Carousel Sun (20 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

High Tide 4:36
P.M.

Sunset 8:25
P.M.
EDT

Gray clouds were starting to gather as I climbed Heath Hill, and the Wood itself looked darker than was strictly necessary.

Up on the height, Joe Nemeier’s house sat in its own pool of sunlight; the abode of a righteous man, picked out by God’s spotlight.

Or not.

I stepped into the Wood, took a deep breath, tasting pine, and announced myself: “It’s Kate.”

Welcome, Kate
, came the reply. A path opened at my feet.

My mother was standing in the center of the clearing when I emerged, a thin woman in a short green shift, brown hair curling loose to her bare shoulders. Her long naked feet were half-hidden in the soft grass.

“Katie,” she said, and walked forward, hands outstretched. “What’s wrong?”

I slipped my hands into hers, and felt my power stir. My mother was of interest—I focused on her, and drew in my breath.

My mother was of interest because she was an empty vessel.

“Katie?”

Nessa Pepperidge was a child of the Changing Land. That meant she had
voysin
and a soul as part of the standard package.
Jikinap
. . . she had been a member of Aeronymous’ household; patriarch that he was, he insisted that all of his people were capable of defending themselves. That meant, if she hadn’t possessed sufficient resources for self-defense when she arrived in the Land of the Flowers as Prince Nathan’s wife, she would have been given the means.

“Katie?” my mother said again. Her fingers pressed mine and I felt my power stir more strongly.

“I was looking for Gran,” I said, slipping my hands free with a smile. “I’ve got a question about Goosefare Brook.”

My mother shook her head.

“She’s in-tree,” she said, moving her head a little to indicate which tree, as if I wouldn’t know. “She’s—I’m afraid she took more harm than she’d admit, crossing over to rescue me.” She smiled slightly. “It was very brave, but not at all necessary.”

“Not necessary?” I repeated, looking at her, wraith-thin and powerless. “You were—she must have thought that you were dying.”

“She did—she told me that much. Ramendysis . . . Well. We all know what Ramendysis was.”

Some of us—like the woman whose soul he had taken for his own—more than others.

“But the fact of the matter is that, by the time he came to Mother with his bargain, I was . . . on the mend. The plants in our formal gardens remembered me kindly, and they each gave a little of themselves so that I would grow and . . . prosper. Yes, Ramendysis knew where I was, and he could have uprooted me. But time—the disparity of time between the Worlds was working against him. That, and his own power. He might
easily
have given some of it away . . . but he was so terribly afraid.”

I stared at her, remembering Ramendysis the last time I’d seen him—triumphant, certain of victory, disdainful of those weaker than he.

And, yet . . . the man had held her soul. She would know him . . . as well as she knew herself.

“It might have been better for everybody,” I managed, “if he’d found other ways to handle his fear.”

Mother laughed.

“There’s no arguing with that. But, Katie, lacking Mother, is there anything I can do for you?”

“A couple things, actually. I have it from a heeterskyte who has it from a nighthawk that there’s something on the Beach that doesn’t belong. Apparently a door opened up here, on the hill, a few nights back. The heeterskyte thought it might be something of Gran’s working, but his friend the nighthawk said he was up this way when the deal came down.
He
said he heard someone crying, after.”

“It was nothing of ours, obviously,” Mother said. “I’m scraped dry and Mother’s hardly any better. Father . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t think Father would bring something across the Walls.” The look she gave me was ’way too earnest.

“Unless it was of the utmost importance,” I agreed, dryly.

“Well, of course; you couldn’t expect him to leave a princess in peril. But, no; if there was a disturbance here on the hill, it can probably be laid at the feet of our good neighbor.”

“That,” I confessed, sending a glance toward the house I couldn’t see for the trees, “is what worries me. If he’s got another Ozali on the hook . . .”

It was then that the penny dropped, and I swung my eyes back to her.

