Lorali Read online

  The journalists applaud. Idiots.

  ‘I would like to offer my services and knowledge to the government, here on land. I am happy to participate in your research. I would also like to set up a charity to prevent taxidermy and poaching, hunting, patching and selling of Mer tails, skin and hair. I will campaign to make this illegal immediately. And of course –’ she smiles down the lens, communicating directly with her human audience through eye contact, a smile she has practised many times – ‘world peace. Thank you.’

  ‘Opal? Opal! What about the reward for the missing princess? Who will take care of that?’ A reporter shoves a microphone under her chin.

  Marco swipes the air with his hands. ‘No more questions, thank you.’ And Opal, in a tank carried by ushers, leaves the room ablaze, the waft of Prada’s Candy streaming after her.

  SAVAGE QUALM

  The Ablegares, on Liberty, are heading for the coast of Savage Qualm. Rory was right to have been suspicious. Pirates had indeed been tailing him.

  But what Rory and Flynn do not know is that the Ablegares have already paid old man Iris a visit. Yes, remember that walk Flynn, Rory and Lorali took to the smokehouse? Ah, yes … they were just a little too late.

  Their shadows, like the bent angles of spider webs, climbed towards the lighthouse. The lighthouse is there to keep sailors safe, but what happens when the lighthouse needs saving from sailors?

  ‘Where is the girl?’

  No. He did not know where the girl was. What girl?

  ‘Come on, old man. A cliff face falls, a mermaid goes missing and you know nothing about it?’

  Otto had laughed, irritated, but laughter all the same.

  No. Iris did not know.

  ‘And there was me thinking that mermaids were your “speciality”.’

  Jasper. That tongue. Tut. Tut. Tut.

  No. He did not know where the girl was. Which girl? Who?

  ‘He’s telling the truth.’

  Oska had added that.

  Otto had inspected the lighthouse. He had sniffed about it like a dog in bins. Jasper had wanted to get at the old man. He had held up his knife to his throat. He had been angry. Wild. Untameable. He hadn’t hurt anybody in too long. He had wanted to bite the old man’s face. Tear a hole into it. Drink his blood. But Jasper shook more than the man. He had been more scared of himself than anybody else was.

  ‘Where’s that precious little loser grandson of yours? You know we could kill him, don’t you? If he has anything to do with this. You know we could kill you, old man. You know that, don’t you?’

  Iris would not falter. ‘I know you could but I know you won’t.’

  ‘What makes you so certain of that then? I wouldn’t be too comfortable if I were you. They all say you’re mad round here, did you know that? That you’ve lost the plot. That you’re nothing but a senile, sensitive old man with too much time on your hands. I could cut you, old man.’

  Iris retorted. His weapon of words, an arrow to the heart. ‘Didn’t your mother cut you deep enough to demonstrate the repercussions of violence, Jasper Ablegare? That’s a very big scar you’ve got there. From the neck right down the spine, to the base of your back. But you got her back, didn’t you, Jasper Ablegare? And your big brother, Otto, and your twin brother, Oska, have to suffer for that.’

  Jasper had gone for Iris. He had bit at his throat. Like a rabid dog. Blood in his teeth from the visionary’s flesh.

  ‘Jasper!’ Otto had screamed, and he, Egor, Oska and Momo had pulled Jasper off the man. The howling vampire that he was. A shark. Iris was precious. They had not long since arrived. This was their first day on the search. There would be time. Iris could still be useful.

  Iris had tended to his neck. He would not be afraid. He would clam up.

  ‘You’re WEAK! You’re NOTHING! I’ll kill you, you OLD WASTE!’ Jasper had cried.

  ‘No you won’t,’ Iris had said. And he’d been right.

  I do apologise. I suppose, thinking about it, that information might have been interesting to you earlier on … How forgetful of me. It’s just … I’m so caught up. Aren’t you?

  The Ablegares arrive at Savage Qualm. It was no use in Hastings. They had been to every girls’ school and upturned the town. They had made such an impression that locals would wave to them in the street. They had followed the boy back from the New Town to the lighthouse, and the girl wasn’t there. They had already visited the old man. They had run out of ideas. They were not going to sit about and let some philistine find Lorali and collect the reward that Opal had promised. They had other ideas.

