They rode through the muddy streets of the District of Jed to arrive at the Savina's rickety grotto. The lights were out in the house and the porch held an ashtray partially full of rainwater and cigarette butts. She had been gone for many days. It was tempting for Isabella to get off the back of Elia and just go hide in the house. She could lie down in Savina’s bed and wait for her to come back. It may not be the worst idea, but she felt that if she were to lie in that bed, she might never wake up. She would just slumber her way into oblivion. Savina would find her many months from now, a small skeleton holding on to her pillow. She would wonder why the small orphan girl would come here to die and would chock it up to the cruel mysteries of the universe.
This wasn’t good news. The next step was something that she had wanted to push out of her mind as a possibility. She knew she didn’t have the strength to pull it off. She gave Elia a kick and said as loud as she could, “Le Chevalier Noir!”
They flew through the streets and out toward the edge of the Aliber River. Once again riding at full pace, even the bumps from riding on the back of the horse, caused Isabella some pain. She groaned at they traveled and as they made their way through the Capital District, out along the docks and finally to the tucked away crocodile-strewn inlet that greeted the edge of the marshes to the north, she found herself relieved to see Le Chevalier Noir. Elia bent down to let her dismount. She crawled off and threw her a fortune cookie. The horse ate it, fortune and all.
“Not a bad idea,” said Isabella petting Elia on the nose. “Perhaps it is best to eat the future after all. Now be a good horse and find some unprivatized grasslands to feed in.”
She bid Elia adieu and snuck her way around the side to the back entrance, which for so long had been her and Fennel’s welcomed beginning each night. The restaurant was in full swing. The odd out-of-towners were clearly excited at their stopover in Barrenwood. Their nightgowns and tuxedos were an odd juxtaposition to the macabre wetlands that issued north from the back door. Unsurprisingly, neither the boat nor Heinrich was present. Her heart sank to consider where they both might be.
Isabella knew only one other way to get where she was going and as bad an idea as it seemed it was the only one. Time was wasting. She put her toe in the marsh. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold—just a slightly below room temperature bath. She didn’t bother taking her outfit off but instead just slipped into the water off the dock. From a distance, she looked like a large nutria ducking below a wharf.
As sick as she was, her body was lithe in the water. She could swim with great agility, and the water surrounding her body felt good. She could feel the sideways glances of the crocodiles and the catfish, but she just let them wonder. She wasn’t an alien in these environs. She felt very much one of them.
Isabella kicked and wiggled her way through the bends of the marsh toward Marty’s shack. It was the only place she could think of to find more Marty hairs, even though she was absolutely positive that Marty had returned from the Muddy Carnival. It didn’t take long before the lights of Barrenwood faded and the brilliance of the canopy of stars above made themselves known. Isabella lay on her back to stare up at them. She could see the constellation of Gemini. The twins. Yin and Yang. They were up to their own individual plots but seemingly unable to leave each other.
She continued to swim until she could spot the glow of the porch lamp of Marty’s shack shining bright in the night. So, she was right. Marty was home after all. The porch still had his rocking chair and a fresh crop of beer cans, potato chip bags and booze bottles already piling up. Isabella kept herself submerged as much as possible. Her smell didn’t travel as fast under the water. If Marty was drunk and she kept her distance, perhaps she could stay out of his strangely acute senses.
As she got closer to the porch, she saw movement inside the shack—the flicker of shadows and the rising sound of voices. Marty wasn’t alone. The din of animated discussion came issuing from the cracked door. Now was as good a time as ever and Isabella slowly made her way up to the porch. She wasn’t there to spy, only to gather some hairs and be gone. She would just need enough fish sauce to get herself up the Parakeet Path into that coal mansion again, and she would kiss Marty McGuinn goodbye.
As luck would have it, Marty came flying out of the house, laughing hysterically. Isabella instinctively swam across the water to the other side. The good news was that Marty was drunk as a dog. She could smell his bourbon breath floating between the gnat wings on the water. Marty picked up one of the bottles on the porch and tilted it upside down. He was looking for a sip. He went through the bottles, one by one, until he found one still half full. He took a big gulp. It clearly tasted delicious.
“Ya betta lookin wit out dem bones. Not dat I give a rat's ass. If I knewd dis wassa waitin for me, I mighta come back all de faster.” Marty laughed aloud as he tied up his belt. He then hobbled across the porch and settled himself into his rocking chair. He pulled his pipe from his pocket and began to load it nice and slow.
