Carousel Seas (25 page)
Authors: Sharon Lee
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Dark Fantasy
“Got a contract, paid for. If them cats is smart as Walt Spinney has ’em, they’ll run away an’ hide, now won’t they?”
He whistled, sharp and high.
The leashed dog tensed, his ears pricking.
“Gonna do the job I was paid for,” he said, and rapped out, “Oscar! Find!”
“He has left you,” said a voice that had lately become familiar. “His oath to you was not strong, and he has accepted mine.”
I turned, carefully, and there, indeed, was Cael, standing some eight feet away, the black-spattered dog sitting at his side, the line of his body expressing one long smile. His tail drummed the tarmac twice, and stopped.
“Oscar!” the man said sternly. “Heel!”
The dog raised his head to look adoringly up at Cael, who smiled down at him and said something I almost understood in a guttural tongue I’d never heard before. The dog’s tongue lolled in what might have been a doggy laugh.
“You stealing my dog?” the guy asked menacingly.
“No,” Cael said. He used his chin to point at the muzzled dog. “You would do well to take that one and leave. There is nothing for him, or for you, to hunt here, in the heart of the village.”
The guy jerked on the leash and started forward, the big black-and-tan keeping pace, head low and menacing.
I felt a ripple under my feet; saw the tarmac flow over the guy’s boots and harden. Perforce, he stopped walking, but like he’d chosen to do so—and he cast not one single curious look downward.
Magic-blind, this one; the wyrd just didn’t exist for him.
“You like dogs? How about I send Howie here over to you?”
“If you loose that dog on me, I will have to kill him,” Cael said, as calm as if he was discussing the weather. “His oath is strong, and it does him credit. I would not like to kill him. Be warned, and go.”
“Stupid flatlander.” One smooth move removed the muzzle and the leash. The dog sat where he had been, and the sense of menace grew stronger.
“Last chance,” Robins said. “Gimme back my dog and go.”
“No.”
“Howie. Take him!”
The dog went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat, launching himself with a snarl. Cael leapt to meet him, caught him by the throat—and held on.
The dog roared, back feet scrabbling, lips peeled back from wicked teeth, inches from Cael’s face—and Cael held him, apparently without effort, looking directly into the dog’s eyes, his face growing sadder as the dog’s efforts faltered, and the big body slumped. He took the weight of it down to the ground, kneeling, his hands still on the massive throat, easing the body down until it was lying on its side, and then it was over: a shuddering breath, and nothing more.
Robins yelled, snatched at his gun, and brought it up. I heard the snap when he took the safety off and there was no time to think it through.
I flung my will out like a whip, even as I felt the Words rise to my lips.
“To me.”
Robins squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
“What the hell—?”
“It’s not loaded,” I heard someone say, belatedly recognizing the voice as mine.
I lifted my left hand, and watched with interest as I slowly opened the curled fingers, to reveal—
Six bullets.
Damn, Kate.
Jim Robins stared at the bullets, more in disbelief than awe, snapped the gun open, and checked the chamber.
I saw a very faint quiver of unease pass over his face before he holstered the piece, and looked beyond me, his shoulders sagging.
Cael was still kneeling beside the dead dog. He stroked the big square head, ran his hands down the still body, speaking in that language I could almost hear. Finally, he rose, his face wet with tears, and faced the man held in Frenchy’s thrall.
“You are a very cruel man, Jim Robins,” he said, and his voice was not quite steady. “You are not worthy of dogs, and they will know that now.” He took a breath, and I saw the briefest flicker of power crackle ’round him.
“Dogs are your enemies now. All dogs, everywhere.”
Behind him, the obedient black-spattered hound growled where he sat. His former owner started, and stared beyond Cael.
“Oscar?” He took—he tried to take—a step forward, but Frenchy’s binding held.
The growl increased. Cael turned his head slightly and spoke; the dog quieted, and Cael looked back to Robins.