  ‘Ladies!’ Otto calls to the Sirens. He has brought treats and presents from the coast of Hastings. Chocolate. Cigarettes. Shampoo. Fudge. Even a stick of rock. His boots chink as he lands on the pecked rock beneath him. Winking at the Sirens, he lists off their names as though each one has their own spot tailored into his heart. ‘My Valentina, my Betty, my Violet, my Ivy, my Dotty, my Audrey, my Cleo …’

  The Sirens are not best pleased to see the Ablegares. Especially after they have been deserted. They preen their feathers. Attack their scrawny mascaraed eyes with kohl. Shit more oily liquid cloud in front of the boys to show their absolute resentment and that they don’t give a sea-monkey’s arse that the boys have come to see them.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ Otto says as he lays the gifts down.

  ‘It’s our home. We can do what the fuck we like.’ Valentina licks her lips. Scrunches her crusty sea-whipped hair. Lights one of Otto’s fags. Betty adjusts her tits in her fag-ash and red-wine-stained bra. Pulls that black gunk off her eyeball.

  ‘Are you pissed off?’

  ‘Are we pissed off? Listen to him. Course we are. We made the effort to come aboard Liberty to have a good time with yous and then that nasty fishy fanny mermaid Opal calls and that’s it. You leave us. High and dry.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. We had work to do.’

  ‘At least now we know your priorities.’

  ‘It’s not like that.’ Otto has to plead with the Sirens. Usually he’d never even give them the time of day for speaking out of line to him but he is about to ask them a favour. ‘We’re sorry.’ Otto rubs his head innocently; he knows what he has to do.

  Violet snubs him. ‘If you ask me, Opal Zeal isn’t even that pretty. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s proper sold out,’ Ivy adds. ‘Rumour has it she ain’t even coming back!’

  ‘Back-stabbing traitor! Sickens me,’ Dotty spits, helping herself to the chocolate.

  ‘It’s decent chocolate,’ Otto mentions. He knows all about Opal’s literal jumping of ship and, yes, I can see there is a bit of an ache in his gut about it all, a sour taste on the tongue; he does like her, but you win some, you –

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Betty hacks a cough, and her dirtied hands wrap round the gold foil. She is sucking, melting the chocolate with her mouth and tongue. Her eyes are on Otto. Floating down to his –

  Momo shakes his head. ‘Give it a rest.’

  ‘You and me need to have words, Giacomo,’ Cleo announces, hands on hips. Her pearls rattle.

  Momo rolls his eyes.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’

  ‘Who do you think you are?’ Jasper intervenes. ‘Look at you, sitting round in your own shit all day. Filthy.’

  ‘Ladies … gentlemen! Please. This was meant to be a pleasant get-together? Let’s play nice.’ Otto raises his eyebrow at his younger brother and takes Violet and Valentina, scooping his hand up the backs of their leather jackets, allowing them to drop down their shoulders, and biting the straps of their bras.

  The girls soften. They haven’t eaten in ages. There has been a serious drought of sailors on my waters recently. But that is when Egor sees it. ‘Otto. Otto!’

  Otto wriggles free from the grip of the Sirens.

  ‘Otto! I want to CUDDLE!’ one of them screams.

  ‘Bros before hos, Violet. I’ve told you this be
fore! Egor, what is it?’

  ‘Here comes a small boat. A boy is aboard … Could it be … Is it him?’

  The boat gets closer and closer. The rest of the Ablegares release themselves from the Sirens, stand strong and adjust their appearance, clenching their jaws, their weapons. Who is this young man sailing to the island of dead men? Of rotting flesh and appetite?

  And how did he find it?

  ‘BOY!’ Oska shouts.

  ‘Hush your gums, brother. I want to see what the yout’ has to say,’ Otto whispers.

  Otto calls towards him, as the little boat comes closer. ‘COME!’

  His face begins to make sense now. Eyes. Nose. Eyebrows. Mouth. Not the boy that they had followed. A new one. But they recognise him too. Where from?

  The boy pulls in, closer now. He brings tiny waves with him. He is tired. Cold. Thirsty. Hungry. Withered. But he stinks of greed. Ambition. But worry too. Yes.

  Jasper reaches for his knife. Grips it. Tight.

  ‘Put that down, fam. No shank.’

  Jasper looks disappointed; he might cut up one of the Sirens soon if something doesn’t happen.

  ‘Young boy, small boat, rocky waters. Tell me how it adds up.’ Otto greases his hair back; Egor crosses his arms, in his bouncer stance.

  The boy panics and the words unfold. ‘I want to be a pirate. Like you.’

