They reached the same tight rock formation where they had lost Nish, but no one was there.
They moved through the floating seagrass, past a scurrying school of seadragons, and on over the ledge into shallower water.
Just before the rise, Travis thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Then he realized that Wiz was turning abruptly in the same direction, bubbles boiling up around his head.
It was Nish!
But not alone. Another diver had Nish in a headlock and was violently twisting Nish’s neck. He was trying to knock Nish’s air hose out of his mouth.
Travis was confused. Another diver? Where had he come from?
Wiz was already onto the attacker. He was larger than Wiz, but not by much, and Wiz was moving so quickly he seemed to catch the diver off guard. The man must have loosened his grip, because Nish was able to break away.
Travis knew he had to tend first to his friend, who looked in total terror. His hose had popped free and he was making no effort to put it back.
Travis grabbed Nish’s flailing arms and held them tight. He looked sternly into his eyes and tried to send him a message: Settle down, do as I tell you.
He held onto Nish with one hand and used the other to grab the air hose, which was floating freely now. He shoved it back into Nish’s mouth. Nish choked, but then began gulping. He was getting air.
Travis could feel the panic letting go of his friend’s body. Nish sagged immediately, and Travis realized how exhausted he must be. He must get him to the surface.
Travis began pushing his friend up. He checked down and saw that Wiz was holding his own with the attacker. They were struggling hand-to-hand, both twisting violently, but Wiz was not being thrown around.
If he can just hold on, Travis thought, I’ll come right back to help.
He kicked as hard as he could. Nish burst through the surface first, spitting out his mouthpiece and screaming at the same time.
“HHHEEELLLLPPPPPPPP!!!”
The boat wasn’t too far away. Travis saw Mr. Roberts spinning the wheel and turning in their direction. The anchor was already up. He and Sarah had probably been looking for them, worrying.
Travis left Nish and dived back down, kicking hard, his heart pounding alarmingly as he headed back.
The man was trying the same move on Wiz. He had him in a headlock and was pulling hard at Wiz’s air hose, but Wiz was refusing to give in.
Travis kicked hard and drove his head as hard as he could straight into the man’s gut.
The attacker doubled over, letting go of Wiz.
There was more movement in the water. Bubbles and swirling arms and legs. For a moment, Travis couldn’t make out what it was.
Then he saw Mr. Roberts, wearing only his bathing suit and in his bare feet, kicking as hard as he could at the attacker.
The man pushed once at Wiz, turned, and fled, his flippers allowing him to outdistance Mr. Roberts, who was fast running out of breath and already headed for the surface.
Travis reached out and took Wiz’s elbow, but Wiz shook him off and headed back down to the ocean floor.
He pulled at something that raised a cloud of sand. It was a net bag, almost covered by the sandstorm the fight had stirred up.
He held it up, shaking it so the sand washed away.
It was filled with seadragons.
Dozens of seadragons.
And most of them were already dead.
11
“I don’t understand.”
Mr. Roberts seemed to speak for them all. Everyone, including those who had gone to the beach to set up for the picnic, had returned to the boat. They were gathered now on the deck, the net bag had been carefully placed into the fishing boat’s live well, and the last of the living seadragons had been gently lifted out by Mrs. Roberts and Sarah and returned to their natural habitat.
But most of the tiny, delicate creatures were dead. They must have been stuffed very roughly into the bag, or crushed to death as the man had hauled the bag around behind him as he searched for more of the wonderful little pipefish.
“I just don’t understand,” Mr. Roberts repeated. “If he was taking them to sell to collectors, why would he not be more careful? He must have known he was killing them.”
“It’s so cruel,” Sarah said, her voice breaking.
“What exactly happened down there?” Mr. Roberts asked Nish. “Why would he attack you?”
Nish seemed near tears himself. There were huge red welts about his neck and shoulders where the man had wrestled with him. His voice was choked when he spoke, and his hands shook.
