Book 3

In Which the Lady of the Water Serenades the Seas

A lobster crawled across the sand in amongst the coral and kelp. This lobster’s name was Lamont, which was, in and of itself, unusual, as few lobsters have names at all, let alone Lamont, but this lobster was in the possession of certain peculiarities that extended far beyond mere monikers. For one thing, Lamont was quite a bit bigger than other lobsters. This was due to his advanced age, of which no one could be quite sure, which is to say, he never volunteered this information and, when asked, he remained inscrutably stoic and scrabbled off.

The second thing that really different-tiated him from others of his ilk was the fact that he was carrying a silver breakfast tray in one claw, a breakfast tray that carried a napkin, the morning paper, two cans of sar-dines, a bottle of orange juice, and a single red rose that was, admittedly, rather droopy from its prolonged immersion in saltwater.

 With tray in claw, Lamont pushed aside a curtain of red algae and sidled into a secluded grotto rimmed with bright corals and anemones. In the middle of the grotto sat a great scallop, its shell open wide, and there, on the bivalve’s squishy, orange ad-ductor muscle, Aquamarine, the Goddess of Water, lay snoring.

Lamont sidled up to her sleeping form and, ever so delicately, reached up and tap-ped her on the arm with the back of his free claw. When she didn’t wake, he repeated the motion, this time a little more forcefully.

“Just who was that mysterious stranger with the monocle?” Aquamarine mumbled before rolling over.

Lamont paused for a moment, then set down the tray, and, with a single fluid flourish, he clamped both claws firmly onto Aquamarine’s leg.

“Holy crap!” she screamed and sat bolt upright. “Oh, good morning, Lamont,” she yawned, catching sight of the crustacean.

Lamont, who was dangling awkwardly off Aquamarine’s leg, relinquished his vise-like grip, and dropped to the sand. He then picked up the silver tray and placed it on the makeshift bed.

“Thank you, Lamont,” said Aquamarine, stretching. “Although, next time, you could go with a lighter touch.”

She yawned and, with a webbed hand, peeled open a sardine tin and shoved a fistful of salty pilchard into her mouth. She chewed noisily and wiped the sleep from her eyes with sardine-stained hands. Finally, when she’d consumed the first can’s worth of fish and licked it clean, she let it drop to the tray with a clank, at which point, she reached for the bottle of orange juice. She closed her mouth around the bottle top, forming a water-tight seal, and uncorked it with her teeth. She drained the bottle in one breath and set it down next to the empty sardine tin with a burp and a sigh of contentment. After that, she spat out the cork and started in on the second bunch of sardines.

“So, Lamont,” said Aquamarine through a mouthful of fish, “what’s on the schedule for today?”

Lamont twitched his antennae and pointed a claw at a pair of open traveling bags in the corner.

Aquamarine looked sleepily at the bags with an expression of mild confusion, then her eyes flew open wide, and she leapt up from her scalloped bed. “The trip!” she cried, spewing flecks of half-chewed sardine all over her lobster butler. “Lamont, why didn’t you say something? I have to get ready!”

Hurriedly, Aquamarine scarfed down the rest of her breakfast and hopped into the shower—really, a rather pointless act, but Aquamarine enjoyed it as part of her morning ritual all the same. She toweled off and opened her mouth wide to let a school of cleaner fish brush her teeth. Once they were pearly white, she removed the bath towel, turned her back to the mirror, and started prying barnacles off her posterior with a crowbar. It never failed. Her skin always broke out before a trip or before some formal event when she wanted to look nice. This time was no different, and she made a mental note to complain to her dermatologist about the skin cream he’d prescribed.

After the debarnacling was over, Aquamarine swam over to her chest of drawers and picked out her clothes for the day, eventually settling on a blue bikini which she immediately switched out for a red one, because, one, the red one complemented her complexion, and, two, the blue one was a little too close to her skin tone and, from a distance, made her look naked. Once dressed, she ran a comb through the cascade of freshwater that was her hair, and then she tossed a few more things into her traveling bags. These included a star chart, a hatchet, a box of candles, and a broken pair of sunglasses. It seemed unlikely she’d be able to find a use for any of these, but, after all, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Okay!” said Aquamarine as she shut the bags and tucked them under her arms. “Let’s see, I’ve got my omniglass, my money, and my trident in my wallet. I think that’s everything. Oh no, wait! I still need to get my resonator from Chubb.” She looked anxiously at Lamont. “What time is it? Do I have time to go get it before we have to leave?”

Lamont extended his claw, and slowly banged it nine times against the scallop shell.

“Nine?” said Aquamarine quizzically. She dropped the bags which hit the sand with a thump, throwing up a murky cloud of dust. “It’s only nine? Again, why didn’t you say something? We have a good three hours before we leave? I thought it was, like, eleven thirty or something. Geez!” Lamont’s face was unreadable. “Ugh,” said Aquamarine disgustedly. “All right, well, I guess there’s no hurry, then. I’m gonna go see if Chubb fixed my resonator yet. In the meantime, you go through my bags and take out all the useless crap I just packed. I don’t know what I was thinking. What possible use I could have for a first aid kit, I have no clue.”

Feeling quite stupid and with her heartbeat still pounding in her ears from all the rushing around, Aquamarine swam through her apartment to the front door. It was a thick, circular, mammoth thing much like the types of doors used to seal bank vaults, and all the gods had one sealing their apartments, though Aquamarine felt they were unnecessary and uninviting.

With a grunt, she twisted the turn wheel and pushed the door open. Normally, this would have resulted in Aquamarine’s entire apartment spilling out into the hall, but, instead, the water remained where it was, held back as if by some invisible barrier, and Aquamarine stepped through the doorway and onto the dry, plush, purple carpeting of the hallway without incident.

The door swung shut behind her, and she walked down the hall, past the elevator, and down the stairs, descending three flights past the ground floor lobby, the basement floor where MacAbre’s apartment was located, and all the way to the lowest level of the Godly Apartment Building, the sub-basement.

The subbasement was big, bigger even than the spacious lobby above. It was an almost-exclusively-utilitarian space where all the gods’ old junk was stored. Musty furniture, outdated appliances, and long-forgotten knickknacks occupied nearly every square foot of floor space, and it was all piled high in giant, teetering mountains of detritus that stretched like fingers towards the shadowy ceiling that was untouched by the orange light of the wall-mounted torches. It was a grand mess of garbage worthy of the gods, but there were some items of value stored down here.

To Aquamarine’s left, for instance, in a far corner was located one of the most essential pieces of equipment the Divine Dozen owned. It looked, at first glance, like a piece of abstract art, and consisted of a mechanical base from which wood-and-metal arms shot up in all directions. Stretched between these arms were tens of thousands of strings of different materials, lengths, and levels of tautness. It was called the Cosmic Resonator, and was the main means of communication between the gods and the wider world. As the strings picked up cosmic vibrations, they activated a series of gears that collectively translated prayers and wishes into typed messages, sealing them inside color-coded envelopes.

Aquamarine walked towards the Resonator which was currently switched off, as it was undergoing maintenance. Chubb, the Handyman of the Gods, was seated at the tip of one of the arms with a tuning fork in one hand.

“Morning, Chubb,” Aquamarine called.

“Good morning,” said Chubb distractedly. He tapped the fork against the arm on which he was perched and twanged one of the strings with his other hand.

Chubb was a cherub with the physical appearance of a two-year-old child paired with the voice, temperament, and alcoholic dependencies of a forty-eight-year-old man. His attire consisted entirely of a cloth diaper, and his arms and chest were heavily tattooed, his right arm bearing the names and faces of all the Divine Dozen.

“Whatcha doin’?” Aquamarine asked.

“Oh, this string is out of tune again,” Chubb sighed. “It keeps putting unnecessary umlauts over the Js and changing semicolons into ellipses.”

Chubb tapped the tuning fork again and picked at the string, listening closely for any vibrational discrepancies.

“Okay,” he said after a bit, fluttering down off the Resonator. “I think that should about do it. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

He reached a chubby hand up and switched the machine to “on.” A second later, the internal mechanisms could be heard springing to life, clicking and clacking, and a little slip of white paper popped out of one of the slots. Chubb snatched it up and read it.

Resonator Test Message #27: Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs.

“Well, that seems to have fixed it,” said Chubb, crumpling up the slip of paper. “That thirty-second sharp above low E string has always been a tem-peramental bastard.”

Chubb flitted past Aquamarine to a large cabinet in which were stored many more tuning forks of different sizes, the smallest having about a hair’s width between prongs and the largest having prongs wide enough apart for a fully grown man to sit between. He hung the tuning fork in its assigned place in the middle of the spectrum and closed the cabinet.

“Now,” he said, turning to Aquamarine, “what can I do for you?”

“My mini-resonator,” said Aquamarine

“Oh, yeah,” said Chubb. “Right this way.”

Aquamarine followed Chubb through the subbasement’s labyrinth of dis-carded items to the far back corner where Chubb’s room was. It wasn’t a room in the literal sense, but an ersatz room with two walls made from faded orange curtains strung up between dusty hat racks.

This “room” had all the charm of a rat’s nest with a myriad of blueprints pinned to the walls, the physical manifestations of which sat in various states of completion on a workbench between stacks of old books and alchemical manuals.

“Make yourself at home,” said Chubb, waving a fat hand at a tiny cot.

“I think I’ll stand,” said Aquamarine, eying the graying bedspread with mistrust.

“Okay, let’s see,” said Chubb, scanning the many knickknacks strewn all over the workbench. “Mini-resonator…Where did I put that? Oh, here we go.”

From on top of a stack of dog-eared nudie magazines, he picked up what looked like a small lyre but with two small, brass horns at the ends of the instrument’s arms.

“Here you go,” he said, tossing the mini-resonator to Aquamarine. “Good as new. Just try not to throw it at some guy’s head again.”

“I won’t,” said Aquamarine, placing the instrument in her turquoise wallet, “just as long as no one gives me a reason to.”

Chubb looked at her sternly. “Resonators are delicate pieces of hardware, Aquamarine. My advice, next time you feel like throwing something at someone’s head, just pick up a rock or a stick, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aquamarine muttered dismissively as she slipped her wallet back into the little pouch dangling from her hip.

“So, today’s the day, huh?” said Chubb.

Aquamarine nodded.

“You’re gonna go see your slimy boyfriend?”

Aquamarine frowned. “You know, I don’t care if you guys like him or not, but you could at least pretend to tolerate him when I’m within earshot.”

“Oh, I have no problems with Fisk,” Chubb assured her. “I hardly know the guy. I don’t know enough to like him or dislike him. I’m just saying, literally speaking, he is kind of slimy.”

