Amy stared at the patterned rug below her feet. “It wasn’t the Humboldt. It was the White Star.”
“White Star? I haven’t heard of that ship.”
“That’s not surprising. We’ve come a very, very long way.”
“From New York, I suppose,” said Mrs. Morgan. “Am I right? You speak in a sort of educated, citified way. Reminds me of my late husband, and he was from Rochester.”
“That’s exactly where she’s from,” said Three. “From that place you just said.”
Mrs. Morgan turned to Three and blinked rapidly. “Pardon me for saying so, but it’s very odd to meet a pair of sisters with different accents. Your sister may be from New York but you sound nothing like her.”
Three cleared her throat. “We, um … we used to live very far apart.”
“Different boarding schools, I suppose. I’ve never heard anyone speak English like you. It sounds a bit Scottish, with a Southern accent mixed in somewhere. Are you from Tennessee?”
Three jerked up a finger. “Yes! Boy, oh boy, do I miss that place. Momma and her home-cooked squirrels. Cooked them in a pot, she did, with a brick on top so they couldn’t crawl out.” She jumped up from the sofa and held her ribs. “Ow! That hurt.”
Amy covered her elbow with the blanket. “I apologize for my sister. She’s a bit confused. It’s been a shocking day for a lonely country girl like her.”
Mrs. Morgan leaped forward and hugged both teenagers. “You poor girls! The horrible tragedy has overwhelmed your delicate senses. Do you have a fever? Forehead feels a bit cold. More blankets!”
She rushed out of the room.
“What exactly are we doing here?” asked Three. “That old lady is half in the bag, if you ask me.”
“Half in the bag? Are you saying she’s drunk?”
Three shrugged. “Or crazy?”
“Mrs. Morgan is nice,” said Lim. “She does not become drunk. She is a Methodist and Methodists do not like these things.”
“I agree with Lim, and I think she just wants to help,” said Amy. “We don’t have anything in this dimension––no ship, no place to stay, not even two pennies to rub together. If anyone needs a Methodist charity, it’s a pair of stranded space travelers like us. We’ll only be here long enough to get our bearings and figure out the next step. That might include going to church and making friends.”
“I’ll join a nunnery before that!”
“Be my guest.”
“We could knock over a bank or two. A pair of flash girls like us would be rich in no time. I bet these cavemen don’t even have DNA sensors and magnetic locks!”
Amy shook her head. “I gave up stealing a while ago, after … whatever, it doesn’t matter.”
“You gave up after you met Philip,” murmured Three. “You were smart and picked Fiji. Not me! I’m too stupid to listen to anyone and rotten to the core.”
“I’m sure there’s some good in you. Maybe in your big toe or the left side of your pancreas. I’ll be generous––your entire pancreas.”
“Funny.”
Amy poked Three in the arm. “Seriously, though––keep it simple with our story. We don’t want to spook Mrs. Morgan with tales of outer space and talking cats and crap.”
Three pulled down the sleeves of her Chinese jacket. “I get the picture. I should also probably keep my tattoos under wraps. I bet she’d have a cow if she saw them.”
“Mrs. Morgan does not have a cow,” said Lim. “There is no room in the yard for a cow.”
“That’s not what she meant,” said Amy.
Mrs. Morgan’s voice boomed from the back of the house.
“Here we are. I found them at last!”
The older lady rushed into the parlor with a stack of blankets in her arms. She dropped the huge pile of colored wool at Three’s feet and proceeded to wrap another layer of wool around the reluctant teenager.
“That’s better,” she said. “You needn’t worry your pretty heads about your parents, my dears. I’m certain in the horrible commotion of the wreck and the ship, the pair of you were separated. We’ll simply go down to the harbormaster and set this right.”
Amy shook her head. “Our parents weren’t on the ship.”
“Husbands?”
Three smirked. “This really is the olden days. They still have marriage contracts?”
Amy covered Three’s mouth with her hand. “No husbands or family, just a pair of sisters traveling to … Hawai’i. We have a cousin there.”
