Blood Runs Thicker than Water

       By midday, Moominpappa’s cry of “The king’s Island!” rang across the deck, his spyglass trained on the yellow-green smudge of land ahead. The Adventure had made good time—four days, though they might have been quicker had Moominpappa not gotten them lost in the skerries (the latter was assuring it meant nothing, they were definitely shortening the distance to Snufkin, who couldn’t possibly find a boat better than theirs). Moomintroll marvelled, not for the first time, at his mother’s patience with his father’s haphazard habits. His own was wearing thin, especially under grey skies. His best friend might be in danger, and there was no time for running aground! But in fair weather, his spirits lifted. It almost felt like a family picnic in the making: Snufkin reunited with his father, Moomintroll with his own (and the rest of the clan), and all of them bound for adventure together. Then he’d take Snufkin’s harmonica out of this backpack and try to draw a few tunes, much to Little My’s abhorrence. “It sounds like a seagull dying of appendicitis!” she’d taunt him and add something about mushy fools. But parents and Snork didn’t complain, meaning it should not be that horrible. It was delightful, actually: to hold an item Snufkin held not long ago, brought to his lips… Like holding hands indirectly, and Moomintroll’s heart fluttered. Now, Moomintroll scrambled to the bow, squinting at the cliffs and rounded hills familiar from Pappa’s memoirs, though autumn had bronzed the grass. Even the stone fences in the fields matched the descriptions. Then he spotted the odd ripples offshore. “Pappa! There’s something like a reef!” “No reefs here,” Moominpappa declared, joining him—and stiffened. “Good grief.” They slowed, turning the boat broadside for a better look. One of the “rocks” blinked. The it reared its head. Then its neighbours did the same, appearing to be shaggy, slick-furred creatures with long, chisel-like teeth. Niblings. Just like in the memoirs. “No passage,” the nearest one intoned. “Island access via port and customs only.” Moominpappa spluttered, demanding to speak to their chiefs or “Aunt Hemuless,” but the creatures only repeated their decree. Little My was going to bite her way through, and Moominmamma caught her by the dress right in the middle of her dash overboard. Then another nibling paddled closer, peering at Moomintroll. “Do you remember me?” it asked. Moomintroll looked back at his father for support. Moominpappa’s ears twitched. “By my tail! You’re the fellow who was stranded at the Ocean Orchestra and later delivered a message from Aunt Hemuless!” He clapped Moomintroll’s shoulder. “I was Moomintroll back then, and now I’m Moominpappa. And this is my son. A carbon copy of me, no wonder you’ve mistaken! So, how are you, old friend? Have you learned all the alphabet by now?” The nibling’s muzzle remained unreadable, but it dipped its head. “I did. Glad to see you, friend. One moment.” It addressed the other niblings. “The per-pet-ra-tor is caught. Barrier lifted. Return to base.” Grumbling, the niblings formed a twin-file procession westwards. “The what? A criminal? What’s his name?” Moominpappa pressed. "No idea," the nibling said. "We just play a game, and the rules are: prevent uncontrolled exit or entry. Aunt Hemuless told us. Didn’t tell names. She’s a big person here. The Chancellor is her former pupil. Many officials too, had called for her to help with schools and upbringing. They maintain order, they decide, we im-ple-ment. It’s a fun e-du-ca-tio-nal game." Moomintroll and his father exchanged horrified glances. “What ‘chancellor’? What about the king, Daddy Jones? Where is he? He wouldn’t let Aunt Hemuless anywhere near his kingdom! And the others from our youth? Hodgkins, Muddler, the Ghost, Edward the Booble? Or did you hear of the Joxter guy, the lazy one?” “I heard the king was old and died. Hodgkins? I heard that name, serves the state. Others… haven’t heard. Sorry, I’m on duty.” With that, the nibling hurried after its kin. The Adventure glided into a deserted cove. As the anchor dropped, Moomintroll stared at the hills beyond. Somewhere there, Snufkin was sitting by the fire, or stalking park keepers, or even breaking his dad out of jail. The Moomin family walked along the winding road between dried-out hills and orchards heavy with apples, their sweet scent mingling with the still warm autumn air. Moominpappa pointed here and there, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “That’s where the Mymble’s house used to stand. It was the size of a pigeon coop, a cosy little thing, all crooked boards and grubby mymble kids. And over there, Muddler’s old home out of a coffee tin-can! Gone now. And