Archipelago N.Y.: Flynn (12 page)

Duncan Roth
checked his handheld. “More than we’ll be gaining in the Trials, according to
the numbers,” he said.

Van Zandt started
pacing the room again. “We need all the fresh blood we can get. Especially in
the scavenging business… We need your divers to be bringing up stuff… go deeper
to get us the supplies we need.”

“Indeed, we do.”
Duncan Roth nodded. “We’re running low on some vital supplies. I’ve got a whole
new sector on the East Side grid that’s scheduled for exploration and recovery…
I’ll definitely need all the divers I can get.”

“So this Perry boy
is reckless and dangerous,” Marcus Van Zandt was now rubbing his chin and back
to pacing the room.

“I’m telling you
he is…” Leo began, but Van Zandt shot him an angry look, and he fell silent.

“I’ll keep a close
eye on him,” said Duncan Roth. “They don’t call me the Rottweiler for nothing.”
He slipped his handheld device in his pocket and stood up. “If things get out
of control, I’ll make him disappear!”

“Then, I’ll leave
it in your capable hands, Duncan…I trust your good judgment.” 

Duncan Roth
nodded, excused himself and with a curt salute left the room.

Leo got up,
furious at what had just happened, but his father waved him down.

“You stay!” Marcus
Van Zandt said. “We need to talk.”

“About time you
showed up!” Madison greeted Flynn, crouching on top of the raft’s seat, “‘Cause
I'm done with guarding the
Seeker
!”

Madison had gotten
up very early that morning, cleaned her pigeon tower and made it to the docking
bay way ahead of Flynn. She had tidied up their diving gear, sorted through the
mess under the car seat and swept the deck. She had just sat down to eat her
breakfast when she had spotted a pair of gleaming red eyes, staring at her from
under one of the tarpaulins… Madison had nearly choked on her seaweed roll.

“What's wrong?”
Flynn asked. He stopped at the edge of the dock and eyed the long wooden oar
Madison was now brandishing in the air. Then he saw the big, slimy rat poking
its head out of the filthy water, circling the raft. Madison screamed and
shoved the oar at it, but the rat was faster. It dived and disappeared under
the dock’s platform.

“Didn't think you'd
be scared of a little mouse,” Flynn laughed as he boarded the
Seeker
.

“I'm not scared!
And it was a rat, not a mouse!” Madison slid down the seat and placed the oar
under it. “Just don't like them anywhere near me!”

“Not much
different from pigeons, if you ask me,” Flynn grinned, pointing at the small
bird cage close to Madison’s feet. A couple of her grey pigeons sat inside,
huddled together.

“Hey! Don't insult
my birds!” The girl thumped him on the shoulder. “They’re great messengers and very
intelligent creatures… I’m going to train these two to follow us out on the
water. They’re homing pigeons, not some stinking rodents!”

“I don't know
who's smarter, actually ...” Flynn untied the raft and hopped on the seat next
to her, “...and who's more stinky?”

“Flynn...” Madison
frowned at him, “do me a favor and get us out of here!”

“Sure thing,” said
Flynn, laughing again.

The
Seeker
pulled
away from the dock, turned and Flynn began to negotiate his way out between the
other moored vessels and platforms. He exited through the building’s gaping
entrance and made a right onto the West Street Canal, then headed up toward
Midtown Bay.

The traffic was
typical for that hour on the Lower Side. All kinds of shabby rafts, boats and
water bikes were moving up and down the waterways at their regular speed.
Nothing unusual, thought Flynn as he relaxed in his seat. He was about to ask Madison
about her pigeon training, when suddenly, he heard shouts up ahead… One by one,
all the vessels started to swerve and disappear into the side canals to their
right. West Street Canal was becoming rapidly deserted.

“What’s happening?
What’s all the excitement about?” Madison stood up to get a better look.

