Carousel Tides

by Sharon Lee

  But, no. The girl’s shield had functioned as it should have and so had the umbrella spell over the Pier—

  I stood up straight, coffee sloshing in my cup.

  “Kate, you’re an idiot.”

  I went back into the house, and spent a couple of perplexed minutes searching for my cell phone before I remembered that it was still in the pocket of my jacket, down at the carousel.

  In the kitchen, I put the receiver of Gran’s phone against my ear, paused for a moment to visualize the number as it appeared in my cell’s phone book, then dialed.

  “Bonny?” Borgan sounded startled.

  “Kate,” I corrected. “You can’t always trust technology, wonderful though it is. Take it from a woman who made her living slinging code.” I hesitated. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No, I was just sitting here staring off into nothing, thinking.” There was a pause, then a tsk of distaste. “I owe you. Sat here so long my coffee got cold.” There were subtle sounds of movement, and a creak that I recognized as lines moving in the breeze. He was at home, then. I closed my eyes, picturing the Tancook Schooner.

  “What’s her name?”

  He didn’t ask me who. “Gray Lady.” The singing of the lines faded, and I heard quiet steps. Going down to the galley to get more coffee, most likely.

  I nodded like he could see me, and cleared my throat. “The reason I’m calling is I figured out why trenvay haven’t been able to touch Nemeier’s crowd, when ordinary people don’t have any trouble.”

  “So you said last night. I thought we’d agreed that, pretty as she was, she didn’t hold water.”

  “This is a new theory.”

  There came a series of clinks, and a faint gurgle, like liquid being poured. “Well, then,” Borgan said, “throw ’er in and let’s see if she floats.”

  “Okay.” I moved over to the sink, which was as far as the cord would let me walk, and looked out the window into the alley behind the house. “Understand that jikinap isn’t a resource to be wasted. Even Ozali want to leave as little in workings—spells—as possible.”

  “That’s because while the power’s tied up doing something else it’s not directly available to the mage?”

  He was quick. I smiled, pleased. “Right. Also? If you’re an up-and-coming drug lord, I’m guessing you need to keep a pretty close eye on your bottom line. It might be fiscally responsible to protect yourself, and the other folks at the top of the organization. The further down the ladder you go, though, the less benefits you can afford to make available.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me.” Steps again, and the sudden nearby laugh of a gull, which probably meant he was back on deck.

  “Good,” I said. “Then you’d agree that—if you were an up-and-coming drug lord who happens to have an Ozali on retainer—you’d protect somebody who’s an asset to the organization by setting her up with her very own custom-made invincibility spell. There’s a couple ways to build that kind of thing, but the most energy efficient, from the Ozali’s point of view, is going to be a simple spell to repel hostile action. A lightning bolt on course for your heart—it doesn’t get any more hostile than that. Tripping over your own feet and hitting your head a good whack, though—”

  “Is just damn’ clumsy,” Borgan finished.

  “Bingo.”

  “All right,” he said, slowly. “How does that work out with the rest of it? The business on the Pier last night, with—”

  “Umbrella spell,” I interrupted.

  Silence for the beat of three. “Pardon?”

  “Umbrella spell. They cover a lot of variables in one attractive package; they mostly work; they tend to be kinda squishy, like that thing over the Pier last night. And they’re cheap, cheap, cheap to build. The downside is they don’t have much of a shelf life, but when they dissipate, the jikinap returns to the Ozali, and he can build another one just as good, real fast when it’s needed, and in the meantime have use of the power.”

  “Got it. And?”

  “And the guys who came after us on the Pier last night were depending on the illusion-spinner protecting them from the crowd. That’s all they depended on; once it was gone, they got nailed by a couple of retired cops, just like regular thugs.”

  “Hmm. So you’re thinking that the grunts are being given good enough, while the captains have better.”

  “And the boss has the best—right. And what they used last night is probably the same kind of thing they’re using when they bring the drugs in. An umbrella spell over all the crew present. Take the umbrella away, and the trenvay ought to be able to pick them up at will. Hell, the Coast Guard ought to be able to nab them.”