  They laugh. The Ablegares and the Sirens. They laugh so hard. Right in his face.

  ‘This isn’t nursery. Oh, when I’m older I want to be a unicorn. What makes you think you can just turn up here and become a pirate, you absolute dickhead,’ Oska laughs.

  ‘I got here, didn’t I?’

  Otto switches. He is serious. The boy is serious.

  ‘Yes, and how did you get here?’

  ‘I followed you. Well, your ship. The waves.’

  Jasper is ready to pounce.

  The Sirens are hungry.

  ‘It takes a lot of work. It’s hours, days, weeks, months of sailing, to be a pirate. Where the water is your spirit. Your parent. Your friend. Your enemy. It’s not all pressing piff chicks and jacking innocent people. You have to show your worth. Tell me, why should we, with the reputation that we have to upkeep, make some nobody a pirate?’ Otto explains, coming closer to the boy.

  ‘Because of this.’ The boy rolls back the blankets on his tiny boat to reveal kilo after kilo of fresh mermaid tail. The flesh he has been given by the Cavities. It is catching the light. Flashing. It is shining. It makes the Sirens’ stomachs growl.

  The Ablegares try not to gasp. They hold it down. Keep it cool. They pore over the skin – it is the real deal, they can tell from the light, paper-thin touch, like silk or muslin, and the scales themselves are like velvet. When wet, these scales will sparkle like tears. The colours are gold, silver, petrol-blue, purple, turquoise. They are legitimate.

  ‘Easy!’ Otto bites his lip, then begins to snigger with joy. ‘How did you get all this? You’ve gone HAM on this. Are you a poacher?’

  The boy hasn’t thought about this.

  ‘Yes. I hunt and sell.’

  ‘Sweet. Where? Who?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. They are yours. Proof of what’s to come. I’ll give them to you; you can have them. At a cost … but I don’t want money.’

  ‘I’ve heard that one before.’ Otto drinks up the vast amount of skin with his eyes.

  ‘I’ll swap it all,’ the young boy splutters, overexcited by their reaction. ‘Right now, exchange it, the lot of it, for a place on your ship. For protection. Safety. Immunity.’

  Otto sniffs a rat. ‘Immunity? Safety? Protection? Why would you need safety if you’re – wait … you jacked this, didn’t you? This wasn’t yours to take?’

  ‘No. No. Course I didn’t.’

  ‘Why would you want safety then if you didn’t, yout’?’

  ‘I … I …’

  ‘Makes sense though, there’s too much belly here, patched too well. No amateur here, bruv. Somebody had to know what they were doing to trim this. You’re out of your depth. Tell us the truth, boy, it’s in your interest.’

  Jasper steps behind the boy, inhaling the fresh sweat from his back. The boy gets upset. He is panicked. He is shaking. The Sirens watch on. They like this. Fear smells divine.

  ‘OK, OK, I stole it. I took it. I took it,’ he cries. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what is going to happen next but he’s come this far. A fear like his can be detected miles deep. Hungry serpents and monsters, beasts and creatures, thrash in my belly for a taste of him.

  ‘Incredible. If you can jack this much Mer skin and get away with it then you are working for my boat. Recruited.’

  The boy cannot believe it. Neither can Jasper, but he knows there will be consequences.

  ‘Are you serious?’ the boy gushes as the Ablegares begin to unload the boat of tapestry. It is heavy. Drying out. ‘It’s that easy? That’s all I had to do?’

  The Sirens look disappointed, but at least the boy is handsome. They can eat him one way or another.

  ‘I’m Otto. I’m the captain. That’s Egor the tailor, Momo the philosopher and my two twin brothers, Oska … who makes the best straights in the world if you wanna bun a zoot later, and Jasper, who will smash your brains up to caviar if you are lying or having us on.’

  The boy shakes his head. This is exciting for him. Real. Scary. But exciting.

  ‘And what do you go by?’

  ‘I’m Elvis.’

