The Powerbeagle wakes up, looks alert.
“Richie, I’ve got it! It’s so simple. Amber! We’ll give her the Amber Amulet!”
HE AMBER AMULET, BECAUSE of its precious properties, is fiercely guarded by a sleeping giant not far from his secret lair. Furthermore, it lies locked inside a barely penetrable chest that may or may not feature an intricate security system.
It is a mission of immense bravery against inconceivable odds. The punitive measures for being caught don’t bear thinking about. But it’s a journey he must take. A woman’s life is in his hands.
The Masked Avenger double-checks his Amazing Powerbelt and does a series of acrobatic stretches. He removes his all-terrain powerboots and covers each foot with a cotton stealth-sheath. A Hero must be versatile.
He walks a tightrope down the hall. Slowly, he pushes open the entrance to the sleeping giant’s quarters. In the murky dimness, he makes out her figure, curled in the center of the bed, breathing deep and heavy. Her chest rises and falls to a steady beat. For a mortally dangerous creature, she looks quite peaceful and beautiful. But he must not linger. Any false move could see her detonate.
He finds the chest that is home to the Amber Amulet on a nearby dresser. He stands before it and deftly manipulates the locking system. He incrementally lifts the lid. A sudden move here could be fatal. He locates the amulet easily and picks it up with his breath held. Fortunately, no sirens blare. He has a lighter touch than he thought. He slips out of the room and closes the door.
On his way back to the secret lair, the Masked Avenger is interrupted by a scratching sound behind him. He wheels round. He has left Richie inside! His comrade is trapped! He must free him before it’s too late!
He turns the knob and pushes, but the door bangs Richie on the top of the head, which in the tense air issues the same report as a cannon in an empty gorge. Sure enough, the sleeping giant has been disturbed. She rustles and rises and quickly flaps at her bedside lamp. She spasms and gasps upon seeing him.
“Liam? You scared me!”
The Masked Avenger faces certain death!
“Sorry.” He wilts, trying to back out of the door.
“Wait! Come back here! What are you wearing? Is that your tracksuit? Why are you wearing a mask? Is that . . . that better not be my good silk slip that you’ve cut holes in. Why aren’t you in bed?”
The Masked Avenger is in grave peril! All could unravel! Could this be the end?
“I . . . I just came in here to see if you were all right.”
She shakes her head, but her frazzled frown softens. She sighs.
“You should be in bed, Liam. Not up and playing games with Richie.”
He nods. Could the Masked Avenger make it out unscathed?
“What time is it? Liam, you’ve got school in a couple of hours. And I don’t want you creeping around the house like this. It makes me feel the opposite of all right, do you understand? Go. To bed. Now!”
He is dismissed. Richie flees.
Back in his secret lair, he holds the amber up to the light. It’s a rich glassy orb of burnished butterscotch. Trapped inside is the delicate husk of a tiny spider. It’s beautiful. It’s going to work, too. It’s going to save that woman.
It’s too risky to deliver it tonight. He’ll have to wait it out and lie low.
For now, he conceals the Amber Amulet under his pillow and gives Richie a chicken-flavored energy unit. He rubs his tender head and apologizes for putting him in danger.
“I came back for you though, Richie. Remember that.”
With hope in his heart, the Masked Avenger makes a report in his Hero Log, disrobes, and retires for the evening.
E WAITS TWO LONG DAYS before he suits up again, which allows him time to work on his response. To further protect his identity, he carts in an old typewriter.
He sweats over the reply, tapping out dozens of drafts. A Hero must be concise, but detailed. He must be warm, but authoritative. It’s a difficult balance to strike.
Finally, he ends up with a memorandum both he and Richie are happy with.
He secures the amulet to the page with its own pin. Then he tucks the letter into an envelope that features his finest official monogram. (It’s important she knows this isn’t the work of an impostor.)
He also makes a separate copy for his Hero Log.
On his way to her house, he notices a garden sprinkler is not performing optimally. His preliminary assessment leans toward a congested filter. He vows to clear it out on the way back.
