Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  The falcon still looked dead and dull. There was no life in its eyes, no glow in the feathers, but Liza was sure she had felt something. Her eyes darted back and forth, waiting. The falcon’s wing twitched, and twitched again, this time in quick succession. Liza thought she could hear a rush of air each time it moved, almost like a sneeze. Then, a banging sound started near La Cloche’s chest, as though something were trying to escape. Liza grabbed her pliers and snipped several feathers near the sound, as well as a latch on a small, removable panel. A burst of orange shot from inside the panel and barrelled straight into Liza’s chest, causing her to fall backward. Liza sat up, finding a scruffy, cherry-coloured parakeet on her lap. It was missing its tailfeathers, as well as patches from its wings, head and stomach. The nostrils above its beak were crusted over; the parakeet sneezed several times and scratched its nose. Liza cuddled the parakeet in her arm.

  “Biy’avi, there was a bird in there. All this time I’d wondered, and I was right. There was a bird in there.”

  She read the ring around the parakeet’s ankle.

  “Crusty, F,” said Liza, looking at the ring. “Is that your name?”

  The bird nodded and crawled into the folds of Liza’s shirt, shivering.

  “The F must be for female,” said Liza. She leaned over, examining the inside of the metal peregrine. Thick belts and cuffs corresponding to where Crusty’s feathers were missing lay broken along the inside of the frame, along with tubes for water and food. Liza clenched her teeth.

  “So this is the big design secret of peregrine racing—a massive machine enslaving a small and helpless bird—how cruel,” said Liza. “I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself for racing.”

  She nestled Crusty near her face. “Don’t worry, my girl. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

  The door to the nesting boxes creaked open. From inside the stall, Liza could hear the heavy footsteps of guards coming her way, their blades jingling at their waists. She hid Crusty in a pile of hay just as they reached her.

  “Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Yes,” said Liza.

  “You are under arrest…”

  “I can explain about the—”

  A guard moved toward her from the middle of the group. It was Wilhelm Schmidt, the ruthless guard who had arrested Lady Imaan. Liza paused.

  “Wilhelm?”

  “Good afternoon,” said Wilhelm with a nod. “I am afraid you are under arrest, by order of the King.”

  “On what charge?” asked Liza.

  Wilhelm didn’t answer. A guard next to him held out a pair of handcuffs and recited, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the Aerothian—hey!”

  Liza darted for the corner of the stall where the ivory horn hung. She pulled it to her mouth, just as Wilhelm knocked her on the back of the head with the hilt of his blade. Liza slumped to the ground, and a guard cuffed her hands.

  “Are we taking her to Kakapo, Sir?” he asked.

  “Oh, not this time,” said Wilhelm, stepping on the horn with his muddy boot. “For her, our orders are quite different.”

  C h a p t e r 5 0

  Norbert stared out across the vast expanse of the Oceana, watching as the grey waves of a stormy afternoon rolled toward an angry shore. He was wearing his wetsuit with a snorkel and goggles pushed up by his forehead. Moai and two other tikihune stood with him; they held a bucket, mop and stack of towels between them. Moai pointed toward the sea.

  “He’s coming now,” said Moai.

  Norbert’s face made funny shapes as he twisted a small, plastic purse in his hands. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Moai’s toe never lies.”

  “Are you suresy—”

  Moai shot Norbert a dirty look before he could finish. Norbert swallowed and adjusted his mask.

  “Of course you are. Who am I to question the toe of a tikihune.”

  “He’s there,” said Moai, pointing with his foot.

  “In the clump of kelp?”

  “Yah, mahn. Norbert Warrior-Mahn should go now.”

  “Right you are, Mooey.”

  The sound of footsteps crunched in the sand behind him. Norbert growled. “Move along, Wind-Gill. There’s nothing to see here.”

  “Isn’t it a bit dangerous to be snorkelling in these conditions?” asked Gill.

  “Isn’t it a bit odd for a jackalope to be growing cantaloupe next to cowslip? Yes, it is, but you don’t hear me complaining about it,” grumbled Norbert.

