Carousel Tides

by Sharon Lee

  “Kate needs to rest,” she said, and gave me a look that she meant to be stern.

  I shook my head. “Kate needs to get her butt across the way and make progress on refurbing those animals,” I contradicted, and waved my fork. “Immediately after lunch. Which is, by the way, delicious. If you were anybody else, I’d make a serious effort to seduce Tony.”

  “Kate—”

  “Nope, not negotiable,” I interrupted. “Wednesday’s not getting any further away, last I looked.”

  Silence. I ate, and Nancy did. After a minute or two, Anna went into the back. I could hear her talking with Tony over the various noises of frying, boiling, and steaming while Nancy and I cleaned our plates, and she finished her coffee. I set mine aside; I’d had enough brandy to make the pain bearable, and it wouldn’t do to go tipsy to the horses.

  Or maybe it was just what I needed.

  “You’re looking a little rocky,” Nancy commented. “Might be it’s good sense to call it a day? Nasty shock to the system, getting sliced like that.”

  She sounded like somebody with experience; on the other hand, I wasn’t without experience of my own.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said, and she nodded. It was my business, after all.

  “Well.” I pushed my stool back, carefully, and made sure of my balance before committing my full weight to my feet. My head swam a second, then I steadied. Good to go, yessir. I slid the sheathed knife carefully into the pocket of my jacket. If Nancy saw, she didn’t comment about that, either—and, really, why shouldn’t I take it? It was a good knife. You never knew when you were going to need a good knife.

  “After you,” I said to Nancy. She turned—and checked as Anna came out of the back, throwing a sweater around her shoulders.

  “Good!” she exclaimed. “We’ll go together.”

  I eyed her. “Go where?”

  “To the merry-go-round,” she said blithely. “I’m going to help you paint the animals.”

  I’d been afraid of that. “No,” I said, firmly. “Absolutely not.”

  Anna frowned, which made her look cute as a bug, and about as threatening. “You think I can’t paint?”

  “I think you can paint great.” I held up my hands. “Look, Anna, I appreciate you wanting to help, but—” I faltered, scrambling for something to tell her that would make sense, without partaking of magic, High Magic, and what the Wise hoped to accomplish by incarcerating six deadly criminals in the Changing Land.

  “Them animals,” Nancy said unexpectedly from beside me. “They ain’t exactly comfortable.”

  Anna laughed. “I know that!”

  “Oh. You do.” I very carefully didn’t look at Nancy.

  “Yes, I do!” Anna stuck her tongue out. “Your grandmother explained the whole thing to me, about how some of the animals are magical creatures from far off lands.” She held out her left fist, and opened the fingers, showing me a bit of rock caught inside a silver wire cage and hung on a chain. “She even gave me a charm against them, see? So I’m perfectly safe.”

  I held my hand out. “May I see that, please?”

  Trustingly, she dropped the charm into my palm. Cut off from the land, and blind as I was, I could only do an ordinary visual scan, but damn me if it didn’t look like a chip from the sentinel rock where Nerazi held court. If Gran had given it—and there wasn’t any reason for Anna to lie about that, if Anna knew how to lie—then it might actually be a charm.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Two Seasons ago, there was a problem. I don’t know precisely what it was, but—Nancy, you might know; you worked for her that Season.”

  Nancy moved her thin shoulders in that not-quite shrug of hers. “There was some kind of trouble, but I never heard what,” she said, and turned to me. “Anna did help out that year. Went fine.”

  Well. I handed the charm back to Anna. “Wear it, okay?”

  “Sure.” She dropped the chain around her neck, tucked the smooth chip of rock in its silver cage inside the collar of her shirt, and gave us each a sunny smile.

  “Ready?” she chirped.

  THIRTEEN

  Saturday, April 22

  Low Tide 12:47 p.m.

  Sunrise 5:48 a.m. EDT

  The room was filled with thick yellow light, sort of like an over-full tub of margarine. I turned my head an inch or so on the pillow and focused on the bedside clock. Nine-thirty. I closed my eyes again.

  I felt, not to put too fine a point on it, rotten. My head hurt, my face hurt, my knees and stomach—oh, the hell with it. Let’s just say that, if my left little finger hurt, it was keeping quiet about it.

