The squadrons of golden coins fell into formation and flew away out the window.
Another door opened and an elderly woman stepped into the hall. She squinted at the ground, bent over, and picked up a small gold coin, one of the quarter eagles whose wing had been damaged.
She held up the coin and called to the man, “Excuse me, sir. Did you drop this?”
The man shook his head, his mouth still hanging open. He pointed absently at the two silvery coins hovering in the hallway.
Hannah said to Camille, “I’ll pick up Ned and Dylan, you grab the chief.”
They flew towards their compatriots and snatched them up.
Ned said, “Where’s Franny?”
“The double eagle escaped with her out the window,” Camille answered.
“Follow them!”
Hannah and Camille circled and swooshed down the hall and out the window.
The little girl ran into the hallway and dropped to her hands and knees. She crawled under a table and peeked under chairs.
The girl popped back up and exclaimed, “Look, daddy!” She held up a quarter eagle in one hand and a half eagle in the other.
13
poetry in commotion
Outside, Hannah and Camille flew searching for Franny, but the sisters saw no trace of any of the gold coins.
“Head towards the front of the hotel,” Ned told Hannah.
When they rounded the corner they saw a flurry of gold and silver sparkles over a rooftop down Union Avenue.
“There!” Ned said.
Hannah and Camille flitted across the street and came upon a furious battle on the rooftop between Darla Dime’s team of Raider Special Forces and $1.64 in loose change. Above them, Darla’s squadron of eagles made up of quarters and half dollars fought with a squadron of gold quarter eagles. From a distance the coins looked like a cloud of glittering gnats.
“Hannah, Camille, set down Dylan and the chief and keep looking for Franny!”
“Got it,” they answered.
They swept in low and let Dylan Dime and Iron Tail off rolling. Dylan and the chief sped into battle to join Darla and her team as they clashed with an assortment of pennies, nickels, and dimes.
Hannah and Camille plunged to street level and scoured the sidewalk looking for the double eagle. What they found were a series of skirmishes taking place in broad daylight right under the noses of passing pedestrians, none of whom seemed to notice.
Hannah spied Brave Two Loons on the edge of the sidewalk beside a fireplug wrestling with three pennies. She flew over to him, Camille right behind her.
Two Loons shoved one of the pennies off the walk and into a storm drain. From behind him pounced an Indian nickel hollering a war cry. Midway into the nickel’s leap, Camille snatched him up and dropped him in front of a passing 1956 Studebaker Golden Hawk.
Taking advantage of the pennies’ stunned reaction to Camille’s interception, Two Loons cried “Opa!” He stomped down on the edge of one of the pennies and flipped him disappearing into the same storm drain as the penny’s comrade.
Seeing that he was outnumbered, the remaining penny hightailed it bucking down the sidewalk.
A little boy walking hand-in-hand with his grandfather spotted the fleeing penny, bent down, and pocketed him.
“Two Loons,” Ned called to him, “have you seen a gold double eagle?”
“I saw some golden eagles fly into the lobby. Who are these coins?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s the chief?”
“On a roof across the street. Camille, drop Two Loons over there and meet us inside the lobby, but be careful!”
Camille picked up Two Loons and flew off.
Hannah fluttered up and hovered out of sight of the pedestrians near the entrance to the hotel. She risked moving closer and hung above the door waiting for someone to enter or exit the lobby.
“Come on, come on,” she said impatiently.
A taxi pulled up and the doorman rushed forward to greet the passenger. The man helped a stylishly dressed woman out of the car and led her to the door.
“Yes!”
The doorman opened the glass door and Hannah shot inside over their heads.
Soaring marble pillars and an open mezzanine balcony ran the cavernous lobby’s length and breadth. Huge, sparkling chandeliers hung down from the high ceiling and its latticework of wood and beams, backlit with stained-glass windows. What caught Hannah and Ned’s eyes, however, was the fountain in the middle and all the people standing around it pointing.
The half dollar zoomed up out of eyesight and hung flapping her wings. Because of the attention the fountain drew, Ned and Hannah fretted they’d see another coin skirmish taking place, but instead they saw…ducks?
