Serendipity Market (9 page)

“Until, from the back of the boat, I hear Nodia say, ‘Uh, B.J. Look down.'

“I do, and when I do, I swallow three or four times, hard. The reason everything has smoothed out is now quite obvious. We've left the Cabeza, and we're airborne.

“‘This,' Wink says in a flat voice, ‘should not be happening. This should not be possible.' He slaps me on the shoulder, harder than necessary. ‘I told you this was a bad design for a boat.'

“‘Maybe you should have looked at the map before you got in the boat.'

“‘Maybe you should have built something that acted like a boat,' he counters.

“‘Maybe,' Nodia calls from the back, ‘we've just seen a little of Mrs. Oldalvi's edge. Some of that reputed magic.' And she laughs, a clear, carefree sound.

“Eileen is leaning forward, her neat little front paws on the starboard side of the
WoSho
. She's so far over the edge that I grab and hold tight to the polka-dot bandanna she likes to wear. Edge or not, magic or not, I have to keep my crew together.

“I look up. We're surrounded by ebony-blue sky and cut-glass stars. We're much closer to the moon. I can see the face of the rabbit in the moon that I've heard about, although tonight there's a distinct dog look to that rabbit.

“The night air is cool, and smoother than any water I've ever sailed on.

“I can't help it. I'm grinning in pure happiness when I look back at Wink and Nodia. ‘Boat design, edge, magic, whatever. The
WoSho
is making one fantastic airship.'

“Nodia laughs again. She's looking as relaxed as she would be if she were swinging in her hammock. Even Wink is beginning to smile, a slow, lazy smile.

“We dip and curve. The
WoSho
takes care of everything, and our flight seems to go on forever. We can see the Cabeza below us, and the
WoSho
follows its curving course. Then Nodia says, ‘We should fly over Sabine's Rapids,' and without any other input, the
WoSho
does a gentle skid to the left.

“‘Did you see that?' I yell. ‘Did you see that turn? I didn't do a thing! She heard you.'

“Nodia pats the
WoSho
and croons, ‘Good boat,' and Wink says, ‘Thank you, Mrs. Oldalvi.'

“We see, in the distance, the boat that must have crashed through the whirlpool before us. It looks like
the whirlpool took a bite out of it. It's listing to port. But we're just fine. We act like little kids. We reach up and try to touch Orion's belt. We wave at the Seven Sisters. We call to the rabbit-dog in the moon, and act as if he's going to answer. We issue commands, and the
WoSho
responds like we've been working together for years. The tiny star on our sail glows with the same clean moonlight as the stars above us.

“Our flight seems to go on forever. But even something magically good has to come to an end. Of her own accord, the
WoSho
comes down, close to where the finish line for the River Run will be in less than twenty-four hours. She settles back on the Cabeza with the barest of ripples, and a tiny splosh.

“Wink, Nodia, Eileen, and I sit quietly in our resting ship. The
WoSho
bobs on the water as if she's dancing a slow waltz. Peace and contentment spread over us like a favorite quilt.

“‘Well,' Nodia finally says, which could mean anything.

“‘Yeah,' Wink agrees. ‘Absolutely.'

“Eileen purrs and pats her totem.

“I laugh, feeling a little giddy. ‘Not such a bad design after all.'

“‘With a thank-you to Mrs. Oldalvi,' Nodia says, echoing her brother.

“‘Yep. Even without my design, that would have been quite an edge.' I'm still smiling.

“After several minutes of rocking on the Cabeza, Wink says, in a dreamy sort of voice, ‘I'm not putting a lot of effort into this, but I am kind of wondering. Maybe you are, too. How do we get back to where we started?'

“‘Huh.' He's got me, because I haven't been wondering about this at all. But it's a valid point. At the end of the River Run, they always tugboat everyone back to wherever, so this is a problem none of us ever
mentioned when we were having those long, tedious talks about test runs. I finally decide to just ask the
WoSho
: ‘Can you take us home? Back up the river?' And I pat her side, just like Nodia did, just like I would pat Eileen if she were sitting on my lap.