  Borgan didn’t say anything. I heard the sound of moving water, and gulls again, shouting insults at each other.

  “Take me with you the next time you go hunting drug runners,” I said. “I’ll destroy the umbrella spell and you can have at them.”

  “Sure of yourself, aren’t you? Hang on a sec and let me think.”

  I watched a couple young guys in shorts and jerseys run up Dube Street and cut through the alley to Brown. Maybe training for the high school track team.

  “All right.” Borgan was back. “I don’t say she isn’t pretty, Kate, but you’re missing the boy who cut you. I’m here to tell you that kicking a man in the balls is definitely a hostile action.”

  I grinned. “Who said he was anybody but a low-level flunky sent down to deal with a girl?” I countered. “I can’t prove it, but I’m willing to lay good money that he didn’t have one speck of jikinap on, around or in him.”

  “Saving the knife,” Borgan said.

  “Right. I’d like to know where he got her, myself.”

  “Might be he’ll tell you, next time he’s by,” Borgan said, and lapsed into silence.

  “Well,” he admitted eventually, “she floats. I’ll lay it out for Nerazi when I see her.” There was a short pause. “What’s she think of your knife, by the way?”

  “Mam’selle,” I said before I thought, and added, “it’s her name. Nerazi hasn’t seen her.”

  “Hmph,” said Borgan. I heard the lines creak, and a snap, like a sail in the wind.

  “We still on for this afternoon?” he asked.

  “Five o’clock at the carousel,” I said. “You’re buying dinner.”

  “That sounds fair,” he said, calmly.

  I laughed, and hung up.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Tuesday, April 25

  Low Tide 3:42 p.m.

  Sunset 7:37 p.m. EDT

  At 11:30, I was fiddling with the orchestrion, making sure the Violano paper was settled on the spindles. Behind me, I heard the hatch open and close, and looked over my shoulder as Nancy came across the deck.

  “Heard there was some trouble on the Pier last night,” she said, draping her arm across the black bear’s back.

  “There was some trouble,” I agreed. “Buncha boys thought it’d be fun to shoot at a seal.”

  “Story I heard was that you jumped over the rail to get between it and live bullets,” Nancy persisted. I didn’t say anything, hoping she’d had her say, but there was more.

  “Domino said you were bleeding pretty free when he got to you. Said you fainted before the paramedics got there.”

  “Domino’s got a big mouth,” I observed.

  “Been that way from a boy,” Nancy agreed placidly. “You sure you should be working today?”

  “I’m fine. It looked worse than it was.”

  Nancy pushed the rim of her cap up, and gave me a bland look out of ale colored eyes. “Your gran used to say that the sea air was a tonic.”

  “My gran was born on this land,” I said, truthfully. “If she’s away too long, she sickens.” Which, unfortunately, was also true, and brought forward with more clarity than I necessarily wanted by the feel of her tree up on Heath Hill—strong, yet, and vital, but starting, just barely starting, to fail. . . .

  I shook myself, and turned to finish
up with the orchestrion. Fifteen songs, and a rewind. The touch of a switch and we’d have all the carousel music we could eat.

  “Thanks for closing up last night,” I said, hopping up onto the deck and heading for the control booth.

  “Least I could do,” Nancy said, turning to walk with me. “How’re we splitting the day?”

  “You mind working another night? Five to closing?”

  She moved her thin shoulders. “Fine by me. Tuesdays my aunt brings over beans and a six pack, and her and ma sit around talking about Back When. I’m just as happy to have something to do outside tonight. Tomorrow, though, I need the evening off.”

  I nodded. “That’s how we’ll split, then. How was the crowd last night?”

  “We had one or two people by. Marilyn sent a runner around twice on the evening for the tickets, which was a good thing, else I’d’ve drowned.”

  “Impressive,” I said, skipping off the decking and onto the floor. “We might actually turn a profit this year.”

