by Tara Omar
“The thyme hippo?” asked Gill.
“She prefers big-boned mud goddess, but yes, she is covered in thyme. Take what you need. I’ll see you later,” said Norbert, brushing past him. He hurried out the door toward his cyclapod, not even bothering to show them out.
“Biy’avi. What’s got into him?” asked Gill.
Moai shrugged and wandered out of Norbert’s house, leaving Gill staring after them.
In the first library in the Palace at the edge of the sky, Saladin sat in an oversized armchair, reading the Rosy Herald over the armrest. Liza sat next to him in the same chair, writing in a notebook. She frowned as she crossed out sections of the page, bringing the notebook nearer her face as she scribbled new notes into the margins.
“What’s the matter, my darling?” asked Saladin.
“It’s the seating chart for our wedding. I don’t know where to put the last two guests without disrupting protocol.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” said Saladin, as he turned the page of his paper.
“Oh, wait… wait…” Liza scribbled in her notebook, smiling as she tapped her pen on the paper. “There, that just might work.”
“Your diplomacy is second to none, my love, and you’re not even on the job yet,” said Saladin. He leaned over and kissed her neck under her ear, taking longer than was necessary. Liza smiled.
“Hang on, as you said I’m not on the job yet,” said Liza, but Saladin ignored her. Liza giggled. A knock sounded and the door opened. A guard stood waiting.
“Sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but there’s a Norbert Bransby here to see you,” said the guard.
“The veteran from King’s Beach?” asked Saladin, retreating to his paper.
“Yes, Your Majesty. We tried to send him away, but he’s threatening to, and I quote, ‘poke out his eye with a pear seed’ if we don’t relay the message,” said the guard. “He claims to have valuable information for either you or the Lady.”
“Did he say what about?” asked Saladin.
“He refused to tell us, but he said it had something to do with something coming back from the war,” said the guard. “That’s all he would say.”
Saladin’s eyes flashed, but only for an instant. Before the guard could notice, Saladin looked his usual self.
“I’ll see him in the study,” said Saladin.
“He’s already waiting,” said the guard.
“Good,” said Saladin, rising to leave. He grabbed Sargon and shuffled toward the door. The guard followed him down the hall.
“Shall we alert the Lady?” asked the guard.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” said Saladin, thoughtful. “Actually I think it best not to mention it. The Lady doesn’t need any more theories.”
The guard chuckled.
“Very good, Sir. Very good.”
C H A P T E R 8 0
At a place known as Three Corners, where Faerkbërde Forest met the Marah Desert and the Oceana, Moai paced up and down the sandy shore, tapping his foot as though he were doing some sort of bug squashing routine. A shiny, S-5 Phantom pteroduck was parked near the edge of the forest; Saladin leaned up against it with his arms folded across his chest, watching him.
“Is everything alright, Moai?” asked Saladin.
Moai turned and glared at him as though he had just sneezed in the middle of a symphony; Saladin quieted as Moai went back to his tapping. Then Moai stopped, took two steps back and a half step to the left. He pointed to his foot.
“Tatu coming now. Right here. Moai’s toe says so.”
Saladin nodded. The start of a wave rippled in the distance; Saladin could make out the pointed fin of either a dolphin or shark as it rolled toward the shore, coming directly for Moai. The water raced forward, stopping a metre before it touched Moai’s foot; it left behind the rubbery remains of a beached bottlenose dolphin. Two hands stuck themselves out from the mouth and pulled a body from inside. It was David.
Moai pointed to him.
“Hello Moai,” said David. He dug his elbows into the sand and pulled himself out of the dolphin. The air felt dry and dangerously electric; David could tell he was no longer in Larimar. His hair and markings dimmed and his feet returned from under blue flares of skin; Saladin watched from a distance with his hand on Sargon, ready to switch to a sword if necessary. Just then the dolphin skin bounced; a lady tikihune emerged from inside. She had a bright red hibiscus behind her ear and a slightly scared look to her. Moai fell on his butt.
