“So . . . wait? You think Ommy disguised himself as Liberty Ling?”
Beattie nodded.
“So which one was Ommy? The one who hundreds of mermaids saw at the shockey match, or the one Goda Gar saw?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Beattie said, curling the corner of the Clamzine in her fingers. “I don’t think Goda Gar would be fooled, but a whole arena of mermaids might be, looking at Liberty Ling from afar. I think they switched halfway through the match—I think all the action happened during halftime at the shockey match—at 3 p.m.”
“Go on,” Steve said eagerly.
“Think about it,” Beattie said. “Silvia Snapp offends Arabella Cod, calls her an old carp. Arabella Cod leaves Oysterdale and heads to Anchor Rock to meet Goda Gar. It’s about an hour away, all the way in the north. Meanwhile, Ommy is getting his hair done and Liberty Ling is playing in a shockey match. At 3 p.m., the first half of the shockey match finishes. By that point, Arabella Cod would be halfway to Anchor Rock—and where would she be close to at that point?”
Mimi drew a map of the Lagoon on the carpet with squid ink.
“Careful with the carpe—oh, never mind,” Goda Gar said.
“Lobstertown,” Mimi said. “She’d be near Lobstertown.”
“Exactly,” Beattie said. “Liberty Ling sneaks away from the stadium at halftime, changes out of her shockey gear, and races out of Lobstertown and catches Arabella Cod on the outskirts on her way to Anchor Rock. And she fish naps her.”
“Where does she put her?” Steve asked, leaping about excitedly.
Beattie paused. “That I haven’t figured out yet. So, Liberty Ling is fish napping Arabella Cod, mean while, Ommy finishes his quick hair appointment—his hair now looks like Liberty Ling’s—and swims fast to Lobstertown. Again, that would take about half an hour, just in time for the second half of the shockey match. He sneaks into the stadium, puts on Liberty Ling’s shockey gear, and poses as her for the rest of the tournament. Look at the difference in the goals Liberty Ling scored in the first half and the second,” Beattie said, brandishing the Clamzine. “One hundred and four points in the first half and only two points in the second. It’s like two different mermaids were playing—because two different mermaids were playing.”
“So, what happened to all the palace mermaids?” Zelda asked. “If you’re right, that explains when Arabella Cod was fish napped, but what about the others?”
Beattie grinned again and raised a finger. “They were probably . . . in the whale!”
“WHAT?!” Zelda shouted.
“So, not piranha food?” Mimi asked.
“A whale. A WHALE,” Zelda said again. “Our parents were in a massive WHALE?!”
Beattie bit her lip and nodded. She had completely forgot ten that Zelda and Mimi’s parents worked at the palace. “Liberty Ling would have plenty of time to hide Arabella Cod, go to the palace with a whale, convince every one to get in, and then take them and hide them too—all by the time Goda Gar got to the palace at 6 p.m. When Goda Gar passed Liberty Ling and the whale, Liberty Ling had probably just come from the palace. The mermaids from the palace were in the whale!”
“It was swim ming a bit funnily . . . ,” Goda Gar recalled.
“But a whale would spit them out after a couple of hours,” Mimi pointed out. “Whales have rules about that sort of thing.”
“True,” Beattie mused. “Which means the whale was just a temporary place to stash the mermaids—a way to trans port them to some where more permanent. But where, that’s the question . . .”
27
Ommy Flips
Ommy floated across the Periwinkle Palace kitchen and placed a bejewelled bowl in front of Nom.
“There you go, my little Nom Nom.”
Nom sank his teeth into Ommy’s tail. There was nothing he hated more than being called Nom Nom.
The small shell on the countertop started jiggling. Ommy flipped it open and began shouting.
“HAVE YOU SEEN THE BELINDA SHELTON ARTICLE IN CLAMZINE?! SHE SAW YOU! SHE SAW THE RUSTER SHELLS!”
“Impossible,” The Swan said. “I swam past her really fast.”
Ommy couldn’t see a clear picture of The Swan in the shell; all he could see was the two gigantic shining Ruster Shells, which she was still wearing like sunglasses.
“I can’t wait to wear the Ruster Shells and my new crocodile-shaped hat to the shockey,” she oozed.
