Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island Read online

  Hamish X snarled, “No. I won’t let this happen.” Suddenly, he had an idea. He ran down the steps to the main deck. As he passed Maggie, he pointed at the hatch-way to the bridge. “Don’t let him out!” He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed but set off towards the bow, running as fast as his amazing boots could carry him.

  Reaching the absolute front tip of the ship, he skidded to a halt, his boot soles sending up a shower of sparks. The rocks were looming ever closer. He had no time to lose. A spare anchor chain lay coiled on the deck. He grabbed the end, wrapped his fists around it, and dove out in front of the speeding ship, disappearing into the furiously boiling bow wave.

  He plunged into a maelstrom of churning water, immediately losing track of which way was up and which way was down. He held on tenaciously to the anchor chain as if it were the only thing in his world. Wrapping the end of the chain around his forearm, he tried to orient himself. The barnacle-encrusted hull of the freighter rushed by overhead, the current threatening to bash him against the razor-sharp coating of shells.42 Spinning in the fierce current, he got his boots up just in time to push the deadly surface away before his skin was scoured off.

  Holding his breath, though he was desperate for air, he began to bounce along the bottom of the ship as it rushed by, like a rock climber rappelling down a mountain face horizontally instead of vertically. His boots surged with power. He felt the bubble of joy expanding in his chest that always came when he used the power of the boots. If he hadn’t been underwater, he would have laughed aloud.43

  The hull began to curve upwards towards the bow where the propellers thrashed the water to foam, driving the ship forward. Hamish X felt the powerful suction created by the massive props’ blades. Timing was critical. The keel loomed out of the darkness, a sharp fin of steel carving the water in two directly in front of him. Hamish X pushed off with his right foot, kicking with all his might. Swinging in a wide arc, he felt the pull of the propellers as he sailed past them and loosened his grip on the chain until he barely hung on. In seconds, the chain straightened out and, with a jerk, was pulled painfully out of his fingers, taking some skin as the propeller blades caught it.

  The chain wound around the propeller like thread on a spool. The torque of the crankshaft was so powerful that the anchor chain was yanked from its housing on the fore-deck and reeled in at high speed. In a matter of seconds the thick steel links were completely entangled in the propeller blades, freezing the crankshaft and stripping all the gears inside the engine room. The engine spouted black smoke as the tortured inner workings tore themselves apart. The sailors holding out in the engine room gagged on the poisonous fumes. They were forced to open the hatch to escape the toxic smoke. They ran into the waiting arms of Thomas and his cohorts, coughing and wheezing as they sucked in the sweeter air.

  Hamish X kicked to the surface, finally heeding the cry of his aching lungs. He broke through the choppy seas, instantly swallowing a mouthful of brine as a wave swamped him. Choking and spitting, he scanned the waves to see the rear end of the ship sporting the name Christmas Is Cancelled in peeling black paint. Oily smoke billowed from the stern as the ship coasted gently, slowing as it lost momentum. Hamish X grinned. He had done it. He’d stopped the ship. He pounded the warm water of the sea with his fists, crowing with delight. “Ha! It worked! It worked! I did it … I …”

  His delight suddenly ebbed when he saw how close the rocks loomed. In the gathering dawn light they glistened in the pounding spray. A rainbow hung over the black stone teeth, but Hamish X couldn’t take time to appreciate its beauty. The ship, deprived of power, was drifting on the current. The inexorable pull of the sea would grind the ship to pieces.

  His work wasn’t over yet.

  “Boy,” he spat out another mouthful of sea, “you solve one problem and create another. Life can be very annoying.” He smiled ruefully and began to swim after the wayward vessel.

  Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet

  Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet strode along the causeway through the forest of harnessed children hanging in the air. In a state of suspended animation, the children were oblivious to everything around them. They didn’t notice the two Grey Agents passing below.

  “Mr. Candy, we seem to be no further ahead than we were before.”

