Bad Mermaids Make Waves

by Sibéal Pounder

  They huddled nervously behind the throne. “He’s going to know someone was in here,” Zelda whispered. “The thrones. He’ll know.”

  “WELL, HOW VERY STRANGE,” Ommy said as he sailed into the room.

  Nom gnashed eagerly on the lead, pulling Ommy toward the Oysterdale throne.

  Beattie froze.

  The piranha edged closer, sniffing and grunting.

  “Has someone been in here?” Ommy asked, running a finger over the Anchor Rock throne.

  Beattie and Zelda looked at Old Wonky, their eyes wide. The old horror wriggled to signify yes!

  “What a traitor,” Zelda mouthed. “He couldn’t lie just once.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU WOBBLING ABOUT, YOU USELESS BAG OF TENTACLES?” Ommy spat, batting Old Wonky across the room.

  Beattie turned to Zelda and smiled. “He doesn’t know what Old Wonky’s signals are.”

  Zelda feigned excitement. “Oh, goody,” she whispered. “That still doesn’t help us get out of here, Beatts.”

  Ommy was nearly upon them.

  Beattie caught a flash of his tail—it was almost translucent. He swished it from side to side in the silent room; nothing but the sound of creaking thrones and the swish of Ommy’s tail could be heard.

  Beattie covered her eyes. Zelda tried to paste herself against the back of the throne, as if that might camouflage her.

  There was a ripping noise and a whip like sound. Beattie dared to peek.

  “NO, HE DOESN’T NEED WALKIES RIGHT NOW, YOU MULTI-LEGGED LUMP!”

  There was a flurry of water and octopus legs. Beattie shook Zelda, whose head was half concealed by the gigantic pearl garland that covered the Oysterdale throne.

  “Old Wonky is trying to grab Nom’s lead,” Beattie said as Zelda fought with the pearls. “He’s giving us a chance to escape. Quick, SWIM!”

  The two of them lurched up from behind the throne and shot out the window.

  Beattie clutched her heart. It felt like it was trying to escape through her mouth and left eyeball. She peeked back in the window just in time to see Old Wonky let go of Nom’s lead, sending Ommy flying back ward.

  He landed with a splat on a painting of Arabella Cod combing her hair and pulling an AAARGH KNOTS face.

  Zelda dusted off her fin.

  “That octopus is a joke, Nommykins,” Ommy said, readjusting his hat. “But no matter how many times I tell him to leave, he just won’t! He lumbers around the palace SETTING ALARMS OFF. Now, shall we sing your song?”

  “That was close,” Beattie panted. “At least he thought it was Old Wonky messing around in the Throne Room.”

  They watched Ommy nestle himself in the Lobster-town throne, his back to them.

  Gently, he stroked his little pet piranha and sang, with much gusto.

  “ My piranha is called Nom,

  he is funny and he’s smart.

  He’s really good at chomping

  but not so good at art.

  He’s got ninety-five little teeth in his snappy jaws

  and lovely scales!

  And perfect fins!

  And HARDLY ANY FLAWS.”

  “Seriously,” Zelda said. “This guy?”

  THE SCRIBBLED SQUID

  The Clamorado 7, the best Clam Car ever!

  Looking for a faster way to travel around the Lagoon? Want to really show off at the same time? Then stop by Gilly’s Garage and pick up the Clamorado 7. State-of-the-art steering and sea-lion-proof windows, sculpted coral seats, and a shell-studded exterior so exquisite other mermaids will WANT TO BE YOU.

  Costs lots.

  Will probably break at some point.

  BUY IT NOW!

  11

  Clam Car

  The three mermaids and Steve crouched behind the palace’s shell-studded wall.

  “How was Old Wonky?” Mimi asked.

  Zelda rolled her eyes. “As old and as wonky as ever.”

  “And our parents?” she asked hope fully.

  Beattie and Zelda both looked at the floor.

  “Well, that means it’s more likely they’ve been turned into piranha food, but it’s better to know these things, isn’t it?”

  “Unbelievable,” Zelda said, staring at Mimi.

  “According to Old Wonky, they left the palace willingly,” Beattie said. “We just need to find out where they went. I bet we’ll find them in the same place we find Arabella Cod.”

  “If we ever find Arabella Cod,” Zelda said glumly.

