by Tara Omar
David smiled. “That’s great, Nats. Where did you find blue amber to give to Maude?”
“Maude didn’t take blue amber this time,” said Natalie.
“No?” asked David. “What did she take?”
Natalie pointed to a gleaming, purple tomato on an emerald vine.
“Purple gold,” she said.
“What?”
“When you combine gold with aluminium, you get purple gold. It’s very difficult to do, but I managed a few pieces with some research and a bit of practice.”
“That’s extraordinary,” said David, looking at the metal tomato, “though it seems like a long way for a shrimp to come for a piece of gold.”
“Oh, Maude didn’t come for you. She came for your satchel,” said Natalie.
“What?”
“I may have mentioned that one of her beautiful pieces was sitting in a human prison, and, as you can imagine, she wasn’t too happy about it. The purple gold was to convince her to rescue you along with the bag.”
“Surprisingly, that makes a lot more sense,” said David. “Maude has a lot of pride.”
He offered a sad smile. “It’s great to see you, Nats, but you shouldn’t have come. You know I can’t go back with you, and aren’t you breaking like a hundred international laws being here right now?”
“Yeah, about the laws… I’m trying not to think about it,” said Natalie. “In any case, the doctor said I’m not to stress my body for the next few weeks by swimming or spinning filament, so I’m basically a human at the moment. Anyway, what about you? Kiwi’s photos suggest you’ve had quite a time.”
David sighed and set down his spoon. “Natalie, you have no idea.”
C h a p t e r 5 1
David grabbed a pen and a stack of serviettes and began to explain and sketch everything that had happened to him since Natalie and he last met. He told her how Lady Imaan had stolen the shield and framed him for Saladin’s murder. He told her about Drew and the arm under the floorboards, about the knitting needles and Petra’s office, about his time with Sasha and Yasmin and the impending volcanic activity, and finally, about his mistakes in the Zodic casino and the prison on Kakapo Wreck. Natalie listened with interest.
“So Lady Imaan gave the shield to Petra, that crazy lady from the Zodic casino?” she asked.
“According to the paper I found in her house, yeah,” said David.
“Why would Imaan give the shield to her, of all people?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s the only one strong enough to look after it,” said David.
“Are you sure she gave it to her?” asked Natalie.
David shrugged. “She’s the only widow I know.
“I don’t mean to cut your carrots, but Hongi must be getting home now,” said Norbert through the trapdoor. “I reckon it’s a bit late for her.”
“Mr Bransby, David says Lady Imaan left the shield with Petra Jakobson,” said Natalie. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Petra Jakobson? Why would Lady Imaan leave it with Petra Jakobson?” asked Norbert. He slid down the slide, landing just left of the ball pit.
“I was hoping you might have an answer to that. David said he found a note that said the shield was ‘with the widow.’”
“Oh, that?” asked Norbert, as he hoisted the tikihune up through the door. “Lady Imaan didn’t write that note, I did.”
“You?”
“Yebbo. I have it right here,” said Norbert. He pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket. “It is with the widower.”
“What?” asked Natalie.
“Let me see that,” asked David, pulling the paper from his hands.
“Hongi, do you have your spatula?” called Norbert through the opening. “Hurry along now, before Gabe scolds me for being a bad neighbour.”
“Norbert, the note says it is with the widow,” said David.
“Oh, no, that’s definitely widower,” said Norbert. “I didn’t have time to finish the word.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t have time?” asked David.
“Well, Lady Imaan sent word to the roaches via a sugar cube that she was in trouble, so I set out to get the shield from her house. The only trouble was I didn’t know where she’d put it, so I spent a good few hours searching for the thing,” said Norbert, thoughtful. “During the search, I sure found some unusual stuff, I did. There were these needles that knitted a copy of my arm for no good reason. Can’t imagine what those were for.”
David thought of the arm under the floor, his mind slowly piecing together a scene as Norbert spoke.
“Anywho, after I found the shield, I scribbled a note so you’d know to come back here,” said Norbert. “Before I could finish writing, someone started knocking on the door, though, so I had to get out of there right near quick. Couldn’t chance being seen and being considered suspicious, I couldn’t, so I hopped out through the window and headed home.”
“You didn’t have time to write the last two letters?” asked David.
“No, I did not, and I didn’t think it’d matter, since the clue was so obviously unfinished. There’s clearly a full stop missing.”
David clenched his teeth; his whole body was tense and his cheeks were hot. He coughed out the words. “So you mean to tell me that I was supposed to know the clue was unfinished because the sentence lacked a full stop?”
“Obviously!” said Norbert. “Nothing’s as important as proper punctuation. Everybody knows that.”
David grabbed his hair. “Proper punctuation…a full stop…I almost died because of a full stop…”
“Davey, who else would the Lady leave it with?” asked Norbert, his eyes darting back and forth. “I was the soldier who found it in the first place. I told you all about it when you came here. Do you really think she’d leave it with anyone other than me?”
“But there was a brochure underneath!” shrieked David.
“Circumstantial evidence,” said Norbert. “I didn’t see the brochure.”
“Does this mean you have the shield, Mr Bransby?” asked Natalie.
