Coinworld [Book Three]

by Benjamin Laskin

  Damian put up a good fight, but Hannah being a fully-animated 1921 Walking Liberty half dollar with arms and legs, and whose eagle, Emma, worked with her in perfect harmony, she eventually sent the dime sailing from the ring. Hannah went on to lose to Kipp Quarter in the semifinals, but she didn’t care. Kipp was the undefeated champion and she didn’t feel she had anything to prove.

  Ned and Kipp put on a rollicking good show for their adoring fans. The two coins displayed moves no coin thought possible—quadruple somersaults, blurring twirls, gravity-defying hangs, rocketing sprints, and wampum-propelled vertical launches that craned every coin’s head. In the end, it was a head-fake, a half-twist, and a smack from the left wing of Jefferson’s Monticello mansion that won the day.

  Truth be told, however, Ned allowed the match to continue longer than needed. The troops were eating it up, and Ned knew that the coins held Kipp with awe. He didn’t want to lessen their regard for him; and besides, with the possible exceptions of Cody Quarter and Pete Penny, Ned knew of no better grappler than Kipp. To Ned’s mind, the champion quarter deserved all the respect he had earned.

  It was daybreak when the festivities died down and Ned and Kipp were able to wander off for some alone time together. Their paths had crossed over recent years, but the last time they spoke about anything other than a particular mission was their meeting in Arizona’s Petrified Forest after Kipp’s rescue of Pete, Sadie, and Lenny the penny.

  Rolling casually down one of the many paths that crisscrossed the base, Ned turned to Kipp and asked him how he did it.

  “Do what?” Kipp said.

  “Make it look so easy.”

  “Make what look easy?”

  “You’re a big hero around here, and everyone loves you; and yet you take it all in stride, and none of it goes to your head.”

  “I guess, but I don’t see where you’re going with this. You’re twice the hero I am, Four. And without you and Hannah redeeming me from that greasy spoon back in Topeka—what, eight years ago now?—I’d be no one and nothing, just another cheap tip or thirty minutes on a parking meter. Whatever I may have I owe to you, Four.”

  “We’re friends, Kipp. With you I’m just Ned, okay?”

  “Fine, Ned, but to everyone else you’re The Four, and for good reason. You’ve liberated hundreds of dollars’ worth of coinage. You’ve accomplished what no previous coin believed possible.”

  “I haven’t done anything they weren’t capable of all along.”

  “Maybe, but you showed the way, and there’s no turning back from here. Whether you believe in your destiny to save Coinworld or not, everyone else does.”

  “That’s what Hannah said.”

  “And you should listen to her.”

  “This hero worship makes me uneasy,” Ned confessed. “I don’t want to let anyone down, but I don’t want to encourage their devotion to me either. That’s what I mean when I say I don’t know how you do it. You’re at ease with everyone. You make others feel special, but at the same time they know you’re a notch above.”

  Kipp laughed. “Your problem is you think too much.”

  “Probably, but I can’t help it.”

  “Look, for me it’s a blast. I know we’re all friends here, compatriots on an amazing journey. I enjoy every day. I don’t carry Coinworld on my shoulders like you do. If I did, maybe I wouldn’t be so cavalier about things. Are you asking for my advice?”

  “Of course I am, dummy.”

  “All right, then. Laugh more and worry less. The good thing about having your kind of destiny is that some things are out of your will. If the chief is right—and I believe he is—then the Great Minter has plans for you. He didn’t bring you this far just to change His mind.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ned grumbled.

  “I don’t envy you,” Kipp rejoined, “but I respect you. You don’t want to be like me—a grinning, wise-cracking quarter and show-off. You’re The Four, a one-of-a-kind nickel freak with a destiny. You’re not supposed to be comfortable; you’re supposed to be yourself, and only you can decide what that is.”

  “Two of a kind,” Ned said. “The Six is as big a freak as I am.”

  “Fine, but he’s not you, Ned. I don’t know who or what he is, and frankly I don’t much care. Maybe I should, but I don’t. The way I see it, I’m a bit player in this game, but every bit I contain is wrapped up in my sworn duty and sticks by your side.”

