Somewhere Beyond the Sea (Cerulean Chronicles, #2)

by T.J. Klune

“Oh my, that was such a restful sleep. Wouldn’t you agree, dear Linus?” “Quite!” Linus practically shouted. “I’m not even remotely concerned about the state of the kitchen and instead am focused on how rested I feel!” They both had to stifle laughter when Chauncey began to yell, “Battle stations! Battle stations! The chickens are coming home to roost!” Another din from the kitchen, this time followed by Lucy shouting, “But we’re not ready yet! Choke the chickens!”

“Oh no!” Chauncey said loudly. “I just remembered that I needed to talk to Arthur and Linus about stuff! And things!” “Name two,” Linus said, folding his arms. “Potatoes and Portugal,” Chauncey said promptly. “What about them?” Arthur asked. “I have absolutely no idea,”

“No,” Sal said. “We’re in this together.” “Yeah,” Chauncey said. “Let’s all get grounded. Who’s with me? Why is no one raising their tentacles?”

Lucy yelled in unfettered joy, “You can breathe fire? Holy crap, Theodore! Let’s burn everything!”

“I don’t know why we just don’t throw stones at them,” Talia muttered. “Seems to be a waste of a good rock if you ask me.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s another boy. So many penises in this house.” “I don’t have a penis,” Chauncey said. “It’s more like a cloaca.” “What’s that?” Phee asked. “Oh! It’s this thing where—” “I don’t know that we need to talk about our genitals at the table where we eat,” Linus said. “I don’t mind,” Chauncey said. “I like my body. It’s squishy.”

he heard Lucy and Talia arguing over how long the countdown should be before he and Linus could open their eyes. Lucy wanted to start at three. Talia wanted to start at five million. They compromised and decided seven would be good.

Arthur waited until they began to pull away before speaking in a hoarse voice that he’d never heard come from himself before. “At the bottom. Is there a photograph missing?” Sal looked at him and said, “That’s for David, in case he wants to be up there too. We didn’t want him to feel left out when he got here.” Arthur closed his eyes and breathed.

“I’m nervous,” Arthur said quietly. Linus smiled as if he were expecting the confession. “You’re doing the right thing.” He leaned against Arthur, a warm, comforting weight. “Be nervous, Arthur. Be frightened. I am too.”

Arthur pulled him close, hands on Linus’s hips. Linus put his own hands over Arthur’s shoulders, fingers in the back of his hair. They began to sway back and forth, feet shuffling on green carpet. Leaning his forehead against Linus’s, Arthur whispered, “Let them listen to what joy sounds like. Maybe they’ll learn a thing or two.”

“Where is the Antichrist?” someone shouted. Though he couldn’t see who it was, it sounded like the man who’d spotted them first. “Can you promise he’s not going to split the planet open like an egg?” “Oh,” Arthur said. “I highly doubt it. You see, he’s still learning how to crack chicken eggs properly, so I expect it’ll be quite some time before he’s ready for planetary destruction.”

Lucy. Talia. That had better not be grave-digging equipment I see. I said no murdering!”

And I worry! I worry all the time about the children. I worry about them when they sleep. When they wake up. When they run, when they eat, when they laugh or cry or sneeze. When they ask questions or when they answer questions. What does that make me?” Linus snorted. “That makes you a father.”

Arthur reached a shaking hand toward the ring. “After all you’ve heard today? Still, even now?” “Even now,” Linus said firmly. “And tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. All the days we have left. You, Arthur. I choose you.”

“You are like me,” David whispered with no small amount of awe. “My parents…” His bottom lip wobbled. “I don’t really remember Dad, but Mom, she smelled like cinnamon. And she would sing to me.” He blinked rapidly, little ice crystals forming around his eyes. “I can still remember the last thing she told me.” “Do you?” Arthur asked. “That must be a treasured memory.” With haunted eyes, David said, “No, it’s not. She told me to run.”

