Authors: Sharon Lee
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Dark Fantasy
Carousel Seas (10 page)
“Good morning, Kate,” she said, in her usual cool, emotionless voice. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“In fact, I think you can,” I said, and told her what Vassily had told me.
“So, I’ll be opening the carousel today—that’s covered,” I finished up. “But Samuil seemed to think there was some paperwork I needed to fill out with you here. Also, I’d like to make sure the kid gets his supper.”
Marilyn had moved the ledger and was staring down at a list stuck into the corner of her blotter.
“He knows better than that,” she muttered.
I tipped my head.
“Who, Vassily?”
“No, Pete—” She pressed her lips tightly together. “Vassily’s other employer.” She got up, paced over to the file cabinet on the back wall, and pulled open a drawer.
“There is paperwork; it was good of Samuil to remind you.”
I took the form she handed me, and moved over to the ticket counting table to fill it in. Marilyn returned to her ledger and for a few minutes we worked in silence, each at our separate task.
I was just finishing up the reason for Vassily’s possible tardiness, coming down heavily on the fact that the kid was blameless, when a high, wavering whistle pierced the air.
I jumped slightly in my chair.
Marilyn sighed the sigh of the unjustly put-upon, muttered, “Stupid fax,” not quite under her breath, and got up to retrieve it from the machine sitting on top of the file cabinet.
I went back to my form, adding another sentence to make it perfectly clear that Vassily’s morning employer was ’way outta line, signed it, dated it—and realized that I hadn’t heard Marilyn move since she’d gotten up to fetch the fax.
She was standing, half turned toward the desk, staring down at the page in her hand; her face was rigid and just as white as that sheet of paper.
I got up slowly, and walked to the desk, putting my report in the middle of her ledger page.
Marilyn still hadn’t moved.
“Bad news?” I asked, keeping my voice low and easy.
She jerked slightly, as if I’d startled her, raised dazed eyes to my face, and held the sheet out to me, wordlessly.
I glanced down at the page: Management’s letterhead, with the stylized funhouse clown . . .
Please be advised that Fun Country, Archers Beach, Maine, has been put up for sale. We have received several inquiries from developers of ocean-front properties, and will be making a decision within the next few months. We are committed to keeping the park open through the end of the current Season. Ride operators will be sent instructions for removing their equipment before Labor Day. We will, of course, assist in an orderly shutdown-and-vacate process.
I swallowed, hard, suddenly regretting the grilled blueberry muffin, and the coffee I had for breakfast.
They’re selling the land.
I read it again, just in case I’d been mistaken, then looked up at Marilyn, who was standing behind the desk, staring down at the ledger, her hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly, her knuckles looked like ice.
“Can I make a copy of this?” I asked.
She raised a hand, let it drop.
Right, then.
The photocopier was under the windows. On consideration, I made two copies, folded them and stuck them in my back pocket, and put the original next to the form, on top of the ledger book.
“You okay, Marilyn?” I asked, feeling none too well myself.
She looked at me, her eyes dark, her face tense and lined.
“Yeah,” I said, when she didn’t say or do anything else. “It’s a shock. I’ll leave you to work, but, before I do—Vassily gets his supper today, whether he makes the shift at the carousel or not, right? Since it’s not his fault?”
Marilyn blinked.
“Of course,” she said, her voice perfectly flat. “Good morning, Kate.”
“Good morning,” I said, and fled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THURSDAY, JULY 6
LOW TIDE 1:32
P.M.
EDT
“Development companies,” Jess looked up from her perusal of the letter. “They’re gonna make this all into condos.”
“Sounds like that’s the plan,” I agreed. I had one foot braced on the bottom rail of the safety fence, and my arms crossed on the top. I wasn’t feeling anything like good, truth told, and I supposed that Jess felt as sick as I did.
“Well, fuck ’em,” she said, and I looked up into a face animated by righteous wrath. “Just . . .
fuck
’em, that’s all.” She took a hard breath. “I’m callin’ an emergency meeting of the Fun Country subcommittee tonight after the park closes. Gotta check a couple things, then I’ll be callin’ everybody. Can you come to a meetin’ tonight, Kate?”
“Sure.”
“All right, then.” Jess took a hard breath and pulled her phone out of the wallet clipped to her belt. “Sorry. Gotta get as much of this settled as I can before the crowds hit.”
“You got it. Talk to you later.”
She was already dialing, and raised her free hand without looking up. I eased off the rail and headed up Baxter Avenue, toward the carousel.
But when I got there, my feet kept moving, taking me on a leisurely stroll across Fountain Circle, dancing around tourists with their attendant dogs, toddlers, and strollers.
The dance continued up the midway, ’til I reached The Last Mango. There was a tall, thin woman at the juicer, whipping up something frothy and purple. To my eyes, she had green hair in dreads, a dark brown face that looked like it had, indeed, been carved from wood, and long, thin fingers with extra joints.
“Good morning, Ethrane,” I said, when the noise stopped.
