Boom looked back up the cliff. He’d climbed the trail many times in his life but had never run it. He handed the baby to Mertyle. “I’ll go get another pair of hands,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
His heart pounded as he forced his limbs up the steep path. He didn’t stop to rest, not once, as he ran through the forest and across the cornfield. The wind continued its crazy dance, whistling in his ears and snaking around his face. Would Hurley help them? Mr. Mump seemed strong, but would he care enough to help his neighbors?
Mr. Mump had backed his truck next to the delivery van and was fighting over the boxes. Hurley and Daisy stood in the truck’s bed, kicking people as they tried to climb in to get their hands on more money. Everyone was screaming at everyone else.
Forget them, Boom thought. I know who will help.
Boom ran through his back door, right to the hall closet. “Dad?” he called, opening the door.
Mr. Broom’s long hair hung in his face, matted with nervous sweat. He clung to a mop. “The twister. Has it come again?” he asked. “Is that why everyone is screaming?”
“No, Dad. There’s no twister.” Boom knelt inside the closet and took his dad’s trembling hands. “Dad, we need your help. You must listen to me. Mertyle’s in danger.”
“Mertyle?” Mr. Broom’s hands stopped shaking and he looked directly into Boom’s eyes. “My little Mertyle?”
“She’s sick for real this time and we’re trying to get her to the people who can cure her. We have to row to Whale Fin Island and we need your help.”
“Where is she?”
“Outside. She’s outside. We have to go outside, Dad.”
Mr. Broom gasped. “Out of the house? Into the wind?”
“Yes, Dad, into the wind. Mom’s not here to help us. You’ve got to be the one.”
“Into the wind?”
Boom lost all patience. “Mertyle might die!” he yelled. Boom was the child and the quivering mass on the floor was supposed to be the adult. “Get up and help us,” Boom begged. “Please, Dad. Don’t you see that if I can go outside, then so can you? Don’t you think I was scared after Mom died? I wanted to crawl under my bed but I didn’t. I went outside, and you can do it too.” He took a deep, frenzied breath. “We can’t let Mertyle die. I don’t want Mertyle to die. She needs us.”
Mr. Broom’s eyes widened. “Die? My little Mertyle?” He put down the mop, and the dazed mask that he had worn for the past year seemed to melt away. “Then I must go,” he said, crawling out of the closet. Boom helped him to his feet and handed him a coat. Mr. Broom put it on with trembling hands. “I must go outside.” Mr. Broom took a cautious step out the back door, wincing as the wind whipped his face. “Outside,” he repeated. Boom took his father’s hand and pulled him free of the house that had become his prison.
Mr. Broom was a good runner and he kept pace with Boom as they crossed the cornfield. “See, Dad,” Boom yelled, pumping his legs. “The wind won’t hurt us. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“No twisters?” Mr. Broom asked.
“No twisters,” Boom told him.
Had Boom hesitated before answering, he would not have said what he said. Because a mere two seconds later, a sound approached, similar to the sound Halvor’s blender made when chopping fish fins. Boom looked over his shoulder, expecting to see a reporter’s helicopter. But the sky above his house had turned black and a thick cloud swirled above it, churning and tossing rainbow dandelions every which way.
A twister! In the name of Thor, a twister!
Both Boom and Mr. Broom screamed so loud that Boom thought they might burst their lungs. The Mumps and the reporters began to scream as well. Fear seized hold of Boom’s body but he knew there was no time for fear. He pulled his dad’s arm until they reached the forest’s edge. They turned to check the twister’s progress. The Broom house still stood, but the churning spiral of wind kicked up bits of cornstalk as it raced across the field. Into the forest Boom and his father ran as the twister followed, tearing out saplings as if they were mere fish kebob skewers.
“Run!” Boom screamed, as the twister came closer.
They stopped at the cliff’s edge. Below, the others waved from the Viking ship, then screamed and pointed as the twister appeared at the top of the cliff. Down the trail father and son ran. Mr. Broom lost his balance, sliding to the first switchback. Boom slipped as well, but regained his footing. Rocks tumbled by as the twister touched the cliff’s edge. They weren’t going to make it. No way. The twister would overtake them.
