The Wooden Prince

by John Claude Bemis

  Pinocchio almost wished he could have joined them. To see the majestic city of Venice by night, especially sneaking along its canals and bridges under the cover of chameleon cloaks, sounded thrilling. But that would have meant accompanying Cinnabar. And that sounded about as thrilling as picking out those little crusty brown things that kept mysteriously showing up in his nose—another of the strange aspects of being human.

  So Pinocchio had to wait while Cinnabar and Sop set off on their mission to steal the propulsion canister. At first, he and the others were all so preoccupied with final preparations—packing food, attaching the frame that Zingaro had built from stiff strips of naiad scales onto the carpet to support the canister, getting everything up to the rooftop for departure—that worrying about whether Cinnabar and Sop would get caught was pushed aside.

  But once everything was completed and they gathered to wait on the rooftop terrace, with the night getting later and later, apprehension began to creep over the group. Mezmer sharpened her spear, casting glances to the street below every few moments. Maestro flittered anxiously from one side of the terrace to the other.

  Pinocchio peered down at Zingaro, who was swimming in the canal. When the undine gave a quizzical look up from the surface, eager for news of Cinnabar’s return, Pinocchio just shook his head.

  Lazuli was lost in thought, pacing circles around the hovering carpet.

  “You think they ran into trouble?” Pinocchio asked.

  “What?” Lazuli looked up abruptly. “Oh, Sop and Cinnabar? No, I’m sure they’re fine. At least I hope so.”

  “What were you thinking about, then?” he asked. He glanced at the carpet. “Worried if this flaming, rocket-propelled carpet will work?” He had his doubts.

  “I’m sure the canister and Zingaro’s naiad-scale frame will be perfect. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “It’s the Deep One.”

  Pinocchio frowned. “The sea monster that guards Abaton? What about it?”

  “If we don’t reach the doge’s fleet before they get past it, our voyage will be blocked…or worse.”

  “It wouldn’t eat us!” Pinocchio said. “I mean, you’re Prester John’s daughter; you’re the princess of Abaton. Surely it would let you—”

  Lazuli shook her head darkly. “Only my father commands the Deep One.”

  “Then,” Pinocchio said, struggling to stay hopeful, “we’ll just have to catch up to the doge’s fleet before they reach the Deep One.”

  “Exactly,” Lazuli said. “Which is why we need to leave as soon as possible.”

  Pinocchio began pacing now around the carpet. “What’s keeping Sop and Cinnabar?”

  Mezmer bolted upright. “I see them!”

  Pinocchio exhaled. “Finally.” He looked over the edge to report their return to Zingaro.

  As soon as the djinni and the cat reached the terrace, Lazuli asked, “Were you successful?”

  “If you call nearly getting caught half a dozen times successful, Your Highness,” Cinnabar said, holding up the stone canister and casting an exasperated scowl at Sop.

  “Get the canister mounted,” Mezmer said, taking charge. “I haven’t seen any airmen patrolling for hours, so let’s leave while we have empty skies.”

  While Cinnabar attached the canister to the back of the frame, Lazuli stepped lightly onto the hovering carpet and took her place at the front. When Pinocchio, Mezmer, and Sop followed her, the fabric rippled, and they fumbled awkwardly—like crossing a too-soft bed—until they found seats between the food and supplies secured to the frame. Cinnabar climbed aboard last, looking anxious and throwing his arms tightly around the stone canister as if his life depended on it. Possibly it did.

  Lazuli waved a hand and summoned a breeze. The carpet lifted. Taking hold of the tassels at the front corners, Lazuli steered them off the roof and down toward the canal, where Zingaro was watching from the watery gloom.

  “Princess Lazuli,” Zingaro called. “The blessings of your people, both here and in Abaton, go with you. Might I ask, Your Highness, if you are successful…if you rescue His Immortal Lordship…?”

  Lazuli nodded. “Yes, I know. We’ll find a way to bring you all to Abaton. It’s time our people are freed. I promise you this, Zingaro.”

  A fountain of bubbles surfaced. “Thank you, Your Highness. Good luck, Cinnabar. I’m sorry not to join you in freedom.”