“Well…yeah,” Aquamarine conceded. Then, mostly to break the silence, she said, “What are you doing today?”

“Oh, I’ve got a full plate,” Chubb sighed. “Now that I’ve tuned the C.R., I’ve gotta deliver the mail, clean the pool, water the roof garden, fix Vogt’s pipes, pick up Eden’s dry cleaning, patch up the fuel tanks on the Solar Barge, and Welkin wants me to make some more thunderbolts for him. I don’t know; maybe he’s looking to go smite some infidels later or something. Then, if I can schedule it in, I’ll eat dinner and go to bed. Yeah, so that’s my day. I might not even have time for bathroom breaks, but that’s okay. I do wear a diaper, after all.”

“Yeah,” said Aquamarine uncomfortably. “Yeah, ya do.” She breathed a heavy sigh. “Well, Chubb, thanks for fixing the mini-res. I’m gonna go check in on Rhapsody. See if she’s about ready to go.”

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” said Chubb. “I have to deliver the mail. You can ride up with me.”

“Oh, boy,” said Aquamarine with only thinly-veiled disinclination.

Together, she and Chubb wound their way back through the heaps of forgotten trinkets to the Cosmic Resonator where Chubb, with some help from Aquamarine, gathered the mailbags. They loaded them all—about forty-five in total—onto the elevator.

The Golden Lift, as it was called, was quite roomy and had a maximum carrying capacity of eight thousand pounds. By all standards, it was a fine piece of machinery with its gilded gates and tiled floor, but it was seldom used by the inhabitants of the building, save for Chubb, and even he avoided using it unless toting a hefty load. The reason for this being that it was a devilishly temperamental elevator with a rather childish sense of humor.

The Lift’s golden grille slid shut behind Chubb and Aquamarine, and Chubb reached up and thumbed the button marked -1.

“Cross your fingers,” he said.

With a tiny jolt, the Lift started rattling up, and the subbasement sank from view beneath them. Seconds later, with a ding, it came to a stop at the basement hall, and the grille slid open.

“Hmm. That wasn’t so bad,” said Chubb, but, no sooner had he grabbed the nearest mailbag and started towards MacAbre’s front door than the gates slammed shut, and the Lift plummeted back down into the subbasement.

“Sorry,” said Aquamarine, pushing a couple bags off her. “That’s my bad. I didn’t cross my fingers.”

“Yes, well,” Chubb grumbled, “let’s try it again.”

Several more times, Chubb pressed the same button yielding varied results, none of which were the desired one. With apparent glee, the Lift took them to the roof, to the lobby, halfway between the seventh and eight floors, and bounced them back and forth between the third and fifth floors like a particularly violent barman abusing his cocktail shaker, until, at last, the Lift acquiesced, and Chubb stepped out into the basement hallway. “There, see? Turns out the nineteenth time is the charm.”

“Yeah,” said Aquamarine stiffly. “It’s all right, Chubb. There’s no use trying to sugarcoat it. We all know the elevator’s an asshole.”

One by one, Chubb dragged eight bags from the Lift and placed them in front of MacAbre’s door. He rang the bell.

Shortly, the door opened, and MacAbre stuck his haggard head out, his marigolds looking particularly tired this morning.

“Morning, MacAbre,” said Chubb cheerfully. “Here’s today’s batch for ya.”

“Oh, thanks, Chubb,” he yawned, and he waved sleepily at Aquamarine.

“Eh, still not sleeping well?” Chubb asked

“No,” said MacAbre. “On the contrary, it’s not the quality of sleep that’s the issue; it’s more the quantity.”

“Ah, well, look on the bright side,” said Chubb, “you only got six bags of souls, this morning. Looks like it’s been a light death day.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” said MacAbre drearily. “Well, I’d like to stay and chat, but there was a hurricane along the Sunrise Stretch the other day, so I’ve got a lot of drownings to do yet.”

Chubb nodded. “Understood. You keep up the good work, buddy.”

“Yeah, thanks again,” said MacAbre. He rubbed his marigolds and started dragging the bags inside his apartment. “Oh, and Aquamarine,” he added, “have a good trip, okay? Say ‘Hi’ to Fisk for me.”

“You bet,” said Aquamarine.

“All right, let’s see—First floor!” said Chubb, pressing the button. The gates shut, and the Lift rose slowly up and out of sight.

“Hmm, Fisk,” MacAbre said contemptuously. “I don’t know what she even sees in that guy. He’s got all the charm of a big bag o’ dicks.”

Aquamarine accompanied Chubb while he delivered the mail, going up floor by floor with a lot of unscheduled stops in between, until, after a great deal of swearing and eye rolling on Chubb’s part, they arrived at the seventh floor in front of Rhapsody’s apartment.

“All right,” said Aquamarine, practically leaping from the Lift, “this is my stop.”

“Okay, here’s Rhapsody’s haul,” said Chubb, pushing out five bags.

Aquamarine looked at them disapprovingly. “You know, you could have dropped them off the other ten times we were on this floor.”

“Hey,” Chubb snapped, “do I tell you how to do your job?”

“No,” said Aquamarine, “but, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do anything around here. Plus, I’m not being idiotically inefficient.”

“Ah, fair point,” said Chubb, “but, you see, I have a system, and I’m not going to give the Lift the satisfaction of dictating how I do my job.”

Aquamarine smiled. “Yeah, okay, Chubb, you hold on to your stub-bornness. Either way, that’s the last time I ride in the elevator with you.”

“Can’t say that I blame you,” said Chubb. “Have a safe trip.”

“You too,” said Aquamarine, and she watched as the Lift ascended and then, moments later, dropped back down the elevator shaft like a rock with Chubb screaming obscenities all the way down.

Aquamarine, snorting with laughter, turned and knocked on Rhapsody’s door. She was still laughing when it opened, but it wasn’t Rhapsody who’d opened it but another goddess.

She was dark in complexion with long, sable hair pulled back into a braid, and she was wrapped in a sari the color of dark merlot. Her general appearance was, really, quite normal, given that she was a divine being, except that she had six arms. They were perfectly good, perfectly normal arms with elbows, wrists, and fingers in all the right places. She simply had three times the usual number, and, when her eyes fell upon Aquamarine, she threw all six arms open wide and pulled Aquamarine into a tight embrace.

“Good morning, Aquamarine. I was hoping to see you before you took off,” said Salma Gundi.

“The same to you, Salma,” Aquamarine wheezed. She was relieved when Salma finally released her, and she could breathe again.

“Are you here to see Rhapsody?”

“Yes,” Aquamarine gasped, massaging her ribs.

“Well, come on in,” said Salma, grabbing all six mailbags and swinging them inside. “We were just having tea.”

Stepping into Rhapsody’s apartment was a bit like stepping into a hal-lucinogenic dream sequence. The walls danced with waving bands of electric light, all spangled and splotched in vibrant greens, oranges, blues, and purples. The floor was black and reflective like a mirror, but the reflections it cast weren’t entirely accurate to life. While it showed the walls and ceilings of the room as they were, when Aquamarine looked down, it was to see a giant papaya staring back at her, while Salma’s reflection was that of a yellow goat with a flowered hat.

In the center of the room—its main point of interest—stood a tree, smooth and bone white with twisted roots that sprouted right out of the floor, while its branches were bare save for hundreds of glowing light bulbs.

Against the trunk of the tree, with her legs crossed, sat Rhapsody, the Goddess of Art. She was as skinny as a beanpole and wore a simple white dress beneath an old, epauletted military jacket. She didn’t look up as Salma and Aquamarine approached, but stayed bent over a sitar, her face hidden from view by an obscenely-bushy afro. On this particular day, the afro had decided to be fuchsia, though, on other occasions, it had been known to try on many other hues such as acid green, ochre, and bright yellow.

“Hey, Rhapsody,” said Aquamarine.

Rhapsody looked up from her sitar and, for a moment, seemed unable to place the face before her, but then, her face split into a broad smile.

“Oh, hey there, Aqua! Whatchya knowin’, huh?”

Beside Rhapsody, in a copper bowl, sat a smoking lotus flower that was giving off a rather pungent, sickly-sweet aroma. Aquamarine knelt and pushed the bowl away with distaste.

“Well, Rhapsody, I was coming to see how you were and to see if you were packed and ready to go.”

“And why am I supposed to be packed up?” Rhapsody asked serenely.

“Today’s the day of the trip,” said Aquamarine, speaking as one might to a rather slow person. “Remember? We’re going to the Western Islands? To see Fisk? My boyfriend? He’s slimy? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Rhapsody didn’t answer immediately but plucked tunelessly at her sitar, then, reached behind her and picked up a garishly pink teapot.

“Would you like a splash of some herbal tea? It’s lemon-raspberry and cinnamon.”

“No. No thank you,” said Aquamarine.

“You sure?” Rhapsody asked, looking very disappointed. “It comes inside a pinkish pot.”

“Yes, yes it does,” said Aquamarine, patting Rhapsody on the hand. “Excuse me for a moment.

She stood up straight and grabbed Salma by the arm, steering her away and out of earshot of Rhapsody. “She is so blazed!”

“Yes, I know,” said Salma worriedly. “I thought the tea might help. It didn’t.” She looked sadly at Rhapsody and shook her head. “Oh, I hate it when she does this. I don’t understand why anyone would want to smoke lotus.”

“Well, nobody ‘smokes’ lotus,” said Aquamarine. “That’s not the phrase. You smoke nightshade. You burn lotus. You don’t smoke lotus, but, anyway, this is ridiculous! We’re supposed to be leaving in a little over an hour, and she’s already set sail on the Good Ship Happy Blossom.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be all right,” said Salma. “The effects only last an hour or so, right?”

“Well, that depends on the kind of lotus,” said Aquamarine. “If it’s a Nifty Nelumbo or a White Siren, it shouldn’t be an issue. They’re pretty weak buds, but if it’s something like a Sticky Seed Pod or a One-Eyed Jaybird, then it could last for days.” She went and knelt down next to Rhapsody again. “Hey, Rhap, I noticed you had a lotus burning. What kind of flower is it? Hmm? Do you remember?”

Rhapsody looked up at Aquamarine and then at the burning flower. “The flower? Oh, you mean the lotus. Yeah. Well, that’s an Apathetic Amethyst. It’s wild, man. I am super conscious of my teeth. They’re huge like buckets in my mouth.”

“Ah, fantastic,” said Aquamarine, looking sidelong at Salma. “It’s an Apathetic Amethyst.”

“Is that a strong one?”

“I really don’t know,” Aquamarine admitted. “I’m really just a casual burner, but, for now, let’s assume it is.” She sighed and glared at Rhapsody who was strumming a meterless melody on the sitar and humming happily.

