A Wish in the Dark

by Christina Soontornvat

  Nok followed his gaze and noticed how many more people had begun to crowd around them.

  “We have so much more to talk about, Nok, but now is not the time,” her father said in a low voice. “I need you to go home for now and wait for me there. This is not a safe place for you.”

  Suddenly, Nok remembered why she’d come back to Chattana. She wiped her face dry with her sleeve. “Daddy, I have to tell you something. There’s going to be a march on the bridge tonight. It’s going to be peaceful, but the Governor wants to shut it down. He’s going to try to arrest everyone.”

  Her father leaned back, shocked. “How do you know that?”

  “Dad, you have to stop him! It isn’t right!”

  Her father shook his head. “Nok, the Governor came to me not even an hour ago and asked me to change the laws so he could do exactly as you say.”

  “And what did you do?” asked Nok, holding her breath.

  “I — I didn’t know what to do, honestly.” He looked down at his sagging socks. “I’m not good at being the Law Commissioner, Nok. A good Commissioner would have had a clear answer for him right away. I should have been able to quote from an important book or bring up some lesson from history. But for some reason, all of that flew right out of my head. The Governor is so sure of himself. The more he talked to me about this march, about the law, the more confused I became. . . .”

  “Oh, Dad . . .”

  “But I just couldn’t do it. I knew that if I did what he wanted, I would never be able to hold my head up in front of my children. So I told him no.”

  Nok squeezed his hands tightly in hers. “You did the right thing!”

  “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. He fired me.”

  “What!”

  Her father nodded. “And some other Commissioners, too. I’m actually lucky not to be in jail myself. The Governor is going to change the law anyway. He is losing his grip on the city, so he’s squeezing his fist even tighter. That’s why I want you to go home right now. Things are about to get very dangerous here.” He pointed discreetly to the people standing around them. “You see all of them? They’re undercover police. I worry that the Governor himself will come out with his personal guards. I don’t know what he’ll do. I’m afraid of him.”

  Now Nok realized why the men and women on the bridge had looked so odd. All their clothes were the same, as if they’d pulled them out of the same costume trunk. Nok glimpsed the tip of a staff peeking from beneath the jacket of a man who stood close by.

  A soft, rhythmic drumming drifted toward them from the east. It grew louder, then louder still. After a moment, Nok realized what it was: the footsteps of hundreds of feet.

  The police on the bridge gathered like a shoal of fish and began shedding their plain clothes costumes.

  “All right, things are starting,” said her father. “You must go home, and — Nok! What are you doing? Stop!”

  Nok broke through the line of police. She scooped up her staff and ran, her black hair swishing behind her, straight into the mass of marchers.

  Pong dug the boat’s propeller into the water, willing it to go faster as he sped northward. His rib cage ached, like he hadn’t taken a deep, full breath in a very long time. That box inside his chest had come down and crumbled away, and he could feel his heart beating between his lungs — a hot, fluttering thing.

  It was a strange feeling. Not new, exactly. He’d felt this way before, years ago. Before he’d met the Governor, before anyone had told him that the world is full of darkness, and that will never change.

  Those words had kept him locked up for so long. Now Pong understood what sad, cruel words they were. If you believed them, then the only way to make sense of the world was with courts and judges, rules and jails. Those were the things that kept a city orderly. They kept people in line. But by themselves, they did nothing to make the world better.

  Father Cham had known that. Even after his mistake with the Governor, he’d never given up trying to make a better world. Not with wishes or with magic. He had fanned the embers of people’s hearts and sent them out into the world to do extraordinary things.

  Pong remembered what Father Cham always told him: “You have a good heart.” For the first time, the words didn’t seem like a lie or a mistake. For the first time, Pong believed them.

  He took another deep breath, both excited and terrified to share what he’d learned about the Governor’s secret connection to Father Cham. He would tell Somkit and Mark. Together, they would find a way to speak to the Governor. Pong would share the vision he had on the river and explain that Father Cham would never have wanted things to turn out this way. The Governor would listen if Pong invoked Father Cham’s name, and Pong could show his own bracelet as proof.

