A Wish in the Dark

by Christina Soontornvat

  Pong stared at his friend, awed by how much his life had changed. Somkit had been the most bullied kid at Namwon, teased relentlessly for being weak and small. But here he was well liked — important, even. It filled Pong with a mixture of relief and pride and envy to see how well things had turned out for him.

  “You can make light,” said Pong with a smile. “Just like the Governor.”

  “I don’t make it. I just catch it. What the Governor does — that’s magic, pure and simple.”

  “How long have you been doing this?” asked Pong.

  “I actually figured it out just before you showed up,” said Somkit, carefully putting away the Catcher and jar. “I haven’t shown anyone, not even Ampai.”

  “So now you can replace all the Mud House orbs with Gold,” said Pong. “It’ll look just like the West Side in there.”

  “Eventually, maybe,” said Somkit with a sigh. “But I have to wait until the orbs we have fade out first, and that could take a month. You can’t double-charge an orb. I tried, and it didn’t turn out so good.” He nodded at the shards of glass swept into a pile in the corner. “Besides, I have to get more wire and sheet metal first, and it’s not exactly easy to come by.”

  Something about the sheepish look on Somkit’s face made Pong suspicious. “You didn’t steal that copper wire, did you?”

  “Of course not!” said Somkit, throwing his hands up. “Don’t even joke about that. Ampai doesn’t tolerate stealing. But . . .” Somkit scratched behind his ear and lowered his voice. “The way I got it isn’t exactly on the books, either. I get it from a friend at the Light Market. In fact . . .” Somkit tapped his chin and leaned toward Pong. “I’m supposed to go tonight. You wanna come?”

  “Leave the Mud House? No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Please?” said Somkit. “I really want to show you the market. And we could get you a disguise so no one would recognize you in a million years.”

  Pong shook his head and touched his string bracelets. “No, that’d be a bad idea. I’m sure there are police there.”

  “Not too many. And they’re looking for a monk, remember? We’ll get you all covered up. And there are so many people at the Light Market that no one would notice one kid. It’s actually the safest place you could go.”

  Pong rubbed his hand over his fuzzy scalp. The last few days in the Mud House had been almost unbearably stifling. The thought of seeing something beyond the dark walls of the building was tempting, and Somkit made the Light Market sound like heaven.

  “I guess if I wore a hat or something . . .”

  Somkit grinned. “Oh, sure. I can definitely get you a hat.”

  Pong narrowed his eyes at his friend. “What’s with that look?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Somkit. “Trust me. This is going to be the best disguise you’ve ever seen.”

  This is your amazing disguise?” asked Pong, tugging at the handkerchief at his neck.

  Somkit swatted his hand away. “Yes, and quit messing with it. Now I’ll have to fix your tie again. Junior Patrol members always pride themselves on their knot-tying skills.”

  Pong wore a snot-green shirt with matching shorts. Colorful embroidered patches covered the shirt’s sleeves and front pockets. It was the uniform of the Junior Patrol, a club for boys who did good deeds and marched around in formation, singing songs. At least, that’s what Pong thought they did. Boys like him didn’t exactly get invited to sign up. Many Junior Patrol members went on to join the police academy when they got older.

  “I just feel like this is a really stupid idea,” grumbled Pong. “What if somebody asks me questions?”

  “Who would question a boy with that many patches on his shirt? Besides, it was the only disguise I could find that came with a hat.” Somkit slapped a floppy cap on Pong’s head. “Just stand up straight and try to look like a real goody-goody. All right, into the boat!”

  Pong rolled his eyes and climbed into the shallow-bottom boat Ampai kept tied up in the canal behind the Mud House.

  “If I fall in, don’t push me underwater before you rescue me this time,” said Pong, gripping tight to the sides.

  Somkit grinned. “No promises.”

