D.ALL Chapter 22

“An Aqua-ticulate Demonstration by the Great Magician Celphi!.. and Albie,” Free quoted the performance pamphlet as he ate a crab cake. “Good chance to see what Terarin’s RM is like in practice—beyond fountains and a bitter oldie.”

“Maybe we should move to the back,” Frost said.

“For my sake? Probably,” Free shrugged as the stage lights flickered on and the other lights dimmed. “But the view’s not as good.”

Fog filled the stage and a young voice boomed from the speakers in front, “To those local and foreign, prepare to be amazed by—” A milky-eyed Gilieot in a vermillion cloak and wearing a wolf-like mask leaped up from below the stage, “The Great Magician Celphi!”

Foxx tilted his head as the audience applauded, “Have we seen her before?” he asked Free.

“I don’t think—wait, hold on, you’re right, that’s Clary,” Free said quietly.

“Thank you, thank you,” Clary bowed at the crowd. “However—hold your applause for my ever-so helpful assistant…”

Clary held out her arms to the trap door she came from and after a long silence—a patchwork flipper flopped onto the stage from below. Then, awkwardly, the person who the flipper belonged to climbed up—rolling onto the stage, wearing a costume which resembled a walrus-like creature.

“Albie the Pearlwarl…” the costumed man’s voice was old and cranky—the trio instantly recognized it as Albo.

The audience applauded again, with a few restrained chuckles mixed in.

Clary motioned to the crowd to settle before continuing, “Now, Albie.”

Albo sighed, “What is it, Great Magician?”

“What shall we do first? Turmeric’s Typhon? The Million Minnows of Miss Matcha? The Summer’s Broil?”

“Not one soul wants to see an act that’s been done before,” Albo said without flair, as if reading directly from a script.

“You’re right—here, have a treat!” Clary threw a plastic fish into Albo’s face before turning to the crowd. “So, that means we need something fresh, new, modern—something no one has seen before nor anyone other than I could create!”

Clary placed her paw on the chin of her mask and then snapped her fingers and looked at Albo, “Albie, fetch me some saltwater, please. Those pails over there should do the trick!”

Albo bounced over to the far side of the stage, picking up and precariously balancing five buckets of water which he then brought over to Clary.

“Ah, spectacular! And I shall dub this act…” Clary raised her hand to the sky, “The Bond of the Last Wharfwolves!”

Water flowed from the buckets and into a sphere above her raised hand. Next, she raised her other hand, the salt left in the buckets clumping into a sphere above that hand.

“N-now, my amazing audience,” Clary’s stance wobbled before she stabilized herself. “This is a master’s technique, it requires complete concentration. So please, leave your expressions of amazement for the end of the act!”

With a swoosh of her arm, she transformed the water into a school of a hundred fish connected to each other by hair-thin streams.

The fish swam in the air above the audience as she flicked her other hand, the salt sphere slowly molding into the shape of a full-sized Wharfwolf—which she made stretch and yawn as if it had just awoken.

Once the Wharfwolf opened its eyes and shook off the rest of its grog—its attention darted to the fish, readying a pounce, swaying its body left to right as they swirled around it. Then, when the fish slowed, it pounced—fangs missing its prey by an inch and starting a chase.

It swam through the air by waving its tail in a lateral motion, legs placed at the sides of its body for better hydrodynamics—like a torpedo. A specularly fast swimmer for something that only used its tail, yet, not as fast as the fish.

Always a breath away from its meal—until a second Wharfwolf, made of salt as well, jumped in from out of nowhere—flanking the front of the fish and catching the ones too slow to turn away from its maw.

The remaining fish dispersed, the streams between them snapping in sequence before they morphed into a ball and flowed back into the buckets.

Curiously and cautiously, the first Wharfwolf approached the second. Its tail hanging low as it sniffed—then wagging its tail when the second laid down half of its catch for the first to eat.

***

Clary and Albo bowed as the lights flickered off, a show tune emitting from the speakers indicating that the performance had ended.

After throwing their trash away, the trio left, talking on their way back to the center of the festival—the crowd much thinner than before.

“I knew the RM here allowed the manipulation of water,” Free had his hand to his chin as he walked. “...but maybe it's not that simple if they can control salt as well. Perhaps it's the control of everything within the sea? No, that’s too broad—still possible…”

“Salt absorbs water. Correct?” Foxx asked.

“Generally speaking, yeah—that’s true for most planets and likely Terarin too,” Free replied.

“Maybe, she controlled the water inside?”

“That would make sense,” Free lifted his hand off his chin. “That makes me wonder what else they can control—if the material containing water is the only condition. And that still leaves it up in the air if that means either one, things that hold water, or two, has water as part of its composition.”