  But would he ever get to the bridge in time? The boat’s tail was as far in the water as it could go, but he was still moving too slowly. Pong couldn’t even see the lights of the city yet. At this rate, the march would be over and done by the time he reached the city limits.

  He cut off the motor and lifted the pole out of the water. Oh, why didn’t he know anything about how machines worked? He slapped the side of the motor with the heel of his palm in frustration.

  “Ah!” he gasped. A sharp pain shot through the tender flesh below his thumb. He rubbed the bruise as he felt along the smooth case of the motor with his other hand. A squared-off bit of metal stuck out on the side.

  It was a switch. Pong flipped it and started the boat up again. This time, a second, larger orb kicked on, nearly blinding him with the strength of its Jade light. The motor whirred even louder than it had before.

  Pong lowered the boat tail back into the water. The boat shot along the surface of the river like a rocket from a bottle. This was what Somkit had meant by souped-up!

  The wind blew fast on Pong’s face, wicking the last tears out of the corners of his eyes and flinging them into the dark river. He gripped tight to the boat’s tail, hoping that when the time came, he’d know what to say, and that he’d have the courage to say it.

  Nok held her staff close to her chest as she squeezed through the flowing crowd, searching each face that passed her. There were so many people. They walked shoulder to shoulder, filling the entire bridge, and still more poured out of the city. There must be thousands!

  Frustrated tears pressed at the corners of Nok’s eyes. She’d been so wrong about everything and everyone, but there was one person she’d gotten wrong most of all.

  “Please, excuse me?” she asked the people shouldering past her. “I’m looking for a boy named Pong. Do you know him?”

  “Pong?” said a girl carrying a Gold orb lantern. “He’s over there.”

  Nok gasped, but the girl pointed to a teenager with long hair. “A different Pong,” she said as the girl continued past.

  This was going to be impossible. She didn’t even know his last name.

  “Do you know a boy named Pong?” she asked again and again. “Any of you? He’s a boy my age, with a shaved head.”

  “Oh, great,” grumbled a voice behind her. “Just what we need.”

  Nok spun around to see Somkit standing among a cluster of people holding poles with Gold orbs swinging from the end. He eyed Nok spitefully as he worked on an orb for a woman holding a baby in her other arm.

  “There,” he told the woman, twisting two copper wires attached to the orb. “The contacts just weren’t touching. It should be fine now. Anyone else? No, all of yours are on. . . . You look good. . . . You’re good to go.”

  The other people marched away from him, but he stayed where he was, glaring at Nok.

  She watched the orb-carrying marchers with astonishment. Only now did she realize how odd it was that one in every dozen in the crowd carried the same Gold lights. She pushed past them to get closer to Somkit. “Where . . . ? How did you get so many Gold orbs?”

  “We didn’t steal them, if that’s what you mean,” grumbled Somkit. “We made them.”

  Nok didn’t
understand, but she didn’t have time to ask him to explain. “Is Pong with you?”

  Somkit scowled deeper. “Why do you care?”

  “Please, this is important,” she said, putting her hand on Somkit’s arm. “I want to help him.”

  Somkit wrinkled his nose, as if he were trying to decide whether to believe her. “You can save your good deed,” he said finally. “Pong’s not here. He left town this afternoon.”

  “He left?”

  “Yeah. Now, will you let go of me?” He yanked his arm away from her.

  Nok took a half step back. Somkit still glared at her like he hated her guts. “Well, that’s good to hear,” she said, “because every police officer in the city is on the other side of this bridge, and if they catch him, he’ll go to jail for the rest of his life.”

  Anxiousness rippled over Somkit’s face. “Why every officer?”

  “They’re planning on arresting everyone who marches tonight,” said Nok, keeping her voice low so she didn’t cause a panic.