“You should leave now. Go where there are no dogs.”
“I’m not going without Oscar.”
“Would you end it now and here? But, no. He has a large heart, and regarded you well. I will not require your death of him.” Cael leaned forward and I felt the power building, like a static charge that released in a single word.
“Go!”
Robins jumped. Frenchy pulled the land’s grip away so fast that he staggered and almost fell as he ran for the truck. He scrambled the door open, climbed inside; the engine started with a roar.
He peeled rubber, getting out of the lot.
Cael turned away, back to the body of the big dog, knelt, and murmured. Oscar, apparently freed from the command that had held him quiet during the excitement, trotted over, nuzzled his former pack mate, then licked Cael’s cheek.
“He died a noble death,” Cael said, “in service of his oath.” He raised his head and looked to me, his hand fondling Oscar’s ear.
“This death, you understand, it was necessary because he could not deny his oath. He served that man; he loved him. There was no other way.”
“Cael.” I knelt on the other side of the dog—Howie. Cael raised his eyes to mine.
“That last bit—about all dogs being his enemies, now. Was that just for dramatic effect?”
“No, my—Kate. It was a true curse.” Frenchy made a funny noise in her throat. I didn’t blame her.
“That means he won’t live out the day.”
Cael said nothing.
“Ain’t murder if a dog turns on ’im,” Frenchy pointed out. She knelt next to me.
“Cael?”
He looked at her; she held out her hand.
“I’m Frenchy, Guardian of this piece of land here, Camp Ellis, and everything in and on it. I’m pleased to meet you, and I want to thank you for your service to my land.”
He took her hand and bowed his head over it.
“I am pleased to meet you, Frenchy, and pleased to be of service.”
“That’s fine. Now, I’m wondering about Howie. Best if he ain’t here, if the cops I called show up, or if Robins comes back with his own. I can let the land take him, right here, unless there’s some other little thing you’d like done.”
“You are kind. Yes, let the land have what remains. His spirit runs already with the Great Hunt.”
“Right you are.”
The tarmac under Howie’s body softened and sank. We watched as the big dog slowly disappeared below the surface, until he was gone, and the tarmac hardened again over the place.
“It is done,” said Cael, and took a breath.
“Cael,” I said, “there’s a problem with that curse.”
He looked at me. “It is a strong curse, Kate; it will not fail.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. See, if a dog kills that man, the law in this land says the dog will be put down. Killed. I don’t know if you want that outcome.”
There was a longish silence.
“This is a cruel world,” Cael said finally.
“Not the world, but, sometimes, the men of it. In this case, the operating force is ignorance. There’s very little
jikinap
in this world, and almost no Ozali. The village peacekeepers wouldn’t be able to detect the presence of the curse. They’d assume the dog had gone bad—that it was a ‘man-killer’—and must be prevented from killing again.”
“I will not have any dog suffer for that man.”
“Maybe we can do something else. But this curse that you’ve laid on him—can you call it back?”
He rubbed Oscar’s head, and the hound sighed in doggy ecstasy.
“I cannot call it back.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at the blameless section of asphalt where Howie’s body had been. “I can set . . . a blessing upon him, however.”
Frenchy snorted.
“A blessing?” I asked. “What will that do, exactly?”
He smiled.
“My blessing will hold him from harm. No dog will be able to savage him. But they will fear him, and hate him. They will cringe away from him and they will not heed him.”
I bit my lip . . .
“That’s fair,” Frenchy said. “Them dogs was Jim Robins’ living—his handling of them, is what I’m sayin’. If he don’t have the dogs, he don’t have a job.” She paused. “Other thing is, he’s not well-liked, himself. Mostly tolerated ’cause the dogs got results.”
I nodded and looked to Cael.
“Do it.”
He closed his eyes briefly. I felt a flicker, like heat lightning. Cael opened his eyes.
“It is done.”
“Thank you.”
