Penelope March Is Melting

by Jeffrey Michael Ruby

  First she needed to find Coral and warn her about Stella. Where does a person go to disappear in Glacier Cove?

  The Grotto.

  The west side path looked completely different. Penelope’s body ached with exhaustion and she wasn’t sure she was even going the right way. The sun setting over the iceberg cast a weird pink glow over what remained of the terrain. “Come on, where are you?” Penelope said aloud. She knew the opening was around here somewhere.

  As she leaped across a wide crevasse, Penelope’s boots sank into the slush on the other side, and she felt the ground rumble beneath her.

  A pop cracked the air like a cannon. Penelope, in search of more solid ground, shot back in the direction from which she’d just come. Across the crevasse, an ice mass the size of a football field broke loose from Glacier Cove and crashed into the ocean with a violent splash. Waves rippled away from what was once the coastline. Now it was nuggets of debris drifting into the distance.

  One last fragment peeked above the water’s surface for a moment, as if struggling to stay afloat. Then with one final gurgle, it gave up and disappeared under the water.

  The Grotto was gone.

  Penelope dropped her backpack by the door and bolted into the kitchen, out of breath.

  “Miles, you’re not going to believe—”

  She stopped before she was through the doorway. Sitting across the kitchen table from Miles, dressed in black and looking smaller than ever, was Coral Wanamaker.

  Coral looked away, almost bored, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be in Penelope’s kitchen. Even more bizarre was what Penelope saw behind Coral.

  Limping back and forth across the little room, trying his hardest to look stern, was Mr. Stingleberry. Though all he could muster was an awkward frown, the kind of face one might make after taking a bite of something that has recently gone rotten, his presence alarmed Penelope.

  At the other end of the kitchen stood Penelope’s father, thick arms crossed, eyes burning with fury. “Sit down,” he barked. “Now.”

  “I tried to stop them,” Miles pleaded to Penelope. “They barged in—”

  Russell held up his hand. “Stop talking.” Then he turned to Penelope. “Start talking.”

  “Dad, I don’t know what’s going on here.”

  “What’s going on? What’s going on! What’s going on…Well, now, let’s see. You’ve been sneaking out of the house, disobeying my orders, lying to my face, and going to an old man’s home to play with chain saws. That’s what’s going on. Then I ground you, make it clear that you’re to walk straight home from school, and, for reasons I can’t begin to understand, you go and do it again! Something like that. Is that accurate?”

  “I can explain, Dad.”

  “I’ll bet you can. All this nonsense about learning…what…ice sculpture? And floating off in a submarine in the dead of night with a bunch of penguins to search for a monster? Something like that? Is that your explanation?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Penelope said in a shaky voice. “Where did you get that idea?” She tried not to make eye contact with Miles, whose head was in his hands anyway.

  “I was concerned,” Coral interjected. “Worried that you were in danger. So I went to Mr. Stingleberry—”

  Penelope sprang at Coral. “You little rat!”

  Her father stepped between them and held Penelope at bay while she struggled to get loose.

  “I went to Mr. Stingleberry,” Coral continued, calm as could be, “and I told him about you and Buzzardstock. Our teacher had some alarming things to say about your friend.”

  Stingleberry ran his fingers through his thinning hair, as though he might find the correct words in there somewhere. “Yes, well, as you know, Ore9n Buzzardstock and I have a long—hic!—history. Not all of it’s good. I…was a lonely child, and he took me under his—hic!—under his wing. But I began to see things. Things I could not explain. Just as he did with you, Penelope, he led me beneath his home and showed me a crystal. Said it belonged to a sea monster and that it was the only thing keeping Glacier Cove afloat or some sort of rubbish like that. And when I expressed disbelief, he turned against me.”

  “He’s just a harmless old man,” Penelope said.

  “Harmless?” Stingleberry’s expression changed. “Do you know why I limp, Miss March? Are you at all curious about that?”

  Penelope said nothing. She was starting to feel ill.