“You know,” said Salma, “you could postpone your trip.”

“No, I’m not going to do that,” said Aquamarine resolutely. “I promised Fisk I’d be there today promptly at noon.”

“But I thought you were leaving at noon,” said Salma.

“Yes, but, with the time difference and the travel time, we actually end up arriving at the same time we left.”

Rhapsody lifted her head and gave Aquamarine a curious look. “You know, I feel like that’s something I should find very interesting, given my—shall we say—drug-addled state of mind, but, no, it’s not doing anything for me.” And she went back to twanging on her sitar.

“Okay, that’s lovely, but here’s what we’re gonna do,” said Aquamarine, and she spat a jet of water from her mouth onto the smoldering lotus, extinguishing it with a hiss. “Salma, you stay with Rhapsody; make sure she doesn’t eat her own foot or something, and I’ll go pack her things. I’m assuming you haven’t packed yet.”

“Nope,” said Rhapsody, grinning. “You see, I was gonna. Then, I lit the fun bud, and I ain’t done thing one since.”

“Oh, well, fantastic,” said Aquamarine, patting Rhapsody lightly on the head. “That works out perfectly because I love doing other people’s packing for them, especially at the last minute.” Rhapsody smiled happily up at her, either completely misinterpreting her sarcasm or lacking the wits to care.

So, while Salma watched over Rhapsody, making sure she didn’t eat her own foot or something, Aquamarine went into Rhapsody’s bedroom to pack for her, a job which was much easier said than done given that Rhapsody’s things were thrown willy-nilly all over the floor without any apparent organizational system, and Aquamarine had no idea which clothes were clean and which were dirty. After sniffing quite a few of them, it occurred to her that they all might be dirty, and, with time ticking away, she threw up her hands and just started throwing things in bags.

Therefore, by the time she’d closed the last suitcase and returned to Rhapsody and Salma, it was already 11:36.

“That was an unpleasant experience,” said Aquamarine, plopping the bags down beside Rhapsody. “Is she any better?” she asked Salma.

“Uh, well,” said Salma. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“Okay,” said Aquamarine. “Rhapsody, sweetie, how are you feeling?”

“The word that comes to mind,” said Rhapsody slowly, “is ‘excellent.’ But I’m also kind of terrified, you know? I mean, the ceiling could fall in and kill us all any minute. Hey, nice bags!”

“Yes,” said Aquamarine. “They’re yours. I found them in your closet.”

Rhapsody nodded appreciatively and enthusiastically started inspecting her own luggage.

“Well, it looks like we don’t have much choice,” said Aquamarine. “She’ll just have to fly high.”

“Did you intend the pun?” Salma asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t take much pleasure from it,” said Aquamarine. “I’m kind of pissed off at this whole situation.” She turned to Rhapsody. “All right, Rhap. Grab your bags; we’re hoisting anchor.”

“Okay,” said Rhapsody, springing to her feet with surprising speed for one with such a lofty level of impairment. “There’s one more thing I’ll be needing,” she said and gazed delightedly up at the lighted bulbs hanging from the pale limbs of the tree.

“Oh, no,” said Aquamarine, following her gaze. “We’re not bringing them. They’re so annoying.”

“Well, hey, it’s them or me,” said Rhapsody, “so take your pick.”

“You! Obviously,” said Aquamarine.

Rhapsody smiled and shook her head. “Nope, sorry, girl, but we come as a set,” she said and clapped her hands twice. “All right, my lovelies, time for beddy-bye. There’s an excursion in our futures, guys.”

At first, little happened, but, then, there was a tinkling as of thousands of tiny chimes as the bulbs shuddered and twitched and unfurled tiny, delicate silver wings. Then, en masse, they took to the air in a great river of soft, golden light. Beaming at them, Rhapsody took out an orange-colored wallet and held it open over her head.  She gave a shrill whistle and, in a flash, the entire swarm of winged lights dove inside, leaving the apartment surprisingly dark. Then, Rhapsody dropped her sitar inside, and she stuffed the wallet back into her pocket. “Okay,” she said musically. “Well, I’m all set. I don’t know what you two are waiting around for. Let’s go.”

Aquamarine opened her mouth to complain, but she feared that might waste even more time, so, she turned to Salma and said, “It would appear we are ready to go.”

“Well, good luck,” said Salma, and she kissed both Aquamarine and Rhapsody on the cheek. “Take care of yourselves, and give my love to Fisk.”

“Yeah, right,” said Aquamarine. “You don’t even like him.”

“True,” said Salma, “but that seemed more polite than ‘Tell Fisk I hate him and everything he touches.’ Besides, I don’t dislike him that much. I mainly take issue with…Well, I’m sure we can all agree he’s done some questionable things in his past.”

“Whatever,” said Aquamarine, not having any patience for Fisk-bashing at the moment. “We’ll see you when we get back. Come on, Rhapsody.”

She grabbed Rhapsody by the arm, and Salma followed them out into the hall.

After promising Salma she would call as soon as they arrived, Aquamarine sent Rhapsody up to the roof to wait while she dashed back to her apartment to fetch her things, and, by the time she’d grabbed her bags, reminded Lamont to feed her fish and Kuratchi, her sea monster, and scrabbled back up the stairs, her watch was reading 11:58.

Rhapsody was sitting waiting for her on the edge of a metal platform that had been built on the side of the roof, extending out over empty air. It was painted in alternating black-and-yellow stripes, and affixed to it was a horn on a pole, a horn shaped, roughly, like a horse’s head.

Aquamarine walked over, set down her things next to Rhapsody, who was staring blankly ahead and rhythmically rocking her head back and forth, and blew two times into the horn. A bellicose blare issued from the horse’s mouth, and its metallic tongue vibrated as the sound waves washed over it.

“My god,” Rhapsody murmured, looking at the horse-shaped horn in mild surprise and horror. “That horse has one strange mating call. But,” she added, pointing at the sky, “apparently, an effective one.”

The two distant specks at which Rhapsody was pointing drew nearer and, shortly, were revealed to be two very burly winged horses. With sharp, metallic clacking, they alighted upon the runway and came to a stop in front of the goddesses. They were quite large, more so even than draft horses, with an unusual coloration of yellow and black that matched the stripes on the platform. Both their hindquarters were branded with matching logos of a horse’s head wreathed by curving wings and the words SPEEDY STEEDS.

“Twelve o’clock,” said Aquamarine, checking her watch. “Right on sched-ule. Good. All right, Rhapsody, would you help me load the luggage, please?”

Rhapsody stood and looked up at the stern-faced horses in apparent amazement. “You know how people wish for ponies, like, for birthdays and such? That’s not me at all. What I always wanted was a giraffe, ‘cause that would be a bitchin’ steed, you know?”

“Yes, a very keen observation,” said Aquamarine, stuffing a couple suitcases into the first horse’s saddlebags, “but could you give me a hand with the luggage?”

“Goats would be pretty awesome, furthermore,” Rhapsody mused, running her fingers through the second horse’s mane, “though not as bitchin’ as a giraffe. No.”

“Never mind,” said Aquamarine impatiently, “I’ll load the bags by myself. You just get up on the horsey and try not to fall off and break your neck, okay?”

“Okay,” said Rhapsody, throwing a salute, “but I don’t trust his look. He’s sly.”

“Right,” said Aquamarine, a word which she repeated eight more times while loading the luggage, and Rhapsody—acting in a thoroughly unhelpful manner—sat perched on her horse and continued spewing out a non-sequiturial steam of consciousness. Once all their travel items had been stowed in the saddlebags, Aquamarine climbed onto her own steed and said. “Okay, hopefully that’s everything. Now, take us to Lunula Beach near Kapu in the Western Islands, please, and step on it.”

In unison, both horses cocked their heads hard to the left, triggering mechanical meters around their necks. Then, they broke into a gallop and dove off the edge of the platform, taking wing, soaring up into the sky, and speeding the goddesses toward the western horizon.

The Handsome Journeyman was an old vessel, a durable, three-masted veteran of the waves. During its more than twenty years on the water, it had exchanged hands many times and had anchored in nearly every port adjacent to the Rainy Sea, from the frigid fjords of the Northern Frontier to the rolling, southern hills of the Gold Coast. Its current owner was a small company that dealt mostly in metal goods, these being small tin and copper trinkets made for mass consumption by spendthrifty shoppers, and, while her sails and hull were patched and weatherworn, she was still one of the stoutest ships trekking the Fettlese trade routes.

Its current endeavor had taken it from the bustling metropolis of Vernalwood to the waters east of the small port town of Kapu, its ultimate destination, where its literal boatload of junky doodads would be unloaded, after which, the crew would disperse and booze until half dead.

As the ship came into sight of land, the lookout called down, and the rest of the crew leapt to their posts and reined in the sails. As they worked, their hale voices joined in song, a deep, steady, 6/8-time chant:

“Ho-hum, ho-hum,

“Ho-hum, ho-hum,”

And then came the melody:

“Three sheets to the wind, boys, and rough seas ahead,

“There’s a terror wind blowing, or so the man said.

“You’ll be biffed up and boffed down and tossed on your head,

“So hold fast to that line, boys, don’t fall in the brine, boys, we’ll make it home fine, boys, and drink to our fortunes or else end up dead.”

This was followed by more “ho”ing and “hum”ing which was, in turn, followed by another chorus of the melody, and, then, more “ho”s and “hum”s. And, as this pattern continued, one of the deckhands was struck by a thought. “You know,” he said conversationally to his mate, “I don’t much care for this shanty.”

“What?” said his mate. “You don’t care for it? It’s Three Sheets to the Wind. It’s an old standard. Everyone loves it.”

“Well, I don’t,” said the deckhand. “I feel like—Oh, I don’t know. I feel like it doesn’t know what it’s trying to say. I feel it doesn’t know where it’s going. Know what I mean?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, okay…the song says we’ll make it home fine and drink to our fortunes, right? But it also says we might all end up dead. The lyrics are on the fence! The song is hedging its bets! We might make it home alive, sure, but, on the other hand, we might all die horrible deaths. I’m telling you, the song is too cowardly to take a stand. It has nothing of any consequence to say.”

The deckhand’s mate frowned at him. “Oh, Gordon, will you shut up? Ever since you read that music appreciation book, you think you’re some kind of lyricist connoisseur. It’s just a song. It doesn’t have to say anything, so, please, for the love of the gods, will you drop it, already?”

“All right,” said the deckhand, “but, you know, you’ve been awful snippy, lately, ever since your wife filed for divorce. By the way, any news on that front?”

“Well, I got a letter from her last week, but I haven’t opened it, yet. From the previous letter, I got the feeling she was having second thoughts, but I don’t know. I’m still too nervous to read it.”

