Samantha Spinner and the Spectacular Specs

by Russell Ginns

  “Look out!” she yelled at Nipper, afraid that he was about to be flattened, but the green ring touched down well before he reached the landing zone. He turned back and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Samantha stepped off the slidewalk and felt for her umbrella and her purse. Then she and Nipper walked onto the elevator ring. It began to rise.

  “Good golly, it’s Mali!” Nipper announced.

  Samantha thought about Uncle Paul again. She had a nagging feeling about this. Were they in the wrong place?

  “A-L-I-M,” she said softly, and shrugged as they rose toward a circle of blue sky.

  Section 04, Detail ORDS34

  The Accelerated Moving Walkway (AMW) Concept

  The 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, Illinois, showcased the first moving sidewalk. In 1900, the Paris Exposition Universelle demonstrated a motorized walkway with multiple lanes moving at different speeds.

  Writers, inventors, and urban planners have dreamed of high-speed conveyor belt systems ever since.

  Using names such as slidewalk, glidepath, and speedaway, people have described and even tested many systems. The dream is to transport passengers at speeds of several hundred miles per hour.

  Today, many airports have slow-moving automated walkways. However, there has never been an accelerated moving walkway made available to the public.

  * * *

  • • •

  The Seattle slidewalk station is located under the conservatory at Volunteer Park. From there, you can access four slidewalks running to and from Norway, Peru, Mali, and Indonesia.

  Walk onto a slidewalk and you’ll reach a speed of fifty miles per hour simply by stepping from belt to belt.

  To reach supersonic speed, activate the inflatable restraint cushions. Suspended inside a bubble-wrap shell, you can safely travel to the farthest reaches of the slidewalk system in less than an hour.

  Samantha and Nipper rode the elevator ring up to the surface. When it stopped, they found themselves standing beside a fire hydrant in the center of a small park. Stone benches faced outward and a cement path outlined the square patch of green grass.

  Nipper began to kick at the hydrant with his foot.

  “Really?” asked Samantha. “That’s the most interesting thing here?”

  She pointed outward from the park. Beyond the small green space on one side, the land was dry and dusty. A paved road led downhill toward a city. Farther in the distance, boats dotted a winding river. The other side faced a parking lot filled with cars, buses, donkeys, and bicycles as well as people, pushcarts, and wheelbarrows.

  She noticed that the lot and all the roads leading from it were red dirt. Actually, vehicles, buildings, and just about everything else was covered in a thin layer of red dust.

  Except for the people.

  Men and women milled about, dressed in a swirl of colors. Some wore brightly colored shirts. Others wore long, patterned tunics. Women walked by wrapped in gowns of dazzling purples, yellows, and blues, with matching headscarves. The fabrics flowed with fruit, flowers, and geometric shapes. Men sported colorful turbans and hats small and large.

  Samantha also saw people wearing T-shirts and blue jeans, but the swirl of amazing colors caught her eye.

  People passed under a pink stucco arch with large wooden letters.

  MARCHÉ DE MOPTI

  Samantha guessed that the words were in French. If so, then marché meant “market.” Uncle Paul had taught her a few things in French, and she had added a hundred words or so since then.

  “I’m guessing Mopti is the name of this city,” she told Nipper.

  “Yes, Americans,” said a smiling woman. With one hand she balanced a basket loaded with fruit on top of her head. With the other hand, she waved toward the city and the river.

  “Welcome to Mopti,” she said.

  Samantha tried to think of a question to ask that might help them search for Uncle Paul. Before she could say “Where’s your tallest building?” the woman disappeared into the busy market.

  “Try the glasses,” said Nipper. “Do your look-for-clues thing.”

  Samantha nodded and put them on. She gazed all around, hoping for a PSST or an arrow, or even “This way to Uncle Paul,” written on a wall.

  Nothing.

  She put them back in her purse and waved for Nipper to follow her under the arch and into the market.