The tide had risen higher and the Viking ship drifted close to the cliff’s face. “Jump!” Captain Igor shouted.
“Jump!” echoed Halvor.
Jump? Were they nuts?
A rock hit Mr. Broom in the shoulder, and Boom turned to see the edge of the twister within reach. The force of it stung his entire body. He grabbed his father’s hand, and together they jumped.
Chapter Twenty-eight:
Man Overboard
Boom’s face was pressed against someone’s coat. He sat up and wiped drool from his chin. He was lying on the deck of Mr. Jorgenson’s ship. He must have passed out, or maybe he had hit his head on something. His back ached, as did his legs — the sure result of having jumped off a cliff.
The jump was the last thing he remembered. Just how long had he been knocked out? Mertyle lay next to him, snoring. The white fuzz had grown through her black sweater and pants and had so thoroughly transformed her that, had she not been wearing tennis shoes, Boom might have thought the abominable snowman had come for a visit. Which would be completely believable at this point in his life.
Boom peered over the ship’s rail. Where were they exactly? The cliffs of Fairweather Island could not be seen, nor any land, for that matter. He remembered that the twister had been hot on his heels. Was it possible that the raging wind had carried the ship somewhere, just as it had carried his mother?
The twister was gone, the rain had stopped, and the rays from the low winter sun fell like yellow ribbons across the calm sea. Boom turned to look for the others and found Captain Igor, Mr. Jorgenson, Halvor, and Mr. Broom strewn about the deck like fish out of water — limp and gasping for air. Had they all hit their heads from the force of the twister? Had it knocked the breath out of everyone? The sky showed no signs of the morning’s storm. In fact, there was no wind whatsoever. Not a breeze, not a whisper, not even a sigh. A dandelion seed ball could have lounged on deck without worry of being blown overboard.
The sea lapped at the sides of the boat as gently as a cat at its milk bowl. One could call it the calm after the storm, but only if referring to the weather — for a storm still raged inside of Boom. A storm of worry and anger. Worry for his sister’s life and anger at the universe for playing with his family as if they were nothing more than brine shrimp in a classroom beaker. Another twister, indeed!
Boom was about to check on his sister when a flash of blue-green darted past the boat.
The merbaby!
“Hey!” he yelled as the baby arched her tail and dove below the water’s surface. “Hey! What are you doing?” Boom’s heart began to race. Was the creature going to swim away? Would she leave them behind and find her mother on her own? If so, there would be no one to remove Mertyle’s curse. “You get back here right now!”
The baby didn’t pay any attention to Boom. She swam under the boat.
“What’s all the hollering?” Halvor complained, rubbing his head.
“The merbaby,” Boom said, running to the other side of the boat. “It’s in the water!”
Everyone, except Mertyle, woke with a start and ran to the rail. There was no time for grogginess or yawning, no time for “Where are we?” or “Does anyone know how I got this bump on my noggin?” The merbaby was getting away.
While Mr. Jorgenson’s ship was a perfect replica of a Viking ship, from the curved prow to the square sail, it was, to be exact, one-eighth the size. So when everyone ran to loo
k at the baby, the boat heeled.
“There it is!” Boom cried, pointing at the little green head that poked up for a breath of air. The baby squirted some water from her mouth and dove under the boat again. “There it goes.” Boom ran to the port side. The others followed, tipping the boat as they went.
“She be starboard again,” Captain Igor yelled, and back they ran. “Now she be port side.” Halvor and Mr. Jorgenson had to stop to catch their breath. They held their hands over their equally rotund stomachs as they gasped.
“That’s a very bad fishy,” Halvor grumbled.
Mr. Jorgenson’s eyeballs rolled back and he moaned. “I don’t feel so good. Every one stop rocking the boat.” But Boom wasn’t about to stop rocking the boat. He couldn’t let that baby out of his sight. Back to starboard he and Captain Igor ran.
Mr. Broom, however, knelt over Mertyle, softly calling her name. “Oh, my little Mertyle. What has happened to you?” He hugged her. “She’s awake,” he told the others. “But she can’t speak. Her mouth is all fuzzy.”