“I lost sight of Trav and Wiz,” Nish said uncertainly. “I tried to catch up to them, but they were after that turtle and I lost them in the seaweed. So I just circled back, heading for the boat. And when I got into the shallow water I came up behind this guy – I thought it was you, Mr. Roberts – and when I started swimming fast towards him, he turned. He must have thought I was attacking him or something.”
“Why would he think anyone was attacking him?” Travis asked. “He must have been doing something that he shouldn’t have been doing.”
“Obviously,” said Mrs. Roberts. “He was killing these little things for no reason at all.”
“How did he get here?” Wiz asked. “You can’t swim here from the mainland.”
“There was a boat on the other side of the island,” Mrs. Roberts said. “We saw it from the beach.”
“What kind of boat?” Mr. Roberts asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Roberts said. “I think I might have a picture of it, though. I was using the video camera, and I think I might have panned it.”
“I’ll look later,” Mr. Roberts said. He seemed dejected. What had been planned as a wonderful adventure suddenly had a sour taste to it.
Travis looked down at the tragedy the man had left behind. The little seadragons didn’t look like they could ever have been real. Lifeless, they no longer contained the magic that Travis and the others had felt. They seemed like something grade-school kids might have made with pipe cleaners, a little bit of soggy green paper, scissors, and glue.
Why would the man do this? Travis wondered.
It made no sense at all.
They cruised back in silence. No rock music and very little talk, except for what was necessary. Travis grew sleepy with the growl of the engine and the steady slap of the waves on the bow of the Robertses’ boat. Sarah sat with the seadragons, carefully lifting them one by one, smoothing out each one and holding it in the palm of her hand before she slipped it over the side, giving it its own private burial at sea.
Nish didn’t look so good. So far, for him, Australia had been a series of stomach upsets. He had thrown up after seeing the head burped out of the Great White – “food poisoning,” he still maintained – and his stomach was once again rolling like the sea. He had moved as far forward as possible, leaning directly out over the bow and trying to look far into the distance, avoiding the steady tilt and drop and tilt again of the ocean.
“You all right?” Wiz asked him.
“Fine,” said Nish, with a look that said otherwise.
“I’ll get my dad to pull closer to shore,” Wiz said. “If you can fix on the shoreline, you’ll feel better. It works for me.”
Nish nodded, gathered his strength, and spoke again. “Can he get real close?” he said, pausing to let his bucking stomach settle again. “And can I have the binoculars back?”
Wiz stared a moment at the green-gilled visitor. He shook his head in amazement.
“You’re not sick at all, are you?” Wiz finally said, smiling.
“You’re wrong on that one,” Sarah said.
Wiz hadn’t seen her come up behind them. She was also checking on Nish.
“Sick is the only way to describe him.”
12
“Fascinating.”
Data had his wheelchair tight to the desk in his room and was working on his laptop computer. He and Fahd had sp
ent hours on the Internet ever since the kids had returned from their diving trip with their incredible tale of the dead seadragons and Nish’s attacker.
Data had checked out Web sites all over the world. He had sent off e-mails and already had a couple of answers. Now he had compiled his own file and was scrolling down the screen, telling the rest of the Screech Owls the essentials of what he and Fahd had found out.
“No wonder people are fascinated by seahorses,” Data said.
“The only males in the world who have babies,” Fahd added unnecessarily.
“There’s one – they even have a name for him, James – who gave birth to 1,572 babies at once.”
“Another world record for you to go after, eh, Nish?” said Sam, giggling.
“Get a life!” Nish snapped.
“There’s a huge world trade in seahorses,” Data said. “They dry them out and grind them into powder to feed to people. They’re used in traditional Chinese medicine for everything from curing asthma to restoring energy to old people.
“Says here that forty-five tonnes of seahorses are consumed each year in Asia – that’s sixteen million of them!”
“Impossible!” Sarah gasped.