“Oh, my! The journey has turned into such hardship for you poor, lovely girls. I don’t know if they receive telegraphs in Hawai’i, but I can take you to Western Union and we’ll send a message wherever you like. In the meantime, I’ll fix up a room and find a change of clothing for both of you. How about a hot bath? I’ll start the boiler.”
“Thank you for everything,” said Amy. “I’m fine with my own clothes, but my sister could borrow some. The rest of our luggage and everything we had is at the bottom of the ocean.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled. “Give to him who asks of you, saith the Lord. Both of you may stay here as long as it takes to sort out your arrangements. Let me air out your room. There’s also the prayer meeting tonight. Such a busy day!”
A sharp knock vibrated the door.
“Busier and busier,” said Mrs. Morgan. “Who could that be?”
She opened the door to a short, elderly man in a dark blue suit. Although balding, with steel-gray hair, a bristly mustache, and pince-nez glasses, he was as slender as an elf and held his black bowler hat with steady confidence.
“Mr. Woodley, how are you?” said Mrs. Morgan. “I’m afraid our afternoon stroll will have to be postponed until the morrow. Two young women from a floundered ship have just arrived, and I must attend to their needs.”
Mr. Woodley’s dark eyes widened and his mustache twitched. He leaned inside the sitting room to peer at the pair of girls wrapped in blankets.
“My word, Claire! Pardon me––Mrs. Morgan. The servants were gossiping this morning about the strange, awful sea creatures washing up on shore because of the storm, but I hadn’t heard a jot or tittle about a wreck. It’s absolutely peculiar, what with the beaching of the submarine at Port Watsonville, and now this! I hope it wasn’t the Humboldt.”
“No, thank goodness. It was a ship called the White Star, God save their souls.”
Amy raised her voice. “Awful sea creatures? What kind?”
Woodley smiled and ducked his head. “E.G. Woodley, miss––pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please don’t worry yourself about such things, servants being servants and all. They gossiped on and on about giant creatures on the beach near China Point, enough to make me wonder if the Devil himself had taken hold of their minds. According to the servants, the creatures were green and covered in scales like a crocodile, ones that roared like lions and feasted on the raw flesh of a pair of Chinese fishermen. I’m embarrassed to pass on such lurid and fantastic details in the company of ladies. I’m certain the missing men will turn up soon. A sighting of sea lions is the more Christian explanation, or I’m a monkey’s uncle––pardon the expression.”
“Of course,” said Amy. “Thank you, Mr. Woodley.”
The gentleman bowed in the doorway. “My pleasure. If I can be of any service to the young ladies or yourself, Mrs. Morgan, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Mr. Woodley.”
The older gentleman tipped his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Good day, Mr. Woodley.”
Amy turned to Three. “That name sounds really familiar.”
Three yawned. “Woodley–schmudley. His servants got drunk and saw a dead fish, or saw a dead fish and got drunk, or saw a drunk and got drunk.”
Mrs. Morgan closed the door and wagged a finger at Three. “That would be impossible my dear child. Pacific Grove is an upstanding town of Methodist values, and not a drop of that intemperate, Satanic poison is allowed.”
Chapter Seve
n
Hans Weiss had managed the household of Mr. Woodley since the day the tall young man had stepped off a ship and shook the hand of the older gentleman at the end of a San Francisco pier. The blonde German had followed his employer into a sedate and unfortunately ‘dry’ retirement in the California Methodist community of Pacific Grove, where the discussion of a pleasurable Mosel riesling––or discussion of any wine at all––was absolutely “verboten.” Fortunately, Hans and his employer Mr. Woodley shared a tendency for rebellion.
“I won’t do it, Mr. Weiss!” whispered Anna.
The young maid stood in front of Hans, the afternoon light from the kitchen windows surrounding her dress and apron with a ghostly glow. She held her pale, trembling arms straight in front of her, as if she could physically block the words of the butler’s suggestion.
“It’s too awful,” said the maid. “I won’t!”
Hans sighed. He leaned over the young woman and stroked her cheek.