“And now we need to—”
“Wait,” said Frenchy, staring over Cael’s shoulder. “Here comes somebody.”
I looked, and here, indeed, came Old Mister, escorted by—
My fluffy, ridiculous cat.
I came to my feet, as did Frenchy. Cael rose and spoke a word to Oscar, who sat, leaning happily against his leg.
Old Mister paused before Cael, looking up at him with a measuring stare. Breccia continued on, stropping against his ankle, and then weaving ’round mine.
I bent down and picked her up.
“How in God’s name did you
get
here?” I demanded, and abruptly recalled the night that Borgan and the cat and I had unpacked and studied Prince Aesgyr’s shortcut. Borgan had asked if he could make a copy, and I had told him sure, and then told the cat that she could make a copy, too.
Gotta watch that, Kate.
“It was the duty of my station,” Cael was saying, apparently to Old Mister. “I am master of hounds. That I could serve you is my pleasure, but, if you will take my advice, you must look to better protections for your folk.” He tipped his head as if listening. “For that, you must apply to your own Guardian. If she does not have the way of it, perhaps my liege will teach her.”
“Sounds like we’re in for some work,” Frenchy muttered.
“If it’ll keep the cats safe, it’s worth it, right?” I asked, bending down to pick Breccia up and tuck her over my shoulder.
“Right you are.”
“Then, if you got a second right now, we can step into your shed and I’ll share with you—and Old Mister, too—a working that’ll let you move from here to there without going in between.”
“Sounds too damn’ useful not to have in hand,” Frenchy said. She jerked her head toward the shed. “Best get it done now, though; lot’ll start fillin’ up soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TUESDAY, JULY 11
There’s one thing to be said for getting up at four o’clock in the morning: you can sure get a lot done before the workday starts. On the other hand, if you’ve been that busy, you do need to have a second breakfast.
We were just sitting down to fresh coffee—courtesy of Cael—and grilled sharp cheese with strawberry jam sandwiches, which was what occurred to me as a good idea.
The dog sniffed at the cat food, sneezed, and had a drink from what had, until now, been
the cat’s bowl
.
“We’re going to have to get him some dog food,” I said, looking in the fridge. “There’s nothing here that I’d be comfortable feeding him—leftover fried chicken is right out.”
“Yes,” Cael said, carrying mugs to the table. “After we are done here, I will take him out to hunt.”
I closed the fridge and looked at him.
“Maybe you’d better ask what he’s used to eating on a regular basis.”
“That is well thought,” Cael said, and turned to address Oscar.
I went back to the stove and flipped the sandwiches. The cheese was nice and melty and the bread was deeply golden brown. Perfect. I slid them off the griddle and onto plates.
“Food’s up.”
Cael took the plates away, and carried them to the table. I made sure the burner was off, followed him—and kept going, prompted by the land.
I pulled the door open just as Artie’s finger hit the bell. He blinked at me in clear consternation, apparently having forgotten what he was going to say.
“Hey, Artie.”
“Kate.” He swallowed and held up a manila envelope. “You got a Cael Wolfe living here?”
“Just until he finds his own place,” I said, eying the envelope with trepidation.
“This just come in,” Artie said, interrupting my thoughts, “
express
, Kate. Ain’t nothin’ comes in express.”
“Well . . .” I started, but Artie was cruising on.
“All his papers’re in here. Born outta the country—place called Sri Lanka—so we got those records, and the ones saying he’s a naturalized citizen; got a passport, licenses, Social Security card.” He thrust the envelope at me; I grabbed it before it hit my nose.
“You want to meet him?” I asked, and before he could answer, I called over my shoulder. “Cael? There’s somebody here you should know.”
He arrived silently, Oscar at his knee. I stepped back, so Artie could get a good look.
“Cael, this is Artie; he holds service to the entity called the Enterprise, up the hill. Artie, this is Cael the Wolf, Master of Hounds.”
Artie blinked.
