By the Acid Sea

There was a great deal more to be said, of course. One speech, no matter how heartfelt, is not enough to change centuries of tradition. Lady Aubergine met with farmers and groups of farmers all day. Captain Charette assisted her however she could. Language, or rather the lack of it, was no stumbling block to La Belle Capitaine. She guided, she pantomimed, she made pot after pot of compost tea. She seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, delighted to make the acquaintance of every vegetable there. And, of course, she left the von Hedwig family alone to enjoy their reunion.

The children told their parents all their adventures, from the end, from the beginning, and from the middle. Each peril, each discovery had to be explained from six perspectives. At last Mother procured a picnic from Lady Aubergine’s pantry and proposed an afternoon by the sea.

“But it’s acid!” Gerhardt warned. “Why would we want to go there?”

“If it were acid I should like to see it just for that,” she replied. “With proper safety precautions, of course. But Captain Charette assures me we are on an island in the Pacific Ocean, which we know to be water, not acid. Let’s take a look.”

So they walked over the ridge, forging a path where none had ever been. They were loaded with blankets and sandwiches and pots of water and strange, bell-shaped parasols. These were porous, to let in wind and rain, but dark to keep out the sun.

“It’s Lady Aubergine’s cloche!” Claire exclaimed. “To keep her out of the sun so she turned pale instead of purple.”

Then they had to explain everything they knew about vegetable culture to Mother, who had far more questions than anyone could answer. She was still asking the unanswerable when they reached the sea.

“There,” Mother said, “smells like ocean, not acid. I suspect that if you are a plant, quantities of salt water are far more dangerous for you than they are for animals such as ourselves.”

It was the least pleasant beach on which the von Hedwigs had ever picnicked. The sulfuric clouds that paved the sky reached down to meet the sea only one hundred yards or so off shore. They were bathed in bad smells and weird violet light, and the sandwiches got sand in them (as beach sandwiches always do). But they were together. The waves were gentle, the sand was white, and they were together. They talked, splashed, built elaborate sand castles and captured helpless sea creatures to live in them (all of which burrowed out or were released by Gerhardt), and just sat or walked together, all afternoon.

“How did you find us?” Adolphus asked.

“It was the fire you started at the palace, of course,” Father said. “We thought the land was uninhabited at first; there were no sign of hearth or industry. Then we found some odd plantings, large hedge-maze sorts of things which in retrospect were certainly houses, and there was evidence of farming – row crops and strange herd animals. But we hadn’t seen anyone. Then there was a huge pillar of smoke. We sped to it.”

“Were there – was there a lot of damage?” Claire asked with a glance at Bettina. Bettina was sitting at her mother’s feet, burying them in the sand.

“Only one wing of the palace showed significant damage. There were plenty of people there, too shocked and confused to hide from the sound of our engines, I suppose. We couldn’t talk to anyone, of course, but a young green fellow with yellow hair darted up and gave your mother a map. Then he ran away.”

“Rhodri!” Claire said.

“Friend of yours?”

“Yes,” said Claire, just as Adolphus said, “No.”

“Well the map led us here,” Mother said, catching one of Bettina’s ringlets around her finger, “so I count him to be my friend.”