  “We’ve managed to destroy the King of Switzerland and root out his rat’s nest of resistance. That’s certainly a plus.” Mr. Candy waved a gloved hand distractedly at the children hanging overhead. “And we reaped a good haul of battery power for the portal generator.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Sweet nodded, ducking his head in the odd, birdlike manner common to the Grey Agents to indicate his agreement. “The Hall of Batteries is completely full. Some of the units are rather immature . . .” He poked a little girl hanging at shoulder height, setting her swinging gently. “But that can’t be helped. We’ll need every possible source of energy to open the portal.”

  They walked through the sterilized airlock and onto the catwalk, looking out over the vast chamber that held the massive circlet, cables snaking away into the many machines at its base. Grey Agents climbed like ants on the giant structure as it pulsed faintly, casting a sickly glow over the faces of Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet as they stood at the rail admiring the horrible apparatus.

  “So beautiful,” Mr. Candy breathed with an emotion and reverence rarely expressed in his cold, antiseptic voice. “Soon the worlds will align and the portal will be ready.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Sweet agreed. Their rapt faces stared up at their horrible machine. Its flashes of energy were reflected in their insectile goggles as they admired the portal.

  “But we still lack the final, crucial component, Mr. Candy.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Sweet. Indeed. We must retrieve Hamish X at whatever cost. The time is growing short.”

  They turned from the rail and headed down the catwalk to an elevator with dull metallic doors. When they were a few metres short of the elevator, Mr. Sweet stopped suddenly. He spun around and faced back the way they had come, cocking his head and scanning the catwalk.

  “What is it, Mr. Sweet?” Mr. Candy stepped up beside him.

  “Mr. Candy, I don’t know. I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye.”

  “What kind of something?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mr. Sweet said, annoyed. He hated not being sure. For an instant, he’d thought he’d seen a human shape just at the edge of his vision. He scanned the catwalk intently for a moment, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There was only stone and metal decking and nothing more. “I thought I saw someone. An intruder.”

  “Surely you are mistaken,” Mr. Candy said. “Who could intrude on our Headquarters? Who could possibly penetrate our defences?”44

  Mr. Sweet scanned the catwalk a final time and shrugged. “Indeed, Mr. Candy. I’m sure you are correct.” Mr. Sweet turned and strode swiftly with Mr. Candy to the elevator.

  As they approached, the doors whisked open to reveal an elevator car. The Grey Agents stepped inside as the doors whisked shut behind them.

  “How can we find Hamish X? It would seem the King managed to neutralize the tracking devices we implanted in him.”

  “Quite clever.” Mr. Sweet sighed as the elevator zoomed upward.

  “Indeed,” Mr. Candy agreed. “The King was clever. But what did his cleverness gain him? He’s still dead.”

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal … a kitchen. The floor was tiled in black and white squares of linoleum. There was a dinette set with four black vinyl chairs. The stove and kitchen were sparkling if a bit old-fashioned, and a shiny radio with a chrome speaker like the grille of an antique car sat on top of the shiny white fridge.

  “Hamish X is the priority,” Mr. Candy said, opening a cupboard and taking down a glass canister filled with little square tea bags. “He has to be found.”

  “Let me do that, dear.”

  Mr. Candy turned to see an old woman standing in the kitchen doorw
ay. She wore a shawl around her shoulders and a flower print dress. Her hair was white as snow and pulled back into a tight bun. She smiled and her blue eyes twinkled, wreathed in wrinkles.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Guardian.” The woman took the canister and plucked out three tea bags, dropping them into the top of a white china teapot resting on the counter. She filled the chrome kettle and set it on the stove to boil.

  “Any activity to report, Mrs. Guardian?” Mr. Sweet asked.

  “Quiet as usual, dear,” she answered. “Perimeter is secure.”

  The Grey Agents left her to make the tea and moved to the kitchen table.

  “He could be anywhere,” Mr. Sweet said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “How will we find him? Biscuit?” He opened a tin on the table and offered an unappetizing grey wafer to Mr. Candy, who nimbly took it in his long, thin fingers.

  “We must be watchful,” Mr. Candy said. He reached up and turned a big black knob on the radio. “Mother?”

  “I’m listening.” The smooth feminine voice oozed from the radio speaker, filling the kitchen with its cold perfection.