“Good morning, Kate,” she answered. Her voice was soft and rich, like peat.
“Is Peggy in the office?”
“She is, but I imagine she’ll be out in—”
Right on cue, Peggy stepped through the door in the back wall. Seeing me, she paused, nodded, held up a finger, and went to Ethrane’s side.
“Lookin’ good,” she said, cheerfully. “You have a taste, yet?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Well, pour us both a dab into some sample cups and we’ll compare impressions. You want a sip, Kate?”
“Not just this second, thanks.”
“Your loss.”
Ethrane offered her a little Dixie cup, and poured a healthy slug of purple smoothie into another cup for herself. Peggy held her cup up; after a moment Ethrane copied the motion; they tapped—“To success!” Peggy said, which sounded slightly . . . strained . . . to me—and the two of them drank.
“Well,” Peggy said, lowering her cup. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s very pleasant.”
“Me, too,” Peggy said. “You’re a natural, Ethrane. You’re hired, if you want the job.”
“Felsic said there would be papers,” the
trenvay
said. “I . . . have little to do with papers, or with writing.”
“Can you sign your name?”
Ethrane tipped her head, as if considering this closely.
“Yes,” she said eventually.
“Good. What we’re going to do is go into the back; you’ll answer the questions I read you off the form, I’ll fill in the blanks, you’ll sign your name, and it’s a done deal. That work for you?”
“Yes.” She smiled. Her teeth were like sharpened stakes. Peggy didn’t seem to notice.
“Excellent. You go in back and make yourself comfortable at the table. Kate needs to talk to me for a minute, then we’ll do this thing.”
“Yes,” Ethrane said again, and slipped between Peggy and the juicer, disappearing through the door into the back office.
I pulled the second copy of the letter out of my pocket and held it out to her.
She sighed, took it, unfolded it with a flick of her wrist and ran her eye down the page.
“How pissed are you?” she asked, without looking up.
“At Arbitrary and Cruel? Plenty. At you, if that’s the question, not at all. If you knew, which I guess you did, you’re an employee, and something along the lines of a sale would’ve been confidential.”
Peggy refolded the letter and handed it back to me. Her eyes were shining suspiciously, and she cleared her throat.
“You’re too understanding, Archer.”
“Software engineer, remember? Dotcom startups had the craziest NDAs
ever
.”
“Well, I didn’t have to sign a nondisclosure agreement. It’s company policy, though: What’s confidential in Jersey is
confidential
.”
“Understood. I do have a question, and if you can’t answer it, just say so.”
“Shoot.”
“Is the midway up for sale, too?”
Peggy shook her head, her mouth twisting.
“Nah,” she said, the bluesy rasp of her voice edged with bitterness. “The midway was sold before it opened this year; new owner’s taking possession on September fifth. And, because I like and admire you, I’ll give you a freebie: it’s condos.”
* * *
Jess Robald called at 12:30. I was busy passing hopeful riders in through the gate to the carousel and let it go to voice mail. Once the ride was moving, I grabbed it, and learned that there would be a meeting of the Fun Country subcommittee at Tony Lee’s, after the park closed tonight. Please come if I could, Jess said; she expected the meeting to be short, but very important.
There wasn’t enough room in Tony Lee’s for all the members of the subcommittee, though it made sense in terms of location. We could spill out into the service alley if we had to, and I could make sure nobody saw us, if
I
had to.
Vassily called about three with the news that the combined efforts of Samuil and Dan Poirier had barely been sufficient to pry him loose from his other employer’s clutches. However, they had all eventually agreed that, even if another worker called in sick, Vassily was not to be prevented from doing his shift at the carousel. Indeed, Katrina was at present working with the invalid and Samuil would be checking in with both of them. If it happened that the sickness lingered, Samuil would work tomorrow’s shift himself.
“So, you see, I will work tomorrow. I can work now, if . . .”
“Nope, you worked enough today, even if you didn’t work for me. You get your supper from Anna, just like every day. After that, you go ahead and do whatever you usually do after your shift here.”
“I walk on the beach, and then I go to sleep.”
“Sounds perfect, do that.”
* * *
The line petered out right around three-thirty—ride popularity moves in waves during the day, depending on a whole bunch of things: the weather, other events happening in town, how cold the beer is, and foot traffic.
The carousel being situated, as it is, by the entrance gate, our traffic went down when there were more people inside the park than were coming in. Around five, we’d start to get play from the people leaving the park to get dinner; then around eight, we’d get another big influx of people who wanted to ride all the rides before closing time.
Tides, that was all, though not exactly like the ocean.
Thinking about the ocean made me smile, and also reminded me that I’d better call Borgan and tell him I was committed to a meeting.
I dialed, got his voice mail, left a message suggesting that we meet in Fountain Circle after the meeting, say eleven o’clock, and snapped the phone shut.
The land whimpered.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and turned, pulling
jikinap
to my fingertips . . .