There had once been a time, many times in fact, when Boom had wished that his sister couldn’t speak. When she had gone on and on about facts learned on Jeopardy! or on and on about something she had seen with the magnifying glass. But at that moment, not being able to speak seemed a very bad thing because no one could know how Mertyle felt. No one could know if the mermaid’s curse was nearing the end — Mertyle’s end. Boom ran back to the port side as the baby dove again.
“Get a net,” Captain Igor ordered. “That be how I caught the wee rascal in the first place.”
“Yah, good idea,” Halvor said. “Where’s your net, Jorgenson?”
Mr. Jorgenson opened a crate and pulled out a rolled-up fishing net. He took one end and began unraveling, while Halvor took the other end.
Captain Igor slid a small telescope from his pocket and stood next to Boom. “There she be,” he said, peering through the scope as the baby splashed in the distance. “We’ll have to coax her in a bit closer. Bring the net, lads.”
Halvor and Mr. Jorgenson seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the net. They pushed and pulled like a game of tug-of-war. “You’re tangling it, for sure,” Halvor complained.
“Don’t tell me I’m tangling it. I’m a direct descendant of Ned the Net-maker and I know how to work a net.” Mr. Jorgenson’s arms were buried deep in the twisted mass of cord. “You’re the one tangling it.”
“I’m not the one tangling it,” Halvor bellowed. “I’m a direct descendant of Fritz the Fisherman and net-working’s in my blood, for sure.” They glared at each other, puffing out their chests like feisty puffer-fish.
“Stop doing that. You’re making it worse.” The net was now wrapped around Mr. Jorgenson’s waist.
“I’m making it worse?” Halvor’s legs became so entwined that he fell over and landed on his bottom with a big thud. Mr. Jorgenson fell as well. The two started struggling like reject seafood.
“That be a sorry sight,” Captain Igor said, shaking his head as the Viking descendants wound themselves up so tightly that they could no longer move. But Boom had something more important on his mind — that darn baby. She continued her playful behavior, frolicking from port to starboard, stopping every so often to cast a devilish look Boom’s way.
“Baby,” Boom called out. “Please come back.” She seemed to be enjoying herself as she spun on her tail and somersaulted. If she swam away or got eaten by a shark, all would be lost. Mertyle would be lost. There was only one thing to do. Boom took off his coat and pulled off his black sneakers and socks.
“She be changing course again,” Captain Igor said, adjusting the scope.
Boom stripped down to his underpants and undershirt, each equally full of holes and in need of a good washing. He looked over at Mertyle, who lay with her head resting against Mr. Broom’s chest. Father and son stared into each other’s eyes. For the first time, Boom felt that his own eyes held as much fear as his father’s did. Then he turned and dove into the sea.
“Boom! No!” Mr. Broom cried out.
“Man overboard!” the captain yelled.
It wasn’t a graceful dive — half belly flop, half sprawl. Boom held his breath as the cold slapped him hard. How could the merbaby stand to swim in such icy water? Fish are cold-blooded, but humans are warm-blooded. She had to be mostly made of fish to endure such temperatures. He lifted his face for air and found himself looking straight at the merbaby. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her that she was a bad baby for leaving the boat, but yelling might scare her away.
Boom knew he wouldn’t be able to take the cold much longer. He began to tread water, which he did quite well thanks to the advantage of his big foot. “Please come back to the boat,” he begged. The baby did a somersault and began swimming circles around him.
“Boom!” Mr. Broom yelled, starting to climb over the rail. The baby stopped swimming and growled.
“No, Dad. You can’t come in. You’ll scare off the baby.” But Mr. Broom kept climbing. “Dad, I’m fine. You’ve got to let me do this. For Mertyle’s sake.” Mr. Broom paused, then reluctantly climbed back on deck. “I’m fine!” Boom assured him.
But Boom wasn’t completely fine. An eerie thought came over him and his heart started to race. The merfolk had pulled Erik the Red’s wife from Erik’s ship and drowned her. Boom curled his toes, imagining hands reaching up from the murky depths to clutch his ankles. The cold pierced through to his bones, making his legs ache. He reached out and tried to grab the baby, but she smacked his hand with her tail.
“Boom!” Mr. Broom called. “Grab this.” A flotation ring landed with a splash nearby.