Hannah and Ned circled the lobby. They knew Harper the Benjamin Franklin half dollar and his team were supposed to be there. Eagles had even better eyesight than coins, and Hannah’s eagle, Emma, spotted a penny stumble out from beneath a stuffed floral sofa on the oriental carpet below. The penny righted himself and rushed back under the sofa. Neither Hannah nor Ned recognized it as one of their own.
Hannah zoomed down and flew skimming above the floor, dodging between the legs of people, chairs, and tables. She shot beneath the sofa and came upon another coin clash; this one between Harper’s team and another enemy squad of loose change.
Harper Half Dollar had found at least one use for the big Liberty Bell on his reverse side. It made for a good shield and club. With his flashy rim-work, Harper gonged every coin in his way. Beatings from a coin carried far more punch than objects from the human world. A coin would rather be hit by a car than clanged by Harper’s bell.
“Harper,” Ned called, “have you seen Franny?”
“No,” he hollered back. “What’s going on? Who are these maniacs?”
“We don’t know yet…behind you!”
Harper flipped over a charging quarter, twisted, and bonged the coin in the face with his bell. The quarter staggered and flopped heads-up.
“What about gold eagles?” Ned said. “Have you seen any of those?”
“A squadron of gold quarter and half eagles dumped this chump change and then flew off.”
Harper saw an enemy nickel about to shove one of his Lincolns into the open where a child might spot and pocket him. The half dollar sprinted rolling over and slid into the nickel, knocking its rim out from under him.
The nickel flipped back onto its edge. He cursed and charged at the half dollar.
Harper twirled and—clang!—he swatted him with his Liberty Bell. The nickel spun into the open, bounced off a table leg, and rolled into the sneaker of a three-year-old. The child looked down, picked up the dazed coin, and showed it to his mommy.
“Don’t mind us,” Harper shouted up to Ned. “We’ll be okay. Go find your Franny.”
Ned nodded and Hannah flitted off.
A large, clean-shaven man wearing a ceremonial red blazer walked up to the fountain. In his hand he held a cane with a brass drake’s head on the handle. Smiling, the man called for attention and announced that it was time for the Peabody ducks to return to their rooftop roost.
A cheer went up and people hustled to line up along the red carpet that ran from the fountain to the lobby’s elevator to watch ‘The March of the Peabody Ducks’.
After a short explanation and history of the ducks and their daily ritual, over the speakers boomed the birds’ marching song, John Philip Sousa’s “King Cotton March.”
The ducks clambered out of the fountain, toddled down the steps, and began to waddle along the red runway towards the elevator. Cameras flashed, the ducks quacked, and the crowd oohed and awed, laughed and clapped.
Distracted by the flashing bulbs and gala below, Hannah didn’t see the squadron of gold half eagles stream out from the mezzanine. The lead eagle smacked into Hannah and sent her tumbling. Knocked loose from her claw, Ned plummeted to the ground. He bounced and landed heads-up on the red runway
inches before the lead duck.
The audience glanced upwards and gaped at the flurry of glittering metallic discs darting and diving like golden butterflies.
The equally surprised mallard flapped its wings, quacked excitedly, and pecked at the shiny object.
Ned flipped out of the way just in time, but the other ducks, now alerted to the intruder, joined the leader in hunting down the silvery coin. Maybe the ducks thought it a strange fish; or maybe their bird brains told them that anything small that moved would make a tasty snack; or maybe they were simply offended that another creature would interrupt their march. Whichever the case, the ducks pounced and began to chase Ned up and down the runway.
Fearful that one of his prized Peabodies would choke on the nickel and end the bird’s life, as well as his own career, the Duckmaster poked and prodded at the fowl with his cane to chase them away from the danger.
The crowd wasn’t sure what to make of the dancing nickel, but thinking what they were watching was part of the show, they whooped and applauded.
Not wanting to bolt into the crowd and chance getting snatched up by a human, Ned fled down the runway towards the fountain.