“The
WoSho
turns around, obedient as a well-trained puppy, levitates just the slightest bit above the Cabeza, and glides back home.

“We clamber out, one by one, and because we're in the water again, I pass Eileen to Wink, who then passes her to Nodia. When Eileen is safely on shore, we push and drag the
WoSho
back into her hiding place.

“I check the boat from all angles, to make sure she's hidden, and I pat her one more time. ‘We'll keep you forever,' I whisper.

“Nodia rubs the prow, rubs it as she would a magic lantern. In some way, that's just what the
WoSho
is. The magic part, anyway.

“Wink nods once. ‘We'll see you tomorrow night,'
he says, and it's clear that he's attached himself to the
WoSho
as much as Nodia and I have.

“But ‘Will we?' Nodia asks. ‘I mean, should we? It was wonderful. Fantastic. But if we fly tomorrow night, won't we be disqualified?'

“Wink looks at the
WoSho
, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he shrugs and says, ‘We'll just tell her not to do anything tricky. It'll be fine.' And he starts walking through the reeds toward the road that leads back to town.

“Nodia laughs and says, ‘For someone who's usually so negative, you're coming across as pretty sure of yourself.'

“Wink glances over his shoulder. ‘Yep.' And he nods his head. ‘It'll be fine.'

“‘The rapids?' asks Nodia.

“Wink shrugs again. ‘No problem. We'll just tell her.' He grins at his sister. ‘I've got all the confidence in the world in her.'

“Before Nodia can say anything else, I catch up with them. I've been thinking about something that doesn't have a thing to do with rapids, or with tomorrow night. I clear my throat. ‘I'm sort of hesitant about saying this, but is anyone else thinking about that old bedtime story?'

“‘Hmm?' That's Nodia, a half smile on her face, still watching her brother.

“‘I know it sounds silly, but Wink and Nodia? Like Wynken and Nod? And B.J. could be Blynken? And a flying boat that looks like a shoe? Doesn't it all just seem kind of familiar?'

“Nodia transfers her attention to me. She wrinkles her nose. ‘Oh, I don't know. That's just a nursery rhyme. I don't think those things are based on anything but meter and rhythm and a cute little story to get kids to sleep. You didn't think about it when you designed the boat, did you?'

“I shake my head no.

“‘Right. I think we can just thank Mrs. Oldalvi and her sail.' She glances at Wink. ‘Magic, right?'

“‘Why not?' he says.

“As for me? Magic, of course. But the idea for the kind of magic?

“‘Nodia,' I say, ‘did you happen to talk about the
WoSho
's design with Mrs. Oldalvi?'

“‘Well, yes, a bit. We wanted to make sure the sail was the exact right size and shape.'

“‘Ha,' I say, triumphant. ‘I knew she had to fine-tune that magic to something. All this stuff, it's got to start somewhere. I might not have made the connection when I designed the
WoSho
, but I'll bet she did.'

“Nodia frowns, the little line above her nose showing in the moonlight. ‘But B.J., I'm sure she didn't tear the sail on purpose. In fact, I think I was taking it from her when it tore. And if that hadn't happened, she wouldn't have had to patch it. So…' She trails off, but she doesn't have to go any further.

“‘Nursery rhyme, B.J.,' says Wink very firmly. ‘You said it first. We never thought about our names in that context before. And we didn't think about it when we looked at the
WoSho
. Why would Mrs. Oldalvi get there?'

“‘Because,' I say, more to myself than to them, ‘she's got magic in her fingertips.'

“But Wink shakes his head and says, ‘I think coincidence is all we've got here.'”

 

“The next night, twenty-one and a half hours into the longest day, we're at the starting line for the River Run with the
WoSho
. There are boats all around us, but there's nothing that looks anything like ours. I can hear snickers from all sides. I ignore them, and Wink, Nodia, and Eileen do the same. I pat the
WoSho
for luck and settle my crew inside. When Eileen snugs in under her totem, I see that she's wearing a yellow bandanna instead of her usual polka-dot one. Yellow for luck.