  This was what came of not keeping up with my combat lessons, and I didn’t even have the luxury of pretending that my grandfather’s arms master hadn’t told me as much.

  She’d also claimed that the best cure for sore muscles and bruises was to rise from one’s bed of leisure, take up one’s sword, and have at it again. Hair of the dog, only considerably more violent.

  Well, I could at least take comfort from the fact that she wasn’t likely to come leaping into my room, sword at ready and a gleam of sheer deviltry in her eye. Not when she’d been among the first of those who had fallen protecting the House.

  My stomach twisted. I breathed, deliberately forcing the air all the way down to the bottom of my lungs, until my chest ached with it. For the count of three, I held it, then exhaled, and lay beneath the blanket as limp as a dishrag—a bruised and contused dishrag.

  I am going back to sleep, I told myself, but there was something not quite right about—abruptly, my brain came back on line, and I remembered.

  I was supposed to have met Nancy and Anna at the carousel at eight.

  “Damn,” I said, my voice sounding frayed and bleached. “Get up, Kate.”

  The mind might have been willing, but the body was inert. I bit my lip, concentrated; sat up, and waited for the room to stop spinning.

  Oh, this was going to be a treat. Maybe I really ought to just stay in—

  “Get up,” I told myself firmly, and pitched the covers back. I was still wearing my shirt and jeans, though I’d managed to get my shoes off before collapsing. Go me.

  I got my legs over the side of the bed, stood, and didn’t fall down—which had to be counted as a good thing. I hate to fall down.

  When the room steadied, I mooched around it, gathering clean clothes. I’d set the alarm last night, in an excess of enthusiasm, but I’d apparently slept right through it, so my opportunity to speak with Nerazi about the leakage from the Land of the Flowers was gone for another day.

  “Third time’s the charm,” I muttered, and hobbled downstairs.

  * * *

  A hot shower melted the worst of the soreness out of my muscles, and I managed, for a wonder, to keep the dressing on my face dry. I toweled off and peered in the mirror, noting how the purple half-moons under my eyes made my skin seem even paler than it actually was.

  At least, I hoped that was the case; I’d gotten into the habit of avoiding mirrors, this last decade or so. Be that as it was, according to today’s reflection I looked sick and wretched and like I belonged in bed.

  “And that,” I told myself sternly, “is enough whining out of you for one day.”

  I pulled on jeans and a Firefox T-shirt, swallowed a couple of super-strength aspirin, and twisted my wet hair into a knot at the back of my head.

  “As ready as you’ll ever be,” I said to my wan reflection, and headed for the kitchen.

  The message-waiting light was blinking on the answering machine. I touched the play button.

  “Kate? Henry. Sorry I missed you. Mr. Nemeier’s lawyer and I are playing telephone tag. I’m afraid I’ll need to resort to old-fashioned methods and send him a letter. If you have any questions, or if you’d like to see a draft, give me a call. I’ll be out tomorrow morning, but will be in the office all afternoon.”

  No need for me to see the draft; Henry knew his business. I dialed th
e office and told his answering machine so, hung up, closed my eyes briefly, and dialed Tony Lee’s Chinese Kitchen.

  “Hey, Kate,” Tony said. The wonders of caller ID.

  “Hey, yourself,” I answered “Listen, will you let Anna and Nancy know that I overslept, but I’m on my way? Feed Nancy breakfast and I’ll settle up with you later.”

  “Like hell you will,” he said cheerfully. “Anna said to tell you to take your time when you called. The two of them are already working. You might consider taking Anna on full time,” he continued, chattily. “She’s wasted over here.”

  “They’re already working?” I repeated, my brain having gotten stuck on that. “How—”

  There was a pause. “Anna said you’d given her the key.”

  I’d done what? I thought around a surge of horror. I’d given Anna the key? With the animals unbound and the wards so much soggy tissue? Was I an idiot?

  “Kate?” Tony asked, sounding worried now. “How’re you doing this morning? They can handle it, if you just want to play boss and take the day off.”

