The Merman's Mark

by Tara Omar

  “Yes, as a matter of fact you did complain about my satellites; you complain every time I see you,” said Gill, rolling his eyes. “They, unlike your pea plants, however, are clearly within my property boundaries, whereas your rambling produce clearly is not.”

  Norbert let out an exaggerated gasp.

  “Don’t you know how important it is to grow vegetables? I must-must-diddly-dust get my plants growing, Gill! I’ve moved them all around my property and they’re not growing! They must’ve poisoned our seeds! We’re on the verge of famine!” He fell down onto a mouldy-looking pouf, clutching his bottle to his chest. David stared at him.

  “Now, Norbert, no need to get so excited,” said Gill. “Might I remind you, you live on a beach, which is not that great for growing things to begin with. I was just at the grocer this morning and they’re positively brimming with produce as always. I have to run back there later today, and I will personally pick up some tomatoes and peas for you if it will make you feel any better.”

  “It won’t,” said Norbert, pouting.

  “I did notice this morning a lovely patch of sand just to the right of my fence—on your property—that seems to get excellent sun. Why not move your plants there? A metre or so can’t possibly make that much difference,” said Gill.

  Norbert shook his head. “You’re right. It won’t.”

  “Shall I move them for you?” asked Gill.

  Norbert nodded, looking solemn.

  “That’s a good man; I shall leave you to your guest. Nice meeting you,” said Gill, nodding toward David. He leaned in toward David’s ear.

  “And good luck,” whispered Gill.

  Norbert jumped from his pouf as Gill closed the door. He walked over to a large Venus flytrap perched in the corner and gave it a hard stare. David shifted.

  “Um… Mr Bransby?” asked David.

  “Sh-sh-sh,” said Norbert, waving his arm. He squinted his eyes, focusing on the plant’s toothy mouths with the utmost concentration.

  “Alright, Lucy, draw,” said Norbert. As quick as a flash Norbert swiped his finger across the sticky, pink part of the Venus flytrap; Lucy’s mouth slammed shut but not before Norbert had pulled his finger out with split-second precision. Norbert laughed and waved his now sticky finger.

  “He-he, I got you that time, Lucy girl! You’re gettin’ slow in your old age, Lu!” said Norbert, smiling. He swept across the room to the other side, pulling a plate and a slice of bread from a rusty pot hanging from the ceiling. He smeared the sticky finger across the bread and set it on the floor at the centre of the room, under an assortment of hanging ladles and the remnants of an old radio. Then he stepped right in front of David, his nose nearly touching his.

  “Explain yourself, Mr… uh…”

  “David. My name’s David.”

  Norbert stepped back.

  “Danny, is it?” asked Norbert, offering a decided nod. “And on what business is your busy body, Danny?”

  “Actually it’s—”

  “Sh-sh-sh,” said Norbert, listening. “They’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “The H-gang,” said Norbert. He flew back to his pouf.

  Before David could enquire as to who exactly the H-gang were, a rustling hiss sounded from behind the door. David felt the hairs on his neck prickle; he stepped away from the entrance.

  “See, I told you they were coming,” said Norbert, smiling wildly at the floor. As David looked down he saw a line of cockroaches the size of tarantulas squeezing themselves through the broken parts of the door and marching up to Norbert, each with a piece of rubbish stuck between its wings. Norbert rubbed his hands together and grinned.

  “Okay, let’s see what you brought to me today, boys,” said Norbert. “Oh, but before we get to that, let me introduce you to Danny.”

  Norbert looked up.

  “Danny, I’d like you to meet the H-gang. That’s Harold, Harvey, Henry, Harry, Herman and…” Norbert frowned, looking around at the dirty floor.

  “Hen-REE… Where’s Stew? Did you all try to feed him to a catfish again?”

  David was very interested as to how Henry was going to answer this question exactly, but as soon as Norbert finished, a smaller roach scurried through the crack in the door, over David’s foot and into the line. David shuddered.

