Now Pong understood what Yord was up to. Most of the orbs that Pong had swiped on his nightly runs with Ampai still had a little bit of light left in them. They usually faded completely by the time they got to the Mud House, but some would last a few minutes more as long as they were kept switched off. Yai and Yord must have taken those, and now they were selling them here, to people who had no idea the orbs would go dead any minute.
Pong clamped his back teeth together. That poor couple was going to get swindled if he didn’t stop them. He started forward, but then stopped cold. Through the metal-tinged air, he caught a whiff of something very different. It was a smell that pulled him downriver, up a mountain, and back through time to almost two weeks ago. It was the smell of lemon blossoms and fresh-scrubbed wood.
Pong whirled around, searching the mass of shoppers. Strangers bumped into him and shouldered their way past. He scanned their faces frantically, but he didn’t see any other kids his age, and certainly no girls with a bob of black hair and sharp black eyes. But the scent of lemon and teak still lingered.
She was here.
Pong forgot all about the poor couple with Yai and Yord. He wove back down the walkway and ducked behind a stack of crates, breathing hard.
She couldn’t be here. Could she? He remembered the look on Nok’s face when he leaped from the edge of the cliff. At the time he thought it was a look of pure hatred. But now he wondered if he had read her wrong. Maybe that had been the look of someone determined to get her revenge.
What if she had somehow figured out that he had come back to Chattana? It seemed impossible. But what if it wasn’t? If he could find Somkit by accident, maybe Nok could find him on purpose.
Pong’s breath was coming fast, even though he was standing perfectly still. He had an overwhelming urge to run straight to the Mud House and hide. But he couldn’t go back now. In fact, he couldn’t go back ever again.
If Nok Sivapan was really on his trail and he went to the Mud House, she’d track him straight there. Back to Somkit and Ampai and everyone else.
If he was caught, he wouldn’t be the only one in trouble. Ampai could be put in prison for hiding him. Everyone who depended on her would have no one to help them. And Somkit? Pong shuddered to remember what he’d told him about life on the street. Without Ampai, where else would he live? Pong would not do that to his friend, not again. He had helped them as much as he could. It was long past time for him to go.
Pong waited behind the crates, sniffing the air until he was as sure as he could be that Nok was nowhere near. Then he pulled his cap down to his eyebrows and hurried back the way he’d come. He waited in the shadows of a side alley he knew Yai and Yord would pass on their way home. When he spotted them coming, he leaped out into their path.
“Well, lookie here,” sneered Yord. “It’s the Junior Patrol. What can we do for you, little golden boy?”
Pong stared back at them, willing his voice to be confident and steady. “I know what you’ve been doing with Ampai’s orbs.”
Before either of the crooks could shut their surprised jaws, he added, “And if you don’t want her to know what you’ve done, you’ll get me what I need.”
Yord smiled slickly. Blackmail was something he understood. “What’s your price?”
“A boat,” said Pong. “And I want it tonight.”
Nok kept her head down as she passed the men and women strolling along the quiet West Side canals. No one seemed to take much notice of her, but she kept catching whiffs of the greasy sewer smell from the Hidden Market coming from her hair. Any bad odor was noticeable here, where the sidewalks were swept hourly and lotus blossoms floated in the clear water below.
She wished that she could have showered and changed, but there wasn’t time. Her message couldn’t wait.
Nok had followed the clues she’d picked up from the young woman at the chicken stand, circling closer and closer to Pong’s whereabouts. It took her a while to find the Hidden Market, but once she arrived on that grimy canalway, she had spied two men — one massive, one short — hawking orbs on a rickety table.
She had seen these men before, on the night she had gotten lost. They had been walking with a woman that night. The woman must have been Ampai, and this big guy must be her nephew. Nok could tell they were up to something funny. They were too happy to sell, and their customers were too desperate to buy.
Nok didn’t see Pong with them, but she knew he was there. It sounded impossible, but she could feel his presence as surely as if he stood right next to her. He had to be close by. So she waited and watched the two con artists, hoping that if she followed them, they would eventually lead her to Pong’s lair.
That’s when she overheard a very disturbing conversation.
“Those are the guys,” said a woman’s voice. “The big one is Yai, and the one with the smashed-up nose is Yord.”
Nok didn’t dare turn around to see who had spoken. She held very still and listened.
“The ones who came and talked to you?” asked a man.
“Yes. They’re helping Ampai,” the woman answered. “We’re supposed to gather at the Giant’s Bridge on Sunday after the sun goes down. They said to bring a long pole or a stick.”
“A stick?” said the man. “What for?”
“I don’t know,” answered the woman. “But they said to keep that part quiet. They said they don’t want word getting back to the Governor about any of it.”
“And you’re sure this is really going to happen?”
The woman lowered her voice so much that Nok had to hold her breath to hear. “I’ve heard that a thousand people might be there! Can you imagine what the Governor will think when he sees us? I just hope we all have the courage to go through with it.”
Go through with what? Nok wondered. A thousand people? And why would they be gathering sticks or poles unless it was to use them as weapons? Nok shivered all over. She turned the words around and around in her mind, trying to make sense of them, but she kept coming to the same conclusion.
