Chapter 1

Oswald Boddle knew he was nowhere and no when he’d ever been before.  The first would have an easy enough answer, the second would not. 

Oswald Boddle didn’t think about his name too often, about as often as anyone else as far as he could tell. But right now, that’s all he could do. It was a fine enough name—Oswald (the name) might be a little peculiar, but not remarkably so. Boddle wasn’t the most common name, and it was maybe a little cute, but, again, nothing terribly out there. Except, right now, his name was very funny to him.

Because ‘Boddle’ sounded a lot like ‘bottle’, and that’s exactly what Oswald was feeling like.

He looked out at the waves and wondered which one he owed a thank you to for putting him on this beach. That’s what he figured had happened at least, given his current situation.

He sat in the wet sand with his legs bent and his heels dug in. He was resting his forearms on his knees and he looked down, through the space between them, and at his feet. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t have shoes, but he had the feeling he ought to, even if he was on the beach.

But that was something he learned about himself—that he didn’t have shoes—and he was glad to know it. He was learning a lot of new things about himself, which was easy, because the list of things he knew at this point was very, very short.

Going from most recent to least, he knew that he didn’t have shoes. He knew that he was on a beach. He knew, or at least assumed because of how wet and salty he felt, that he had been in the ocean. He knew he hadn’t been in the ocean on purpose, because he wasn’t dressed for it.

He knew that he had a message to deliver, and he knew that someone named him Oswald Boddle, a long time ago.

So, either his entire existence was a bad pun about a message in a Boddle washed up on shore, or he had forgotten a lot of things. He thought it was pretty funny either way, and wondered if his first name would pay off as a punch line any time soon.

He stood up and tried to think of possible puns for ‘Oswald’ while he made a futile attempt at brushing the sand off of his pants. All things considered, he felt pretty ok. He wasn’t injured or hurt or even sore. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty or tired, and he didn’t even feel sad or confused. He mostly just felt amused at the ridiculous situation he was in.

He went back through the list of things he knew about himself and got hung up on one of them—the message. Now that he thought about it, it was strange that he had a message for someone, but didn’t know what the message was or whom it was for. Each time he tried to remember either of those things, it was like his mind got ejected from that train of thought.  It wasn’t just that he didn’t know them, he also couldn’t even think about them.

So he didn’t. At least not right away. He could come back to that, and he knew he wouldn’t forget it because it was like 25% of his entire life. Plus, the pun thing would totally act like a mnemonic device for him, every time he thought of or heard his name he’d remember he had a message inside him.

“Oswald Boddle?”

That was quick, thought Oswald. The voice was coming from behind him, up the beach, away from the ocean. He turned around to see what he assumed would be someone who knew him, and could answer some of questions.

“That’s me, what’s up?” Oswald thought that solving this mystery was going to be easy.

“Uhh, not much. You ok, buddy?” Oswald didn’t recognize the middle-aged man he saw, or his middle-aged wife, or their regular-aged dog. He also didn’t recognize the strange clothes they were in (all of them, including the dog)—they were a lot shinier than any clothes he could remember seeing before and they covered almost their entire bodies, except hands, faces and snouts.

The trio did look like they were on vacation, though—that was just a vibe Oswald was picking up.

“Yep, I’m fine. But could you help me out with something real quick? Funny story—and I know people say that and then tell some terrible incriminating story, but this one actually is funny, there’s even a pun. I can’t seem to remember too much. Do you know how I got here? Do you know why I’m not wearing shoes?”

He pointed down. The middle-aged man’s eyes looked down and then slowly found Oswald’s face again and held there for a beat before he started talking again.

“…N-No. Why don’t you just sit down here and I’ll go get a Patroller, he could answer your questions.” He turned to his wife, “Honey, can you set up the UV umbrella for him real quick? He’ll fry out here in those clothes. I’m going to go get help.”

Oswald didn’t want that kind of help. “Hold on, hold on. I don’t want a patroller.” Oswald didn’t even know what a patroller was. “I just asked a question, no big deal really. Also, and this is embarrassing, but I forget your name.”

“Why do you want to know my name?” The middle-aged man’s voice and body language shifted to take on a suspicious air, and Oswald could tell he really wanted to go get the Patroller now. The woman began unfolding a large, lightweight and very shiny umbrella.

“I don’t! I’d probably forget it again anyway. Look, I can’t remember anything. I just figured I already knew it because you knew mine. How did you know my name then?”