“Hongi?” asked Moai. Hongi burst into a big smile.
“Pork chop!”
“Kumara!”
Hongi and Moai ran to each other, locking arms in a tight hug a millennium in the making.
“Moai been waiting many long days to touch noses with you,” said Moai. “Moai missed Hongi like a plucked goose misses his—”
Moai started sobbing, hugging Hongi as though she were a magnet and he a lump of iron. Hongi smiled and stroked the back of his head with her stubby, little hand.
“Aw. Hongi miss her Moai, too. There’s only one pork chop for Hongi, and that’s her Moai.”
She pulled away from him and glared at his head.
“Let me see Moai’s ears,” said Hongi. The tikihune reluctantly turned his head. Hongi clicked her tongue.
“Eh-eh. Moai hasn’t been waxing. Moai know how important it is to wax behind ears.”
Moai cleared his throat and held out his hand to David, holding Hongi with the other arm.
“You great mer, great mahn, Tatu. You brought hungry Moai his sweet potato. Moai will always be grateful.”
“It was a pleasure, Moai,” said David, shaking his hand. “Hongi’s the hero of the story. I wouldn’t have made it out of Larimar without her.”
Hongi smiled and hugged David’s leg with one arm while still holding onto Moai.
“You’ve done well, David, returning here,” said Saladin, glancing at David’s wrists. “Though I must say you’ve looked better.”
David pulled the band off his wrist and held it out to Saladin.
“Adam’s shield, as promised,” said David.
“And you’re going to hand it over, just like that? No demands, no trouble?”
David shrugged.
“I wouldn’t be here to demand anything if you hadn’t saved my life. We’re even.”
Saladin nodded and took the band, ready to slide it over his fingers. He froze.
“Saladin?” asked David.
The King collapsed in front of him.
“SALADIN!” shouted David.
Moai grabbed Hongi’s hand and ran into the forest as David fell to the ground beside the King, whose eyes were rolling back into his head. He noticed a small dart, barely larger than a needle, stuck in Saladin’s neck. David reached for it but paused, sensing someone was behind him. Before he could turn, David felt a searing pain in the back of his head. He collapsed.
Someone had just smacked him with a rock.
C H A P T E R 8 1
Dominic sat in the pilot’s seat of a pteroduck high above the Marah Desert, looking over the duck’s engine specs in a glossy user manual. He was flying the L-E Spectre, a less sporty but more luxurious version of the S-5 Phantom, and King Saladin’s latest new ride. Pleasured groans sounded behind him; they were coming from the passenger section where two of his friends Jack and Lela were sprawled out on curved sofas shaped like leaves, between towels as thick as blankets. Vines hanging from the ceiling massaged their backs while between them a large, pink rose filled the room with aromatherapy scents. Mae, Fae’s sexy twin sister, played gentle harp music from behind her screen in the side cabinet. Dominic’s friends were using The Rose Garden, a spa exclusive to the L-E. Jack let out another groan as the vine pressed a particularly sweet spot between the neck and the shoulder blade.
“Will you be qu
iet?” asked Lela. “You’re ruining the ambiance.”
“Oh come on, the sound adds to the enjoyment,” said Jack. Lela rolled her eyes. She grabbed her robe and headed for the bathroom at the back of the pteroduck, where a shower was already running for her.
“Shouldn’t we be at your apartment by now, Dom?” asked Lela from the shower.
“We’re making a detour to Three Corners,” said Dominic from the cockpit. “Saladin sent a message to the casino asking me to meet him there.”
“Three Corners? But that’s way out,” said Jack.
“We’ve been flying that way for hours, and you’re only noticing now?” asked Dominic.
“Well it better not be some boring official business. We don’t exist just for your pleasure, you know. We have other friends we could be with,” said Jack.
“Really? So you’re saying you have some place you’d rather be, Jack?” asked Dominic, as the vines rubbed hot stones into Jack’s back.
“No, just… don’t speak,” said Jack, closing his eyes.