  “Monitor transmissions from our sources worldwide. If anything even slightly suspicious comes up, bring it to our attention immediately.”

  “Yes, Mr. Candy.”

  The kettle began to whistle. Mrs. Guardian took it from the stove and poured the boiling water into the teapot. “Three bags. One for each of you and one for the pot!”

  “Hamish X will make himself known to us,” Mr. Candy continued. “He is an arrogant little fellow who can’t seem to keep his nose out of other people’s business. He will stir up some trouble and then …?”

  “We will swoop down and snare him.”

  The two Grey Agents sat at the table, waiting for the tea to steep. Mr. Sweet cocked his head. “Why does he do it?”

  “Do what, Mr. Sweet?”

  “Why does he help people? I mean to say, it was never part of his programming, but he seems to do it … naturally.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Candy reached for the pot. “It is a most puzzling development.”

  “Sugar or honey?” Mrs. Guardian asked sweetly.

  “Both,” the Grey Agents answered in unison.

  The old woman smiled and her blue eyes glittered. “Of course.”

  Chapter 8

  MIMI

  Mimi sat with her back against the wall of the stone chamber. Even her threats of physical violence had yielded no results. Maybe the strange folk knew she was just bluffing. So the wait continued. After many hours of deliberation, the strange people who claimed to be Atlanteans still hadn’t come to a conclusion as to whether they would help the Hollow Mountain refugees or turn them away. They stood in a small huddle debating in their weird burbling language, occasionally shouting at one another and gesticulating at the intruders.

  There seemed to be two schools of thought about what the Atlanteans should do with the refugees. The factions appeared to be led by Xnasos and his sister, Xnasha. The siblings stood toe to toe in heated debate. Mimi could only hope they would allow the children to at least rest and recuperate before sending them on their way. The Atlanteans had provided jugs of water and sacks of dry, salty fish jerky as a meagre meal for the refugees while they continued their intense debate.

  The refugees in question were spread out throughout the stone chamber, some sitting on blankets, others trying to get some sleep. Mrs. Francis moved here and there, her once-white wedding dress glowing in the dim light as she patted heads, pinched cheeks, and squeezed little hands in need of comfort. She paused to push a lock of hair out of her eyes and saw Mimi watching her. The woman smiled and winked at Mimi, who smiled weakly back.

  Looking out across the chamber, Mimi saw the remnants of the Royal Swiss Guards reduced now to a knot of about twenty or so ragged members cleaning their weapons while keeping a wary eye on the Atlanteans. Cara squatted in their midst, speaking earnestly with the remainder of her command. The normally coiffed and groomed Guard was a grimy shadow of her former self. Her uniform was torn at the shoulder and the knee, her face smeared with soot and her hair a mess. Her eyes were as fierce as ever, however, and she had certainly pulled herself together after losing her brother. Mimi admired Cara’s fortitude and wished she could be as strong.

  She found herself thinking of Parveen. The little boy with the thick glasses would have been in his element.

  “He’d have a field day with this place,” she murmured and felt a sharp pang stab her heart. Where was Parveen now? She had no idea. The last time she saw him he was running for the workshops during the siege of the Hollow Mountain. They’d been separated during the exodus. Hoping he had gotten aboard one of the escape pods, she had carefully searched the entire complement of refugees, moving through the crowd with Mrs. Francis as they listed all the survivors, but he had not been among them. Mrs. Francis had comforted her, even though the chubby housekeeper had been on the verge of tears herself.

  “Don’t worry, Mimi,” Mrs. Francis had said, stroking her hair as the girl wept. “He’s a very clever little boy. I’m sure he’s somewhere safe, worrying about you right now.”

  Now Mimi found tears prickling in the back of her eyes once again. She wiped her eyes on the filthy sleeve of her Swiss Guards uniform. It wouldn’t do to let the others see her in a moment of weakness. She had to be strong.