“I don’t know,”
replied Flynn, “but we’ll find out in a second.” He pressed on the pedals and
increased his speed, trying to catch up with the raft ahead. The man on that
vessel was moving fast, sweating over the pedals, clearly in a great hurry.
Flynn managed to get the
Seeker
close enough, and once leveled, he
sprang off his seat. “Get behind the pedals!” he told Madison. “Keep the same
speed as that guy and stay with him!” With those words, Flynn jumped
effortlessly over to the other raft.

Madison obeyed
immediately, taking his place. She stared ahead as she pedaled, but she could
see Flynn with the corner of her eye. He was hunched over the man, talking
fast. The man was saying something back, but she couldn’t hear anything from
all the loud splashing of the two rafts. Flynn nodded, turned and jumped back
on the
Seeker
.

“We’re in luck,”
he said as he took the rudder from Madison and made a sharp right into a side
canal.

“What is it?” she
cried, nearly falling off her seat.

“The Black Market’s
open for business!” Flynn said. “It’s on Fletcher Street Canal today! We’d
better hurry before it’s gone.”

Rafts and pontoons
of all shapes and sizes were lined up, side by side, along the length of
Fletcher Street Canal. Colorful awnings stretched over them, forming a row of
market-like stalls. But none of these vessels were moored. Huddled together, they
floated freely, ready to disperse and be gone in seconds. Unlike other markets
on the Lower Side, this one was illegal… Of course, everyone knew it existed,
including the Government. It was like a living, breathing entity, without a
permanent home. Always held in different spots and at different times of day,
its location would quickly spread around by word of mouth. Because it was
illegal, the market had a very short life, and would only last until the
Government scouts had alerted the Wardens… who would then, in turn, send word
to the cops. Once its whereabouts were discovered, the market would quickly
disband and disappear, as if into thin air.

Madison had been
to the Black Market a few times in the past, trading some pigeon meat and eggs,
but generally, she preferred to avoid it… Not worth the risk, she believed,
unless there was no other way to get what she needed. The
Seeker
had
passed a few water-bike cops before entering the canal. They were all bribed, Madison
thought, by the Black Market vendors, and that’s why they were turning a blind
eye! She knew that much without Flynn telling her.

“What are you
looking for?” she asked when they joined the line of vessels, moving slowly
past the makeshift stalls.

“I’ll know it,
when I see it,” Flynn replied, his eyes darting from one vendor to the next,
quickly checking out their merchandise.

They were passing
by a couple of food stalls now. The first was selling herbs and spices. The
stall belonged to an Indian man, his head wrapped in a grimy turban. He stood
behind his counter, arranging his bowls full of sun-dried algae, kelp and
urchin powders. The next stall up was a meat vendor’s. There was a rope strung
across the top of the vessel, heavy with the weight of glazed and roasted rats.
Madison noticed an assortment of smoked, well-seasoned seagulls hanging from a
dozen hooks. An old rusty grill stood at the back where skewered pigeons were
slowly rotating over it as they cooked. The vendor was surrounded by all kinds
of pots and pans with fish on the fry. As much as Madison was tempted by their
delicious smell, she knew they wouldn’t be stopping. Plus, she didn’t like the
way the man was looking at her pigeon cage. No, she definitely wasn’t going to
trade her two little birds for anything in the world!

Flynn kept going,
scanning one stall after another. He knew that everything out on display was considered
innocent merchandise, mostly food or useless junk… The real good stuff, the
illegal trade, was usually hidden under the counters. Being a frequent visitor,
Flynn had befriended some of the regular vendors, but they were never at the
same spot twice. He would have to go through the whole market if he wanted to
find them.

“That’s the one!”
Flynn cried suddenly. He had stopped next to a raft with a tiny shack built on
top of its deck. The vendor’s front counter displayed a variety of household
items, most of them completely useless and worth very little. Flynn swung a mesh
bag full of canned vegetables over his shoulder. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a
minute,” he told Madison, before stepping off the
Seeker.
He
disappeared
behind the shabby curtain on the side of the shack.

Madison grabbed a
long hook and caught the tire hanging on the side of the vendor’s raft, trying
to keep the
Seeker
from drifting away. A few minutes later, Flynn
reappeared and was back next to her, holding a coil of nylon rope and two rolls
of tin foil. He shoved them under the seat and rummaged through his bag. “These
are for you,” he said, handing Madison a pair of goggles. “Every diver needs a
good pair.”