  THE DARK BOX

  I can’t see anything. There’s only the sickening feeling of rocking. Backwards. Forwards. My face on the floor. Every time I think I am going to be sick nothing comes. Dry. Burn. Wretch. Gag. I wish I could just chuck my guts up. Everything. My heart. My lungs. I wish I didn’t need anything. I wish I could become the water and slip through the cracks in the box I am now in. Or turn to sea salt. Evaporate. Crystalise. Everything feels awkward. My new bones crunch. The dehydration is overwhelming; it’s deep thirst. I have a split in my head. Inside my head. With heavy, throbbing pains. I don’t know where I am going. I miss Rory. Does he even know what happened to me? That boy who claimed to be his friend, who claimed to care, that liar, that cheat, that he traded me? Like I was meat. Cast me off, and not just to anybody. To the Cetus. The CETUS. Of all the ships in the world, it had to be the one that carries my grandmother’s skeleton on the mast. That wears her bones like an accessory. And now they have me. And if that boy could sell me, pass me over the boat the way he did, whilst I screamed and cried and roared and smashed my heavy legs all over the place. Until I tasted the blood from my own feet in my mouth. Then I could not trust him so perhaps Rory does still want me. Does still love me. But I will never know now. I will never find out. Because he will be looking for me whilst I lie, dying in a dark box.

  The lid cracks open. Dust from the wood floats in. The light blinds me. Harsh. Too much. I see his teeth first. Black. Gold. His eyes. Green. Toad green. His hands are dirty.

  ‘We’ve been looking for you,’ he grunts. He smells bitter. His beard is mangled. Matted. I want to spit in his face. They killed my grandmother, Netta. They patched her tapestry. They tortured her. They touched her. They murdered her. Slowly. In front of my whole family.

  And now … they are going to do the same with me.

  He pulls the lid off completely and I begin to panic and struggle. My body is tired. I am being lifted up to sitting. I try to use my legs to push myself up but they are too new and weak. The Cavity uses his force to hold my wrists. Then he jumps into the box with me. The weight of his knees are on my stomach. I howl. What are they going to do to me? A new set of hands clamp round my eyes and mouth. I cannot see. This new blindness is worse than the darkness of the box. I feel the dirt-caked fingers smudge into my eyelashes. I scream.

  ‘Be quiet and still, little runt, and we will let you out.’

  I breathe. Through the nose. Deep, heavy breaths. Be calm. The weight lifts off my stomach.

  And then the
hands come away and I can see. I see stars from the pinch of my eyes. And I cry. And dribble.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ says the female voice of a Cavity behind me and a comb begins to run through my hair. ‘Don’t cry, Princess.’

  The Cavity begins to hum. It’s unnerving. It sounds sad. I cry. She tries to soothe me and continues to brush my hair, her fingers softly weaving. I’ve never had my dry hair combed before. Tears fall onto my bruised legs. What is she doing? Why is she showing me kindness? Tenderness? Maybe I could speak to her, see if she will help me escape?

  ‘There, there, sweet baby girl,’ she mutters. ‘Mummy never meant to let you float away but you were such a naughty, beastly, mucky girl. You never did as Mummy told you, did you?’

  I swallow. Hard. Instinct. Stay quiet. Be quiet. Get your strength. Not now.

  After minutes she sighs peacefully. ‘There we are.’ She kisses my shoulder with her dry scabby lips. My hair is braided. ‘Now, isn’t that better?’

  And before I know it I am grabbed by my ankles and wrists and they shut the lid back on me. And cold wet darkness follows.

  CARMINE

  To add suspense, to keep you on your toes and tails, I’ll tell you a story, shall I? Kind of a story. Kind of a secret. How about that?

  I know what the circles mean. And the patterns. Iris’s little illusions and etchings. The illustrative carvings on the trunks. I know all about those simple shapes. The ones he used to communicate with Carmine. The ones his grandson tried to understand for all those years.

  Not that it matters an awful amount in the grand play of things.

  And it is play. All of it.

  It’s not real.

  You have to live your life like you’re pretending. An actor living a character’s life. Otherwise you won’t take risks. You won’t live.

  How did Iris know what he knew?

  His knowledge.

  Was he magic? Was he special?

  Iris was once Flynn’s age. Let’s go back to then. When he was writing and drawing. He would draw me for hours. Taking me in. He would concentrate. He would look up more than he looked down. He would eat his sandwiches out of brown-paper parcels. He would bunk off school to be with me. Always so fascinated. They said he wasn’t ‘well’ anyway. Teachers never paid the poor boy much attention and his father didn’t care either. He was just ashamed of his dismal grades and social inadequacy. Pretended Iris wasn’t his, that he didn’t belong to him as they got ice cream along the promenade. Walking steps ahead. Eyes on the floor. His son just had difficulties. His art was spectacular. His mind even more so.