by Tara Omar
“What the—”
David fell back as Drew shrieked through the gag, startled at the horror lying under the floorboard.
C h a p t e r 8
“Buried under the boards in Imaan’s house, a man’s arm lay amid a pile of foil tobacco packets, severed at the elbow. A pair of knitting needles was poking through the skin near the end. When Drew saw them he relaxed, chuckling to himself as he shook his head. David untied his gag.
“What going on?” asked David.
“They’re surgeon’s needles,” said Drew.
“What?”
“You know, surgeon’s needles. For uh and eh and ahh.” Drew crinkled his nose and winked. Then he shimmied his chest.
David inched forward and carefully lifted the arm. It was soft and fleshy feeling, like a pile of skin without the muscle and bone. He shuddered as he slid the needles out, both had a small switch near the top and a name engraved on the side. He read.
Niptik Automated Knitting Needles, Industrial Strength
David thought back to the fireplace in Norbert’s bunker, where Imaan had dropped a floppy suit identical to his body into the fire. David’s eyes widened. Of course, he thought, Imaan’s disguises. They made disguises.
“Do you know how to use these?” asked David.
“Me? Do you think gorgeous manliness like this falls out of the sky?” asked Drew. “Obviously, I know how to use them.”
“Could you show me?”
“Why in the world would I help you?” asked Drew.
“I’ll let you go free,” said David.
Drew paused, thoughtful. “Can I have the bag also?” he asked.
“Fine,” sighed David.
“Promise?” asked Drew.
“Yes,” said David.
Drew smiled. “Let me see the needles.”
David held them in front of Drew’s face so he could see. He sighed with admiration.
“Oh, wow, this model is top of the range; its precision is down to the micrometre. And with adjustment capabilities, pigment reduction and augmentation, blemish control—
“I’m just interested in the basics,” said David.
“I’ll even let you have them when I’m done,” said David.
“Oh, well, where do I begin?” asked Drew. “I guess the best place to start is the beginning. As their introduction film would tell you, don’t think a short tutorial will rocket you to greatness. Brilliant looks—such as mine—take years of research and practice. They take an immense amount of dedication and hard work. There are no shortcuts.”
“Do I turn on the switch?”
“No, no, no, no-no,” cried Drew. “Don’t touch the switch. First, we must go through the proper way to choose a model, what parts of your body you would like to change, the overall look you’re going for…”
“Drew, if you don’t mind, I’d like the abridged version of how to use these, otherwise I might get very impatient and snap one by accident,” said David.
“But—”
David started to bend the needle from either end. Drew yelped.
“Okay, I’ll abridge the part about finding a model.”
David pressed harder.
“Fine, you turn the switch on the needles to ‘position one’ and scan the part of the body you wish to copy,” said Drew, speaking quickly. “Then you take a spool of printing thread, loop it around both needles in a figure-eight pattern and turn the switches to the second position. The needles will knit the part you scan. Snip the thread when complete, and you’re ready to attach to your body, like you would any wig or mask. Is that sufficient?”
“Yes, I think so,” said David, releasing the needle.
Drew sighed. “Heathen,” he mumbled.
David emptied the space under the floorboard, pulling out piles of tobacco packets and spools of printing thread. He opened every packet of tobacco and dumped it, checking to see if one might be holding the shield. Drew watched him closely.
“Let’s see, for a start, you should maybe try a new nose and different ears, and maybe a bit of augmentation on the gluts and biceps. You know, the basics,” said Drew.
David emptied the last packet. He found nothing.
“How’s your criminal record?” asked David.
“Me? Flawless,” said Drew.
David slid the switches to the first position. Long slits across the length of the needles began to emit beams of green light as he passed the needles over Drew’s body.
“Though come to think of it, I do have that unpaid parking ticket that I probably should—um, what are you doing?” asked Drew.
“Making another you,” said David.
“But that’s cheating.”
David looped the printing thread around the needles and slid the switch. They hummed to life, rapidly knitting a disguise of skin, hair and clothing identical to Drew. David smirked.
“Drew, let’s be honest, am I really going to find a sexier combination?”
“Hmm…you have a point,” said Drew, “though we both know only I can pull this off.”
“I’ll take my chances,” said David. He squeezed himself into the suit, which had a weird feeling, like another layer of skin snugged tight against his clothing. David shuddered. He threw the needles and extra thread into his bag, along with Drew’s sword and a book of maps. David waved. “Well, it was nice meeting you. See you around.”
“Where are you going?” asked Drew.
“Out,” said David.
“Aren’t you going to release me?” asked Drew.
David shook his head.
“But that’s not fair. You promised,” said Drew as he wriggled against the ropes. “I trusted you!”
“Yeah, well that’s life…in this world,” said David. “Good day.” And with that the disguised mer headed into the night en route to the Sheba district.
C h a p t e r 9
“Imaan sat in a cold, damp corner of her rusting cell on Kakapo Wreck, staring into the night through the tiny barred window above her. She wore a blank, dead expression; if it weren’t for the plumes of smoke rising from her hookah pipe, she could easily have blended into the stone wall. She shifted her gaze from the window to the clouds of smoke, watching as they faded into nothing at the edge of her cell. She paused.