“Baby,” Boom said with a shivering jaw. “Mertyle needs you to come back to the boat.”
The baby shook her head and pointed. Boom turned and realized why the baby would not come back. At the bow of Mr. Jorgenson’s replica ship, on top of a crate, sat a Viking helmet. A shiny Viking helmet that reflected the sun’s rays like a beacon.
“Captain Igor,” Boom yelled, clinging to the flotation ring. “Get rid of that helmet. It scares the baby.”
Mr. Jorgenson, though still entwined in the netting, managed to pop his head over the rail. “That helmet was worn by Englebert the Explorer in the fifth century A.D. That helmet is priceless.”
“Vikings didn’t wear horned helmets,” Boom cried, remembering Mertyle’s words. “It’s not a real artifact.”
“What nonsense,” Mr. Jorgenson said. “Everyone knows that Vikings wore horned helmets.”
“Yah, for sure,” chimed Halvor.
Captain Igor rushed to the bow and picked up the helmet. “It says ‘Made in China.’”
“Get rid of it,” Boom pleaded, desperate to get out of the cold. His head felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise, and he couldn’t feel his lower half at all. Captain Igor tossed the helmet into the sea as Mr. Jorgenson screamed like a girl.
“My helmet! Eeeeeeehhhhhhhh!”
Boom wiped seaweed from his face. “Now will you come back to the boat?” The baby grabbed the flotation ring and nodded. Like a speedboat, she propelled them back to the Viking ship.
Chapter Twenty-nine:
The Calm After the Storm
With the merbaby back on board, and Halvor and Mr. Jorgenson untangled, all eyes turned to Mertyle. The fuzz, once growing straight up in the air like Boom’s hair, had gone limp. That couldn’t be a good sign. “We’ve got to hurry up and find the baby’s mother,” Boom said, pulling his clothing back on.
“How do we do that?” Mr. Broom asked. Who could blame him for his confusion? He had been living in the closet during most of the weekend, and though everyone had tried to bring him up to speed, he had a lot of information to absorb. He would later tell his children that it was like waking up from a trance or a bout of amnesia. “What island are we sailing to?”
“Whale Fin Island,” Captain Igor said, opening his telescope and scanning the horizon. “That twister could have
dropped us anywhere.” He unrolled a chart and spread it on the deck. Then he placed the map from the print shop next to it. “Whale Fin Island be dead north of Fairweather, but since I don’t know exactly where the twister dropped us, I can’t be certain how far or in which direction we have to go.”
No one else seemed to know either. Halvor scratched his beard and Mr. Jorgenson mumbled something about his priceless helmet. Boom felt completely helpless. He didn’t know doodley-squat about navigation.
Suddenly, Mertyle moved. All eyes turned to her again. Very slowly, she reached out her fuzzy arm, waving the magnifying glass. Boom leaned close. “What is it, Mertyle?” He pushed the fuzz away so he could look into her eyes. She was still in there, trapped behind the furry mask. She reached out her other arm and pulled a piece of seaweed from Boom’s hair. Then she put the magnifying glass over the seaweed.
Now was not the time to be examining things. What was the matter with her, besides the obvious? What could she possibly be thinking?
“Poor Mertyle,” Halvor whispered. “She’s confused.”
Mr. Broom wrapped his arms around Mertyle. The baby glared at them from across the deck with an expression that was unmistakable jealousy. Fish do have feelings, Boom realized.
Again, Mertyle put the glass over the seaweed.
“She loves that glass as much as her mother did,” Mr. Broom said sadly. “Milly carried it everywhere.”
“Milly Broom could solve any mystery the department sent her way,” Mr. Jorgenson recalled. “When I was chief of police, I relied on her all the time. She saw things through that glass that no one else could see.”
“Mertyle’s a direct descendant of Mrs. Broom, for sure,” Halvor said.
Mertyle kept waving the glass. “I think she’s trying to tell us something,” Boom realized. He took the glass and seaweed. She saw things no one else could see. Like the map, for instance. Mertyle had been right about that drawing on the merbaby’s scale. Boom’s thoughts raced ahead, trying to figure out why his sister would want to examine a piece of seaweed. He put the seaweed on the deck and looked through the glass.