  Gill frowned. “Right. Actually, I was wondering if you might return my santoku knife. I have need of it at present.”

  “The only present you’ll be getting at present is the presence of mind not to bother a man when he’s ready to start snorkelling,” said Norbert. “Now move on back to the Gillypad before I report you for loitering.”

  “But—”

  “NOW!”

  Gill inhaled deeply. “You know what? No. No, I will not go back to the Gillypad. In less than a week, the celebrated chef Johannes Montagu will, in my kitchen, attempt to break the record for the longest gourmet Gatsby, and I will not have it be said by someone as renowned as Johannes Montagu that Gilgamesh Ullrich’s kitchen was underequipped. Bi y’avi, I will not have it. I will not!”

  “Okay, keep your shoes on. There’s no need to overreact now,” said Norbert. “I’ll bring you the knife when I’m finished snorkelling.”

  “You do that,” said Gill.

  “Gill mahn?” asked Moai.

  “What?”

  Moai pointed to the Gillypad, where a courier was waiting at the door. Gill gasped.

  “My gourmet wagashi assortment!” said Gill, running toward the courier. “I’ll be waiting, Norbert,” he called, “so don’t forget the knife.”

  Norbert shook his head. “Neighbours…” he sighed. “Now where were we?”

  Moai pointed.

  “Oh, right, the kelp. Wish me luck.”

  Norbert put on his mask and waded out to sea. A large, tangled mass of brown and yellow seaweed floated among the waves. As Norbert dived under the water, he could see the kelp was not floating freely with the current. Rather, it was being dragged along by a mantis shrimp. Norbert handed the shrimp his plastic purse in exchange for the kelp clump. He dragged it ashore as the shrimp disappeared into the sea. The tikihune immediately jumped on top of the clump and began tearing strips of kelp away. Norbert joined them.

  “Hang on, Davey. We’ll get you out of this in no time, we will. Just hang on.”

  They pulled away strips of kelp as though unwrapping a corpse. With each strand removed, a faint, blue glow from beneath the seaweed pulsed brighter. As Norbert cut through the final layer, the tikihune dumped a bucket of soapy water on the mer and hit him with the mop. David gasped for air as his gills reacted.

  “Confound it! We need his feet to dry, not become wetter!” spat Norbert. “Start towelling.”

  He and the tikihune patted David with the towels. David relaxed as his fins retracted into feet and his gills retracted into his neck. The glowing, fluorescent markings on his body and tips of his hair dulled as they dried. Norbert helped him toward his shack, while a tikihune followed behind them, spritzing perfume onto David’s lower back.

  “That’s enough, thank you,” said Norbert. The tikihune lowered his perfume bottle and waddled away, while Norbert led David around the containers full of plants and past a familiar, toileted fig tree to his lopsided shack.

  “You know you had us right near worried, Davey, you did. Must’ve been some trip out of the Marah to land yourself on Kakapo.”

  “Yeah, it was,” said David. “Where’s Maude?”

  “She’s on her way to Larimar, I’d imagine,” said Norbert. “She has no reason to stay around here. I paid her at the delivery.�
�

  “This isn’t the first time she’s saved my skin,” said David.

  “Probably won’t be the last either. She’s a lovely shrimp, in her way.”

  Norbert opened a trap door in the floor and slid down the slide into his special, top-secret, emergency bunker, landing in the ball pit at its end. David climbed down the ladder behind the slide, while Norbert scanned the stacks of canned food that covered the bunker’s walls.

  “I need to restock the lake now that we have visitors,” said Norbert. He pulled out a tin of pilchards and tossed it into the ball pit. David jumped off the last step of the ladder behind the slide.

  “How did you know about her?” asked David.

  “About whom?” asked Norbert, as he tossed another food tin into the ball pit.

  “About Maude,” said David.

  Norbert squinted at him.

  “The mantis shrimp and fashion designer from Larimar that broke me out of prison,” said David.

  “Oh, her?” asked Norbert. “I didn’t know about her.”

  “I did,” said a familiar voice.