“How’s he
trenvay
?” he demanded, then shook his head and looked at Cael. “Sorry. Ain’t often a new
trenvay
rises, but it’s no reason to lose my manners. Pleased to meetcha.” He held out a hand.
Cael met it and they shook.
“I am pleased to meet you, Artie. As to how I am
trenvay
, when I gave my oath to my lady, the land accepted me, through her.”
Artie’s eyes narrowed.
“So you really
ain’t
from around here.”
“I am, now, from around here,” Cael said, and nodded at the envelope in my hand. “My thanks, for delivering my certifications to my lady. They will also say, for those others, that I am now from around here, is that so?”
“That’s so, brother.”
“Then all is well.”
“Anything else we can do for you today, Artie?” I asked.
“Naw; gotta get back up to the Enterprise. I don’t like to leave it so early, but I figured with an
express
. Well, like the man says, everything’s fine. Good day to the both of you—and Kate, you let me know when I can pick that rooster up.”
“Just as soon as the new horse is in, I’ll give you a call.”
“Right, then.”
He bent at the waist in what he might’ve intended to be a bow, and went down the stairs, his steps heavy. I closed the door, and handed the envelope to Cael.
“Something for you to study. Did you get a wallet, yesterday?”
He tucked the envelope under his arm. “Yes. Your lady grandmother said that I would need one, soon, and to keep it with my extra clothes.”
“Everybody’s prescient but me,” I complained and sat down to address my cooling sandwich.
* * *
Oscar had apparently confessed to Cael a partiality for Iams dog food, so we walked down to Ahz’s Market to take care of that detail.
Early though it still was, the sidewalks were starting to fill up with tourists. A family group towing a wagon full of beach stuff created a temporary traffic jam until they pulled over to the inside of the walk, so those in more of a hurry—or less burdened—could stream by them. Lots of people had their dogs with them, all respectably leashed. I looked worriedly at Oscar, who was
not
leashed, ambling along unconcernedly at Cael’s knee, despite the noise and the darting children, and of course the provocation of other dogs.
Which escalated unexpectedly as we crossed Fountain Circle.
First a beagle barked. A shih tzu whirled around and began pulling against its leash. A brown shorthaired dog did the same. A German shepherd gave a puppylike yip, ears on alert. And a poodle started in our direction, dragging its hapless owner behind it.
Cael froze, his hand dropping first to Oscar’s head, then slipping fingers under his collar.
Right
, I thought,
the downside to being master of hounds
. I reached for the land, without any clear idea about how I was going to divert the oncoming wave of dogs, when, abruptly—they just stopped. A few shook their heads as if they’d heard an annoying noise. The beagle and the brown dog stuck their noses in the air, as if questing after a scent. The German shepherd’s ears drooped slightly, and the poodle allowed itself to be called to heel.
Beside me, Cael sighed, very quietly.
“How long can you hold that?” I asked.
“As long as needed, but Oscar will be distressed, that I am diminished.”
“Well, with all these dogs around, maybe we ought to consider getting him a—”
“Hey, buddy!”
A summer cop pulled his bike alongside us, and put out a foot to brace it. He was looking at Cael.
Cael turned to look at the cop.
“Yes?”
“You gotta have that dog on a leash.”
“He is on a leash,” Cael said promptly.
“Don’t get funny. He looks like a nice dog, but you don’t want him to get into an argument with a German shepherd, do you? Or a car? So, obey the rules and put him on a leash.”
“He is on a leash,” Cael repeated, softly. “Look again.”
“I—” The cop leaned forward, then settled back, breathing an embarrassed laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re right, he is leashed. I gotta remember to get my eyes checked. All right, then. Sorry to have bothered you folks.”
“Let us go,” Cael said. “Will Ahz’s Market also have a leash?”
“If not a leash, then a length of rope, for sure.”