“My dear Anna, I simply need you to hold the lantern. I’ll go first of course, and I have my pistol if anything happens. Ist Ordnung––I mean, is that acceptable for you?”
The maid took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second. She opened them and nodded.
“Yes, Mr. Weiss.”
“Good.”
The butler lit a glass lantern and led Anna into the garden by the hand. He stopped at the back of the house beside the angled door of the cellar and knelt down with his ear on the whitewashed wood.
“Can you hear it, Mr. Weiss?”
The butler held a finger to his lips. “Stille, meine Schatzi.”
He listened at the angled wood for a long moment, and then lifted the door with a sweep of his arm. The oiled hinges rolled smoothly to the side.
The tall butler stepped carefully down a dozen wooden steps into a cellar that smelled of damp earth, coal, and vinegar. Light from the lantern in his hand gleamed on racks of wine bottles along the wall. In the center of the hard-packed, dirt floor lay the gigantic green body of a lizard.
Scraps of stretchy red fabric clung to his arms and legs. The muscular limbs were as thick as trees but also firmly shackled to the brick columns of the house foundation by iron chains and a huge length of tarred sailing rope. The scaly green chest rose and fell slowly––a simple and natural action that made the giant lizard even more horrifying.
Anna covered her mouth. “It’s still alive!”
“Hush.”
The butler let go of her hand and took a small pistol from his pocket.
The lizard opened his eyes a crack, but did not move his scaly green head. He seemed to lack the small amount of energy needed to rotate his wet yellow eyes even the few centimeters needed to look at the humans. “You … fooolsss,” he hissed through jaws full of sharp, triangular teeth. “Let me go.”
Hans stepped around the giant lizard, keeping his eyes and the weapon constantly pointed at the monster. He grabbed a bottle of wine, glanced at the label, and backed away.
“I cannot release you until I have a better offer,” he said. “If the Smithsonian does not respond to my telegram, perhaps you will find a home with a wealthy collector.” He smiled. “At the very least, I know a taxidermist.”
“I hate taxes,” whispered Nistra, and struggled weakly against the chains around his arms and legs. “And accountants. I’ll kill all of you when I’m free.”
Anna grabbed a sleeve of the butler’s jacket. “Shoot it now. It’s horrible!”
Hans backed slowly toward the cellar steps and pulled Anna with him. “Nein, meine Liebchen. It is worth twice as much if we keep it alive.”
Nistra stared at the spider webs dangling from the wooden beams above his head as he listened to the humans shuffle back up the steps. The cellar door slammed shut, dropping him into what the disgusting monkeys considered darkness, but for the eyes of a sauropod warrior was as clear as day. After the cellar had been quiet for a short while, his ear-holes detected the scratch of tiny teeth on wood coming from a corner. Nistra silently rolled onto his belly and inched his broken body toward the sound, sliding across the dirt using his shoulders and knees.
“Cruel humans,” he hissed. “They must know that rats give me gas.”
On the coast a few kilometers away, three giant reptiles huddled shoulder-to-shoulder inside the black rocks of a cave just steps from the roaring surf. Multi-colored scraps of fabric hung from their scaly arms and legs, and all were damp from the sea. Each of the lizards clenched his jaws angrily even as his sharp teeth chattered and his entire body shivered from the cold.
Astra pointed his chin at a silver triangle Plastra held in his claws.
“Check it again.”
“I did,” said Plastra. “Five seconds ago!”
“Please?”
Plastra sighed. The giant lizard pointed the triangle toward the foaming breakers of the ocean and waved it back and forth.
“Nothing.”
“Did you check the battery?”
Plastra stomped the wet sand with a giant foot. “Of course I checked the battery!”
Astra groaned. “Chisna’s dead and I’m never getting those ten woolongs!”
Plastra lowered the metal triangle and stared at Astra. “Nine of our friends are dead––let me repeat that, NINE––and all you care about is money? I hope the gods remember that when you return to the Egg, you whining fool.”
