Quite Contrary (30 page)

ell, that had been a giant waste of time.

Time had moved on, too. The sky had turned black. Only the full moon hanging low over the house across the yard showed me it wasn’t overcast. Just dark.

It hit me. “I’m tired. I’m exhausted. Come on, you two. I don’t know how much a gold coin is worth here, but I bet it’ll buy me a night in a real bed.”

They weren’t stupid enough to argue. We walked back up the alley onto the street, and I looked around. Hotels would be on streets with shops, right? Or inns, or something?

I headed for the lights. The occasional lamp post left this street peacefully dim, but I only had to look over the tops of the buildings to see which way the colors glowed. Anyway, I’d seen things in this town I wouldn’t want to meet on an abandoned back street. The bundled up figure sitting against a mailbox way down the road qualified. It might not have been moving towards me, but it was way too tall to be human. I went in the opposite direction, and took the first turn back into bright lights, and a second turn onto a street crowded with freaks and weirdos. Me, Scarecrow, and Rat fit in perfectly. More jazzy music came from up the street, so I went that way instead of down. A couple of blocks later, I hit an intersection like an open-air party.

These buildings were big. Mostly wide rather than tall, although they averaged about three stories. They should have been rich people’s houses, but they all seemed to be selling something instead. People—using the word generously—laughed, they drank, they walked hand in hand, they made out in corners or in the middle of the lanes, and they danced to musicians who’d set up at the side of the road.

I took Scarecrow’s wrist before she wandered off into that, and walked down the sidewalk, looking at the buildings. Quite a few of them rewarded the look, if only because they were heavy on huge bay windows, short towers, second and third floor balconies, and lots of wooden trim. We passed a bar—of course—and then a huge dance hall, and then a skinny clothing store. I hurried past a blacksmith’s shop, and slowed down to look at a display of music players and computer pads in the next window.

I’d rather a nice bed for the night. Barely. Anyway, I couldn’t charge it and I didn’t know where I’d get music for it. I’d been fantastically lucky that my old player had been second hand and had old songs from before I was born on it. It’d taken me months of hiding change to buy a used CD of Les Miserables and another week to sneak onto a school computer to copy it.

And now, I was getting mopey. Forget that. I dragged Scarecrow forward so hard she stumbled and nearly fell off her feet. She laughed and said, “My turn!” and bolted forward, trying to drag me. She did a pretty good job of it. Being made of wood made her strong, but I knew how to dig in and I kept us to a completely undignified walking pace.

Rat climbed up higher onto my shoulder. Hard to miss rat claws on bare skin. “Miss Mary, I think Scarecrow’s following a will-o-the-wisp,” he whispered.

Huh. He was right. Several yards down, a pale white ball floated ahead of us over the heads of the crowd, and Scarecrow stared right at it.

I gave her a hard yank to pull us to a halt. “I think this is a hotel.” It looked like a restaurant and bar, with an open door and people eating and drinking inside, but two upper floors showed more lit windows. The sign over the door read ‘The Sergeant At Waterloo.’

Standing at the door got someone’s attention. A wiry middle aged guy with a red silk shirt missing buttons walked up to me and declared, “Such a fine young lady, and her servant and her pet, no doubt? What brings you to my humble, but honest establishment?”

“Not a thing,” I snapped, spun around fast, and walked across the street. I gave Scarecrow a good yank, too. I wanted to get out of sight and lost in the crowds fast enough that he forgot he saw me. He’d been so fake, I couldn’t believe anyone fell for it. I wouldn’t have slept in a room in his hotel if I could lock and barricade the door and had a gun.

Following that reasoning through, I pointed straight ahead. “I bet we can get a room for the night here.”

“Uh,” Rat mumbled. His dismay was cute.

I couldn’t possibly have missed that the converted mansion in front of us had been converted into a brothel. I hadn’t missed that at all. I pulled Scarecrow up the front steps and through the open double doors. It was a pretty nice place, for a not nice place. Lots of gold paint and red velvet furnishings, everything fancy, even pretty, and just a little too gaudy to be tasteful, but also worn. That also described the girls pretty well. A couple of them weren’t even wearing enough to be dressed immodestly, but whatever. That wasn’t my problem. Even the big blonde and the little blonde, who had no customers and stared right at me, didn’t look angry or unhappy. Their lives didn’t suck so badly that they were bitter and mean about it, and that told me what I personally needed to know.

It made me kind of mad that the girl in the maid costume at the front desk might not be old enough for high school, but I could barely deal with my own problems right now. Her “Uh,” could have been a perfect twin for Rat’s, but a much older woman stepped up in front of her. She could have been the voodoo witch’s sister.

“I want a room and a girl for the night, without the girl,” I told the old lady. Sticking my arm between the layers of my top, I pulled out the coin and slapped it down on the counter top.

“Why would you come here for that?” the madam asked. Yeah, she and the witch could be twinsies. Backbone straight as a ruler, a guarded but not angry stare, no accent and every word sharp.

“Because whatever a girl is in this place, she’s not a target,” I answered.

Made of steel, this lady. “Why would I rent you a room?” she asked.

“Because you save the cost of the girl?” I shot back.