The deckhand smiled and patted his mate on the back. “Look, Pascal, there’s no need for that. I’m here for you. If you ever need moral support, I’m there. You know you can always count on me, right?”

“Oh, heck, yeah, I know that! You’re my best bud. And, you know what? I think I will read that letter, because I know I’ve always got my best friend to back me up! No matter what that letter says, good or bad, I know I’ll get through it okay!”

“Now, that’s the ticket, boy!”

This back and forth might have gone on interminably except for a loud bang that rattled the air, and all eyes onboard the Handsome Journeyman looked up just in time to see two yellow-and-black blurs streak across the sky.

The world passed by beneath the Speedy Steeds as a single, all-encompassing, unfocused blue, while, ahead, Aquamarine could see a green mass taking shape out of the middle of the great indistinction. It grew larger with frightening rapidity, but, just when it seemed they were going to overshoot or, perhaps, barrel right into it, the horses spread their wings wide and came nearly to an abrupt stop. Thankfully, Aquamarine and Rhapsody remained attached to their seats by a fantastic array of straps and restraints. Still, no matter how many Speedy Steed flights she took, Aquamarine could never quite get used to that sudden jolt. It always left her dizzy, disoriented, and with sore buttocks.

The largest of the Western Islands lay stretched out beneath and before them. It was an impressive sight: a long, thin stretch of white sand, extending to the horizon in both directions, topped by a wall of greenery climbing to spiky heights where volcanic vents bubbled and smoked like cauldrons.

Leaning over the side of her mount, Aquamarine could see the town of Kapu far below, wedged between two hulking rock formations, and, just south of town, there was a crescent-shaped stretch of beach. It was towards this that the Speedy Steeds descended in graceful, gliding circles.

The very instant her horse’s hooves touched the sand, Aquamarine dismounted, and, once her head had stopped spinning, she danced giddily in the surf, sponging up all the sights, sounds, and sensations of the beach. Rhapsody, on the other hand, looked around her almost sleepily and took her time methodically unbuckling each safety strap before sliding off her horse.

“So,” she said casually to her mount, “how much do I owe you?” It gave her an almost hateful glare and puffed out its chest so she could clearly see the meter around its neck. “Eighty wad?” said Rhapsody, aghast. “That’s practically highway robbery.” She paid the animal, slipping the money into a locked box beneath the fare meter. Once done, the mechanical numbers spun back to zero and Rhapsody started unloading her luggage, whistling a spritely tune as she did. “Hey, Aqua,” she said, “you should probably pay yours. He’s starting to look kinda pissed. Aqua!”

“Hmm?” said Aquamarine, a broad smile on her face. “Oh, right. Eighty wad was it? Well, here. Here’s an even hundred. Keep the change.”

Her steed’s haughty demeanor was unchanged by the generous tip, and, once Aquamarine had unloaded her things, it snorted at its fellow, and they both leapt into the air, leaving a cascade of raining sand in their wake.

Aquamarine sighed contentedly. “Ah, it feels so good to be back by the sea. It’s an exhilarating feeling, isn’t it, Rhapsody?”

“Mm-hmm, sure,” said Rhapsody, and she looked curiously up and down the deserted beach. “We’re the only people here.”

“Yeah,” said Aquamarine enthusiastically. “That’s solitude, you’re feeling, Rhap. Drink it in. Just sop it up.”

“Yeah, solitude, that’s nice,” said Rhapsody, “but, really, though, I thought we were meeting up with your Fisk, your boyish boy-toy boyfriend, if you will.”

“We are,” said Aquamarine.

“Yes, right,” said Rhapsody, beginning to feel she wasn’t getting her message across, “but this beach, she is empty, right? I cannot be the sole one seeing this. I mean, I could. Perception and all that. It’s kind of a solo experience, but I’m pretty sure I’m coming down, now, you know, from that crazy lotus trip, so…Hey! This beach is deserted! And how!”

“Rhapsody,” said Aquamarine soothingly, “calm thy self. He said he’d meet us here, and he will. He’s a man of his word. Occasionally. So don’t freak out. He’ll be here. Oh! And, would you look at that; I think that’s he now.”

About thirty feet out from the shore, a pale green head appeared, and, as it came closer, it rose up, revealing more body underneath: shoulders, chest, arms, waist, a pair of striped swimming trunks, and, finally, legs. Under one arm, he carried a yellow surfboard.

“Hello, Fisk!” Aquamarine squealed.

“Hey, Baby,” said Fisk coolly, and Aquamarine, practically giddy with excitement, thrust herself into his open arms and kissed him full on the tentacles.

“Ah, I missed you,” said Aquamarine.

“Yeah, I missed you, too,” he said somewhat mechanically. Then, his flame-colored eyes fell on Rhapsody. “Hey, what’s she doing here?”

“Oh, well,” said Aquamarine, “I know this was supposed to be, like, a ‘couple’s’ weekend and all, but Salma was worried about me traveling alone, so I invited Rhapsody to join us. You like Rhapsody, right?”

“Salma?” said Fisk, stroking his tentacles. “Salma Gundi, the Goddess of Miscellany?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” said Aquamarine, “unless you know any other Salmas. But don’t worry. Rhapsody can entertain herself; can’t you Rhap?”

Rhapsody was staring at Fisk with open-mouthed amazement and something akin to shock. “Are you sure this is Fisk,” she asked at length, “‘cause I don’t know.”

“What the Beastie are you talking about? Of course, I’m Fisk,” said Fisk.

“So you say,” said Rhapsody suspiciously, “but I’m not so certain, Fisk, if that is even your real name, which it is not.”

Fisk looked at Rhapsody like she was the stupidest person who ever lived. “What the fuck is she talking about, Baby?”

“Nothing,” said Aquamarine. “She’s just a little confused. She knows who you are.”

“No,” said Rhapsody, “I think I would have remembered this.”

“No, Rhapsody,” said Aquamarine, a little frustrated, now. “Remember? You met him a few months ago and a few months before that and before that and before that. Come on, Rhapsody! We’ve only been dating for six years!”

Rhapsody screwed up her face, trying to remember, and then, suddenly, a look of recognition washed over her. “Oh, right! I remember now! Good ol’ Fisk! Yeah, I know you. See, I was just confused, ‘cause I was thinking of that other guy.”

Fisk’s eyes narrowed, “What other guy?”

“Oh, Giovanni,” said Rhapsody, and Aquamarine felt her stomach lurch. “He was this one guy that Aqua used to date: tall, good-looking. He had a singing voice like no one else. He opened his mouth, and you’d swear it was a wet dream lullabying you to sleep.”

“Okay, Rhapsody!” said Aquamarine a little more loudly than she’d intended. “Good! Excellent! You remember who he is. Now, shake hands, you two, and we’ll start our tropical vacation, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Fisk, his eyes still narrowed. He extended a pulpy, green hand. “Nice to see you again, Rhapsody.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” said Rhapsody kindly. “I’ve missed you lots.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have,” said Fisk. “Baby, who’s this Giovanni guy, and why is he giving you wet dreams?”

“He’s no one,” said Aquamarine flippantly. “Like she said, we used to date, but that was, like, two hundred years ago. I’m sure he’s long dead by now. Oh, please, don’t make too much out of this, Fisk.”

“All right. I won’t,” said Fisk. “After all, like you said, he’s dead, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Aquamarine. “He’s quite dead. Now, what say we drop off our stuff at the hotel and then the three of us take a dip?”

“Actually,” said Fisk, “we can’t. I cancelled the hotel reservations.”

“You what?” said Aquamarine. “Why would you do that?”

“I met a couple of people here, yesterday,” said Fisk, “and they said hotels are a big waste of money. It’s much cheaper to sleep on the beach.”

“But I don’t like sleeping on the beach,” said Aquamarine. “It’s very uncomfortable, and I always end up with sand in very uncomfortable places!”

“Hey, calm down,” said Fisk. “It’s just for a couple nights. That’s all. Besides, don’t you like the thought of lying out beneath the stars?”

Aquamarine looked daggers at Fisk. “Did you get my money back?”

“No,” said Fisk, “they don’t do refunds.”

“Dammit, Fisk!” Aquamarine cried. “How is it cheaper to sleep on the beach if you end up paying for a hotel room you’re not going to use?”

“Look,” said Fisk, his voice matching the level of frustration Aquamarine was feeling “I don’t think you’re really getting into the spirit of this thing.”

“Shut up, Fisk! Just, for the love of Avrok, shut up! We haven’t even been here ten minutes, and, already, I want to kill you. And, you know what? I just…just…” She took a long breath. “I wanna go for a swim. I need to get away from you right now.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” said Fisk. “I’d join you, but I’m waiting for a couple friends. The ones I met yesterday. I promised I wouldn’t hit the waves without them.”

“Of course, you did,” Aquamarine fumed. “And that’s why you were mad when I showed up with a friend.”

“Oh, Baby, don’t get hysterical,” said Fisk as Aquamarine stalked off. “It’s different for me. I met them yesterday, and we hit it off. You, on the other hand, just showed up out of the blue with one of your weird friends!”

Aquamarine didn’t answer, and, actually quickened her pace, striding into the water and disappearing beneath the waves.

Rhapsody smiled at Fisk. “I’m sorry about bringing up that whole, big Giovanni thingy, but don’t fret. She’s Goddess of the Water, so, you know, all of her dreams are wet to an extent.” Still smiling, she took out her wallet and opened it, letting free the musings. “Yes, fly my lovelies. Fly! Take to the wing,” Rhapsody sang, “but don’t bother the guy with tentacles. I get the feeling he wouldn’t like you. You wouldn’t, would you?” she asked.

“No,” said Fisk.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Rhapsody. “You hear that, fellas? The green one hates you, so don’t go aggravating his craw, ‘kay?”

It was mid afternoon, and Aquamarine and Fisk sat silently in the sand, determinedly not looking at each other, while Rhapsody sat between them building a fastidiously ornate sandcastle, with several musings dancing around her head.

“No,” she said, critiquing her work, “that moat isn’t nearly big enough. How are they ever going to fend off the plundering horde with a moat that small?” She picked up a dead crab and a dried-out seahorse and pelted them at the castle walls. “Ksh! Ah, no! Pff! Oh, they’re storming the keep! Come on, men! Fight to the last man! Tsh! Ah! The blood! The blood! It’s everywhere! Heeeeeeelp!”

Her sandcastle now completely destroyed, Rhapsody sighed and tossed the dead sea creatures into the water. “Well, I’m done with that,” she said decisively. “What’s on your minds, hmm?”

Fisk looked across Rhapsody at Aquamarine. “You still mad at me, Baby?”