“Actually, there’s a funny story about that,” laughed Norbert.
“Of course there is,” growled David.
“Hey, I’m not liking the tone I’m getting, I’m not,” said Norbert. “Not at all.”
“We’re sorry, Mr Bransby,” said Natalie. “David is just tired from the long journey. He doesn’t mean it.”
David forced a nod.
“You see, I was keeping it for you,” said Norbert nervously. “I kept it many long weeks for you in my waist pouch. I even kept it despite the Lady’s wishes that if anything happens to her, it should go to her assistant, Lisa. Now, I never disobey the Lady, I don’t, but in this instance, I thought it was only fair that you have it since you brought it here. The Lady was dead at that point anyway, so I wasn’t really disobeying her.”
“But then David never came,” said Natalie.
“That’s right. When the papers showed up claiming you’d been arrested and executed, I arranged to give it to Lisa at the Grand,” said Norbert. “It’s a good thing I did, too. She nearly died in a racing accident. The shield saved her life, it did. Then the very next minute, Nattie here was swimming her way up to my home, saying you were on your way. If I’d known she was coming—”
“I’m going to bed. Excuse me,” said David.
“Well, good night then,” said Norbert, watching as David disappeared into the tent. “Anywho, that’s about all I have to say.”
Natalie beamed. “Don’t stress yourself, Mr Bransby. You’ve acted wonderfully.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I don’t think the situation could be any more perfect,” said Natalie. “Thank you.”
“Well, okay. I understand Davie’s a bit crispy after all he’s been throu
gh, but he’d better get a bit more pleasant soonest,” said Norbert, climbing back up the ladder. “He’s as noxious as a rotting durian.”
“I’m sure he’ll be better in the morning,” said Natalie. “Goodnight.” She headed into the tent where David was lying on the bed with a pillow over his head.
“Shame, you were a bit harsh on Mr Bransby, don’t you think?” asked Natalie, hopping onto the bed. “He’s only had your best interest at heart.”
“And yet it never works out in my best interest, does it?” asked David.
Natalie frowned.
“The shield is exactly where it’s supposed to be, David. That was the whole point, remember? You were supposed to give it to the King to protect the humans from any potential wars with the mers. Now that it’s with the Queen, that mission is complete. You’ve succeeded.”
“And what does that mean for me?” asked David. “I can’t stay here, and I can’t go home with you. I belong nowhere, and without the shield, I’m as good as dead.”
David yelled into his pillow, his muscles tensing like a stretched rubber band.
“Okay, okay, sleep now,” said Natalie, brushing the hair from his forehead. “We’ll worry about all that in the morning. Just sleep.”
David rolled over and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Natalie watched him, her fluttering mind settling into an uneasy resolve.
I can’t put it off forever, thought Natalie. I have to tell him.
I will tell him.
I will tell him in the morning.
C h a p t e r 5 2
Catherine hastily unpinned the clasp that held her ceremonial robes as she hurried into the vestibule of the Temple. “Was there any sign of her during the service, Iris?” she asked a maiden.
“I’m afraid not,” said Iris. “She must still be at Cliffside.”
“Hmm, I know she loved that machine, but bunking prayers for it is completely unacceptable,” said Catherine. “I have a right to give her a piece of my mind, even if she is the High Priest.”
Catherine tossed her vestments into the closet and made her way out of the Temple to the nesting boxes at Cliffside. Several falcons screeched and ruffled their feathers as she threw open the door; they watched lazily as an indignant cloud of pink stormed toward La Cloche’s stall.
“Liza?” she called. “Liza are you—”
Catherine stopped. Inside the stall lay a mangled heap of glass and metal, the remnants of an unmoving peregrine.
“Bi y’avi, it looks like it’s been ripped apart,” said Catherine, falling to her knees.
She leaned her hand on the hay and quickly pulled back as a lump rustled underneath. A sneezing, cherry-coloured parakeet popped its head through the hay. Catherine scooped up the wheezing bird, noticing the ivory horn stamped with a muddy boot print. Catherine felt a tremor of panic surge through her chest.
“Lady Elizabeth!” she called. “Lady!”
She hurried back to the Palace with Crusty in her arms.
Where could she be? wondered Catherine.
As she ran through the corridors, she heard Madame Soiree marching down the hall, followed by a maid carrying a stack of folded sheets. Catherine ducked into an empty room and listened through the door.
“Is everything in order for the new arrival?” asked Madame Soiree.
“Yes, Ma’am,” said the maid. “The Marilyn Room has been prepared.”
“Very good,” said Soiree. “Lady Beatrice will stay there until the appropriate mourning has been completed before relocating to the Queen’s room.”
Beatrice? thought Catherine. She listened closer to the conversation beyond the door. The maid outside sighed.
“Such a shame about Her Majesty—dying of internal bleeding after everyone thought she was fine. She was such a lovely person.”
“His Majesty will be holding a press conference this evening,” said Madame. “Arrangements for the funeral will begin tomorrow.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit scandalous to have Lady Beatrice here so soon?” asked the maid. “I know she’s staying in a guest room and all, but it still seems rather—”
“It is not for a maid to comment on His Majesty’s personal life,” snapped Madame Soiree. “I could have you fired for such impertinence.”