Mother raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Gran says the trees will protect you, and they will, I know. But with Gran in-tree and you . . . not yet up to speed, I’d feel better if you had a little something in the arsenal. I’ve got plenty of
jikinap
, and I will very happily make you a gift.”

My mother shook her head.

“I appreciate your concern, Katie, but I don’t dare.”

“You handled
jikinap
at—in Grandfather’s house,” I pointed out. She’d had a mean way with a spell, too.

“Yes, but then I had a robust soul, and a strong body. Right now, I have neither. You know as well as I do, that the power will fill any void, and seal any fracture.”

She was right. I bowed my head.

“I wish there was something,” I said. “I hate the two of you being . . .”

“I know,” she said.

I looked up. “At least I can reinforce the fireproofing.” Mr. Ignat’ had guided me through that spell, and it still hung over the Wood. It could probably use a little more juice—but Mother was shaking her head again.

“If what you suspect is true—that our neighbor has another Ozali in his employ—then we’re better not to tempt them with more power. Your net is so subtle, and uses so little power, that it’s barely noticeable.”

It was also twisty and inwoven with traps. An Ozali might dismantle it, with care, but he wasn’t just going to snack it down in one bite—not without getting a really nasty case of indigestion.

“We’ll be fine, Katie,” my mother said, and smiled at me. “Really.”

I didn’t like it, but her objections were reasonable, and I couldn’t think of anything else to . . .

“Father sleeps here every night,” Mother continued, her smile deepening. “Not that the night is all that long during the Season. His winged friend graciously gives us his company during the times he’s away, so you see we’re not entirely without security.”

“Right,” I said. “If you can think of anything I can do—”

“I’ll call,” she promised. “Did you want me to ask Mother your question?”

I considered that, then shook my head. “There’s somebody else I can ask. If I draw a blank there, I’ll be back.”

“All right,” she said, and opened her arms. “Give me a hug.”

It started to drizzle just as I hit the corner of Dube Street. I ran to the top of the street, clattered up the stairs, and let myself into the house.

By the time I’d had a quick shower and washed down a Swiss cheese sandwich on rye with a big glass of orange juice, the drizzle had turned into a downpour. Not the sort of weather to entice epic crowds to the amusement park, though the arcade ought to make out fine. And you never knew. People did occasionally pull on their slickers and brave the damp.

After all, rain did, eventually, stop.

It was a little early when I donned my own slicker and headed back downtown, but there was somebody I wanted to see before I relieved Vassily at the carousel.

The midway was effectively deserted, though there were two hardy pleasure-seekers at the baseball toss. As I watched, the little kid in his miniature Red Sox jacket and matching cap reached up over his head to put a quarter on the counter.

The operator whisked the coin away and replaced it with three regulation hardballs.

“Want a boost?” The man who asked was either a much older brother or a very young dad, wearing an identical, if larger, jacket-and-hat ensemble.

The boy nodded. “Yes. Please.”

“Okay, then, champ, here we go.”

The bigger guy—I was going for dad, myself—hoisted him up and held him tight around his hips.

“Okay?”

“Yes!”

“Then show me what you can do!”

The kid picked up his first ball, weighed it in his hands, snapped forward and threw.

It bounced off the backboard and disappeared noisily into the depths of the booth. The game agent, wisely, did not immediately pursue, but stayed tucked into the far corner.

The second ball hit the rim of the center basket, and fell away.

“One more, champ,” the kid’s dad said. “Make it count.”

The boy drew a deep breath. He brought the ball up in both hands. He squinted at the basket—and threw!

The ball hit the rim, teetered . . .

In the dim back corner, the agent shifted, very slightly.

The ball fell into the basket.

“The young man is a winner!” The agent announced loudly enough to be heard across the almost-empty midway.

“I won!” the kid yelled.

“I knew you could do it!” his dad didn’t quite yell. “Good job!”

“For the winner!” The agent reached under the counter and came up with a stuffed baseball bat approximately as tall as the boy, who took it with a grin, and hugged it close.

