Marshsong

by Nato Thompson

  “Dem high faloots ain’t for ya. Dey just a bunch o scaredy cats with der wiskers caught in dar coffers. Don’t you be goin up der. You and Scratch need ta lay low as a wet rug and don be catchin der glances.”

  Marty hobbled over to the corner of the room and opened up a burlap sack, untying the wires wrapped around the top. His hands reached in and pulled out handfuls of gold coins. They rattled in his hand and he gave Isabella one of those peculiarly gross smiles that indicated his own sense of happiness. “Dis. Dis. Dis what dey good for. We gotta keep em rich cause der ducats be our ducats. I gets up in dat hill only once in a blue moon and when I do, I come back with the riches dat keep us a eatin and fishin.” Marty then laughed and sucked on his bottle of rum. Whatever insights he had wanted to tell Isabella were somewhat lost on her.

  She had originally planned on going to Marty’s cabin—come what may. She needed more Marty hair. But this news about Sibel. She couldn’t just let that pass. She had to see them immediately. Tacsim Station housed the Persembe family in all its glory. High on the hill, it was a fortress with spiraling minarets and doors with ogee arches. The journey to Tacsim Station and up Elegiac Hills was not easy.

  She borrowed a mule from Capperwill so she could make the journey without having to walk. Her legs were turning to jelly even with the fish sauce draining along her gullet. She would need to save her strength if she was to sneak into their mansion. It wasn’t a bad idea in the end and she enjoyed slowly moving through the city. It was like a slow motion rotoscope and she watched the city get slowly poorer and stranger. The streets filled with the songs of the gypsies and vagabonds, the bars still rambling with the mighty laughter of times no one will remember.

  Heading up the base of Elegiac Hills, she could see the distant silhouettes of the mansions of the families. They looked down at Barrenwood as though the homes themselves were staying at arm's length. Not committing to living in the urban sprawl of the city, they preferred a view that only looked out upon the distant marshlands where tucked within Fennel and Isabella had hidden from many a sunrise. Isabella could imagine Marty making his way up this hill every once in a while. Probably just like her on a mule. He would come like a beggar with a stick, threatening, laughing and cajoling some blood money off the families to keep his strange habits afloat. And now, here she came as well. A soft haggard woman hoping her words could soothe the agony of some sisters she loved dearly. She crossed her fingers that her return would be at least welcome enough to be of some use for the distraught pair.

  Something had changed. As she passed the first series of gates at the bottom of the mountain with a tossed mist of willow seed, she found herself confronted by yet another set of gates at the top of the road. And then, after yet another poof of willow seed and an accompanying nod from the officer’s helmeted head, she found yet another gate at the entry to Tacsim Station. The Elegiac Hills, it seemed, had been placed on an ever so rare moment of alert.

  Isabella had planned on rationing out her final days of the fish sauce but her need to get to the Persembes took precedence. She took another large sip from her quickly diminishing bottle and folded into night, passing the first guard without him noticing. She bounded as hard as she could over the gates and onto the roof of the enormous mansion. She landed with the faint sound of a leaf falling from the jicama tree. Her feet stealthily tread the ledge as she peered in through the large stained glass of a Siamese cat with three eyes. She peeked through to see the hallways guarded as well. The family was in lock down. Paranoia had become the new modus operandi.

  Isabella tinkered with a small bathroom window and managed to unhinge it and slide her lithe little shadow of a body inside onto the tile floor. As she rose up she saw the reflection of herself in the mirror. She was extra pale. The shadows under her eyes were all the more pronounced and the toll of Marty’s mojo made her wince at her unbecoming visage. No time to worry about that now. She peeked her head out the doorway to spy the guards in front of what she sensed was the room that the two lasses had hidden themselves away. She could sense their peculiar energy a mile away. It was sinuous and bubbly.

  Isabella mewed a catcall and three Siamese cats came prancing out from different nooks in the house. The Persembes did love their kittens. She whispered her plot into their ears and the trio wiggled their whiskers in approval. Why didn’t Isabella ever run away with the animals? Perhaps that was more Fennel’s calling than hers, but she did like them. The three cats went flying down the hall in a fanatical brawl. Their hair on end and their talons a flying, they rolled around in a frantic tumble past the guards and then bumped down the stairs. The guards bored out of their minds, couldn’t help but run over to the stairs to take a look and with that, Isabella slid herself through the ornate bedroom door.

