by Tara Omar
Of course, thought David, I.S… inflatable squid.
From the glow of the light David could see the towering, muscular walls of Squeaky’s stomach contracting, causing the inflatable squid to rock gently like a cradle. David tried not to think about the fact that they were trying to break him into smaller pieces so he could be whisked into the second stomach where he’d be burned away by stomach acids. He sat down near the fan and closed his eyes as Squeaky rushed toward the bottom of the sea.
C H A P T E R 4 2
Jia Li shuffled toward the door, mumbling about the lateness of the hour. A tall, well-manicured man with eyes too small for his face smiled at her from the threshold. He was carrying an attaché case and had just rung her intercom.
“Good evening, Madam. ’Tis Philippe of Du Breez Perfumery here. I believe you have a specimen of ambergris you would like to sell?”
“How did you—”
Jia Li paused.
“Sorry?” asked Philippe.
“Never mind. Hiram?” called Jia Li, unlocking the iron gate nearest to the door. Hiram came forward with a satin pillow, on top of which sat a sticky, black bead the size of a soccer ball. Philippe held the ambergris between his hands and took a long, deep sniff.
“Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite,” he said, nodding. “May I?”
“Of course,” said Jia Li.
Philippe held the ball of ambergris to his teeth, biting off a tiny piece.
“A most excellent specimen,” said Philippe. “I presume you’d prefer the usual method of payment?”
“Yes,” said Jia Li.
Philippe unlocked his case, revealing seven ingots of bronze inside. Jia Li looked them over, picking up each one and weighing it in her palm.
“I trust it meets your approval?” asked Philippe.
Jia Li nodded.
“Very well,” said Philippe. He exchanged the suitcase for the ambergris and left.
As Jia Li locked the gates and the door behind them, she heard a rumbling outside, like someone was going through her oil drums. Hiram sat in his workshop, looking at the door with concern.
“Do you hear that, Hiram?” asked Jia Li.
Hiram nodded, biting his lip with worry. Jia Li grabbed one of his sculpting knives and sneaked toward the door. Hiding next to the wall, she flung the door open and turned on the light, exposing a scrawny man with a silver goatee.
“Norbert, what are you doing in my backyard? Are you mad?” asked Jia Li, lowering her knife.
“Where is he? Where’s Davey?”
“On his way to Larimar.”
“Did he leave with a dagger and a little bottle?” asked Norbert.
“Yes,” said Jia Li.
Norbert made a face like he had just drunk sour milk.
“Ooh, this is bad. This is bad, bad, very bad,” said Norbert, pacing around. He pushed past her into the house and scanned its perimeter. Then he went to the koi pond and uprooted a stalk of bamboo. Jia Li gasped.
“Norbert, that’s my koi pond! You’ll have to pay for that.”
“Oh hush, woman, this is no time to worry about bamboo. It’ll be grown again by morning.”
“This is completely unacceptable. You had better explain yourself before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
“Don’t you see?” asked Norbert, grabbing a seat in Hiram’s workshop. “Davey’s in trouble, he is. In big, big trouble.”
Norbert grabbed one of Hiram’s knives and began hallowing out the middle of the bamboo, turning it into a long pipe. Hiram squirmed and grunted, clearly unhappy that someone was in his shop. Jia Li frowned.
“What are you talking about?” asked Jia Li.
Norbert eyed Hiram in the corner and went back to his carving.
“Norbert, it’s Hiram,” said Jia Li, but Norbert shook his head. Jia Li sighed.
“Hiram it’s getting late; why don’t you go sleep now?” asked Jia Li. Hiram eyed Norbert suspiciously.
“It’s okay, Hiram, I promise.”
Hiram gave Norbert another glaring look before wandering toward the back room and off to bed.
“Well?” asked Jia Li, but Norbert turned up his nose, pointing his chin toward her neck. Jia Li huffed and pulled a pendant from under her shirt. It was the Fraternity’s symbol.
“There, satisfied?” asked Jia Li, holding it out to him.
“Righty-o,” said Norbert. “All is well now.”
“And?” asked Jia Li.
“And what?” asked Norbert. He shook out the bamboo, letting the shavings fall to the floor.
“What’s all this nonsense about David that you’ve seen fit to storm into my house?” asked Jia Li.
“Well, you know how Davey’s on a special mission to retrieve a special something from a special someone?” asked Norbert, leaning toward her.
“Yes,” said Jia Li.
“And that the retrieving of this special something requires a special formula to still the special someone so the something can be acquired?” asked Norbert. He was on the edge of his seat.
‘Yes,” said Jia Li.
“Well that formula isn’t the formula,” said Norbert, sitting back.
“What?” asked Jia Li.
“The poison Davey’s carrying, it isn’t a poison. It’s a liquid headache tablet.”
“A headache tablet?” asked Jia Li. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m seriously serious, I am. Purples confirmed it this afternoon; Davey’s deadly poison would be better suited for mincing migraines than splitting shields. We’ve been duped by a dubious character, we have,” said Norbert, “indubitably.”
“What did the Lady say about this?”