  Buyers and sellers filled the red dirt street. Kids tugged at parents, workers pushed wheelbarrows, and vendors displayed everything from tools to clothes to fresh fish from the river.

  All around, Samantha heard people talking, arguing, and even singing. But she didn’t hear any more words that sounded like English or French.

  She approached a table covered with brightly colored sheets and towels. She saw circles and squares and a dozen different patterns. One green towel had lines and stripes.

  “Does this look a little like plaid to you, Nipper?” she asked, pointing at the towel.

  Her brother didn’t answer. She lifted the fabric for him to see.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Samantha looked over her shoulder. Nipper was gone.

  “Happens all the time,” she said to herself.

  She dropped the cloth on the table, sighed heavily, and headed deeper into the market to find her brother.

  Samantha passed carts with sizzling rice dishes and tables of jewelry made from animal teeth and beads. As she scanned the crowd, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip was a big mistake. Maybe Uncle Paul was waiting for her on the other side of the planet.

  “Pancakes! Hotcakes! Get your silver-dollar flapjacks!”

  The sound of English pulled Samantha’s attention to a small crowd gathered around two men. They stood beside a tripod supporting a cast-iron pan and waved spatulas in the air.

  Both wore one-piece outfits with what looked like little pictures of bananas all over them. What made them stand out the most, though, was that each had a bright red ball covering his nose and wore shoes that were enormous—at least a foot longer than Buffy’s size 9½.

  These were not local food vendors in colorful African clothes. They were circus clowns and, judging by their accents, they were American.

  Without warning, they both scooped disks up from the pan with their spatulas and began flinging them at the crowd. Samantha froze, watching as the man closest to the clowns got slapped in the mouth. A woman next to him was hit on the side of her head. The object bounced off her ear.

  In a panic, several people started to run. Samantha stayed in the street, watching the strange scene unfold. Pancakes ricocheted around the market like rubber balls. They knocked bowls off tables and ripped through plastic shopping bags, scattering seeds and nuts into the street.

  “We’re making pancakes, but they’re getting battered,” said one of the clowns.

  The other clown laughed as if this was the funniest joke in the history of the world. Samantha noticed that no one else was laughing.

  The clowns flung their pancakes, picking up speed, flinging them faster and faster.

  One pancake zoomed at Samantha’s head. In a flash, she swung her umbrella and batted it away. It bounced into the crowd.

  “Rubber pancakes?” she asked out loud.

  “Aiee!” an elderly woman screamed, covering her head with her hands.

  A little girl stood in the street nibbling a peeled mango. One of the fake pancakes whacked the back of her hand. The mango fell into the dirt and the girl started to wail loudly.

  “Bull’s-eye,” said the clown.

  “Watch this,” said the other clown as he stacked three rubber disks on his spatula. He raised his arm to fling them. Then he noticed Samantha, standing in the street, still holding her umbrella upright.

  The clown froze. He sta
red at the umbrella, and then at Samantha. Not taking his eyes off her, he dumped the pancakes back into the pan and tapped his partner on the shoulder.

  Samantha didn’t wait to see what would happen next. She turned and walked away quickly. When she got far enough to feel like she could, she looked back, only to see the two clowns following her. Immediately, she turned into a side street and sped up. She could hear the clowns’ big, flat shoes slapping the dirt street at her back. Where was Nipper?

  “Come back, girl!” one of them shouted. “We’ve got some hilarious hotcakes for you.”

  The street curved left and Samantha reached a dead end. Her heart was racing now. She stopped and turned. There were market tables to her left and her right. Straight ahead, the pancake clowns marched toward her.

  Keeping an eye on the clowns, she stepped backward and bumped against a table. A spice merchant stood there, displaying his wares. Small baskets and wooden bowls covered the table, and each one overflowed with a brightly colored powder. Open bags of seeds and spices were laid out around the table. A dozen powerful smells swirled her way.

