Before they headed to J-Bone’s shop (he’d apparently found a rare copy of Elvis Presley’s first recorded music, a demo with the songs “My Happiness” and “That’s When Your Heartache Begins”—Lucy had practically lost his mind when J-Bone called him), Arthur made a stop at the ferryman’s dock.
“Ahoy, Merle!” he called, standing next to the ferry, the others gathered behind him. A moment later, Merle appeared over the railing, a scowl on his face.
“I told you I wasn’t going to take you to the— Mr. Parnassus! Ahoy, there!”
He smiled. “Hello, my good sir. How be the seas?”
“Good and calm,” Merle called down. “Need a ride back?” He scowled at the reporters gathered at the end of the dock. “They bothering you? You want me to give ’em the ol’ what for?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Arthur said. “And we’re not ready to return quite yet, but when we are, I think I’d like a trip on your ferry, if you have the time.”
“For you, I have the time.” He peered down at them once more. “And the kiddos? They all well?”
“I made mud people!” Lucy exclaimed. “And now they live in the forest!”
Merle shrugged. “Don’t know about all that, but good for you.” He frowned. “If you don’t need a ride back and you don’t want me to deal with the vultures, what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to say thank you,” Arthur said. “It’s a long time in coming, and you have my most sincere apologies for not seeking you out sooner.”
Merle reared back, gripping the railing. “You want to thank me? What the hell for?”
“That I do,” Arthur said. “I’ve heard you’ve been very particular as to whom you give passage to the island. Without you, I fear we might have been overrun. Your kindness has not gone unnoticed, and for that, you have our gratitude.”
Merle spat over the railing into the ocean. “Yeah, well, your kids aren’t as scary as some people make them out to be. Why, I’ve never been frightened of them in my life.”
“Oh boy,” Linus muttered.
“Duly noted,” Arthur said. “And with that, we’re off! We’ll return later this afternoon. Come, children. I expect J-Bone isn’t a man who appreciates being kept waiting.”
“I doubt he even knows what time it is,” Phee whispered to Sal. “Think we can get the machete this time?”
“He said he’s the best at Crazy Eights,” Sal whispered back. “So, yeah, we’re gonna get that machete. Right, bud?”
Theodore spread his wings and agreed the machete was all but theirs.
They walked down the main thoroughfare of the village toward the record shop, David and Lucy leading the way. As they came to a stop at an intersection, a small crowd of vacationers amassed around them, all heading in the same direction. No one whispered about the children, nor did anyone look down upon them with anything but amusement, even as reporters—still keeping a somewhat respectful distance—continued to shout questions, their cameras clicking and flashing. A boxy van filled with frozen treats pulled through the light, tinny music streaming from the speaker attached above the windshield.
“Phee!” one of the reporters shouted as cars moved through the intersection. “Who are you wearing!”
Phee rolled her eyes and said, “What a weird question to ask a kid. I’m wearing clothes from my bedroom. Obviously.”
“It’s hard being famous,” Talia said with a sniff. “Why can’t they realize that celebrities are people too? I have dreams and feelings just like everyone else.”
“This must be how Jesus felt before they put him on the cross,” Lucy said. “Surrounded by paparazzi and sex workers.”
“I beg your pardon,” Linus said with a frown.
Lucy tilted his head back to look up at Linus. “I didn’t make that up! It’s in the Bible. Like, for a book about God and trying not to sin, there is a lot of stuff in there that makes me look like an angel. For example! Lot’s daughter wanted to have a kid of her own, so she got her father drunk and—”
Linus covered Lucy’s mouth with his hand as the strangers around them snorted in laughter. “I think that’s quite enough. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but we might need to consider removing all Bibles from the island. Too many things in its pages children should not have access to.”
Lucy’s eyes filled with red as he pulled his head away. “We could have a good old-fashioned book burning.”
“Something to consider,” Linus agreed. “But we’ll talk about it at home. For now, let’s focus on— Ah, the light has changed. Onward!”
David stepped off the sidewalk first, glancing back over his shoulder to say something to Lucy. He didn’t get far before Lucy’s arm shot out, keeping David back.
David almost fell, tripping over the curb as the other vacationers moved on around them. “Why did you do that?”
Lucy ignored him. He took a step down the sidewalk, head cocked. Arthur tried to see what he was looking at, but all he saw was the road leading out of town toward the train station. Dunes of white sand rose like shifting hills, marram grass swaying in the salty breeze. It looked the same as it always did, as far as Arthur could tell.
And then, in the distance, a flash of light, as if the sun had reflected off something metal or glass. A black smudge appeared on the horizon, followed by another, and then another, and then another. At least a dozen in all, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust, giving the appearance of an approaching storm.
“Arthur?” he heard Linus ask from somewhere behind him. “What is it?”
“They’re coming,” Lucy whispered.
That broke Arthur from his stupor. He scooped up Lucy in his arms, taking a step back. He startled when he bumped into someone, whirling around. Linus stood there, hands on his hips. “What’s happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“DICOMY,” he said as the rumble of approaching engines grew louder. “They’re here.”
Linus didn’t hesitate. He turned toward the others. “Change of plans,” he said quickly. “Back to the van, children! We’ll come to the village another day.”
“What’s going on?” Phee asked, standing on her tiptoes as she tried to see what Lucy and Arthur had. “I thought we were going to the record store.”
“We were,” Linus said, gently but firmly pushing the children back the way they’d come. “However, something has come up that needs our immediate attention. We’ll return to the village another day, you have my—”
And then they were surrounded by a different set of black sedans—ones they hadn’t noticed approaching—with large, sharp tailfins and metallic grilles that looked like gaping mouths filled with fangs. They screeched to a halt on the street in front of them, two from the left and two from the right. The doors flew open, and large, burly men climbed out, dressed in black suits with white dress shirts and black ties. Each wore a pair of sunglasses, the lenses mirrored. On their right biceps, a white armband with the word DICOMY printed around it.