  “Your friend Ore9n Buzzardstock was teaching me how to smooth the edges of an ice sculpture with a pistol grip sander—I assume you know what that is—and he was displeased by my lack of progress. Do you know what he did? Do you?”

  “I—”

  “He cut off my toe with a chain saw!” Stingleberry bellowed. “Doctors couldn’t even reattach it, because Ore9n Buzzardstock wouldn’t give it back! Said I—hic!—didn’t deserve it! My own toe! That’s your harmless old man! He’s a sociopath! A lunatic! A dangerous—”

  “Okay, Paul, take it easy,” said Russell. “We get it.”

  “Dad,” Penelope said. “Listen to me—”

  Her father put his hand up again. “I’m not going to lose my only daughter to this nonsense. Buzzardstock is obviously not right in the head. He’s lucky there’s not a mob on its way to his house to torch it to the ground.”

  The plausibility of such a scenario hung in the air for a moment, sending a tremble through Penelope. “Have any of you noticed,” she said in a shaky voice, “that Glacier Cove is melting?”

  Stingleberry snorted. “The size and shape of this town waxes and wanes constantly. It’s—hic!—nothing new. That’s the nature of an iceberg.”

  “No. That’s not the nature of an iceberg. The nature of an iceberg is to float in ocean currents and melt when it reaches warm waters. When that happens, the iceberg can become unstable and tip up to a more stable position. That takes anywhere from a few months to a few years.”

  Stingleberry turned to Penelope’s father. “This is the kind of claptrap he’s filling her head with.”

  “Don’t you wonder how Glacier Cove has survived so long?” Penelope asked.

  “No,” Stingleberry retorted. “It has survived. That’s all we need to know.”

  “Oh, really? I just saw a hunk of the west side crumble into the ocean!” Penelope turned to Coral. “I also saw your crazy old—”

  “Enough,” Russell said. “Coral, you’ve been to Buzzardstock’s house. What do you think? Is he crazy? Is he dangerous?”

  Coral tensed her shoulders until they were almost touching her ears. Then she exhaled and looked Penelope in the eye with a grief so overwhelming it seemed that her entire body might explode. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed us all, then went home and made himself a sandwich.”

  Penelope’s mouth plummeted. Her tongue stumbled to form a response. “She’s lying!” She looked to her brother. “Miles, come on! That’s not true and you know it!”

  “I—I’m sorry, Pen,” he sputtered. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Coward,” she spat with such cruelty that the word seemed to strike Miles on the cheek, causing him to flinch. That was when Penelope felt the pressure well up in her chest—a mix of exhaustion and confusion—and boil over. She began to sob.

  The anger in Russell’s eyes softened. Within seconds, his arms were around his daughter, and her face was buried in his shoulder. As he ushered Penelope from the room, she was surprised to see Coral Wanamaker crying too. Russell dragged his daughter out and deposited her in her bedroom hammock.

  After her father had left the bedroom and closed the door behind him, Penelope heard the click of a lock and bolt snapping into place outside her door. A few minutes later, she heard the same sound from outside her bedroom window. A prisoner in her own room, Penelope sank into the hammock and let the warm tears spill over.

  For hours, Penelope drifted in and out of delirious sleep. Whispers and raised voices, door slams and deathly silences crept in and out. The shadows
under her door weaved their way into her troubled dreams.

  She dreamed that Miles, Coral, Stingleberry, and Teddy Bronconato were playing Ping-Pong across from her hammock. While the ground rumbled beneath them, they argued over the score. Then Teddy hit an errant shot that struck Penelope’s arm.

  She woke with a sting and a start and found her father sitting on her floor, his back against the door, watching her. The clock said 12:35 a.m. The Delphia left in two and a half hours. She looked across the room at her brother’s empty hammock. “Where’s Miles?”

  “Asleep in my room. Must have gotten tired of screaming at me. I know you both think I’m being a closed-minded fool. But I’m protecting you.”

  “Dad. You don’t even know what you’re protecting me from.”

  Russell rubbed his beard. “I know you and your brother are too smart for Glacier Cove and that you want more than anything to escape. But Buzzardstock knows it too, and he’s using that to put some pretty dangerous thoughts in your head.”