  “I’m okay,” I said numbly. “I’ll be down in a couple.” I hung up the phone, and limped over to the kitchen table, where my pocket things sat in an untidy jumble. Cell, wallet, Gran’s ring with three keys on it . . . I picked it up, and shook my head. The key to the carousel was gone.

  I remembered, like it had happened years ago—I remembered talking with Anna as we put away our paints. In hindsight, I probably had been a little off my head with shock, loss of blood, and Tony’s brandy—just like they’d all tried to tell me. It was going to be interesting to see the job I’d done on the painting. . . .

  Anyhow, I remembered agreeing that the afternoon had gone just fine, that we’d gotten a lot of work done, and not one sign of trouble from the magicked animals, the existence of which Anna seemed to take with a half-shaker of salt. I’d agreed that I should go home and get some rest. I remembered telling Nancy goodnight, and I remembered getting into Brand’s Jeep for the five block ride back to Tupelo House. Hell, I even remembered waving to him from the porch, as he chivalrously waited until I gotten the door open.

  But actually giving Anna the key . . .

  It gave me chills just thinking about it.

  My aches eclipsed by horror, I grabbed my jacket off the hook and slammed out the door. My sneakers skidded on the damp wood and I slipped, the concrete blocks at the foot of the flight achingly clear as I tottered on the thin edge of the top step, gravity pulling my shoulders—

  I snatched at the rail, pivoted until my stomach was against it, and hung there, shaking, spangles of light obscuring my vision.

  When the shakes had eased off and I felt like I had my balance back, I lowered myself—keeping a good grip on the rail—to the top step, waiting for my heartbeat to drop back out of panic mode.

  It had been okay yesterday, I told myself. The animals had been remarkably well-behaved, which had given me a lot of respect for Anna’s charm. Gran must’ve settled a ward into the silver before she wove it around the stone. Whatever—it had certainly done the trick, and the three of us had put in a prodigious amount of work before Tony and Brand came in at six and insisted that we call it a day.

  “It was fine,” I whispered, like Gran soothing away one of my numerous nightmares, when I’d been a kid. “Everything’s fine.”

  With the possible exception of myself.

  Business as usual.

  Carefully, I stood up and went down the stairs, slowly and respectfully. Once I was standing on the concrete blocks, I put on my jacket and gloves, grimacing when my fingers brushed the knife in my right pocket.

  Jacket buttoned, I headed for Fun Country, only limping a little.

  * * *

  Tony had customers when I came into the park—two gray-haired ladies in determinedly casual slacks and fitted pink sweatshirts. He waved at me over their heads, and I waved back, angling toward the carousel.

  The walk from Tupelo House had done me good; the limp had worked out, and my other aches were less intrusive. Of course, that could’ve been the aspirin. In either case, I was feeling slightly more sanguine about my ability to actually get some work done today.

  I was two paces from the open hatch when I heard Anna shout. Heart in mouth, I ran into the enclosure—and knew we’d been set up.

  It had taken the pooled resources of all six prisoners to get one of them free and moving, with nothing left over for wards or illusion—that was the good news.

  The bad news—they’d chosen the unicorn as their champion.

  Anna was on the far side of the carousel, slowly backing away, sweater slipping from her shoulders, a paintbrush held before her like a sword. The unicorn danced forward, light and malicious on little goat feet, and dipped its head, horn flashing. There was a scream of tearing cloth, and a howl of feline rage. The unicorn reared as a calico cat landed four-square, all claws extended, on its tender rump. Anna stumbled, feet tangling in the trailing sweater. She went down, and rolled, smart girl, as cloven hooves hit the floor where her head had been.

  The unicorn bucked, snorting. Unbelievably, the cat held on, wailing like a fire engine, and I was running, onto the platform and across, giving the batwing horse the back of my gloved hand when it slashed at me, and jumped.

  I landed in front of the unicorn the same instant the cat went flying. I heard a dull thud as it hit the metal storm wall and winced, then I was the center of attention, more fool I.

  Well met, Keeper, a golden voice sang inside my head.

  “Get back where you belong,” I told it, and was pleased to hear that my voice was firm and clear. “Do it now.”

  Will you impel me, little Ozali? it asked, amusement rippling along its thought. I didn’t answer, and it snorted.

  I didn’t think so.