  She turned her head and looked at Mr. Kipling, his dress uniform a mess, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he dozed with his back to the wall. His naturally gaunt face looked even more drawn. He’d suffered minor burns and bruises in the attack. Snoring softly, he rested his hand on the hilt of the sabre that lay unsheathed at his side, vigilant even in slumber. Mimi longed to curl up next to the old man who had become like a father to them all and just forget about the troubles they faced. Let an adult take care of things! That’s what adults were supposed to do, wasn’t it?

  But that had never been her experience of the world. Ever since she lost her father and mother she’d had to fend for herself, counting on no help from adults and trusting her own strength and instincts to survive.

  “But I’m so tired,” she muttered to herself. She could barely keep her eyes open. “So tired.”

  She wished Hamish X were here. He’d know what to do. But he wasn’t. The King had told her he was gone and now she had to lead. That’s what Hamish X would expect of her. She still missed him though.

  “And where are ya now, Hamish X?” she wondered aloud.

  “Nobody knows,” a voice answered her. Mimi turned to see Cara standing nearby. The other girl made a comb of her fingers and ran them through the tangled mess that was her hair. After a few tugs, Cara gave up. She had a bruise on her cheek, a remnant of the battle with the Grey Agents. “I’ve spoken to the other Guards, and no one saw him during the battle. In fact, the last place anyone can remember seeing him was at the wedding ceremony. It’s like he just disappeared.”

  “The King said he was goin’ ta Africa, of all places,” Mimi said. “He musta had a good reason.”

  “We could sure use him now,” Cara said. Gone was her habitual arrogance, lost when her brother chose to stay behind. She was serious and subdued now, with none of her usual sarcasm. She jerked her head at the group of Atlanteans. “How much longer can they argue?”

  “It ends now.” Mimi frowned and pushed herself to her feet. “It’s time we put a stop ta this, one way’r t’other. Let’s go.”

  Mr. Kipling stirred from his slumber and gripped his sabre. “What’s happening?” he asked, instantly alert.

  “Either they help us or we gotta move on. We cain’t wait no longer.” Mimi strode off towards the strangers, Cara and Mr. Kipling falling into step behind her. Mrs. Francis saw the determined set of Mimi’s chin and joined the little party, slipping her hand into Mr. Kipling’s. He smiled at her, squeezing her pudgy fingers in his own bony ones.

  The Atlanteans saw their approach and fell silent. They gripped their staves tighter and f
ell back slightly when they saw the tall girl’s face. Mimi stopped a couple of paces away and pointed a finger at the one called Xnasos.

  “Enough jawin’. Are ya gonna help us or not?”

  “You have no right to be rude to us, surface-dweller. I am the rightful headman of the great race of Atlantis,” Xnasos said in an outraged tone.

  “I don’t care if you’re the President of the Universe! We got kids here who need shelter and we got friends who need our help. Tell us if yer gonna help us or show us how ta get the heck outta this hole in the ground. We’ve waited long enough!”

  Xnasos scowled. He cracked his staff against the ground. “We have endured for centuries … millennia, even … through caution and wisdom. We are not as powerful as we once were. Our numbers dwindle. At one time we ruled a vast kingdom beneath the oceans of the world, but now we are reduced to this one small refuge. Secrecy is our only defence. When we made the pact with the King of Switzerland hundreds of years ago, we were a much stronger people. Now …” He hung his head. When he continued, his voice was less angry, more weary, and tinged with defeat. “Now we can barely hold our own in the world. Pollution from above destroys our means of growing food. There are no children among us now and our race fails.” The others nodded. “You have powerful enemies. The Grey Ones … They are not to be trifled with!”

  “It was us who unleashed them on the world,” Xnasha interjected, drawing an angry glare from Xnasos.

  “What do ya mean by that?” Mimi asked.

  “Nothing! She means nothing!” he snapped. “They are powerful enemies who could destroy us if they knew we helped you. Circumstances have changed since we swore the oath to your King.”

  Mimi felt her righteous anger fade. She looked at the Atlanteans and saw their ragged clothes and their fear, and she recognized in them a kindred desperation. They were refugees of a sort as well. She suddenly felt ashamed of herself for demanding something that would perhaps be difficult for them to give.