It was his wife who responded, and she looked and sounded more sympathetic, “The back of your shirt says ‘My name is Oswald Boddle and I need help’ so we just—”

Oswald cut her off with a laugh and she looked offended. “Ok, technically the shirt is correct. I think. But! I’m not like a crazy guy or something. I just forget some stuff. No need for cops.” Oswald felt that last thing he said very strongly, but he wasn’t sure why.

“No, son, now listen, just stay right here. I’m going to keep an eye on you. Honey,” he stepped closer to Oswald and turned to his wife, “go get the Patroller. Leave the umbrella.”

“That’s a terrible idea!” Oswald didn’t think he could convince them he wasn’t a crazy guy at this point, but he had to try.

“Calm down, Mr. Boddle. Just calm down.” The middle-aged vacationing man was getting very close to Oswald now, and he was holding out his hands like he was about to catch a stray animal. Oswald figured that’s kind of exactly what he thought he was doing, but he wanted to stay stray, so he shoved past him.

The middle-aged vacationing woman screamed and fell backwards into the sand. The regular-aged dog started barking wildly. Oswald had made a scene, and felt a very strong urge to get away from it and the ‘Patroller’ who was sure to come find out what all the fuss was about.

Oswald took a few fast, spry strides and was excited by how agile he was realizing he was. He’d elude the vacationers very easily, that was clear. So easily, in fact, he could probably circle back, and decided to after a few more long, athletic strides.

He remembered they talked about him frying, and he remembered their shiny clothes. And he thought that his cheeks and nose and ears and even his scalp were starting to feel a little hot and itchy.

He slid to a stop, turned around and ran directly back toward them. The husband was a few feet away from his wife with his back to Oswald, as he had just abandoned his fruitless chase. The wife screamed again and Oswald figured at least this time it was a little more reasonable. The dog was barking like crazy, too, but dogs cannot be held to standards of reasonableness.

Oswald dodged around the man, leapt over the still-prone woman, avoided the dog, and snatched up that shiny umbrella that had fallen to the ground in all of the confusion. He couldn’t believe how light it was. He could hear the man yelling out “Patroller! Patroller! Help!” But that was getting quieter and quieter as he quickly put distance between himself and the vacationers.

The problem with making a getaway on a beach is that a beach is extremely open, and people never run this fast on a beach unless something really bad is happening, like a shark attack or umbrella heist. So, the people who were scattered on the beach were starting to notice him, and he was noticing another problem he’d have. Everyone he saw was wearing those weird shiny clothes, and he was wearing regular non-shiny clothes and also he had his name—which the Patrollers would learn very soon—written on the back of his shirt.

He had to get out of the open. The reddening feeling spreading across his exposed skin agreed with that plan, too. The boardwalk up ahead would be perfect. He didn’t know where he was, but he assumed that anyone hanging out under a boardwalk anywhere wouldn’t want Patrollers under there, either. Whatever Patrollers were.

So he ducked between two of the big wooden poles and turned away from the ocean, hoping to head deeper into what he was sure was a seedy and unpatrolled spot. There was a fence blocking off the place where under the pier became under the boardwalk, but some horny or drug-having teens had long ago pried a hole in it big enough to fit through.

Oswald wriggled through the teen-sized opening and looked around for other ne’er-do-wells, but he didn’t see any. He was the only one hiding from the prying eyes of the rest of the beach-goers right now. And Patrollers.

“A cop’s a cop,” he reminded himself in a low, out-of-breath whisper. He wasn’t sure where the extra anti-police sentiment was coming from. It was more than just the everyday baseline sentiment he was sure everyone felt, but he wasn’t sure why. Probably a really cool reason, he thought.

He mentally updated his little running list of things he knew: fair skin, aversion to police, spry as hell.

He was poking around idly while he let his heart rate get back to normal. A little piece of a flyer caught his eye. It was just the torn-off top, but he reached down to pick it up. It felt more fibrous and rough in his fingers than he thought it would. It read “Susquehanna Beach, the summertime paradise for all of Atlantica!”

And as soon he was done reading it, it dissolved in his fingers and disappeared.

“Well that seems weird and bad,” said Oswald, to no one.

Oswald hadn’t forgotten everything, just almost everything that had to do with himself. He still knew lots of regular stuff, like how to talk and read and run and that clothes weren’t usually shiny and paper was usually smooth and didn’t dissolve, and that things named ‘Susquehanna’ were usually at least a couple hundred miles from the nearest beach. And he was pretty sure he had never heard of a place called “Atlantica,” and he was confident he knew almost all of the places famous enough to appear on a flyer like that.

