May Bird and the Ever After (25 page)

“You sleep here?”

“This is my real home. Any knave worth his salt has a house for show and a hidden one where he lives and sleeps. Keeps me from getting sent to South Place in the middle of the night.”

“But if everybody murders one another here, how are there still enough people to fill the town?”

“Ah, knaves are a dime a dozen. There're always new ones coming in. Did you see this golden apple?”

John held up the shiny fruit.

“Can I have it?” Pumpkin asked. May and John both turned to see he was wearing a tiara, a veil, and holding out his hand for the apple.

“Gimme that!” John shouted, swiping the tiara and veil from Pumpkin's head and putting it all back in his pile. He dug some more.

“What do you do with all this stuff?” May asked. John looked confused. “Well, I
have
it.” “Oh.”

“Ah, here it is. You won't find many of these in the realm anymore.”

It was a long robe with a hood. John swirled it around May's shoulders.

“It looks great on you. See?” May surveyed herself and gasped. Her skin had become transparent.

“Death shroud. It's only a lender, mind you, and don't get it into yer head that you might keep it. There're a few floating around, with almost all the Live Ones being gone and executed by now.” May swallowed and John looked at her apologetically. “Sorry. Anyhow, they've been outlawed of course. So it's a real nice collector's item. Who would have thought there'd be a Live One around again to use it,” he said with pride.

“Wow,” May breathed.

“It'll get you into Ether undetected. 'Course, if anybody looks closely, they'll be able to tell you're alive. You looking so healthy and still using your feet to get around. But most new spirits take a while to learn to float anyway. And most spirits don't pay much attention to much of anything but themselves. The sniffing phantoms are a different story, though. Frightful careful, they are, about who they let into the city, and it's a frightful penalty for trying to trick 'em. We'll get you nice and fragrant before we go in, don't worry.”

John indicated the stairs, and they all went back up. When he had closed the treasure chest, they walked outside.

“John—um, Mr. Jibber, what do you know about Evil Bo Cleevil?”

John's face descended into a deep frown. To cover it, he scratched an ear, pinched at it, and pulled a centipede off.

“Back when I was newly deceased, me and my pals down in Nine Knaves Grotto had the run of the realm. We lived high on the hog in the city then, gambling all night, drinking all day, robbing whatever we could, and the pickings were easy. Plenty of trips into the desert, plenty down south to the pretty seaside towns. Stole everything we could get our hands on.” John smiled sadly, his three teeth glinting in the light of the fire. “Good times they were. . . .

“We saw a Live One like you from time to time, missy, and I was pals with a couple of 'em. We heard stories of stirrings in the northern parts, stories of spirits going up there and never coming back. We didn't believe 'em.

“But then I saw the Bogey. We were out riding horses—that was before all the animals got gathered up. And me and my mate Cyril—a Live One, by the way—see this little storm moving across the sand. And then we see the dogs. Poor Cyril, he loved dogs, so he started riding toward them. And then they got closer, and I could see, and I think Cyril saw too, that those dogs meant business—and that there was somebody with 'em.”

John paused.

“Well, knaves are no fools, and we kicked our horses into high gallop, but it was too late. Poor Cyril tripped up his mare, and the last I saw him he was lying there on the sand, and then the Bogey was upon him, and then . . .”

“And then?” Pumpkin pressed, his eyes huge.

John was staring into the distance, as if he didn't see either of them anymore. “The Bogeyman has these horrible fingers, with little saucers at the end. He put the fingers on Cyril. And then Cyril was sucked up into them, an inch at a time. Sucked . . . into
nothingness.” He shook his head. “And we'd thought South Place was the worst that could happen to us.”

May and Pumpkin were quiet.

“Anyhow, maybe I noticed it more after that, but everything started changing. All the animals started disappearing. We could see how it was going. Spirits were going out on raids and they weren't coming back. The city started crawling with creatures from South Place, though how they got up here is anyone's guess.

“So we built the grotto. And all is well again. A little more dangerous when we go out on raids, don't get to go on them as much, but still, we are protected.”

“You're not scared the Bogey may find you here?”

“As long as I'm in the grotto I don't fear the Bogey. Once we leave, I'll fear him greatly, I will. We won't run into him, though, trust me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I plan on keeping my spirit.” John's eyes grew dark and glinty, and his jaw stiffened. The look of mirth disappeared from his face. “An' if we did run into him, to keep our spirits . . . Well, lass, it would take a miracle.”

Talk had begun to rise in the south of a living cat with high pointy ears and no fur. Most did not believe it.

In Sour Sands 2 miles south of the majestic Weeping River and 3,750 miles west of Nine Knaves Grotto, he was spotted by a tribe of nomads, drinking from a tributary. His eyes immediately began to tear, a side effect of the water that the nomads had long ago gotten used to. When this happened Somber
Kitty's expression changed from a frown of sorrow to one of irritated confusion, before running off.

At the intersection of the Northern Pass Road and South Bend, he was spotted by an enterprising young goblin who was waiting at the crossroads, selling guitar lessons in exchange for Everlasting Soles, his favorite brand of shoe. The goblin, who was never one to let a potential customer—however banished, or unlikely to actually own a pair of shoes—pass him by, spoke to Somber Kitty, assuring him that, indeed, one need not have opposable thumbs to master a musical instrument. Somber Kitty eyed him coolly and darted away.