  “I’m not free yet,” Cinnabar said, clinging to the canister.

  “And Cinnabar, wait until you’re away from the city before lighting the projectile,” Zingaro said. “We don’t want to risk any airmen seeing the flame until you’re well away.”

  Cinnabar nodded.

  With a final wave of good-bye, Lazuli pulled the tassels again, steering the carpet up from the canal, above the buildings of Catchfools, and higher up past the palazzos and glowing lights of Venice. Pinocchio cast one last look back at the city as they headed out over the foggy lagoon.

  “Keep us above the mist,” Mezmer suggested to Lazuli. “There are islands ahead, and we don’t want to run into a tree or a ship mast.”

  Lazuli pulled back on the tassels to gain altitude. The carpet jostled and dipped sporadically as they rose above the layer of thick mist hugging the surface of the water. Cinnabar gave a queasy groan.

  “You all right back there?” Sop called over his shoulder.

  The djinni didn’t answer. His eyes were squeezed shut.

  Pinocchio spied the Fortezza Ducale hovering high above, dark and quiet against the night sky. No patrols. Just a little farther and they’d be away from the menacing fortress. Ahead in the mist, the tops of trees poked up, revealing scattered islands separating the Venetian lagoon from the open sea.

  Pinocchio gave a sigh of relief. “We’ve made it.”

  From the top of a tree ahead, a pair of wings opened, silhouetted in the dark. For a second Pinocchio thought it might be a bird, but then Mezmer cried, “Airman!”

  Lazuli banked the carpet as a musket boomed. From the treetops, more wings opened.

  “Correction,” Mezmer said. “Airmen.”

  As their carpet shot over the treetops, Sop said, “Actually, it’s worse. Those others aren’t airmen.”

  Pinocchio spied four dark forms taking flight. The first was an airman. But the other three were…

  “Flying Lions!” he shouted. “And coming in fast.”

  He drew his sword. Mezmer and Sop wheeled around, then crouched on the bobbing carpet with their weapons ready.

  “How fast?” Lazuli asked.

  The mechanical lions roared, beating their powerful wings as they closed the gap at a dizzying speed. Mezmer had that manic glint in her orange eyes at the prospect of battle. But Pinocchio couldn’t see how they could take on three Flying Lions and an airman.

  “Steady, darlings,” Mezmer said. “Let them get closer.”

  “Closer! Uh, why?” Sop asked, adjusting his grip on his sword.

  As the lions swooped in, Mezmer shouted, “Down into the mist, Your Highness!”

  “But we’ll be blind!” Lazuli said.

  The blur of steely jaws and massive claws was nearly upon them. Mezmer, Sop, and Pinocchio lunged all at once, their weapons clinking against the armored monsters.

  “Down!” Mezmer cried.

  Lazuli dropped into the mist, coming so close to the water that a fine spray rose up beneath the carpet. Cinnabar moaned. Pinocchio glimpsed one Lion that dove too fast and splashed into the water. Through the mist, trees came suddenly into view. Lazuli tilted the carpet sideways to squeeze between the trunks. Pinocchio and the others had to cling to the edge to keep from spilling out.

  “We’re going to crash if we stay down here,” Lazuli said. “I’m taking us back up.”

  “Wait!” Mezmer ordered. “Cinnabar, get ready to ignite that canister.”

  Pinocchio wasn’t sure the djinni heard. He wasn’t even sure he was still conscious. Pinocchio grabbed Cinnabar by the shoulder. “C
an you light it?”

  The djinni managed to open his eyes, but he didn’t reply, his face fixed with fear.

  More trees appeared from the gloom, and Lazuli inclined the carpet sharply. They rose out of the blanket of fog and right into the surprised airmen. Flopping on the carpet, one airman fumbled to bring his musket around. With only a split second to react, Pinocchio slashed at the fabric of his wings, and Mezmer and Sop heaved him over the side, where he disappeared with a splash.

  “Where are those last two Lions?” Mezmer called.

  Sop pointed. “Closing in behind us.”

  “Cinnabar, light that rocket!” Mezmer ordered.

  The djinni didn’t move. He had his arms wrapped around the canister and was staring at the dark streaks diving toward them.