She had uncovered a plot to attack the Governor.
Nok’s pulse raced. The two con men she had been watching packed up their things and slipped into the crowd. Should she follow them to see if they led her to Pong’s hideout? Or should she hurry to tell someone what she had just overheard?
She was so close to Pong that she could practically smell him, but in her heart she knew that the plot she had just learned about was more important. The right thing to do was to abandon her hunt and report what she’d heard. Once she realized that, her mind was made up. Nok always did the right thing.
Besides, if Pong was involved with Ampai, then when the authorities arrested her, they’d capture Pong as well. Two fish in one basket, all thanks to her.
Nok now hurried along the clean sidewalks, turning to take the shortcut through the botanical gardens to her house. The garden paths were empty of visitors. Along the walkways, hundreds of paper lanterns swung from the branches of orange trees, with more nestled in the reeds at her feet. Gold orbs cradled in folded paper cups floated among the lotus below. It was like walking through the blackness of the sky, surrounded by thousands of stars.
Nok’s footsteps slowed. The last time she’d walked the gardens at night, the twins were still babies. Her mother had taken them to visit relatives, and her brother was sleeping over at a friend’s house. Nok and her father had had a rare night alone, and he’d brought her to the gardens as a treat.
“When my father was a little boy, his family’s farmhouse was right here,” he had told Nok, sweeping his arm over the gardens. “There was no West Side back then. Just fields and fields of sugarcane.”
“Your dad was a farmer?” asked Nok. “But I thought he had a big important government job.”
Her father smiled. “That came later. You see, the Great Fire never crossed to this side of the river, so families like ours weren’t nearly as devastated by it. When the Governor arrived, he needed people to help him. The West Side fa
milies designed factories to make glass orbs and constructed the motors powered by them. My father built the very first Charge Station, which saved the Governor time that he could devote to running the city. As a reward, the Governor made him the Commissioner of Finance. It could have all gone very differently for our family if he’d been born on the other side of the river.”
“Mama says people on the East Side live like fish trapped in a puddle when the tide goes out.”
Her father nodded sadly. “That’s true for a lot of them, yes.”
“They should be like the people over here,” said Nok. “If you work hard and follow the law, good things happen to you. The law is the light, and the light shines on the worthy.”
Her father tilted his head at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“School,” said Nok. “We’re learning the Governor’s proverbs.”
“Ah, of course,” he said dully. “I’d forgotten that one.”
Nok didn’t see how. That same proverb hung on the wall at the prison where he worked. But this was before she was old enough to learn that her father actually spent as little time at the prison as possible.
He cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses. “Sometimes things aren’t as simple as they teach you in school.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sometimes light shines on the worthy. But sometimes it just shines on the lucky ones. And sometimes . . .” He looked over his shoulder at the East Side, glittering like a rainbow across the river. “Sometimes good people get trapped in the dark.”
Nok slipped her small hand into his big one. “I don’t understand, Daddy.”
“I don’t quite understand myself, I’m afraid.” Her father squeezed her fingers and sighed, his breath fogging his spectacles again. He took them off and cleaned them with his shirt. When he spoke again, he sounded like a schoolteacher, scolding himself. “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Things are the way they are. There’s not much we can do to change it.”
As the memory faded, Nok shook her head side to side. She loved her father so much, but even though she hated to admit it, she was also a little ashamed of him. How could a man who had been the warden of a prison — who was the Law Commissioner — be so wishy-washy when it came to what he believed? Why did he have such a hard time seeing right from wrong?
Nok gripped her staff and started walking again, but this time she took a sharp turn out of the gardens.
The law is the light.
And right now that light was in danger of being snuffed out. Her father couldn’t help her now. She needed to go to someone who would understand how serious this was. Someone who would know immediately what to do.
A soft rain began to fall as Nok arrived at the tall wooden gates. A guard materialized from the shadows.
“Stop right there,” he called. “Who are you?”
Nok set her staff on the ground and bowed deeply. “My name is Supatra Sivapan,” she said, using her formal name. “I am the daughter of Commissioner Sivapan, and I have an urgent message for the Governor.”
Pong was surprised at how steadily he walked as he wove through the crowds along the canal. He expected that he’d be jittery or in a hurry, but he was able to keep a calm, even pace. No one looked at him as he passed. Apparently, he’d mastered the art of walking unseen just when he wouldn’t need it any longer.
He headed for the agreed-upon meeting place — a thin dock on a canal lined with butcher shops. The thick traffic in the canal moved slowly. Pong’s stomach fluttered for a moment with the worry that Yai and Yord wouldn’t be there, or that they wouldn’t have been able to get him a boat in time. But when he looked up, there they were, standing beside a beat-up pink water taxi.
Pong frowned. He’d been hoping for something less noticeable, but it was too late to request an exchange now. Yai stood on the dock with one foot resting on the rim of the boat, holding it still. Yord stood beside him, his eyes darting to the people in the crowd. Pong hurried their way, wanting to get this part over with as soon as possible.