“The whole town is either racing or on the banks, watching. I see Mrs. Oldalvi. Her expression is serene. Nodia waves to her, and she raises her hand, palm facing us, and smiles.

“‘Ready?' I ask.

“Wink stares at the shifting sky. There are clouds tonight. The rabbit-dog moon is hiding. But Wink knows when to start anyway, and he says, ‘Anytime, B.J.'

“Nodia shifts in her seat. ‘Are you sure? Remember, we need to be at the finish right at the end of the twenty-third hour.'

“‘Nodia. I know,' he says. ‘I'm not an amateur.' And Eileen meows.

“‘Gone, then,' I say. ‘Eileen and Wink agree. One, two, three, and we're on our way. Mrs. Oldalvi waves once more, and the Cabeza takes us.

“The river is fast tonight. Choppy. All winds seem to be crosswinds. I make constant sail corrections, and
Nodia flicks the rudder around, her wrist moving like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower.

“‘Sabine's coming up!' Wink calls. Eileen curls into an extra-tight ball. From around the bend I hear other boats creak and groan, other riders cry and curse.

“I breathe in and yell, ‘Hang on!' I glance over my shoulder and see both Wink and Nodia, eyes wide. They're staring straight ahead. Nodia cries, ‘B.J.!'

“I whip around just in time to see the Cabeza standing up on its hind legs in a black wave taller than the
WoSho
. We're surrounded by blackness, water, sky.

“‘Sabine's!' Wink yells. ‘Remember the whirlpool!' And then it happens. Without any of us saying another word, the
WoSho
does a little two-step and we're up and out of there.

“Tonight the sky is different. There are no stars to guide us, no moon to shine on our sail. Just wind and black and now, far to the south, lightning flashes. Below, the Cabeza is the blackest thing in our black
world, but I see lights near Sabine's and what looks like a welter of broken boats.

“We fly over the whirlpool and the rapids. The lightning flashes closer. Too close. It seems to singe the air. Wink yells, ‘Down! Now!' and the
WoSho
lowers her nose and goes into a gentle glide toward the river.

“We touch down right before the finish line. Just ahead of us is a fast little kayak, polished gold-green fiberglass gleaming in the lights from the festival held in conjunction with the River Run. The kayak skips across the finish line to a burst of applause. We follow, and we all know we're too late. ‘And we flew,' Nodia says, sounding wistful. ‘Even with design points, I don't think there's any way we can take first.' The rest of us are quiet.

“I move the sail and we tack to the bank. Mrs. Oldalvi is right there, as if she's been waiting for us. She doesn't say a word, just looks at us with her eyebrows
raised. I know Nodia sees her because suddenly she laughs, and Mrs. Oldavi laughs along with her.

“‘Wink says, ‘That was the best ride of my life. Even better than last night. The wind…'

“‘…and the lightning!' Nodia adds.

“‘The waves!'

“‘The black!'

“I listen to them exchange exclamations. I don't join in. I just pat my boat and grin at Mrs. Oldalvi. ‘Who cares about winning?' I say. ‘We've got magic.'”

 

“Thanks to Mrs. Oldalvi,” B.J. says as he passes Mama Inez. She laughs, raises her hand palm out, and they tap fingers. Toby rubs against B.J.'s leg. B.J. looks down and studies Toby's face. Then he adds, “And to that rabbit-dog in the moon.”

The only man left in the waiting area who hasn't shared his story comes up to B.J. “I've got to say I'm on your side. I think there's something
going on with your story and that little rhyme. In fact, after everything I've heard tonight, I have the feeling that my story puts me square in the middle of normal. Flying boats, giant beanstalks, legs that turn into fins, lizard men, the fey.” He shakes his head. “I think what I have to say is going to sound quite tame.”

“Shall we see what they think?” Mama Inez asks, gesturing toward the audience.

Zola thinks of Tris, and the thought makes him relax. It's almost as if Tris were here with him, giving him a boost of energy strong as his morning cup of coffee. He takes a long, deep breath, says, “Absolutely,” and walks with even strides to the front of the tent.