look—the roads! They used to be nothing but packed earth, trodden by paws of creatures. Now they’re all wide and wheel-rutted, hard as stone.” “And that is excellent, I’d say. It is the pace of progress,” Snork noted from the procession tail, his only words since breakfast in the sea. The fences, too, had changed. Now they were neatly repaired, taller, topped with iron spikes. Behind them, dogs barked at passersby. “Aunt Hemuless’ influence, no doubt,” Moominpappa grumbled. “Perhaps it’s not all bad,” Moominmamma said gently, her paw resting on his arm. “Remember Aunt Jane? We were all so afraid of her at first, and yet she turned out to be the kindest soul. Maybe this aunt of hers isn’t so dreadful either.” Little My piped up. “What’s this aunt’s name, by the way?” Moominpappa scratched his head. “Er… I don’t actually know.” “Then I’ll call her Aunt Squared,” Little My declared, grinning. “ ’cause Aunt Jane’s Aunt is too much.” As they walked, the countryside melted into town. Moomintroll gawked around in wonder at bright shop signs, lampposts strung with wires, houses of brick and timber as tall as Moominhouse, but so many of them so close together. And a few motorcars puttering along the cobbles. It was all so new, so strange! Alas, only Snork shared his sentiments. Even the police station looked like a gingerbread with its white plaster between chocolate-brown beams, narrow flower pots in the barred windows. Only the bars on windows and the barbed wire over the fence struck a wrong note, but a very wrong one. And near the entrance, a very vicious-looking creature in police uniform was smoking a cigarette: tall, with gilded forked horns and long ears. There had been similar horned creatures in the neighbouring valley at the fest, but this one had also vampire fangs. Moomintroll’s courage and feet faltered. “What’s the matter?” Little My teased. “Thought you were going to help your precious Snufkin fight the entire police force.” And Moominmamma explained in whisper that those creatures, wolpertingers, were not especially dangerous or vicious, just rather obstinate and vain about their antlers. Inside, Moominpappa marched straight to the duty officer. “We’re here about the arrested criminal. We demand to know the circumstances of the case!” The officer on duty, a weary-looking hemulen, didn’t even glance up. “This is a police station, not an information desk. Read the newspapers if you want news. If you don’t have a crime to report, leave.” Little My aimed for his feet, probably to commit a required crime, but again, Moominmamma caught her and stuffed into the basket with lunch. “Maybe we go look for a newspaper stand?” she suggested undervoice. Yet just as the family turned to leave, another constable entered, carrying a stack of torn-down wanted posters, each bearing Joxter’s smirking face (though rather stylised). “That’s him!” Moominpappa exclaimed and snatched one poster to smash it on the officer’s desk. “Let us see him immediately!” “He’s not here,” the officer said. “He’s in the prison. No visitors admitted. Trial’s tomorrow, but only witnesses and victims will be admitted beside officials.” Moominpappa struck a proud pose and opened his mouth, likely to announce “I’m his oldest friend!” but Little My popped out of the basket to nip his heel, and Moominmamma quickly interjected, “Oh, we knew him ages ago. Just curious, that’s all.” “Not good enough,” the officer said flatly. Moomintroll wanted to cry. It was so… so petty, so silly and anticlimactic, so unlike the adventures in the fiction! And then he had an idea. Stepping forward, he said, “My father is a famous writer. His bestselling memoirs—” “Right!” Moominpappa clearly got the idea and took the lead. “My first masterpiece was all about this island and its old ruler, Daddy Jones! I’m writing a new book now, about the Chancellor’s rule. And I’d very much like to observe your court and police system in action. This trial would be perfect research!” The officer hesitated, impressed. He reached for the telephone—then dropped the receiver in irritation. “Ah. Phones still aren’t working after that power station mess.” With a shrug, he reached for a blank form. Moominpappa beamed. The others exchanged glances. “Here. Courtroom access for the writer only. Your name, sir? And may I have a look at your documents?” The smiles faded. “Dear,” Moominpappa turned to mamma, “do you have any? Or maybe a copy of my book?” “The Memoirs? Oh, yes, it may be there…” She fished in her handbag, but, judging by her helpless stare, that wasn’t the case. “Oh, I am afraid I’ve left it at home. But maybe,” she added with her warmest, homeliest smile, “you could issue some document for us? You see, we are from a land where documents are still