  As the clowns drew close, one suddenly stopped. He sniffed, taking in the spice smells. He started coughing and pounding his chest with his fist. He didn’t come any closer. The other clown kept walking toward Samantha. He reached out to grab the umbrella.

  “Give me that,” he snarled. “Then I won’t have to waste any more time in Dynamite, or stupid Zzyzx, where there’s nothing except for—”

  The clown’s nose began to twitch, and he stopped talking. He looked past Samantha at the spices and then back to the umbrella. She could see his eyes getting red and tears beginning to form.

  The clown took a step backward.

  “Achoo!” he sneezed, and bent forward with his face in his hands.

  Samantha bolted. She sprang past the sneezing clown, around the coughing clown, and back to the center of the market.

  She still didn’t see any sign of Nipper. Vendors, workers, and shoppers swirled around her. Samantha started to get more worried than usual about losing her brother. With so many people, it would be nearly impossible to find him. She decided to make it easy for him to find her. She raised the umbrella over her head and popped it open, hoping that Nipper would spot her—before those awful clowns found her first.

  Nipper walked through the crowded street, inspecting tables and carts. Vendors stood beside buckets of rice and bags filled with dried chili peppers and herbs.

  Up ahead, a tall woman sat in a chair, watching the shoppers pass by. Nipper could tell that the woman was more than just tall, she was very tall. Seated, she was at eye level with the people walking past.

  She wore baggy blue coveralls with big yellow polka dots and had a red ball on the end of her nose. On her bright red mop of hair, she wore a small gold crown. Her shoes were huge yellow triangles. They looked like big, webbed duck feet.

  Nipper was pretty sure that this was not a typical outfit for someone from Mali. She looked like a circus clown.

  Without warning, the strange woman stuck out one of her webbed shoes. A man walking past tripped and tumbled onto the ground. He looked up and his eyes widened. He stood, brushed off red dirt, and walked away quickly.

  A moment later, the clown did it again. This time, she tripped an old woman carrying a basket of mangoes. The woman started to pick up her fruit, but when she noticed the clown, she hurried away, leaving several mangoes behind.

  Nipper stood watching the bizarre spectacle as another man passed by. He carried a stack of baskets, balanced one on top of the other. Each basket was full of eggs. He was heading right by the duck-foot clown.

  “Watch out!” Nipper shouted to the man. “She’s gonna trip you!”

  The man peeked cautiously around his egg baskets. He spotted the clown, turned, and walked the other way.

  The tall clown rose from her chair. She was huge—almost seven feet tall! She turned very slowly and gave Nipper an evil look. He watched as she reached into a pocket of her coveralls and pulled out a slingshot. She raised it, pulled back, and let go.

  Smack!

  Something hard and yellow hit Nipper in the face.

  “Yow!” he cried.

  Nipper bent down and picked up the projectile. It was a rubber duck.

  He threw the object on the ground. Angrily, he marched toward the giant woman. Fists clenched, he was ready for war.

  Halfway there, he stopped.

  Two men had appeared, standing beside her. They were looking up at her, waving spatulas, and shouting over each other. Nipper noticed that they were dressed as clowns, too. Their shoes were big and ridiculously wide, and they had red plastic balls on their noses.

  All three turned toward Nipper at the same time. One clown pointed a spatula at him. They all looked really angry.

  Nipper didn’t want to find out why. He started walking, weaving between pedestrians and carts, and turned onto a new street. It was just as crowded. He picked up his pace and turned another corner. He was sure he’d lost the clowns, but he kept going. He might run into them again, or there might be other weirdos in the market. He sped down aisles packed with people and didn’t slow down until…he smelled something delicious.

  Nipper stopped and sniffed the air. He decided then it was safe to explore again. Or at least safe enough—because he hadn’t eaten for hours.

  “Clowns can hurt you, but hunger can kill,” he said out loud, and started looking around the market.

  A man stood in front of a tent, stirring onions and some kind of marinated chicken in a large pan above a burner. Bags of spices cluttered the table.

