Nikolas and Company: The Merman and The Moon Forgotten (6 page)

“That it, bro?” said
Xanthus.

Nick tightened the grips until his
knuckles turned white, then planted his left foot behind him like a
runner at the starting line. Tim grabbed one of the firmer poles on
the wall.

“Not quite. Now, we have to see if the
machine can reproject the solar li—”

Crack-pop!

There was a blast of yellow light. A
girl screamed. Nick gripped the machine as it began to shake and
roar. The fish wiggled furiously.

“I think it’s working!” Nick looked
back at Tim to give him a thumbs up, but Tim, his friends, and the
entire shed were gone. Instead he felt cobblestones under his feet
and the shimmer of a gas lamp next to a gate. Nick heard her
again.

Keep them from my gates,
Nikolas. The Rones bring death to your city. They will destroy her
citizens; they will destroy me. Please, Steward. Come home,
Nikolas. Nikolas. Nikolas . . .

“Nick!” Tim screamed. The vision oiled
away and was replaced with Tim waving his hands frantically. “Are
you listening, Nick? Hey, you ‘tard! The beam’s too focused. It’s
cutting through the bowl!”

Nick turned to see a white-hot beam, no
bigger than a pencil, shoot straight through the fishbowl. Small
waterfalls began spitting out of the holes.

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” Nick flipped
up his welder’s mask and yanked open a panel. “Don’t worry. I got
this.”

The fish paused for a second, staring
at the growing hole. With a new hope, it swam toward the escape
route. Nick fiddled with several knobs and then turned a blue
one.

The fish pushed through the
hole.

Nick turned the knob twice. The light
changed from a beam to a yellow glow. The fish kicked up and arched
with a graceful twist. Now encased in the soft, yellow glow of
Prometheus 10,000, it flipped its torso skyward.

“Hah!” Nick twisted a smaller
knob.

The fish reached the top of its dive,
hovering, posing . . .

A snowy substance fell to the
ground.

Tim ripped off the Weaver football
helmet. “Turn it off, Nick!”

Nick reached for the orange power cord
and tore it from the wall.

Brandy squealed with arms outstretched,
“A tan. Bronze!”

“Nick!” Haley pointed. Where there was
once a water bowl, wooden chair, and a gold fish making its great
escape, now swirled a cloud of white ash. And behind the ash, a
perfectly cut hole in the shed. And behind the hole, a stunning
view of Hiker’s Canyon.

On fire.

“Ah! My roast, Nick!” Caroline ran with
outstretched arms to the roast beef fueled bonfire.

The football helmet fell from Tim’s
hand. “We—are—so—dead.”

“Post an update for me on Friendbook. I
didn’t bring my tablet,” Brandy yelled into her cell. “Tell
everyone the party is cancelled. . . . Yeah, again. . . . No. Just
some trees this time. I know. I know. They’re still living
creatures. . . .”

ZZZZzzzzz
.

Firedrones zoomed across with their
anti-fire hoses at the ready. Prometheus 10,000 exploded into a
bloom of sparks and smoke. Teenage refugees ran around the canyon
in horror and pandemonium. Caroline smacked at her roast, angrily.
But Nick didn’t notice any of this. All he could think about was
the woman-voice in his head crying out about Huron.

And she called him steward.

Five • Oaths and
Agatha

Duke of Encylaene’s Merrow
Fortress

Where in the name of Huron am I?” Yeri
mumbled to himself as he stumbled from the stagecoach.

The plaza was filled with Merrows
between various stages of amazement and bewilderment. Yeri’s
expression shuffled through its own range of emotion.

The sound of spokes on spokes was
followed by a guard fitted with automaton legs approaching the
stagecoach. “Your grace?”

“See about my brother and his wife.”
Lir pointed to the second stagecoach. “We’ll each need a velle. And
fetch Captain Jonn immediately.”

Four ornate chairs on spindly wheels
were being pushed toward them, which Yeri took to be velles. Some
Merrows sat in the velles, others on automaton legs, and the rest
were treading water in small pools. Even with all the curious forms
of transportation, Yeri couldn’t imagine how they moved from floor
to floor without some kind of stairwell. That’s when he saw large
silicon tubes filled with water and dark, Merrow-shaped objects
swimming through them. These tubes were all around—some disappeared
into the ceiling, others in the small pools, while the rest
threaded between walls and floor. The fortress itself seemed
entirely made from silicon, traced with mollusks, sea anemones, and
strange ocean creatures. The only handmade objects were brass
braces securing the wall joints and edges. Yeri also noticed the
sound of constant water drops, as if the fortress had been recently
submerged and was shedding its ocean water.

“Oh, dear Nia,” a voice snapped Yeri
from his observations. “Child, child, child. Gallivanting about
with the local commoners, and in your condition?” The voice came
from an elderly mermaid, who was being pushed in a velle by her
attendant. The elderly mermaid wore a large, powdered wig, had a
fake mole just above the right side of her lip, and was covered in
makeup bordering on clownish. Maybe Yeri was being unfair, he never
went for the more garish fashions.

“Had quite the ride, Mother.” Nia said
as her shaky hand gripped the velle. She lifted herself to the
seat, her fin slipping into a small catch. “You would’ve been proud
of our driver, Yeri Willrow.”

The elderly mermaid’s velle squared
with Yeri, who was surprised to find himself looking eye-to-eye
with her. It seemed the velle was designed like a small tower, so
no Merrow could be looked down upon.

“Yeri—” Nia held a hand out. “—my
mother, Hydan. Mother, Yeri Willrow, our hero of the
evening.”

Yeri nodded, “My lady.”

Hydan smiled at him, like a dog that
had just learned to fetch. “Humling. We are very grateful.” She
pointed her chin back to Nia. “I cannot believe Lir would condone
such a silly excursion, against my advisement,
nonetheless.”