“Yes,” said Aquamarine.

“Why?” cried Fisk. “I don’t even get why you were mad in the first place. I thought you’d enjoy being surprised.”

“Well, obviously, you don’t know me at all,” said Aquamarine, “because I hate being surprised. Tell him, Rhapsody.”

“She doesn’t like surprises,” said Rhapsody. “She hates ‘em. I can’t stress this enough. Surprises. No!”

“And beyond that,” Aquamarine continued, “you cancelled the room I reserved and just threw away my money.”

“But you’re rich!” said Fisk.

“That’s quite true,” said Rhapsody. “She is richer than god. Well, not richer, per se, but rich as a god. Then again, even if she was dirt poor, that statement would still be quite factual.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Aquamarine.

They sat in silence for a long while. Finally, Aquamarine sighed and said, “Look, Fisk, I am very angry with you, but this was supposed to be a fun weekend, and, despite your incredible stupidity and selfishness, I am still determined to enjoy myself.”

“Me too,” said Fisk.

“You are going to pay me back for the hotel room, you know.”

“Absolutely,” said Fisk. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” said Aquamarine. “You don’t know what you’re sorry for, but I believe you are sorry.”

“Absolutely,” said Fisk, smiling behind his tentacles. “And, hey, know what? I’ll take you to dinner tonight, just us two. I heard there was a really good seafood place in Kapu called Skimpy Scampi, and you know it’s good, because they serve really tiny portions.”

Aquamarine sniffled and gave Fisk a watery smile. “Oh, Fisk! You hate small portions.”

“I know,” said Fisk, “but my hatred for small portions is nothing compared to my love for you, Baby.”

With their digressions forgotten, Aquamarine and Fisk leaned in and wrapped their arms around each other.

“Hurrah!” Rhapsody cheered loudly, leaving Aquamarine’s and Fisk’s ears ringing. “Everybody’s friends again!”

“Well, thanks for blowing up that tender moment,” said Aquamarine, sticking a finger in her ear.

“If you hug over me,” said Rhapsody wisely, “you run that risk.”

“Fair point,” said Aquamarine, “so, Fisk, um, where are these friends of yours? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”

As it so happened, Aquamarine needn’t have asked, for, at that moment, there was a rustling in the bushes, and two people, a young man and a young woman, possessed of perfectly-coiffed hair and vacant expressions, stepped onto the beach, both of them carrying surfboards.

“That’s them,” said Fisk, jumping up, “Franklin and Nanette.”

“Ah, hey there, gang!” Franklin chirped, running over to them. “Hey there, ol’ Fisk-o. How’s the surf?”

“Dead,” said Fisk. “You’re late.”

“Ah, gee,” said Nanette, “we’re awful sorry about that. We were getting some gut waddin’ in town, and we just lost track of the time, but, gee, this sure is a nifty kinda day.”

“I’ll say,” said Franklin, guffawing.

Rhapsody looked from Franklin to Nanette and back again with pursed lips. “Who are these clowns?” she hissed at Aquamarine.

“I don’t know,” Aquamarine hissed back, “but—and this is just a first impression, mind you—they don’t seem all that intelligent.”

Rhapsody nodded. “I say we drown them, now. They probably wouldn’t even notice.”

“Yeah,” said Aquamarine. “You could probably swap their heads out for coconuts, and they’d be just fine.”

“All right,” said Fisk cheerily, “Franklin, Nanette, I’d like you to meet some people. This is my girlfriend, Aquamarine, and that’s Rhapsody.”

“Hi, how you doing?” said Franklin, and he was just about to shake their hands when he stepped back in surprise. Whoa! Hold up! I know you. Are you two chicks goddesses by any chance?”

“Yes,” said Aquamarine. “We are.”

“Well, that’s boss,” said Nanette, “but, hey, let’s hit those waves, huh?”

“Sure thing!” said Franklin. “I’ll race you to the water, kid!”

“Not if I race you first!” Nanette countered, and they rushed to the water.

Aquamarine and Rhapsody stood back and watched as Franklin and Nanette sprinted into the surf and flopped onto their boards. “‘Not if I race you first,’” said Aquamarine, chewing the phrase over experimentally. “Yes, definitely, these are very stupid people.”

Rhapsody nodded in agreement. “The phrase ‘dumb as a haystack’ comes to mind.”

“I’m not sure that’s really a common saying,” said Aquamarine, “but I admire the sentiment.”

Rhapsody nodded and looked at Fisk. “Hey, I have a question.” Fisk raised a brow. “Your surfboard sinks,” said Rhapsody. “I thought they made these boards unsinkable.”

“I live under the water,” said Fisk. “It wouldn’t make much sense to have an unsinkable surfboard, so I had this put in.” He pointed to a stopper on a chain fixed to underside of his board.

“Well, that’s a clever, little so-and-so,” said Rhapsody. “Thank you for clearing that up, Fisk. I’ve been wondering about that for the last hour.”

While Aquamarine, Rhapsody, and Fisk watched, Franklin and Nanette paddled back in to shore, looking crestfallen. “This sucks. There’s no surf out there, man,” said Franklin.

“Yeah,” said Nanette, “the water’s as calm as a windmill.”

“I told you it was dead,” said Fisk. “Didn’t you hear me say that?”

“Oh,” said Franklin. “No, I thought you said ‘deadly,’ as in, ‘Oh, man, nobody should be out on the water today. Those waves are deadly. They could snap a man’s bones like twigs.’”

“Really?” said Aquamarine. “And you couldn’t see the water when you jumped in?”

“Hey,” said Nanette, “when it comes to surfing, we get tunnel vision. We just go right in. We’re like fish to water, except we’re not fish, but it’s still water, ya dig?”

“Oh, I hear ya,” said Aquamarine, holding in a laugh.

Fisk frowned. “Well, you know, Aquamarine, here, is the Goddess of Water. I’m sure she’d be glad to make some waves.”

“Oh, that’d be swell,” said Rhapsody. “And I meant the pun,” she clarified.

“Oh, man,” said Franklin, gazing at Aquamarine with awe. “You can do that? Sweet!”

“Oh, well,” said Aquamarine, running her webbed fingers through her trickling hair, “I don’t like to brag or anything, but…Yes, I can make water do pretty much what I want. It’s a gift.”

“Oh, that’s so neato,” said Nanette. “You should definitely do it.”

“Well…okay, okay,” said Aquamarine, “but, Franklin, Nanette, you should probably get out of the water, just in case my meaning gets lost in translation, and I accidentally create a tidal wave. Everyone stand back. I need full concentration.”

The others did as they were asked, and Aquamarine, standing right at the water’s edge, drew in a large lungful of sea air. Then, she sang an up-tempo but soulful melody that seemed to echo and reverberate in the sand and the wind, and, as she sang, tiny ripples appeared in the water at her feet and spread outwards, growing in strength the further they traveled. Then, as the song ended, white crests appeared on the horizon, and Franklin and Nanette whooped and cheered in celebration.

“Right on, Fisk-o!” Franklin yelled happily, clapping Fisk on the back. “You’re chick is the best!”

“Yeah, she is,” said Fisk, and he smiled at Aquamarine, though it was difficult to tell through all the tentacles.

The afternoon wore on, and, much to Aquamarine’s surprise, she found she was enjoying herself despite still being irritated with Fisk.

As the sun sank low in the west and the day neared its closing hours, Lunula Beach was cast in shadow, and Fisk, Franklin, Nanette, and the two goddesses sat in the sand around a crackling fire, Aquamarine and Fisk cuddled up close together, and Rhapsody bent low over the flames while several musings circled her head.

“…and then,” said Rhapsody, speaking in an ominous voice, “when they woke up the next day, there, in the backyard, they found the detached hand of Old Man Corbin, and to this day, friends, they were never seen or heard from…again!”

“Whoa,” said Franklin, very much impressed. “That was the creepiest thing I think I’ve ever heard. Way to go, Rhapsody!”

Aquamarine laughed. “Yeah, it was a good story, Rhapsody, but it made zero sense. I mean, firstly, why would Old Man Corbin’s spirit choose to haunt a lake house if water is the only thing that can stop his demonic powers?”

Rhapsody shrugged. “How should I know? I’m just the narrator.” She smiled and clapped her hands together. “Okay, that was mine. Who wants to go next?”

“Fisk,” said Nanette. “Everyone else went.”

“You didn’t go,” said Franklin.

“Yeah,” said Nanette sternly, “but you know I scare myself if I tell scary stories. It’s all right when it’s other people telling scary stories, but, when it’s going on in my head, it gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Franklin. “Okay, Fisko-o, give us your scariest story.”

“No thanks,” said Fisk. “I’m not good at telling stories.”

“Oh, come on,” said Franklin. “You’re a pretty scary guy. I know I almost passed out the first time I saw ya. I bet you’ve got a million stories to scare the pants off of us. Come on. Come one, come on, come on!”

“Well,” said Fisk, “I guess, I do know one.”

“Ah, excellent,” said Nanette, rubbing her hands together. “A ghost story from the Fisk-o Man. Lay it on us!”

“Okay,” said Fisk. He cleared his throat. “It is said that when the Demi-urge crafted the cosmos, he placed in it certain things that were meant to challenge man’s mettle, terrible monstrosities whose only purpose in life is to destroy and kill. Now, of these dark things, there is one who is feared above all others. It is a foul creature that trudges the abyss, trekking the darkest parts of the seas and only coming to the surface to feast on human flesh. Sailors everywhere call it…the Demon of the Deep.

“Now, one summer evening, a long time ago, on a beach very much like this, a few sailors were sitting around a fire, singing songs, drinking, laughing, and having a good time. But then, one of them, a young man who’d had a bit too much to drink, got up and wandered off down the beach, and it was some time before his friends realized he hadn’t returned. When they did, they sent one of their number out to find him. The minutes passed and they passed, but neither man returned.

“By now, the sailors were beginning to sense something wasn’t quite right, and, to add to their fears, a strong wind began to blow. The beach grew cold and their fire began to die. As the darkness closed in around them, they started looking over their shoulders, wild with anxiety and a growing, creeping suspicion. Every snap of a twig and every flickering shadow seemed to carry with it the promise of doom and misfortune, and they huddled together for warmth. But soon the fire was low and about to die, and they knew one of them would have to get more wood. So, they sent the youngest to fetch some, telling him to hurry back. Only, he never came back.

“Now, there were only two men left, sitting around a dwindling fire, and shivers shook their bodies, shivers that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Then, with a final puff of smoke, the fire went out, and they were alone in the dark. Suddenly, the wind fell silent, and all was eerily still. That’s when they heard it: the thud of a heavy foot on the sand.