  “Ah, and Stew, there you are. I was right near worried, I was. That’s Harold, Harvey, Henry, Harry, Herman and Stew,” said Norbert, pointing to each roach. “Stew’s an honorary member.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said David, offering a stiff nod. David had just remembered he did not like bugs.

  “Right then,” said Norbert, looking around. “Let’s see what you got for me.”

  Norbert jumped up from his pouf and collected the goggles, oven mitts and salad tongs from his workbench, while the cockroaches paraded behind him. He pressed a button on the side of the computer with the cabbage by its keyboard; its screen flickered and buzzed to life, while the wilted cabbage leaves spun around and stiffened, leaving a hole at the centre of its head.

  “We’re ready to go, gang. Hand over the evidence,” said Norbert, donning his goggles and oven mitts. The roaches stood on their hind legs, dropping their bits of rubbish to the ground. Norbert picked up a piece with his salad tongs and dropped it into the cabbage’s hole. The computer beeped wildly as the screen pulled up a scroll of text. Norbert looked at it intently.

  “Ah, I knew it! They’re planning on strangling us with our shoestrings, they are! Good work, Stew,” said Norbert, waving his arms. “Come take a look at this, Danny. This is right near definitive evidence, this is.”

  David moved in closer, reading the flickering text on the screen.

  Common Name:Shoelace

  Composition: Cotton Fibre

  Origin: Land

  Weapon: Likely

  Of Mass Destruction: Possible

  Method: Strangling, tripping

  Number found: 26

  Similar Items: String

  Match: Very Similar

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not following,” said David, looking back.

  Norbert twisted his mouth.

  “Don’t you see?” asked Norbert, pointing again to the screen. “I’ve found twenty-six shoelaces on this beach. Twenty-six! And that’s not even counting the string specimens. It’s very suspicious, it is! The Nephilim are definitely planning something.”

  “With shoelaces?” asked David.

  “Possibly. One can never tell with those filament-making mers. They’re a biddly-bad bunch, they are!” said Norbert. He clicked a button and the cabbage closed its leaves, hissing as it sealed the shoelace in plastic. Norbert grabbed the bag and stamped it Evidence before filing it away in the empty recesses of a toaster. David frowned.

  “What exactly are you doing?” asked David.

  “About the shoestrings? I’m confiscating as many as I can, but I must discuss the problem with the Lady and maybe the King, then we can see if—”

  “No, I mean with this thing and the H-gang,” said David.

  “Oh, I’m patrolling the beach front, of course. You never know what mischief is lurking about with those merish folk in the water. The gang has got super water survival skills and excellent vision, perfect for scoping the sands, while this beauty of a PC checks the finds for weapons of mass destruction. I invented this computer myself, I did, and right near useful it’s turning out to be.”

  Norbert picked up the next piece of rubbish from the floor and dropped it into the purple cabbage; the screen again beeped to life, displaying all the sordid specs of a Fizzy Fuse bottle cap.

  “Though that reminds me,” said Norbert, tapping his chin with his oven mitt. “What is your business here, Danny?”

  “I’m not sure. I was told to show you this,” said David. He pulled the
pendant from his pocket. Norbert jumped.

  “Chaiwalla, where in gooseberry did you get this?” asked Norbert, swiping the pendant from his hand. He removed his goggles and mitts and looked at the shiny, gold circles closely. “This belongs to the Lady, this does.”

  “I know,” said David. “She gave it to me.”

  “Did she now? Because that would be very unusual,” said Norbert. He smiled, but there was a wild danger behind his eyes, like a hungry hyena ready to bite. David took a step back toward the door.

  “I don’t see why she would give it to a freshling like you. What did you say your last name was again, Danny?” asked Norbert.

  “Actually it’s David. David Michelson.”

  “David?”

  Norbert sat up very straight and held his palm to his face, twisting his head and hand as though reading something.