Weaving, hopping, bucking ‘n’ rolling, he dodged the ducks’ pecking bills and stamping webbed feet. The mallards pursued in a stampeding toddle, the panicky Duckmaster calling after the birds to halt. The audience roared with laughter and surged towards the fountain to watch.
To everyone’s continued amazement, they saw the nickel bound flipping up the steps and dash rolling along the edge of the fountain. The ducks followed, two to the right and three to the left. Rounding the fountain, Ned found himself cornered between the two groups of quacking mallards.
Above, Hannah and her eagle, Emma, struggled fending off the swarm of gold half eagles that engulfed them. The half dollar fought stubbornly, but the zippy and nimble gold pieces were wearing her down. Every time she tried to break to help The Four, a gold eagle intercepted her and chased her back up.
Just when Hannah thought all was lost, Camille Quarter and two Ranger eagles shot charging into the fight. They caught three of the gold coins unawares, and clutching the attackers’ tails with their talons, flung the gold half eagles spiraling away. Feathers like gilded tinsel sprinkled down among the people below. Some of the visitors glimpsed the golden glitter in the chandelier’s light and pointed to the strange happening above, but most of the people were more entranced by the spectacle of the noisy ducks and fabulous dancing nickel.
Afraid of knocking anyone over or stepping on anyone’s feet, the Duckmaster maneuvered through the crowd with cries of “Look out! … Excuse me! … Sorry!”
Seeing that he might not get to the nickel in time to save his ducks from gulping it down, the Duckmaster shouted in desperation, “Grab the nickel, somebody! Don’t let the ducks swallow it!”
The panic in the Duckmaster’s voice told the audience that maybe what they were witnessing was not part of the show after all.
All at once a half-dozen hands reached across the fountain’s marble platform and slapped down at the nickel.
Ned dodged the grasping hands, springing and flipping along the fountain’s edge. The angry ducks, wings flapping and feathers flying, waddled after him in hot pursuit.
From high above on the arm of a chandelier, Nicolai Nickel observed the tumult with interest.
It was the first time Nicolai had seen The Four in action. The four-center had stumbled into every trap and ambush Nicolai had set, which didn’t speak highly of the nickel’s intelligence, he thought, but The Four’s level of animation was impressive.
The Four possessed awesome speed and agility—not as awesome as his own, of course—but greater than that of any coin Nicolai had ever trained.
Nicolai knew what he himself was capable of, but he could never observe himself doing it. Watching The Four was the closest he could get to that, and it was a thing of beauty—poetry in commotion, he thought with a chuckle.
Dominique Double Eagle alighted beside Nicolai on the arm of the chandelier.
“How’s our precious Peace Dollar?” he asked her.
“She’s safe.” Dominique pointed her torch towards the pandemonium below. “Nicolai, the last thing we want is for the nickel to fall into the hands of a human.”
Nicolai Nickel nodded. “My curiosity has been appeased. You know what to do.”
The Duckmaster continued to shout to the onlookers to grab the coin but not to harm any of the ducks. He squeezed through the excited crowd along the fountain’s periphery and neared the crazed nickel. As he reached to snatch the coin, shrieking erupted behind him.
The Duckmaster turned and saw a tall, lean man elbowing his way through the throng hollering, “Out of my way! Move, move! Out of my way!”
The man shoved the Duckmaster aside, who tripped and nearly squashed a little girl. The girl broke into tears and started to wail, which only added to the mayhem.
The thug bullied his way to the edge of the fountain and gaped at the amazing nickel. He smiled and said, “I knew it! I knew I’d find you here!”
Ned glanced up at Dr. Monroe Stryker’s snickering face, and frowned. “It’s not my day,” he muttered.
Stryker grabbed for the coin and missed. He snatched again and the nickel disappeared. Thinking he caught him, he loosened and shook his clenched hand. Still unsure, Stryker opened his fist a crack, peaked inside, and saw a feather. He cursed, blew away the feather, and scoured the edge of the fountain with his eyes.
“Where did you go?!”