“Thanks!”

“We’ll modify them
later for a better fit.” Flynn was extremely pleased with his successful trade.
He had haggled with the vendor over the final price and had managed to come out
on top.  “Now, let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, steering the
Seeker
away from the Black Market stalls.

“See that guy?”
Flynn pointed at the dark-skinned teenage boy. “That’s Pharrell Lewis… him and
Clay Adams, over there on the pedals, are our biggest competition!”

Madison squinted
at the shabby raft approaching the
Seeker
. It was coming back from open
waters, moving at a leisurely pace toward the eastern outskirts of the Lower
Side. This was where Flynn had dropped anchor for their last day of training.
He had decided to stick to the city limits during the week before the Trials,
avoiding the risk of another encounter with Leo Van Zand. Madison had worked
hard, going through all the drills without a hitch, and Flynn felt she was ready
for the big day.

As their rafts
slowly glided past each other, the tall black boy nodded at Flynn. His shaved
head shone in the bright sun, and he had a pair of goggles round his unusually thick
and muscular neck. Pharrell looked Madison up and down. His eyes stopped on the
straw sticking out of her mouth. “This your new Crew Mate, Perry?” Pharrell
laughed, pointing at Madison. “Still sucking on a straw, like a little baby!”

Madison shot him
an angry look. She was about to say something back, but Flynn was quicker.

“Damn right, she
is!” he said, throwing his arm over Madison’s shoulder. “And she’ll kick your
butts at the Trials tomorrow!”

“Oh, we’re sooo
scared, ain’t we Clay?” Pharrell shared a quick laugh with his buddy then
turned back to Flynn, his hands trembling. “See, I’m already shakin’ with
fear!”

The other boy giggled,
pressed on the pedals, and their raft sped away quickly.

“Good luck
tomorrow, guys!” Flynn shouted after them.

“Same to you,
Perry!” Pharrell yelled back.

“Pharrell and Clay
are a good team, but not as good as ours!” Flynn told Madison, and realized suddenly
that his arm was still around her shoulder. He pulled it away. Luckily, Madison
didn’t seem to notice his sudden discomfort. She was too busy glaring after the
two boys.

“Don’t mind him,”
Flynn said hastily. “Believe it or not, we’re friends.”

Madison's eyebrows
shot up in surprise. "Flue’ns?" She took the straw out of her mouth
and said, "Friends? You’ve got to be kidding!"

“No, I’m dead
serious. Doesn’t look it, but we are.”

Madison threw an
angry look at Pharrell’s raft then studied the straw she was holding.

“Do I really have
to keep breathing through this thing?”

“Yeah! I told you,
it strengthens the muscles in your chest. It's an important exercise.”

“It makes me look
stupid!” Madison made a face, rolling the straw between her fingers. “It's
embarrassing!”

“Like I said,
don't pay any attention to Pharrell.” Flynn laughed and patted her on the
shoulder reassuringly. “We'll beat him and Clay tomorrow!”

“What’s the big
deal anyway?” Madison asked. “Does it matter who’s first and who ends up last
at the Trials? Everybody gets to be a Free Scavenger if they make it through to
the end, right?”

“It’s not that
simple… First, you’ve got to complete the challenge task… Fail that, and you
are out.”

“There’s no way
you’re going to fail… You’re brilliant at scavenging.”

“Wait, there’s
more to this,” Flynn said and put the straw back into Madison’s mouth. “Those
who make it through the challenge have to race to the finish line. The first
three teams to get there earn a Duncan’s Gold.”

“Duncan’s Gold?
What’s that?”

“It’s the gold
badge Duncan Roth gives to all the winners. It means they can then scav for the
good stuff, like canned food, drinks, medicine… the things you’ve seen me bring
up…They’re allowed to work in small groups, sometimes with just their own Crew
Mate…And they get to live on the Upper Side! It’s a great privilege, you know…
Life gets really good once you’re there.”