A voice came from inside. It was slithering and faint. “You owesss me. Don’t forgetsss our bargain, Marty McGuinn.”
Marty snickered to himself and took a puff on his pipe. He stared out in the night and for a second Isabella could tell he smelled her. He scrunched up his nose and gave another whiff. It was faint and before he could take much notice the inhabitant from inside the shack became known. It was Minasha Darkglass. She was messing with her clothes and clearly rattled. Her bone necklace as always was banging against her chest—a macabre percussion. She leaned against the porch railing.
“Tellsss me,” she slithered.
Marty looked over at her and laughed again. Isabella wasn’t sure what was going on, but she could tell instantly that he was being horrible per usual. She could see the smug toying on his face and that nasty air of superiority.
“Sorry. What ya yappin about? I dun recall no deal.”
“Don’t play gamesss, McGuinn. Ya know the deal.”
Marty rolled his eyes. “Oh ya, da deal. I tink I recall sometin. Maybe if I could get a lil' more a dat black magic kitty I could set meself right.” Marty reached over to Minasha and she slapped his hand down quick as lightning. “Ouch! Fearsome lil' wench, ya are.”
“Talksss . . . ” said Minasha, in a clearly threatening voice.
Marty obviously didn’t think much of it. He reached down and pulled some fungus or something from between his toes. He took his time and the sound of the mosquito marsh filled the air. Finally, he spoke up.
“Okay, ya lil' she bitch, I gives it ta ya. But ye stupid as da workday. Ya know, ya would be betta off if ya just did nuttin. What am I for anywho? Just ta help ya untie da knots ya already make?”
Minasha rolled her eyes. These creatures were exhausting. Their circular logic and elliptical phrasings were enough to try the patience of a twig.
“Okay, I may be a son of a bitch, but I keeps ma word. Tell me 'bout it again.”
Minasha exhaled in exasperated fashion and then told her tale. “You are right. It is a messs, but it isn’t just from my doingsss. Your peoplesss twist me and the fate of the Houssses along with them. I came to her as I told you. I asked to make the families seesss who the true enemy was. That they could finally see the real troublesss that Gaventasss posed to usss. But the way she got there isn’t clear.”
Marty chuckled. “It never is.”
“She told me to introduce that Persembe girl to the carriage boy. Said, it would be a love that would bring thingsss to a head. I didn’t think much of it. That isss until the next timesss when she had me open the gatesss.”
Marty looked up with a rare hint of surprise. “The what? The gates? Stupid! Stupid girl. You don not know what ya do. Ya opened da gates? Okay. And who I do wonder came a ridin through?”
Minasha’s head was bent down. It clearly pained her to come to some kind of wetland confessional where she could tell of her true pain and hopefully be rid of some guilt, and, at the very least, know what to do ne
xt.
“I don’t know his namesss. He comesss riding with an odor that smellsss of the pitsss of hell itself.”
Marty raised an eyebrow. “Does he come a ridin wit a whole load a chitlins?”
Minasha looked at Marty confused. “He ridesss with pigsss.”
Marty smacked his head and then stood up from the chair. “Jesse Ilks! You unleashed Jesse Ilks on da Barrenwood. Oh, ho ho! Now dat is a mess I dun relish a cleanin! Oh boy!”
“He killed them! He butchered the children most terribly!” cried Minasha, almost sounding as if she were in tears. It was hard to tell. She was a slithering sort of lady. Marty went over to Minasha and patted her on the head.
“Dat’s what he does, deary. He’s a killer, dat one. Eats blood like its mornin sunnyside up. Dun ya worry. I can do da math from here. Dat lil Persembe gal’s poppy is hot as a whip. Wants revenge. Goes after Gaventas. And dat money maker Castilla has his back agin da wall and misses dat carriage boy Peter and he push back. Dat war you be wantin is a comin. It’s an ugly road but da witch gave ya what ya wanted, Lil' Miss Muffet.”
Isabella listened as she floated like a toad in the river. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She had somehow solved the killing of Sibel and Peter and it still made little sense—just more meddling from the higher powers that barely knew what they were up to. Pawns in a poorly planned master plan, their blood spilled down into the earth without rhyme nor reason. Minasha, looking crushed, slumped down on the porch. Her body said that she was tired of being a pawn but knew not what to do. These creatures, they toyed with malicious intent and yet, here she was, hoping for a helping hand from a drunken pervert.