  “They can’t do that,” said Somkit. “Look around. Nobody has any weapons. We aren’t doing anything wrong! You can tell your daddy to send all those police home. We’re here to make a point, not make any trouble.”

  “You don’t get it,” said Nok. “The Governor wanted my father to change the law so he could arrest you all. When my father refused, he fired him and changed the law anyway. The Governor plans to put everyone on this bridge in jail tonight!”

  Even as she said the words, Nok looked at the massive throng of people and knew that would be impossible. She also knew how determined the Governor was. A shiver of fear ran down her back. What if fighting broke out? What would he do?

  “Listen, you need to get out of here,” she said to Somkit. “I’m worried about what’s going to happen. It’s not safe for you.”

  He looked down at his orb and then out at the crowd. “I can’t leave. We worked so hard for this. Look how many people actually showed up. . . .”

  Just then, a gust of cool air blew over the bridge from the south. Somkit and Nok both breathed in deeply. The breeze smelled familiar to Nok: sharp and bright, like a tangerine. When Somkit turned back to her, the worried look was gone from his face.

  He took another deep breath and nodded to her. “Look, thanks for the warning, but I’m not leaving. We’re going to finish what we planned.”

  He brushed past her and ducked into the crowd heading toward the center of the bridge.

  “Wait . . . please!” Nok turned around and wove around the marchers, pushing her way through the gaps in the sea of bodies.

  The flow of people pushed her up to the midpoint of the bridge, almost to the very front line of marchers. She searched for Somkit but didn’t spot him anywhere. Ahead, the orb light glinted off the buttons of the police uniforms. But the officers hung back from approaching the crowd, as if they were waiting for something.

  Behind them, Nok saw the shutters of the West Side windows swinging closed, one after another, shutting off all that pretty Gold light. Whatever happened on the bridge tonight, the people on the West Side didn’t want to see it.

  The throng of marchers had kept up a steady hum of conversation. Some had started songs that rippled through the crowd in waves. But now all the singing and talking stopped, replaced with frightened whispers running from the front line toward the back.

  “He’s coming!”

  “I see him!”

  “The Governor!”

  By the time Pong finally reached the city, his knuckles and back teeth ached from keeping them clenched so tightly against the vibrations of Somkit’s supermotor. Clouds had moved in — the low-hanging ones that ran ahead of a big rainstorm. For a half second Pong hoped they would dump rain, keeping everyone inside and off the bridge, but the air still smelled dry. It wouldn’t rain tonight.

  The city lights reflected off the clouds, making it bright enough that he didn’t need to turn on his headlights. He held the permit in his left hand as he steered with the right. He wanted to have it ready in case the police stopped him and asked questions. But he didn’t see any police boats. In fact, there were hardly any boats on the river at all. Pong glided past an empty fishing pier. The docks and walkways along the riverfront were also deserted. Music played from the balconies of restaurants, but no diners sat at the tables. Had all those people gone to join the march on the bridge?

  As Pong motored on, he realized why he hadn’t seen any police boats on the way. Up ahead, every police craft in the city sat nose to stern, forming a barricade that spanned the entire width of the river. Pong cut his motor and stared, unsure what to do.

  If he wanted to get to the bridge in time, he’d need to be closer. It would take too long to dock his boat at this distance and walk through town. He took a deep breath and turned the motor on at half power. Slowly, he puttered closer to the barricade.

  Pong expected the police boats to be full of officers, but they bobbed silently in the water, anchored in formation.

  “Hello?” Pong called. “Is anyone here? Hello?”

  No one answered him.

  Pong turned and motored down the line, his eyes searching the hulls of all the boats. The night Somkit had jump-started Manit’s speedboat, Pong had taken note of the officer’s license plate. Now he hoped Somkit had found a way to get Manit’s boat back to him.

  He found it, bobbing empty, tethered to a big double-decker cruiser. “Please!” Pong called up to the cruiser. “Is someone there?”