“I
T'S NOT EASY BEING
a prince. I know, I know. It looks glamorous. And the glitter and glitz are enough to make anyone who hasn't grown up surrounded by the opulence stand with mouth agape. But when you've been around it long enough, one golden chandelier begins to look too much like the next; one tapestry of elk hunts fades into another of maidens dancing in the spring. And no matter how many fires burn in the rooms in winter, it's always abysmal, and cold. Cold, and damp as the lake when the ice is too thin and a careless step can cause a soaking that can lead to a freezing and possible hypothermia.

“And then, of course, there's the maintenance of the family line. That creaky old conundrum. Example: My mother, always the diplomat, would say, ‘Zola'—
that's me—‘there's a lovely young thing over in the next duchy.' Then she'd wink at me and add, ‘Wide hips. Excellent childbearing possibilities.'

“I would sigh loudly, to show that I wasn't at all interested in either childbearing possibilities or wide hips. My father would hear and pick up on my reluctance. ‘You do plan on keeping this kingdom together, don't you, my boy?' He'd pretend to be jovial. In reality, he was making a threat.

“The three of us would then sit and look at one another, all wary for different reasons.

“It was actually quite amazing that we carried on discussions at all. None of us ever seemed to be talking about the same thing, whether it was what was on the dinner menu, my prospects for snaring a bride, or anything in between.

“‘Snaring.' Nice word, don't you think? Because that's exactly what they were doing, those parents of mine. They were setting a trap. They hadn't quite
got to the pointed stakes at the bottom of the pit, but believe me, they were very close. They'd been throwing princesses, and duchesses, and whatever other nobility they could lay their hands on, at me ever since I'd made that swing, twist, and drop into puberty. It was as if we were involved in some never-ending game of catch-the-ball, and I was the one who kept dropping the damned thing. Quite on purpose, I assure you. And I always had excellent reasons. Too short. Too old. Too fat. Too tall. Can't ride. Rides too well. Can't cook. Can't speak. Too—Oh, you get the idea.

“My royal parents were beginning to get annoyed. Which says quite a bit about both their patience and my persistence.

“They're good people, my parents. They just didn't have even the smallest clue about who and what I was. I, you see, was looking for a prince.

“‘Zola, I have an excellent idea!' My mother was crowing, she was so pleased with her new scheme. I
should explain at this point that schemes were, and still are, my mother's forte.

“‘Enough of these too-much or not-enough excuses, my boy.' This was my father, still making an effort to sound cheerful, but I knew my father, and I knew that what he really was, was angry. As his only heir, I'd been thwarting his plans for handing over a perfectly good kingdom for way too many years. He had had enough, which is perhaps why he was going along with this latest scheme of my mother's, which would, in her true fashion, prove to be completely scatterbrained.

“The scheme was as follows.

“My mother was saying, ‘…multiple mattresses, one on top of the other. Say four. Or seven. Something like that. It will probably depend on thicknesses. Or space. Or the height of that ladder we found in…'

“My father cleared his throat. ‘Melicant, my dear. You're doing it again. Tangenting.'

“One of her favorite pastimes, second only to
scheming. She did it so often, we'd even made it a verb in our household lexicon.

“‘Oh. My. So sorry.' She gave us a sheepish smile. ‘Now, where was I?'

“This was the next usual step. Confusion, followed by a turn back on track, usually with a nudge from my father or me.

“‘Mattresses,' said my father, who was beginning to look tired, beginning to look as if he thought this was a bad idea after all.

“Now she beamed. ‘Of course. Mattresses. With a pea at the bottom. Underneath all five, or eight. Or nine. It depends, of course…'

“‘Melicant.' My father sounded desperate.

“‘Yes, dear. And whoever feels the pea, she'll be the one. A true sensitive noble, ready for you to marry. No excuses.'

“I moaned. Loudly.

“My father glared. Arrow eyes.

“My mother kept smiling. Sunshine through the clouds. Everything will be all right.

“I felt like I was six.

