The Wooden Prince

by John Claude Bemis

  Maestro sprang onto Pinocchio’s shoulder. “My eyes aren’t as good. What do you see?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Could it be the doge’s fleet?” Lazuli asked.

  “No, I don’t see any ships,” Sop said. “It’s something…smaller. I’ll take us in closer.”

  As Sop raced the carpet onward, the dark shapes began to take form. None of them were big enough to be a warship, but they weren’t small either.

  They passed a piece of wood hovering in the air, and then another and another.…Lazuli eyed it all with growing bewilderment. Soon the sky around their carpet was filled with broken timbers and splintered wooden beams, all floating in the wind.

  “What is it?” Lazuli asked.

  “I…I think it’s wreckage,” Mezmer said.

  “But from what?” she asked.

  Pinocchio gave a gasp. Ahead, clinging to several of the timbers in the middle of the debris field, were about a dozen men. What were they doing up here? But as they grew nearer, Lazuli spotted the red cloaks they wore and the golden lions emblazoned on their chests.

  “They’re imperial soldiers,” Mezmer said, her snout hanging open with disbelief.

  “But where’s the doge’s fleet?” Lazuli asked.

  “This is the fleet, Your Highness!” Mezmer said. “It’s all that’s left.”

  Lazuli’s heart was racing.

  “But what happened?” Pinocchio said, his voice growing panicked. “Where are the others? Where’s my father?”

  A musket shot sounded. Sop banked the carpet sharply, and Lazuli spun around. A group of airmen was closing in fast behind them.

  “Where did they come from?” Mezmer said, getting protectively behind Lazuli.

  “Hiding in the debris,” Cinnabar snarled, loading a bolt into his crossbow. “Sop, bring us around!”

  “No!” Lazuli barked. Attacking these airmen seemed unnecessarily cruel, especially given that they were stranded up here above all this ocean. They were enemies, but they were still people. “Fly faster, Sop. They won’t be able to catch us.”

  Another shot boomed, whizzing close but missing. Cinnabar growled, but when Lazuli cut her eyes at him, he said nothing.

  Pinocchio was on his stomach, watching the pursuing airmen. “Is that Captain Toro?”

  Lazuli spun around. One of the airmen was ahead of the others, his wings beating mercilessly. “I think you’re right!”

  “You know that airman, Your Highness?” Mezmer asked.

  “He’s the one who shot me.”

  Cinnabar snarled again, shaking his handheld crossbow pleadingly. “Then we must make him pay, Your Highness!”

  “That is not the Abatonian way,” Lazuli said, unable to stop herself from giving the djinni a revolted look. “Keep going, Sop.”

  Captain Toro fought hard to catch up, but matching the speed of the rocketing carpet was hopeless. Soon Sop maneuvered them out of the debris field. Everyone was dazed with shock, but none more so than Lazuli.

  “So what—what happened to the fleet?” Maestro stammered, trembling at the edge of Pinocchio’s collar.

  “What else?” Sop said. “They were devoured.” Even the sarcastic cat couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice.

  “But the Deep One wouldn’t have attacked Prester John,” Pinocchio said in disbelief.

  Unless…Lazuli felt her insides sink. “I should have realized.”

  “Realized what?” Pinocchio asked.

  “What my father was doing.” Her mind was spinning. “I knew he would never allow the doge to invade Abaton, but…I never imagined…”

  “What do you mean?” Mezmer asked.

  “My father tricked the doge into believing he’d lead him to Abaton,” Lazuli said. “Made him believe he would exchange Abaton for his life. But really, it was a trap! My father didn’t command the Deep One to go back. He allowed himself…to be devoured, along with all of the doge’s fleet.”

  “But that would mean…” Pinocchio said with breathless terror. “My father!”

  Lazuli’s heart ached at the despair in Pinocchio’s voice. If only her father had known she was coming, if only he could have believed she was capable of saving him!

  Pinocchio grabbed her by the arm. “Try the Hunter’s Glass!” he shouted. “I have to know.”

  “You will not speak to Princess Lazuli that way!” Cinnabar snapped.

  “It’s all right, Cinnabar,” Lazuli said. She looked pleadingly at Pinocchio. “It’s broken. You know it’s broken.”