So that was a lot to deal with, but didn’t give him much to add to his list of things he knew about himself. Just that he probably didn’t belong here. “But what else is new?!” he told himself a little joke, and sat down next to one of the poles.

“Oswald Boddle.” A voice came from the shadows deeper under the boardwalk, and Oswald got right back up again.

“Yeah? Oh, I mean no.” Oswald had gotten excited to hear his name again, before remembering the shirt.

“You read the shirt. Yeah, it’s just a joke, actually. My name is…” he tried to think of a fake name quickly as his eyes darted around his surroundings, “Pier…ce. Pierce. Pierce Sand. Hello, nice to meet you.” Oswald was trying to get a look at the person he was talking to, but it was hard to see them in the shadows.

“I don’t care what your name is, I just think it’s funny that you’re all wet and on a beach and your name is Boddle. Or, your shirt says it is. Your shirt is making a good joke.”

“I know, right! I thought the same thing. That’s why I got in the ocean actually, to pay off the joke.” Oswald moved a little toward the opening, in case this person wanted to talk to a Patroller, too.

“What’s the help part about? I don’t get that one.” The person came a little out of the shadows. Oswald noticed they had chin-length hair the color of dead grass, high cheekbones that looked so sharp they might shatter if this person slept wrong, and way too many freckles and way too many layers of clothes.

“Oh, that one is an inside joke. It’s a long boring story. What’s with all the clothes? You moving?” Oswald thought that was funny, the idea of a person wearing all their clothes at once to move.

“You sure like jokes, Pierce.”

Oswald had forgotten his fake name for a second so his response was just a little unnaturally delayed, “Oh yeah, I guess that’s right, gotta keep it light these days.” Oswald knew that all days were good for keeping it light. He went on, “Hey, so, no really, you may have noticed that neither of us is dressed like everyone else out on the beach, so I’m just trying to figure out which one looks crazier. Personally, I’d say you, but I’m not from around here, so what do I know.”

The other person had crept closer during this last exchange and Oswald noticed their eyes had long lashes and a little sparkle, even in the shade of the boardwalk. The person was also at least a foot shorter than he was. Oswald suspected they were a she.

“They don’t give the SolLar to people like me. That’s just for vacationers and the locals who own houses and pay taxes for all this stuff. So, I wear a lot of clothes instead. You’re the weird one here, trust me. You look like you want to fry. And you have a joke on your shirt. And you’re not wearing shoes. It’s definitely you, Pierce.”

Oswald laughed and had figured as much anyway. He was feeling a little more comfortable around this person (somehow) and relaxed his thoughts of dashing through the opening like a mouse.

“Ok, I’m going to tell you something because I trust you because you called me weird. Also because I’m going to forget about the Pierce thing and it’s getting annoying. My name is Oswald Boddle, the shirt is telling the truth, but it also might still be a joke, I haven’t really figured it out. What’s your name?”

The other person’s heart-shaped face tilted to one side, and Oswald could tell she was trying to figure out if she should believe him or not.

“I’m Kestrel.” Kestrel did a little spin, “and I’m sorry it’s not written on my shirt, so you’ll just have take my word for it.”

Oswald laughed, he really did like jokes, Kestrel sure was right about that. He felt her respond warmly to his laugh, he felt a little of the defensiveness between them fade away.

“So what are you doing under the boardwalk? I’m here because I stole this umbrella,” Oswald held it up like a trophy, “and because the sun was hurting my skin pretty bad.”

“Cool.” Kestrel left it at that, not answering his question. She was looking at the umbrella, sizing it up. Oswald could sense that she wanted it.

“You can have the umbrella if you tell me why you’re down here. I only stole it because they tried to give it to me.”

“That sentence doesn’t make sense, Oswald.”

Oswald hoped that finding out why Kestrel was under here would help fill in some details of the place he was in.

“I will tell you the whole story if you want and give you the umbrella, if you tell me why you’re down here.” Oswald held out the lightweight, shiny umbrella.

Oswald could sense Kestrel wanted both of these things. Oswald was surprised at how much he could sense, and remembered feeling something similar earlier when he had been talking to the vacationers.

“Well, don’t you need the umbrella? You’re the one without the right kind or amount of clothes.”

She had a point there. But he’d figure something out.

Oswald responded, “I’ll figure something out.”

“Ok, whatever works.” Kestrel reached out a slender hand and took the umbrella and tossed it into the shadows, back where she had emerged from. “I’m here because I don’t want to be anywhere else, now tell me your story.”