  “Super early Season’s good for everybody, is what I’m hearing,” Nancy said, her descent to the floor more sedate. She sighed, hands tucked in the pockets of her jeans. “Be a good thing for the Beach if we won this contest. ’Bout time something turned us around.”

  I looked at her. “It does seem a lot more run down than I remembered.”

  She shook her head. “It’s like the virtue’s leached out of the town. I remember when we were doing all right—it was hard, yeah. That’s life. But lately, seems like the only luck we got is bad.”

  Have you taken a look around Archers Beach? Borgan asked me in memory. You’re not the only one dying.

  The Guardian was the nexus of the land’s virtue—I’d known that, of course, when I broke my oath. Not only had Gran made sure I’d understood before I’d offered myself to the land, but certain of the trenvay—like Bob, and Lillian, in her time—hadn’t been completely happy with the idea that an ozali-trained princess from one of the toitier of the hoity-toity Five Worlds was going to be responsible for the land’s well-being. They’d thought my jikinap-sticky fingers would soil the essence of Archers Beach.

  . . . an opinion I had too late come to agree with.

  And since I’d been back? Since the land had accepted my service for a second time?

  Mixed luck was better than no luck.

  Wasn’t it?

  I cleared my throat and walked over to the control booth, noting my jacket, right where I’d left it over the back of the stool.

  “Maybe,” I said, nudging the ticket box like it was important to have it lined up exact. “Maybe the luck’s starting to change.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ear,” Nancy said, and pulled her cap down. “I’ll be back at five, and look to work ’til closing.”

  “Good. And I’ll see if I can’t shake some cash out of Marilyn, so the two of us can get paid.” The park usually paid out on Sunday. On the other hand, Marilyn might be happy enough with the level of business that she’d agree to an interim payout. And if she didn’t there was always the threat of closing the carousel until she did.

  Nancy paused at the hatch and looked at me over her shoulder. “We never agreed on a wage.”

  “You’re right. Think about what’s fair, willya? Let me know this evening.”

  She grinned and gave me a nod before she pushed the door open. Outside, I heard the sounds of a crowded midway, and the voice of the giant samurai, inviting the tourists in.

  “Well,” I said to the still air—went over to open the walls.

  * * *

  At noon, the tail of the line was just three steps into the midway. At two o’clock it was on the sidewalk. I did manage to drink the coffee Debbie Lee brought over at one, but Anna’s good chicken and veggie stir fry went stone cold before I even had a chance to taste it.

  “Are you all from the Senior Fun Lovers?” I asked a plump dark-haired woman in sensible jeans and a thin flannel shirt.

  “Hey, I’m only forty!” She grinned and shook her head. “Came down from Portland with a bunch of the neighbors. We heard the park and the Pier were open and thought we’d beat the tourists.”

  “Fooled you.”

  “Yeah, but that’s okay,” she said, while I leaned over to unhook the rope. “I’ve been here all day and I’m having a blast. The only time I get to go to a carnival anymore is when I’m riding herd on a bunch of kids.” She grinned again and handed me her ticket. “Today, I get to be a kid.”

  At two, a teenager in a Fun Country T-shirt came by to collect the tickets, and gave me a blank receipt.

  “Somebody from the office’ll bring you a copy of the tally sheet,” he said, very serious and businesslike. “When they do, you give them the blank. If nobody brings you a tally sheet, stop down and talk to Marilyn.”

  “Will do,” I said, and rang the bell twice, which meant “ride’s over.”

  Marilyn herself came in at three and handed me an envelope. I lifted the flap and saw a gratifying number of nice green bills in denominations of ten and up. And I hadn’t even had to resort to threats. I looked up to thank her, but she’d already disappeared into the crowd.

  Around four-thirty, it began to rain. The line melted until there were only fifteen or twenty people waiting, patient and dry, under the carousel’s roof. At four-forty-five, all of them had gotten their rides and dashed off into the soggy midway, holding jackets and sweatshirts and sweaters over their heads and laughing like children.