Yord grinned when he saw him. “Well, then, we’re all settled, Junior.” He looked down at the water taxi. “We even put some fresh water and bananas in the front for you. All the comforts of home.”
“Wait,” said Pong. “What about a border permit?”
Yord’s grin melted into a sneer. “You think those things grow on trees?”
“How am I supposed to get out to sea in a pink taxi with no permit?” asked Pong.
“Just keep your head down,” said Yord. “You’ll figure something out. You’d better get going. Enjoy the beach, little guy.”
Pong fumed at the oily man but climbed into the boat without arguing. Yord was right. He couldn’t waste any more time.
He pulled his cap lower over his brow. Teenage taxi drivers were common, so at least he wouldn’t look too suspicious. He just hoped that no one flagged him down for a ride. Yai tossed Pong the keys.
Pong started to thank him before deciding that he didn’t owe those slimeballs thanks for anything. Besides, he had bigger worries — he had to figure out how to drive a boat.
Pong put the key into the ignition and turned it. The taxi’s Jade orb winked on, and the motor sputtered to life. With a worrisome rattle, the taxi lurched forward, nearly crashing into a boat stacked high with papayas.
“Sorry! Sorry!” said Pong, easing back on the throttle. He steered away from the papaya boat, overcorrecting and turning sideways in the canal. Grannies in their canoes shook their fists at him and pushed him away with the tips of their paddles.
Pong cut the motor off and wiped his forehead. This was not the speedy getaway he needed to make. He’d have to wait until he floated out to the river, where he’d have enough room to get the hang of the taxi without killing someone. He drifted along with the grannies, pulling his oar slowly through the inky water while his heart raced like a speedboat motor.
The boat-choked canal grew wider, and the dark band of the Chattana River opened up before him. Across the water, Pong saw the faraway firefly lights of the West Side. A fresh breeze of cooler air blew over him, and a gentle rain began to fall. Good, that would make it easier to get away without being noticed. He turned the key and slowly — controlled this time — motored out into the main channel. Time to say goodbye to Chattana forever, he thought.
He turned the taxi boat south and cautiously ventured into the slower flow, staying close to the eastern bank. He passed a small temple on the shore, where it was forbidden to go fishing. Fat carp schooled so thick they formed writhing mats of silvery scales on the surface.
The back of Pong’s neck prickled with that familiar itchy feeling of being watched. He wanted to believe that he was just imagining it, but the feeling stayed. He squinted, trying to see the shore through the rain. Someone was walking across the temple grounds toward him a little too fast to be an ordinary temple visitor.
Pong gripped the throttle and tried to push it forward, but it jammed. He looked over his shoulder. The person was still approaching. They were close now, but he couldn’t see who it was through the screen of raindrops.
Pong jiggled the slippery throttle. “Come on, come on, come on . . .” He felt gears grinding beneath the controls, but nothing would engage.
He was starting to reach for the oar when something heavy and bony slammed into him from above, knocking him down into the bottom of the boat.
“What the —?” Pong struggled out from under a tangle of wet limbs and staggered to his feet. His stomach rolled up in a crest of panic, and then back down again when he finally realized who it was.
“Somkit!” gasped Pong. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing?” shouted Somkit. “What are you doing? You’re running off! Without even a word to me about it!”
“Shh!” said Pong. The soft drum of rain muffled their voices, but they were still close enough to shore for people to hear them. “How did you know?”
“You weren’t at the
Mud House when I got back, so I went looking for you. My buddy from the motor repair shop said he ran into Yai and Yord at the junkyard. He said they were picking up a boat for a kid. So of course I put it all together.” Somkit looked down at the taxi with mild disgust. “Good thing it was hot pink or I never would’ve found you.”
Pong tugged at the edges of his cap. This was all going so badly. “Ugh, I should’ve known Yord wouldn’t keep quiet about it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t!” Somkit was shouting again. “Otherwise I wouldn’t even know you were gone until tomorrow. Were you even going to leave me a note? Anything?”
“Keep your voice down!” hissed Pong. They were still in the thick of town. Pong took hold of the throttle and waggled it uselessly.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” huffed Somkit. “Haven’t you ever driven a boat before? Move over, move over.”
He shoved Pong back into a seat and wedged himself at the controls, the wheel in one hand, throttle in the other. “Man, this thing is a real piece of crap. It’s going to sink before you get to the sea. You know that, right?” Somkit finally rammed the throttle forward, and the taxi leaped through the water so fast that it nearly threw Pong over backward.
Under Somkit’s skilled hand, the taxi zipped past the other boats, flying across the water. When they were far enough from the riot of traffic and out of earshot of anyone on shore, Somkit cut the motor off.
“Please,” begged Pong. “You’ve got to go back to shore and let me go. I’ve already wasted so much time. . . .”
Somkit crossed his arms over his chest. “Taking five minutes to say goodbye to your best friend is a waste of time?”
“Ugh, you don’t get it! Tonight, on the street, I’m sure that I saw — well, not saw, exactly, but —”
“The march is just three days away,” Somkit interrupted. “We’ve been working so hard on it. And you’re just going to disappear?”
A Wish in the Dark Page 15