  As she entered, she at first went unnoticed. Rana was dancing with herself in the corner of the room singing some song of romance to a daydream. She was dressed in black and it seemed as though she may have not taken the dress off since Sibel’s funeral. Her mouth was stained purple from the wine she now suckled on like a baby. Yosune remained lying on the bed, her feet hanging over as she stared at the ceiling saying nothing. Isabella decided to announce herself.

  “Good evening, ladies. I snuck into your chambers. You will have to forgive me, but it was the only way to see you. You have clearly taken yourself out of circulation. I am so sorry to hear about Sibel. I came as soon as I could.” Isabella had decided to not prattle with subtleties. She was determined to get to the bottom of this and condolences would feel fake. Her appearance startled them out of their revelries. Yosune sat up and Rana turned abruptly, her hair spinning wildly in tangles.

  Rana turned to Isabella with fire in her eyes; a mixture of rage, pain and madness in between. She was hostile and beyond her sense of self. She had fever in her. One she couldn’t control. Isabella knew this kind of temperament. She had seen it in herself and she knew what it needed. It needed an equally insane temperament and so she met Rana’s stare with an eye more fierce and terrifying. Rana stared back and the two of them were locked in a strange stare down as Yosune looked at the both of them as though they were insane. At last, Rana turned her eyes away.

  “Isabella!” Rana cried, after a momentary silence. “What are we to do? Where were you? How could you disappear at this time? How could she be dead? My sister? My dear, dear sister . . . and you! Where were you? Her body is cold in the ground and you are nowhere to be found. She died on some stupid mission for you and you go away?”

  She was ranting. Isabella grabbed her hand and sat her on the bed next to Yosune, caressing her hair with her hand.

  “Shhhhh, my dear. I would have come if I could. Believe me. But I was, more or less, imprisoned for the last few weeks. Tragedies inexplicable have prevented me from not only coming to your aid but knowing anything at all. I received the news last night and I came as soon as I possibly could. I am thunderstruck by this terrible tragedy. Sibel meant the world to me and I never intended to put her in harm's way. But I swear those responsible will pay dearly. I promise that.”

  She gripped Rana’s hand as Rana leaned against her and sobbed. Isabella felt Rana’s tears. They soaked into her body like memory—the crisp air of awareness that life is a massive tragedy. She hated the pleasure of Rana’s pain brought her. It wasn’t right.

  Rana tore her head from Isabella as though sensing her secret enjoyment. Her eyes flashed, “What are you?” she asked, disgust in her voice. “What are we to you? Pawns? Playthings in your strange secretive game? I find it disgusting. My sister was an angel and you are straight from hell. You’re not like us and you know it. You’re some sick beast. I see it in you. Your eyes are evil.”

  Isabella’s heart sank and her blood rose up in her. Rana was right. Her instincts wanted to tear Rana’s eyes out, to rip her hair from her head and laugh in her face and say, “Yes, you are right! I am straight from the bowels of hell and best you remember that!” But she managed somewhere in her to push her ra
ge down. It hurt her immensely to know how right Rana was. She didn’t know what she was doing. This tragedy again seemed to feed her bones and the perverse irony of it only made her all the more convinced of the truth of Rana’s statements.

  She looked at Rana with cold eyes. “I am different than you, but I loved Sibel, too. I didn’t ask so much of her.”

  “Get out of here demon! Be gone !” Rana yelled and threw her wine glass against the door. It smashed into a thousand crystal pieces with wine splaying the floral wallpapered walls. Yosune moved to quiet her, but Rana shook her off and stomped around the room.

  Yosune sat up. “It isn’t Isabella’s fault. I have told Rana that numerous times, but blame has a way of being the balm for death. I thought you were dead as well, Isabella.”

  “I thought you were dead, too! Now I realize I had hoped you were dead,” sobbed Rana.

  Yosune’s eyes teared up and she hugged Isabella. Rana remained steadfast on the other side of the room. Yosune and Isabella sat on the bed in a pile of sadness, consoling each other with tenderness and remorse. Again Isabella began to sink into the pleasure of another’s tears.