Nancy Vois is a wiry, tough woman; an ace mechanic who used to ride with one of the local motorcycle clubs—she hadn’t told me which one, but my private guess was the Saracens.
She’s also a shapeshifter. Her other form is a calico cat every bit as wiry and tough as the woman herself.
I’d seen Nancy, in cat form, take on a unicorn, and it hadn’t been too much for her.
Today, though, it looked like she might’ve found something that was.
She limped up to the operator’s station and sat herself down on the stool, breathing a little hard before raising her head, and pushing the gimme hat back so I could see it all.
It was something to see: shiner, swollen cheek, cuts on the knuckles of the hand she’d used to push back the cap, and that limp hadn’t been faked. Worse, she’d probably been doing her best not to limp at all.
I leaned back against the safety rail and crossed my arms over my chest.
“What’s the other guy look like?”
Nancy gave me a grim smile.
“Gonna need a tetanus shot, for sure. Maybe couple stitches.”
“Sounds like you gave a good accounting. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
She shrugged, grimaced, and shifted on the stool.
“I’ve got friends down the Camp, is all, so I figured to go see how it was going with the negotiations between the townies an’ . . .”
She paused, cut hands flexing, as if she were grasping for a word.
Or a phrase.
“The nice gentleman from Away?” I suggested.
“Hah. That’s him. Well, long story short, somebody’d laid poison around near where the cats are known to be. Old Mister, he’d found the treat by the lean-to an’ took steps there. Time I come by, he’d already sent out a buncha the older heads to find was there more, and deal with whatever they found. I shifted and put myself on the committee.”
She sighed.
“Ain’t making it much shorter, am I?”
“Take your time. You want me to get you a coffee or a soda?”
“I’m okay—really not much more to tell.
“Happens I come across one of the cats—a younger who’d found another stash of poison. She was peeing and covering and I figured she didn’t need my help when it turned out she did.
“Guy—not the man himself; one of the locals who sides with ’im—comes out ’round the boat shed, sees what she’s about, grabs a hammer up outta the tool-catch and starts walking up real quiet. The little queen, she’s concentratin’; she don’t hear ’im . . .” She threw me a twisted grin.
“Well, you can see I couldn’t let that pass. So, him an’ me, we had a discussion. He dropped the hammer right quick. I got my licks in an’ he got some in, too. Then the little queen, she wrapped herself ’round his ankle, all claws out, and bitin’, too. He yelled, dropped me and the two of us ran like hell and hid ’til Old Mister come to find us and give me the all-clear.”
“That? Sounds a lot more strenuous than my morning. You want to go home and sleep it off?”
Nancy looked sheepish.
“Don’t mean to impose, but if I go home this way, Ma’ll start in with me ’bout brawling.” She smiled, wrylike. “She’d be right, too. Woman my age oughta know better.” She paused. “So, if you could patch me up, Kate, I’d appreciate it.”
I might’ve blinked. Nancy had never called upon me as Guardian, or even seemed to know I was anything other than a little odd in ways that most people weren’t.
Kind of like shape-changing.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be glad to do the honors. Give me your hand.”
She held her right out. I sandwiched it between my palms and asked the land for healing.
I felt it pass through me, green and vital. I heard Nancy sigh, and released her.
“Thanks.”
“No problem at all. You going home and show your mother a clean face?”
“Hell, no; I’m good to work, now. Didn’t you just fix me up?”
“Nancy—”
“There’s just one more thing, before you go,” she said, overriding me easily.
I eyed her. “What’s that?”
“Word’s out you’re looking to take on a cat.”
“I am. Who do you have in mind?”
Nancy gave me an earnest look from ale-colored eyes.
“See, that little queen down to the Camp—the one almost got herself hammered? She’s got real distinctive markings, and she needs to get outta there. If they find her in the open, she’s a dead cat.”
“I see the problem. Is she civilized, or will I need to rig out a witness-protection box near the house?”
“She’s nice as you please. Young, but got a good head on ’er. Old Mister, he holds ’er high.”
“Does he? Well, that’s quite a recommendation. Send her along for an interview.” I paused, considering the distance between Camp Ellis and Archers Beach. “Or should I go to her?”
“We’ll get ’er to you.”
“Deal. What’s her name?”
“Not mine to say.”
Of course not
, I thought.
Honestly, Kate, where are your manners?
“If we got all that settled, I’ll be going home,” I said. “After I tell you the other big news of the day.”
“What’s that?” Nancy asked, sliding to her feet and leaning over to pull out the ticket-catch.
“Fun Country Management’s selling the park.”
Nancy raised her head to look into my face.
“Fuck.”
“Pretty much, yeah.” I sighed. “Midway’s already been sold. The new owner’s picking up the keys right after Labor Day. They’re looking to put up condos.”
“’Course they are. Ain’t one damn’ thing the seaside’s good for ’cept to make more places for rich people from Away to spend two weeks of their summers.
Damn
it.” She took a quick breath. “It’s all gonna change, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. It’s what we do here.”