  It lunged. I danced back and to the left, the horn narrowly missing my belly, spun to the right—and the horn caught my jacket, slicing it from waist to armpit. The unicorn snorted; it sounded like laughter.

  How long will you dance?

  “As long as it takes,” I answered, though that was naked bravado. My chest was already tight, my eyesight graying at the edges. This was going to have to end fast, or it was going to end badly. I snatched at my pocket.

  The knife felt good in my hand: well balanced and clean. The unicorn lunged; I parried, cold iron turning ivory, and inside my head, it was the unicorn who screamed.

  “Anna!” I yelled. “Run—and lock the door behind you!”

  Doors will not hold me, nor the words of a dead woman bind me! My head rang with the unicorn’s shout, and I dodged the next thrust more by luck than any half-remembered battle skill.

  The unicorn whirled, supernaturally fast, leading with its horn. I got the knife up, engaged, turning the horn like an opponent’s sword, and followed through in a pretty damn good riposte, slashing the tender nose. The unicorn screamed and slammed its head sideways into my arm. It was an awkward blow and not up to its full potential, but it was good enough to do the job. The knife flew out of my hand; I twisted, lost my footing and and fell, scrabbling across the floor on hands and knees.

  The unicorn screamed audibly, stamped, and blew, blood spattering the concrete floor.

  “Stop!” Anna cried, and stepped between me and certain destruction, the stone charm swinging on its silver chain from her fist. “I command you—”

  The unicorn lunged. The charm spun away to the right, Anna to the left. She fell to the floor, boneless, red spattering her shirt.

  “No!” The scream tore my throat, and I reached—reached as I’d sworn never to do again. Reached for the land.

  Please . . .

  I expanded, the sea roared in my ears, gulls laughed, and plovers ran. I felt the caress of the waves upon me, and the prick of the roses on the dunes. I was ancient, I was epic.

  And I was pissed.

  I surged off my knees and lunged, weaponless. The unicorn whirled to meet me and I grabbed its horn in my g
loved right hand, tangling the fingers of my left hard in its golden mane.

  “Yield,” I said, and the whole power of the land rang in my voice. “Or I destroy you now.”

  It jerked its head, testing me, but I held like a barnacle on the side of Googin Rock.

  “Unmade,” I crooned. “Returned in disgrace to the element that gave you birth, your deeds undone, unsung, and unrecalled . . .”

  I yield, Keeper. The golden voice was scarcely a whisper.

  “Back in place,” I said, and walked it onto the carousel, keeping my grip firm, which was no small task, with the myriad voices of the land running riot inside my head.

  The unicorn took its place meekly, shook its mane into order, raised its off front foot, and froze, a mere tupelo wood carving, somewhat in need of paint.

  I spun and jumped to the floor, running to where Anna lay, too still on the blood-spattered floor.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .

  “Anna?” I dropped to my knees by her side and touched her pale lips. From the land came a damage report: trauma to the chest, broken neck, shattered pelvis . . .

  “She’s breathing,” I whispered, and I gathered her into my arms, closing my eyes while the essence of the land rose within me.

  * * *

  “Anna!” Tony’s voice echoed off the metal walls; his rapid footsteps loud and gritty. I got my eyes open as he went to his knees beside us on the floor, and extended a hand, not quite touching her still face.

  “Is she—”

  “Out cold,” I said, unsteadily, cuddling her slowly warming body against me, her head resting on my shoulder, and thankful that Tony couldn’t see me shaking. Close. So close. Even the land can’t raise the dead.

  “We had a scare,” I murmured. “She took a bad tumble. Might be a little confused when she comes around.” I looked at him, seeing the fear ebbing in his eyes as he touched her hair. “You want to call the Rescue? My cell’s kinda inaccessible.” Under Anna, in the pocket of my jeans. If it had survived the attempted prison break.

  Tony flipped open his phone and made the call. Give them credit, the Rescue was there in minutes, EMTs, stretcher, oxygen—the works. They took my story of a fall off the machine, a head coming into forcible contact with concrete, and spilled paint with professional nods, got her onto the stretcher and wheeled her off, Tony walking beside her, already on the phone to one of the numerous Lee cousins, who would come down to mind the Kitchen while he was gone.