  “No! I said I want you out!” Rana rushed over to Isabella to grab her by the sleeve. Isabella stared at her with the most terrifying of looks and again Rana demurred. She backed off and then in a whirlwind of confusion ran out the door, slamming it.

  Yosune rushed over to the doors and locked them. “Dear god that stupid girl is going to make things worse. The guards really can’t know you are here and I’m afraid I don’t know what she is going to do. You are going to need to leave soon, Isabella. Our father is extremely distraught and wild with plans of revenge. His anger exceeds anything we have ever seen. We told him of Sibel’s relationship with Peter. How they had fallen madly in love. Now they live in love’s embrace on the other side of life like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Peter is dead as well?” Isabella gasped.

  Yosune’s eyes opened wide. “Why yes! You did not know? They were found together lying below the Grand Oak near the railway station at Quelling. They wore matching silver rings that night. We guess they may have become engaged. They loved each other so. Their throats, their bodies . . . I can’t say it. Yes, they died together. Oh, Isabella, there is so much to know. Sibel loved him dearly. The fire between them had grown so bright. But they were cut down. Our sister.” Yosune went over to the bar and poured herself some wine. From the look of her, this had become a regular habit of late.

  “Isabella, there is nothing for us to do. I do not even care. Our investigations into Castilla were a bit of mischief. We were playing with fire. Now, I just wish life could go back to the way it was. Father has taken up where we left off. He is enraged beyond all sense of rationality. You need not worry about revenge for I am sure that all hell will be brought to bear on Castilla.”

  Isabella took a second to collect her thoughts. So much had happened while she was locked away in that infernal school. Sibel and Peter were dead, and now the families were lining up to see Castilla’s head on a plate.

  “So your father now knows of Castilla?” asked Isabella.

  Yosune looked up. Her eyes in shock. “You really have been gone a long time. Everyone knows about Castilla. He quickly became the source of every malicious joke in society—the wretched nouveau riche that are going to be the bane and demise of our livelihoods. The crooked man of rabble town. The bent hack. I don’t know if anyone ever has gained such disdain so fast—and so well deserved. He is evil. Pure evil. And his evil musty laugh! After Sibel passed, we told Father about our own investigations. How Sibel had met Peter while trying to learn about him. I promise we have never revealed anything about you, even while we thought you might be dead. I guess we thought maybe that somehow, you were beyond death itself. It appears we might be right. You are a little black angel. I may be hallucinating you right now, I can’t say. But anyway, we told Father about our childish games and Sibel’s romance. It infuriated him. He may never speak to us again. I can’t say. It is for the best though. He has lost his mind.”

  “How do you know what Castilla’s laugh is like?” asked Isabella. Uncovering what had happened was making her stomach turn. Perhaps it was the sickness, or perhaps, for one of the few times in her life, it was nerves. All of this had become too much.

  “Because we can hear it when we sleep? No, but really, we have seen him numerous times. Oh right. Dear me, so much has changed. Castilla is less of a mystery and more of a living nightmare for us now. Sibel’s death has brought him far too close into our lives. Three weeks back, we would see him regularly in the judicial room at City Hall. When Sibel passed, Father rushed immediately over to the magistrate and a full investigation was put in place. Maybe he was too hasty. It has become immediately evident that there is absolutely no evidence linking Castilla to the murder and if anything it has only made our father more angry and distraught.

  “After looking over the facts of her death, I must even admit personally, I can’t see why Castilla would do this. If it weren’t for the fact that his presence exudes an absolute darkness, I would perhaps have agreed with the findings. Who knows? He hates the houses and the houses hate him. He is ruthless and horrifying, but I have no time to play detective. I don’t care. Many of the families it seems are perhaps overzealous to burn him at the stake.

  “And our dear brother Serkan can’t stop him. He tries to cool Father’s temperament, but he is impossible to control. The rift this causes is palatable. Big Boy Charlie came over several times to cool Father’s temper, but he barely wants to speak to him because he is now angry at Charlie for not telling him about his meetings with Castilla—who is apparently quite distraught over the slaying of Peter though to look upon him, one wouldn’t know. Castilla claims the entire thing is an attempt by someone to besmirch his good name and has placed a reward, twice that which father offered, for any information that might lead to discovering who killed Peter and Sibel. It all makes me sick.”

