Carousel Seas (14 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SATURDAY, JULY 8

HIGH TIDE 9:33
A.M.
EDT

SUNRISE 5:08
A.M.

“Sisters,” she said to the goblins, “I would observe your enemy, the Borgan.”

The goblin Daphne looked grave.

“He’s very dangerous,” she said.

“If there’s more you need to know,” the goblin Olida added, “we’d be pleased to tell you, just ask. There’s no need for you to endanger yourself when everything we have is at your service.”

Now that, she thought, was very true, though she doubted the goblin meant it in the way it was heard. Goblins were not a truthful race, and these were too ignorant to fear her. Still, they were useful to her, so she set herself to persuade them.

“Your care for me does you credit,” she said, “but see how it is, that all of your observations of the Borgan have not been sufficient to allow you to prevail. You held him, subdued and bound, and still he was able to elude you. He makes a mock of you, the first-made! It is not, as you say, to be borne. I would see you returned to your rightful place, but I think, sisters—I do most sincerely think—that this Borgan must bear some charm, or hold some other magic that he has made invisible to you, but which may be perfectly observable to one who is your guest in these waters. Only take me to him.”

There was a small silence before Olida spoke.

“A geas is on us, so we’re not able to come near him. We can’t guide you or guard you.”

A geas? If it had been placed by the Borgan, then he was formidable, indeed. Goblins were . . . difficult to bind.

“He dared to lay a geas upon you?” she demanded, allowing anger to be seen. “Sisters, this Borgan dares too much!”

“No,” said Daphne savagely, “that was Nerazi.”

“Who is Nerazi?” she asked.

“Seal Woman,” said Olida. “Borgan’s ally.”

This became very interesting, and what a tangled net the poor goblins sought to weave! Clearly, they had not thought beyond the time when all of their enemies were vanquished—or perhaps they planned to dispose of her, once she had done their work for them. That went beyond impertinence, into treachery. Her temper warmed—but she did not allow it to be seen, nor did she act upon it. The goblins were, for the moment, useful to her. Indeed, they were essential to
her
plans.

“It becomes urgent,” she said to the goblins, “that I observe this Borgan. If you are forbidden to go near him, then another guide must be found. If there is no one who will dare it, then I will ask you to take me as near as you might, and I will go forward alone. Also,” she said, slowly, “it might be well for me to observe this Nerazi.”

In order to learn whether Nerazi, too, would need to be put aside, or if she would yield to a greater power, she thought, but she did not say this to the goblins. It would be best, if as many as possible of this lovely sea’s creatures and processes were left undisturbed.

The goblins had traded a glance, from which she gathered that they feared Nerazi nearly as much as they loathed the Borgan.

“Let that float for now,” she said, soothingly. “First, I must, myself, see this Borgan. How will it be done?”

The goblins were seen to sigh, then Daphne said, with something less than grace, “We’ll find you a guide.”

I woke to the sound of an engine revving, and to the realization that there was something damp stuck inside my ear.

“Hey,” I said, reaching up to rub the afflicted body part.

My fingers found fur; the engine noise stuttered, and a weight I hadn’t noticed on my head shifted slightly, possibly in protest.

Right
, I thought,
I have a cat now
.

Not only did I have a cat, but apparently I had a cat who liked to sleep on my head.

“Sorry,” I said. “The last cat I knew intimately was too big to sleep on my pillow. He slept beside me or on my chest.”

Actually, he’d slept from my chest to my knees. Bowie’d been a
big
cat, and I’d been a smallish kid.

“I’m not complaining, understand,” I said. “I’m just out of practice.”

The weight on my head shifted and there was some activity that disturbed the peace of the pillow, followed by a brush of fur along my cheek. Then a white and orange face filled my vision while the cat seated herself on the bed by my left elbow.

Amber eyes seemed slightly puzzled, and I raised my right arm and offered a forefinger to her.

She gave it a polite bump, and settled back.

“So,” I said, “it seems to be working out all right on my side. I hope it’s working out on yours, but if it’s not, you just let it be known. Also, you should know that it’s usually plenty quiet around here; fun parties like we had last night are rare. Borgan and I have been trading off every other night, so, unless I hear different, I’ll be spending tonight on
Gray Lady
.”

I frowned slightly.

“Might be
too
quiet for your taste.”

The cat blinked—either an acknowledgment or a smile; I didn’t know her well enough yet to call it.

“So, let’s keep the lines of communication open, right?”

Another blink, which I took for “right.”

“Super. Now, I’m going to go downstairs and start the coffee brewing.”

The cat rose to all four feet, stretched daintily, and jumped over my legs, hitting the floor with an authoritative thump. I could see the flag of her tail as she headed for the door.

I threw back the bedclothes and followed.

* * *

An hour later, after a quick shower and breakfast with the cat, I was on my way up Archer Avenue, heading first for Wishes Art Gallery. I’d volunteered to take the news of the midway’s sale and Fun Country’s imminent demise to the on-the-hill members of Archers Beach Twelve to Twelve, and “get their thoughts.” Jess had thought there’d be value in paying personal calls, rather than just phoning. I tended to agree with her, even though it wasn’t necessarily the best timing in the world, being, as it was, High Season, and customers coming first.