not mandatory…” The officer frowned, but mamma’s charm was already working. “Well, I could, but you’ll need a warrantor out of local citizens, who’d be able to confirm your identities.” Moominpappa perked up again and named Hodgkins, but the officer doubted Hodgkins, a well-known Chief State Engineer, was available at the moment; he must be busy with recovery of the power plant sabotaged last night. Muddler was the second option, but who knew where he lived now? Moomintroll was already fed up with the bureaucracy and otherwise hungry. He leant to the basket for a sandwich, but the basket cover flew open, and Little My sprang onto the officer’s table and asked to fetch any mymble aged over ten. They should recognise their best sister. In two hours, exhausted, starving, supplied with all the papers needed, especially the courtroom pass, and Hodgkins’ address, the family left the building, nearly forgetting Snork, who was dozing off in a corner through the whole red tape. Moominmamma offered a picnic on a bench two blocks down the street, but immediately a whistle chimed, and another constable (Moomintroll was already allergic to that uniform, like Snufkin) informed them that taking meals in the streets was prohibited. Clamping Little My’s bad mouth, Moominmamma apologised and promised it was their first and last violation. An empty stomach makes even the grandest town seem dull—the fountain too gaudy, the stiff-collared residents too rude (why, they didn’t even greet one another, let alone travellers!), and Hodgkins’ house—or rather, his government-issued quarters—the dreariest of all. A beige, prefabricated box with a yard too cramped for football or feasts. Hodgkins wasn’t home. A trembling voice from under the porch confirmed it. “Muddler? Is that you?” Moominpappa exclaimed. Out crept a hunched, threadbare creature in a dented saucepan hat and moth-eaten coat. “Oh! Oh dear! Moomintroll—ah, right, you’re Moominpappa now, come in, of course… sorry, I—I can’t let you in the house, Hodgkins’ orders—secret blueprints, you see—but the yard’s mine! Fuzzy, my heart! Look who’s come!” As Little My was cursing and threatening to break in the house, a tiny, sharp-faced creature darted from the shadows, embracing Moominmamma at once. She fluttered about, laying out a meagre supper of stale biscuits, rock-hard rusks, and bitter ersatz coffee on the porch steps, apologising all the while. Moominmamma silenced her with a smile. “Let me.” And like magic, she transformed the cluttered yard. A table appeared, cobbled from planks and barrels. From her picnic basket emerged proper sandwiches, berry tarts, chocolate curls, real coffee, a jug of cordial… Moomintroll watched, awestruck as ever. How did she always conjure warmth from nothing? They ate, reminiscing until Moominpappa’s booming laugh made Muddler wince. “Quieter, please! The neighbours—they can call police for disturbance! When I moved in, I got fined for my button collection clattering. Had to surrender half to pay it!” His whiskers drooped. “Thank goodness we’d already given the other half to our sons. And that they are long sent away too. For safety. This island’s all rules now, and we’d hardly could support children.” Beside Moomintroll, Snork muttered, “Maybe children care more for parents’ hugs than safety.” Guilt prickled Moomintroll. He’d never asked why Snork and his sister were alone in Moominvalley. Had they parents at all? (No, Snorkmaiden had once mentioned them, dismissively: “Too busy for us.”) Or Sniff. Did he miss his parents? Yeah, he seemed absolutely happy and obsessed with business opportunities only, so unlike these two creatures who had given him life, but… And Snufkin—Moomintroll had always thought him as a self-sufficient, wise, solitary person, and then Joxter pops up, and next summer, Snufkin speaks about fun time spent with his dad in the South, and smiles at the memory… That time, Moomintroll had felt a jab of jealousy and was very ashamed of it now. Sure, Snufkin would choose a long-lost parent to spend time with. Would Moomintroll himself prefer Little My or Sniff to Pappa? No. Maybe. That hesitation shocked him. And what if a challenge is less evident? Say, would he choose to stay with Mamma or with Snufkin? His brain boiled, unable to decide, Moomin shook his head to dump stupid thoughts out, and focused on the adult talks. As sun was rolling down behind the neighbour garden trees, Muddler whispered how the island had changed: the king’s demise, the Chancellor’s rise. "The scholarly hemulens said everyone should decide the island’s fate, that’s called ‘democracy’, but since nobody had time, they must elect a trusted, qualified person. That’s where that gaffsie emerged. Promised order. So now everyone