  “And my fixation with rescuing Franny?”

  Kipp rolled to a halt. “What Damian said this morning got to you, didn’t it?”

  Ned stopped and faced the quarter. “He was right, wasn’t he, Kipp? I’m risking the lives of all our friends for my own selfish reasons.”

  “Maybe your devotion to Franny is a distraction, but I don’t think you have a selfish hair on your Jefferson head. Your heart is pure gold, and that’s part of what makes you The Four. Besides, it’s too late now. Like it or not, the Peace Dollar has a role to play in this crazy game. The Six has seen to that.”

  “Nice try, buddy, but the only reason she’s involved is because of me.”

  Kipp gave Ned a chummy shove. “If beating yourself up over this makes you feel better, then have at it.”

  Ned chuckled and the two coins continued their stroll in silence. Above a squadron of eagle-backed silver dollars had taken to the air to scare off a crow that was hopping around on the outskirts of the base. The coins had learned that the best defense was a good offense. A squadron of screeching eagles with talons extended made a puzzling and intimidating foe to many birds or rodents.

  The coins arrived at level two and continued down the switchbacks towards level one. The changing colors of the canyon walls, the ribbon of water that was Havasu Creek, calm and indigo blue in the morning light, and the musky fragrance of the day’s early hours combined to instill a reflective peace in the two friends.

  Ned broke the reverie that had fallen upon them. “It’s been so many years now since Franny and I first met,” he said. “I’m not the same nickel anymore. Animation changed me, not to mention this coin-with-a-destiny thing.”

  “Would you roll it all back if you could?” Kipp asked.

  “What, and in doing so steal away animation from you and everyone else? No way.”

  “How did you two meet anyway?”

  “It was at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City back in ’41. Long story short, a wealthy heiress received me as change for a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint chewing gum at the hotel’s gift shop. She dropped me into her purse right next to Franny. We ended up spending days together alone in that velvety smooth purse. As you know, typically there’s a bunch of yammering change inside a coin purse, everyone talking over one another, and making real conversation impossible. We had the place all to ourselves. It felt like a dream at the time, me an outcast nickel resting side by side with a gorgeous Peace Dollar…”

  “Nice,” Kipp said.

  “The best. We talked about everything, and even after she discovered my four-cent deformity, she didn’t bat an eyelash. Okay, she batted them a couple of times, plus a frown, and maybe a stutter or two, but she quickly got over it. That I was a penny short didn’t bother her in the least.”

  “Kinda funny now,” Kipp said. “I mean, today it is your one-cent handicap that makes you who you are. I can’t imagine you any other way.”

  “That’s because you’re used to seeing it. To most coins my botched stamping stands out like a hairy wart.”

  “In your mind, maybe,” Kipp laughed. “I always thought it was cool.”

  “Anyway, we wished we could stay in that nice soft purse forever, but nothing is forever but commerce, and eventually she went to a taxi driver and I to a doorman. I swore to her at the time that I wouldn’t rest until I found her again. I think she pitied me a little back then, like a coin could willfully search for anything, and especially another coin! I was nuts. Still, deep down I meant it. I hadn’t met the chief yet, and was as ignorant about
buck ‘n’ rolling as every other coin in Coinworld, but somehow I just knew that I’d find a way.”

  “Did you know about palm jumping back then?”

  “Yeah, but it did me no good. It’s always a crapshoot, and that’s how I ended up in the doorman’s pocket with a snot rag under me.”

  “Yech.”

  “Tell me about it. The point is, I promised Franny I’d save her, and a Jefferson nickel should always keep his word.”

  “Noble of you, Ned, but she never expected you to, like you said, and so…”

  “She forgot about me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you thought it, and so have I a million times. But during our brief reunion in Memphis, I saw that she didn’t forget, and so I’m doubly committed.”

  “I told you, you don’t have to explain anything. To me, it’s another redemption, and we can always use another silver dollar. Besides, maybe there’s something special about this Peace Dollar, more than her value and you having the hots for her, I mean.”