“Their hearts leapt in their throats, and they looked wildly around in all directions, but their eyes couldn’t penetrate the unnatural darkness. The footsteps grew louder and louder and closer and closer, until they seemed to be coming from right beside them, echoing in their ears like the knock of death itself upon the door. Then, it stopped, and they heard nothing.

“The whole rest of the night, the men sat back to back on that lonely beach, not daring to move or speak, but, to their great relief, at long last, the sun rose up over the horizon, and their fear turned to joy. However, their joy did not last, for they saw in the sand, great, big footsteps that led up from the water and right to where they were sitting. And, where the footsteps ended, to their horror, the sailors saw three corpses, mangled and mauled beyond recognition except for their faces, the faces of their missing friends, frozen in expressions of ungodly fear. And they knew that they were lucky to have escaped the clutches of the Demon of the Deep.

“And, you know what?” Fisk asked, looking, in turn, from Franklin to Nanette to Rhapsody, “that creature, the Demon of the Deep…You’re all looking at him. Right. Now.”

Franklin, his face pale, gawked at Fisk. “Really? Is that true?”

“No!” Fisk laughed, and everyone else joined in, everyone except for Aqua-marine.

“Um, Fisk,” she said softly, “I think we should get going, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Fisk, “we should probably get a move on.”

They got up and brushed the sand off themselves. “Well,” said Aqua-marine, “we’re gonna have dinner, now. You guys have a nice night.”

“You too,” said Rhapsody, “and bring me back a small dessert. Not anything too big but something sweet, like…Oh! Tiramisu! That’s what I want! Tiramisu! And, if they don’t have that, then nothing for me, thanks. Anything else would just be a disappointment, you know?”

“We know,” said Aquamarine. “If they have it, I’ll get you one. Good night!”

“Good night!” Rhapsody called after them. “So, guys,” she said, turning to Frank and Nanette, “what’s next on the program?”

“Actually,” said Nanette, “can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering…those glass bulbs that keep flying around your head, what are they exactly?”

“Oh, these are my musings,” said Rhapsody.

“Uh-huh,” said Nanette. “And what do they do?”

“They do this,” said Rhapsody, and she took out her wallet and plucked from inside it an empty, unlit musing. With her other hand, she plucked a filament of gold light from her temple and shoved it up inside the bulb. Then, she screwed the bottom back on and released the musing so it could join the half dozen others dancing around her afro.

“I use them to store and safeguard my thoughts,” said Rhapsody. “I have a lot of ideas, but, sometimes, they can get a might scrambled, hence, musings. What’s more, they’re so damned awesome to look at.”

“They really are,” said Nanette, staring transfixed at the dancing lights.

“Uh-huh,” Rhapsody agreed, and she dipped her hand back inside her wallet, only, this time, she didn’t pull out a bulb but a brown bag that was giving off a rather sickly-sweet aroma. “Well, boys and girls, I’ve an idea. What say you we spice up this here powwow and set some big, bad blossom ablaze, hmm?”

Kapu was a charming, little port city, set on a sloping hill between two sheer cliffs and overlooking a small harbor big enough for about twenty ships to maneuver comfortably. As Aquamarine and Fisk walked through the lamp-lit streets, they drew quite a few strange looks from passersby. Being a goddess, Aquamarine was used to this, but it was different when she was with Fisk, because, no matter how bizarre a blue lady with a waterfall coming out of her scalp was, a green man with a cuttlefish for a head was even stranger, and most of the curious looks they drew were looks of nervousness rather than curiosity.

At the Skimpy Scampi, the maître d’ was, at first, absolutely tickled-pink at the idea of serving food to a goddess, but, then he saw Fisk, and his demeanor took an immediate turn for the sour. “Right this way,” he said, eyeing Fisk dubiously, and, all through their appetizers, Aquamarine could see him watching their table out of the corner of his eye as if fearing Fisk might steal all the silverware.

“How’s your soup?” Fisk asked.

“What?” said Aquamarine, realizing she hadn’t been listening to a word Fisk had been saying.

“The lobster bisque,” said Fisk. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” said Aquamarine, “but I keep thinking, ‘Oh god, this is what Lamont tastes like, and, dammit, he tastes good.’”

Fisk laughed, and Aquamarine took a long sip of wine. “Fisk,” she said after a bit, “why did you tell that story earlier?”

“Well,” said Fisk, “they wanted to hear a scary story, and all the scary stories I know are about me.” He slurped his soup noisily, drawing glares from some of the other diners. “You know, I usually prefer my lobster raw, but it’s not bad cooked.” He looked at Aquamarine. “You sure you don’t want something else, something that doesn’t taste like Lamont. They’ve got a hot-and-sour soup on the menu if you’d prefer that.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” said Aquamarine.

Fisk nodded. “I meant to check to see if they had tiramisu on the menu for Rhapsody, but I forgot.”

“That’s okay,” said Aquamarine.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Fisk. “Hey, um, I’m sorry about earlier when I, you know, got angry about you bringing Rhapsody. She’s not that bad.”

“It’s forgotten,” said Aquamarine.

“No, I mean it,” said Fisk. “I like her. She’s really weird. It’s just, I know Salma Gundi didn’t make you bring her because she doesn’t like you traveling alone. She made you bring her, because she doesn’t like you to be alone with me, and, you know, when I really think about it, I can’t really blame her. With my past, I wouldn’t want people dating me.”

Aquamarine sighed. “Fisk, you don’t need to do this. I know you’re not the guy you used to be, the Demon of the Deep.”

“Maybe,” said Fisk, “but people still treat me like I’m a monster.”

“Oh, come on. Now you’re being ridiculous. Who treats you like that?”

“Salma Gundi, for one,” said Fisk, holding up a finger. “That snooty maître d’, for another, and the old guy sitting behind me who keeps pelting the back of my head with garlic.”

Aquamarine leaned over and peered around Fisk at the aged man at the next table who was indeed throwing pieces of a decorative garlic garland at Fisk’s noggin and speedily muttering, “Go away!” with every throw.

“Well, there is that,” said Aquamarine. “Look, Fisk, I know what’s it’s like to have people look at you differently and treat you a certain way based on preconceived notions. I mean, I’m a goddess. Everyone has this idea in their heads of what I’m like and what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t let it faze me.”

Fisk chuckled. “Oh, yeah, because it’s so difficult to be worshipped by millions of loyal followers. Yeah, sure, you know what it’s like to be thought of as a monster.”

“All right,” said Aquamarine, “maybe I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be you. All I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh, really?” said Fisk. “It doesn’t matter to you? Is that why you did what Salma told you to do? Maybe, deep down, you couldn’t stand the thought of being alone with me, either, and that’s why you brought Rhapsody, because, let’s be honest, you could have said ‘no.’”

“I agreed,” said Aquamarine, feeling an angry heat rising in her face, “because I don’t think every conversation needs to turn into a fight. I know when to let things go. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for you!”

“Oh, well, la-di-da!” Fisk spat.

“‘La-di-da’ what?!” said Aquamarine. “What do you even mean by that? Is that supposed to be some biting remark?”

“I don’t know!” Fisk shouted. “It just popped into my head, and I said it! All right?”

“No!” Aquamarine roared. “It is not all right! I though, maybe this once, we could get through a meal without fighting, but I guess I was wrong.”

With the entire restaurant now watching, Aquamarine threw her napkin down on the table and stood up with such abruptness that her chair toppled over.

The maître d’ rushed over. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Lady Aquamarine, but, before you go, is there anything else I can get you?”

“Yes,” said Aquamarine, her voice suddenly pleasant. “Do you have tiramisu by any chance?”

“I’m afraid, no,” said the maître d’, “but we do have cannoli.”

“That will be lovely,” said Aquamarine. “Two to go, please.”

“Very good, madam. Anything else?”

“Yes,” said Aquamarine. “Um, I haven’t quite finished my soup. Could I take the rest to go?”

“I’m sorry,” said the maître d’, “but we’re out of the soup containers. I could check if you like.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” said Aquamarine. “That won’t be necessary.”

And, with that, Aquamarine picked up her lobster bisque and dumped it over Fisk’s head. “Thanks for a lovely meal,” she said cheerfully, and then stormed off.

Fisk sat there for a bit, hot soup running down his face, and the whole dining room staring at him. “What can I say?” he said awkwardly. “The lunar cycles have got her hormones all out of whack. It’s weird, but, you know women, huh?” He laughed, but no one else joined in, so he stopped laughing and, slowly, removed the soup bowl from his head.

“Check, please!”

Rhapsody lay in the sand next to Franklin and Nanette, all three of whom had their eyes fixed on the sky above. Nearby, a lotus blossom was smoking in a copper bowl.

“Just imagine,” said Franklin, lifting up his hands as if he were embracing the entirety of space, “somewhere out there, there may be another world just like this one, a perfect copy of Fettle with a moon and a sun and that tree.”

“Yeah,” said Nanette, grinning. “I wonder what it would be like to go there.” She thought about it, and her face was suddenly serious. “But, oh! What if they don’t have surfing there?”

Franklin gasped. “You think so? You think that’s possible?”

“Well, let’s have a think, here,” said Rhapsody. “Consider this. Is it more likely that there is out there, out in that endless, infinite abyss, another world exactly like this one, or is there a much better likelihood that this is the lone world where people surf?”

Franklin and Nanette considered this.

“You know,” said Franklin, “I wouldn’t have thought to look at it that way, Rhapsody. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” said Rhapsody with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m just glad to be of help.”

“But, seriously,” said Nanette, a note of panic in her voice, “what if they don’t surf there?”

“Hey,” said Franklin, giggling, “lighten up, Nan. We already answered that question.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Nanette, smiling once more. “I forgot.”

“Forgetting,” said Rhapsody sadly. “That will tend to happen, Nan, when you’ve been burning the arugula.”

Nanette laughed. “Ha! Rhapsody, you’re a trip. I don’t understand half the things you say.”

“With all due respect,” said Rhapsody, “is there much you do, you know… understand? I mean no offense.” Nanette looked like she would like to have taken offense, but she also looked a tad confused. “Don’t get me wrong,” said Rhapsody. “You’re a swell kind of dame, but you don’t strike me as a cognitive, cerebral sort of cookie. Catch my drift?”

Nanette, deciding to take offense after all, gasped. “Hold on a minute. Are you saying I’m stupid?”

“Well,” said Rhapsody, “not to put too fine a point on it, but, yeah. That is, more or less, what I meant.”

“Ugh!” said Nanette, absolutely affronted. “I don’t know what to say. I thought we had something. I thought we were really making a connection, here. I thought this was going to be the blossoming of a new and wonderful friendship.”