“Begging your pardon, Madame,” said the maid, looking down. “It won’t happen again.”
“I should think not,” said Soiree. “Now move along.”
The maid hurried down the corridor with her sheets. Catherine, who was still hiding in what used to be a dining room, stared through the crack in the door, a mixed expression of horror and disbelief written across her face as Crusty, the scruffy parakeet, squirmed in her hands. The irritated bird let out a raspy sneeze. Madame Soiree instantly tensed with suspicion, turning toward the dining room like a cat on the prowl. Catherine darted to a cabinet on the far end of the room, disappearing inside it just as Madame Soiree opened the door.
Madame scanned the room, checking under the table before slinking toward the cabinet. With a nasty flourish, she threw open the door. The cabinet was empty. Madame stared at it warily before closing the door. She strolled out of the room and continued down the corridor, her mind set on a mounting list of tasks.
What Madame Soiree did not know, however, was that the cabinet she had inspected in the old dining room was actually a dumbwaiter, which Catherine had ridden to the dusty kitchen below mere seconds before Madame had opened it. Catherine raced through the abandoned kitchen deep in the bowels of the Palace, tumbling over crates and boxes in the adjacent storeroom as she hurried toward the staircase on the other side. Crusty let out a desperate screech as she ran.
Bi y’avi, what have they done with her? wondered Catherine. Avinoam almighty, what have they done?
She hurried up the stairs, her breathing heavy as she reached the middle landing. Catherine paused, grabbing the stone wall as she collected herself. She looked at her feet.
“What in the world?” asked Catherine.
The hem of her skirt was wet with a crumbly, grey mud that looked like cement. She turned down the stairs and retraced her steps, finding an unusual pattern in the bricks against the wall. Catherine ran her fingers over the bricks.
“It looks like an old cellar was walled up,” said Catherine.
She tore open a nearby box, finding linens and candlesticks from Liza and Dominic’s wedding. Catherine pushed it aside, finding in another box the cutlery from the wedding dinner. She grabbed a knife and scraped away the drying cement from around one of the uppermost bricks, and taking a candlestick from the first box, knocked the brick out of place. It tumbled backward into the darkness. Catherine heard the rustle of a figure lying beyond the wall and a weak, muffled scream.
“Lady!” shrieked Catherine. Crusty immediately jumped through the hole in the wall and flew down to the lying figure. Catherine spun around and scanned the storeroom.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to get you of here,” called Catherine. “I’m going to get you out.”
She read the side of a wooden crate.
DANGER. Silver Fulminate.
Catherine pried it open. Inside she found leftover packs of celebration crackers tucked in straw, also from the wedding. She glanced from the crate to the wall and back to the box of cutlery.
“Move away from the wall, Lady,” called Catherine. “Move as far back as you can.”
She wedged spoons into the damp cement between the bricks and tore the linen into strips. Then, using the strips of linen, she tied the celebration crackers to the spoons, until the wall looked like a festive display of gold, tinfoil crackers. Liza moaned from inside.
“Almost there, Lady,” said Catherine. “Almost there.”
She shifted a heavy crate full of porcelain plates in front of the cracker-covered wall, and standing behind it, took several
deep, concentrated breaths.
Avi be the strength in my arms, she prayed.
With an operatic roar, she lifted the crate and threw it at the wall. The silver fulminate in the crackers ignited, shattering the wall into small bits of brick, porcelain and coloured confetti. Catherine crawled over the rubble and into the darkness, finding the crumpled Queen in the corner.
“Bi y’avi you’re like a pile of bones,” said Catherine as she dragged Liza from the cellar.
She set her down on a folded tablecloth and untied the gag in her mouth. Liza’s breathing was shallow and her pulse rapid; her arms and legs were as limp as rags. Catherine needed no medical training to know her frail friend was nearing death. She hugged her carefully.
“Now, you listen here, Lady. You must hang in there, you understand me? This is not the end for you. Death has not come for you, not this day. As Avinoam lives, you will not die this day!”
Catherine hoisted Liza onto her shoulder, and by the strength of her arms, carried the dying woman out of the storeroom.
P a r t 2
C h a p t e r 5 3
David saw himself dancing in a mirrored ballroom draped in crystals, with Natalie as his partner. He was surprisingly better at dancing than he remembered; he lifted her gracefully with one arm as they continued their aerial routine, hanging from the ceiling by thick strands of filament connected to their wrists. He readied for another lift when a familiar scent caught his nose. It was sweet and powdery, like the violets in Petra Jakobson’s perfume.
David looked up. Before he could react, the ballroom exploded into thousands of pieces. Razor sharp fragments sliced through the air, severing the filament that held them to the ceiling. Natalie fell from his arms, crashing alongside him into a mountain of broken glass. David pushed himself up through the rubble and looked around. He was badly cut and bleeding. From the side of the ballroom, Petra Jakobson watched him, her eyes commanding and serious.
“The shield,” she breathed.
“Natalie!” cried David. “Natalie! Where are you?”