  “We need to retrace her movements. First, we need to go to Hammerhead Heights, just like she did on the day she was fish napped.”

  “Excuse you? But . . . sharks live there,” Steve said.

  “It’s all we have to go on. We know she went there to meet Ray Ramona. We have to track him down—figure out if he was involved.” She could feel a surge of excitement rippling through her tail. “We’re going to be heroes.”

  “Hammerhead Heights, Beattie? Are you nuts?” Zelda cried, her left eye twitching like it always did when she was about to say some thing negative. It made her look weird. “Even if Hammerhead Heights wasn’t dangerous, how do we get out of here and along the Crabbyshell Highway? We don’t have a clam car, the conch carts won’t be running at this time, and if we try to swim, someone will surely stop us. It’s illegal to swim along the Crabbyshell Highway, remember.”

  “I swam it once,” Mimi said fondly. “So many bubbles went up my nose I started speaking back ward.”

  “And you got arrested,” Zelda added.

  “And that, yes.”

  Beattie slumped over. Zelda was right. It was impossible. They needed a miracle, or at the very least . . .

  There was a rumbling sound, the sound of a thousand bubbles being propelled through—

  “A CLAM CAR!” Beattie cried.

  “Smooth,” Zelda whispered. “No one will ever know we’re here.”

  “Sorry,” Beattie mouthed.

  The three of them, and Steve, peered around the corner of the wall to see a very expensive-looking clam shell car waiting for the pearl gates to open. The windows were too dark to see who was inside, but the shell car looked slick, brand-new. Clearly, a mermaid with expensive taste. As it slipped through the opening gates Beattie spotted a large black 7 painted on the side.

  She held her finger to her lips as the three of them rose up slowly, all the way to the top of the wall.

  Three little mounds of hair—one purple, one green, and one multicolored—lined the wall like weird exotic coconuts at a fair.

  The clam car flipped open.

  “Uh-oh,” Mimi said quietly as four chattering mermaids in enormous hats wrestled with each other to be the first out of the car.

  “Please be careful with the little star fish details, darling. They are unique.”

  Beattie couldn’t take her eyes off the clam car—it was the very thing they needed.

  “Oysterdale mermaids,” Zelda whispered, scrunching her face in disgust. “Why are they allowed to travel around without being chased by piranhas?!”

  “Rachel Rocker said Ommy’s from Oysterdale. They must be his friends,” Beattie said.

  In Oysterdale, mermaids lived in pristine sandcastles surrounded by perfectly pruned seaweed gardens, and they wore the most elaborate avant-garde hats. Some even added ridiculous extensions to their fins or over-the-top embellishments, like star fish and sea horses and thousands of strings of pearls. They loved power and anyone who had it.

  “Wait a squid,” Beattie said, pointing at the mermaid emerging from the car. “I know her. That’s Hilma Snapp! She’s Silvia Snapp’s daughter.”

  The mermaid looked about the same age as them. She was dressed excessively, as Oysterdale mermaids always were. Her hat featured a ship carved out of rock nestled on a bed of sea feathers, and her top was covered in huge floppy bows. She was wearing gray-tinted round glasses, her beady eyes just visible.

  “How do you know her?” Mimi whispered.

  Hilma began impa
tiently swim ming from left to right, her hands clasped in front of her neatly, her various brace lets and rings attracting small shoals of fish.

  “HURRY UP!” Hilma shouted.

  “We did a comedy class together,” Beattie whispered. “At the Laughing Limpet club in Lobstertown.”

  “Was she funny?” Mimi asked.

  Beattie thought back to Hilma swim ming back and forth on the Laughing Limpet stage, the bright purple light on her as she brattily shouted, “LAUGH OR I’LL BREAK THINGS!”

  “Not funny exactly, no,” Beattie said.

  Mimi nodded knowingly, as if that was the answer she’d expected.

  A particularly grotesque fin covered in crystals flopped out of the car. It belonged to Hilma’s mother, Silvia Snapp.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Zelda asked the others, staring eagerly at the car. “We could use it to—”

  “I’m thinking about being the new star of the Clippee cartoon,” Steve interrupted. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Clippee was the number-one cartoon in the Hidden Lagoon. As well as Clippee, the lobster in a dress, it featured Nose, his sea horse sidekick, and Clippee’s evil archnemesis, a pufferfish in a curly wig called O. Steve’s dream was one day to replace Nose, but it was a cartoon, so obviously he couldn’t.