A glimmer of light came back to her hollow eyes. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, searching the dusty ground until she found a sharp piece of broken rock that had come away from the wall.
“I should have thought of this before,” said Imaan, coughing.
“Hey, quiet yourself,” shouted a guard from outside. “Quit shuffling around your cell.”
Imaan crouched back to the corner, stifling a cough as she etched a message into the pipe’s glass bowl. She coughed again.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said ‘quiet!’” shouted the guard, pounding an angry fist into the door of her cell. But Imaan could not quiet her coughing. She coughed and coughed until she could barely breathe. Her throat became sore and her head and lungs hurt from lack of air. Imaan could feel her throat closing. She grabbed her neck and leaned forward, desperately gasping for a breath, but the coughing was too much for her. She collapsed into the dirt, leaving behind her hookah pipe, a single word etched into its bowl.
Merlin.
C h a p t e r 1 0
Gilgamesh Ullrich stood at his kitchen counter in his house along King’s Beach, julienning carrots with more care than was necessary. A full-size figure stood over a short cone in the middle of his living room table, chatting about the daily events—the anchor for the six o’clock news. She stared out into Gill’s bachelor pad without seeing it, her voice solemn.
Protests continue outside the Temple precinct after King Dominic ordered its closure earlier today. The King is responding to the allegations—
Gill clicked a remote and walked toward the sink. The figures disappeared into the cone just as the doorbell rang through the house. He rinsed his hands and opened the door.
“Your cracked cup has set up a pretty good ceremony, wouldn’t you say?” asked Dominic. “Lady Imaan has officially been defrocked and her temple of power is crumbling.” He stood leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, smirking. Gill frowned at the line of men surrounding his house.
“Biy’avi, Dom, how many guards do you have outside?” asked Gill, looking past him.
“Enough,” said Dominic. “There seems to be a threat going about.”
“You’re scaring the people,” said Gill. “I watched an earlier report that said you’ve started hanging criminals also? Isn’t that a bit drastic?” He locked the door as Dominic plopped down on the sofa.
“Meh, it’s just the lazy people trying to prove a point. Overall, I’m told I still have a very good approval rating, and crime has dropped to almost zero overnight. These guards are a small price to pay for finally getting rid of that woman’s superstitious nonsense, and all nonsense in general, really.”
“But you are also making a lot of enemies,” said Gill.
“I expected that and I am stronger than my enemies,” said Dominic.
“But not religion.”
“What?”
“Dominic, listen to me. There are powerful people that followed the Lady, which is why Saladin indulged her as much as he did.”
“Yeah, and the bat had him killed.”
“You don’t know that,” said Gill, “and even if she had, it wouldn’t matter. Not everyone will trust your facts.”
“What are you saying, Gill?”
“I am saying that you cannot destroy her legacy so quickly and so openly, or you will find yourself with the same fate as Saladin.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Of course not. But you need to balance your heavy hand with a softer heart, or there will be rebellion.”
“You know this is treasonous,” said Dominic.
“It’s just common sense,” said Gill. He sat down on the sofa next to Dominic and picked up the drink that Moai had set in front 6of him. He stirred it with his straw as he spoke. “So, why did you come to see me?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Dominic, taking his own drink. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
A loud banging pounded through the door.
“Gilgamesh Rutherford Ullrich, come out and fight like a man, you coward. How dare you have your door locked!”
“I’m a bit busy now, Norbert,” shouted Gill.
“I don’t care if you’re with the King of Aeroth. You come out here, right this instant. We have a score to settle, we do. GILL!”
Gill sighed. “Do you mind? You know he’s not going to stop until I answer.”
Dominic chuckled. “It’s fine. I was just leaving.”
Gill opened the door and found his angry neighbour on the other side in his paisley swim shorts, wearing a waist pouch. He stared at him through the thin window of a welding mask.
“What are you wearing, Norbert?” asked Gill. Dominic rose from his seat.
“I think I shall be leaving now. Good day, Gill, Mr Bransby,” said Dominic. He slid past them and headed toward his docked pteroduck, followed by his entourage of Ibex guards. Norbert waited until the last one left before raising his arm.
“What in the crumbling carnation is this?” asked Norbert. He held a dirty bulb in his hand with a stem taped to its top. Gill squinted.
“I believe it is an onion,” he said.
“What happened to the other one, the one growing in my window box?” asked Norbert.
“It went into a lovely steak tartare, of which I still have some leftovers. Would you like some?”
Norbert reeled back. “YOU USED MY ONION!?!”
“I replaced it,” said Gill.
“With what? A soulless orb from the grocery store? Mine was such a gorgeous, self-respecting flower and you killed her!”
“But—”
“MURDERER!”
“Okay, Norbert, that’s a bit harsh,” said Gill.
“Do you have any idea how long it takes to grow onions?” asked Norbert, the steam collecting on his mask. “Juliet was at the prime of her life and you yanked her up…and…and… oh my poor beauty!”