Oswald let out an overly dramatic groan and pled, “No-ooo-ooo. You have to do better than that. I gave you my prized possession! I will fry to death without it, and I gave it up just to hear why you are down here. You have to do better than that!”

Kestrel laughed and said, “Ok, ok, fine. Just calm down. But you really don’t know why I’m down here? I thought you were joking.”

Oswald sensed a lot of surprise and a very strong current of curiosity. Oswald leaned into it, “There are a lot of things I don’t know, you’d be surprised. Try me.”

Kestrel was staring at him, and for the first time, Oswald became aware of the fact that he had no idea what he looked like. He wondered if he were as interesting to look at as Kestrel was.

“Ok well, you noticed the clothes. And I said the thing about how I don’t get the SolLar—wait, do you know what SolLar is? Probably not, considering how easily you gave up the umbrella and the fact that you’re basically naked on the beach.”

“Basically naked?” Oswald repeated that and looked down at what he was wearing—a damp, burgundy, rough-woven Henley-style shirt, and basic (damp) grey pants that came to the middle of his calves, made from the same material as his shirt.

“You really have stop acting surprised about clothes. You’re the weird one, I promise you.”

Oswald laughed and nodded, conceding the point. “Ok, ok, go on though.”

Kestrel dramatically gathered herself, “Well, Oswald, I’m not sure how to tell you this, I’m not like other people.”

They both laughed and Oswald sensed more defensiveness slip away.

“I mean, as basically as I can say it, they—“ Kestrel waved an outstretched hand toward the beach, “and they—“  more waving, this time straight up, “have money, and I don’t.”

“So you hang out down here like a crab or a beach raccoon or something?”

She laughed and said, “More raccoon than crab. Check it out.” She reached into one of her many, many pockets and pulled out a few items: two small, triangular pieces of metal, a screwdriver and what looked like some kind of baked good, shrink-wrapped in a thin membrane.

“And that’s just from this afternoon. People drop all kinds of things and just let them go.” Oswald could sense pride and excitement, so he didn’t want to make a joke about the sad display.

“Cool. How much are those coins worth?”

“What’s a coin? What are you talking about? These—hey wait, you really don’t know shit, man. You’re like an alien or something.”

They both laughed.

“I’m not an alien. I’m just not from around here. But, how much are they worth?”

That made Kestrel laugh even harder.

“I have no idea, I haven’t checked at the trang machine yet. Might be worthless, might have a couple liefs on ‘em.”

“Trangs? Leaves? I don’t know what any of this means. Is that the name for that denomination of the coin?”

It took Kestrel a second to stop laughing enough to talk. “Man, did you just say leaves? Like more than one leaf?”

“You’re the one who said leaf!”

“Noooo, I said ‘lief. Like Re-lief. Like money. Like ‘hey man can I get a couple ‘liefs for a ‘sule of caf?” Kestrel did some hand motions to go along with the patter.

Oswald was clueless. “You’re just making bullshit up now, I know it. Can you just talk normal while you’re teaching this humble alien the ways of your people?”

“I’ve always wanted a large adult son. This could be kind of nice.” Kestrel reached up to tousle Oswald’s hair, and he instinctively jerked away, quickly, and put his hands up in a trained, defensive posture. He didn’t know why he did that, and he didn’t know how he had done it so quickly and smoothly.

Kestrel said, “Whoa man, I’m sorry. Calm down, please. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Oswald sensed a chilly separation leap up between them. He didn’t like it.

“No, I, uhh, it’s ok. Sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I am just a little jumpy I guess.”

Even after that, Oswald could sense something else from Kestrel—concern. Their conversation and his little display had inspired a sincere worry about him.

“No man, I totally get it. Why don’t you just stay right here and I’ll go get something for you.”

Oswald took a quick stride toward the beach, and she took a cautious step toward him to keep their distance the same as it was. Her hands were out in a soothing and welcoming position.

“Not a Patroller, I swear.” It was like she read his mind. “I don’t want to see one of those things any more than you do. I’m going to get something else, and I promise you’ll like it. I swear. Just stay right here, ok?”

Kestrel smiled, and Oswald knew if she could sense things the way he could, she’d know he wasn’t going anywhere because of the way she smiled at him.

He said, “Well, ok.” and she took the opportunity to leave before he could change his mind.

He watched as she hurried back into the shadows and he felt like he should have asked her why she had called patrollers ‘things’.