“Why not ask Sal or the ‘Great Magician’ if you are curious?” Frost said.

“...It's really not that important—we’re leaving tomorrow anyway."

Frost glanced at Free, “That is unlike of you.”

“How?”

“Last I checked, you take every chance to learn.”

“I’m just…” Free sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m trying to stay focused on the bigger picture, that’s all. Terarin is only a pit stop for us, so I should treat it that way.”

“If something is bothering you, it is best that you speak of it. Once we leave, you know we may never return.”

“It has nothing to do with this old town, or planet—or whatever. It's a lot of things, lots of things you don’t need to hear.”

“Humph.”

“What, you’re worried I’m gonna get all gloomy if I don’t spill my heart out?”

“I am, but it is your choice.”

“Okay, then I won’t,” Free slouched… then unslouched, “Fine—but I don’t want Foxx to hear about it.”

Free looked at Foxx, “Hey, can you wait for us by the memorial?”

“Why?” Foxx asked.

“Important stuff—just stay put and don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, okay? We’ll be done before you know it.”

Foxx paused for a long while before answering, “Promise?”

Free was stunned for a moment, “Yeah, of course, promise.”

“Ok,” Foxx split off from the other two and hovered over to the memorial.

***

“Foxx can likely still hear us,” Frost said as Free and them watched Foxx hover away.

“If he wants to, yeah—but I don’t think he’ll eavesdrop… He’s a good kid,” Free said.

Frost looked at Free, “Is that the source of your worry? Foxx?”

Free flinched as he sat down on a bench, “Partly—look, I know I said before that if we have to bring Foxx with us to Hornnhealm he’d be fine.”

“You doubt your judgment?"

“Yes—maybe—I don’t know. He’s… capable—I mean, he parried a guy who could crack concrete."

“We may not have to worry, if his guardian arrives today.”

“Frost, we both know that’s not gonna happen. His guardian is probably a hundred clusters away—maybe even in a different Quadrant.”

“Do not lose hope,” Frost glanced over to where Foxx was, making sure he didn’t have his ears angled towards them.

“I’m just being practical, alright? My point is—we’re not fit to take care of him if something goes wrong or if he sees something… he shouldn't see.” Free ran through his hair, “That kind of stuff is something no kid should see.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

“...What if I am?”

“Then, what I believe I must say is…” Frost sat down next to Free, “I understand what that is like as well.”

Free wanted to say something, but all he could do was put his head in his hands.

“I see it as thus, we have two choices, stay on Terarin or leave for Hornnhealm.”

“Yeah, no sh—ah, go on.”

“If we stay here, our priority is to sustain ourselves as we wait for Foxx’s guardian. In that time, the lead may go cold, and there is a possibility that Foxx’s guardian never arrives, and we have no reliable way of finding his home. His guardian could be lacking a way of receiving radio waves, be too far away, or, the worst reality, they have perished.”

Free started tapping his foot.

“If we leave, and Hornnhealm is as dangerous as Formosa described, our priority is to find the Thing-Mi-Find as swiftly as possible. The risks we will face are unknown, the true validity of the lead from Silk is unknown. However, what we do know is… We will do our best to overcome whatever stands in our way.”

Free raised his head.

“Until Foxx is safely home, we are his caregivers, his temporary guardians. We cannot afford to do less than that. Less than our best.”

“You’re right,” Free sighed. “And honestly, we don’t really have a choice.”

“We do. It is a choice between whether we trust the galaxy will be kind to us, or if we trust ourselves to overcome what lies ahead.”

“The galaxy’s not that kind last I checked,” Free said with disdain.

“Maybe in its own way,” Frost smiled. “The comet that crashed us onto Calmede for instance. Without it, Foxx would have been alone, fending for himself, and we would not have a lead.”

“Eh, we just got weird luck,” Free got up and sighed.

“Have you made your choice?”

“Yeah, I think I have—we’re going to Hornnhealm.”

“The same choice as mine,” Frost got up. “But first, let us enjoy the time before then.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Free stretched. “You know, I hope we won’t have to get all serious again any time soon—but that did help a bit. Not everything’s good but… I believe we can do it, find the Thing-whatever and get Foxx home. Maybe end up in the history books as legendary treasure hunters while we’re at it, not just some scavengers.”

Frost smirked, “I did not know you cared about that.”

“Who doesn’t? Imagine, me and you getting letter after letter from adorning fans and scholars all across the—”

BOOM BANG sizzle—the sound of a firework exploding in the sky, then—BOOM BANG BOOM, several more shot up in the sky chaotically.

“It’s that late already?!” Free looked at the sky.

“It is not,” Frost looked around and saw several volunteers with their walkie talkies out and many others running around looking for something. “Let us rejoin Foxx in case something went awry.”

