"Isn't that the most precious thing? So tiny and sweet!"
"Cute, cute, cute!"
"Perfectly suited for a little prince or princess, which ever it'll be."
"You mean which ever it IS! And it won't be long now, will it Queen Mera?"
"No, not much longer now, and frankly...it couldn't be too soon! My back is killing me and no matter how lovely Arthur keeps saying I am, in my heart I know I look like a whale after a big lunch of creel!"
"Now now now! You're simply glowing with maternal love and charm, Your Highness! Here, open this one! It's from our family!"
"Oooooooo! I can't wait...oh, it looks like....awwwww, how nice! Just what we needed! The baby's going to look so darling in this! This is all so much fun; it's almost a shame for it to end, though my back won't believe I said that. We've been having a great time decorating, and Makaira has been busying herself with her duties heading up the household staff and getting the rooms prepared for the baby's arrival. Everyone's been so nice, and it's all so exciting!"
"Errrr....Your Highness? What's that boy doing sitting out in the hallway?"
Hmmmm..."that boy." That would be me; you'd think that "that boy" is my name, as often as I hear that directed my way. I don't know why my mother bothered to name me "Garth" when I was destined to spend my life being referred to as "that boy" by everyone around this stupid palace. Of course, to my mother it was just a name anyway, just something to call me for the brief time she held me in her arms before she passed me off to these people to dispose of. Any wonder they can't be bothered to remember my name?
Now that I've got the eyes of a roomful of giggling, cooing females all pinned on me, I feel strangely like I've been spying on some curious ritual practiced by a long-hidden tribe like the Maazon Savages, whose lands lie far beyond the huge dome which protects Poseidonis from the far-flung realms of the rest of Atlantis. Some of them even get up from their seats and lean out toward the large, arched double doors which separate the royal reception chamber from the hallway which spans this vast palace. And the looks on their faces are telling. Some of them eye me with a suspicion born of their long-held legend that a boy born with strange, purple eyes like mine would be destined to be the physical embodiment of all that's evil. Several of them frown and turn up their noses as if I'd just tracked in the foul, decaying scent of a red tide. A few of them glance my way and quickly return to cooing at the array of baby clothes, curious contraptions and soft toys that they've brought to celebrate the impending birth of the first prince or princess to be born to their King---my friend Arthur---and his wife, Queen Mera. Even the Justice League sent him home with a gift to honor this momentous occasion in the life of their "Aquaman," though I doubt there will be any need of an electric bottle warmer down here under the waves. Surface dwellers just don't understand.
"Garth?---we're going to be at this for a while. Why don't you go to the kitchen and get your dinner," the flame-haired Mera calls out to me before she returns to the gaggle of ladies and the mountain of gifts before her. That's my cue to get lost, so I may as well. I'm not in any hurry and have no particular place to go, so I do it slowly. As I rise from the window seat, I note that the women, satisfied that this male intruder is no longer a problem, have gone back to eating and grinning at each other, and the ever-patient Mera continues to explain as they do. "He probably didn't feel comfortable coming through here to get to his room. Boys are silly that way."
As I leave, I hear one of the women say how unseemly it is to have me in a room right off the Royal Bed Chambers and how all of that will be remedied as soon as the new palace annex is completed. There hasn't been a real royal "family" in this place for a long time because the previous king, Juvor, never had any children of his own, except for this orphan girl named Tula he took in because her parents died while pioneering for the Crown. She's holed up with a wing of the palace and a garden all to herself, while I'm stuck in this little bitty closet of a room right off of Arthur and Mera's bedroom. Some luck I got...all bad.
Oh wonderful---I'm barely away from the sneering throng at the maternity party when I come across more bad news: Dardenialle, the High Priestess of the Shalakite sect. Shalakites, I've come to find out, are an ancient religious sect of ultra-right-wing zealots who live in fear that someone, somewhere, at some time is thinking happy thoughts and just might be harboring feelings of joy. Arthur says that they foster beliefs in all sorts of weird mythology, especially the ones which get people like me killed, as in State-sponsored infanticide. The Shalakites had managed for many years to keep their sunken city-state free of "undesirable elements," such as people with maladies they didn't understand and those with lineages, appearances or abilities they feared. At birth, both Arthur and I were victimized by their hysteria campaign; both of us were put out to die as babies because of our visible genetic traits. The ocean, in her infinite compassion, had mercy on us when these people had none, and by some miracle both of us were able to survive until rescued. In Arthur's case, it was a passing dolphin family unit who took him in and nurtured him until he came into contact with humans; in my case, my savior was Arthur, the then future king of this hateful realm. One of Arthur's first acts as king was to sweep away the laws enacted during centuries of the Shalakite's influence over the throne. Though loyal to the King, his actions have raised their suspicions of him and all who side with him. I am Arthur's best friend, partner in heroism and his ward; the Shalakites hate my guts.