“It’s true,” said Data. “There’s all kinds of myths about them, mostly to do with the males giving birth, which some people take as proof of male superiority. Some also believe that the seahorse can heal itself spontaneously. That’s probably because they can grow back their tails if an attacker snaps it off, but not instantly.”
“Anyway,” Fahd added, jumping in, “you can see why so many might be eaten and why they’re so valuable. A little bowl of seahorse soup will cost you four hundred and fifty dollars in a restaurant in Taiwan.”
“A bowl of soup?” Sam said. “You can’t be serious?”
“I am,” said Fahd. “In some places, a kilogram of seahorse powder can go for as high as fifteen thousand dollars.”
“They must be nearly extinct!” said Jesse.
“No,” said Data. “There are thirty-two different species, and they’re found all around the world. Only one is on the endangered species list.”
“What about seadragons?” Sarah asked. “That’s what he had. Seadragons, not seahorses.”
Fahd nodded. “We know that.”
Data cleared his throat. “There’s almost nothing on the Web about them. Apparently they’re found only in Australia. There are two different species in the world and both exist right here. Even in Sydney Harbour. But they’re quite rare, apparently, especially the Leafy Seadragon.”
“That’s what we saw!” Travis interrupted.
“Well, there’s not much we can tell you about them. The Threatened Species Network is trying to have them put on the protected list, but so far they’ve had no luck.”
“What about Chinese medicine?” Andy asked.
“Hardly even mentioned,” said Data, scrolling down to the bottom. “One article says they’re considered to have even more power than the seahorse. Ten times the power. Supposed to cure all the same things, but also give a person incredible courage.”
“Hardly seemed a courageous thing to me,” Sarah sniffed. “Grabbing them and stuffing them into a bag so they die.”
“I know,” Fahd agreed. “But that must have been what he was up to. Collecting them to sell on the black market.”
“But why attack Nish?” Travis asked. “What did he think Nish was – a cop?”
“We’ll never know,” said Sarah, shaking her head. “I guess we’ll just never know.”
13
They played against the Brisbane bandits the following day. Fahd, of course, asked where Brisbane was, and when Muck said it was quite a ways north of Sydney, Simon jumped in to say if it was more north, then the chances were they might be better hockey players. That seemed to make sense, until Data explained that the farther north you go in Australia the hotter it gets. Darwin, in the far north of Australia, was surrounded by rain forest and had tropical weather all year round.
“That figures,” said Nish, noisily wrapping clear tape around the tops of his skates. “Everything’s always backwards here.”
Muck couldn’t resist. “Is that a request to play forward, Nishikawa?”
“No way!” said Nish, reddening. “You can’t be serious?”
“Sure I am,” Muck said. “Great opportunity for us all to try new things. Whatdya say? You’re always racing up the ice anyway when you shouldn’t be, so why not start out of position to save yourself a little time?”
Nish groaned, placing his face in his beefy hands.
“Tell me this isn’t happening,” he mumbled to himself.
But Muck was serious. He had already juggled the lineup and put their new positions down on a card, so it wasn’t just a sudden idea. Travis was now on defence, paired with Dmitri. Lars was another centre, playing between Sam and Fahd. Sarah was back with Andy. Everyone else was also changed. Left wingers became right wingers. Right wingers moved left.
“This is madness,” grumbled Nish.
“It’ll keep you alert,” said Muck. “You can fall into a rut playing all the time with the same person or in the same position. Maybe now you’ll find out why so many forwards can’t seem to make it back to backcheck.”
They finished dressing and took to the ice. The Bandits were already out there, spinning around in their own zone. They stared in something close to awe at the Owls coming out onto the ice. Travis could sort of see why. His team looked marvellous in their matching sweaters and socks, their Screech Owls logos, and each sweater with the player’s name over the number – Travis with “Lindsay, 7” and that treasured C just a bit above his pounding heart.
None of the Bandits could skate like Sarah. None had Andy’s size or Nish’s shot. But they were clearly a better team than the Sydney Sharks, most of whom – Wiz included – were in the stands to watch.
