soulful melody, the same song she and David had danced to the night of the ball. Natalie started crying.
“Nellie, are you
alright?” asked John, coming down the stairs.
She handed him the box.
“To help you find your feet?” asked John. He opened the lid.
“Oh sweet Silence, what was that boy thinking?” asked John, choking back tears. Inside the box in front of the dancing figures was a stack of bills totalling almost twenty million veneros, nearly the whole of his prize money.
“Nellie, this is enough for your surgery. More than enough,” said John. He set the box down and hugged his sobbing daughter, holding her tight.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. We can go visit him in Scuttlebrook. Maybe return some of this, and show him you walking… such a good mer,” said John.
Natalie gripped John’s shirt and cried into his chest like she had never cried before, for on top of the money, David had left another note.
I love you.
C H A P T E R 7 5
Hongi sat on a chair in front of a warm, stainless steel oven, deep in thought. Her feet barely dangled over the edge of the seat; she wiggled them curiously as if to pass the time, ignoring the crash of metal by the door as David ran into the kitchen.
“Hongi, are you ready to go?” asked David, panting. Hongi wiggled her feet and shook her head.
“No,” said Hongi.
“No? Have you changed your mind?” asked David.
“No,” said Hongi.
“No as in you’re not coming, or no as in you haven’t changed your mind?” asked David.
“Hongi coming with Tatu, but Hongi must wait until her muffins finish. Hongi never ever burn her muffins.”
“Hongi, we have to leave now, or we’ll be caught,” said David. The little tikihune stared toward the oven with a defiant look of resolve.
“Hongi wait for muffins,” she said.
David rubbed his neck.
“How long until—”
Before he could finish, a merish blade whizzed past his head; he ducked and the blade bounced on the counter, landing in a frying pan with a clink. Hongi laughed.
“Did you just throw a blade at me?” asked David.
“Yah,” said Hongi, laughing some more. “Tatu’s face look like crazy fish spirit just now. And it’s only hard sugar.”
David looked inside the frying pan, eyeing the glittering, merish blade in the bottom, which had cracked in half.
“Are these the blades you made?” asked David.
“Yah mahn. Hongi up all night making sugar blades for Tatu’s plan. Look just like real thing, yah?” asked Hongi.
“Yeah, they look great; I would never know these aren’t real,” said David, poking the blade with his finger.
“Eat up; Tatu could use some sweet-sweet now,” said Hongi.
David popped a broken fragment into his mouth. The blade had an addictive sweetness about it, like gourmet butterscotch candies. He quickly finished the first piece and took the second, just as the bell timer atop the oven dinged. Hongi hopped off her chair and opened the door. The kitchen filled with the wholesome smell of hot blueberries.
“Do you have any more of these?” asked David, finishing the last part of the sugar blade. “These are really delicious.”
“No mahn, all the rest are with that spider fish Albert now,” said Hongi, setting her muffins on the counter. She dusted them with powdered sugar and examined each one, nodding and grunting as she finished.
“Hongi can go now.”
Wild alarm bells suddenly blared through the halls, indicating a red alert through the whole Palace.
David swept Hongi up in his arms and ran.
C H A P T E R 7 6
Ten minutes earlier…
In the deepest cellar underneath the Palace, the head guard known only as Two checked the shadowy hologram of the throne room on his 4-D computer. The guards were on high alert. For what reason, Two didn’t actually know, but as he always did his job to the utmost, he was determined to keep the throne safe. He examined the hologram and leaned over a microphone near the glowing shadows, checking in with each of the guards.
“This is Two requesting verification of all guards on the throne room special assignment. Please sound off. Over.”
The glowing, blue shadows of the guards lit up pink as each guard reported in, one through sixteen.
This is going to be a walk in the park, thought Two, sitting back in his chair. There isn’t any mer getting in there.
And Two was right. The doors had been sealed shut and were now flanked by guards in pearled wartime armour, with more guards scattered throughout the hall and another standing in front of the throne. They each held perfectly still, staring out from behind their diamond veils with that blank yet profound stare that comes only with years of military discipline. Beams of light criss-crossed between them like a complicated spider’s web, marking the path of the many activated motion sensors in the room, which sent their data to Two’s hologram in the command centre. It would be impossible for a mer to enter or move without Two knowing.