“I debated inwardly. Tell them, don't tell them? Which way to go? I loved them, and I knew just how hard they were trying, knew just how much an heir meant to them. And I had absolutely no idea of what to say, or of how to say it.

“So I sat there, and they took my lack of objection for acquiescence, and the parade began.

“I assure you, it was a parade. Just like the beginning of the circus, when all the possibilities were waiting, glowing with promise. Where anything could happen, and probably would. Unfortunately, in reality those glowing promises all proved to be shams.

“The noble ladies started coming—in droves. From what I could see, as I kept out of sight and watched from my tower windows, they were all Too. Too of everything. Or nothing. Our castle began to feel like
an inn with an ever-changing cast of guests.

“Tempers began to flare. The laundress, hanging out basket upon basket of sheets to flap in the cool autumn breezes, looked ready to pack her bag. Anytime I ventured near the kitchens, I heard the cook banging pots much more than ever before and swearing loudly. This at least was useful, as I discovered a few handy words I hadn't yet learned. The stableboys were beside themselves with the work of keeping our stalls in a constant state of readiness.

“My parents? My father began to look exhausted. My mother's smile began to fray around the edges.

“I became quite snappish.

“And still the ladies came. I watched them come. I watched them go. None of them looked any worse for the test night atop the pile of mattresses. None of them looked, in the morning, like a sensitive noble who has spent a restless night because of a lump in her bed.

“In the morning, none of their appetites seemed at all affected.

“My mother was becoming distraught. My father was becoming depressed. I was simply worn out. I had, in fact, after a fortnight of this travesty, made up my mind. I would tell them. How could having a son who was gay be any more wearing than having a parade of useless noble ladies tramping through their house? Ladies who were coming for just one thing—the chance to lock themselves to my father's kingdom.

“I'd finally decided that that night, at the evening meal, I would simply tell them.

“Then, that afternoon, the storm blew in. Our castle, as usual for a well-fortified place of residence, sat atop a hill. This meant that from my tower, on all sides, I could see storms before anyone else was willing to believe we were soon going to be drenched.

“I loved to watch the wild, free spirit of furiously strong weather. I reveled in the flashes of lightning,
the whipping of tree branches, the churning mix of gray and white clouds. I'd watched storms from my tower for as long as I could remember.

“But I've never seen a storm like that one, before or since.

“Trees weren't just whipping, they were bending at ninety-degree angles. Clouds weren't just churning, they were being thrown at one another with the force of rocks pitched from a catapult. At one point all the clouds meshed into the face of a woman with long, wind-whipped hair. I saw her turn and look straight at me, I swear. And the lightning? From all sides, at all times. My tower felt as if it were caught on the edge of a tornado, as if it were being twisted in seven different directions at once.

“I am not ashamed to admit that I was crouching on the floor, my eyes at windowsill level. I was both terrified and awed by what was happening around me. Then, through sheets of rain the color of brick
mortar and with the opacity of oily smoke, I saw a rider approaching from the north. Rider and horse were losing two meters of ground for every three that they gained, but slowly, so slowly, they made their way to the castle drawbridge.

“Once they crossed that bridge, I applauded. What a show of bravery, fortitude, constancy. Or, more likely, a desire to get inside—inside anywhere away from that weather.

“It mattered very little which it was. I still had a great desire to meet him. Or her.

“By the time I made it down the stairs, he (for it was a he, and even wet and bedraggled, a rather attractive he at that) was standing on the rushes in the great hall. Water poured off him in rivers, and even in the relatively dry (there are always leaks in a castle) and somewhat warm room, he was shivering. He barely looked at me. All his attention was focused on my father, who was saying, ‘…stay the night. Your horse
is being cared for?' My father. He would ask that.

“The dripping stranger nodded and said, ‘My thanks.' He looked ready to topple sideways and to sleep where he landed. This my father noticed, at the same time that he noticed me. ‘Zola, take him up to that noble lady'—sarcasm here, please note—‘room. At least we know there's a bed there that's usable. I doubt we'll have any princesses or duchesses wanting to use it tonight.'

