by Tara Omar
“Meh, you swerved a bit around the middle mark. If you had held her straight, your time would’ve been better,” said Nick.
Liza glared at him as she dismounted.
“You flew very well, Your Majesty,” said Buford, “as good as any jockey.”
“Thank you, Buford. Between your generous compliments and Nick’s ever-discouraging remarks, I don’t know who to believe, though if I combine the two, I’d guess I’m almost average,” laughed Liza. “Though the left wing seemed a bit funny again, I can almost feel exactly where there’s an issue. Perhaps if I—”
“No!” shouted Nick, grabbing her wrist before she could examine La Cloche’s shoulder. “Peregrine design is a highly-specialised, highly-secretive craft; jockeys aren’t allowed to mess with the mechanics.”
“But I can feel exactly where it needs—”
“Are you deaf, woman? I said you can’t fiddle with your falcon,” said Nick. “Most engineers equip the peregrines with alarm sensors anyway, so you can’t upset the pedigree; if you trip that, you can say goodbye to your jockeying and hello to the inside of a jail cell. Half of racing is the design, and that’s not your element.”
Liza sighed.
“That’s better. Go take La Cloche for a cool down before the gears start sticking and we have a real mess on our hands. I’ll call the mechanics about the shoulder.”
“Have a good day, Buford,” said Liza. “My regards to your family.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Buford, tipping his hat. Nick stared straight ahead as La Cloche trotted toward the nesting boxes with Liza close behind.
“What was all that nonsense about?” asked Buford.
“What nonsense?” asked Nick.
“About the alarms and stuff,” said Buford.
“You know we’re not supposed to touch the mechanics.”
“Yeah, but did you have to exaggerate the issue? I mean alarms…being arrested…that’s kind of overboard.”
“Since when does Liza listen to me?” asked Nick. “Besides, I don’t want her finding out about the—” He paused.
“Oh, you mean?”
Nick nodded.
“Liza doesn’t know about that?” asked Buford.
“Of course not. If she did, she’d probably have shut down the whole establishment by now with her new age ideas.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” laughed Buford. “Well, I’d better go check on my falcon; make sure the grooms didn’t set off any alarms.”
Nick nodded absently, watching the sky.
C h a p t e r 2 6
David sat at Yasmin and Sasha’s kitchen table, his arms coated in white dust. It had been several weeks since he’d started trying to spin pearls. Still, he showed little improvement. He slid his hands in the bowl of water and concentrated. A thin, wispy hair of filament emerged from his glowing wrist; it curled around itself and hardened into a dull sphere. David pressed it between his fingers; the sphere, like thousands before it, crumbled like ash.
“How’s it going?” asked Sasha, poking his head into the kitchen.
David sighed. “All this practice, and I still can do no better than some sort of powdery chalk dust.”
“Well, chalk it up for experience,” said Sasha with a grin. David glared at him.
“Okay, not funny. Still, chalk is a good start,” said Sasha.
“What am I going to do?” asked David. “Jia Li’s nearly finished with the next extension for the fountain. At the rate I’m going, I don’t think I’ll be able to manage the pearls in time.”
“Is this thing that was stolen from you really worth all this trouble?” asked Sasha.
“I’ve asked myself the same question,” sighed David.
Adam’s shield, a living band of microscopic creatures that when connected with a host made the wearer nearly invincible, had been in David’s hands not that long ago. He had originally stolen it from the mers to secure the humans’ survival in war, but Imaan had intercepted the delivery and framed him for murder.
Lady Imaan had claimed it was for the best. As the only merman in existence, only he could enter Paradise and learn the secrets to preventing a war altogether. There, he would discover how to undo the Leviathan, an evil mer readying to destroy the world by pitting the two races against each other. Destroying any possible alliances by framing him for murder was supposed to help him follow the plan. If he proved his allegiance by surviving the desert, the shield would be returned to him at Imaan’s house, with a plan to enter Paradise.
But nothing had gone as planned, and after having been so badly betrayed once, David knew he could well be on a chase that led only to a hangman’s noose—a gift from the powers above for being so helpfully gullible.
Sasha stared at him. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“Hmm? No, I just…I’m tired of failing; that’s all,” said David.
“I’ll leave you to your work then,” said Sasha.
David nodded. He had thought about the current situation many times—of the suffering people had endured and of the suffering that would come if Imaan was right about an impending war. During his travels, he had seen some evidence that a leviathan may indeed be hiding in the shadows; still, it was a hard case for which to fight. As the only one of his kind and a racial mix of sworn enemies, he was risking life and limb for people who felt nothing but fear and disdain for him—the unwanted soldier with a thankless cause.
Focus, David. None of that matters. All that matters is Natalie.
David wanted nothing more than to return to the spirited mera and her friendly father living at Ten-on-Farm in Larimar, and for that, David knew he would need something big. By now, the mers would have cracked his alibi, barring any chance of return. If he wanted to see her again, David’s only hope was to do something so fantastic that the mers would overlook his history and let him stay. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. Whatever he planned, he would need the shield.
I’m going to do it, Natalie. I’m going to figure this all out and come back a hero.