He had no idea if he was getting closer to May or farther away. Now he looked down the three possible paths that led away from the crossroads, and waited for what his gut might say. But nothing came. Finally, after much deliberation and sniffing and a small sigh, he turned right onto South Bend, toward a strange grouping of triangular buildings in the sand. A new scent drifted to him on the breeze, making his skinny stomach growl.

Moving toward him were a trio of almond-skinned people with long, black, glossy hair and elaborately painted eyelids. They wore white linen sheets and held a heaping bowl of fava beans low to the ground as they called to him softly.

Somber Kitty hadn't seen food, much less eaten any, since he'd arrived in the Ever After. Being a cat and not prone to guess at the cruelties of men, even dead ones, he ran forward. A net appeared from behind one of the figure's backs, and suddenly Somber Kitty was scooped into the air, letting out a long howl.

With exclamations of excitement, the Egyptians said they
would call him Dine Akbar, which meant “big ears.” But Somber Kitty did not speak Egyptian, so he was not insulted. He only spoke cat, and in a soft plaintive voice he spoke it now: “Meow? Mew? Meay?” And then he was carried away.

T
he whole town of Nine Knaves Grotto came out to see I the three travelers off.

Guillotined Gwenneth took hold of May's hand and shook it heartily, holding her other hand to her head to keep it in place. “Yer a nice little girl. If you don't perish in the Edifice, which ye surely will, please remember dear old Gwenneth to the good old Earth, will ye?” She patted May's hip affectionately.

“Good luck,” someone else shouted from the back of the crowd. “You'll need it with the Jibber leading you!”

May climbed down off the edge of the boardwalk onto the rowboat that was docked there, following John the Jibber, who sat on the middle bench in front of the oars. The back of the rowboat bore a painted message:
PROPERTY OF TUNNEL OF HORROR, PIT OF DESPAIR AMUSEMENT PARK
.

Pumpkin hovered on the edge of the dock, looking unsure.

“What if the boat sinks or we get splashed?”

“We don't have a choice. Come on, Pumpkin,” May urged.

“Hurry up or we'll leave ye behind,” John added.

May reached out her hand, and Pumpkin took it, making a face
at John, then turning to May. “I don't see why he gets to be boss.”

John had a pair of rubber gloves in his hands. He blew into one, then the other.

“Why'd you do that?” May asked.

“Heh? What'd ye say? Yer so quiet I can hardly hear ye.”

May repeated herself, this time more loudly.

“The gloves are protecting ye from the water that might be on the oars, but tricky knaves are always putting holes in 'em, so tiny ye can't see 'em.”

He watched the glove in his hand to see if it would deflate.

“Looks like I got a good pair this time.” He paused for a minute. “I don't suppose yer skinny-armed friend would be any good at rowing?”

Pumpkin crossed his arms around his knees, which he pulled up in front of his face, and looked at May. “Will you tell him that I'm an excellent rower, but I just don't feel like it right now?”

May put her thumbs to her temples. It was going to be a long ride.

Once he had the gloves on, after a lot of mumbling about Pumpkin under his breath, John leaned into the oars. Pumpkin and May watched the crowd on the pier of the grotto shrink into the distance. A few seconds later they passed a red buoy bobbing in the water. To May's surprise, two men—as skinny as John the Jibber and as ugly—were standing on it, hugging tight to the buoy and watching them.

“Seen anything interesting, Chippy?” John asked.

“No sir, Mr. Jibber. I say, do you think they'll be coming to get us anytime soon?”

“I wouldn't hold yer breath, mateys. Could be another couple
years or so. Just ye mind to sound the alarms if ye see any intruders.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once they were out of earshot, John rolled his eyes at May. “They were caught trying to murder the mayor. He takes that stuff seriously. So now they're on watch out here. There's nobody willing to do it. Personally I think it's a bit harsh, as the mayor's certainly murdered his share of folks.” He held his hand up to the side of his mouth. “Poor fellas. Must be boring as anything.”

And then they were alone on the sea, just listening to the lapping of the oars against the water and the waves against the cliffs.

John rowed for several hours until the cliffs seemed to shrink from massive to just huge, then huge to large, until finally they'd settled into rocky, rolling hills alongside the shore.

After hours of snoring, Pumpkin sat up, rubbed the tuft on the top of his head, and spoke. “I wonder what those ghouls are doing now.”

“What ghouls are they?” John asked, perking up.

“We saw them, back at the beach,” May explained. “That's what forced us into the Catacombs.”

“Ghouls outside the Catacombs!” John looked deeply troubled.

May stammered. “I didn't think to tell you earlier, I just. . .”

John looked stricken.

She swallowed. “Do you think . . . they might be looking for the grotto?”

John nodded once, decidedly. “Ah, I'm almost sure of it. Why else would ghouls be in these parts? There's nothing here but sand and sea and the caves. And I said, Cleevil wants us all wiped out. Ay, the trouble my dear friends are in.”

“We should go back and warn them!”

John's face was grim and as still as a rock. Then he took a deep breath and sank back into the oars.

“Wait. Don't you think we should turn back?” May asked.