The Darker Carnival (The Markhat Files) (13 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Gertriss still slept, according to Jerle. She had left instructions to be awakened promptly at three in the afternoon.

By half-past two, Darla and I were halfway across the Brown River Bridge, laughing at the bridge clowns as they capered and dodged. Darla had asked once if Evis was any better. I’d told her I couldn’t honestly tell, and she’d nodded and left it alone.

I started to spill the whole works, but decided not to implicate Darla in the lie. Instead, we drove to Cambrit Street, picked up Cornbread from Mama’s shuttered card and potion shop, and then we did not steer for Middling Lane.

Darla didn’t speak about the fire. We fussed over Cornbread and I had the driver head for the Riverside Estates, because a man should visit his boat at least once before he charges off to do battle with necromancing carnival devils.

Give credit to Darla, Riverside was nice. Not large or fancy—the whole property didn’t occupy quite a city block—but there were fresh-laid cobblestone sidewalks and a garden that would be beautiful in a couple of years and benches and boat-houses and a promising stand of young blood-oak trees.

There was a place for cabs and carriages to pull beneath a roof, so we did. A pair of grinning lads appeared and tended to our ponies. Both boys knew their manners, and not once did I get the impression they were sizing me up to decide where a brick might be best laid across the back of my skull.

From the cab awning to the wharfs was a three-minute stroll. The garden curved artfully along the way. There would be shade beneath the trees, about the time Darla and I were both gray and prone to shuffle.

Four wide cypress wharfs stretched out over the Brown. Slips extended from each, and eight tidy, squat houseboats rode the lazy Brown, bobbing gently in the nearly-still waters.

“We can accommodate sixteen boats,” said Darla, smiling. “We’ve already sold two of the vacant slips. Other boats are being built, and should be mooring next month.”

“What are you charging each boat for rent?” I asked.

She told me. I whistled in heartfelt awe.

“Why am I still working? Hon, that’s—” I did math in my head, feeling my jaw drop as the numbers added up. “That’s more than I make in a year. A good year.”

“Well, we still have to make payments on the lot,” she said. “But even after that, we’re flush.”

I hugged her. She laughed and wriggled out of my embrace. Cornbread danced at our feet, caught up in our happy tones and adding merry little yips of his own.

“Come see
Dasher,
” she said. “I hope you like her.”

“Which one is she?”

Darla laughed. “The biggest one, of course,” she said, pointing. “There.”

I managed to keep walking.

Dasher
was no
Brown River Queen
, but she was no rowboat, either. Paddle-wheels hung from both port and starboard, each amidships, each painted a cheery yellow that shone in the sun. A single white smoke-stack rose up from her deck, as did a two-story house that could well have been plucked from Middling Lane itself.

We had a slate roof. We had windows. A railed porch wrapped around the entire upper story. Her decks extended well beyond our living quarters to the fore, and a good ten feet aft. Something like a patio occupied both spaces, complete with benches and new cedar chairs and even what looked like an outdoor grill.

We both stood on the wharf—our wharf—and took
Dasher
in.

“She burn wood or coal?” I asked.

“Either. In the winter, the boilers can heat us, even if we’re docked. The windows open in the summer. We even have ceiling fans, like the ones at Avalante.”

“Hot water, you said?”

“The water will stay hot for three days without a fire,” said Darla, beaming. “
Dasher
is, and I’m quoting an earnest young engineer, a marvel.”

I nodded. “I didn’t know Avalante was building houseboats.”

“Avalante is building everything,” said Darla. “Or they own the firms that are. Shall we go inside?”

“We shall,” I said, taking her hand. “Cornbread, you are now Chief Executive Dog. Lead the way.”

He barked and scampered ahead, toenails clicking on the fresh-cut cedar.

Darla and I followed, and as simple as that,
Dasher
became home.

We didn’t have any furniture. No clothes, either, or toiletries. Worst of all, there was an icebox, but no ice, and no beer.

Nevertheless, we settled in. Darla has the same eye for rooms she does for clothes. Our upper deck is lined with windows to the fore. We sat on the bare clean plank floor and watched the lazy sun drift across the lazier river and we talked about red rugs and brown couches and the best place to put a small table for Darla’s reading lamp.

