Bad Mermaids Make Waves

by Sibéal Pounder

  Beattie put her head in her hands. All their secrets, spilled out on the table like a Clatter Platter. Perhaps Ray Ramona was in on it and he’d capture them. Turn them into one gigantic chomp chop. She felt sick.

  “Really,” Ray Ramona said, his eyes wide. He reached across the table for a chomp chop. Beattie jumped. “Well then, it’s just you and the Oysterdale mermaids who can move freely around the Lagoon. Ommy lets those Oysterdale mermaids do anything. The rest of us are stuck. The chomp chops are running low, there are curfews, and every one’s so busy making these shell tops, the city is slowly grinding to a stand still!” He slapped the table, making the plates rattle.

  The restaurant fell silent.

  He looked sheepishly at his fist. “And I’m power less to stop it. All I’m good for these days is hiding out in this old shark.”

  Ella poked her head out from the kitchen. “Five starfish rating, this old shark has. Don’t you forget it.”

  Beattie unfurled her tense tail a little under the table. Ray Ramona didn’t seem to be in on it, or if he was, he was hiding it well. Surely someone who had a son as friendly as Riley couldn’t be bad . . .

  “We travel in the Bad Mermaid Mobile and we mean business,” Zelda said, trying to sound cool. “No piranha can mess with us. We’re going to save the Lagoon.” She sipped her drink and then spat it out all over the table. “BLEUGH, WHAT’S IN THAT FOAM SHAKE?”

  “That’s not a foam shake, that’s crab cream,” Riley said.

  “I knew that . . . ,” Zelda lied.

  “You met Arabella Cod here on the very day she went missing. Where is she?” Beattie interrupted.

  Ray Ramona looked into his crab cream, his face suddenly fraught, his trade mark mustache framing a sad frown. “We did meet. We had lunch right here, for one hour, and then she headed to Oysterdale for her meeting with Silvia Snapp. She sees every one in the SHOAL in order. H. O. A. L. Hammerhead Heights, then Oysterdale, then Anchor Rock, then Lobster town.”

  Beattie leaned back in her seat and studied Ray Ramona. He seemed to be telling the truth.

  “We’ve been searching for her around Hammerhead Heights,” Riley said, “whenever we get a chance to sneak out of Jawella’s. Not a single mermaid in Hammerhead Heights has found her.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” Zelda asked.

  Ray Ramona looked awkwardly around the restaurant. “You kids don’t know what you’re taking on. There’s a rumor of powerful magic, old magic, dark magic.” He held up his piranha-stamped nails. “But the piranhas don’t trace you, so maybe that means you have a chance . . .”

  He fiddled with his mustache, curling it so much the left side no longer resembled a fish fin but was just a clump of messy hair. Steve floated out of it, looking dizzy.

  “Excuse you!”

  “That sea horse is talking,” Ray Ramona spluttered.

  “I know,” Steve said, floating onto Beattie’s shoulder. “I’m a miracle.”

  “What do you know about Arabella Cod’s fishnapping?” Beattie pressed.

  “From what I’ve heard, she reached Oysterdale and met with Silvia Snapp,” he explained. “She was supposed to meet Goda Gar in Anchor Rock next, but according to my spy sharks, Goda Gar says she never arrived.”

  “You have sharks that spy?” Beattie asked.

  “We have sharks that do everything. You’re sitting in one that’s a restaurant,” Ray Ramona said with a wink. “Still haven’t figured out who The Swan is or why we all have to make shell tops,” he added.

  Beattie nodded. “We’re hoping we can find Arabella Cod and then she’ll fix everything, like she always does.”

  Ray Ramona leaned in closer, like he’d been itching to talk to someone about it.

  He unrolled a large map of the Lagoon, sweeping Clatter Platter plates onto the floor. “Arabella Cod was here,” he said pointing at Oysterdale on the map. “And then she was gone.”

  Beattie studied the map care fully.

  “I think Silvia Snapp of Oysterdale did it,” Ray Ramona whispered. “The Oysterdale mermaids are friends with Ommy. They visit him in the palace. It’s like he owes them some thing. They are the only mermaids who aren’t controlled by the piranhas, they can do whatever they want—one of them even came here the other day and took a baby shark, said she was going to make it into a live handbag. I hope it ate her lip stick.”