He also moves a stranded bicycle that was outside its property line closer to its garage, because villains love an easy target.
He arrives. There are no lights on. Perhaps she’s gone to bed early or she’s out. He takes a quick scan through his spyglass before deciding to leave the envelope. Then he walks to the adjacent park and sits on a swing set in the shadows, waiting to see if she emerges. She doesn’t.
He heads for his secret lair by way of the faulty sprinkler.
HREE DAYS LATER, LIAM McKenzie arrives home from school and sees his mother in distress. She looks disheveled and her eyes are pink and puffy. He slowly drops his bag.
“What’s wrong?”
She runs a hand through her hair.
“Liam, I need to talk to you. Come and sit down.”
Liam sits down. Richie trots out of the room.
“Listen. I am missing something very precious. Do you have any idea what that might be?”
She searches his widening eyes. Liam McKenzie must, again, skirt the border of Trouble and betray his principles.
He shrugs and shakes his head. His mother exhales and rubs her cheeks with both hands. She looks very tired.
“I’m missing an amber brooch from my jewelery box. Are you sure you haven’t seen it or touched it? It’s okay, you’re not in any trouble if you have, I just want to know if you’ve moved it, that’s all.”
Liam’s bottom lip blooms. He shakes his head again.
“No.” He clears his throat. “No, I definitely haven’t seen it. I’m sorry.”
“Really? Oh, goodness. I was really hoping you knew where it was. I can’t understand where it is. It’s just . . . missing. From out of my jewelery box. I haven’t worn it in years but I see it there every day. It was my grandmother’s brooch, Liam, and it is very, very important to me. If it’s gone . . .”
His mother’s eyes get glassy and her voice gets thick.
“We’ll find it,” says Liam. “We’ll look every-where.”
“I have looked everywhere. But it doesn’t make sense for it to be somewhere other than that box. I don’t understand. It must have been stolen. It’s the only answer. Maybe it was the plumber who was here last week. But if it has been stolen, why just that brooch? Why not anything else?”
“You’re right,” says Liam, who has a sick, cold weight in his stomach. “It doesn’t add up.”
“It’s all I had left of her, and it was her favorite thing in the world. She wore it everywhere. I can’t believe I’ve lost it. I will never forgive myself. I have to find it. It can’t be gone.”
She gets up, distracted. Then she sits back down again.
“I’m sorry,” Liam says again with a lump in his throat. And he means it.
“It’s okay.” She sighs. “It’s not your fault.”
HAT NIGHT, THE MASKED Avenger very slowly suits up. His mask is a limp ribbon in his hands. He takes a deep breath.
In trying to enact one Right, he has invited a whole cluster of Wrongs. He has tried to cure a citizen’s unhappiness with a potent piece of amber, but its absence from its rightful place has caused untold misery.
The Masked Avenger has his work cut out for him. This is his sternest test, his hour of reckoning. It will test his loyalty, his courage, and his mettle. He has no choice: he must retrieve the Amber Amulet!
But how? He can’t simply ask for it. A Hero can’t develop trust with troubled citizens by admitting mistakes and meekly retracting life-altering items. It wou
ld be humiliating. And besides, this woman believes in him. She has enlisted his expertise! If she suspects him of being a fraud, she could spiral into a cesspool of dejection!
He paces.
He snaps his fingers. Maybe it’s still in her mailbox! It’s only been three days, she may not have checked her mail. He has a faint flutter of hope in his chest. He has to go there. Tonight.
But if she has taken the amulet? What then? He will have to employ desperate measures. There is only one way. He will need to infiltrate the premises and steal it back.
It’s a serious mission. He’ll need to be on top of his game. Because he knows precisely where the amulet will be: pinned to her chest, just as he instructed.
Stealth will be critical. He’ll need a cool hand and an iron will. He can’t afford schoolboy errors like his last excursion. He can’t be locking his comrade inside the arena of danger. He’ll need to be clean and sharp. Professional.