I’d hoped my early start would at least solve the customer problem, a hope that crashed and burned as I walked through the open front door into Wishes. The place was crowded with customers. Each painting and photograph had at least two people admiring it, and the 3D stuff had even more. I slipped through the crowd, heading for the counter at the back of the shop with no real expectation of finding the owner at liberty.

My expectation was wrong.

Joan Anderson was standing behind the counter, overlooking the crowd, with her hands in the pockets of her jeans. She smiled and nodded when she saw me.

“Kate—welcome! What brings you all the way to the top of the hill?”

“News, and a pop quiz.” I turned my head slightly to indicate the masses behind me. “Don’t want to take you from your customers, though.”

“They’re not customers until they want to buy something,” she said. “Or at least until they have a question. Come on around.”

I stepped behind the counter and looked out over the shop. A teen couple, holding hands, paused on the threshold to gaze up and around with wide eyes, matching grins of delight growing on their faces.

“How’s it going?” I asked Joan.

“We still have more lookers than buyers,” she said comfortably. “But we do have buyers. I’m pleased with progress.” She gave me a half-smile. “Is that what you came to ask me?”

“No, actually. I came to tell you that Fun Country has sold the midway and is closing the park at the end of this Season.”

Her mouth tightened, but she didn’t say anything. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, I guess.

“The question is kind of a double whammy,” I said. “One: What do you think about the news, and two: Can you think of anyplace in town that the rides can relocate to? If you think that having an amusement park is a draw?”

“Of course it’s a draw,” Joan said promptly. “As to what I think about the news, I see some tender ears out there in the crowd, so if you don’t mind, I’ll limit myself to saying I think these decisions by Park Management are very shortsighted. Big parcels in town . . .” She shrugged. “The only one that springs to mind is the empty lot where the Lonely Loon used to be—but that was sold for condos, wasn’t it?”

“There’s a rumor the deal fell through, but even if—the parcel’s not big enough. I guess we could split the kiddie rides out from the adult, but . . .”

A clash of metal, followed by a prolonged silvery tinkle, gave me pause.

“But,” Joan said, stepping into the breach, “the rides ought to stay together, for synergy, and what’s going to happen to the games?” She sighed sharply. “How much are they asking for the property the park’s on now?”

“Henry’s looking into it.”

She nodded, then stepped up to the counter as the teen couple came forward, the girl holding a beaded bracket from which were suspended six silver butter knives and three silver spoons. The utensils chimed sweetly against each other as she walked.

“We’d like to buy this, please,” the boy said.

“Certainly,” Joan said, reaching under the counter and pulling out some sheets of tissue paper. “These are real silver, you know.”

“Yes,” the girl whispered, handing over her prize with visible reluctance. “Is there a special way I should treat them?”

I touched Joan lightly on the shoulder.

“I’ll be going,” I murmured. “Thanks.”

She looked up, her hands still busy with tissue and knives. “Will there be a meeting?” she asked.

“Should there be?”

“I’ll call Jess. Thanks, Kate.”

“Sure.”

I gave the kids a smile, slipped around the counter, and headed out to make call number two of the morning.

* * *

By the time I’d worked my way down to the bottom of the hill, it was clear that Twelve to Twelve members were horrified by, as Joan had it, Management’s short-sighted decisions. The prevailing opinion was that the town should buy the land and lease it to an operator-owned corporation. Running a close second was the idea that the operators should buy the land.

The idea of a leaseback was intriguing, though I wasn’t sure how reasonable it was to suppose that the town would be party to such a thing—or that it had sufficient money in its operating budget. Another job for Henry, I thought, turning right into the pass-through between Ronnie’s ice cream stand and Lisa’s Pizza.

It was in my mind to go up to Heath Hill, check in with family, and get a little relief from what was turning into another scorching hot day. Archer Avenue was choked with the cars of day-trippers coming in for Saturday at the beach, and I reminded myself that this was a
good
thing.

The pass-through gave onto the alley next to Daddy’s, and the courtyard where he and Lisa kept their Dumpsters, maybe not the sweetest smelling shortcut for a hot—

“Stop that!” a voice screamed. It was followed immediately by a hollow
boom
, like somebody had just thrown the Dumpster lid back, and shouts of laughter.

Gaby!

I didn’t need the land’s confirmation; I recognized her voice. Gaby was one of the more timid of the
trenvay
, utterly harmless, and almost completely defenseless. Which of course made her a prime target for bullying assholes.

I tore around the corner into the courtyard, the land snarling like a wolf, ready to attack; to protect Gaby no matter the cost.

There came another
boom
, followed this time by a yell.

I stopped, and stared. Cans and bottles littered the concrete, rolling free, and making for treacherous footing. At the far end of the courtyard, back to the wall, was Gaby—a small, thin figure in gimme hat and khakis. And coming at her fast was a guy twice her height and maybe three times her mass. He reached—and he was air-borne, hitting the Dumpster’s metal side about halfway up, the boom reverberating off the walls and the other Dumpsters, and fell to the concrete next to another guy, who was shaking his head in a dazed sort of way.

“Get outta here!” Gaby screamed.

I could see her shaking from where I stood, and the land fed me the taste of her rage—and something else; something like a racing, ravenous wind. It puzzled me—and then I had it—Gaby was calling on all the power of her service, to protect her.