  Lazuli brought a swifter wind up beneath the carpet, but Pinocchio could see they weren’t going nearly fast enough. The lions would reach them any second.

  “Cinnabar!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”

  “Just a moment,” Cinnabar muttered.

  Pinocchio felt his heart thundering.

  The pair of Flying Lions was almost on them when Cinnabar cried, “Hold on!”

  A blast of white-hot flame erupted from the mouth of the canister, engulfing the roaring Lions. The carpet shot forward so fast, Pinocchio smacked against Cinnabar. The Lions’ wings burned away in cinders, and the mechanical beasts crashed into the lagoon.

  “You did it!” Pinocchio shouted at the djinni.

  “Get off me,” Cinnabar growled, giving him a shove.

  In that moment, Pinocchio didn’t care about obnoxious old Cinnabar. He threw his arms around Mezmer’s and Sop’s shoulders and gave a wild whoop to the wind.

  They laughed along with him, while Lazuli cast back a smile. They were finally on their way, rocketing over the top of the misty island and out into the clear moonlight sparkling on the sea.

  Lazuli was exhausted. The journey to reach the Indian Ocean had taken four days. If it hadn’t been for Cinnabar and the canister, she never could have kept the carpet flying that long. But now, with only crystal-blue water in every direction, the ocean wind was doing most of the work, and she was able to let others take turns steering.

  Although the long days in scorching tropical sun had done little to her own pale skin—except raise a few blue freckles on her nose—the journey had burnished Pinocchio’s skin golden tan. He retreated from the sun as best he could beneath his

  chameleon cloak, twisting at the band of jasmine vines on his wrist, mostly lost in thought.

  The fur on Mezmer’s and Sop’s faces was plastered back by the ferocious, salty wind. Lazuli was surprised that Cinnabar kept his hood pulled low over his face. Djinn generally didn’t mind the baking sun. Maybe it was an excuse to cover his eyes against the boundless watery danger below. Lazuli was certain she’d heard Cinnabar uttering prayers, or possibly curses, from time to time.

  The concern over whether they’d catch up with the doge’s fleet in time was ever present in Lazuli’s mind.

  “Abaton is southeast of Arabia,” she said to the others. “We’ve been going in that direction since we left land. But this ocean is vast. We could have flown past the fleet and might not know.”

  “Should you try the Hunter’s Glass?” Pinocchio asked.

  She took the cracked orb out, skeptical that it would help. She held it in her hand a moment before a faint light flickered. Then it pulsed bright, the glow filling the entire orb, not pointing in any single direction.

  “It’s clearly broken,” she said, before tucking it away.

  “Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Mezmer said. “The doge’s fleet is huge. Sop might only have one eye, but it’s keen. Even if we’re off course, he’ll spot them.”

  Sop gave her an assuring nod before adjusting his eye patch and scanning the distant horizon.

  Maestro began playing a song to try to relax their pent-up nervousness. Pinocchio peeked out from beneath his chameleon cloak after a few moments. “What’s that you’re playing, Maestro?”

  “‘The Old Man and the Leviathan,’” the cricket replied, without interrupting the droning melody playing on his wings.

  “I like it.” Pinocchio rolled over onto his back.

  “My father taught it to me, but told me never to play it at the Moonlit Court. I suppose it wasn’t one of His Immortal Lordship’s favorites.”

  “What’s it about?” Lazuli asked, wondering why her father didn’t like the song.

  “A young sailor who gets swallowed by the Deep One. In the song, the sailor lives in the belly of the sea monster until he is an old man. One day, the Deep One belches him out. The old man comes ashore only to discover that the world is much changed and unfriendly, and the old man longs to be back in the sea monster.”

  “You really know how to cheer us up, Master Cricket,” Sop said.

  Maestro brought his wings to an abrupt stop. “Maybe a different song?”

  Pinocchio chuckled. “Maybe so. Play one of my favorites. How about ‘Orpheus’?”

  As Maestro began, Pinocchio turned to Lazuli. “Did you see the Deep One when you and your father came to Venice?”