“Thank you!” he said.

The agent’s smile was broad, to go with the Maine accent.

“Your skill did it, deah. Got the ahm of a pro!”

The kid grinned and hugged his bat.

“Thanks,” the dad said to the operator. “Okay, champ, hang onto the prize. And down we go!”

He set the kid on his feet and offered a hand.

“Now what would you like to do?”

“Ice cream!” the kid said, and his dad laughed.

“Coulda guessed.” He gave me and the game agent an all-inclusive grin as the kid dragged him down the midway to the sign of the lighted ice cream cone.

When they were out of earshot, the agent came forward to lean elbows on the counter.

“Guardian.”

“Kate,” I corrected.

Felsic nodded slightly. “Kate.”

“I’ve got a quick question, if now’s a good time.”

“Best time all day, so far,” Felsic said.

“Good. I just wondered if you know anybody living hard by the Dummy Railroad bridge.”

Felsic frowned, and nudged the gimme hat up a centimeter.

“Let me think.”

“Dummy railroad?” demanded a familiar voice from behind me. “What the hell’s a dummy railroad?”

I turned around to grin at Peggy, who was wearing a safety green slicker that must’ve belonged to Jens—the hem hit her slightly below the knee and the sleeves completely engulfed her hands.

“Have a little respect,” I told her. “It’s history.”

“So tell me,” she said, pushing the hood away from her face. It immediately fell forward again. “If you don’t, you don’t know what I’m likely to imagine.”

“Actually, I have a pretty good idea. But, see, back in the Eighties—that’s the
Eighteen
-Eighties, when Archers Beach was
the
place to come on your summer vacation, there was a branch line of the Boston and Maine put in directly to serve Archers Beach, Ocean Park, and Camp Ellis—that’s way down Saco, on the point. Some smart fella dubbed it the Dummy Railroad ’cause it made the return trip from Camp Ellis with the engine pushing the train, it allegedly not being smart enough to turn around.”

Peggy had another go at pushing her hood back. This time it perched uneasily on her pink hair for a second before falling over her face.

“So why
didn’t
it turn around?” she asked, slightly muffled.

“You ever been to Camp Ellis? Then as now there’s no room to build a turntable, or to lay a turnaround track. The train
had
to go backward, or not go at all.”

“Only, it doesn’t still run?”

“Nope, closed down in the Twenties, I think—the
Nineteen
-Twenties, just to be clear. The track’s long gone, but you can still see the trestle, where it went over Goosefare Brook. It’s a local landmark.”

“Oh.” Peggy pushed the hood back again, and held it in place with one hand. She looked at Felsic, who looked back at her from the shadow of the gimme hat.

“I was going to ask if you thought we should close,” she said, when Felsic continued to say a lot of nothing. “Call it an impromptu poll.”

Felsic shrugged. “Rain’ll clear out soon. I don’t mind waitin’.”

“So noted,” Peggy said, and gave me a nod. “See you later, Kate.”

“Have a good evening.” I stepped aside to let her go by, then looked to Felsic. A head shake was my answer.

“I’m not bringing anybody to mind. I’ll ask around. Somethin’ we need to know about?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, slowly. “There seems to be something . . . peculiar going on with the marsh beach, and I wanted to talk to somebody familiar with the area, compare notes.”

A slow nod. “I’ll ask around,” Felsic said again.

“Thanks,” I said, pulling the hood of my slicker up nearer my face. “’Preciate it.”

“Pleased to help, Guar—Kate. Stay dry, now.”

“You do the same.”

Ka-Pow! was doing a healthy business, to judge by the sounds of gunfire, revving motors, and screams that echoed over Fountain Circle as I left the midway.

Fun Country, on the other hand, was deserted. Baxter Avenue looked downright unwelcoming. The gray air leached the bright colors from Summer’s Wheel, reworking it in monochrome. Brand was nowhere to be seen; probably taking shelter in the utility shed.