  The cruiser’s spotlight snapped on and swiveled toward him, shining directly into his eyes. “Hey! You in the long-tail boat!” called a woman’s voice. “Nobody passes! You gotta either dock or wait till morning.”

  “Please let me through,” called Pong.

  “What do you not understand about nobody passes? Now, get outta here!”

  Pong shielded his eyes against the blinding orb light. “Please!” he called again. “Is Officer Manit here? I need to talk to him!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said the officer. “You and every other bony street rat in this city. You can hit him up for a handout some other night. Now, scram!”

  The spotlight swung away from him. Pong groaned. He was running out of time. For once he actually wanted the police to pay attention to him, and they were telling him to buzz off.

  He ran his trembling fingers around and around the frayed bracelets on his left wrist. Suddenly, he remembered what Father Cham had said about never removing his tattoo.

  What if someday you need it?

  Pong took a deep breath. “Wait!” he shouted up at the boat. “I’m a runaway! From Namwon Prison! I’m turning myself in!”

  There was a pause, and then the spotlight blasted back onto his face. Pong squinted and held his left arm high. He pulled up the bracelets, showing the blue mark on his wrist. “I escaped, see?” he called up to the boat. “I’m turning myself in, but only to Officer Manit! You better go get him. Right now!”

  “Uh . . . uh . . .” stammered the woman. “Okay, don’t move! Stay right there . . . in the name of the law! Manit!” she called out. “Manit, you gotta get up here!”

  Pong heard the thunking of feet hustling to get belowdecks, followed by a double-thunking rising up the stairs.

  “All right, all right, calm down,” said another voice behind the spotlight — a familiar voice this time. “Wait a second — Somkit’s cousin? What the heck is going on?”

  “Please,” said Pong, lowering his hands. “I really have to talk to you.”

  Manit stepped down onto the back platform of the cruiser and held out an open palm. Pong tossed him the line from the long-tail boat, and Manit pulled him in closer. He gave Pong a hand up, hauling him onto the platform beside him.

  “It’s okay. I got this,” Manit called over his shoulder to the other police officer. “Go get onto the transport boat next to us and wait for me there. I’ll bring the prisoner with me in a minute.”

  The other officer nodded and climbed over th
e deck rail onto a smaller boat bobbing beside Manit’s.

  Manit stared down at Pong’s left wrist, shaking his head. “Is that . . . ?” His eyes wandered up to Pong’s half-inch-long hair, and he smacked a palm over his eyes. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The monk? The convict that everyone’s looking for?”

  Pong nodded. “That’s me.”

  “Where the heck is your cousin?” Manit demanded. “Where’s Somkit?”

  “That’s why I need your help,” said Pong urgently. “I’ve got to get to him, and I can’t do it unless I go through this barricade.”

  “No, he’s not there,” said Manit, shaking his head. “He left the city this morning. I gave him a permit so he could get out of town easily.”

  “You mean this one?” Pong held up the paper in his hand.

  Manit’s jaw dropped open. “What the . . . ? He was supposed to use that to lie low for a few days! I told him that it wouldn’t be safe for kids like him to be hanging around the city. Things are about to get dicey around here.”

  “What do you mean, dicey?”

  Manit looked over his shoulder, then lowered his voice again. “The Governor has got the police and his own personal guards going out to meet the marchers on the Giant’s Bridge. They’re supposed to arrest them all, but I don’t think they’re prepared for how many people will be there. I just did a sweep by the eastern shore, and the whole place is empty. They can’t arrest that many people! The jails won’t hold them all. So I don’t know what they’ll do, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

  A knot of worry pulled itself tight in Pong’s stomach. “Officer Manit, Somkit is with the marchers. He’s going to be on the bridge tonight, probably right in the thick of things.”

  Manit shook his head, confused. He started to ask Pong more questions, but then they heard the faint sound of music. Pong and Manit both held still and listened. Voices, thousands of them, sang together. Pong recognized the melody. It was a popular love song, but they had changed the lyrics.