  I sighed and slumped against the stool for a minute, eyes closed, before leaning to the ticket box, and—

  Magic crackled across the air, vivid as a lightning bolt.

  I snatched at the land, receiving a clear impression of horrified panic. The ocean breeze faded; the sound of the rain disappeared. I looked around, inclined to panic myself, and saw . . . nothing beyond the boundaries of the carousel—no midway, no people, no rain, no sky.

  Nothing.

  “Shit.”

  “Good afternoon, Princess Kaederon,” said the voice that still haunted my dreams. “I hope I haven’t come at an inconvenient time?”

  My stomach contracted violently, and I was suddenly glad that I hadn’t had time to eat lunch. I swallowed, took a breath of still, sterile air, and turned, slowly, around.

  He was standing next to the lion on the carousel, which didn’t fool me for a second; I’d’ve known if he’d come through the Gate.

  For this illicit visit, he’d chosen to take on the seeming of a man of the Changing Land. A man of power, as the Changing Land mostly counts power. Tall and lithe in his tailored gray business suit, power tie as bright as a stream of new blood down the snow-white shirt; hair expensively barbered, and a heavy gold watch around his wrist. The only thing a little out of the ordinary were his eyes; if you looked close, you could see storm clouds swirling in the gray irises.

  Looked like a bill collector to me . . .

  I felt something like a million or so ants wearing electric sneakers running over my skin. The air was suddenly too thick to breathe; and my vision stuttered, colors all gone to fog, as if I were caught between the real world and Sideways—

  Center yourself, Keeper, or your power will flow to his, to the dismay and destruction of us all. The batwing horse actually sounded concerned. Not only that, it was giving excellent advice.

  Panting, I concentrated. There was an exercise. I’d learned it at my tutor’s knee, and only after much wailing and despair. I remembered the day I finally got it, standing in the schoolroom, looking down at the children’s maze, eyes tracing the path, so clear from the height at which I stood, that led inexorably and inevitably to the center.

  Color returned to my immediate vicinity. My breathing smoothed. The ants in their electric sneakers vanished into the ozone-charged air.

  From his place next to the lion, Ramendysis smiled.

  “Allow me to congratulate you on your achievements, Princess. You will forgive me if I say that I hadn’t expected you to su
rvive, much less to take up your birthright.”

  “I don’t forgive you,” I said, my words dropping like stones through the thick air. “And I didn’t invite you.”

  He laughed, and strolled forward, the step off the carousel hardly interrupting his stride.

  “I fear you’ve been too long among the natives of this execrable place, Princess. I have no need of invitations. I go where I please.”

  He was strolling closer, one hand in the pocket of his trousers, looking catlike and elegant. My feet shifted. Body and soul screamed for retreat—but retreat was what he wanted. And, I told myself, I would be damned if I gave him the satisfaction.

  Excellent, the batwing horse whispered, and it says everything about my state of mind that I welcomed its voice and took heart from its encouragement.

  “What do you want, Ramendysis?” I asked, and at least my voice didn’t actually quaver, if it wasn’t as crisp or as bold as I had hoped.

  He stopped, as if my question had erected a barrier between us and it amused him to honor it, for the moment.

  “I want nothing more than that which belongs to me. I had told the old earth spirit that I would have it, whether she chose to accept a fair bargain or no. I also told her what would happen if she refused to surrender it.”

  “You might have done all that,” I said, my voice stronger now. “However, my grandmother isn’t here, and she didn’t leave me any instructions regarding you, or a package with your name on it.”

  The still air trembled, and I felt the regard of his jikinap, raising the hair on my arms and on my head, drawing my heartbeat like a magnet draws a needle.

  I grabbed for the vision of the children’s maze, and the sensation faded somewhat, though my hair still floated away from my head, like I was underwater.

  “You ask me to believe,” Ramendysis said, “that you are unaware of the situation.”

  “I don’t,” I said with more candor than wisdom, “give a damn what you believe.”