Scirye

The hull rocked as the Clipper’s belly slapped against the surface of the water and then leaped into the air again. The seaplane gave a half dozen more bounces, the space between hops growing shorter as the seaplane lost momentum.

And then the loud roar of the propellers lowered to a steady hum as they gently swung the seaplane slightly toward the right. The plane bobbed up and down over the waves as it glided toward the docks of Honolulu’s own seaplane port, which bustled with other seaplanes, dirigibles, and boats just as San Francisco’s had.

“Welcome to the Kingdom of Hawaii, folks,” the pilot announced over the intercom. “The local time here is 9:31 A.M.”

Koko gave a jump when he saw the patrol boat glide toward them. From its mast flew the flag of the Kingdom of Hawaii with its red, white, and blue stripes and Union Jack in the upper left-hand corner. And on its deck was a 40mm Bofors cannon swiveling back and forth on its mount as if hunting for a target.

The engines cut entirely so that the seaplane was hardly moving at all against the wind.

“And what do you know, folks,” the pilot said with fake cheer. “The queen’s sent a ship to welcome us to her islands. She really knows how to say ‘Aloha’!”

“Is this for Roland or do they do this for every seaplane?” Leech wondered.

Bayang peered over his head. The gun crew wore platelike helmets and flotation vests and their expressions were grim rather than welcoming. “If this is Hawaiian hospitality, I’d hate to see what they do when they’re mad.”

Being a diplomat’s daughter, Scirye was more aware of the currents of politics. “They’re not here to say hello. They’re here to protect Roland.”

“A big cheese like him has probably made a lot of enemies along the way,” Koko said.

Bayang folded her arms thoughtfully. “I read that a lot of the locals, including the queen, didn’t want to let Roland create the island in the first place.”

“If she didn’t want it, why is it getting built?” Leech asked.

“Because it was going to happen anyway,” Bayang explained. “Roland said it was in international waters and the United States backed him up. I think the queen’s council talked her into it by arguing that if the kingdom participated, they might have a say in how and what things are done.”

“From what little we’ve had to do with Roland,” Scirye said, “I can’t see him cooperating with anyone.”

Bayang chewed her lip. “If the Hawaiian Navy is here, then the army is probably waiting at the pier. We might have to change our plans. So everybody stay put.”

Frustrated, Scirye ground a fist into her knee. “We can’t just let him walk away. We should tell the police.”

“Take it from me, kid,” Koko grunted. “We’re stowaways. The cops here won’t believe us any more than the cops in San Francisco.”

“An opportunity always comes up,” Bayang said. She sounded as if she were sure it was a fact rather than just a possibility.

Which struck Scirye as a curious attitude to take, but then dragons lived so long that they could afford to wait. Frustrated, the girl rolled up all the axes into a bundle again.

Bayang kept watch by the window as the Clipper slowed. After hours of noise, it was strange when the engines cut back to a dull thumping.

“There’s a squad on the dock. No, make that two—blast, it’s a whole platoon and armed to the teeth.” Bayang slid the cover completely over the window. “The only soldiers without guns are the ones in the brass band.”

When the pilot killed the engines completely, the Clipper’s momentum kept it gliding forward. It was easier now to hear the tubas and trumpets playing some cheerful marching song, but it failed to lift the stowaways’ spirits.

They sat waiting in the gloom among the boxes, listening to the thumps below as the passengers began to disembark. A voice from outside boomed through a megaphone, “Aloha! If you’ll follow me, Mr. Roland, there’s a little welcoming ceremony in the terminal.”

“The ceremony might give us time to set up our ambush,” Scirye said, cradling the bundle of axes.

The music dwindled as the band marched away with the soldiers, Roland, and Badik. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours before they heard the sound of a truck pulling up to the Clipper, and another eternity before the hatch opened.

Someone began to whistle but mangled the notes so badly Bayang and the others looked at one another uncertainly, unsure if it was the same tune as Mugwort’s.

When they didn’t answer, the whistler repeated the torture again. Kles felt like flying up and stopping the butchery of a perfectly innocent song.

A moment later, the empty crate was drawn away, and when a head appeared in the opening, they saw why the signal had been botched so badly. Crocodile lips were never meant to whistle.

The slitted eyes regarded them with a cold, reptilian disdain. “Mugwort didn’t tell me about no kids.” He gave a snigger. “He must be lowering his standards for smuggling. Are you tone deaf? I gave the signal twice.”