  Nipper approached, smiling.

  “Hi there,” he said in his best I’m-so-charming voice. “Do you speak English?”

  The man looked up from his cooking and smiled.

  “Yassa,” he said.

  “Good,” said Nipper, rubbing his hands together. “What’s in the pan, man?”

  “Yassa,” he said again.

  A woman with a black headscarf rushed out of the tent. She looked at Nipper and shook her head while she pointed at the man stirring the food.

  “Husband,” she said to Nipper. “No English.”

  She pointed at the chicken and onions.

  “Food is yassa,” she explained.

  Nipper looked down at the sizzling food. Then he heard the faint sound of ducks quacking. He looked around but didn’t see any clowns. Nervously, he pointed to the woman’s tent.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  The woman wrinkled her brow, confused. She picked up a bag of greenish-brown powder and handed it to him.

  “Cumin,” she said.

  Nipper looked at the bag, then back at the woman.

  “No,” said Nipper, talking faster. “I need to hide from some goons. They look like clowns, but they’re not silly.”

  “Not silly?” asked the woman. She studied the spices on the table.

  The quacking sound grew louder.

  “Here,” said the woman, pressing a plastic bag into Nipper’s other hand. This one was filled with bright red powder.

  “Hot chili,” she said, smiling.

  “Hold on,” said Nipper. “I meant that I want you to—”

  A big shadow drifted over Nipper. He turned.

  The giant duck-foot clown faced him. Two clowns holding spatulas stood at her sides.

  He looked over his shoulder. The man and woman slipped inside their tent. They looked from him to the clowns and quickly closed the flap.

  Nipper felt something tap his chest. He turned back to see a clown jabbing him with a spatula.

  “Stick ’em up, boy,” said the clown.

  Terrified, Nipper held out his hands, filled with bags of colorful powder.

  “I mean way up,” the clown said, and poked Nipper’s chest a
gain.

  “Okay, okay,” said Nipper, lifting both hands high above his head.

  “Where’s the girl with the umbrella?” the clown asked, and twisted his spatula into Nipper’s breastbone, hard.

  Nipper flinched and, shutting his mouth and eyes, let go of the open plastic bags he’d been given by the woman who was now back in her tent. They dropped to the ground and exploded at his feet. A cloud of brown and red dust enveloped them.

  The clown who’d jabbed him with the spatula gasped. His eyes turned redder than his fake nose. He took a step back and began to cough violently.

  “What did you…? I can’t…,” he wheezed, and crumpled to the ground.

  The spices swirled around the other clowns and they began to sneeze, too.

  “Achoo!” one of them shouted, sneezing so violently his red nose flew off. He dropped to his hands and knees immediately and began searching for it.

  A dozen shoppers stopped shopping and gathered around, watching the weird people in strange outfits coughing, crawling, and shouting and screaming in English.

  Nipper pushed his way through the crowd and ran. He sprinted through the market. In the distance, he saw the pink stucco arch where he and Samantha had first entered the market. Halfway there, a bright red umbrella hovered above the crowd.

  Behind him, the sound of quacking ducks started up again.

  “I see you, Sam!” he shouted. “Get ready to run!”

  Samantha heard her brother shouting and saw him racing toward her. Behind him, three clowns stomped through the market. She recognized two of them as the men with the rubber pancakes. The third clown was an incredibly tall woman with a tiny gold crown on her head. Samantha heard ducks quacking.

  “Run, Sam!” Nipper called. “This isn’t a joke!”

  She snapped her umbrella shut and waited for him to reach her.

  “Stay with me this time,” she said, and grabbed his arm as he bolted past.

  With the umbrella in one hand, she followed him around the corner and onto another crowded street. As they threaded between shoppers and stalls, babies and bicycles, Samantha sniffed the air and looked at her brother. He was smeared with red, brown, and green powder. He smelled like one of the rice dishes in the market.