Lir’s velle spun around.
“Forgive my lapse of judgment. It seems I have
again
forgotten my humble position as
Duke of all Eynclaene coastlands, to the detriment of your esteemed
position as mother-in-law, nagger of all things great and
small.”

Hydan’s eyes shrunk icily. “How dare
you paint me a malagrug for loving my only chil—?”

Nia breathed heavily. “Please, Mother,
do not be upset. It was my idea. I refused to stay bound to the
fortress another moment.”

“Nevertheless, Nia,” Hydan said,
refusing to address Lir again. “You should head straight to your
chambers.”

“Lir needs me,” Nia said. “We were
attacked, again.”

“Your grace,” said a merman in armored
automaton legs. “Forgive me. I was being debriefed by our
scouts.”

“Captain Jonn,” Lir said, “we must make
way for northern Eynclaene at submersion level. And alert any other
Merrows to evacuate the Eynclaene coast. We were assaulted by no
less than four fouls down the—”

“Fouls, sir?” said Captain
Jonn.

“Yes, yes. We must undock and move the
fortress immediate—”

“That will be entirely impossible,
sir,” said Captain Jonn. “My scout bore witness to a fleet of ships
bearing the Dujinnin’s crimson flag along the coast line,
sir.”

“The gypsies?” Lir’s eyes
widened.

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid so, sir,” said
Captain Jonn. “Their Nesses make for the offshore treasures while a
winged—”

“Nesses?” Yeri shouted. “Loch Nesses?
Here?”

Captain Jonn looked quickly at Yeri,
sizing him up. “And a winged foul was seen among the crew,
sir.”

“They mean to trap all Merrows along
the coast and . . .” Lir’s voice trailed off for a moment. He
snapped to attention. “Reinforce our fortress and alert the others.
Do not delay, Captain Jonn. Our very lives might come down to
minut—”

A mermaid’s scream rang. Several other
Merrows ran to the chamber’s outer edge.

“Dear Mon!” Lir was fixed on something
behind Yeri.

Yeri spun around. Instead of Lir’s
brother and sister-in-law adjusting themselves into velles, some
gelatinous substance shrouded in clothing lay in clumps at the foot
of the stagecoach. The substance looked like skin, devoid of all
its innards.

“Brother!” Lir said quietly. “Yeri
cannot see this yet, not until he takes the oath. Get him to the
main chamber, now!”

Yeri tried to get a better look at the
second stagecoach, but Captain Jonn spun him away by the
shoulder.

The Duke’s chamber wasn’t a chamber at
all, but a pool. Yeri stood on the only dry surface in the room—a
whale bone bridge spanning the breadth of the pool. He couldn’t
keep his eyes away from the strange sea creatures stirring
underneath his feet. They were a bit monstrous, a bit mysterious,
and altogether fascinating.

A pair of mermaids broke through the
surface and grabbed two silver cords. Like a harpist’s gentle
stroke, they pulled the cords methodically until a platform emerged
carrying two ornate thrones; Lir and Nia were the
occupants.

“I cannot leave you at this hour.”
Nia’s hand interlaced with Lir’s. “The headaches will
pass.”

“What is all this business?” Yeri
called out. “As senior driver of Fungman, Zedock and Josiah, I
demand an explanation this very moment.”

“If we were to tell you,” said Lir,
“you would be put under the strictest of oaths, one that would
require your very life.”

“Well, then,” Yeri’s tone shifted from
demand to farewell. “I will be on my way. Very sad you’ve run into
trouble, but it’s got nothing to do with me and my horses. Good
day, your Grace and . . . er, your Grace-ness.”

Pain, deep and bottomless, filled Nia’s
eyes. “Please, Yeri Willrow. You are the Merrow’s only means of
salvation. Our enemies mean to exploit our weakness and will do so
if none come to our aid.”

“So . . . I, well—” Yeri’s heart turned
doughy. He never could manage himself around a beautiful woman,
even the half-aquatic sort. “You have bits of treasure tucked here
and there? As the old tavern toads tell it, anyway.”

“Yes.” Nia’s hand glided along the
silicon armrest. “It is about the treasure; it’s always about the
treasure. You are familiar with sulmare? The most precious metal of
the brother worlds? Merrows have been endowed with the gift of
sulmare-making.”

Nia rubbed her fingers, giving the
universal sign for money. Three sulmares clinked into her open
palm. She flung them at Yeri’s feet.

“I’ll be . . .” Yeri held up the
sulmare. They felt rough and smooth, heavy and light, all at the
same time. These three pieces would feed him and his mother for a
month.

“Because every Merrow is endowed with
the power of sulmare-making, we are tasked with its protection and
distribution, both here and on Earth. Merrow fortresses patrol all
coastlines, protecting the sulmare banks. Lir and I were charged
with the Eynclaene offshore accounts.”

“They want your powers?”

“More than that, I’m afraid. They
want—” Nia stopped to looked at her husband, then back to Yeri.
“Tell me, Yeri. Have you ever visited the fair city of
Huron?”

“Of course, ma’am. Who hasn’t? We go at
least once a year. I’ve a fine map of it hanging on my bedroom
ceiling. Know every borough and alleyway and byway. My father was
born there, you know, Mon rest his soul,” Yeri paused. “Anyway.
Yes, in short.”

“Permit me one more question,” said
Nia. “Are you a hero, Yeri?”

“A hero, my lady?” Yeri slipped the
three sulmares into his knee-breeches.

“Yes. Have you ever heroed?”

“Well, uh, er, I mean, Father thought I
showed promise, but schooling was a trifle expensive, and there
wasn’t one to apprentice me. And now—” Yeri rubbed a slightly
bulging tummy. “—afraid I’m not quite in the condition for
heroism.”