  “You think?”

  Kipp shrugged. “We won’t know until she learns to animate, but maybe, yeah. Forget about what Damian said. He’s just jealous. That traitorous little squirt hates everyone but himself.”

  The two coins rounded another bend and Havasu Creek appeared before them like a vast sea, for to a coin anything wider than a rivulet seemed impressively broad.

  “I think of Pete every time I fly over this river,” Kipp said. “I miss the little fella. I miss that ungainly wobble in his roll, the nicks, the scratches, the uneven beard, the whole adorable, goofy penny.”

  “You heard about the mask, didn’t you?”

  “Deirdre mentioned it, yeah.” He laughed. “Poor guy. As if getting stuck with Lenny the penny and Sadie wasn’t rough enough. Do you think we’ll ever be able to bring him back into the fold?”

  “We can if Operation Jackpot succeeds.”

  “Then that’s reason enough for me to rescue Franny,” Kipp said.

  He halted and his eagle Erasmus spread a wing to stop Ned in his tracks. With his other wing he pointed down the hill to a spot along the river where the sun reflected off the back of a shiny coin.

  “Well, well,” Kipp whispered, “if it isn’t little Narcissus himself admiring his reflection in the pool.”

  “His private CBS,” Ned said. “He must be checking in with Nicolai.”

  “Man, I’d love to dash down there and boot his butt into that river like he did to Pete and Lenny.”

  “Now’s not the time,” Ned cautioned. “First Reno and rescuing Franny, then Damian and bringing back Pete.”

  15

  mail call

  November 1964 — Saturday

  Shadow perked up his ears and let out a muffled woof. Hugh Stewards glanced at the clock and rose from his typewriter.

  From the kitchen his wife Katherine confirmed Shadow’s keen hearing. She called to the back of the house, “Hugh, the mailman’s here!”

  Shadow leading the way, Hugh strolled through the house, out the front door, and down the driveway to the mailbox.

  “Howdy, Shadow!” greeted the mailman, a tall, lean, red-haired and freckled man with bright gray eyes.

  He fished into a pocket and pulled out a Milk-Bone biscuit. He tossed it to the dog, who caught it, gobbled it down, and sidled beside his pal for a head-pat.

  “How ya doin’ this fine Saturday, Hugh?”

  “That’ll depend on what you got for me, Miles. Big envelopes or small ones.”

  Miles reached into his bag and pulled out two large manila envelopes and handed them to Hugh, who frowned. The mailman dipped his hand into his sack again and withdrew more envelopes, this time smaller white ones. One seemed to catch Hugh’s eye, and Miles looked at him expectantly, but Hugh Stewards’ frown only tightened.

  “Not the small ones I was counting on,” Hugh said, shuffling through the handful of new bills. The letter that creased his brow he separated from the rest and stuck inside his shirt pocket. “Anything else in that magic pouch of yours?”

  Miles dunked his hand back in, foraged about, and came up with another envelope. He glanced at it and handed Hugh his electric bill. “Better luck next week,” he said.

  “Hope springs eternal.”

  “Say, last week one of those little white envelopes brought a smile to your face, didn’t it?”

  “A false positive you might say. Checks and rejection slips can come in the same envelope. Some magazines don’t even bother sending back the manuscript, even when I include a self-addressed envelope.”

  “Aw, well,” Miles said. “If it’s any consolation, I enjoyed that story of yours that appeared in Weird Worlds last month.”

  “You saw that?” Hugh said, his disappointment vanishing.

  “Blue-eyed something.”

  “Blue-eyed immortals of death.”

  “That’s the one!” He shook his head and chuckled. “How do you come up with that stuff?”

  “Washing dishes mostly.”

  “Huh?”

  “I get ideas when I wash the dishes.”

  “I bet your wife loves that!” Miles said.

  “It’s probably why she tells me to keep writing. It’s certainly not for the paychecks.”

  Miles laughed. “Got more bills to deliver. See you two on Monday.”