Travis had one of those days. He hit the crossbar on his first shot in the warm-up, and when the game got underway, he had no trouble at all on defence, in part because the Bandits were slow, and in part because Dmitri was so fast he could make it back in time to cover up if either he or Travis got caught cheating.
Muck seemed remarkably relaxed. He knew that the Owls would never meet a team as good as them over here, and he seemed determined to make it fun for everyone. This wasn’t a true tournament, after all, just a series of exhibition matches. The Owls were under strict orders not to run up the scores, and Muck gave them permission to try all the things they’d be afraid to try in real games back home.
For Nish, now a centre, this was a licence to go insane. He took it upon himself to carry the puck whenever he was on the ice, no matter how thick the traffic. He spun and danced and dipsy-doodled with the puck. He tried spinneramas and even, at one point, deliberately fell onto his knee pads and slid right between the Bandits’ defence while choking up on his stick and still stickhandling.
The others were less flashy. Travis tried his backpass a couple of times, and Dmitri read it perfectly. He tried his fancy puckoff-the-skates play, and it worked twice. He even tried the heel pass Bad Joe Hall had taught him, and it worked.
Sarah, on defence, put on a skating spectacular. She was up and down the ice so fast it must have seemed to the Bandits that there were two Sarahs out on the ice, one playing up and one back.
Every time Sarah made an interesting play, the Sharks erupted with cheers, led by Wiz. Sarah was obviously their favourite – or maybe, Travis couldn’t help but wonder, just Wiz’s favourite.
The Bandits took a while to adjust to the Owls’ speed, and they certainly lacked their skill, but they were eager and persistent.
With the Owls up 3–0, Nish tried a foolish lob pass to himself that one of the Bandit defenders read, stepping forward and batting the puck out of the air before it could land. It flew into open ice, and the little Brisbane defenceman raced for it, picking up his own hand pass, which was legal, and then heading up-ice against Dmitri and Travi
s.
Dmitri had the angle to keep the defenceman cut off from the net, and Travis flew across ice to try to check the puck away from him. The little player threw a pass backhand, blind, but it landed perfectly on the tape of a scurrying Bandits forward, who now had a clear run in on Jenny.
Panicking, he shot, and Jenny kicked it out with a pad, right back onto the blade of the shooter. He shot again, and this time it hit Jenny in the side and pushed on through, dropping on the ice and rolling into the net.
Owls 3, Bandits 1.
The Brisbane bench emptied. They rushed the scorer and piled on the little defenceman as if he had scored the Stanley Cup winning goal in overtime. In any other circumstance, this would have been a delay-of-game penalty for Brisbane, but the referee let it go. Even Muck was hammering the boards in admiration, cheering on the very team he was playing against.
After that, the game dramatically improved. Brisbane seemed to find their nerve playing the big team from Canada, the land of hockey, and they scored twice more to tie the game.
Nish scored on a rather overly dramatic rush from back of his own net, fell after he’d slipped the puck in, and lay on the ice, waiting for the Owls to leave the bench and pile on. But Muck, of course, would have nothing to do with such a display. Eventually Andy skated over and rapped his stick on Nish’s knee pad, and Nish, beet-red even behind his mask, got slowly to his feet and skated back to the bench. They were laughing when he arrived, and he flung his stick down so hard it bounced off the first-aid kit and caught Mr. Dillinger on the arm.
“Far end,” Muck told him.
It was all he needed to say. Nish moved down and took his familiar “benched” seat at the far end. He had played his last shift against the Bandits.
They played another twenty minutes. Travis scored on a nifty backhander, and the Bandits scored again.
In the final minute, the Bandits coach brought his goalie out as an extra attacker, and Muck answered by bringing his goalie out as well. Travis had never heard of such a thing, but he guessed it wasn’t against the rules. Muck also put out the Owls’ weakest players, with instructions to take it easy.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 4 Page 21