  They each took an oar and paddled out to join the bustling traffic on one of the main canals. Other boats, selling vegetables, sandals, fried rice, and fizzy drinks, glided past. Somkit steered through the maze of boats, turning down one canal and then another. None of the waterways had signs, and Pong marveled at his friend’s ability to know where they were going. Finally, they rounded a bend, and Pong’s ears popped from the pressure change. A giant multistory building bathed in a rainbow came into view.

  There was no sign, but their destination was unmistakable. In a city clothed in lights, the Light Market was the jeweled tiara. Twinkling orbs of every size and color dangled from banyan trees in the courtyard. Vendors on bicycle carts sold shaved ice that sparkled like gems under the orbs. A four-piece band was playing a swingy number for couples dancing on the wooden deck. Over the music and the laughter, the buzz of the building throbbed in Pong’s temples.

  It was so beautiful that it made his heart ache. When he and Somkit were little boys, lying on the concrete of Namwon’s courtyard and gazing across the river, they had dreamed of this very thing: walking under the glow of a million lights. And now here they were.

  Somkit tied up the boat and pinched Pong’s elbow. “Snap out of it — and try not to look so weird,” he whispered. “Come on. We have to start on the top floor.”

  The boys filed into a line of customers waiting for a lift that would take them up through the lit branches of a banyan tree to the main entrance at the top of the building. Pong’s stomach did a small leap when the lift took off.

  The doors swished open and the crowd spilled onto the fifth-floor terrace. With a lurch in his stomach, Pong saw a trio of police at the building’s entrance, surveying the crowd and checking bags and satchels as people wandered inside.

  Pong’s right hand instinctively flew to his left wrist.

  Somkit tapped Pong’s hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Just smile and walk on through, like the upstanding young man you are.”

  Right. Pong took a breath and puffed out his patch-covered chest. When they passed the policemen, one of them made eye contact. Pong froze. The officer glanced down at Pong’s uniform and winked.

  Pong tried to wink back, but it was more of a twitchy sort of spasm.

  “Told you that disguise was genius,” whispered Somkit, pulling him inside. “Now, pay attention. You’re finally about to get a good education.”

  Somkit provided nonstop commentary as they made their way through the cavernous building.

  The Light Market was stocked with every color except Gold, which was sold only on the West Side. The market’s top floor was one of the only places on the East Side where they used Jade orbs for lighting. The powerful spheres were usually reserved for motors and big machines, but up here, tiny Jade orbs twinkled in the windows of fancy shops and cafés. Pong and Somkit walked past expensive-looking restaurants, where diners sipped drinks under an emerald-green glow.

  They passed lovely shops full of lovely people before descending a staircase to the next level, which was bathed in Crimson and Amber light. It was like stepping inside a tangerine. A singer on a bandstand in the center of the hallway crooned, “Take my hand, oh, my darling, take my hand and dance with me . . .”

  Shops selling orbs in every shade of red and orange lined the hall. Vendors hawked strings of Amber orbs the size of pomegranate seeds next to enormous ruby-red orbs big enough to cook soup for an army. Pong broke out in a sweat under his scratchy uniform from all the heat.

  They descended another stairway and walked down peaceful aisles washed in Blue. Here, away from the loud music, Pong could hear the orbs buzzing more distinctly. He realized for the first time that each color of orb buzzed at a slightly different pitch. The Jade lights had hummed low, li
ke a dog snoring. Crimson and Amber buzzed at a higher tone. Blue was higher still, an uneven zhh-zhh-zhh.

  They walked on, passing stall after stall of orb shops. Pong noticed that the customers changed along with the prices. Up above, shop owners had purchased Crimson orbs for their businesses. Tidy nannies bought Amber orb-powered toys for children in fresh-pressed school uniforms. The Blue floor was filled with people just off work from desk jobs, their starched shirts rolled up to their elbows.

  By the time they descended into the Violet hall, the only people who hadn’t peeled off to shop at the upper levels were the working classes. The Violet orbs were lovely in their own way, but dim. All together, the orbs glowed well enough, but one single orb would provide barely enough light to see with — certainly not enough to cook with or read a book by.