  Rana suddenly came banging back into the room. She had clearly been listening at the door. “But it is worse than this, ” she said. “There is a killer loose. There have been other homicides. All through the city. Much in the same gross manner as Peter and Sebby. Maybe it is a vampire or a ghoul. I cannot say. But the similarities even the police can’t help but make a connection. Why would Castilla go on a killing rampage? Makes no sense. Something hellish is out there. I thought it was you!”

  All of this news made Isabella’s head swim, not to mention her body was already in a deplorable state. She doubled over from the pain in her stomach. Yosune jumped to help her. Isabella looked up. A slight hint of sweat covered her brow, “I’m fine.”

  Rana went over to the bureau and poured herself another drink. “Well, I’m not fine. I’m not fine at all. I hate that this has happened. It tears me up. Sibel is gone and here we sit like little detectives. It is embarrassing. Sibel was a dreamer, more full of life than any of us, and more tender to its ways. She was light and delicate. A strong wind has picked her up and blown her away. Isabella you must not let this go unpunished!” Rana drank the rest of her wine and poured herself another glass.

  Even Yosune was having a hard time holding it together. It made Isabella sad. What would it take for her own self to lose it? Such things were harder for her. She tried desperately to get to the heart of sadness and always saw it playing about her like mist sifting through hands. She remained an outsider, watching the world at her short arm’s distance. As her stomach once again turned on itself, she wondered if perhaps, in this case, it was her agony at existing at such a remove, that made her wince.

  “You will make yourself sick if you continue to drink like that. It won’t heal your pain either.”

  A knock came at the door followed by a bellowing voice. “Ladies, we hear you talking to someone in there! Open the door at once or we will be forced to knock it down by orders of your father!”

  “Don’t be stupid, Osgrove. No one is here. I am j
ust talking to myself!” Yosune said as she opened a window motioning to Isabella. Isabella walked to Yosune and kissed her on the cheek.

  She whispered to Yosune, “If there is any consolation, it is only that the grave will meet you as well.” She then crept up onto the windowsill, winked at Yosune and Rana, and leapt six floors down to the courtyard below.

  She landed on the ground with a thud and not a whoosh. The earth was heavier under her feet. Her stomach began to make the familiar twist as she scaled the outer wall to begin her descent into the city. She was going to have to solve this. What was she going to do when Marty’s hair runs out? She knew she would either have to return to his cabin and search the nooks and crannies for some remnant of him, or she would have to confront him head on and somehow snip off some of his hair. Either way, the options seemed radically implausible. She was too weak to confront him and entering his home, at this point, wasn’t much different than smelling his rum soaked breath. Such a possibility wasn’t actually a possibility at all which left her facing other, perhaps more stark, futures.

  For the other future she saw was one where she writhed in pain at the Chateau de Crawler and rode it out, the illness piling up in her until it either dissipated or ate her alive. She imagined herself lying in a bed, losing the little weight she had, and sweating and exhausted coming to. But what then? While she once thought of the sickness as an active spell sent by Marty to make her return, she had also begun to conceive of it as the disappearance of her powers—her gradual transformation into a plebian of Barrenwood. The one future she did not imagine, however, was ever returning into the fold of Marty. “I will die free,” she told herself.

  Isabella was so lost in her thoughts that when she came to, she didn’t know where she was. As she looked around, she noticed the street heaved up in a pile of rubble. A massive bulldozer in stained yellow and equipped with rusted, muddy gears, sat unattended, its front scoop still dug deep into the earth. The entire world around here had been upended, bottom gone top, built gone broken. Four houses were now torn asunder, their architectural frames splintered up, the faint remnants of wallpaper, a bed, a lamp, and chairs, sticking out of the pile of wreckage that was this reverse excavation. Further south along the road, an army of construction vehicles sat in waiting. The armada of this construction crew sat still without their drivers under the moonlight waiting in the calm silence of a pause of battle, to head out again to continue their aggressive redevelopment.