Leech was going to make some sassy remark, but Scirye was a diplomat’s daughter. “The propellers were so loud, it’s still hard to hear now even though they’re stopped.”

“When I whistle again, come out. And this time, get the cue right.” Mugwort’s friend disappeared again.

Quickly, Scirye zipped Kles inside her coveralls again and tucked the rolled-up rug fragment with the axes under one arm.

After a moment, from outside, they could hear the crocodile giving orders in a loud voice. “Leave the stuff in the rear to last.”

They heard hollow footsteps on the metal deck as baggage handlers worked in front of the wall. After about ten minutes, they heard the strange whistle again.

When they had climbed over the wall of crates, they had a better look at the crocodile. While his head was what Scirye thought a full-grown crocodile would have, it was mounted on a squat, scaled body only three feet high. On top of his head was a hideous black wig that smelled faintly of wet dog. He was so top heavy, it was amazing that he didn’t topple over.

Most of the cargo and luggage was gone, but there was still a stack of four suitcases. He motioned to them. “Take those off the plane and put them on one of the carts outside. After that, you’re on your own.”

“Where is Roland’s baggage going?” Bayang asked.

“Do I look like a bulletin board to you?” the crocodile sneered.

Bayang looked ready to shake the little crocodile, but Koko slipped in between them. “Let me handle this,” he told her. Then he placed a friendly hand on the crocodile’s shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. But she’s new to the game so she doesn’t know how things work.”

“Yeah, well,” the crocodile grunted, “nothing’s free. You think hippo steaks grow on trees?”

Scirye had no idea where one got hippo meat in Hawaii, but then ships and planes came here from around the world, probably including Africa.

“Help us out and you’ll find Mugwort grateful,” Koko coaxed. “Him and me go way back.”

“He just said to get you off the seaplane.” The crocodile tried to shrug off Koko’s hand.

Leech grinned and whispered to the others, “No one escapes when Koko puts the touch on someone.”

“Literally,” Bayang agreed.

“It must have slipped his mind,” Koko said, and added conspiratorially, “He’s never been quite right in the head since that lead pipe conked him in the bean.” Koko wheedled for several minutes until in exasperation the crocodile gave in, sensing that it was the only way to get rid of the pest.

“There’s a marina next to the seaplane port. Everything’s going to his yacht, the Sea Breeze. You can’t miss it because it’s a white boat big enough to carry a herd of elephants.”

“Maybe we should just go with the crates,” Koko said over his shoulder to his companions.

“Nix. You wouldn’t get past the front gate to the marina,” the crocodile said, wagging his large head. “There’s been a lot of thefts there lately so security’s tighter than a drum. We turn over the cargo and luggage to the marina’s personnel, and I can’t get you their IDs.”

They waited until they had left the Clipper before they talked over what to do.

“Koko, you’ll have to distract Roland’s escort,” Bayang said.

“Why me? Why not you?” Koko demanded.

“Because I’m going to take my true form,” Bayang explained. “I only need a minute to zoom in, knock out Roland and Badik, and carry them off to a spot where you”—she nodded to Scirye and Leech—”will be waiting with ropes.”

“Like these?” Leech grinned as he snatched up several coils of rope and slipped an arm through them.

“Yes, just like those,” Bayang agreed.

They deposited the luggage on one of the carts being drawn by a small tractor and then followed it through the hangars. Though there were fewer buildings than in San Francisco, the ones here had thicker walls of concrete and steel to resist the battering of all the storms that passed through Hawaii.

Certainly there was as much noise and traffic as back in San Francisco, and they had to dodge trucks and carts pulled by teams of giant auks.

The cart entered into a big area at the rear of the passenger terminal and they slipped away then, trying to look as if they were familiar with everything while from the corners of their eyes they hunted for an exit door, eventually finding one that led into the passenger side.

It was like going from night into day. Not only were there more lights, but the walls had been decorated with mosaics of tan-skinned humans in grass skirts or wearing outfits of gaudy cloth. Coconut and palm trees rose in the background of the pictures and every other square space had been filled with different flowers. But what fascinated Kles the most were the exotic birds that looked as if they stripped all the hues from a rainbow. San Francisco’s terminal might have been larger but it was certainly less colorful.