He dunked his hands in the water until the markings on his wrists glowed. Sasha popped his head into the kitchen.
“You know, as an owner of a business, I really can’t condone this, but if you can’t spin the pearls, Logadilly’s might be you’re next best option,” said Sasha. “They’re an organic oyster farm off the coast. You can maybe…you know…if you’re up for that sort of thing.”
“Are you suggesting I steal some pearls?” asked David.
“No, I’d never suggest stealing, but you know…”
“I could maybe borrow them with every intention of giving them back until it’s accidentally and completely not purposefully forgotten that they somehow rolled into Jia Li’s pocket?”
“Precisely,” said Sasha.
David sighed. “So how do I get to this Logadilly’s?”
“That’s going to be the tough part,” said Sasha. “Their coordinates are kept secret and change any time they sense a breach in security. They’re impossible to track, unless you’re a starfish, I suppose.”
“What?”
“That’s it,” said Sasha, snapping his fingers. “In order to find Logadilly’s, you’ll have to follow the starfish.”
C h a p t e r 2 7
Starfish, or sea stars as they’re properly called, use their suction feet to pry open the shells of oysters and other prey before vomiting their stomachs onto the food. Once the stomach digests the oyster, a sea star sucks the whole thing back into itself, stomach and all. As David sat in a camouflage wetsuit watching a lazy sea star, he couldn’t help but wonder what a sea star would do if it got indigestion—if it would suck the stomach back in or let it sit outside its body until the misery passed, or if perhaps gastronomic issues were not something that ever plagued a sea star to begin with.
David had a lot of time to think about these things, for it had been nearly an hour, and the sea star in front of him had barely moved more than a few millimetres. As refreshing as it was to again breathe water through his gills and brush the sand with his fins, he really wanted to get on with it.
Please move, signed David with his hands.
It appeared the starfish didn’t care to listen.
David shook his head. Since sea stars ate oysters and Logadilly’s grew a lot of them, the logic had been that sea stars, always naturally hungry, would move in the direction of the oyster farm. If he tracked the general direction of the sea stars’ movement, he would eventually find the farm. If the sea stars even knew about Logadilly’s, David was unsure, and how he would tell the difference between a leisurely stroll and a purposeful crawl was not established. David’s best bet was to watch from the seabed and hope it worked. It seemed like a halfway decent plan except for the fact that sea stars moved really, really slowly. He checked the current distance of the sea star from his filament marker: four millimetres, and still not enough to discern a general direction. David contemplated.
Do I stay or find another sea star?
A school of herring swam past him. David jumped up from the sand and began signing.
Hello, Hello. Do any of you know where I can find Logadilly’s?
But the fish, not used to being spoken to this side of the Abyss, scurried away. David rubbed his eyes.
One of the herring, whose curiosity overrode its better judgment, circled around and swam back in his direction. David signed again, this time more gently.
Hi. Do you know where I might find Logadilly’s? asked David.
The fish stared at him.
I’m looking for the place where humans keep lots and lots of oysters.
The fish’s eyes suddenly brimmed with understanding. It swam a short distance away before turning to David, motioning for him to follow. David swam behind the fish for several kilometres until it stopped, pointing with its fin. Below lay another sea star. It was at least three times as big as the one he had watched, with so many arms it resembled a sunflower. David frowned.
Thank you, but I’m looking for oysters. Creatures with shells.
The fish nudged it with its mouth. The enormous sea star bristled to life and began moving across the sand, slowly, but at a discernible pace. David stuck a piece of filament in the sand and timed the sea star. In a minute, it had moved nearly a metre.
Thank you, he signed. The fish nodded and swam off as David followed the sea star, eventually being joined by several more, all moving in the same direction. In the distance, he noticed a loose wall of netting, to which was attached a plastic sign.
Logadilly’s Mobile Organic Oyster Farm
DANGER
KEEP OUT.
At Logadilly’s Farm, hundreds of cages filled with oysters were strung in columns along the sea floor, held in place by strong magnetic bands swaying gently with the current. A starfish passed under the netting alongside him; it did not get more than a metre in before a burst of silvery light lit up the water, reducing the intruder to an oily, black stain. As David looked, he noticed there were a lot of dark stains near the netting. They formed a dirty ring around the farm. David spun a tiny piece of filament and flung it as far as he could; a light flashed, leaving a black speck on the sand.
Hmm, perhaps if I turn it into a different material, he thought.
Logadilly’s flashed like a shorting bulb as David fired specks of filament into the sand. David didn’t have many materials in repertoire to begin with; it was not long before he had run the gamut of everything he knew how to spin. He shook his head.
Great, now what?
As David stared at the danger sign, he noticed the faintest etching on the plastic, near the bottom corner. He read.
Look down.
David looked toward the bottom of the netting, where a plastic clam shell lay, half-buried in the sand. As he picked it up, the shell opened, and a 4-D film burst from the centre.
DO YOU WANT TO STEAL AN OYSTER? THEN HAVE WE—
David fumbled to slam it shut. He looked around, eyeing an underwater cave about a kilometre away. He swam inside and opened the shell. A smiling man emerged from the clam, shouting.