  David spun around. A happy, melting feeling filled his chest, as though he were suddenly in a dream from another life.

  “Natalie,” he breathed.

  “Plant your apricots, Son. Nattie’s in a fragile state, she is,” said Norbert, who grabbed him by the shirt before he could run to her. Natalie smiled.

  “He’s right. I’m not fully recovered yet,” she said. David looked at her. Natalie was standing without assistance on two feet, which were covered in a flashy pair of octopus-print socks.

  “You had your surgery,” said David. “You can walk.”

  “The doctor’s hopeful,” said Natalie.

  The permanent fins that had previously kept Natalie from walking, now looked like the usual flares of merish skin around human-like feet. David beamed. “That’s really great. I’m happy for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still huggable, you know,” said Natalie awkwardly. “Just don’t go barrelling into me.”

  David enveloped her in the biggest, happiest hug he’d ever given, nearly crying as he whispered, “You can’t even know how much I’ve hoped and waited for this moment.”

  “Then I guess you should make the most of it,” said Natalie. She kissed him, and David kissed back, while Norbert, who began to shift uncomfortably at this stage, inched himself toward the ladder behind the slide.

  “Well, I must go sprout some brussels,” said Norbert as he pushed through the trap door. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs…behind the house…out of view. See you later.”

  Natalie and David kept kissing until a familiar sound echoed behind him. David pulled away. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” asked Natalie.

  “That ‘chht’ sound,” said David, scanning the bunker. On the fireplace mantle next to a tin of stinkbugs, David noticed a fluffy, green parakeet with an odd, metal contraption around his front. He turned toward it. “Is that…”

  “SQUAWK.”

  “Kiwi!” called David.

  The parakeet flew to his shoulder like two magnets connecting. David leaned his cheek toward the bird expecting an affectionate nuzzle. Instead Kiwi gave him a hard bite to the ear.

  “Ow! What was that for?” asked David, pulling his face away.

  “Kiwi’s been taking pictures for me while I recover,” said Natalie.

  David turned his head, dodging another lunge of the beak toward the ear. “Has he been following me the whole time?”

  “How else was I to know if you were in trouble?” asked Natalie.

  “What did you do to him?” asked David. “He’s—ow.” Kiwi snapped at his face and caught his cheek. Natalie cupped Kiwi in her hands and set him on her shoulder. Kiwi immediately puffed and gave David an arrogant look.

  “Kiwi’s slightly temperamental at the moment.”

  “Temperamental? The bird has more machismo than a breeding bull.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Kiwi’s just a bit lonely, aren’t you Kiwi?” asked Natalie, nuzzling Kiwi with her cheek. The parakeet closed his eyes and kissed her with his beak. Natalie smiled. “Though it is time you eat now, isn’t it, Kiwi? Oh, you’re such a cute parakeet.”

  David could swear he heard Kiwi growl as the bird took one more lunging pass at him when Natalie turned toward the fireplace. David shifted away from her and called, “Ah! Did you see that? See that? Machismo.”

  But Kiwi’s angry look instantly faded to a ball of fluffy cuteness the moment Natalie looked at him. David shook his head. “Great, even the bird’s against me now. Is no one on my side?”

  Natalie rolled her eyes and set Kiwi on the mantle. The wall of canned food opposite the ball pit cracked open. The delicious smell of cooked tomatoes and crispy cheese wafted toward them.

  “Gnat-lady, the pizza’s ready,” said Hongi from behind the wall.

  Natalie pulled open the wall of canned food the rest of the way, revealing a glistening room behind. It was deep, at least twice the size of the shack above them, with walls covered in leafy vines made of emeralds. Silver butterflies hung from the ceiling, and scattered between the glistening leaves were blobs of gold in the shape of tomatoes. At the centre stood a small, billowing tent shaped like a puff of meringue. There was a patio table and chairs in front of the tent, and a portable pizza oven in the corner where Hongi had just pulled several small pizzas from the fire. It had been days since David had last eaten a decent meal. He dived for the table and began to eat, a whole breadstick already in his mouth as Hongi poured him a drink.