  “And where were you all after noon the day Arabella Cod vanished?” Mimi asked.

  “I was here,” Ray Ramona said as Ella plunked more chomp chops down on the table. “Wasn’t I, Ella?”

  “You were—all day. He’s always here.”

  Ray Ramona leaned in closer. “The thing is, it would be impossible to get near Arabella Cod. Her royal, shell-studded carriage is robust, and the dolphins that pull it are lethal and always guard her. Whoever fish napped her must’ve locked up her dolphins too. And it must be some where secure—because as soon as they got free, they’d shoot off to find her, and nothing would stop them.”

  “But where would you hide Arabella Cod, a palace full of mermaids, and some lethal dolphins?” Beattie pondered.

  “That’s the big question,” Riley said.

  “But what we do know,” Ray Ramona said, “is that the day Arabella Cod went missing was marked for offcial SHOAL business, which means the dolphins would’ve only let four mermaids near her—the four mermaids in the SHOAL.”

  “So there are only four mermaids who could have done it?” Beattie asked.

  Ray Ramona nodded as Riley threw a copy of Clamzine across the table to Beattie, one seaweed page folded down neatly at the corner.

  CLAMZINE

  LIBERTY LING, LEADER OF LOBSTERTOWN, SAYS ALL-AFTERNOON SHOCKEY MATCH WAS A SUCCESS

  THE MATCH WAS a glorious riot from start to finish, giving Liberty Ling plenty of time to show off her moves. And at the 3 p.m. half time, Trout and Pout performed their most famous and popular song, “Flop, Flop, Bang!” Liberty Ling scored a whopping 104 points in the first half and only 2 points in the second half.

  The shockey match was unfortunately over shadowed by the events later that day, when Arabella Cod VANISHED.

  “So we can rule out Liberty Ling,” Riley said. “She was playing shockey when Arabella Cod vanished.”

  “And you can rule me out,” Ray Ramona said. “I’ve got my alibi. I was here in Jawella’s.”

  Beattie took the Clamzine and tucked it into her tail. “That leaves Silvia Snapp and Goda Gar. We’ll check out Silvia Snapp first, see if she met with Arabella Cod.”

  “You’ll know if she did,” Ray Ramona said.

  “How?” Beattie whispered.

  He held up a chubby palm to reveal a shell-shaped stamp on his skin. He rubbed it. “Permanent,” he said. “Until you are no longer in the SHOAL. She stamps every one from the SHOAL when she meets them offcially for the first time.”

  “So if Silvia Snapp has the stamp . . . ,” Beattie began.

  “Then she saw Arabella Cod,” Ray Ramona said, picking up a chomp chop and biting into it. “But what you have to figure out is, did Arabella Cod ever leave Oysterdale? Or did Silvia Snapp fishnap her?”

  16

  Crime

  Jawella’s disappeared into the distance. The mermaids waved as Ray and Riley Ramona sailed off in the shark’s jaws.

  “Well, they were very nice,” Beattie said as they swam back to the roof, where they’d parked the Clamorado 7. In a nearby window Beattie could see a mermaid having a seaweed bath and humming to herself—the tune dancing out the window and bouncing around the empty alleys between the buildings.

  Beattie stopped. Her heart lurched. She could see some thing in the clam car!

  Something mermaid-shaped.

  “Hey!” she cried, racing toward it.

  “BEATTIE!” Zelda and Mimi called after her. “WAIT!”

  The car took off, whooshing past Beattie—the mermaid at the wheel had a squid-ink mask painted across his eyes, like a human
burglar.

  “NOOOOOOOOO!” Beattie roared. “WE NEED TO GIVE THAT BACK!” She thought about chasing after him, but she’d never catch up, the clam car was too fast. She turned and looked at the shark with the saddle still tethered on the roof.

  “BEATTIE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she heard Zelda cry as she shot off on the shark, bouncing about in the saddle like a dancing jelly fish.

  “Whuwhuwhuwhu!” she yelled, her whole face vibrating as the shark charged on. She tried pulling on the reins but it sent the shark spinning upside down. “Right side up!” she cried. “Right side up!”

  The clam car was up ahead, weaving in and out of the tower blocks.

  “GET THAT CLAM CAR!” Beattie cried, pulling the loose reins left and right, unsure if it was actually doing anything. She ducked and dived as the shark bent this way and that, weaving through the tower blocks like a pro.