  “When you try to search for your father,” Pinocchio argued. “But what if you used it to search for Geppetto?”

  She shook her head. “Broken is broken, no matter who I search for.”

  “Just try it! Please!”

  Lazuli pulled out the cracked glass orb. “Do you remember any object Master Geppetto would have on him?”

  Pinocchio squeezed his eyes shut. “He wore a pin on his shirt. A jeweled rose that belonged to his wife.”

  She remembered seeing it. She handed the Hunter’s Glass to him, saying, “Visualize that pin.”

  Everyone was quiet as Pinocchio pinched the Hunter’s Glass between his thumb and index finger. The glass orb began crackling with light. For a moment Lazuli thought it would do as before, and glow all over. But instead, a single point of light appeared on the Hunter’s Glass.

  “Is it working?” Pinocchio gasped. “It’s pointing to Father!”

  Lazuli watched, at first with awe that the Hunter’s Glass did seem to be working, and then with sad resignation as she saw the point of light stop near the bottom of the orb. It wasn’t pointing into the sky, but down toward the ocean ahead. She took the glass back, stowing it once more beneath her shirt, not wanting to see the awful truth.

  “Then…they were swallowed,” Maestro said, in the tiniest chirp.

  Pinocchio sank back on the carpet, covering his face. Mezmer put her arm around him and pressed her soft snout soothingly against his cheek. “I’m so sorry, my darling boy. I’m so sorry.”

  The others were quiet until at last Cinnabar spoke up. “But what are we going to do?”

  “Go back to Venice?” Sop said.

  “Never!” the djinni spat.

  “What other choice do we have?” Sop asked. “The closest land is probably Mughal India. If we—”

  “We should keep going,” Pinocchio murmured.

  “To where?” Lazuli asked.

  He looked up, his eyes rimmed red but filled with something fiery and determined. “To Abaton.”

  “More contraption nonsense,” Cinnabar scoffed.

  Pinocchio ignored the djinni, his eyes fixed on Lazuli. “We might have failed to save our fathers, but I won’t fail the ones we left behind.” His fingers twisted at the bracelet, Wiq’s bracelet.

  He turned to Cinnabar. “What about Zingaro? What about all the others who are still enslaved by the empire? Someone has to free them. We need to reach Abaton and return with help. And Abaton needs you, Lazuli! We have to get you home to your people.”

  Lazuli felt something cold and terrifying run through her.

  “Said like a noble knight, darling,” Mezmer said, raising her snout with chivalrous approval at Pinocchio.

  “But what about the Deep One?” Sop asked. “It’s out there somewhere. How can we get past it when the doge’s fleet couldn’t?”

  “Captain Toro and those airmen back there escaped,” Pinocchio said. “Our carpet is small compared to the doge’s fleet. It’s possible we could maneuver around the Deep One. We just might get past.”

  “Your Highness,” Cinnabar said, spreading his hands with exasperation. “This seems highly unlikely.”

  What Pinocchio was proposing seemed downright suicidal, but as Lazuli gazed at him, she knew it was their only hope.

  “Maybe so, Cinnabar,” Lazuli said. “But it’s not impossible. Let’s go.”

  They continued southeast, toward Abaton. The sun set, and glittering stars spread
across the evening sky. Sop scanned the ocean for any signs of the Deep One. He caught Pinocchio’s eye at one point and gave him a sympathetic nod. Pinocchio forced a weak smile, but couldn’t stop the despair crushing down on him.

  His father was gone. He would never come back.

  They all fell into an apprehensive silence, unable to talk about what had happened, unwilling to voice their fears of what was to come, until finally Lazuli called to Sop. “You keep looking behind us,” she said. “What do you see?”

  “I think we have a straggler.”

  Pinocchio peered hard into the darkening distance. Something was flying behind them. It might have been a bird, except that since leaving the wreckage of the doge’s fleet, they hadn’t seen any seabirds. Pinocchio knew who it was, who it had to be.

  “Captain Toro,” he said.

  “He really doesn’t know when to quit,” Sop said.