  “And how do you escape? Purple Lightning?”

  Her father cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ve only loved one woman in this world. I gave her my heart, and when she died she took it with her. A big part of me will always be missing. But the only thing that can come close to filling that hole is you and your brother. If I lost either of you…I couldn’t…I can’t…” His voice trailed off.

  It was the first time Penelope had ever heard her father speak about her mother. She searched his eyes for signs of drunkenness. There were none. Penelope tried to hide the ache of sympathy she felt for him.

  “A part of you is missing,” she replied. “But half of me is a mystery to myself. I didn’t lose Mom. I never had her to begin with. You’ve never once shared her memory with me.”

  Russell’s eyes moistened. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  For some reason the image of Coral Wanamaker’s tears popped into Penelope’s head. “What’s going to happen to Buzzardstock?”

  Russell’s face hardened. “Forget Buzzardstock.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “Just stop. Your brother begged me not to call the police, and I won’t, but from this point forward, you won’t be having any more contact with Ore9n Buzzardstock. And you certainly won’t be getting on any submarine.”

  —

  Penelope awoke to a faint clicking noise. Her father had fallen asleep, his enormous body sprawled out on the floor. He had his coat spread out over a tiny percentage of his torso and a hat wadded under his head for a pillow.

  The clock read 2:42 a.m. Penelope had abandoned hope.

  Then she heard it again.

  Click.

  Russell began to stir on the floor.

  Penelope sat up. The sound was coming from just beyond her window. She tiptoed across the room, making sure the whole way that her father’s eyes were closed.

  Outside the window was Miles, backpack on, sticking a paper clip into the lock and twisting it to and fro. Struggling to boost him up to the window were two penguins in military uniforms. “A little higher, guys,” Miles whispered.

  Penelope had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. The penguins chirped at each other in obvious pain and inched her brother’s body upward as he continued to work on the lock. Penelope could have kissed all three of them.

  An emphatic grunt from behind Penelope punctured the room’s silence. Russell was tossing and turning on the floor. One more sound, any sound, would surely awaken him. Penelope’s heart beat faster. She motioned to Miles and put a finger to her mouth.

  “Would you two knuckleheads shut up?” Miles whispered. He continued to work on the lock, his nimble fingers darting in and out with the paper clip.

  Click.

  This click sounded different, fuller and more satisfying, and when Penelope saw Miles pumping his fist, she knew he had done it. He slid off the lock, opened the window, and extended his hand to his sister. Still wounded from the scene in the kitchen, he could not meet her eye. “Wanna go for a ride?”

  Penelope opened the closet door just wide enough to grab her overnight bag. But she forgot about the flashlight she’d left resting on top, which crashed to the ground with a clattery thud. Batteries rolled in all directions. One came to rest against her father’s weathered hand.

  Penelope’s heart stopped, as did her feet.

  Russell roused and sputtered. Then he scratched his beard and rolled over to face the other way. A moment later, the committed honk of his snores echoed off the floor.

  Penelope tiptoed across the room and slipped the bag through the window. Then she slid her body through the opening into Miles’s arms, whereupon the two of them, accompanied by a pair of sweaty and talkative penguins, left Russell March alone in a heap on the bedroom floor.

  The clock over the Ice House door read 2:54 a.m., and Buzzardstock looked relieved to see them. “So glad you decided to come.” He clapped Miles on the shoulder. “Your sister I wasn’t worried about. Well. Anyway, come, come. We haven’t a moment to spare!”

  As the old man ushered them through the remains of his house, Penelope eyed him curiously. Had he told her everything? The conversation in her kitchen had rattled her faith. She wiggled her toes in her boots.

  The Cold Room buzzed with activity. Dozens of uniformed penguins scurried about, some carrying tools or supplies, others holding clipboards and barking commands in Penglish. One fellow dragged enormous frozen bags filled with what appeared to be slabs of beef. Another was stacking little computer keyboards and carrying them through a small door on the side of the Delphia.