  “Ah, Davey, here you are,” said Norbert, pointing to his palm. “The Lady did mention I should be expecting you. So very happy to meet you, I am.”

  He relaxed into a warm smile, shaking David’s hand with both of his.

  “Please, sit,” said Norbert, pointing to his pouf.

  Henry, or perhaps it was Harry, let out an exasperated hiss.

  “Oh cheese, I almost forgot about you, I did,” said Norbert, staring down at the roaches rallied at his feet. “We’re going to have to postpone scoping the last of the suspicious specimens, but you can call the others now. You’ve more than earned your keep.”

  Norbert sat down on a crate.

  “Did you hear that, guys, it’s eatin’ time,” called Norbert.

  He had barely finished the sentence when hordes of roaches emerged from cracks in the walls, inside pots and behind bottles. First as a trickle and then as a deluge, the roaches poured from their hiding places, carpeting the floor as they crawled over one another, each one pushing itself closer to the bread Norbert had set in the middle of the floor. David pulled his feet up and closed his eyes.

  “You’re not a bug boy, I take it?” asked Norbert.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” said David. He opened his eyes but the roaches had all disappeared. Only a sprinkling of black specks remained, the remnants of a newly digested dinner.

  “Charlie used to like bugs,” said Norbert, staring ahead. “Especially butterflies. That boy was fascinated by butterflies, he was! Could stare at them the whole dill day.”

  “Is Charlie your—”

  “Son, yes,” said Norbert smiling. “And a right good one at that. He’s a biologist now. Is out on another field study, he is, so I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  Norbert pulled a metal picture frame from the desk.

  “This is him studying the great monarch migration. Nearly won a distinction for his work, he did! I think he was only overlooked because he’s a Humphrite. The other tribes don’t take us so serious.”

  “You must be very proud,” said David, looking at the smiling man surrounded by sleeping butterflies.

  “I am,” said Norbert. He gasped. “Goodly grasshoppers, I almost forgot!”

  He jumped up from his crate and pulled a canvas messenger bag from under it.

  “This is for you, from the Lady,” said Norbert.

  “Oh thanks,” said David, flipping open the bag. Inside he found several changes of clothes, some toiletries and a sack of gold.

  “Bee yellow, that’s a lot of money,” said Norbert, staring at the satin sack. “What are you up to, Davey boy?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” said David.

  “Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” said Norbert. “The Lady told me to expect two packages and a visitor. I’m two for three right now, still waiting on the last. She said it will all makes sense when everything’s together.”

  “So you don’t know what’s coming?” asked David.

  “Nope,” said Norbert.

  “Right. What do we do now?” asked David.

  “We wait,” said Norbert, crossing his legs. “Are you in a hurry-flurry or something?”

  “Not particularly,” said David.

  “Good. Make yourself comfortable then, though I’m sure it will be here any minute now,” said Norbert. “I’m right near excited, I am; the Lady said it’s going to be big.”

  C H A P T E R 2 5

  The National Springball Stadium—affectionately known as the Bowl—was the third most important building in Aeroth, after the Palace and the Temple, and by far the most beloved. Made of stainless steel and reinforced concrete, the half-spherical stadium was where the greatest dramas of the decade played out on its eighty metres of glowing grass, a mix of artificial turf and millions of tiny fibre-optic lights. The last ten metres on either end of the rectangular field were far less exciting, consisting of a plain, forest-green trampoline. It was here that every springball player carrying the ball aimed to get, hoping to vault himself over a low, uneven wall and into a rectangular plunge pool marking the end zone.

  Today the Bowl bulged with the weight of 94 000 fans eager for a scoring splash. It had been five months since Bjorn Scarfnuckle had dived head first into the end zone with three guys on his feet, winning the championship for the Theo Owls in extra time. Now after five months of debating, celebrating and cursing the finer points of that play, the Aerothians were again decked out in their gaudiest of hats and brightest of paints, ready to kick off a new season of springball. Amid the clamour of cheering fans and shouting vendors, a cheery announcer leaned into his microphone, crumpling his freshly-pressed suit as the camera crew zoomed into the press box.