  They flew deeper into the night, passing occasional fields of hovering debris where the remains of the doge’s fleet had scattered on the winds. The moon rose, large and luminous, as Pinocchio took his shift steering the carpet. The others lay on the carpet sleeping, except for Cinnabar, who snored with his head resting on the top of the flaming canister.

  Pinocchio was nearly nodding off himself when he felt something strange. At first he thought it was a vibration, but then he realized it was a sound. A deep sound. Something so low that it was more felt than heard.

  “What is that?” Mezmer mumbled, waking in an instant.

  Pinocchio searched the ocean. The surface was a shimmering field of moonlit sparks. But the sound—that unsettling groan—was getting louder and louder, until everyone was awake and frantically peering over the sides of the carpet.

  “Look!” Lazuli said.

  Ahead, the moonlight reflected on the ocean vanished, as if a dark stain were spreading out. It was hard to see, but Pinocchio watched while doing his best to keep steering the carpet.

  The ocean seemed to bulge like a volcanic dome was rising to the surface. And then it was as if a crater formed atop the volcano’s peak, opening into a massive watery cavern that could have swallowed an island. Many islands. Many large islands. The groan echoed so deep and primordial and terrifying, it seemed to rumble through Pinocchio’s bones. His hands felt weak on the tassels as he watched an incomprehensible amount of water rush down into the gaping hole.

  No, not a hole. That was no mere hole. It was a mouth. How could something have a mouth that large?

  Pinocchio looked back to see if one of the others wanted to take over steering. Lazuli appeared frozen. Sop’s feline pupil had grown into a huge black orb brimming with terror. Mezmer clung to the edge of the carpet, her ears flat against her head. Cinnabar hugged the canister with his face buried in his elbow.

  Clearly, none of the others wanted to take over. It was up to him to get them past.

  A vast cavern of darkness split the ocean’s surface. Crashing water, like a thousand thundering waterfalls, filled the air with mist. The groan became an earsplitting roar.

  Pinocchio tried to hum to steady his nerves. He tightened his grip on the tassels, ready to maneuver around the monster as it rose for them. He couldn’t help but think of his father and what he must have felt as the Deep One attacked the doge’s ship.

  That monster had devoured his father.

  He realized he was humming the song Maestro had played about the sailor who had been swallowed by the Deep One and lived inside the creature. Was it possible that his father had survived, like the man in the song? Could his father be alive down in the Deep One?

  The monster rose.

  “Faster, Cinnabar!” Mezmer yowled.

  Pinocchio began to bank the carpet as the yawning void of the monster’s mouth reached higher. How was he going to get past those mountainous teeth? He forced his concentration from his father to evading that colossal maw. He had to get past. The Deep One had to let them pass.

  At that moment, the Deep One seemed to slow, and to Pinocchio’s surprise, it started sinking back down.

  “What’s it doing?” he heard Sop shout over the roar. “Did it miss us?”

  “I don’t think so,” a quivering Maestro said from Pinocchio’s collar.

  The Deep One’s head descended toward the ocean, sending up towering waves in all directions.

  “It’s not swallowing us!” Maestro squeaked excitedly. “It’s letting us go!”

  “But why?” Pinocchio shouted.

  “Princess Lazuli,” Maestro answered. “It must be because Prester John’s daughter is here.”

  “That—that can’t be right—” Lazuli stammered. “Only Father commands the Deep One! Maybe he’s still alive inside. Maybe he’s commanding it to let us pass.”

  Pinocchio felt a jolt of something desperate and dangerous and utterly foolish rise up in him. If Lazuli believed her father might be alive inside the Deep One, then there might be hope that Geppetto was also. Pinocchio could imagine how the enormous creature had swallowed some of the doge’s ships whole. They might have survived.

  In that moment, he thought of Wiq and what his friend had said about trusting his instincts, about listening to that voice deep inside that told him the right thing to do. Listening now, Pinocchio knew he had but one final chance to rescue his father. And he’d have to be quick.

  Pinocchio dropped the carpet into a dive. He had to get in that mouth before it closed. His father was down there. He needed him.

  The others shouted as the carpet rocketed nearly straight down.

  “What are you doing?” Lazuli screamed.

