Free Kid vs. Squid by Greg van Eekhout Page B

bike and skate rental on the boardwalk. The blades of her spear were stained reddish brown. I hoped it was just rust.
    â€œGreetings, mud walkers,” she said. “Welcome to the summer palace of Coriolis, King of Atlantis Lost.”
    Overall, this hadn’t been the friendliest of welcomes, but it could have been a lot worse.
    Then the bike lady said, “Prepare to suffer.”
    That was more like it.

CHAPTER 10
    At a gesture from the bike lady, the Flotsam rushed us and threw us to the floor. I kicked and flailed as a man pressed his elbow into the back of my neck, grinding my head into the hardwood slats. He yanked my arms behind me so hard I thought every tendon from shoulder to wrist would snap. Through the corner of one blurry eye, I could see Trudy getting the same treatment. Griswald had warned us we might not get a warm welcome, but he hadn’t said the Atlanteans would attempt to kill us on sight.
    I tried to tell them we were friends of Shoal, but with my lips mashed against the floor, my words came out as garble.
    â€œUtter not a sound, mud villain,” the bike lady said. “You do not face vendors of candies and amusements now. At this moment, we are the Atlanteanroyal guard, and whether our home be a paradise or a hovel, we shall protect it. Give us a reason, and you will see what becomes of our enemies.”
    I had a feeling whatever she was threatening might involve filleting. Possibly battering and deep-frying too.
    Our attackers yanked us to our feet, the jagged tips of their spears hovering inches before our eyes.
    â€œThe girl,” Bike Lady said. “Take her bag.”
    One of the Atlanteans produced a long serrated knife that looked like the kind of thing whalers would use to remove blubber. He held it against one of the straps of Trudy’s backpack.
    â€œYou don’t want to do that,” I said.
    The spear points were suddenly even closer to my eyes.
    The man with the knife paused, checking with Bike Lady to see if he should go ahead and saw through the strap, and maybe through Trudy’s arm.
    Bike Lady stepped up to face me, her eyes as hard and sharp as coral chips. “Speak, mud boy.”
    Trudy sighed. The last time I’d conversed with a strange and dangerous person, I’d gotten the Flotsam curse cast on us.
    â€œOkay, see, it’s like this: Skalla’s head is inside the backpack and supposedly she’s sleeping because I ticked her off and she responded by using magic against us and I guess it tired her out. But that washours ago, so maybe she’s waking up. There’s tape over her mouth to make sure she doesn’t say anything but it’s not like tape’s a magic substance that never gets unsticky, especially in the damp and salty air and—”
    â€œSilence!”
    I bit my tongue. Hard.
    Bike Lady looked really upset, as if she’d just lost control of things and didn’t know what to do next. She motioned at the knife guy to step away from Trudy. Her clenched jaw bulged so much, I was sure she’d be spitting out broken teeth. They’d be sharp fragments and would probably go through my heart.
    Thinking about it, I should have mentioned right from the start that we were friends of Shoal.
    â€œCan I just say one more thing?”
    â€œNo,” Trudy and Bike Lady both said at the same time.
    â€œTake them to…” Bike Lady paused, unsure. I figured the next word would be “dungeon.” Or “torture chamber.” Instead, she said “kitchen.”
    Since kitchens were places with more knives, not to mention boiling pots of oil, I was in no way relieved.
    They frog-marched us into a cluttered room of dirty tile floor and walls that might have once been black-and-white checkerboard. Battered pots andpans and cleavers hung from hooks. The cleavers bothered me. At a stove, a stoop-shouldered old man in chef whites (or almost-whites) stirred a dented cauldron of soup. He