  “Well it’s another beautiful day here at the Bowl. We’re ready to kick off what is sure to be another soggy season of springball at the National Stadium, sponsored by Silbi,” said the announcer.

  “That’s right, Steve, and what a great line-up we have for you today,” said his partner. “First up, the Aaronite Arrows take on the Elite Altars, followed by the Humphrite Hippos versus the Renaultan Ravens at eight. And, if you are of the Theodite or Octavite persuasion, be sure to catch the Owls and the Squirrels for their first game of the season tomorrow at three.”

  “And let’s not forget the beautiful Liza Hart is set to make her first public appearance with King Saladin today. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few weeks, you’ll already know the King has a surprising, new fiancée. What an excitement that’s caused!”

  “Though I don’t think the excitement over the couple can even come close to the absolute exhilaration we’re finding in the crowd here today. The fans are absolutely bursting with energy as they await the much anticipated opening ceremony. I don’t know if our viewers can see the full magnitude of it all, but the atmosphere here is absolutely electric.”

  “Right you are, Bill. I can see the dancers lining up in the wings; looks like it’s about to get underway any moment now… the opening ceremony for the forty-ninth springball season.”

  The lights in the stadium dimmed as the fibre-optics in the grass began to pulse a rainbow of colours to the rising beat of the music. Hundreds of dancers and gymnasts in glittering costumes spun out from under the stands, twirling and flipping themselves into complex formations. The next wave of performers watched intently from the wings, waiting for their cue. Liza stood behind them in a sleeveless silk dress, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Are you ready, my love?” asked Saladin. He had just entered through the door leading from the Arrows’ dressing room, leaning on Sargon; an Ibex guard followed closely behind him. Liza nodded, barely looking.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a snake,” said Saladin, stroking her hair.

  “No, nothing. It’s just…”

  She glanced in the direction of the dancers; Saladin noticed a pale figure with long, white hair leaning against the concrete. He frowned.

  “I’m sorry,” said Liza. She tore pa
st him, fighting back tears as she disappeared down the corridor.

  “What did you say to her?” asked Saladin, limping toward the Lady against the wall.

  “Me?” asked Imaan. “I just gave her my congratulations on her engagement.”

  “Congratulations indeed. Why must you torture her? Liza looks up to you, loves you,” said Saladin.

  “If you would prefer a different reaction you should not have stolen her from under me,” said Imaan, watching as the last group of dancers scampered onto the field.

  “And what would you have me do?” asked Saladin, waving his arm. “There are not many in the nation who would sing your praises like Liza. Would you prefer I marry someone that will further weaken the Temple’s power and throw you to the dogs? Or perhaps you are happy that my nephew is still next in line for the throne? It is no secret he is among your greatest detractors.”

  “So now you have convinced yourself that sleeping with my maiden is not only good for her and Aeroth, but now for me as well? Biy’avi, how the poison works its will! You forget the king is anointed by the high priest; I still have the power to choose your successor. This line to the throne is nonsense.”

  Saladin lunged at the wall, leaning on it with both his arms and trapping Imaan in between.

  “Wake up, Imaan; your power is not what it once was,” said Saladin, staring into her eyes. “You must bend to the people now. Do not destroy yourself and the Temple with your games of pride. I am trying to protect you.”

  “I bow to no man,” said Imaan.

  The air grew hot between them; Saladin’s eyes darted across her face, while Imaan held her breath and glared back, desperately fighting the urge to collapse into his arms as he had once done in hers. After a long moment Saladin dropped his arms. He turned away from her.

  “Wait until the shield is in your possession before you marry her. Can you at least afford me that?” asked Imaan.

  “With the way you’re acting, I don’t know,” said Saladin, rubbing his eyebrows. He threw her a cautious glance. Imaan stood against the wall, unmoving.