Cornbread snoozed between us.

I’d walked on the moon, not many hours before, but it’s our first afternoon aboard
Dasher
I’ll remember to my end.

We let the sun sink low, let the shadows grow long. Then we roused Cornbread and let him piddle into the Brown, an act which seemed to amuse him greatly. Then we locked
Dasher
up tight and roused our driver and started back for Avalante.

“Should we take Cornbread back to Mama’s?” asked Darla. Cornbread rested in her lap, his bright mutt eyes alert.

“Nope. He’s going with us. Someone found our house. If they found Middling Lane, they might find Mama’s.”

“Do you think Avalante will mind?”

“Probably. But they’re too polite to make much of a fuss. If he chews on an ottoman I’ll buy them a new one.”

“You’re planning on going back to the carnival tonight, aren’t you?” asked Darla, after a while.

“You know the plan. Nothing happens until tomorrow evening.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“That’s because I honestly haven’t decided yet,” I replied. “Will I ask Sara and Victor to sneak a peek from a safe distance, and report back with what they see? Yes. We need to know how the carny folk are dealing with their losses, whether they’re pulling up stakes and packing or digging in for a siege.”

“That makes sense. What wouldn’t make sense is you joining them.”

“You’re right about that. I’d only slow them down.”

“You’re agreeing with me,” said Darla. “I find that suspicious. What are you up to?”

What was I up to, indeed?

My next course of action was obvious. I’d dream-walk right into the carnival, just as I had on my last ethereal visit. Of course this time Victor and Sara would also be lurking in the woods, to provide later confirmation that what I saw in my dream-walk was actually taking place.

I’d watch. I knew I couldn’t interfere, couldn’t grow into a giant and wipe the carnival from the land with a single brush of my mighty giant hand, but if I could walk unseen among them, maybe I could find the black tent again, and have some idea of where to go when our assault began in earnest.

“Cat got your tongue?” asked Darla.

“Not at all,” I lied. “Victor and Sara will go. Maybe a few more, if we have any volunteers among Evis’s halfdead pals. But not me. You and I will have our hands full anyway, keeping Gertriss sane.”

Darla gave me the same look Stitches had turned on me when I omitted mention of gobbling up stray Elves.

“So no sneaking out of Avalante after dark? No clandestine boat rides, no hiding under mastodons?”

“I’ll be in bed,” I said. “All night. With a woman.” I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. “There should be room for you too, if you care to join us.”

“Bite him, Cornbread,” she said. The tiny mutt yapped at me with all the menace of a lapel flower.

Well done,
said a tiny voice in the back of my mind.
She suspects nothing
.

I pretended to smile all the way to Avalante’s door.

Gertriss was in the midst of a one-woman rebellion.

She had Jerle trapped in a corner and a perplexed halfdead I didn’t recognize held fast by his elbow. I knew and he knew he could brush her aside as easily as an Ogre can trot through cobwebs, but he merely stood there and regarded Gertriss with the blankest of pale-skinned stares.

“You will take me to him right this instant,” said Gertriss. “Right this damned instant, do you hear me?” She saw Darla and me, and stabbed a finger in Jerle’s face. “Tell him, boss! Tell this
butler
we’re going to see Evis, right now.”

“I can’t do that, Miss Hog,” I said as gently as I could. “We need a moment alone. Let Jerle out of the corner. Him and his friend have sudden urgent business elsewhere. Isn’t that right, sirs?”

“I’ll let go when they show me Evis.”

“You’ll let go right now, Gertriss. I’ve got to tell you some things, and you aren’t going to like them, and you damned well don’t want an audience. You either trust me or you don’t. Which is it?”

The captive halfdead never blinked. The only movement from Jerle was the slow clenching of his fists. I didn’t like that, and I shot him a look, but he shot it right back and then some.

Gertriss let go of the halfdead, took a step back from Jerle. Both sailed out of the room.

“Is Evis dead?” asked Gertriss.

“He’s no deader than he’s ever been,” I said. “Is he sick? Hell yes. Will he get well? I think so. Is there anything you can do to help him? Yes. You can stay clear, for now.”

“I won’t do it,” she said. “Dammit, boss, if you saw Darla get sicker and sicker and then somebody hauled her away and said you couldn’t see her anymore, what would you do?”