  “Saving them!” Pinocchio managed through gritted teeth.

  The Deep One was submerging. The surface of the water rolled and boiled as the jaws began to close. With only seconds left, Pinocchio pitched forward, nearly flat against the carpet. Lazuli clung to his arm, screaming, but not nearly as loud as the earsplitting yowling of Sop.

  The teeth were crashing together. Pinocchio wasn’t sure they’d get through. Any moment, he expected to be crushed. He pushed the carpet faster, aiming for the gap between those massive fangs. The Deep One’s mouth began to disappear beneath the swirling froth of the water.

  “It’s too late!” Lazuli screamed.

  “No it’s not! Everyone, hold your breath.” Pinocchio knew this was their only chance. If he didn’t take it, his father would be lost to him forever.

  He plunged the flying carpet straight into the sea, hitting the churning water with a dizzying impact that shot them down, arrowlike, through the gap in the teeth and into the black depths.

  The water slowed them almost immediately. Pinocchio felt himself thrown sideways, and pulled this way and that by the currents. He clung with one hand to a corner of the carpet. With his other, he held Lazuli. He could only hope that the others had their claws deep in the carpet.

  The swirls and surges swept them in a disorienting, chaotic tumble. Pinocchio had no idea how long it lasted, only that his breath was being crushed out of him. If he had still been an automa, he wouldn’t have worried about needing air. But now he fought to keep from inhaling water and drowning. For a few moments, he was certain he had blacked out.

  Soon he became aware of the current dragging them, a wave thrusting them…but where? Out, down, up? He wasn’t sure. But then he broke the surface and was flung onto a slimy shore before the wave retreated.

  He was certain that he was dead. There was utter darkness encompassing him. A blackness like Pinocchio had never imagined. A blackness as silent and hollow as Alberto’s tomb. When he’d seen Geppetto’s dead son, he’d had no idea what it meant to be dead. But now, this seemed to be it.

  He lay flat on his back, panting for breath. Was he still breathing? If so, then he had to be alive. Someone started coughing beside him and then retching up a lungful of seawater. Whoever this was clearly wasn’t dead either, although almost.

  “Lazuli,” he gasped. “Is that you?”

  “No, it’s”—another lu
ngful of water was coughed up—“me,” Sop said.

  Pinocchio felt a weak grip take his arm. “I’m here,” Lazuli whispered. The luminescence from her blue eyes was the only dim light in all this darkness. “But where is here?”

  Before he could answer, his heart suddenly exploded in panic. “Maestro! Where’s Maestro?”

  His strength reignited with guilt and terror that the poor cricket had been drowned. Then something tickled his neck.

  “Now you think of Maestro,” a quiet, exhausted voice chirped. “Not Maybe I shouldn’t fly us headlong into the ocean without first making sure Maestro is safely inside a bottle or something. No. It’s only after you nearly drown me that you concern yourself with my well-being.”

  Pinocchio could only laugh, half sobbing with relief, as the cricket came down onto his arm. “I’m so sorry, Maestro!”

  “You should be,” he said. “You’re lucky my wings weren’t torn off. I’d never be able to play music again. What were you thinking? Why did you do that?”

  But Pinocchio had no time to explain yet. “Where are the others?”

  Lazuli’s eyes cast dim light down the shore as she looked around.

  Shore. Pinocchio pressed a hand to the ground. Parts were slippery and oozing. Beneath was a crusty surface. He hoped he was only touching algae-covered crustaceans. He pulled his hand back in disgust.

  “And where are we?” Lazuli muttered.

  “From an anatomical standpoint, I don’t even want to hazard a guess,” Maestro said. “But generally speaking, we’re somewhere in the belly of the beast. Thanks to Pinocchio.”

  Their voices had a strange resonance. Not echoing, exactly, but definitely as if the sound was swirling around somewhere large and cavernous. It was oppressively warm. The air was thick with sour fumes. By any standards, being inside a sea monster was revolting.

  But there was something fascinating about it as well. Despite his disgust, Pinocchio had to admit it was a bit amazing. They were alive inside the gut of the monster.

  Sop gagged. He clearly didn’t agree.

  “You all right?” Pinocchio asked.