“Juliet?”
“OUT! GET OUT!”
Gill paused. “This is my house, Norbert.”
“Oh, there’s no talking to you, Gillweed. You can consider this the end of our friendship,” shouted Norbert. He stomped toward Gill’s fridge and tossed a can of chilled stinkbugs into his waist pouch before heading back to the door. Gill rolled his eyes.
“Norbert…”
“Nope, nope, nope. Don’t you Norbert me. I’m closing my shutters to you and refusing to answer my door. Monsters are not for me.”
“Come on, Norbert, don’t be childish. I replaced it,” said Gill, but Norbert was already tiptoeing through the maze of potted plants on the way back to his shack.
“I’ll be back this afternoon to get more worms,” he shouted.
“Oi,” sighed Gill. He shook his head and went back to cutting his carrots.
C h a p t e r 1 1
David hurried up the marble steps to the lavishly built House of Jakobson, the head office of Jakobson Limited in the Sheba district. He took a deep breath and entered the gleaming storefront disguised as Drew; a suited man came to greet him.
“May I help you, Sir?” asked the man.
“Just browsing,” said David. He picked up a hanging dinner jacket and pretended to be interested, watching as the man retreated to a desk positioned among gleaming shelves of starched shirts. As he turned, David slipped through the back door and into a palatial courtyard surrounded by archways, with a large reflecting pool glistening at the centre. David tiptoed up the stone steps to the first-floor offices located above the archways, eyeing the one with the largest balcony toward the middle of the row. He popped a vent in the ceiling above him and pulled himself upward into the air ducts, counting to himself as he crawled.
One…two…three…
David turned into another vent and stopped, peering through the grate below him. He was directly above the office with the largest balcony. Petra Jakobson sat at her desk, staring aimlessly at a detailed beetle collection hanging on the wall. A young man about David’s age barged through the door to her office, waving a booklet in his hand.
“Financial reports for Silbi Corporation. Profits are up again this year.”
Petra glanced at the booklet as the man dropped it on her desk.
“Did you know his company filed 111 patents in the last quarter alone? Investors are raving about the ‘miracle CEO.’”
“And your point is?” asked Petra.
“It’s impossible, Mummy. How does he do it…this endless parade of success and philanthropy? Every last Aerothian knows his name while Ephraim Jakobson is stuck in the shadows as the anonymous heir. I mean I’ve even sent spies to check out his staff. No one knows where all this innovation comes from. If this continues, he might even take us over.”
Petra sighed.
“Sweetie, Jakobson Limited is the biggest fashion house in Aeroth with a longstanding tradition behind the name. Gabe won’t cross the line with us, but if he becomes a threat, Mummy will sort him out, don’t you worry.”
“It’s not enough,” said Ephraim, poking the falcon bobblehead on her desk. “I swear, if Gabe continues like this, they’re going to put the crown on him next, while I wallow in menswear.”
“Your time will come, dear. Don’t you worry,” said Petra. Ephraim slumped into a chair.
“It all seems highly unlikely with that useless brother of mine controlling half my shares. Do you know he’s disap
peared again? He hasn’t shown up for work all week.”
“I’ll sort him out,” said Petra.
“Can’t we just fire him, Mummy? I don’t know why we can’t just fire him when he is clearly not interested in the business. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“I said I will sort him out,” said Petra, grabbing a stack of papers, “though since you’re here, we should go over the fabrics for—”
The bolts holding the grate to the ceiling gave way. David crashed to the floor, tearing his disguise near the wrist as he fell. Ephraim jumped back.
“What the—”
David groaned. From the small slit in his disguise, Petra noticed the faintest hint of a merish marking. Her eyes lit up. “You.”
“Who?” asked Ephraim.
David’s eyes darted back and forth.
Do I stay or run?
He remembered the last time he had met Ms Jakobson on her terms.
Definitely run.
David scrambled to his feet, but Petra caught his arm. She whispered in his ear. “I tell you this only to fulfil my duty. It’s in the Triumph of Reason. Habib will know when he sees.”
David paused. He tore his arm away from her and ran, shattering the glass doors to the balcony as he crashed through them. He jumped off the balcony’s ledge, plunging into the reflecting pool below.
Petra pressed the panic button below a row of beetles, sending alarms ringing through the complex.
“Who was that, Mummy?” asked Ephraim.
“Never mind,” said Petra. She turned to the guards that had appeared in her office, her eyes as bright as their blades. “Find the intruder and bring him to me. I want that man.”
C h a p t e r 1 2
David floated at the bottom of the reflecting pool at the head office of Jakobson Limited, his mind a panicked jumble. The blue flares of skin which hung from the knee under his disguise had flattened around his feet into fins; gills had opened on his neck; and his hair and markings were glowing fluorescent blue through his disguise. He could hear the alarm bells ringing above him. David knew he had to move from the pool fast or he would be surrounded. He also knew he had to do it without anyone seeing he was a mer—no small feat for someone unskilled at spinning filament. He fisted his hands as his mind rattled off anything and everything he had ever used in defence.