“Same thing you’re doing. Although I wouldn’t be quite as likely to go grabbing halfdead soldiers. That could have ended badly.”

She advanced on me. There is no fury like that of a Hog woman deterred.

“Things are about to get bad all around if somebody doesn’t start talking plain, right now.”

“Evis has a rare vampire fever,” I said. “They haven’t seen it in a hundred years. Causes everything you’ve watched him go through. It’s fatal about half the time. But here’s the bad part, Gertriss. Right before its victims shake it off, or die, they lose control of their appetites.”

“Appetites?”

“Blood-lust. Plain old lust. Look, maybe this is news to you, but Evis holds certain affections for you—”

She blushed furiously. I’d been counting on that, and part of me hated myself for finding just the right lie.

“Let’s say you go into the same room with Evis right now. Bad things are going to happen. They might be able to hold him back, and they might not. Either way, you might be injured, or worse, and the stress might kill him on the spot.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“They haven’t seen this fever since Rannit had a King,” I said. “The white-coats just put it all together. While he was still lucid, Evis gave instructions that you were to be kept away. I think he meant to say more, but he passed out. But keep you away and safe was what he told his people, and by damn that’s what they mean to do.”

She stood, glaring and clenching her jaw.

When the tears burst, Darla was there to gather her up in a hug.

“He’s going to live,” I said. “I believe that, Gertriss. You should too.”

She had no reply.

Darla looked at me over Gertriss shoulder. I could read the question on her face—
is any of that true?

I shook my head
no
.

And that was the only thing I said in that room that was even close to being the truth.

Gertriss had a room, deep in Avalante, that just happened to be decorated with all her favorite colors and stocked with all her favorite things. Darla and I sat on her couch while she retreated to her bathroom to wash away her tears.

Water splashed, pouring out of fancy brass spigots. As soon as Gertriss closed the door, Darla leaned close, whispering.

“Can you tell me what’s really going on with Evis?” she asked.

“Later. He is going to live. That much was true. The rest, well, I gave my word.”

She nodded and took my hand. “He’s trying to cure himself, isn’t he? So they can be together without…”

She trailed off when the water stopped pouring.

We sat in silence, until a knock sounded at Gertriss’s door. “Are you plannin’ on sleeping all day, girl?” shouted Mama. “I swear I ain’t never seen a Hog spend so much time abed.”

I got up and opened the door, lest Mama break it down. She shuffled inside, her burlap bag so full of arcane mysteries it dragged on the carpet.

“Well, well, ain’t you a sight,” said Mama, chuckling. “Them vampire duds don’t suit you, boy. You look like a sour old preacher-man.”

I shut the door. “I was just telling Darla I felt the call of the priesthood,” I said, adjusting my collar. “Shall I start by conferring the Blessing of the Aged upon you, Mama?”

“Only if you wants your ass kicked,” she said. “And I ain’t aged. I’m at the top of my middle years.” She upended her bag and poured the contents out onto the floor. “Look what I brung.”

I’d seen snakes crawl out of Mama’s sack before, so I took a couple of quick steps backward. I noticed Darla swing her feet up onto the couch.

Mama laughed and muttered something uncomplimentary about city folks. Seeing that nothing slithered or crawled amid the heap of objects, I went down to one knee and poked amid the debris with my knife.

I saw the usual mix of dried birds, stoppered clay bottles etched with Mama’s illegible scribbles, little bundles of this herb or that flower, none of which I could name.

But there were a few things I did recognize.

I picked up a coil of slim rope. It was worked through with strands of Buttercup’s own hair, and until she’d been trapped in that mirror the rope was the only thing we’d known that could hold the tiny banshee.

“Good thinking,” I said.

“I does a lot of that,” said Mama. She hefted a none-too-clean glass jar sealed with a rusty tin lid. Inside was a clear fluid. “This here is moon-cured stump water,” said Mama. “All the way from Pot Lockney. I uses it to scry sometimes, ’cause it makes a mirror-glass see hidden things.”

“Scry?”

Mama looked at me like I was daft.

“It’s one form of divination, hon,” said Darla. “It usually involves gazing into a glass, or a reflective pool of water.”