  “Some members of the crew were beginning to suspect you’d had second thoughts.” The three of them turned to find Decker, rigid as usual, on the makeshift dock beside them. “I assured them, much to their relief, that that was not the case. Private Anderson. Their bags.”

  A paunchy little guy stepped forward and took a look at Penelope’s bag. Though she hadn’t packed much, it was roughly the same size as he was.

  “It’s fine,” Penelope said. “I can carry my own bag.”

  Anderson looked back at Decker, who shook his head. The poor private swallowed and took the bag from Penelope’s hand, staggering under its weight. “I’ll come back for the other one,” he groused, and stumbled off.

  “All hands on deck!” an impatient penguin called out. The crew scampered around to finish their tasks, then filtered up the gangway through a small hatch on the side of the submarine.

  Decker nodded at Miles and Penelope. Miles started toward the gangway.

  “I just have a couple of questions,” Penelope said.

  Decker checked his watch. “There’ll be time for that once you’re aboard. We’re scheduled to submerge in less than five minutes, and I don’t relish the thought of explaining to Commander Beardbottom that I was the reason for a delay.”

  “If this mission is as dangerous as you say, then I’m entitled to a few answers before I board.”

  Miles shot a scorching look at Penelope: You talked me into this, and now you have cold feet? Get on the submarine.

  Decker crossed his wings. “Very well. How may I be of service?”

  “Well, for one thing, a few days ago, as far as I know, you were made of ice. How do we know you’re not going to turn back to ice once we get down there? And is this thing safe? How are we going to understand what’s going on?”

  Private Anderson returned, his feathers ruffled, his beak dropping when he saw the size of Miles’s backpack. The poor guy let out a whimper and dragged the pack across the dock.

  Decker had turned his back to Penelope and looked up at the high ceiling, deep in thought, or perhaps so angry that he decided to end the conversation. Finally, he spun around.

  “I am a military man. I don’t ask questions. If a ranking officer tells me to stand on my head and whistle, I stand on my head and whistle. That’s what sailors do. They follow orders. But I get it. You’re not a sailor. So I’m going to tell you: there are some things a
bout this situation that I’ve been asked to take on faith, and I would ask that you do the same. Yes, submarine combat under ice is less than ideal. Ice keels jut down into the water, which can puncture and sink a submarine if we run into them at high speed. But we will not. This craft is perfectly safe, and we are skilled technicians. Regarding us being made of ice, I’m not sure what you’re referring to. We are flesh and blood and always have been. And every crew member has been instructed to speak English, for your benefit, for the duration of the mission. You and your brother will not be left in the dark. Now, come aboard.” Decker turned and disappeared into the submarine.

  “All hands on deck!” a penguin called again.

  Miles ducked inside before he could chicken out. Penelope was alone on the dock.

  “Bon voyage.”

  Standing behind her, with a bittersweet look on his face, was Buzzardstock.

  “Wait,” Penelope said. “You’re not coming?”

  “My faithful companion and I will hold down the fort here, at least what’s left of it, and hope that your mission is a rousing success. You can’t have a ferocious dog running about on board anyway.” Wolfknuckle wagged his tail against Buzzardstock’s leg.

  “But you got us into this! You said this was the only way to save Glacier Cove! Now you’re backing out?”

  Buzzardstock smiled wistfully. “My dear, I never was in. I’m an old man and far too inflexible to fold my tired body into a penguin submarine. I’ve done my part. The rest is up to you.”

  “But…we can’t do this without you.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll know what to do when the time comes.” He motioned around the room, the last part of his home that was not melting. “Just don’t wait too long. When you return, we can trade tales of glory. I’ve got a few of my own.”

  Penelope bit her lip. “Ore9n…did you cut off Mr. Stingleberry’s toe with a chain saw?”

  Buzzardstock raised his eyebrows, then leaned over and put his hands on his knees like a sprinter trying to catch his breath. At first Penelope thought he was hanging his head in shame. Then she thought he was throwing up. But then she saw that he was trying very, very hard not to laugh.