“Ha! No!” Rhapsody laughed. “That’s just the lotus talking, Nan! We may be all convivial right now, but, as soon as the lotus wears off, our bond will be one of strict acquaintanceship.”

“Really?”

Rhapsody nodded. “Oh, most assuredly, my sweet Nanette.”

“Ah,” said Nanette. “Well, okay then. I guess that makes sense.”

The three lotusheads continued their stargazing in silence while, a short distance up the beach, Fisk staggered through the sand towards them, wobbling drunkenly, and singing at the top of his lungs:

“Three sheets to the windmills, and Rolf ceased a head. There’s a terrapin blowing, or so the man said. You’ll be bitched up in Buff Town and tossed on your head, so hold fast to that line, boys, hold fast to that line, boys, hold fast to that…Wait. How does that part go, again? Oh, who gives a flying fart?”

Rhapsody lifted her head and smiled as Fisk waddled over and flopped down beside the fire. In his meaty hand, he held a half-drunk bottle of Ambrosia’s Old-Fashioned Nectar.

“Hey, Fisk,” she said warmly. “What are you doing back so soon? Shouldn’t you be on your date at this time?”

Fisk shook his head and took a healthy gulp of nectar. “Nah, that was almost seven hours ago.”

“Seven hours?” said Franklin, sitting up. “You’re joking. It doesn’t feel longer than seven minutes” He turned and looked blearily at the smoking lotus. “Man, this stuff really messes with your internal clock.”

“Yeah,” said Rhapsody, beaming. “Isn’t it just grand?” She sat up and repositioned herself so that she was facing Fisk. “So, what’s the scoop? Did things not go according to plan, Fisk?”

“No,” said Fisk bitterly.

“You think you might wanna talk about it?”

“No,” said Fisk, and he chugged another large quantity of drink. “Well, maybe,” he said.

“Then, fear not,” said Rhapsody, puffing out her chest. “I’ve got an ear here for you! Come on!” She climbed to her feet, stepped around the fire, and pulled Fisk to his.

“Where are we going?”

“A place where we can be alone,” said Rhapsody. “The matters of the heart are best discussed in private, or so I’ve found. Ya feel me?”

Fisk followed Rhapsody into the trees to a dark jungle clearing where she sat him down on a log before seating herself on the most comfortable rock she could find.

“All right,” she said happily, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her hands. “Tell Rhapsody what’s troubling you.”

“Um, I can hardly see you,” said Fisk.

“Well, fret not,” said Rhapsody. “That’s an easy fix.” She clapped twice and, in an instant, the glade was bathed in brilliant light as hundreds of bulbs descended through the trees to illuminate the canopy.

“How’s that?” Rhapsody asked

“Better,” said Fisk. “All right, well, we were at the restaurant, eating soup, and everything was fine, and then…well, you remember that story I told earlier when we were all sitting around the fire? Well, I didn’t make that up. It was a true story, and I was the monster.”

“This I know,” said Rhapsody.

“You knew?” said Fisk, surprised.

“Sure. I’m not an idiot. Don’t forget, I too am a goddess. I know all about you and your sordid past.”

Fisk chuckled. “And yet you still thought my name was Giovanni.”

Rhapsody shrugged. “I can’t always place a face at first, but I never forget a dramatic past.”

“Yeah,” said Fisk. “It is kind of hard to forget. I know I can’t. I was this monster, this creature that everybody feared. I used to be proud of that. I thought I was just the coolest thing on Avrok’s green Fettle. But then, one day, I looked at myself, really looked at myself for the first time, and I didn’t like what I saw. I realized I didn’t like myself, so I changed, and I owe a lot of who I am today to Aquamarine. I owe her so much, and, I guess that scares me.

“You know, I sometimes forget how forgiving she is and how kind and accepting she can be. She still accepts me even after all the shitty things I do. All the shitty things I’ve done!” He shook his head. “It’s just so hard to believe that someone like her—a goddess, even—could love a guy like me.”

Rhapsody smiled at Fisk and tilted her head to the side in an “oh, you big lug” sort of way.

“Fisk, Fisk, Fisk…Hey, now! There’s no need for that. You shouldn’t think of yourself in that way. You have some faults, yes. Quite a lot of them, truth be told, but no one is purely bad. You’ve also got some pleasant qualities, enough, at least, to catch our Aqua’s eye. So, stop this feeling down upon yourself, and buck up, mister.”

Fisk smiled in spite of himself. “Thanks for saying that, Rhapsody. I needed to hear that.”

“Hey,” said Rhapsody, “that’s why I’m here.”

She held her arms open invitingly, and Fisk, sniffling, leaned in to hug her. And, as they hugged, a peculiar, weightless sensation came over Fisk, a light, pleasantly giggly feeling. Rhapsody’s body was warm against his, and he could smell a balmy scent coming from her fuchsia hair.

They pulled apart, and, as they pulled apart, Fisk looked into Rhapsody’s big, brown eyes, and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned forward again and kissed her.

Rhapsody’s eyes opened wide as Fisk’s tentacles suckered themselves to her cheeks, and, with nauseating revulsion, she pushed Fisk away, sending him crashing into a thick tree trunk.

“Just what the Beastie do you think this is?!” she cried.

“You mean you weren’t hitting on me?” said Fisk.

“Uh…NO!” said Rhapsody. “You’re Aqua’s boyfriend, in case you forgot! I’d never betray her like that! Aside from which, you’re not at all my type!”

“Oh, crap!” said Fisk, scrambling to his feet. “Oh, crap! Oh, holy crap! I’m sorry, Rhapsody. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it. I slipped! It was an accident!”

“Uh-huh,” said Rhapsody, wiping the slime from Fisk’s kiss off her chin. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it. You often kiss girls accidentally, or am I just the first lucky lady?”

Giving Fisk a loathsome glare, she snapped her fingers and marched back towards the beach, the musings following obediently behind.

Now in the dark, Fisk stood rooted to the spot, frantically searching for the magic words to make this whole fiasco go away. Nothing came to mind or, at least, nothing that had any chance of working, so Fisk gave up and bolted after Rhapsody.

“Rhapsody! Rhapsody!” he called, panic-stricken.

As he caught up to her, several musings broke away from the flock and dive-bombed his head.

“Rhapsody, you’re not—Ow!—going to—Ouch!—tell Aquamarine, are you? Ow! Can’t you control these things?!”

“Of course, I can,” said Rhapsody. “I’m doing it, right now.”

“No, no! Look,” said Fisk, jumping to block Rhapsody’s path. “I did a bad thing, a stupid thing, an unforgivable thing. I admit that but there’s no reason Aquamarine needs to find out, is there?”

“Her boyfriend’s a colossal jackass-tool, and, as his girlfriend, she deserves to know,” Rhapsody said with a strong note of finality.

With her nose in the air, Rhapsody stepped around Fisk and continued back toward the beach. Fisk, determined to make her see reason, followed.

“No, but, Rhapsody,” he whined. “Think about Aquamarine’s feelings. Think how upset she’ll be when you tell her. You don’t want to be responsible for hurting Aquamarine’s feelings, do you? No! Of course, you don’t. You can spare her that pain, Rhapsody. You can! All you have to do is not tell Aquamarine!”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh, god! Aquamarine!” Fisk screamed.

He and Rhapsody had arrived back at the beach, just a little way from the fire, and had nearly walked right into Aquamarine. Fisk looked from Rhapsody to Aquamarine then to Rhapsody and, again, back to Aquamarine. “Uh…There you are, Baby!”

“Yes, here I am,” said Aquamarine stiffly. “Tell me what?”

“Yeah, we were looking for you, Rhapsody and I. We were worried about you. We didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“I was out for a walk,” said Aquamarine. “I had to clear my head. Oh, and Rhapsody, here. They didn’t have tiramisu, but I got you some cannolis.”

“Oh, I didn’t think about cannolis!” Rhapsody cried, taking the box with the cannolis. “That’s so much better than tiramisu.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” said Aquamarine. “Tell me what?” she repeated.

Rhapsody gazed austerely up at Fisk. So too did Aquamarine, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

“Um…I wanted to tell you,” said Fisk shakily. “I wanted to tell you that, um…I wanted to tell you, Aquamarine, um…uh…how pretty you look in the moonlight.”

The Golden Lift arrived with a bump at the eighth floor, and, with a musical ding, the gates slid open. Dragging two heavy mailbags behind him, Chubb stepped out into the hall and shuffled up to the apartment door. Standing on tiptoe, he rang the bell.

“Yes,” said Salma, opening the door. “Oh, good morning, Chubb.”

“I’ll concede that it’s morning,” said Chubb, yawning, “but the ‘good’ part is debatable.”

“Rough night?”

“Meh,” said Chubb. “Rough night. Rough morning. Rough day. Rough month. Pretty much all of the above.”

“I’m sorry,” said Salma, looking genuinely concerned.

“Nah, don’t be,” said Chubb. “I just like to complain. Keeps me sane.”

Salma smiled kindly. “If you have a moment, you’re welcome to come in for some tea or coffee or something stronger, if you like. I think I might have a bottle or two of beer lying around.”

Chubb considered her. “Ah, I’d love to take you up on that, Salma, but no thanks. Maybe later, if I can find the time, but, right now, I’ve got to finish delivering the mail. After that, I’ve gotta clean the windows, realign Choler’s door, reupholster one of the couches in the lobby, pick up Tank’s worm medicine, and, then I have to take a nap, because I am absolutely ex-hausted.”

“All right,” said Salma. “You just let me know.”

“I will,” said Chubb.

Salma bent over and swung the mailbags over her shoulders. “Is this it?”

“Uh, no,” said Chubb, “there are a few more. Wait right there.”

He flitted back inside the elevator and grabbed a couple more sacks. He’d just stepped back out of the elevator when, with a fortissimo clang, the grille slammed shut, and the elevator plummeted, dragging the mailbags with it. Chubb, unfortunate enough to still be holding onto the bags, hit the lift gates head first and crumpled into a sorry heap on the floor.

“Oh, geez,” Salma gasped. “Are you hurt?” She rushed to the handyman’s side.

With a long, drawn-out groan, Chubb lifted himself up. He was a little un-certain on his feet, but, with Salma’s help, he was able to keep from falling. He rubbed the top of his head gingerly. “Yep,” he said grimly, “that’s gonna leave a lump the size of an egg.”

“Are you all right, otherwise?” Salma asked, feeling him all over.

“Gee, I hope so,” said Chubb. “I can’t afford to be laid out. I have shit to do. I just wish my ears would stop ringing.”

“No,” said Salma. “It’s not just you. I hear it, too. It’s coming from your diaper.”