“We can’t afford for the mermaids to figure out what we’re up to before it’s done, especially the clever SHOAL mermaids,” Ommy ranted. “They’ve been meddling too much as it is.”
One of Ray Ramona’s spy sharks floated slowly past the window. It had spy shark 1108 painted on its side.
“What are you up to?” The Swan asked, sounding confused.
Ommy scrunched up his fists. “We’re going to have to tweak the plan!” He whistled, and watched as a long line of piranhas snaked into the room . . .
28
A Fishnap
Beattie could hear the calming sound of water trickling through Goda Gar’s grand old yacht. It was all lit up now, with strings of bulbs hanging from mast to mast. Now that Beattie knew who The Swan really was, stopping her suddenly seemed achievable. She winced at the thought of all the clues they’d missed. She poured some more Kelpskey and shoved a delicious sea sponge in her mouth. “Zelda, do you remember Old Wonky said your parents left the palace willingly? That would make sense—Liberty Ling probably arrived at the palace with some lie that Arabella Cod had ordered them to board the whale. They would trust a SHOAL member.”
“A WHALE?” Zelda said again. “I bet they went all wrinkly in there . . .”
“And,” Beattie went on, “do you remember Old Wonky kept jumping on the Lobstertown throne! He was trying to tell us it was Liberty Ling of Lobstertown all along!”
Mimi scooped some sweet foam from a shell, tipping it into her mouth to get the last drops.
“You should stay here tonight,” Goda Gar said as she soared into the room with another tray of treats. “I got the eels to put your clam car on the bow of the boat, for safekeeping.”
Beattie stretched out on the floor and studied the Clamzine profile of Liberty Ling. She never wanted to leave Goda Gar’s cozy yacht. “You know,” she said, through a mouthful of sea sponge, “Liberty Ling studied the Science of Shells. She must’ve figured out where the Ruster Shells were. That’s pretty impressive—the first mermaid to do so in hundreds of years.”
“Great,” Zelda said, flopping onto a bench and sending the seaweed cushions flying. “We have a clever nemesis.”
Mimi clinked her glass against Beattie’s and flopped down next to her on the floor. “We’ll defeat her.”
“When do you think she’s going to strike?” Zelda asked. “You know, with the whole putting-everyone-in-a-trance thing?”
“I don’t know,” Beattie said. “But we need to look out for anything to do with Liberty Ling and the shell tops. And it would need to be big.”
Goda Gar flapped her tail frantic ally and glided across the room. She returned with a flyer. “Like this? The piranhas and Oysterdale mermaids were handing them out just a couple of hours ago.”
Beattie snatched it from her and frowned.
Liberty Ling announces biggest Lobstertown shockey tournament ever.
The game will see all five regions competing tomorrow.
The Swan demands all mermaids in the Lagoon attend.
Shell tops must be worn, or you will be eaten by the piranhas.
“What’s the Lobsterdome slogan again, Zelda?” Beattie asked, not taking her eyes off the flyer.
“A seat for every mermaid!” Zelda said.
“This is it,” Beattie said with a gulp. “She has the Ruster Shells and she’s going to use them—on every mermaid in one fell swoop!”
“I can alert Ray Ramona,” Goda Gar said. “I’ll tell him to bring sharks to the stadium. If we start now, we can alert a lot of merma
ids.”
“But there are millions all over the Lagoo—”
BANG!
Beattie leaped up.
The yacht alarm sounded. The lights began to flash.
“Quick,” Goda Gar said, ushering them from the lounge and onto the bow of the boat. “Get in the clam car.”
Beattie caught a glimpse of what was waiting at the side of the yacht. Half the Piranha Army, jaws gnashing.
“What’s going on?” Zelda whispered as the three of them squeezed into the car. There was nothing but silence, then a rumbling noise. The yacht seemed to shake.
Steve emerged from his false teeth, yawning, his shell top askew.
Beattie nervously pressed a couple of buttons on the dash board and the clam car slowly swiveled so the windshield was facing the right way.
She whimpered and covered her mouth. Zelda shielded Mimi’s eyes. Steve darted into his false teeth, squealing, “FISHNAP!”
There, on the bow, was Goda Gar, being tied up with seaweed streams and carted off by the chomping piranhas.