I stroll past Dardenialle in the same way by which a naughty boy tries to slip past a stern teacher who believes ill of him, evidence to support wrongdoing or not. I try not to look guilty of anything, but that's silly of me, for to this woman, I'm guilty of a serious crime: of being alive---guilty of having defied my death sentence. Everything in me wants to look defiantly at her, maybe even grin as a reminder that I have the King's favor and she doesn't. But as it happens, all I can do is barely look up at this tall, sallow, vain, self-righteous woman, and what I see sends chills along my spine. A dour face with piercing dark eyes, she stares down her nose at me, the hate-filled glance perfectly capable of cutting me to the quick. Hurriedly, my eyes dart back to the the ground; my head drops and I solemnly continue along the hall. I don't even have to look back to feel her sharp, searing stare cutting holes into my back.
Since I get the same kind of treatment from the kitchen staff that I've just experienced, I figure it's more than the small amount of battered self-esteem I still have left is worth to go into the pantry and beg for a meal. I don't think those folks are Shalakites, but they sure treat me as if they think the same way, always looking at me as if I were some lowly beggar boy charity case. I don't have much in the way of pride, but I'm proud that I've always been able to fend for myself, even from the time I was a very small child. I'm about 12 or 13 now, as best as we've been able to figure from the sketchy records we've found, and I still feel just as capable of caring for myself---maybe even more so because of my treatment at the hands of these people. I don't know how I survived---I just...did. Remembering that, things around here don't bother me as much as they did when Arthur first brought me here last year. If I survived life around sharks, sea snakes and all kinds of other marine hazards, I figure I can handle anything thrown at me here---even impending unclehood.
Having nowhere else to go, I mill around in the pretty little garden below the main balcony and just beyond the palace forecourt. It's quiet and a good place to duck out of sight when I don't want to be reminded that I don't belong here. 'Course, that would work if I weren't caught here, but my luck is still running a bad streak. "They won't let you play with it, you know. Boys are germ-riddled, clumsy and too rough to touch babies." Tula. *Sigh* She said that in such a shrill voice that she nearly scared the life out of me. "It's going to be a prince or a princess. That means it's special, as in R-O-Y-A-L. They may not even let you near it. I'll get to babysit, of course, you know. Girls have a knack for that sort of thing. And I thought I told you to stay out of my private garden!" Tula's enough to make a sea serpent sick sometimes. How such a scrawny, skinny, baby-faced girl can be such a royal pain, I'll never know. I gaze ahead of me, pretending to ignore her, but she knows better. She will NOT be ignored.
Tula knows everything---at least she thinks she does, always yakking with Mera about "girl" stuff. She didn't talk to me at all before Mera came, and she was only just barely cordial to Arthur. He told me to be nice to her; he'd guessed that she was kind of nervous because she didn't know if Arthur would let her stay on at the palace after her regal guardian died. Of course Arthur let her remain in her big old wing and private chambers and all...while I got that lousy little nursery off the Royal Bed Chambers for my room. He said, "You have to treat the women-folk 'special,' Minnow," in that grand, commanding voice of his. I don't know how this creepy girl figures in as a "woman," but she's sure getting the royal treatment, all right. She and her haughty ways make me so mad sometimes that I'd like to give her a treatment like the working over Arthur gives pirates and their shipmates, 'cept Arthur says I oughtn't to punch out girls. I never knew how many rules there are in life until I came here; somehow, few of them seem fair.
"Sorry," I say to Tula as I rise to leave; "I didn't think I was hurting your ol' garden just sitting here thinking. By the way, there's a bed of oysters making a home for themselves under your garden bench. They said they hope you'll leave them undisturbed. They also said the nudibranchs are feasting on your ornamental sea grasses." As I walk away, I notice her screwing up her face in disgust as, on hands and knees, she peers through the murky water to inspect her garden for sea slugs, her long braided hair dragging along the edge of the sandy rectangular plot. "Ewwww! Hey, 'Shrimp,'" she calls out in my direction, "Oysters can't talk, you weirdo!" "You know best..." I call back to her over my shoulder. Gotcha.
Just when my spirits have hit rock bottom and I feel as if I'll never see a friendly face around here, I see what a appears to be a group of men coming in my direction through the twilight waters of the courtyard. At the center I can see a tall, handsome figure, a shock of blonde hair swaying with the flowing water around him as he sternly shakes his regal head. Arthur's the kind of man who commands attention and obiedience; even if you didn't know who he was on first sight, you'd know him to be someone of major importance. Before we came here, Arthur used to be fun. He played games with me and let me ride on the back of his seahorse as we raced through the waves, chasing adventure as if we had no fear of danger nor understood the consequences of trying to apprehend maniacal criminals on the high seas. I didn't care about anything else and had no fear for my safety as long as I could be with him. I knew he'd always be there to protect me against any aggressor, and I knew I'd always be there for him to do the same. So where was he this even'tide while my feelings were getting trampled and I've been tossed out of the palace like yesterday's garbage...?