must work and pay taxes for the roads, electricity, hospital and police. I guess it is not bad." He shuddered. " I just... can't fit in. Hodgkins did try to find jobs for me but I'm not good at anything and end up fired the next day.” “Why don’t you just move then?” Little My sneered, blunt as ever. “I-I’d like to, but ferry tickets are too expensive, and besides, I haven’t paid out debt for land use yet, I won’t be let out.” The streetlamps flickered to life, casting a warm golden glow over the boring little yard. Muddler clapped his paws with delight. “The electricity’s back! Oh, what a relief—” His words were cut short by the purr of an engine. A sleek convertible rolled up to the garden gate, and out stepped Hodgkins, his smart linen suit streaked with grease and soot, ears and cheeks drooping even more than at his visit to the Moominvalley. His eyes lit up at the sight of the Moomin family, and the party resumed with double merriment (and twice lower noise level—never disturb your neighbours!). Hodgkins apologised for not keeping any meals at home since he was catered well at work, but Moominmamma’s basket was bottomless, and Little My sneaked into the neighbour garden to bring several apples one by one, much to Muddler’s dismay. After the third cup of tea, Moominpappa leaned in to Hodgkins with a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, old friend, we’re all here now. Ready to rescue Joxter?” Inventor’s face darkened, whiskers bristled, voice trembling with indignation. “I didn’t turn him in when he came begging for help—that’s mercy enough. But I won’t lift a finger to save him, and I am very glad he has been caught. No more victims. Whatever the court decides, he has earned it.” A stunned silence fell. Even Little My let out a whistle: “Always knew Snufkin’s old man was the type to kill in cold blood”. Moomintroll glared at her. “What do you mean, 'victims'?” Moominpappa demanded. Hodgkins’ voice was heavy. “That 'noble rebel' tore down every sign he could find, even the warnings. He ripped the 'No Smoking' sign off a hardware store’s back wall. Some fool tossed a cigarette butt into spilled kerosene. The whole place went up in flames. The seller and several customers died.” He listed other incidents—trucks collapsed in pits of roadworks, people drinking non-potable water from a fountain, et cetera, all because Joxter had removed the signs intended to prevent it. Little My blew another whistle, this time without her classical snide comments. Moomintroll felt sick. Surely Snufkin hadn’t known? He couldn’t have helped with such horrors… could he? But several people had mentioned a night’s fire at the power plant, when Snufkin must have already been at the island… Sunset faded. As the others reeled, Snork the inventor drifted toward Hodgkins, eyes alight with technical curiosity. “Your amphibious plane—the Ocean Orchestra—what’s the wing design? And the hydrofoil mechanism? The illustrations in Moominpappa’s memoirs are not very descriptive, and I missed a chance to see it by myself when you were in the Moominvalley.” To everyone’s surprise, Hodgkins thawed. “Oh dear, what a question. Well, I cannot show you Ocean Orchestra any time soon, it is a state property now, locked in a hangar. I have an access permit for revamps and for training of army pilots on business days only. But… I’ve the old blueprints inside.” Snork nearly vibrated with excitement. “Show me!.. That is, please!” Moominpappa huffed, but Moominmamma gently steered him and Moomintroll aside. “Those two are lost to the world now. Let’s call it a day and go sleep on the Adventure,” she murmured. “No sense crowding poor Muddler and Fuzzy, or eating up their meagre stock. And we have plans to make.” Under the slender crescent moon, they walked back through the quiet lanes, past glowing windows, then into the hushed countryside. Snork had stayed at Hodgkins’ place, refusing to meddle into any criminal matters (and clearly too excited about all the blueprints promised). Tomorrow, they would divide: Moominpappa to the trial, to find out the truth about Joxter’s crimes, Moomintroll and Little My to find and warn Snufkin, and Moominmamma to seek audience with the mysterious Aunt Squared. What if that Aunt was also kind deep down, and could influence her graduates and alleviate Joxter’s fate? As they reached the boat, Moomintroll paused, staring at the dark water. What if Snufkin knew? The thought was colder than the night air. He nearly jumped when something brushed against his leg. But it was just Little My. “Do you think Snufkin could…?” he asked the unseen horizon. “Nah,” a smug reply came, “he’s a softie just like you. And a fool just like you. Now go to sleep, I need someone warm to lie on.”