“Why are they taking her?” Beattie said, placing a hand on the windshield. “We have to stop them.” She made to open the clam car roof, but Zelda stopped her.
“Don’t, Beattie, there’s nothing we can do. We have to stop Liberty Ling. The only thing working in our favor is that she doesn’t seem to know we exist. But she will if you try to stop those piranhas.”
Beattie turned and her heart lurched so far and so fast it felt like it had high-fived her brain. A sinister figure with a bob hairdo was snaking across the bow of the boat and heading straight for the clam car.
“Ommy,” Beattie whispered as the three of them cowered in their seats.
He wove closer and closer, his eyes narrowing as he approached the little car nestled below the yacht’s flashing lights.
There was another BANG! Then a strange squeak.
Beattie peeked out just in time to see Ommy spin around and peer over the edge of the yacht.
“OH NOT AGAIN, NOM! STOP TRYING TO STEAL THAT EEL’S TANK TOP!”
Ommy dived over the side of the yacht and disappeared.
The three of them exhaled loudly and sat in startled silence, staring blankly ahead.
Steve peeked out of his false teeth. “Well, I think we can all agree, eel tank tops are excellent.”
“Now what?” Zelda said, slumping back in her seat. “Should we drive around, shouting about Liberty Ling and her plan? Mimi could refashion her shell binoculars as a mega phone.”
Beattie thought for a moment. “What if they don’t believe us? Plus, we don’t have enough time to alert every one. One of the Oysterdale mermaids could catch us. No . . . it’s too risky. We need to surprise Liberty Ling at the match. She and Ommy must not suspect a thing, until it’s too late.”
Mimi and Zelda exchanged glances.
“So,” Zelda said eventually, “what’s the plan?”
Beattie pulled out the flyer.
“Liberty Ling is playing in the match,” Zelda said, craning her neck so she could read it.
“You should dress up in your shockey gear and mark her,” Beattie said. “Take the place of another mermaid on the Swirlyshell team. I’m sure Rachel Rocker or Riley Ramona could sneak you into the locker rooms. And then you could alert the other players.”
Zelda nodded.
“And if she’s wearing the Ruster Shells—crush them,” Beattie added, scrunching up her fist.
“If she’s wearing them, they’ll be hidden under her shockey pads,” Mimi pointed out. “Because they glow really brightly.”
“Could you get close enough to potentially crush them?” Beattie asked.
Zelda nodded. “I can probably make her collide with one of the Swirlyshell team’s dolphins, or have a shark chomp at her, or some thing.”
“Good,” Beattie said. “Get all the players involved, apart from the Oysterdale Wonders, of course. I’ll try to find Ray Ramona and tell him what’s going on. He can help us deal with Ommy.”
Steve floated above his false teeth.
“Steve, you will try to find one of those tannoy things and make an announce ment that Liberty Ling is The Swan.”
“Can I do it in a funny accent?” he asked.
Beattie nodded. “As long as it’s in Mermaid and not some strange sea horse language.”
“Hopple bun top zet!” Steve said angrily.
Beattie wiggled further down in her seat as Zelda pulled the shell curtain. “I suppose we’d better sleep in here tonight, Beatts,” she said. “In case we need to make a quick getaway.”
Beattie nodded. She could feel her eyes closing. It had been a long day. The clam car was so cozy, all their tails tangled together.
Zelda snuggled into Mimi, ready to doze off.
“Wait,” Mimi said. “What part am I going to play in the plan?”
Beattie closed her eyes and grinned. “You, Mimi, get the best part.”
29
Lobstertown
Lobster town glowed brightly in hues of red and purple, its buildings sculptural master pieces designed by famous mermaid architects. It was all bright lights and flashing images of Clippee the cartoon lobster in a dress. Lobstertown was the art city, the one with the buzz, the one all young mermaids wanted to move to as soon as they left school.
Beattie and Zelda knew Lobstertown well, unlike the other places in the Lagoon. It was a Swirlyshell mermaid thing to take the whale bus to Lobstertown on week ends and have foam shakes at the Orange Bucket café. It loomed large in the distance—a giant replica of a bucket, painted orange and decorated with a slide that looped around and around, all the way from top to bottom.
They passed a building with a huge moving bill board showing Clippee dancing next to Nose, his sea horse sidekick.
Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee WHOA!
Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee OH!
Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee WHOA!
Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee, Clippee—SHOW!
“It’s the Clippee show!” went the jingle blaring from the screen. Beattie looked back to see Steve bobbing up and down to the music. Zelda was rolling her eyes.
Beattie steered the clam car along the road, coming to a halt at the traffic light, which was just two lobsters mounted on a beautiful stone pillar. They took turns scuttling up to the top with either a stop or a swim sign. In the back ground she could see a neon billboard showing a huge cartoon of Clippee’s archnemesis, O, the pufferfish, in a curly wig.
“He’s my favorite cartoon character,” Zelda said, deliberately winding Steve up. “Evil O.”
Steve gasped. “Excuse you! He’s THE WORST!”
“I hope Mimi is getting on okay,” Beattie mumbled. “If her part of the plan fails . . .”
“She’s fine, she’s probably done it already,” Zelda said confidently. “Or she’s chatting to a tuna. It is Mimi, after all.”
Up ahead, thousands of mermaids were filing into the Lobsterdome wearing shell tops and their shockey fan gear—everything from red-and-purple-spotted gloves and caps to chunky silver head bands covered in toy sharks. But unlike at normal shockey matches, the mermaids were all wearing traditional shell tops—some were actually wearing them as tops, others as sunglasses, some as earmuffs, and one mermaid was wearing them as some rather fabulous shoulder pads. Piranhas swarmed around the mermaids, making them wince.
Beattie turned to Zelda, who was eagerly pulling on her shell-studded gloves, followed by the shell elbow pads. She pulled large shell shoulder pads from her bag and put them on, followed by, finally, a shell-studded helmet.
“That’s Zelda Swish over there, I think,” came a whisper from the crowd as Zelda rolled out of the car. She was quite a famous shockey player in the Lagoon. Zelda raised an arm, ready to wave, when Rachel Rocker dived at her.
“Oh, Zelda!” she cried. “I’ve been looking for you a
nd Mimi and Beattie. Where is Mimi?”
“Fishing,” Zelda said with a smirk.
“Shelly Shelby saw The Swan!” Rachel Rocker cried. “She said to tell you she wears a lace veil and shells all over her tail. Still doesn’t know who it is, though. But that’s some thing, isn’t it?”
“We know who it is,” Beattie said, distracted by the crowd. “It’s Liberty Ling.”
“Really?” Rachel Rocker said, clearly taken aback. “Well, that would explain the shells on the tail. She’s hiding a lobster tail!”
Zelda tapped her helmet.
“Wait,” Rachel Rocker said. “Are you playing?”
“I am now,” Zelda said with a wink. “Can you get me into the shockey locker rooms?”
“Meet me at the locker-room door in five minutes,” Rachel Rocker said, giving her a nod.
Beattie slammed the lid down on the clam car as she watched Rachel Rocker slip inside the stadium. Groups of mermaids pointed at Rachel and screamed with delight.
“SHE’S THE BEST!” a mermaid oozed, wearing an “I ♥ RACHEL ROCKER” T-shirt.
“Ready?” Beattie said breathlessly.
Zelda tapped her helmet. “Obviously.”
“Not really, if I’m honest,” Steve said.
“The most import ant thing,” Beattie said, “is that we destroy those shells.”
CLAMZINE
SHOCKEY 101—A MERMAID’S GUIDE TO THE GAME
Despite being the number-one mermaid sport, a little over a third of the Lagoon—that’s nearly 500,000 mermaids—have never seen a shockey match. As we’re all being forced to attend one by order of Piranha Army Chief Ommy and the mysterious Swan, here’s what you need to know if you’re a mermaid who doesn’t know the game, as told by Swirlyshell’s star swimmer, Rachel Rocker! There are five shockey teams—one for each of the Lagoon’s towns and cities. There are the Oysterdale Wonders, who always cheat, and the Swirlyshell Shots, who are completely the best. Then you’ve got the Anchor Rockers, the Hammerhead Heavyweights, and the Lobstertown Loons. Us Swirlyshell Shots are pretty good friends with the Lobstertown Loons, so we don’t mind that they’re winning almost every match at the moment.
Bad Mermaids Make Waves Page 9