For the first time as a Superhero, he is suddenly arrested by volts of nerves. Maybe he should just request its return. After all, it’s only one citizen in a metropolis of many. Or even just let the amulet go, forget it ever happened. His mother will get over it.
But down the hall, he can hear her restless rustling, turning things over, shifting furniture, riffling through drawers. He clenches his grand-father’s service medal and closes his eyes, feeling its power coursing through his bloodstream.
He is ready.
But before he leaves, he uses a penknife to pick away the four shards of amethyst from his Amazing Powerbelt. A Hero must never betray his attributes. He drops them in a drawer and promises to earn them back.
EING IT’S A STATE OF EMERGENCY, the Masked Avenger doesn’t bother to patrol. He glides down the footpath toward her house and observes. The lights are off. A good sign.
He and Richie sneak over. Holding his breath, he lifts the lid of her mailbox. It is empty.
He sits on the pavement, shielded by a hedge. His head rolls back. The Masked Avenger accepts his fate. He has to go in.
The front of her house is too exposed. Any number of neighbors could witness him trespassing. He decides to head up the flank of the adjoining park and enter from the back. It’s a classic tactical maneuver. From the rear, he’ll have the time and safety he needs to find an impromptu entrance. He can wriggle a window, squeeze through a cat flap, work the lock with his knife. He’ll have to play it by ear.
“Come on, Richie. It’s time. We have to do this.”
They sneak, quickly and quietly, following a high pine picket fence, which is garlanded by a thin vine. His heightened senses detect citronella and smoke in the air. He can see easily through the gaps in the fence. He extends his spyglass and peers. A floodlight spreads across the woman’s backyard, and there she is, sitting on her back porch with a novel. He thinks he can see the amulet on her left collarbone. He looks for entrances and options.
It’s impossible! Impenetrable! There must be another way. Attempting the operation now would be a suicide mission. He snaps his spyglass shut and looks down to think. His temple pounds. This is harder than he thought. He can’t blaze his way to victory right now. He needs a more intricate scheme. He should head back to his secret lair to develop an infallible plan.
“Come on, Richie. Let’s go.”
He looks to his left, but Richie is not there. He swivels and scans the park but he can’t locate his partner. Confused, he peers back through the fence into her yard and that’s when he sees Richie. Squatting. Bashfully taking a dump on her lawn.
The Masked Avenger gasps. What is he doing? Is this cold betrayal or a misguided attempt at a diversion? Either way, it makes little sense. He has to get him out of there.
“Richie!” he whisper-shouts, “Richie!”
But his comrade doesn’t hear or understand. His powers of Interspecies Communion seem to be ebbing.
He glances toward the porch. The woman hasn’t looked up from her book. There’s still a chance they might make it out of this.
Richie has finished his business and is now inspecting the property with his nose. How has she not seen him?
“Richie!” he calls a little louder. “Richie, come here!”
The woman looks up, directly at the fence. He lurches backward and the impact has him sitting on something sharp in his utility belt. He cries out in shock and pain.
Now the woman stands up and squints in his direction. Then she frowns at Richie the Powerbeagle.
“Who’s there?”
The Masked Avenger panics and says nothing. Through the fence he can see that Richie is also looking his way. This is not his finest hour. Still, he can’t leave him there. He’s just laid a turd on her lawn. She might call animal control to have him executed. He clears his throat.
“It’s me, ma’am. The Masked Avenger.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” he quickly adds. “I was just making sure you were safe. And I’m sorry about . . . my associate. I can clear that up.”
“That’s no problem,” she calls out. “Why don’t you come over so we can talk properly?”
He breathes heavily and looks around.
“I can’t, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“It might compromise my identity.”
She pauses.
“But don’t you have a mask?”
Silence. He’s stuck! She’s smarter than he thought.
“Okay,” he offers eventually.
He glances at the gap under the fence that Richie crawled through. No chance. He’ll have to go over.