  The clam car took a sharp right and sailed through a window.

  There was a scream. “GET THAT CLAM CAR OUT OF MY KITCHEN!” came a cry from the mermaid inside.

  Beattie trundled through with the shark.

  “AND THE SHARK!” the mermaid roared.

  Beattie leaned forward in the saddle, getting her balance for the first time. She was gaining on the clam car! Closer and closer she got. She didn’t know if it would work but she found herself saying, “Bite it!”

  The shark lunged and snapped down. The clam car shot forward.

  “AGAIN!” Beattie cried, squeezing her eyes closed as the shark lunged and CRUNCHED!

  She opened her eyes just in time to see the robber mermaid shoot out of the car and down an alley way.

  “I WON! I BEAT CRIME!” Beattie yelled, brandishing a fist. She dismounted the shark, throwing the reins over its back and giving it a big pat on the neck. “Oh no,” she said, looking guiltily at the shark she’d stolen. “I’ve done a crime . . . We’ll just, um, drop you off back at that rooftop where we found you on our way out of here.”

  Zelda and Mimi came swim ming over head. “There she is!” Mimi cried. “Down there, and she’s got the clam car!”

  As they came closer Beattie could see Steve was hyperventilating on Mimi’s shoulder.

  “Never. Do. That. Again. You. Are. My. World. Beattie.”

  Beattie plucked him off Mimi’s shoulder and rubbed her nose against his.

  “What a hero,” Zelda said, play fully punching her.

  Beattie tied the shark to the car and jumped inside, grabbing the steering wheel, her fingers with their piranha-print nails wrapped tightly around it. “To Oysterdale!” she said confidently.

  But none of them noticed what all the chasing and bashing had done to the side of the clam car. The painting of a piranha in a sandwich had flaked off, revealing the iconic 7 of the Clamorado.

  CLAMZINE

  SILVIA SNAPP

  SILVIA SNAPP HAS been chosen to rule over Oysterdale, the sandcastle-filled suburb known to produce some of the most elaborate and irritating mermaids in the Lagoon. Here’s what you need to know about her.

  NAME: Silvia Snapp.

  RULER OF: Oysterdale.

  STYLE SIGNIFIER: “My expensive and elaborately sculpted Hipplebee hats. I never leave home without one on my head.”

  FAVORITE PLACE IN OYSTERDALE: “Curly Clips, the hairdresser—they have a dive-thru service if you’re in a rush. The four-hour Electric Eel treatment is my favorite. It makes my hair HUGE.”

  TOP TIP WHEN VISITING OYSTERDALE: If you’re not the best at absolutely everything, then they won’t let you in.

  MOST LIKELY TO SAY: “Get off my perfectly pruned seaweed lawn, you stupid sea snail!” (Oysterdale is currently struggling with a sea-snail infestation.)

  17

  The Ommy Show!

  The clam car pushed on back through the kelp forest, and before long the scenery shifted to murky expanses, little clusters of coral reef, and the magnificent spires of Swirlyshell in the distance. They’d have to enter the city, then take the crystal-covered tunnel to Oysterdale.

  Oysterdale was surrounded by a large crystal wall that rose up high, all the way to the rock entrance, like a fortress separating it from the rest of Swirlyshell. That’s the way the Oysterdale mermaids liked it.

  The entrance to the tunnel was next to Swirlyshell’s oldest and grand est hotel, The Queen Conch. The tunnel entrance was framed with low-hanging crystals and a pearl sign that read TO OYSTER DALE (WHERE ACCESSORIZING FINS WAS INVENTED).

  Beattie parked the clam car behind the hotel’s sculpted coral hedge, and the three of them got out and sneakily peered through the gaps.

  “Something’s going on,” Zelda said.

  Streams of excited Oysterdale mermaids—wearing ghastly hats and chattering loudly over each other—were filing into the Oysterdale tunnel, some in clam cars, some on octopus. They were carrying huge bags and shell trunks crammed with goodies.

  “They’ve been looting Swirlyshell!” Beattie cried. “I can’t believe Ommy’s let them do that.”

  An octopus in the middle of the pack started bucking, its diamond-studded tentacles flailing. Its rider went flying—straight into a mermaid with an armful of seaweed flyers, sending them scattering every where. Beattie slipped her hand under neath the coral hedge they were hiding behind and grabbed one.