“They wouldn’t let me speak to her,” said Norbert. He picked up the bamboo and continued carving.
“I feel like someone should have caught this, the Lady especially,” said Jia Li.
“When I ran the poison in Davey’s bottle it came up as a blank; I just assumed it was one of those rare, gnarly poisons from around the fall of Paradise. Purples doesn’t know those poisons. She’s a respectable cabbage, she is.”
“Wouldn’t she have caught the tablets?”
“Ah, but the person who got us the poison was clever, he was. He got headache tablets that aren’t on the market yet, hoping we wouldn’t notice.”
“It worked,” said Jia Li, frowning.
“Almost. It was only by the sheer grace of Avinoam that I caught it, albeit a bit late. The dosage in Davey’s bottle is high; I suspect it’ll make the merry King sick but won’t do much else. If he uses it, they’ll definitely catch him out, and he won’t last very long after that.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well—”
Jia Li saw a bug crawl up onto the table near Norbert and pulled the can of bug spray from her holster. Norbert threw his arm toward hers, forcing the canister to spray toward the ceiling as she fired.
“Are you crazy, woman? You almost killed my sentry,” said Norbert. He bent his head near the table, speaking directly to the bug. “You okay, Stew?”
The roach turned toward Jia Li and hissed.
“I’m going to need you to go on a big journey and deliver a message to Davey. Will you be able to do that for me?” asked Norbert. Stew scurried into the hollowed bamboo and out again. He fluttered his wings.
“That’s a good boy,” said Norbert. “Will you be comfortable in here?”
“It’s a roach, Norbert,” said Jia Li.
“Hmm. Let’s see, maybe I can make it nicer,” said Norbert, looking around. He hurried out the door, returning with a plastic, pink daffodil.
“Norbert, that’s my daffodil,” said Jia Li, frowning.
“If Stew is going to go all that way by himself, he can at least do it in style,” said Norbert
, snipping the flower from the stem. He cleaned the bamboo of any leaves, then attached the daffodil to the top of the bamboo with some hot wax floating in a pot nearby. He sat back, admiring his work. “How does that look? Do you like it, Stew?”
“It looks ridiculous,” said Jia Li.
“I’m going to need you to be a good boy. Try to stay out of trouble, and come home to me, okay? I’m going to miss you when you’re gone,” said Norbert. He picked the roach up with his finger and held it to his cheek.
“That’s a good boy. Are you ready?” asked Norbert. Stew scurried inside. Norbert closed the open end of the bamboo with a heavy rock, fixing it together with hot wax. Then he carried it toward the back yard, stopping at the edge of the pool.
“Would you mind?” asked Norbert, nodding toward the Wendy House. Jia Li pressed a button on the control panel, retracting the bottom of the pool so it opened to the sea.
“Our fate rests with you, Stew,” said Norbert, kneeling down. “May Avinoam bring speed.”
Norbert dropped the bamboo into the pool and stood up again, watching as his favourite roach sank into the depths of the sea.
“Are you crying?” asked Jia Li.
“No, no, nosey, no,” said Norbert, wiping his eye. “I’m allergic to that confounded death spray you spritzed. It got in my eye, it did.”
Jia Li looked down at the pool.
“Will he make it?” she asked.
“Of course he will,” said Norbert. “He has to.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then only Avi knows,” said Norbert. “Only Avi knows.”
P A R T 2
C H A P T E R 4 3
Four notes knocked through the darkness, strong and ominous. David looked around to see what it was, but only blackness surrounded him. He had heard these sounds before, in another dream from another time, another world. They knocked again; he looked but still saw nothing. The notes broke into frantic music, like someone scurrying around without purpose; as it ran through the shadows David saw faint images of a time past—of a world not of Aeroth. The images pulsed stronger, coming into focus. He listened.
It was six o’clock in the morning. David saw himself alone on a ragged bench in an old classroom with dirty windows, surrounded by dust and music. A cello was singing at his feet; David danced the bow across its strings with nervous anticipation, listening to the accompanying orchestra in his head. A grandmotherly woman stood in the open doorway, nodding her head in rhythm to the music. She was Miss Francis Gooden, principal of Stoneview Institute, a high school located in the inner city. Her colleagues called her Fran.
“Mhm-mhm. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, child. Music surely is one of life’s precious miracles, especially when it’s played the way you play.
“Aw, you flatter me, Fran,” said David, setting down his bow.
“You’re here a bit early today, aren’t you?” asked Fran. As she walked toward him David could smell the familiar, happy scent that seemed to follow Fran wherever she went, something like chicken soup and sunshine.
“I was too excited for the news,” said David.
Fran held out a folded envelope. “I’ve brought your announcements for homeroom.”
“Hand-delivered mail… that can only mean bad news,” said David, frowning at the paper. Fran laughed.
“Don’t look so worried, child. You’re gonna get old quick if you let the worry wrinkles set in, and there’s not a single soul who’s ever looked good with worry wrinkles.”
“What did they say?” asked David.
“Well, the board was very impressed with your presentation about the importance of music in after-school curricula, very impressed. They said it was the best they had seen in a long time.”