What Two didn’t see on his hologram, though, was that attached to the back of the tapestry of Queen Aribella, Stew hung next to hundreds of millipedes, organised into teams. They had crawled in before the guards had assembled and were lying in wait, ready to mobilise. As the last guard reported in, Stew pointed with two of his arms, signalling teams to move. They set out in clusters up the wall, carrying swatches of blackout fabric between them. At the exact moment, each team pulled the swatches over the lights. The throne room went black.
A glowing, blue shadow on Two’s computer turned pink. It was guard number zero-four, the leader of the unit and the guard standing in front of the throne.
“Uh, Two, we seem to have a situation here. All the lights just went out. Over,” said Zero-Four.
Two frowned. He pulled up the electrical readings on another computer and checked the throne room. Everything was functioning as normal.
“All systems are still a go from here. Do you have any lights at all? Over,” asked Two.
“Negative. It is completely dark, over,” said Zero-Four.
“Maintain positions; I’ll see what I can sort out from here. Over,” said Two.
Two clicked deeper into the Palace systems, looking for the source of the darkened lights. While Two checked more readings and adjusted switches, more figures began to move in the darkened throne room. Albert uncurled himself from a crevice at the top of a column and climbed toward the floor with a backpack in his arms. As he neared the bottom Maude emerged from behind the column inside her bubble of water, wearing the pendant of blue amber. With the stealth of two professional spies, Maude and Albert inched their way toward the centre of the room, squeezing under and over the security beams between the motionless guards. When they reached the centre of the throne room they stopped. Albert unzipped his bag and looked at Maude, who nodded. In the next second the whole of Two’s computer flashed red as every single motion detector was breached. Two saw the guards break formation and duck behind the columns, while guard number zero-four sounded in, barely audible over the din of gunfire.
“We’re being fired at from all directions. Permission to fire,” said Zero-Four.
Impossible, thought Two.
The throne room had been empty and no one had breached the security. Two checked the computer again, staring disbelievingly at the shadows in the throne room. They were indeed being fired at from the centre of the room.
“Maintain defensive positions. Fire at will,” commanded Two.
The guards fired their wristbands, sending shattered merish blades across the throne room. Maude banged the drum inside her water bubble, sending off rifle-like noises while Albert hurled Hongi’s sugar blades eight at a time at the guards. The mers could not see what was shooting at them in the darkness; they ducked out from behind the columns to fire blades toward the centre. The size of the throne room meant their blades more often la
nded near the guards at the opposite columns than in the centre. After only a few rounds from Albert and Maude, the guards were shooting at each other, caught in a perpetual crossfire. Stew and his band of millipedes scurried among the debris, eating up the sugar blades. Maude beat the drum while Albert tossed more blades like confetti as they hurried toward the throne, where they found a panel covered in carvings of sea creatures. Albert turned the starfish and pressed the sand dollar; the panel fell away, revealing a sturdy, metal safe inside. Maude pounded the safe with her mallet. Part of the locking mechanism broke, allowing Maude to pry open the door a few centimetres. Albert slipped inside with his backpack. In the command centre, the image of the throne flashed red. Two fell out of his chair.
“They’re breaching the safe! Someone is breaching the safe!” shouted Two, stumbling to regain his seat. “Odds keep firing. Evens break out the web. I’m sending in reinforcements! Over.”
Two sounded the panic button, sending alarms blaring through the halls of the Palace. Guards from all over raced through the corridors and down the waterways of the tubes, heading for the west corner of the Palace. Inside the throne room half the guards kept firing while the other half shot cannonballs into the centre; the balls broke apart and expanded to triple their size, creating a web of bars across the floor. Maude tapped her feet impatiently as she waited for Albert, who was still busy fixing the broken lock from inside the safe. Albert opened the door from inside and emerged with his backpack strung between two of his arms. He closed the safe’s door and replaced the panel, sweeping up Maude and her water bubble as he climbed the nearest pillar and headed toward the door. Stew hitched a ride on Albert’s back while the millipedes crawled up the wall. Zero-Four shouted over the fire.
“Hold your fire, I think we’ve got him.”
The mers stopped shooting. All was deathly still in the darkness; Albert, Stew and Maude hung upside down near the door. Maude’s blue amber pendent slipped past her eyes, dropping into a potted plant beneath them.