“‘Of course.'

“But before I could lead the stranger away, my father added, ‘Your name, sir?'

“He pulled in breath, visibly drawing on his remaining strength to answer my father's question. ‘Dragoran, sir. Tris Dragoran.'

“Tris. A shortened version of Tristan, perhaps? A knight's name?

“I wanted to ask, wanted to know much more. But as I led Tris up the stairs, he began to sway. I grabbed him to keep him upright, and the next thing I knew,
my arm was around him and I was half dragging him along. He smelled of rain, wet hair, horse, and the acrid kind of sweat that starts up when you begin to fear for your life.

“By the time I had him in what my father had referred to as the noble lady room, he was barely with me. The climbing drag up the stairs seemed to have used whatever reserves of strength he might have had left. He was a dead weight against me, and enough rain had transferred between us that I was almost as wet and bedraggled as he.

“‘Here we are,' I said, trying to sound bouncy. Tris dragged his eyes open wider than the slits they'd been while we'd careened down the hall. I could almost feel the muscles in his eyelids gather to do their work. And then he saw the ladder that reached to the top of the eight or twelve mattresses.

“‘Oh, please,' he moaned. ‘I have to climb?'

“‘Well,' I said after a moment. ‘I could prop you
up in the corner and take a few of those away. Get it down to five or seven.'

“‘No.' Then, as if realizing how brusque he'd sounded, he said, ‘If you could stay a moment and help…I think me climbing once rather than waiting for you to climb multiple times is all I can manage. Do you mind?'

“I shook my head, quite taken with his look of determination and his golden lion's eyes.

“It was a struggle, but we made it. Tris seemed to fall asleep the minute he hit the top mattress. I pulled a cover over him, hoping it would help absorb the rain, climbed down the ladder, and left.

“It was only then, looking through the open door of the great hall from the staircase, that I saw that the storm had passed. The sun was out, steam rose from the ground like boil from a kettle, and all the clouds were gone but one. And that one cloud looked exactly like the cloud woman from the storm. She faced me
once again, but now there was a gentle smile on her face. Then the winds shifted, the cloud disappeared, and all that was left was the washed blue sky.

“Tris did not join us at the evening meal. Which gave my mother, my father, and me all the opportunity we needed to speculate.

“‘It's a fine horse, that one he rode up on,' my father said.

“‘Fought that storm like a demon,' I said. ‘I watched from my tower.'

“‘Poor things,' my mother said, and her sympathy was obviously for both Tris and his horse. ‘How far do you suppose they came?'

“‘Don't know any Dragorans,' my father said. ‘But it's rich leather on that horse.'

“‘And fine enough clothes on him, too,' I pointed out.

“My mother tapped her index finger against her jaw. ‘Interesting,' she said.”

 

“Two in the morning, with milk-white moonlight pouring through my tower window and spilling across my pillow like liquid from a broken jug. I couldn't sleep, no matter how much I twisted and turned.

“You'd have thought my mother had put peas under my mattress, hundreds of them, several centimeters deep.

“I decided to see if Tris was awake, perhaps hungry after all that riding and no dinner. I knocked gently on his door.

“‘Come in!' he called, and his voice sounded harried.

“Come in I did, and I saw him wrestling with that tower of mattresses. I started to ask what he was up to when it hit me with all the force of the winds from the day before. I wanted to be sure, though, so I was quite cautious when I said, ‘Trouble sleeping?'

“He looked at me, and the look was equal parts of disgust and chagrin. ‘Sorry.' He shoved at another mattress and looked at the piles cluttering the floor. ‘Very sorry. About the mess, about the noise. I didn't mean to wake you.'

“I shook my head and stepped onto and then over a small pile of three mattresses. ‘Didn't wake me at all. What's wrong?' And silly as it sounds, I mentally crossed my fingers. Please, I thought, say there's something under the mattresses. Please.

“‘I think,' Tris said, ‘there's something under the mattresses. I thought I'd just move them, get it out, and that would be that.' He looked again at the mess. ‘It seems to be more trouble than I expected.'