Do you want to steal an oyster? Then have we got the solution for you! This deluxe oyster-stealing suit mimics the rotating platelets of the lookdown fish, making you virtually invisible to the polarised light sensors which Logadilly’s and other farms use to detect intruders. This fashionable suit is expertly-designed for a comfort fit and includes a convenient, sealable pocket to keep all your goods safe and fresh.
But wait, if you order now, we’ll also include the latest edition of our quarterly magazine, Thieving in Style, absolutely free. This is a limited time offer, so don’t wait. Get your deluxe oyster-stealing suit now for only 99,95. Payable by drop box under the clam.
Machine washable. No Returns. Crowbar not included.
The clam slammed shut. David opened it again, pausing the film at the point where the man tossed coins in the drop box. He pinched and opened his fingers near the coins, and the film zoomed in. A hair of filament emerged from his wrist; David moved it back and forth with his mind as though sketching with a pencil. In another moment, the filament snapped from his wrist, hardening into a coin identical to the one in the film. After David had collected enough coins to make the payment, he returned to the plastic sign attached to the netting, finding a drop box buried in the sand. He deposited the coins and the box clicked open; inside was a blurry pamphlet the size of a playing card and a thin, silvery bag suit with goggles. David slid it over his head and zipped the bottom, careful not to rip the papery thin covering. Unlike the stylish diver in the film, David felt like a cheaply-wrapped burrito. He slid himself under the netting and cringed, waiting for the worst.
Nothing happened.
He slid himself a bit farther, but no light flashed.
David crawled to a column of oyster cages where the sensors didn’t reach. He pulled out his knife and began to cut the wires that held the bottommost cage, keeping an eye on the guards playing dominoes on the dock above him. The wires cut easily; he stuffed the cage into his suit and put away his knife.
That was surprisingly easy, thought David.
At that very moment, Herbert, one of the guards above, accidentally kicked over his jar of dominoes during an overly-enthusiastic celebration dance, sending the dominoes cascading into the sea. The water around Logadilly’s flashed like a wall of paparazzi bulbs; David pinned himself against the column of oyster cages, the only safe spot in the water. As he moved, the cage poked through his papery-thin suit, ripping it open. David propelled himself to another column of oyster cages, just missing the flash of light aimed at the tear on his suit. He knew he would not be so lucky again. David looked to the guards above him. With a torn suit, his only means of escape, David knew, was up. He pushed his wrists through the suit and started to spin.
C h a p t e r 2 8
“Do you think any dominoes survived?” asked Herbert, bending over the side of the floating dock.
“Nope. They’re all oily stains at the bottom of the sand by now,” said the other guard. “Tell you what? Why don’t you jump in and check?”
“Ha-ha,” groaned Herbert. He stared at the water and frowned, noticing a large silver blob several metres below the surface. He turned. “Hey, I think there’s something in the water.”
“Yeah, they’re called oysters,” said the other guard.
“No, I mean something unusual. Come see,” said Herbert.
“Probably just a trick of the light,” called the guard. Herbert watched the water. It started to bubble above the area where he saw the blob. Herbert reached for his blade just as a column of steam erupted from the water like a geyser.
David burst through the water
with all the flair of a foil-wrapped beluga whale, accompanied by clouds of fine particles spewing from his wrist as he jumped onto the dock. He had added to his suit a fanned hood and the pointed head of a serpent. David held his other wrist in front of his forehead, sending a thread of filament through his disguise like the hissing tongue of a snake.
“What the—” stammered Herbert. He and the other guard stared at David, drawing their blades. David lunged at the guards, bobbing and hissing. The magnetic bands he had stuffed under his suit ripped the swords from their hands. David ducked as the metal flew toward him. Herbert whimpered.
“It’s the Leviathan!” he shouted. The guards tripped over each other and ran.
David sighed. Any intimidating quality his suit may have had melted away as the smoke cleared. The menacing head he had spun was too big for his body and gave him a cartoonish look, while the long, snakelike tail stuck out awkwardly from his behind. The flimsy suit, hastily patched together with bands of filament, was on the verge of falling apart. As he hurried down the docks David looked like an ailing dinosaur mascot who had seen the worst of a brawl. When he arrived back at Sasha and Yasmin’s cottage riding a cyclapod several hours later, he looked even worse.
Sasha shook his head. “Man, you really need to work on your disguises.”
“Ha-ha,” said David. “The oysters are in the pod.”
Sasha opened the cool box in the back seat of the shell-like cycle, finding a cage full of wavy, brown shells. He frowned.
“These are the wrong oysters.”
“What?” asked David.
“These are edible oysters,” said Sasha. “You need pearl oysters.”
“What? An oyster is an oyster. Aren’t there pearls inside?” asked David.
“No, different species of oysters are farmed for different uses,” said Sasha. “These are Crassostrea gigas, which give a lacklustre pearl but have high value for meat. You needed Pinctada margaritifera which will have been grafted with pearls.”
David started to huff. “But—I—What—Why didn’t you tell me?”
