Gravity Bend

Book Two: The Serpent of Smuggler's Island

I

July 1

The day after they fought off a larcenous tribe of fairies with leaf blowers, Max and Lyra Pines were enjoying a lazy morning, using up Great-Uncle Stan's ample supply of toaster waffles in a noble attempt to produce a decisive valuation of waffle toppings. They were pouring maple syrup directly down each others' throats to test its viscosity, when Stan came into the kitchen bleary-eyed and seeking coffee.

"Guess what day it is," he said.

It was the first of July, Canada Day. Everyone across the country was off work and likely to be relaxing at fairs and pancake brunches. There would be fireworks that night.

"I always lose track of the day on vacation," said Lyra, "Is it Sunday?"

"It's arbour day, of course," said Max, "We should all wish Santa Mazel Tov when he comes by."

"It's a national holiday, geniuses," said Stan, "I'm closing the Shack. I was thinking we'd go fishing."

"Fishing?" said Max.

"What's your game, Grea'uncle Stan?" said Lyra.

"No game. Just a day in the sun, down on the river."

While he made himself coffee, Lyra absentmindedly flipped through the latest Gravity Gossiper, a free monthly magazine that could be found all around town: on racks in shops, piled up in waiting and living rooms, and slowly fermenting in the cracks of leaky porch roofs. It was about eighty per cent advertisements and most of the rest was interviews about real estate.

But there was something that caught Lyra's attention. She slid the magazine away from herself and pointed it out to Max. He gasped.

"Human sized hamster balls available for rental at the aquatic centre? But I'm human sized!"

"Beneath that," said Lyra.

The ad, only about the size of three or four postage stamps, announced a photography contest, for pictures of the strange, the unexplained, and the unseen.

"Did you get any pictures of the fairies?" said Lyra.

"No," said Max, "Only bruises and memories, and trace hair."

Lyra cut out the ad and put it in her shorts pocket, so that she would have the mailing address for any photos they could take of whatever else the Journal might lead to. She was planning on running up to the attic to get it when Stan finished with his coffee, wolfed down a bagel, and excitedly hurried the twins out the door to go fishing. The morning, Stan insisted, was the best time to catch fish, before too many engines got onto the river.

Stan's car was a well-waxed and thoroughly dented red Cadillac. The twins piled into the back seat and Stan drove them down to the river.

Downstream from where it ran through Gravity Bend's historic downtown, the Vigrid River met with several creeks and widened to a thick, lazy stream braided with forested islands. A small public marina sat by the widest stretch. Stan claimed that he kept his boat here.

When the Stanmobile (as called by its slightly misprinted vanity plate, which read "STANLMBL") reached the marina, it became clear that Stan's opinion about the best fishing time was widely shared. Half the town seemed to be out, either in canoes or fly-fishing from the shoreline. An RCMP car was even parked near the marina tack shop. Stan parked as far from it as possible.