  Lazuli tried not to frown as she remembered how the seas all around had churned violently, how she had shivered at the unbearably loud groan coming up from the watery depths, and how her father had stood on the bow and called for the Deep One to go back down, to let them pass, before the seas grew calm again. But she had no desire to frighten them all with this memory.

  “No,” she replied. “Thankfully not.”

  Pinocchio returned to twisting the jasmine vines around his wrist. Lazuli could tell from the way he always touched it that the bracelet was important to him.

  “Did Master Geppetto give that to you?”

  Pinocchio raised his eyebrows. “Oh, this? No. My friend Wiq gave it to me.” He sighed. “We were imprisoned together in Al Mi’raj’s theater. Wiq helped me escape. I had to…leave him behind.”

  She heard how his voice caught on the final words. “You miss him?” she asked.

  Pinocchio nodded.

  “Do you manage to make friends everywhere you go?” she asked.

  Pinocchio saw her smirk and returned it. “Clearly not everywhere I go,” he said with a nod back to Cinnabar. “What about you? You must have friends you miss back in Abaton.”

  Lazuli set her jaw. “It’s not that simple. My father…he expects me to…represent the Moonlit Court properly.”

  “What’s that mean? He doesn’t let you have friends?”

  Lazuli wasn’t sure how to explain this to Pinocchio. How could he understand what it was like to have her responsibilities?

  He seemed to sense her hesitation. “Doesn’t he want you to be happy?”

  “Of course he does,” she said. Between the wind and Maestro’s song, she thought the others couldn’t hear her, but she lowered her voice to be sure. “It’s not the same as it is with you and Master Geppetto. My father loves me as he loves all his Abatonian subjects, but…I’m not sure he really loves me as his daughter.”

  She frowned as Pinocchio gave her a sad look. She didn’t need his sympathy. A princess didn’t need her subjects’ pity. But then, Pinocchio wasn’t her subject. If he was, she certainly wouldn’t be discussing this with him. This was the sort of thing only friends discussed. It had been so long since she’d had anyone like a friend to talk to.

  “I remember Geppetto saying,” Pinocchio began quietly, “that it must be difficult for your father to see so many of his children die, because your father is immortal and his children aren’t. I’m sure that’s why he acts that way. But he has to love you. Parents always love their children.”

  Lazuli wanted to believe that.

  “It doesn’t seem fair, though!” Pinocchio whispered sharply. “Why should your father let his children grow old and die when he gets to live forever? That doesn’t seem like what a parent should do.”

  “Father prote
cts Abaton,” she said. “Being the ruler is a heavy responsibility. I wouldn’t want that. What good is living forever if you’re stuck in the palace all the time? I’d rather have some adventures. I’d rather live an exciting life and be free. Wouldn’t you?”

  She had never admitted this to anyone before. It felt good to say it out loud, even if it was a hopeless dream.

  “I’m just glad to be alive,” Pinocchio said.

  She smiled, suddenly aware of what it must be like for him to be so newly human. “I forget,” she said. “That you were an automa.”

  Pinocchio shifted uncomfortably. “I’m glad. I don’t like being seen as the boy who was once an automa.”

  “And I don’t like being seen only as the daughter of Prester John, princess of Abaton,” she whispered. “You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t call me Your Highness. You’re the only one who treats me…normally.”

  “Is that all right?”

  “Of course it is.”

  Pinocchio seemed pleased. But an instant later a puzzled look came to his face. “But what I don’t understand about your father…If he really loves Abaton, why would he allow the doge to invade it? It seems like he’d rather sacrifice himself first.”

  “He would,” Lazuli said. “And I’ve been wondering the same thing. I don’t believe my father is going to allow the doge’s fleet to reach Abaton.”

  “Then why has he come all this way?” Pinocchio asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Lazuli said. “My father is up to something, but I can’t figure out what it is. Whatever he’s planning, I can’t see how it’s going to work. He needs our help. And I plan to show my father I’m capable of doing more than just being a proper princess of the Moonlit Court.”

  Sop gave a sudden hiss, and Lazuli sat up.

  “What is it?” Pinocchio asked.

  Sop pointed straight ahead to a range of voluminous clouds. At first that was all Lazuli saw, but then, as she looked closer, she spied a dark haze—like a distant swarm of insects—floating among the white wisps.