  Back in Namwon, when Pong had dreamed of walking under the city lights, he’d assumed those lights were the same for everyone. But life outside the prison walls wasn’t much fairer than life inside it. The best lights were only for the people who could afford them.

  “Wait here just a second,” said Somkit. “I’m going to check the prices in that shop real quick.”

  Pong waited outside the stall, looking over a table covered with Violet orbs of all sizes.

  “See something you like, sweetie?” said the woman standing behind the table. “I’ve got a good deal going for these here.” She held up a tray of purple orbs. “Two for the price of one.”

  Pong leaned over the tray, listening. How strange. All the orbs were the same color, but they didn’t all buzz at the same pitch. One egg-size orb buzzed much higher than all the rest. It flickered once, very faintly.

  “Come on,” said the saleswoman impatiently. “This offer won’t last all day. You want that orb, I’ll give it to you for half price.”

  Pong ignored her, entranced by the orb’s shrill whine. It buzzed higher and higher. He leaned back, afraid it might shatter. Instead, it blinked once, then went out.

  “Oh, ha-ha — now, how did that happen?” said the saleswoman, quickly whisking the faded orb out of sight. “Must be a defect or something.”

  Somkit came back out and pulled Pong away from the table. “Never buy orbs on discount,” he said. “These scammers try to sell old ones that are already about to fade. You never know if they’re going to last you a week or an hour.”

  “What happens to orbs after they fade?” asked Pong.

  “You’re supposed to take them to a recycling depot. They’ll pay you for the glass. Not much, but at least it’s something.”

  Finally, they reached the bottom level of the Light Market. It had no musicians or decorations. The floor was gray tile, and the giant space smelled like the inside of a metal can.

  Somkit rubbed his palms together happily. “You got two sections down here,” he said, pointing them out. “Motors on one side, the Jade orbs that power them on the other. Isn’t this place just the greatest?”

  Pong followed Somkit down the aisle that divided the room in two, squinting against the bright green glare. Down here, surrounded by all the metal and grease, the Jade orbs seemed less fancy and more powerful than they had up above. The boys made their way to the back, where the smaller motors for sleek water taxis were being sold and repaired.

  Somkit paused, holding Pong back by the elbow. “This is the place where I get my supplies. Let me do all the talking, okay?”

  The people working behind the repair counter called out to Somkit as he approached.

  Somkit raised a hand. “Hey, guys!”

  A man behind the counter with his hair cut short in front and long in the back shook hands with him. “Where you been, kid? We haven’t seen you in weeks!”

  “Sorry. I’ve been away. I’ve been really busy.”

  The guy with the short-long haircut leaned over the counter and said, “Hey, I talked to my boss. You know, about the job thing.”

  Somkit straightened. “Oh, yeah? What’d he say?”

  Short-Long shook his head. “Sorry, man. He said we can’t take the risk of hiring someone with a record.”

  Somkit’s face sank without losing hold of the smile. “A record? But I got out of Namwon with a clean sheet. You told him that, right?” Somkit held out his wrist and pointed to the crossed-out tattoo. “I could show him myself, if that would make a difference.”

  “It won’t,” said Short-Long. “He’s got a strict policy about hiring guys who’ve been in jail, and he won’t make exceptions. I’m really sorry.”

  Somkit’s spine sagged ever so slightly, but he flashed that easy smile of his. “Don’t worry about it, man. I understand. I got my hands full already, you know?”

  The guy ran his fingers through the long lock of hair in back. “You know that if it was up to me, I’d hire you in a second. You’re an ace with motors, that’s for sure. In fact, we’ve got a Model Nine that came in for a repair last night, and none of us can figure out what to do with it.”

  “I could take a look at it if you want,” said Somkit.

  “Really?” said the guy, perking up. “I’ll give you a sheet of tin and a bundle of copper wire if you can fix it.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Somkit. “Show me the way.”

  Pong fumed as he watched Short-Long lift a section of the counter so Somkit could pass into the shop. His friend couldn’t help where he was born. What did that have to do with fixing motors, anyway?