The Masked Avenger takes a running start, leaps and hoists himself over the fence. The pickets are sharper than he’d imagined, so he hurries his dismount and lands messily. However, he’s spared a spectacular tumble by his cape, which has snagged itself on a rail and suspended him at an awkward angle. He flails his arms to no avail. The woman crosses the lawn to unhook him. She smells nice. He looks up from the Amber Amulet and sees that she has a bruised eye. He looks down.
“Thank you,” he says, and arranges his sheencape.
“Come sit down,” she urges and waves.
“Oh, you know, I shouldn’t stay. I’ll just collect my partner and get going.”
“Come on.” She smiles warmly. “We should talk. It’s okay.”
She wears a quizzical smile, as though she finds him somehow faintly amusing. Perhaps it’s a testament to the effectiveness of the amulet. She’s deliriously happy under its spell, wildly content. Nevertheless, the Masked Avenger senses the balance between Hero and Citizen has shifted. He clicks into gear and looks up.
“Would you like to sit down, ma’am?” he asks, his arm gesturing toward the porch. “We should probably talk. I’d be interested to see how you’re doing.”
Her brow furrows slightly but she agrees. She is very pretty, with untied hair and creamy skin and a generous smile. They sit on the porch.
“Would you like a drink?” she asks.
“No, thank you. I can’t accept gifts.”
“I see. My name is Joan, by the way.”
He nods. Richie slumps heavily by his feet and exhales. Again, he feels his authority slipping, so he asks a question.
“Do you know what amber is, Joan?”
He adds her name as an afterthought, thinking it will make him sound a little more professorial and wise.
She unlatches the amulet and holds it in her lap.
“Not really, no.”
“It’s a fossil. Made out of tree resin.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. It takes at least ten million years to make amber. Ten million years, sitting there under the earth. Then most of it washes up by the Baltic Sea. People collect it. Do you know where the Baltic Sea is?”
“I do, yes.”
“It’s in Europe.”
“It is.”
“So you’ve got this fossil being formed over millions of years, under incredible pressure and heat, and the whole time it’
s collecting energy. That’s why it’s so potent. The same as other gems and metals and rocks, which take just as long to make. But amber is different because it’s made of resin, which is like a plant’s blood. It helps to heal the tree. And that’s why people, ages ago, thought that amber could heal them. They used it as medicine, for sore throats and things. But I know different.”
“How so?”
“Because it’s full of ultra-concentrated positive energy, enough for more than your lifetime. And just by touching it, you can transfer it into your body on a molecular level. The Amber Amulet is kind of miraculous when you think about it. Millions and millions of years ago, in Europe, it oozed out of a tree and that little spider got stuck in it, then it got buried underground, then it was put in a basket, then a boat, then it was brought over here and then givento you.”
“That’s really something.”
He’s clearly impressed her with his expertise. And her enthusiasm goads him on, the words bubble out of his mouth. He perches on the edge of his chair.
“See, everything has energy. Think about it. Coal, for example. It’s just fossilised trees and we turn it into electricity. Same as gasoline, which is just really old bits of fish, and the world runs on it! So it makes sense that something like amber, and other stones and metals, are full of different kinds of energies because they’re made of different stuff. The secret is how to unlock them. They did it with the atom, remember? They chopped one up, and look how much energy came out. A thing that tiny, it blew up a city!”
“It certainly did.”
“Energy is everywhere, Joan. And energy is power. If you can harness more energy, you become powerful.”
“Like you.”
“Well, I’m still learning, really. Unfortunately, my gem collection is very limited, but I’m building it up. When I get better materials, like diamonds and rubies and gold, I’ll have more impressive powers and I’ll be able to save more people. I’m working on telekinesis at the moment. That’s when you can move objects with your mind, because energy can move through the air. That’s what Nikola Tesla discovered. He was a genius. He worked out that every second, all over the world, there are a hundred bolts of lightning. And he wanted to get access to all that energy, but he couldn’t work out how. Did you know that a lightning bolt is hotter than the sun, Joan?”
The Amber Amulet Page 2