  “Hello, Tatu. Hongi not see Tatu for a long, long time,” said the small tikihune.

  “Hello, Hongi. How are you?” asked David through mouthfuls of pizza.

  “Much better now that Hongi see Tatu alive in Norbert Warrior-Mahn’s safe.”

  “Norbert?” asked David. “Norbert Bransby of the toileted fig tree?”

  “What? You didn’t think a man with Norbert’s suspicions would trust a bank, did you?” asked Natalie. “He’s been kind enough to let us camp inside.”

  “Eat now,” said Hongi, pushing another pizza in front of David. “Hongi make nice pizza so Tatu can—” Hongi paused, her eyes wide.

  “What is it?” asked David.

  “Norbert…Norbert!” called Gill, as he opened the trap door. David and Natalie glanced toward the door to the safe, but it was too far from them. By the time they even thought to move it, Gill was already halfway down the ladder. “I’ve tried to be reasonable, Norbert, but I really need my santoku—” He paused. “David?”

  Norbert stuck his head through the trap door. “Gill?”

  But the Renaultan’s eyes stared straight ahead, fixed on David. He called.

  “Norbert, should I be concerned that the most wanted criminal in Aeroth and the murderer of my sovereign is in your safe with a mera from Larimar?”

  “Uh, not particularly, no,” said Norbert.

  “Hongi make Tatu pizza,” said the tikihune.

  Gill sighed. “You know what? I’m too old to argue. Do you have my knife?”

  “Right here, Gilliwags,” said Norbert. He handed it through the trap door to Gill, who started back up the ladder.

  “Make sure Hongi is back before bedtime,” said Gill. “I don’t want her cranky in the morning.”

  “Shall do,” said Norbert.

  “Good to see you, Gill,” called David.

  Gill waved his hand without looking back. David and Natalie breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “That was easier than expected,” said David.

  “Yeah,” said Natalie.

  “If only it were so easy to gain acceptance in Larimar, life would be grand.”

  Natalie smiled and looked away.

  “How are things back h
ome?” he asked.

  “Mostly the same. Albert and Dad miss you,” said Natalie.

  David laughed. “I’m sure he wouldn’t miss me quite so much if he knew I was part human.”

  “Do you really think my father could shun a mer who saved Larimar from famine, paid for his daughter’s surgery and sorted out all his financial worries in one go?” asked Natalie.

  “No, you’re right. I can’t see your father shunning anyone. He’s probably the nicest person I’ve ever met,” said David. “Still, I’d hate to disappoint him. I am a merman, and after stealing the shield, also a wanted criminal.”

  “Come, your pizza’s getting cold.”

  Natalie watched as David ate, her mind filled with a fluttering, nagging feeling.

  Should I tell him? I should tell him, she thought. I really should tell him.

  She shook her head as if in answer to a question.

  No, not yet. It’s not the right moment.

  “Are you okay?” asked David.

  “Fine, fine,” said Natalie with a smile.

  David nodded, thoughtful. “So, how’ve you been, Natalie, with the surgery and everything? It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

  “There’s not much to say, really. I had the surgery to fix my legs shortly after you left. Most of the rescue and surveillance was arranged by—”

  Before she could finish, a large cockroach popped its head through the pizza. David nearly gagged.

  “Stew,” said David. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Hongi jumped onto an empty chair and began slapping the pizza with a floppy breadstick.

  “How dare vermin ruin Hongi’s pizza, vermin slut-slut!” shrieked Hongi, “Hongi make Tatu another pizza now now.”

  “No worries, Hongi. I’m full now anyway,” said David. “It was delicious, as always.”

  “Hmm,” grumbled the tikihune. The pizza was quickly replaced with a bowl of malva pudding. Hongi swung a breadstick over it just in case, but the cockroach was crawling over Natalie’s palm. She stroked its back with her finger.

  “Stew arranged for Kiwi to keep an eye on things. I was going to come after I recovered, but things started to look a bit drastic, so I called in a few favours and came early.”