Behind me, someone squealed, “She kin talk! Dat’s so cute!”

The little blonde had both of Scarecrow’s hands, pulling her out into the middle of the room. It seemed like every unaccompanied girl in the building descended like pigeons to coo over her. I couldn’t make out what any of them said over the babble until the Asian girl dropped a hat on Scarecrow’s head and the little blonde crowed, “You gotta trah on mah gloves!” Her accent made me want to beat my head against the desk.

“It seems the decision’s been made for me,” the old woman said. She picked up my gold coin and turned it from side to side, then added, “You’ll get your change in the morning. Fabre—”

The too young girl in the maid costume was with the rest of them trying to tie a corset onto a laughing Scarecrow. How they thought anything might fit was beyond me. Scarecrow was half their size.

The old woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, slipped one off, and held it out to me. “220, at the end on the second floor. You’re free to lock yourself in as you please. Pardon me while I extricate your companion.”

“She doesn’t sleep, so she might as well have fun,” I said as she rounded the desk. The madam didn’t show any sign she heard me, but I wasn’t worried about it. Mostly I was tired. I trudged up the carpeted steps, checked which way the numbers ran, and walked all the way down the hall to 220.

The room wasn’t locked. It was as gaudy as anything downstairs, but not big. It had a bathroom. With a shower. Oh, thank you.

I dropped Rat onto the bed and untied the hood and cape. I’d figured he was shell shocked, but instead he said in a careful tone, “It would have turned out alright. Pain and sacrifice would have made her real.”

“We’ll find a way that doesn’t involve pain and sacrifice. Maybe it’ll take a while. I don’t care.”

“Being alive hurts. There’s no way around it,” he said.

“That doesn’t make it right to torture her,” I replied. At least one of us should have been mad, but it didn’t seem to be happening. It took most of my effort to undo the laces in my bodice. I’d forgotten how idiotic this Red Riding Hood costume was.

“You would have been willing to go through it yourself.”

“If I don’t protect other people better than I protect myself, I’m doing a lousy job. Sacrifice is only something you make yourself do,” I answered. I pushed my shoes off my feet. There. Naked. I cut off further argument by stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. Not because I wanted to stop talking about it, but because I wanted the shower.

The water was wonderfully hot. Much later, shriveled like a prune, I staggered out, found my underwear, and collapsed onto the bed. Did beds get this soft? Apparently they did. I sank way down into the mattress, Rat crawled up onto my chest, and I turned off like a light.

I hadn’t actually turned the lights off, as I found out when I woke up. Rat had gone right to sleep, curled up on my chest so tightly I couldn’t spot head or tail or anything. He looked like a lump of brown fuzz. When I lifted him off my chest and laid him on his back on the bed, four little legs stuck up in the air, but he remained asleep. It wasn’t dawn yet, but I’d gone to bed awfully early if I really thought about it. I felt awake now. Wide awake.

I pulled a big hunk of cheese and a bottle of root beer out of my satchel, threw on my dress and shoes, and wandered out onto the balcony to eat. What a beautiful night. The glass doors had shut out the noise of the street, and up here on the second floor, it was surprisingly muffled anyway. Whatever the hour was, the street was still busy. I’d never been to New Orleans, but of course I’d heard about beads and Mardi Gras and all. Maybe this was what New Orleans had lost, this twenty-four hour, year-round party. The rest of the city had been garish, but not like this one. My eyes wandered over the crowd, down to the corner, and I stared hard at a sign until I finally made out the name. Bourbon Street.

I looked up at the sky. The moon had switched sides, but it still hung there, huge, white and round. There’s a moon over Bourbon Street tonight. Being stuck with a second hand out of date music collection might just have saved my life.

I swallowed the cheese and downed the whole root beer in one long series of swallows. These might be seconds I didn’t have, but it was good stuff with a lot of fizz and I just couldn’t waste it. Then, I tied the cape and hood on as fast as I could, slung the satchel onto my shoulder, grabbed Rat off the bed and shoved him into it. As he squeaked desperately, I snapped, “The Wolf is coming. He’s not coming, he’s here. We’re getting out of here before he decides to come in after us.”

I bounded down the stairs, threw the key onto the desk, and yelled at Fabrette, “Is there a back door out of here?”

“It’s through the kitchen!” Scarecrow answered, hopping out of a chair by the fireplace.

Oh, cripes, they’d dressed her in a red skirt a lot like mine, except even tartier.

I didn’t have time to worry about it. I grabbed her outstretched hand. “We run. Now.” Then, I did just that.

The kitchen was big, and people were cooking, and it smelled great but I didn’t have time for any of that. I ran through it to the little door and ducked out into another alley.

“Waterfront,” I snapped at Rat. He poked his nose out of the satchel, turned it around in a few directions, and pointed. Scarecrow and I ran that way.

What would be safest? Did it matter? We hit a main street, and I slowed down and walked along it. I struggled to walk, to try and blend in with this otherworldly crowd. My Wolf could be anywhere. Every step took me farther from Bourbon Street, and I had to hope he was still back there, watching the brothel. He’d get some kind of sick thrill from thinking I was in there, I knew that. Maybe it would hypnotize him, and he’d be slow to notice I’d snuck out.