  THE SCRIBBLED SQUID

  Roll up, roll up!

  Get your fabulous fins to the OMMY SHOW! A tribute to our palace-dwelling friend, but not including him as he is very busy being the Piranha Army chief.

  The show will feature songs, dancing, and thousands of sea creatures all dressed to look like Ommy, which might look excellent or terrifying. We’ll soon see.

  Only Oysterdale mermaids are invited. The rest of you can just sit at home being jealous.

  Beattie grinned. “We’ll sneak into Oysterdale while they’re all at the Ommy Show and have a good look around Silvia Snapp’s house.”

  “SANDWICH! SEVEN! SANDWICH! SEVEN!” Steve cried.

  The three of them spun around.

  “I wish he had an off button,” Zelda groaned.

  Steve was pinging off the car repeatedly, hitting the part where the paint had flaked off and making it worse.

  “Oh no,” Beattie said, trying not to panic. “The piranha in a sandwich is gone. The 7 is visible again!”

  “There are probably a million Clamorado 7s in Oysterdale,” Zelda said. “They won’t notice.”

  “You hope,” Mimi said.

  “I know,” Beattie said, thinking fast. “We’ll hide the car down a side street in Oysterdale, near the tunnel entrance, and then swim to Silvia Snapp’s house. That’s safer. We can’t park the car we stole from her outside her house . . .” She slapped the Ommy Show flyer over the 7. “And that’ll keep it covered . . . probably.”

  Beattie steered the car sharply to the left as they emerged from the crystal tunnel and pulled onto a dark little side street near the Oysterdale Theater.

  “I’m going to have a quick look at the Ommy Show,” Zelda said, pulling herself out of the clam car and heading toward the side of the theater.

  Beattie watched in horror as she slipped in through a side entrance.

  “Not again, Zelda,” she said with a sigh, darting after her. “She’d better not press any buttons.”

  The theater was perfectly round, with huge shell curtains and ample pearl-studded bench seats and boxes.

  “It looks like the show is about to start,” Zelda whispered excitedly. “I bet it’s awful.”

  They were huddled under a row of seats. The elaborately adorned fins of the Oysterdale mermaids sitting above them flapped in their faces.

  The lights dimmed.

  The crowd fell silent.

  “I’m bored already,” Steve whispered.

  A bunch of pufferfish with Ommy-style hats burst onto the stage, launching them selves up high and forming spectacular patterns. Like slimy fire works with eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Beattie said, glancing around h
er. They were hidden, but a mermaid with a good pair of shell binoculars would be able to see them from the other side of the theater. And plenty of the mermaids had shell binoculars poised for the tiny tap-dancing sea worms.

  “Not yet,” Zelda insisted. “It’s just getting good!”

  “Is it?” Steve said as a star fish exploded and little shrimp scattered across the stage in dubious formation.

  “The shrimp are impressive,” Mimi said as a whale in a hat landed with an almighty thud on top of the poor things. “And also squashed,” she added as the crowd awkwardly clapped, unsure if it was the end of the first performance or just an unfortunate accident.

  The music from the orchestra of mermaids picked up, getting louder and more sinister by the second. Beattie shivered and shot Zelda a look.

  “All right, all right,” Zelda moaned as they stealthily floated out of the theater.

  “Now then.” Beattie smiled pointedly. “Arabella Cod’s schedule said she was meeting Silvia Snapp on Smug Street. That must be where she lives.”

  “What number do you think it is?” Steve asked.

  “Number one,” Mimi said.

  “Of course!” Beattie smiled. “The best number. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  And so, off they went, down the street and around the bend, until they saw the sign for smug street, in bright glittery letters.

  “This is going to be a piece of dough nut,” Zelda said, putting her arms around Beattie and Mimi as they headed toward the biggest sand castle on the street. “Piece. Of. Doughnut.”

  But they weren’t alone.

  18

  Sandcastles

  “Wow,” Beattie said as she glanced up and down Smug Street. It was filled with sand castles—enormous ones with crystal windows—and surrounded by perfectly carved crystal fences, smooth seaweed lawns, and little pots of sea flowers.

  The three of them floated outside the door to number one. The door itself wasn’t really a door at all but rather a giant pair of fake fish lips covered in crystals.