Hazel Haven 3: Of Tourists & Fugitives

By Clark Nielsen

With Heather and her friends split apart again, and the enemies they've made still on the loose, there's no slowdown in action and adventure that spans multiple islands and ship battles. In their attempts to regroup, the characters are blackmailed, kidnapped, stranded, and ambushed by everyone from monstrous criminals to gun-toting maniacs. And it is through these final tribulations that Heather's resolve is truly tested.

Of Tourists & Fugitives is the third book in the Hazel Haven trilogy. The series is a labor of love that combines the quirky characters and over-the-top fights of Japanese anime with a Western sense of humor and pacing. Inspired by stories like One Piece and Ranma 1/2, this lighthearted tale of islands, monsters, pirates, and castaways is a fun read for all ages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clark Nielsen
• Release date: Jan 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310809903

Clark Nielsen

Clark Nielsen is an American-born author, teacher, and web/game developer who's been writing stories since he was six years old. On the non-fiction side, his influences include David Sedaris and Bill Bryson. But when he's writing sci-fi or fantasy, he turns to Jack Vance and Eiichiro Oda.

Book preview

HAZEL HAVEN 3

Of Tourists & Fugitives

by

Clark Nielsen

Copyright 2015 Clark Nielsen

Cover illustration by CelineYJS

Smashwords Edition

PART 1

Heather puts her glasses back on and bites her lip, trying not to cry. The young, blue-haired woman, standing on the piers of Wargorton Island, looks off across the ocean wistfully. Her friends’ ship is only a speck now on the horizon. As the wind picks up, Heather shudders and puts her hands in her pockets. She’s wearing a brand new pair of gray slacks and a pink shirt, but the newness of her outfit fails to offset her sadness.

Standing next to her is Kocha, the slave master. This tough, stern, darker-skinned man wears red pants, a green hardhat with spools of ribbon fastened on top, and a yellow life jacket over his otherwise bare chest. His stubbly face is scratched and scarred, and two nails stick out of his left shoulder. But though his demeanor is hardened, he looks sympathetically at Heather.

Finally, Kocha says, I thought you didn’t even like your mother. Why’d you send her with your friends instead of you?

I don’t know, Heather replies. Was that the right choice?

Kocha struggles to answer. After a moment of silence, he stammers, I— I’m sorry you have to stay here, but—

Heather interrupts, I know, I know. It’s your job. It’s the law. Blah, blah, blah. I get it.

Heather…

I’m going to my room. Please don’t bother me.

Heather turns around and heads towards the busy, sprawling city of Wargorton.

Wait! Kocha calls out.

Heather stops and faces him. Kocha holds up a silver-chained bracelet: a slave tag.

I have to put this back on, he says.

Heather grudgingly goes back to him. Kocha fastens the tag tightly around Heather’s wrist, reestablishing her position as a prisoner. Heather storms off again, marching angrily through the city streets until she comes to Kocha’s prison complex. The building is laid out more like a hotel, however, and Heather helps herself inside and walks down the hallways to her room. The door has been left open, so Heather slips inside. The room feels even more drab than before, occupied only by two beds and a broken dresser. The map that Heather’s mother gave her still rests on one of the beds.

Upon seeing the map, Heather grows angrier. She grabs it, crumples it up, and marches into the adjacent bathroom. Heather throws the map into the toilet and tries to flush it. Alas, the map won’t go down. Heather kicks the toilet lever several times, causing the toilet to overflow and water to spill out onto the floor. Heather retreats back into the bedroom, flops down on one of the beds, and cries.

The next morning, Kocha sits at the front desk of his complex, busily sorting through a stack of paperwork. Heather soon shuffles into the room, brushes past the desk, and heads straight for the door to the outside.

Startled to see her, Kocha asks, What are you doing?

I’m going to the factory, Heather says tiredly. That’s where I work, remember?

Yes, obviously, but… how did you get out?

I broke the door again last night. Sorry. I was… kind of mad.

Oh…

Heather is about to leave when she bumps into another man coming in. Heather ignores him and exits. The husky man, Billy, is dressed in a jumpsuit covered in grease and oil. His white, frazzled hair sticks out from under a helmet that looks just like Kocha’s: green with two knobs both streaming separate strands of ribbon. Only Billy’s ribbon is black instead of pink. Billy also holds a pole over his shoulder with a severed, yellow hand tied to and dangling from the end. Billy approaches Kocha and slaps the mutilated hand on the desk. Kocha immediately scowls, not happy to see Billy here.

Check it out! Got me a new hand! Billy boasts.

What’re you doing here, Billy…

I need some more workers. Billy picks up a candy dish that has been sitting on Kocha’s desk and looks at it disapprovingly. "Candy? Man, you really have gotten soft."

While Billy and Kocha talk, Heather works alongside another slave in the large warehouse where the island manufactures its signature three-wheeled motor carts. Without her mother’s help, though, Heather is lost and doesn’t know how to put together the vehicles anymore. She helplessly juggles the different metal parts, passing them to her partner who doesn’t know what to do with them, either.

Eventually, their supervisor approaches and stares glumly at their shoddy craftsmanship. Addressing Heather, he says, Your mother was a lot better at this than you are. In fact, this guy is better at it than you are, and he’s an idiot!

Thanks! Heather’s partner beams, accepting the backhanded compliment.

Hey, I’m doing the best I can, Heather retaliates.

Oh, I saw how you and your mother were. She did all the work, and you sat there and scratched your butt.

Heather’s partner laughs. The supervisor shakes his head, then walks away.

Thanks for the insult, Heather grumbles. "I really appreciate it. Does anyone else have something to say to make me hate my life more?"

I don’t have any toes, her partner chimes in.

That… actually makes me feel better.

Later in the day, the slave master, Kocha, leaves his office to sit on a park bench overlooking a small river. He pulls a strand of pink ribbon from his helmet, rolls it around in his hands, and tosses it into the water. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat several times as he mulls something over in his mind. Exasperated, Kocha stands, exits the park, and walks along the dirt roads connecting the different districts of Wargorton Island. He makes his way to the residential district and soon finds himself standing in Rahla’s home.

Rahla, the overseer of Wargorton, sits behind a desk in his study. The humorless, older man wears a brown button shirt and maroon vest tucked into olive-colored slacks. He looks somberly at Kocha, who’s standing on the other side of the desk, adjusting his life jacket nervously.

All I’m saying, Kocha says, is that her mother worked most of her term and is now paid for. I think it’s only fair to let her go.

Rahla groans as he leans back. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? There’s one right over there. Go. Look. I can wait.

Kocha glances sideways at the mirror on the wall, unsure if he really should peer into it. While he fidgets, Rahla stands.

Let me remind you that you’re ugly and mean, Rahla says, "and that’s why you got this job in the first place. Now I get this from you? Honestly, Kocha, if I hear any more about you getting soft…"

Rahla opens a desk drawer and pulls out a hammer. Kocha tenses at the sight of it. Rahla comes over to Kocha and places the back end of the hammer on one of the nails in Kocha’s arm. He gently tugs on it, and Kocha grimaces in pain.

Don’t take it out, Kocha pleads.

Rahla throws the hammer on the desk and glares at Kocha. Consider this your last warning, then.

Kocha gulps and obediently leaves. Head held low, he drags his feet out of Rahla’s home, through the residential area, and into the markets. In his trance, he passes a vendor selling lamps, candles, and other light fixtures.

When the vendor sees Kocha, she smiles and waves. Hello, Kocha!

Kocha stops and looks at her but doesn’t know what to say.