  “It’s a cartoon, Steve. And you’re not a cartoon,” Beattie whispered.

  “Excuse you,” Steve whispered back. “I’m not going to let the fact I’m not a cartoon get in the way of my dreams!”

  The four Oysterdale mermaids floated eagerly toward the palace, rearranging their hats and fin embellishments. “I can’t wait to see Ommy. I wonder what he’ll let us loot from the palace this time?!” one of them wheezed excitedly.

  “Who are the other ones?” Zelda asked.

  “Well, the one with the huge crystal-covered tail is Silvia Snapp, Hilma’s mom, the ruler of Oysterdale,” Beattie said.

  “The one with the giant pearl on his head is Parry Poach,” Beattie said. “He writes The Scribbled Squid.”

  “How do you know that?” Zelda asked, impressed.

  “His jacket has PARRY POACH embroidered on the back,” Beattie replied.

  “And the mermaid with the gloves is Trudy Strump. She owns half of Oysterdale,” Mimi chipped in. “Our mom knows her. She says she’s a ‘worry’ for the Lagoon.”

  “Well, if we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do it now!” Beattie said as she and Mimi pulled them selves over the wall and glided cautiously down to the car. Zelda hesitated.

  “Scared?” Steve said, prod ding her cheek with his shell top.

  “OW!” Zelda cried. “Those things are sharp. And no, obviously I’m not scared.” She swam down to the car shaking her head just as Beattie slid a finger in the little catch at the front. The top flipped open, making a loud sucking noise. Inside were a pearl-studded steering wheel and four coral seats.

  “Oysterdale mermaids are SO FANCY,” Zelda said, doing a mock throaty Oysterdale accent. Mimi snort-laughed, sending a spray of bubbles straight into Beattie’s eye.

  “We’re just borrowing it,” Beattie said, suddenly feeling guilty. “We’ll bring it back, in one piece. But this is for the sake of the Lagoon. Isn’t it?”

  The other two looked at each other.

  “Let’s get this shell on the road!” Steve said as Beattie and the others sheepishly dived in.

  Beattie quickly slotted into the driver’s seat and pulled the shell roof down, snapping it shut.

  Zelda grabbed the false teeth from Mimi and went to stuff them down the side of one of the seats.

  “Excuse you!” Steve scoffed. “My bedroom will sit in the window. I want a bedroom with a view, thank you.”

  Beattie fiddled with some buttons and held her breath as the shell lights came on. The car slowly began to rise. She grabbed the sides. A button flashed next to the steering wheel. Zelda reached forward and pressed it without a second thought.

  “Zel—” Beattie began as the shell started bouncing out of control. Steve splatted against the windshield.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” they all yelled as Beattie frantic ally tried to steady the wheel, the pearly studs burning hot in her palms. She could smell burned sand.

  “I’VE GOT THIS UNDER CONTROL!” she cried as they shot out the palace gates and guided the shell wonkily along the main street, through the warren of ancient alley ways, and onto the highway.

  “We did it!” Zelda cheered, punching Beattie on the shoulder, nearly sending the car crashing into a wall. “Hammerhead Heights, here we come!”

  The water in the highway was faster and filled with bubbles. A pair of pearl-studded windshield wipers began squeaking back and forth, making Beattie jump. She fiddled with some buttons, put the shell in cruise mode, and leaned back in the seat, watching the highway whip past.

  “Would you rather be a sea lion or seaweed?” Mimi asked as a sea lion lolloped past. She plunked the shells they’d gotten from Shelly Shelby on her lap. “I think I’ll make some shell binoculars. For spying.”

  Beattie leaned back in her seat and flicked through her copy of Clamzine. She stopped at the article about the history of shell tops. “Oh look, Mimi, the number-one mermaid top is the Clippee T-shirt you wear.”

  Mimi smiled as she held up shells she’d fin-fu chopped holes in. “Binoculars,” she said proudly.

  “The Ruster Shells,” Beattie said slowly, biting her lip as she read the rest of the article.