  Somkit crouched in front of the broken Model Nine while the shop workers stood back, scratching their heads. Some leaned forward, trying to watch what Somkit was doing, but his brown fingers worked too fast to follow. Within minutes, Somkit stood up and slapped the motor’s metal case. It kicked on, sputtered twice, and then settled into a steady hum.

  The men standing by slapped one another’s shoulders and cheered.

  “What’d I tell you?” shouted Short-Long to the other guys. “Somkit did it again!”

  He handed Somkit a stack of tin sheets and a bundle of short copper wires. “Come drop in and help us out anytime, and I’ll give you more where that stuff came from.”

  Somkit bowed his thanks, then took the supplies and raised his eyebrows at Pong, a sign to follow him out.

  They climbed back up the levels of the Light Market to exit the same way they had come in. Even the pretty Jade orbs on the top floor seemed less grand the second time through, and Pong was ready to get away from all the light and the noise. As the lift swooped them back down through the banyan branches to the courtyard, Somkit was quiet — a sure tip-off that something was wrong.

  “They should have paid you with actual money for helping them,” said Pong, guessing at his friend’s thoughts. “Not with just some wires and pieces of metal.”

  Somkit shrugged and rubbed his tattoo against the hem of his shirt. “You heard them. They’re not going to give me a job. Anyway, wires aren’t such a bad payment. It’s what I need to make more sun orbs.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re worth ten of those guys.”

  Somkit rolled his eyes. “Listen, Junior Patrol, you’re not earning your compliments badge tonight, if that’s what you’re after.”

  Pong pretended to look shocked and said in a very upper-crust voice, “I beg your pardon, but it’s the Junior Patrol creed to give out at least three compliments every day.”

  Somkit laughed. Out in the courtyard, they bought a snow cone and split it. Sticky and giddy from their successful trip, they sang made-up Junior Patrol songs, complete with arm motions, all the way back to the boat.

  It wasn’t until they rowed back onto the canal that led behind the Mud House that Pong felt an old familiar unease creep up his spine. He looked over his shoulder.

  “What is it?” said Somkit. “Still worried about the police? They didn’t even look twice at you.”

  Pong shook his head. He didn’t think anyone in the Light Market had been suspicious, but years of living in fear of getting caught had made him extra se
nsitive to being watched. The air around him pressed in a little tighter. The skin between his shoulder blades tickled.

  “I just have this weird feeling that someone is following us,” he said.

  “Let’s get inside quick, then.”

  They left the boat tied up behind Mark’s restaurant and made for the back entrance to the Mud House.

  The moment they opened the door, Pong felt the darkness stir behind his left shoulder. He pushed Somkit into the Mud House and started to scream, but no sound came out. A hand clamped hard over his mouth and yanked him into the shadows.

  Nok loved the smell of her spire-fighting gym. It was the scent of lemon blossoms, fresh-scrubbed floorboards, and the sweat of hard work. She’d put plenty of her own hard work into her last training session, and the blisters on her palms where she gripped her staff were proof.

  Nok blew on the tender skin as she walked out of the studio and down the hall toward her room.

  “Hey, good fight tonight,” called a voice behind her. It was Dee. She was a nice girl, a year older than Nok but two levels below her in training.

  “If you keep that up, you’ll beat Bull again next year for sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, it’s just us here, so you can tell me.” Dee leaned a little closer. “What’s your secret to being so good, huh?”

  “My secret?”

  “Oh, come on. You’re better than some of our teachers! You must know something the rest of us don’t.”

  Nok blinked, not sure how to answer. She’d kept to herself for so long that it was hard to remember how to make conversation with someone her own age. She had never had many friends before. Most other kids were either jealous of her or found her perfectionism annoying.

  Nok wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged. “If you just keep practicing, you’ll get there, I’m sure.”

  “All right, fine. Be that way,” said Dee, sticking out her tongue playfully. “Do you want to walk home over the bridge with me?” Dee’s family also lived on the West Side, but thankfully they almost never crossed paths with Nok’s parents.