“Yeah, didn’t think so,” said Dominic, chuckling.
“Looks like we’re not the only company you’ll be getting, Dom,” said Lela. She had finished her shower and was now glancing out the side window. “That prick of a photographer is hot on our trail.”
Dominic folded away his magazine.
“Get dressed, Jack, I see Uncle’s pteroduck,” said Dominic. “We’re coming up now to land.” He flicked several switches and grabbed the main controls, steering the pteroduck nearer the ground. Outside the window they could make out two ant-sized figures in the sand. One was lying on the ground and the other was huddled over him.
“What’s happening?” asked Lela.
“I don’t know,” said Dominic.
“That doesn’t look good,” said Jack, leaning over Dominic’s shoulder.
“I’ll kick up too much sand if I land there,” said Dominic. “Strap yourselves in for a water landing.”
Jack and Lela took their seats and fastened their safety belts as Dominic circled around, forcing the pteroduck downward. At the last second the outer shell of the L-E Spectre somersaulted, turning into a beautiful, metal swan as it rolled. It landed on the water with barely a ripple, stopping just where the water touched the sand.
“Stay inside,” said Dominic. He climbed out the pteroduck onto the shore, jogging ahead toward the two figures in the distance. There was a man lying in the sand, and a hooded figure huddled over him. Dominic recognised his uncle by his boots as the one in the sand.
“Uncle!” shouted Dominic, but there was no movement. The hooded figure scampered around him as though searching for something.
“Hey!” shouted Dominic, sprinting nearer. Dominic was close enough to startle the hooded figure who fell backward, dislodging his hood. It was as if time stood still in that instant. Dominic saw his uncle bleeding into the sand with a knife in his chest, his body riddled with poison. He locked eyes with the shadowy figure.
“You son of a bitch,” yelled Dominic, recognising the face. The figure dashed toward the Faerkbërde. Dominic ran after him but stopped at the edge of the forest. He looked to the trees and back again, then doubled back and fell down by Saladin’s side.
“Hang in there, Uncle. We’re going to get you to a doctor,” said Dominic. He cringed as he pulled the dagger from Saladin’s chest. The photographer that had followed them was snapping pictures with his camera. Dominic cursed.
“Don’t stand there taking photos. Get a doctor!” shouted Dominic. The photographer ran back to his own pteroduck, just as Jack and Lela came running.
“Biy’avi,” said Jack.
“Where are his body guards? Why weren’t they here?” asked Dominic.
“I don’t know, Dom,” said Lela, looking around.
“In the middle of nowhere without an entourage… what was he thinking?” asked Dominic. He tied his shirt around his uncle’s middle, trying to cover the gaping wound. It instantly stained red.
“Help me get him inside,” said Dominic, dragging him through the sand.
Jack bent down and grabbed the King’s feet while Dominic held his middle, carrying him as fast as they could to the waiting metal swan. They pulled him onto the carpet inside the pteroduck. Dominic threw Lela a set of keys.
“Lela, I want you to fly Uncle’s Phantom to the Palace. Call Gabe and Lady Imaan; tell them they’re needed urgently at the hospital.”
“Okay, Dom,” said Lela. She ran toward the pteroduck near the edge of the forest with Jack following behind her.
“It’s going to be alright, Uncle,” said Dominic, pressing buttons and turning levers from the pilot’s seat. “Once you see a doctor, everything’s going to be alright.”
He glanced back at his uncle covered in sand and blood, as still as a corpse.
“Damn that bastard,” said Dominic, turning back to the controls. “It better be alright.”
C H A P T E R 8 2
David woke up to the warm crackling of a fire near his head. He was floating on a water bed next to a fireplace in a windowless room with walls that appeared to be made from canned food. Opposite him stood a bicycle generator, a large ball pit with a slide, and a stand on top of which rested a toothy Venus flytrap. Norbert sat on the edge of the bed. He was wearing a pair of oven mitts, waiting to take a bubbling teapot from the fire. He smiled at him.