  “I know a lot about the ancient and mysterious Ruster Shells,” Mimi said. “Mirabel the fin-fu master tells us stories about them all the time.”

  “Whoa, look at that!” Zelda said, grabbing Mimi’s binoculars and peering through them. “The end of the Crabbyshell Highway.”

  Beattie looked up and watched as the bubbles cleared. Light was streaming into the tunnel. She’d never been this far east before. She pulled at the lever above her head and the Clamorado 7 sped up. They were in murky waters now. “This place gives me the creeps,” she said with a shiver.

  Deeper they went into the Lagoon until Beattie could see some thing floating up ahead.

  “The kelp forest,” they all whispered.

  12

  The Kelp Forest

  In the extra-olden olden days, Hammerhead Heights was known in the Lagoon as the Capital of Crime, so the mermaids of Swirlyshell planted a kelp forest to act as a barrier between the two and keep their pristine city separate from the Hammerhead Heights mermaids, who they were convinced were up to no good.

  But then Kelpskey took off and was now every mermaid’s favorite drink, so the kelp forest became a trendy neighborhood of Kelpskey-makers and cafés. The kelp forest was the coolest place in all the Lagoon, although Beattie had only ever heard the stories—she had never actually seen it for herself.

  “Ooh, shall we stop for a Kelpskey?” Zelda asked. “This place is cool. Plus, I’m as thirsty as a hair dryer.”

  Beattie guided the Clamorado 7 on and through a wall of fluffy kelp into a clearing filled with gentle light and huts made from mismatched planks of old boat wood, each suspended like swings in the streams of kelp. Discarded takeout cups of Kelpskey floated past the window. It was like a ghost town.

  Mimi swayed in the back, singing the Kelpskey song, which only added to the eeriness.

  “Keeeelpskey, Keeeeelpskey, is for aaall

  for meeeermaids biiig

  and meeeeermaids smaaaall.

  But not for fish.”

  A ball of rolled-up kelp bounced off the window.

  Beattie spun the wheel and pointed the car in the direction it had been thrown from. The three of them leaned forward in their seats.

  A pretty mermaid waved at them from a nearby hut. “Psst!” She fixed Beattie with her large eyes. She’d drawn big black swirls below her eyebrows. “Pull your clam car in here. Quickly, quickly. Before the piranhas see you.”

  Beattie peered out at the hut—it looked nice, a little ramshack
le place with cute kelp-and-shark-teeth bunting draped across the entrance. The sign above the garage-like doors said the kelps key klub.

  Beattie turned to the others. “Should we?”

  “Definitely,” Zelda said, leaning over and pulling the cord by the steering wheel, sending the car lurching forward and into the hut. “They probably have Kelpskey.”

  “ZELDA!” Beattie cried. “STOP PULLING LEVERS AND PUSHING BUTTONS!”

  Steve peeked out of the false teeth like a strange-shaped tongue. “WILL YOU PLEASE STOP SHOUTING! It’s making my bedroom chatter.”

  Inside the Kelpskey Klub, mermaids with assorted tails—scales, shark, some a mix of both—chatted and laughed as if everything wasn’t bleak outside. A couple in the corner with large shark tails were plaiting each other’s hair around crowns of shark teeth.

  “Do you want to get eaten by piranhas?” the mermaid with the swirls under her eyebrows said as Beattie nervously emerged from the clam car. “Driving around in that stolen thing?”

  “It’s . . . not stolen,” Beattie said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s borrowed.”

  “It’s stolen,” the mermaid said, thrusting a poster into Beattie’s hand. It was stamped stolen above a picture of the Clamorado 7 and the promise of a special reward from Ommy for the mermaid who found it. “A piranha brought it by just moments ago.”

  Beattie’s heart was beating in her mouth. If the kelp-forest mermaid turned them in, they were finished before they’d even begun.

  “But we don’t like Ommy here,” the mermaid said, flashing Beattie a smile. “Telling mermaids they can’t leave their cities and forcing us all to make shell tops?! How are we supposed to sell Kelpskey if we can’t take it to the other cities? And how am I supposed to know how to make one of those shell tops?” She held up a bunch of shells stuck together in a clump. “No one wears those anymore around here.”

  “Can we have some Kelpskey?” Mimi asked.

  “No time, Mimi,” Beattie said, prod ding her tail with her finger.