  “Thanks, Miles. Don’t let anyone shoot the messenger.”

  “I’m more worried about their dogs biting my leg. That’s why I keep these things at the ready.” He withdrew another biscuit from his pocket and tossed it to Shadow. “I still can’t get over the comeback you two gimps have made. I remember when I’d be halfway down the street by the time you two shuffled out to your mailbox. What’s your secret?”

  “I’ve just been lucky. Pennies from heaven, you might say.”

  “I could sure use some of those,” Miles said. “You’re what, forty?”

  “Forty-six.”

  “There, you see! You have me by five years, but compared to you I look like ugly sucking a lemon.”

  “Beauty sniffing a rose, if you ask me,” Hugh rejoined with a smile.

  “Right. On top of that, I think I’m starting to get a little arthritis in my knees, and look,” he removed his mailman cap revealing a head of thin, sparsely populated red hair in full retreat, “my hair is receding faster than low tide on a full moon. No clams or starfish, but plenty of freckles.”

  Hugh laughed. “Just be glad there’s no tires or old boots up there.” He waved goodbye and slapped his leg. “Let’s go, Shadow.”

  The mailman watched Hugh Stewards stroll back towards the house, the dog trotting at his side. Miles rubbed his knee, ran his fingers through his sparse locks, and looked heavenward. “Pennies,” he said.

  When Hugh returned inside, Katherine was in the kitchen wrestling with a can of tomato soup. He dropped the mail onto the kitchen counter for his wife to rifle through, and then he stepped over to relieve her of the can opener.

  While Hugh worked the lid, Katherine sorted through the mail. The bills went into a shoebox to be settled at the end of the month. The various mailers she set aside for later inspection. She liked sifting through them for coupons or a bargain on something she’d been holding out for.

  Hugh tossed the soup lid into the trash and turned to head back to his office.

  Katherine spotted the white of an envelope sticking up out of his shirt pocket. She pointed at it.

  “Is that an electric can opener in my future?” she asked.

  He pulled out the letter and weighed it in his hand. “It feels heavier than that,” he said cryptically. “A letter from Sally.”

  “Sally your sister?” Katherine had only met her once, and that was twenty years earlier at Katherine and Hugh’s wedding.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Eventually,” he said.

  “But you two haven’t spoken in ten years.”

&n
bsp; “Thirteen, and that wasn’t my choice. She refused to answer any of my letters or phone calls.”

  “Maybe she’s reaching out, Hugh.”

  “Whatever it is, it can wait until later. What’s another few hours?” His words sounded more stoic than bitter, and so Katherine dropped it.

  “Hungry?” she asked. “Lunch will be ready in twenty. Baloney sandwiches and tomato soup.”

  Hugh smiled. “You were reading my mind.”

  “No, I leave the mind reading up to Shadow.” She opened the refrigerator door and gestured towards the lone package of baloney on the otherwise empty shelf. “Guess where we’re going after lunch.”

  “It’s a date.” Hugh kissed his wife on the cheek. “I’ll be in my office. Just whistle when lunch is ready.”

  Hugh disappeared out the kitchen with his mail. He walked down the hall and to the backroom.

  Seated at his desk, he slipped a letter opener into the folders and shook out the rejected manuscripts. Having received so many rejections over the years, he didn’t bother to read the form letters anymore. The letters fluttered into the wastepaper basket and Hugh pulled new envelopes out of his desk. He inserted fresh cover letters that he had already prepared, and tossed the envelopes aside to be addressed later.

  His sister’s envelope he set unopened at the side of his Smith-Corona typewriter, though he did glance at the return address. The address was different than what he had for her, but she was still in Chicago.

  With a baloney sandwich in his near future, Hugh didn’t have time to pick up where he left off on his latest short story: “War of the Prophecies.” He glanced at the page sticking out of his typewriter, glad he had left off in the middle of a sentence; it would make returning to the story less intimidating.

  Instead, he reached for the morning paper and skimmed it for any odd-sounding story he could find, especially those that mentioned coins.