Astra hung his giant head. “After what’s happened, I don’t think I believe in the Egg anymore.”
“Blasphemy,” said Plastra. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
George, the largest in mass and most impressively muscular of the three reptiles in the cave, opened his razor-toothed jaws and belched.
“Stop fighting,” he said. “It makes me hungry.”
“How can you say that?” asked Plastra. “You just ate an entire Centauran without even sharing.”
“I was hungry.”
Astra held up a sharp-clawed finger. “No Centauran meat for me. I hate the taste. I’ll eat a slimy, stinky fish before I eat a man-monkey.”
George burped again. The sauro reached inside his gigantic mouth and pulled out a brown Chinese cap covered in clear, dripping goop.
“It didn’t taste like a normal Centauran,” he said. “More like a stringy, free-range Centauran who really needs a bath.”
“Oh, and you would know the difference?” sneered Astra. “Are you some kind of human meat expert?”
George blinked. “Yes.”
“Forgive me for breaking up a lovely conversation about free-range humans,” said Plastra. “But we have to find a way out of this hole Nistra has buried us in.”
“More like a cave than a hole,” said Astra.
“Shut up. Our fair leader Nistra is almost definitely at the bottom of the ocean right now, so we can forget about his glorious plan of taking over the spaceship.”
“It’s at the bottom of the ocean, too,” said Astra.
Plastra said nothing, and watched the white surf crashing outside the cave. At last he nodded.
“We should wait for nightfall, when the stupid Centaurans sleep, and explore their pitiful shambles of a village. Their eyes are weak in the darkness.”
“I’m not going into the water again,” growled George. “I hate swimming!”
“Don’t get yourself worked up,” said Plastra. “I’m not planning on any more swimming for the rest of my life.”
Astra spread his sharp claws. “I get it! We sneak into the Centauran village and catch a taxi back to Tau Ceti. Easy-peezey, poona-squeezey.”
“You forget how backwards the countryside of Alpha Centauri can be,” said Plastra. “I think we’ll have to journey to the capital before we can find any kind of interplanetary flight.”
George shook his brown scaly head. “But … what if this isn’t Alpha Centauri?”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” snorted Plastra. “You don’t find Centaurans anyw
here else.”
“We got here really fast. I thought it took a week to get to Alpha Centauri.”
Plastra rolled his eyes. “If it looks like a Centauran, smells like a Centauran, and walks like a Centauran, then we’re on Alpha Centauri!”
“But it didn’t taste like a Centauran.”
“Shut up!”
The triangular device in Plastra’s claw chirped and flashed green.
“A signal!”
He pointed the chunk of metal toward land, and it chirped louder and faster.
“A kilometer from here,” whispered the lizard as he stared at the device. “Right in the middle of the human village.”
George clapped his claws. “Hooray! One of my friends is not dead!”
“Not for long,” said Plastra. “The vital signs are extremely low. These man-monkey animals might be preparing to feast upon him. Egg curse their black hearts!”
Astra shivered. “Who would eat a sauro?”
Plastra snapped his jaws angrily. “Deviants, criminals, and villains of the first water. Beings with no more sense of right and wrong than a television reporter. If you believe the stories, Alpha Centauri is covered with them.”
George blinked. “Reporters?”
“No, you idiot! Villains who would eat the brave flesh of a brave soldier from the bravest planet in the galaxy! Once darkness falls, we must rush to help our fallen comrade.” He bared his sharp teeth. “And murder every human in our path!”
George cheered and clapped his scaly palms in rhythm. “Yay! We love murder, yes we do, we love murder, how about you?”
Plastra sighed and shook his head. “Cheerleaders.”
MRS. MORGAN took a pair of coins from a small velvet purse and handed them to Lim, along with a short list of items to purchase from the bakery and Bodfish Dairy.
The Chinese girl bowed. “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. I will come back soon.”
Amy stood from the sofa. “I’ll go with you.”
“There’s no need, my dear,” said Mrs. Morgan. “You’ve suffered a horrible calamity and should rest.”
SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3) Page 9