He backhanded one of the noisy ducks into the water and spotted the nickel riding on the webbed foot of another mallard like a man on a bucking bronco.
Behind Stryker people yelled and cursed and pushed, but the nickel hunter was a man on a mission and would not be denied.
Monroe Stryker grasped for the nickel and came up with the duck’s orange foot in his hand. The duck quacked and chomped down on the collector’s arm with his serrated bill. Stryker yelped and tossed the mallard squawking and flapping into the fountain.
“Hey!” the Duckmaster bellowed.
Normally a mild-mannered fellow, seeing his mallards manhandled and mistreated called forth the Duckmaster’s righteous anger. He stormed over to the maniac, pulled himself up to his full measure, and knocked the man back with his puffed-out chest. He waved his brass, drake-headed cane threateningly over his head.
“Get away from my ducks, fella, before I crack you one!”
The audience cheered and added insults and threats of their own.
Monroe Stryker didn’t care. He had attended every coin show, fair, and expo he could find over the past six months, and now that he had located the priceless four-cent piece, he wasn’t about to leave without it.
Something had told him that this show would be different. It was a sixth sense, a connection he felt he had developed with the nickel. Monroe Stryker was looking for the nickel; but he had come to believe the nickel was looking for someone too.
When he read that a one-of-a-kind 1922 Peace Dollar was to make an appearance at the Memphis show, Dr. Monroe Stryker had a gut feeling that there had to be a connection. He granted that he had probably lost his mind years ago, but he no longer cared. He knew what he knew; saw what he saw; and now once more he was face to face with the phantom four-cent nickel.
The Duckmaster repeated his demand that the man back off, but Stryker ignored him and continued grasping desperately for the scrambling nickel.
“I’m warning you, fella,” the Duckmaster seethed, his face red with pent-up rage and humiliation.
Stryker spotted the nickel underneath the belly of another mallard, using the bird for cover. Stryker swatted the duck into the fountain.
Exposed, Ned froze and looked into the face of his pursuer. He squinted at the hunter with a hard, defiant stare.
Panting from his exertion, beads of sweat on his forehead, Stryker smirked. He shot out his hand for the nickel.
Crack!
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Stryker buckled and slumped across the fountain’s marble stage, half a cane and its drake-headed handle at his side.
“I warned you, buddy,” the Duckmaster said. “No one messes with my mallards and gets away with it.”
Stryker groaned and batted his eyes. Lying at the end of his nose was the nickel. It had to be his imagination, or maybe the blow on the head, but Monroe Stryker could have sworn the nickel was laughing at him.
“I told you, mister,” Ned said, “don’t meddle with the metal.”
Stryker couldn’t hear Ned, but he sensed that the nickel was mocking him. He snarled and swung his hand to smack it down on the coin. Before it reached its target, however, the Duckmaster grabbed Stryker’s feet and yanked him to the ground. This time the crack was Stryker’s head hitting the marble stage, followed by a second crack as his noggin smacked onto the hard tile floor.
The Duckmaster turned his attention to the nickel. He cocked his head in mystification and scratched his chin. Not quite sure what to do, and frankly a little spooked by the object, the Duckmaster slowly reached for the coin as one might towards a pesky mosquito before giving it a smack.
Ned gazed up towards the ceiling where the silver and gold eagles were still dogfighting. He let out a sharp whistle.
“Hannah, catch!”
The Four wound up his inner wampum and rocketed skyward.
The Duckmaster flinched. He tilted back his head, his jaw on the marble stage, his wide eyes tracking the amazing nickel as it soared higher and higher.
The throng of people let out a collective gasp. Heads craning, they too observed with astonishment the flight of Ned Nickel the four-cent Sputnik.
Even the ducks threw back their heads, observing the spinning, silvery creature with keen, hungry eyes.
Hannah Half Dollar broke from the dogfight and sped across the lobby to snatch Ned before he fell back to Earth and into the gullet of a quacking duck.
Ned peaked, and tumbling head over tails he began his descent.
The Amazing Adventures of 4¢ Ned (Coinworld: Book Two) Page 14