“And…”
“And they said they’ll consider it next year. The funding is too tight for now.”
David’s shoulders sunk like a sail without wind.
“In other words, no,” said David.
Fran smiled apologetically.
“Damn,” said David, shaking his head.
“I told you not to get your hopes up, child.”
“I know, I know, it’s just…”
“It’s just you didn’t listen, as usual,” said Fran, her smile widening.
“I really thought I had them. Couldn’t you persuade them?” asked David.
“Me? Child, I’m lucky they haven’t closed the entire school down yet. I’ve told you time and again. People won’t teach a boy to fish when—”
“They can sell him the fish, I remember,” said David, sighing.
“Exactly, child, and unfortunately there are one too many fishmongers around town. That’s just how it is.”
“But I know a classical club could really open up new worlds for them.”
“You don’t have to preach it to me, child. I hear you. Loud and clear, I hear you.”
They both stared ahead, thinking. Fran snapped her fingers.
“Isn’t your daddy a well-known economist? Maybe he could help you persuade the board,” said Fran.
“He’s an ecologist, and unless you’re a frog in the middle of the rainforest he’ll have very little interest in you,” said David. “Actually, forgetting I exist is rather a hobby of his, and he’s fairly good at it.”
Fran frowned.
“What if I do it without their help? I can donate the time, maybe raise the funds for instruments.”
“No, no, I can’t allow that,” said Fran.
“Why not? Why would the board say no to that?”
“It’s not the board who’s saying no,” said Fran. “I won’t allow it.”
David stared at her.
“Do you see yourself, child? You’re twenty-four years old with a whole boatload of potential, and you’re stuck playing your soul out in dusty rooms, counting coins while we continue to pay you too little for the work that you do. You have a gift, child, a real gift. You’re a talented musician and artist, and a dedicated teacher. I will not allow you to be further exploited, despite your good intentions.”
“I don’t mind, honestly.”
“Hmm… That’s only because you’re too young, idyllic and decent to care for yourself, but I know,” said Fran, picking up David’s bow. “I know. If you give them a match these people will burn you out until there’s nothing left but a hollow feeling of despondency and regret. I won’t allow it, at least not so soon, anyway.”
“But—”
Fran placed the bow in David’s hand, folding his fingers over the string.
“Go back to your playing, child. The whole world will hear you one day, if you keep playing. But for now, I’m afraid the debate is over.”
Fran left David with his bow in the middle of the old music room. A slow, melodic tune began to wail behind her; she stopped at the doorway and listened.
“Mhmm… Beautiful,” said Fran. “What is it?”
“A requiem,” said David.
Fran shook her head and made her way down the empty, locker-lined halls toward the principal’s office.
David sighed as the last of the notes of his song lingered in the silence. He sat in the quiet, his face a dead expression as he stared at the empty seats, lost in thought.
Tring, Tring.
A shrill, metallic sound of a bell clanged through the halls, followed by the clamour of chattering students and slamming lockers. David put away his cello and sprinted through the corridors, dodging spit balls and pushing apart kissing couples with the tip of his enormous cello case. As the sea of faces ebbed, he broke into a full run, but by the time David made it to the art classroom at the other end of Stoneview, the damage was already done.
He trudged past the laughing students up to the life-sized, wooden mannequin in the corner, which was now sporting a lacy bra, a striped sock and a consi
derable amount of toilet paper. The mannequin was also missing his head and half of his left middle finger. David swiped a hastily scribbled ransom note that someone had pressed to the mannequin’s neck with a wad of gum.
Give us A’s or head will burn.
“You know what, I don’t even care this morning,” said David, crumpling the paper. “I don’t even care.” He took a seat at his desk and opened his briefcase.
“Hey, Mr M, who’s in the body bag?” asked one of the students, pointing his chin toward the bulky cello case.
“Mozart,” said David.
“Mo-who?”
“Never mind. Let’s move to announcements,” said David. He opened the envelope from Fran and scanned the pages.
“Let’s see. So I’m pleased to announce Stoneview’s ‘Adopt an Eel’ campaign with the local aquarium is going well. Principal Gooden says it’s proof that with a little effort we r’eely can make a difference. Ha ha.”
The class grumbled and shifted in their seats. David tapped the paper with his finger.
“Oh, here’s something new,” said David, his voice rising. “The Historic Elegiac Society for the Preservation of the Ancient World is sponsoring their first ever essay contest.”
He dodged an expertly-aimed paper airplane that whizzed past his head, just missing his ear.
“The topic concerns the intersection between art and culture and is due at the end of next month,” said David. “Is anyone interested in a flyer?”
“Just some crap for some snobby, old fogies, if you ask me,” said a student, who was slumped in his chair in the front row.
“I don’t know, Winston, it sounds pretty cool to me. You get to write about a famous piece of art and add pictures. I will award five points extra credit to anyone who enters an essay in the contest. Any takers?” asked David.
“Only if you jump off a bridge,” said Winston, crumpling the paper. David rubbed his neck.
“You know what? Fine, I’ll take your deal,” said David. “If someone in this class wins this essay contest, I will jump off Skeleton Bridge.”