There were lines of passengers at the various airline counters and another crowd standing around the platform where various dignitaries in suits were welcoming Roland. Badik stood behind him. Off to one side was the band and the honor guard, all in tropical white uniforms and enough brass and gilt braid to outfit a temple. On their heads were wide-brimmed pith helmets from which large red plumes rose.

When she felt Kles stirring restlessly, Scirye put a hand on her coveralls over the spot and he grew still. She hoped no one had noticed, but a four-foot-high gecko in a pillbox cap looked at her curiously as he opened the front doors for them.

Outside the sunlight filled Honolulu like warm water in a bowl so that Scirye almost felt as if she were bathing rather than walking. She opened her coveralls immediately and Kles gratefully slipped up to her shoulder, where he began to groom himself.

After the long, cramped trip in the plane hold, they were all grateful to be free and their steps became more lively. Even Bayang felt relaxed enough to play the tour guide. Explaining that she had been here on other assignments, she briefly pointed out the sights.

Waikiki Beach spread out before them in a broad, gleaming crescent of sand. The ocean rolled onto it in bright sapphire waves. And on the crest of the waves men and women were riding on long, wooden boards.

“That looks like fun,” Leech said.

“If you like being a shark buffet,” Koko said.

“How do they do that?” Scirye said, amazed.

“You have to ride with the waves, and that takes courage as well as balance,” Bayang said as she tried to select a place for their ambush. “If you try to fight the waves, you drown.”

Several miles in the distance, the Royal Sheraton Hotel rose like a pink palace among the little houses and palm trees, but just six blocks away was the marina where yachts bobbed majestically. There was one large white one big enough to be an ocean liner. In the boulevard next to them, cars, taxis, and buses flowed in both directions while dolphins on wheeled carts playfully darted about the slower-moving vehicles.

While Bayang continued her search, Scirye began one of her own for a pay telephone. If she could find one, perhaps she could borrow enough money to call the consulate. She pivoted slowly, her eyes passing over several peddlers in Hawaiian shirts and shorts on the sidewalk, pestering the passengers as they left the terminal and boarded taxis.

The most persistent was a little elderly lady in a tentlike muumuu that hung loose on her bony frame. The print was of bright red and yellow huge tropical flowers. On her head was a straw hat that looked like an upside-down bowl. Scarlet and saffron feathers adorned the rim and around her neck was a necklace of puka shells and some large pendant, though Scirye could not make out the design.

Like an elderly canary, she hopped about, thrusting a piece of cardboard first at one tourist and then another. Attached to the cardboard were crude earrings. “You buy, eh?” she chanted, her voice rising and falling musically. “I so, so hungry.”

“Those are nothing but fishhooks and feathers,” a female tourist said, and made shooing motions with her hands. “Go off and catch a fish.”

Other tourists made a point of sidestepping around the desperate woman. She turned and held out her trinkets toward Scirye and her companions. “You buy, you buy. Your Auntie, she so, so hungry.”

Scirye remembered that she had no money—she couldn’t have called home anyway. However, she did have one thing. And that would be Tumarg, too. Pivoting, she jerked her head at Koko. “Give me the candy bar.”

“What candy bar, girlie?” Koko asked innocently.

“There were six candy bars and I saw you pocket the extra one,” Scirye said, holding out her hand commandingly.

Leech nudged his friend. “Give it to her.”

“But—,” Koko protested.

“Just do it,” Leech said, “or we’ll be arguing all day with the junior Amazon.”

Grumbling, Koko dug out the candy bar, partly melted from being in his pocket. “A guy’s got to stay in practice or he loses his touch.”

“Once a thief, always a thief,” Kles declared.

“I was going to share it with everybody,” Koko insisted, though from the expression on Leech’s face, not even his best friend believed him.

Scirye strode over to the old peddler. The girl gave a little bow and presented the candy bar in both hands as if she were an ambassador presenting tribute to an empress. “Here, madam. It’s a small enough token, but I hope you’ll take it in friendship.”

The old lady took it timidly. “T’ank you.”

While they were distracted, a voice growled behind them, “Don’t move.”

Scirye turned her head with a frown.

A huge white shark with stubby legs and short but muscular arms glared at her. His hide glistened like moist sandpaper and his gills made slushing sounds. “You come with us now,” he said. “We’re going to show you some of the sights.”

Behind him were a half dozen smaller gray sharks. One of them snickered, “The last ones you’ll ever see.”