Christopher Moore - Island of the Sequined Love Nun

“No palu ?” Tuck asked, using the native word for “navigator.”

“Japanese kill them. No palu left, except maybe one.”

“That’s why you didn’t turn Kimi over to the Sorcerer?”

Malink nodded and trouble crossed his brow. “I am thinking, if Vincent send you, how come the Sorcerer not know you here? And how you not know Santa Claus?”

Tuck noticed that the men had stopped painting their rifles and talking among themselves to listen to his answer. There was pressure here, beyond whether he’d be able to drink or not. He told them what they needed to hear. “Vincent called me from the land of armored possums to come to the island of the Shark People. I am a flyer, as Vincent was a flyer. He does not tell me everything, and he does not tell the Sorcerer everything. Vincent is sometimes mysterious, but we must trust his judgment.”

Malink smiled. “Let us drink to this flyer. Then we go to sleep.” To Tuck, Malink said: “Tomorrow is the hunt.”

When the pounding came at his door just after dawn, Tuck prepared himself mentally to meet the smiling face of Sebastian Curtis, who would be overly cheerful at the prospect of trouncing the pilot at another round of gravel golf, but when he opened the door, there was Beth Curtis wearing a long-sleeved white cotton dress and a huge sun hat with a brim that fell over her face like a lampshade.

Tuck had on hand-me-down boxer shorts that showed more of his morning bulge than he was comfortable with. Strange, a month ago he was ready to sell his soul for this physiological phenomenon, and today it was an embarrassment.

“Good morning,” he said. “I was expecting the doc.”

“Oh, did you two have plans?”

“No, I just…never mind. Would you like to come in for some coffee?” He gestured to the small kitchen nook.

“Why don’t you make yourself a cup and bring it with you? I have something to show you.”

“Sure. Just give me a second.”

She waited by the door while he threw a pot of water on the stove, dressed quickly and combed his hair, then poured the water over some coffee grounds and stirred in some powdered milk. “I’m ready. What’s up?”

“I want to show you something on the other side of the island.”

“Outside of the compound?”

“Near the village. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Tuck walked with her out into the morning sun, nursing his coffee as they went. There were no guards in sight anywhere. The wide

gate to the runway was open.

“Where’s the ninjas?”

“You call them that too? That’s funny.” She laughed, but because he couldn’t see her face under the hat, he couldn’t tell if there was any sincerity in it.

She put her hand on his arm and let him lead her across the runway like a Victorian lady under escort.

“Do you ever miss your family?” she asked as they walked.

Tuck was taken by surprise. “My family? No. We parted on less than favorable terms. I fell out of contact with them long before I came out here.”

“I’m sorry. Really. Is it difficult for you?”

Tuck thought she might be joking. “My mother and my uncle are my only real family. They married after my father was killed. I wasn’t pleased.”

“You’re kidding. I thought they only did that in West Virginia. Aren’t you from California?”

“She married my father’s brother, not her brother. Still, I don’t miss them.”

“What about your friends?”

Tuck thought for a second. Things had changed for him since he’d last seen Jake Skye. In a way he’d taken on some responsibility. He was acting on his own, without a net. He wished that he could tell Jake about it. “Yeah, I miss my friends sometimes.”

“Me too, Tucker. I’d like to be your friend.”

“You have Sebastian.”

“Yes, I do, don’t I.”

They walked in silence until they entered the village, which was deserted except for a few dogs and too many roosters. “Where is everybody?” Tuck reminded himself not to let it appear that any of this was familiar to him. “Is this where the natives live?”

“They’re all at the beach. Today is the day of the hunt.”

“The hunt?”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

As they passed the bachelors’ house, Tuck peeked through he door. He could see someone sleeping inside. Beth led the way to the beach and Tucker looked back. Sepie stood in the doorway wearing only a bandage around her ribs. She waved and Tuck risked a quick smile and turned away. They were going to give him away. One hint of recognition and he was screwed.

The women, children, and old men were all lined up on the beach. Tuck had never seen most of the women and children. There must have been three hundred people there. The only familiar face was Favo, the old man from the drinking circle, who showed no recognition when he looked at Tuck. The younger men were out in the water, standing knee deep on the reef in the light low-tide surf. Each of the men held a five-foot-long stick with a rope tied at one end. They wore long knives tucked into cords tied around their waists.

“Fishing?” Tuck asked.

“Just watch,” Beth said. “This is how the Shark People got their name.”

Tuck spotted Malink coming out of the jungle with four other men. Each carried a large plastic bucket.

“They make the buckets out of net floats from the huge factory ships,” Beth Curtis said. “The plastic is tougher than anything they can make.”

“What’s in them?” Tuck watched as each man swam out to the reef holding a bucket on his head.

“Pig and chicken blood.”

Two men helped Malink onto the reef and took his bucket from him. Malink looked out to sea and said something in his native language, then looked to the people on the beach as if to say, “Ready.”

The chief shouted a command to the men in the water and they dumped the buckets of blood. Soon they were all knee deep in crimson surf and the bloodstain swept out into the ocean in a great cloud.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Tuck asked.

“Of course. It’s insane.”

Interesting choice of words. Tuck was surprised that no one seemed to notice or make a big deal of Beth’s presence. “Why aren’t they drumming and kowtowing to you?”

“They aren’t allowed to when I’m dressed like this. It’s a rule. I need my privacy at times.”

“Of course,” Tuck said.

A fin appeared in the water about twenty yards out from the reef. Someone shouted and Tuck recognized Abo from his warrior’s topknot. Malink nodded and Abo dove into the water and swam toward the shark. Before he was ten yards out, the fin turned toward him.

More fins appeared and as Malink nodded, more young men dove into the water with their sticks.

“Shit, this is suicide,” Tuck said. He watched as the first shark made a pass at Abo, who moved out of its way like a bullfighter.

“You’ve got to stop this.” Tuck couldn’t remember ever feeling such panic for another human being.

Beth Curtis squeezed his arm. “They know what they’re doing.”

The shark circled and made a second pass at Abo, but this time the young warrior didn’t move out of the way. He shoved his stick into the shark’s jaws as if it was a bit, then flipped himself on the shark’s back and wrapped the cord just behind the pectoral fins, then back to the other end of the stick so it wouldn’t come out. The water boiled around Abo as the shark thrashed, but Abo stayed on and, holding the stick like handlebars, he pulled back to keep the shark from diving and steered him into the shallow water of the reef, where the other men waited with their knives drawn.