"Arthur?" I call out quietly, but firmly, hoping to get his attention. He's nodding to the council ministers, advisers and palace staff, including his friend Dr. Vulko's wife Makaira, she of the household staff. It's soon obvious that Arthur doesn't hear me; he doesn't even notice me waving at him or jumping up and down. I follow along in hurried double-steps trying to keep up with him, and I call out several more times. All I get for my troubles are a few irritated looks from the back end of the group of ministers, they intent on not missing the intense and thoughtful words of their sire. My last hope at finding a caring face dashed to the barnacle heap, I sulk off to return to my perch in the hallway upstairs. I don't have anywhere else to go. Finding the window box seat as empty as I had left it and the doors to the Royal Bed Chambers closed to me, I decide I may as well curl up for a nap. No one will notice, and it appears that I may be out here for hours.
When I dream, I often dream of being safe and protected---that's pretty much it. I never dream about stuff like the kids at my school talk about, like the latest gadgets, or lots of food or of parties and nice clothes. I never even have a hope for things as simple as a real family and a real home. That's never going to happen to me; I'm not like other people and I never will be. That was drilled into me by these people long before anyone taught me to read or write. Before I met Arthur, I had no words, for I'd never met anyone else and had no language or means of socialization. I had feelings, concerns and fears...but I had no way to express them and no one to whom I could communicate them. When Arthur found me, everything changed rapidly for me---for both of us---and we became a brotherhood, a makeshift sort of family who protected and cared for each other. Then he married Mera last year, and we extended that care and concern to her as well. I understood that things had changed between Arthur and me, and I had to let go and step back from the closeness we'd had. But now...there's a new person coming who'll command all of Arthur's time and attention, and...and I've never felt as alone as I do right now.
I could really hate that baby, if it were in me to do so...and it isn't. Who could hate a little, helpless, defenseless child? I supposed that's a stupid question to come from someone who was sentenced to death at the age of two days old. Obviously, all people aren't as objective when it comes to the innocent. But I can't feel anything but some newfound, curious sense of pride that my friend Arthur is going to be a father and his beautiful wife Mera will be someone's mother. Arthur deserves to be happy and to have the family he's always longed for; I know he'll be a wonderful father because he's been good to me...when we weren't fighting or roughhousing with each other, that is. "Boys will be boys," they say, and two "boys" brought up in the wild can make for some crazy behavior. I have a feeling this city will beat that out of us a little at a time, though, as sure as the tide flows.
As I awake, I'm surprised by a soft, comfortably plush object under my head and more light than I'm used to being greeted by when my eyes open. I don't remember having a pillow on the window box ledge, but as I poke at the object I'm reclining on, I'm sure that's what it is. I guess I must have overslept and Arthur didn't bother to wake me so I could go to my room. Mera doesn't like me walking in on them in their bedroom anyway; she went from that "blushing bride" act to downright indignant glares really quickly, so I'm very careful to ask permission before I enter through the huge double doors. It beats getting chewed out for seeing something I shouldn't. But I don't remember asking to come in or recall going to my bed.
"How do you like your new room, Minnow?"
I pry open an eye and spy Arthur and Mera standing above me, both of them smiling, arms entwined and her head resting on his shoulder as is their habit these days. "New.....room...?" I ask, attempting a look around. "Well, it's a temporary replacement for that tiny room off our bedroom," Mera interjects as she steadies herself from her kicking blessed event. "Arthur and Makaira have been looking around the palace to find something more suitable for you until the new palace is completed. What do you think of it?"
Amazed, my eyes open wide at the bright little room. It has an ample-sized porthole window---that's something new for me---and it opens to the palace grounds. There's a small closet with plenty of room for things...if I had things to put in it. There's even a little desk, now a place for me to study, a contented-looking potted plant, and a sea chest to keep...other stuff in, I guess. I've even got a real sponge-mattress bed, instead of the hammock that I'd woven from seaweed for myself and had brought to the palace from the cave Arthur and I used to live in. Wow.
"You...you did this...for me?" I ask in a stunned voice, casting a startled, violet-hued gaze at Arthur. "You may still have a baby face, Minnow, but you're a bit too old for a baby's nursery, so Makaira and I set about finding a proper room for the little prince's uncle. Now the baby will have a nursery just a few steps from Mom and Dad, and his uncle will still be close by to help out." A swift, playful punch in the arm by Mera reminds Arthur that the "prince" could very well turn out to be a "princess," a fact he concedes with a kiss on her forehead. "Gotta get going; morning patrol still has to be done," Arthur bellows as he shows Mera to the door. "Coming along, Minnow?" As if he has to ask.
--------DB