Chubb reached a chubby hand into the back of his diaper and pulled out his mini-resonator which wasn’t ringing, per se, but rapidly playing an as-cending whole tone scale. “That explains the tingling in my lower extremities,” he said, flicking a small switch and holding the brass horns up to his ear and mouth. “Hello. Chubb, Handyman of the Gods, speaking. How may I help you?”

“Chubb!” said a strained voice.

“Aquamarine?” said Chubb.

“Yeah, it’s me,” said Aquamarine. “Listen, I wanted to call you and apologize in advance for what I’m about to do.”

“You don’t say,” said Chubb, sensing, whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it. “What, um…what are you about to do exactly?”

“I’m going to beat my boyfriend to death with my mini-resonator.”

Chubb’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Salma said, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Chubb covered the resonator’s transmitter with his hand. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, “but initial signs are pointing to things not being entirely right.” He took his hand off the transmitter. “Aquamarine?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, um, why are you going to beat your boyfriend to death with your mini-resonator?”

“He made a pass at Rhapsody,” said Aquamarine.

 “Ooh, that’s not good at all,” said Chubb.

“What? Something happened?” Salma asked. “Oh, I should have known when Aquamarine didn’t call to tell me they arrived safely. Is it bad?”

“Hang on a moment,” said Chubb. “Well, that depends,” he said to Salma. “How do you feel about Fisk?”

“I don’t care for him.”

“Oh,” said Chubb. “In that case, it’s not all bad.” He returned to the resonator. “Now, Aquamarine, listen to me. I know you’re upset, but we talked about this, remember? When we have disagreements with people, we use our words, and, if words fail, we use our fists or our feet or any number of pointy objects. Your mini-resonator is not any of these things.”

“I don’t care,” said Aquamarine. “Now, excuse me. I have to bash Fisk’s head in now. Give my love to everyone.”

“Oh, before you go,” said Rhapsody’s voice, “tell Chubb I said, ‘Hi.’”

“Rhapsody says, ‘Hi,’” said Aquamarine. Then, there were sounds of a struggle followed by Fisk’s screams of pain as Aquamarine beat him over the head with her mini-res. Shortly thereafter, the line went dead.

“Well?” said Salma anxiously. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Chubb. “Aquamarine called to tell me she was going to beat Fisk to death with her resonator.”

“Oh, no,” said Salma. “That’s terrible. You just fixed it, didn’t you?”

“Yep,” said Chubb, stuffing the mini-resonator into his diaper. “Aw, well. If your offer still stands, I think I will take that beer.”

The morning sun broke over the eastern horizon, melting the sky and the sea into a single, glorious wall of silver and gold. Aquamarine and Rhapsody sat in the white sand, munching cannolis and saying nothing. Aquamarine’s mini-res lay in a state of profound disassembly all about them, and, a short distance away, Franklin and Nanette were still sleeping peacefully.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” said Aquamarine, breaking the silence.

“It does strike a note of finality,” said Rhapsody, her mouth full of cannoli. “Again, I’m sorry for kissing your Fisk.”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” said Aquamarine. “It’s all his fault, the little twit. I’m just sorry he ran off before I could do some permanent damage. Unfortunately, he’s very resilient. You know, if you cut off one of his ten-tacles, it’ll grow back?”

“You experienced this firsthand, did you?”

“No, he just told me once,” said Aquamarine. Finishing the last of her cannoli, she wiped her hands together and sighed. “Do you think I made a mistake, ending the relationship? I mean, he just made a mistake, right?”

“That’s up to you,” said Rhapsody.

“Well, I’m curious to know what you think.”

“I think it’s up to you.”

Aquamarine groaned. “Oh, Rhapsody, you can be so difficult at times.”

“I don’t mean to be,” said Rhapsody apologetically. “It’s just how I am.”

“True,” said Aquamarine. “Fisk was very difficult, a lot more than you. He was selfish, insecure, tactless…I miss him, though. I guess that’s normal. Really, this was sort of inevitable. If it didn’t happen now, it was bound to happen sooner or later. There were all kinds of problems. We live far apart, we only got to see each other every couple of months, and, besides which, these celebrity relationships never last. He’s a monster, I’m a goddess. Same old story, right?”

Rhapsody, her mouth full of cannoli, shrugged.

“One thing I’m not going to miss,” said Aquamarine, “the fighting. Seems like we spent half the time fighting and the other half making up.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” said Rhapsody, “but, yes, that’s something I observed as well.”

“Needless to say,” said Aquamarine, “this romantic getaway didn’t turn out quite like I’d planned. It was all a big bust. Yeah.” She stood up and brushed the sand off her rear. “Well, we might as well head on back home.”

“Well, we don’t need to hit the road just yet,” said Rhapsody. “The Speedy Steeds aren’t due ‘til tomorrow. We can still salvage ourselves a good time.”

Aquamarine looked at Rhapsody. “Yeah, you’re right. Why should I let the fish man spoil my weekend? I’ve still got you. It’s not much, but I’ve got it. What do you say we go get some ice cream?”

“It’s a bit early for ice cream, innit?” said Rhapsody.

“I don’t think so,” said Aquamarine. “If it’s not too early for cannolis, why should it be too early for ice cream?”

“You make a valid point,” said Rhapsody. “All right. I’m game.”

Aquamarine helped her up and, together, they strolled down the white sand beach, a flock of musings following behind them.

“You know what else? Fisk was really bad at surfing. Did you notice that?”

“You think so? I thought he was fairly good.”

“Hey, I’m trying to bash my philandering ex-boyfriend. As my friend, you’re supposed to agree with me.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, Fisk was not good at all. His surfing skills were quite negligible. I don’t know what he was thinking, the fool. I hate him and all he ever stood for.”

“There you go. You’ve got the idea. You’re laying it on a little thick, but you’ve got the main theme.”

Chubb sat in his workshop, banging away on his anvil, shaping a piece of metal which would serve as one of the arms for Aquamarine’s new mini-resonator. Picking up the piece of metal with tongs, he turned it over, inspecting it from all angles.

“Perfect,” he said, setting it down on the anvil too cool. “Of course,” he said, taking off his goggles, “it’ll be shattered into pieces in a month or two.” He sighed. “All right, what now? Strings.”

Born aloft by his tiny wings, Chubb sailed over the piles of junk to the far corner where the Cosmic Resonator sat, happily humming away and spitting out an endless succession of cosmic mail. Beside the Resonator was a small cabinet containing coils of spare strings. Chubb picked through them until he found one of very fine catgut. Picking up a pair of scissors, he began measuring the string and was just about to cut some off when the Lift dinged. He turned to see who was getting off, but the Lift doors remained shut. That didn’t necessarily mean there was no one inside, but he didn’t hear anyone knocking to get out or swearing in exasperation. He frowned. Perhaps he was hearing things. After all, he had taken quite a blow to the head, and, reflexively, he ran his fingers over the sizable bump on his cranium.

Eventually, he decided it was nothing and returned to his work. Once more, he was just about to cut off a length of string when the Lift dinged again. He turned. This time the Lift doors opened and shut several times, but there was no one inside.

“Oh, no,” said Chubb icily. “No, no, no. You’re not gonna get a rise out of me, pal. Sorry.”

He went back to the string, and, yet again, before he could cut a length off, the Lift dinged, only this time, it kept on dinging.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Ignore it,” said Chubb quietly. “Ignore it. Just ignore it. It’ll get tired and stop.”

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Now, the Lift gates started opening and shutting, adding to the overall racket, and the clinking, clanking, and dinging echoing off the subbasement walls, filling Chubb’s already-aching head with painful vibrations.

“Hey! Knock it off!” Chubb roared over the tumult.

The noise stopped, but the Lift doors remained open, as if inviting Chubb to come in and have it out.

“All right, you’re acting childish!” Chubb yelled at it. “I have much better things to do than stand here arguing with a fancy dumbwaiter!”

The elevator continued to gape at him.

“You are just a machine, okay! A piece of equipment! You’re not even an essential piece of equipment! You’re just an appliance! You hear me?”

The Lift gates creaked closed with a metallic whimper.

“That’s what I thought,” said Chubb. “Now, if you have a modicum of decency in you, you’ll let me get on with my work in peace. Okay? Okay.”

The elevator stayed still and silent, and Chubb breathed a sigh of relief. He turned and pulled the catgut taut between his hands, measuring it against the ruler on the side of the cabinet.

“Okeydoke,” said Chubb, and he picked up the scissors and held the string between them.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Chubb jumped about a foot and a half, driving the scissors firmly into the side of the cabinet where they stuck.

His face turned a bright shade of red, and Chubb glared murderously at the elevator. It was now going up several feet and dropping back down, creating an earth-quaking, thunderous explosion of sound with each drop. Chubb swore loudly and picked up the largest hammer he could find.

“Okay!” he spat. “Do you wanna go? You wanna go, buddy?! Well, I’m ready for ya! I’m gonna take you apart piece by piece, melt you down, and make bedpans out of you! How do you like the sound of that, huh?! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT?!”

Hammer raised, letting loose a primal scream of rage, Chubb flew at the open elevator, prepared to rip it to shreds with his bare hands if necessary.

Before he could do any ripping, though, the gates slammed shut around the wrist of his hammer-wielding hand with lightning speed. Chubb let out a shrill squeal of pain, dropped the hammer, and fell hard to the floor, his hand still trapped inside the elevator.

For several minutes, he sat there, teeth bared, leering at the demonic contraption with nothing short of pure loathing.

“All right. Well played, you hunk of garbage. You may have won this time, but believe you me, one day, I am going to turn you into the prettiest dumpster the world has ever seen. You just wait.”

Evidently, the elevator didn’t like that idea, because the gates suddenly came loose and tilted out, falling hard with a resonant crash on top of Chubb.

“Oh, how I hate you,” Chubb wheezed.

COSMIC MAIL COLOR-CODE CHART

For your convenience, cosmic mail is sealed inside colored envelopes that identify the letter’s contents. These colored envelopes and their corresponding contents are as follows:

WHITE: souls (MacAbre only)

GOLD: prayers/wishes/requests

RED: tributes/sacrifices/gifts/donations

BLUE: praises/blessings/congratulations

YELLOW: questions/concerns/suggestions

GREEN: criticisms/complaints

ORANGE: urgent business (recommend opening immediately)

BLACK: damnations

PINK: junk mail/chain letters

GRAY: garbled, nonsensical, or incomplete messages

PURPLE: godly correspondences

BROWN: lewd suggestions/hate mail

Should you have any questions or concerns, please bring them up with me, your ever-faithful handyman, and be sure to use the yellow envelopes. If I’m unavailable, leave a message on my work bench, and I’ll address your grievances at my earliest opportunity.

Handily yours,

Chubb, Handyman of the Gods