“You think this is more than just a malfunction?” Free asked.

“It is best to take caution, then we can investigate.”

“Got it.”

***

Foxx laid curled up in the short grass, coiled around the plushie he had won, his ears angled to the ground—avoiding all chance to overhear Frost and Free. Yet, he was still thinking about what they could have been discussing, and why had to be left out of it. Did he say something wrong? Did they not trust him? Did his guardian return?

At least they would be done quickly—that’s what they promised after all, and promises are special, you can’t break them. Or rather, he believed that as true, someone told him that it was…

If only he could remember who.

He curled tighter, staring at the plushie—it didn’t have its eyes anymore. The stitched on ones it had before were replaced with a mirror of his, yet a brighter red. Its fur fell off and was replaced with a pellet like his, only thicker and the color of the setting sun. Then, where there were once soft blunt teeth popped out hard sharp fangs.

It looked at him—

Foxx poked his head up—it was Lav, she was wearing a hoodie but had her favorite jacket under her arm.

“Yes,” Foxx answered.

“You looked dead,” Lav said.

“That’s how I rest. Sorry.”

“I’m just messing with you—Wharfwolves sleep like that too,” Lav sat down next to him. “Where’s those other two?”

Foxx gestured his head towards Frost and Free, noticing at the same time that the crystal atop the memorial was gone.

“Heh, you got put at the kiddie table?”

“Kiddie table?” Foxx tilted his head.

“You know—when adults don’t think you can handle serious stuff, so they put you to the side and decide things for you.”

“They probably had a good reason.”

Lav scoffed, “If you say so.” The phone in her pocket beeped but she didn’t pay mind to it, “So, you’re just waiting for them?”

Foxx nodded.

“Well, I have nothing better to do either,” Lav shrugged. “Want to learn more about pirates?”

Foxx’s ears rose slightly, “Ok.”

For a few minutes, Lav told Foxx about the other stories that the audio drama they listened to a few days ago referenced until two people walked over to them.

It was Poppy, who had a tool belt slinged over his shoulder, and Clary, who was still in her “Great Magician" attire.

“Lav-Lav, this is where you’ve been?” Clary said, annoyed, then her attention moved to Foxx. “And why’s he with you?”

“Calm down—he’s cool, and I was just busy,” Lav replied.

Poppy quickly glanced up at the top of the memorial then looked back at Lav, “Heh, yeah.” He lifted the tool belt up a bit, “Same here, everything's ready on my end.”

“Time?” Lav asked.

“Twenty minutes, give or take two,” Poppy answered.

“Blubber secured too—estimating the same amount of time before someone finds it,” Clary added. “So, what are we doing in the meantime?”

“Why don’t we hang out? The grass doesn’t feel like straw today,” Lav pat the ground.

“I guess a breather couldn’t hurt would it, Poppy?” Clary said.

“I hope not,” Poppy replied.

“So, what’s your deal with Lav—Foxx, was it?” Clary sat down.

“Yes. Deal?” Foxx asked.

“She means why we’re friends,” Lav explained.

“We’re friends?” Foxx’s ears perked up.

“Well, yeah,” Lav rolled her eyes. “I guess I haven't called you that directly, so it's fine.” Lav turned to Clary, “He’s a pirate connoisseur like us, saved my tail too.”

“Oooo—wait, who’s your favorite pirate?” Clary asked Foxx.

Foxx took a moment to think, “I like Hi-bis.”

Clary groaned, “You’ve indoctrinated him already, Lav?!”

“Didn’t need to,” Lav smirked. “Hi-bis is awesome, isn’t he, Foxx?”

“I think—”

BOOM BANG sizzle—an array of fireworks exploded in the sky. Then—BOOM BANG BOOM, several more shot up in the sky. Poppy looked up in shock, Clary had an expression of dread, and Lav didn’t seem fazed.

“Give or take two?!” Clary stood up and glared at Poppy.

“I-I swear it wasn’t set to—”

“Let’s get going,” Lav got up and put her hands in her hoodie pockets. “It's now or never, crew,” she tipped the hood of her hoodie like a captain’s cap.

Foxx tilted his head.

As Clarry and Poppy ran off towards the direction of Cornel's Workshop, Lav looked back at Foxx, “Sorry that this was cut short, I think they would’ve liked you if they had the time to get to know you.”

“Why are—”

Lav sprinted after the other two, stopping one more time to look back again, “And if you ever want to find me, ask anyone worth their salt about the Romp—I'll be a living legend by the time you're back! Fare-thee-well, Foxx!”

With that, Lav and her crew disappeared from his view—and he heard two sets of familiar footsteps approaching him.