* * *
Ahz’s did have leashes on offer; I bought one and took it to Cael, who was waiting outside with Oscar. He snapped it onto Oscar’s collar before hunkering down and draping an arm over the dog’s neck.
I went back inside the market, to take on dog food, and a couple of dog bowls. Breccia hadn’t seemed to mind sharing her water with Oscar, but why tempt fate? By the time I came out again, Cael was reading the community bulletin board on the outside wall, Oscar’s leash held negligently in one hand.
“Any good bake sales coming up?” I asked.
He turned and took the bag from me, tucking it easily into the crook of his arm.
“There is a bake sale coming up on Saturday, July eight,” he told me.
“Missed that one. Today’s Tuesday, July eleventh.”
“I will need to learn the calendar,” Cael said. “And—very many other things.”
“You will, but you’re a quick study.”
“How will I know what I need to learn?”
“Trial and error, I’m guessing. The best thing is to bear in mind that this place isn’t anything like Sempeki. We do a lot by hand and sweat of brow.”
“Because there is little
jikinap
and few Ozali,” he said, repeating what I’d told him this morning.
“That’s right.”
“Then that is why there is a need for an ‘Animal Control Officer, must have good rapport with a wide range of animals, good communication skills, and task oriented.’ The Houses here do not control their own animals?”
“There aren’t any Houses here,” I said, leaning in to look at the board. “You looking for a job?”
“I would like to be of use,” he said. “I would like to be
of service
. You have taken my oath, and this land has also taken my oath.” There was a small pause. “I have been idle, I think, for a very long time.”
“I think so, too.” I tore the ad off the board and tucked it into my pocket. No harm in calling and seeing what they wanted in the way of references and such.
“Let’s go home.”
These waters held happy memories, as beguiling as dreams and might-have-beens.
She recalled her first waking in the palace of living coral, astonishment and delight filling her heart. She rose naked from her couch, and looked out over the gardens, the kelp waving in the currents, and schools of fishes, dainty and bright as flowers, dancing among the moving fronds.
A pale green cephalopod had entered her chamber while her attention was thus engaged, and drew her away to dress her in the blue and green and white robes of her office, to braid her hair with coral and shell, and lead her to the main hall.
There she had first met them, her demons. In dream-memory, she loved them at once, but she remembered, in some portion of her mind uncaught by the pool’s enchantment, that she had in truth been a little afraid of them, upon that first meeting.
That had been before she fully knew what had befallen her; that the sea she had defied for the love of her brothers and father—that the sea had taken her and created from her a goddess.
It had been a savage sea: its love won by boldness and cruelty, or by acts of doomed courage. She remembered the sea’s savagery, how it had borne her along; how she had delighted in smashing and destroying.
She remembered, also, the day she had risen atop the waves to smite a fishing boat, anticipating the heady pleasure that would come from its destruction. She raised her hand . . .
. . . and one of the boys in the boat raised his eyes.
. . . raised his eyes,
saw her
. . .
. . . and did not look away.
For a long time, they contemplated each other, the goddess and the doomed boy. An eternity, perhaps, though such things matter not to a goddess—before she lowered her hands, and calmed the waves, commanding the currents to bear the little boat to its home port, only sinking below the waters herself when she had seen them safe on the rocky landing, with wives and sisters throwing themselves upon their necks with loud cries of joy.
From that moment forward, she had resisted the sea’s baser nature, and over time it became—not gentle, never sweet, like the Borgan’s noble waters, but . . . less thirsty for blood and desirous of mayhem.
And her demons, she came to love them, and they her. She took them both to her bed, for was she not a goddess? They were fearsome, but to her they became beautiful, and if she loved the ebon demon for his laugh, did she not love the white demon equally well, for his skill upon the harp?
But, hold! Did she not hear the white demon’s harp? Notes rose from the deeps to bear her up in these new waters, while the arms of the ebon demon came ’round her waist.
She sighed, and surrendered herself to their skill and her desires, their ardor warming even these frigid waters.