“Because I’m an adult who does adult things, like taxes and laundry and being sad for no reason.”

“Can I say something now?” Chauncey demanded. “I’ve been politely waiting my turn.” “Go ahead,” Arthur said. “Hi!” Chauncey said, waving a tentacle at David. Then he said, “That’s it. You may continue.”

“I wasn’t going to eat her,” David said. “I was just trying to … make her go … near my … mouth.”

“To the yacht!” Chauncey cried, arms flailing. “We don’t have a yacht,” Lucy said. “I would know if we did. I would have crashed it by now.” “We get to crash boats?” David asked, impressed. “No one told me that we get to do property damage.”

Theodore chirped and squeaked, spreading his wings. “Don’t tell me what he said!” David cried. “I want to figure it out on my own.” He opened the book once more, flipping through the pages before stopping on one, eyes narrowing. “Hmm,” he said. “So, if I’ve got this right, Theodore just said … um. Okay. He said … ah! He said that murder is legal, but only if you don’t get caught.” He squinted at the translation text. “Wait, that can’t be right.”

There was also a pile of pine cones. “It’s not what it looks like,” Chauncey said quickly as Arthur arched an eyebrow. “I’m just … collecting them. Yes, collecting them in order to make … a … pine cone … diorama?” “Oof,” Phee said. “That wasn’t even remotely believable.” Chauncey groaned. “I can’t even lie right.” He threw up his tentacles. “Congratulations! You caught me. I eat pine cones after everyone goes to bed, but it’s fine, I can stop whenever I want!”

Lucy lit up. “I’m so glad you asked! It is dynamite. I was saving it for something special, like when we need to get rid of a body but then Talia hurts her hand and can’t dig a grave so I suggest blowing it up instead and everyone agrees and then I get to light the dynamite and run and voilà! No more body to worry about.” “Wow,” Talia said. “That was impressive. I’m on Team Lucy.” “Me too,” David said. “And me!” Chauncey said, jumping up and down. “I want to blow up someone’s body!” “I bet it’ll rain organs,” Phee said. “Cloudy with a chance of lungs.”

“Besides, we have one thing the government doesn’t. And it’s going to change everything.” “What’s that?” Arthur asked as Sal closed his eyes. “What do we have?” His son whispered two words before drifting off to sleep. “Each other.”

“You’re not upset with him anymore?” He paused. Then, “Don’t think so. And even if I was, he booped me on the nose. You can’t be mad at someone who does that. It’s, like, the law or something.”

But before the phoenix could erupt, Lucy tugged on Arthur’s shirt, making him look down. “This is what she wants, Dad.” Dad, Arthur thought through fire.

She pulled away in a huff. “I don’t need anything. That’s not how caring works. You don’t do something and expect to be rewarded, right?” He nodded. “Then why should I be any different? Doing the right thing isn’t about accolades or recognition.” “Then why do it at all?” he asked, wanting to hear her answer. She flushed, picking at a loose string on the robe. She was embarrassed, but powered through it. “You do it because maybe someone will see and do the same for another, and then that person will help someone else.” She lit up, slyly glancing at Arthur. “Like your ripples in a pond.”

My daughter.

“I left a mint on her pillow,” Chauncey said. “I hope she doesn’t eat it because I want to.”

“You have to trust me. Trust us. We may be kids, but we’re your kids, Dad. You made us all believe we could do anything. Now you have to trust us to do that.”

“Oops,” Lucy said. “So, here’s the thing. I’m only seven years old, and still learning. I’m just a little guy!”

“But good news! You sort of make it work if you squint and tilt your head and look in the opposite direction.”

“If only the boy you were could see you now. What would he think, I wonder?” He turned his face and kissed her fingers. “That love and fire are one and the same.”

Hope is the thing with feathers, yes, and hope is the thing with fire.

I do want to be remembered as something, and it’s very specific: not the Antichrist, but the Anti–J.K. Rowling.