“Hey kiddo, how you doing?” asked Norbert.
“Alright, I guess,” said David. “Where am I?”
“My special, top-secret emergency bunker, which may or may not be located directly under my house,” said Norbert.
“Where’s Hongi and Moai?” asked David, rubbing his head. He felt surprisingly normal, considering he had been knocked unconscious.
“Oh, they’re safe with Gill, they are. Hongi’s already causing a ruckus in Gill’s kitchen, making the most fabulous sweet crab koeksisters, if I might add. She sent you some for when you wake,” said Norbert, taking the pot from the fire. “Tea?”
“Thanks,” said David. “And Saladin?”
Norbert frowned.
“Saladin is dead,” said a voice from the corner. “I am writing his eulogy now.”
Sitting at a cramped writing desk in a shadowy corner was Lady Imaan. She looked her usual self, though her eyes were slightly colder and more exacting than usual. David nearly dropped his teacup as she spoke.
“Dead?” asked David.
“Yes,” said Lady Imaan.
“If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll be doing a spot of fishing now; take your time,” said Norbert, donning his goggles and a snorkel. He grabbed a harpoon from near the fireplace and dived into his ball pit, disappearing under the bubbles of plastic.
David snapped his fingers.
“Raphael! Lady, I must tell you,” said David. “Raphael is really—”
“Rahul Jayadeva, I know.”
“You know?” asked David.
Imaan kept writing.
“Well is anyone going after him? He tried to kill me, and now he’s killed Saladin,” said David.
“Did you see him kill the King?” asked Imaan.
“Well, no, but given his history, surely you must at least investigate him,” said David.
“His history,” said Imaan, thoughtful. She looked down at her page and kept writing.
“Lady!” said David.
Imaan looked up and sighed.
“David, I will not be investigating Raphael because I know Raphael did not kill the King.”
“He didn’t?”
“No, he did not.”
“How can you be sure?” asked David.
“Because I killed him,” said Imaan.
“You?”
“Yes, me. I killed the King,” said Imaan, setting down her pen.
“Are you out of your mind?” asked David.
“Watch your language, boy. You are not in a position to be performing now,” said Imaan.
“You killed King Saladin!”
“I disposed of a servant of the Leviathan.”
“The Leviathan does not exist, Imaan. Raphael is the real threat to Aeroth. How can you not see that?” asked David. Imaan unsheathed a dagger dried with blood.
“If you’re so knowledgeable about these things,” began Imaan, pointing the blade at David, “would you mind telling me what coated this dagger? It’s the one you carried to Larimar.”
“Headache tablets,” said David. “Norbert sent me a message through his cockroach to tell me the poison was the same as Gabe’s headache tablets.”
“Mhm. Mr Silbi’s personal, not-on-the-market-yet headache tablets. Did Norbert tell you what the main ingredient of those headache tablets was?” asked Imaan.
David didn’t answer.
“Batrotoxin,” said Imaan, “a rare but potent neurotoxin secreted by the skin of a—”
“Poison arrow frog,” finished David. The realisation hit him like a forgotten memory. David knew of poison arrow frogs from reading about his father’s research as a child. Imaan nodded.
“The poison arrow frog, yes,” said Imaan. “The secretion from one of these tiny, colourful frogs is enough to kill twenty men, and there is no known antidote.”
She sheathed the dagger.
“Only two known samples of this poison exist in Aeroth. You were given one in the bottle that came in your parcel. I had your dagger laced with it, as well as the dart. The other sample is in Gabe’s pills.”
David stared at her.
“You’re lying. I saw Gabe take those pills. Nothing happened,” said David.
“There is one animal that has developed immunity to batrotoxin,” said Imaan, sheathing the dagger.
“A snake,” said David. He knew this from his father’s research. The frogs’ diet of toxic ants made them dangerous to nearly every animal they came across—except snakes. David looked at her.
“So you’re saying Gabe’s pills are poisonous?” asked David.