“So what da ya want?” said Marty, sitting back down.
“I wantsss help. Help for House Revan and then, maybe, help for the Housssesss.”
“I guess I coulda guessed dat,” said Marty, puffing again.
“You are a friend to the housssesss. You should come to usss in our time of need,” said Minasha. “Thisss has been the way for hundredsss of yearsss and generationsss before.”
“Don’t need to yap dat at me,” snapped Marty. “I been der de whole time. Listenen to y’all complainin for longer than you or your granny do know. I don know da future. Never have. But I do know ya people. I can see possible futures a twistin up in each other. And I can see that ya aren’t crazy for a wantin to wake up your sleepin house. Dey don’t know what’s about to happen. And darlin, if I were ya, I’d get ready for much worse to come.”
Minasha stood up. “Thanks! Thanks a whole lot! I don’t need to knows it's going to get worse. I need to know what you are going to do to help usss! And it isn’t just usss, you know. I am in touch with forcesss even you don’t know, Marty McGuinn. They tell me about the water. Yesss, you know of what I speak. They tell me about the drought coming. Your spiritual fluidsss are dissappearing and you, like the Housssesss perhaps, are cluelessss about whats about to happen!”
Marty blew smoke rings and rocked in his chair. It seemed the angrier Minasha got, the more relaxed Marty became. Isabella knew it was his way of making her more angry, but it was also an instinctual thing. He was a master of manipulation, so much so his every reaction could skip his brain and go straight to muscle.
“What ya need to know bout da water is, it’s a gonna be round forever. I don’t care what you people do. You always gonna fear da grave and ya always gonna be cryin in your pants. Dat just da way you been and always will be. I get mah juice from a never-endin river and I always will. Y’all, on da other hand, are not forevers. Ya tink just cause ya got a banner and a big ol’ castle, you gonna stick around forevers. But it just ain’t so. Never has been.”
“But I don’t think that! They do! I need your help and you are bound to give it to me!” railed Minasha. She was up and standing right in front of Marty. Isabella cringed at what she thought would come next. Standing up to Marty like that was never a good idea. But Marty didn’t react. He just rocked back and forth and smiled his gummy, loose tooth smile.
“So, whatcha want me to do, lil' Revan?”
“I want you to kill Elinore Castilla. He is the ssource of all these troublesss. Cut the head off the snake.”
Marty laughed again. He clearly found Minasha very entertaining. He got up from his rocking chair, slightly pushing Minasha out of the way and leaned out facing the water. His squirrely hazy eyes pretty much stared straight at the bobbing up and down head of Isabella.
“Fraid I can’t do dat. Too many ducats coming from dat lil man. How bout I give ya some advice instead? How about you make a deal with da businessman before its too late? It’s the only way, lil Revan.”
“You swore an oath!” yelled Minasha.
Marty turned to her with his fingers on his lips. “Shhhh. I tink we gotta water lilly out der dat needs a reelin in.”
He had spied her! Or smelled her. It didn’t matter. Isabella knew that she had to run. There would be no Marty hairs caught here this eve. Isabella ducked down toward the bottom of the river while Marty crossed the porch to his fishing line. He cast out his line. The hook sailed out and over the river to go straight down below and catch on Isabella’s clothes. She felt his strong tug as it pulled her, flailing, bluefish style, through the water. She struggled with her clothes to pull them off. Marty was reeling her in fast. She got her clothes off just in time to feel them give way and come slapping onto the porch.
Isabella was naked now—truly a fish swimming in the stream—and she swam as hard and fast as she could. Her body could stay underwater. She hadn’t lived in the marshes for nothing. She heard the splash behind her and figured Marty was swimming somewhere behind her, coming fast. Isabella had to do something. She couldn’t outswim the man. She found a small hollowed out log and shoved her small self inside. Apparently seeing Marty meant folding origami style into a river log. She covered her body in the moss mud and closed her eyes. She would sleep here until he was gone. Isabella closed her eyes. It was all too much.
Chapter 28
Isabella successfully escaped yet again. Caperwill found her naked as a babe lying in the middle of the VIP room with a stinky pool of vomit around her head, a halo of gross. She had snuck her way through Barrenwood and taken a few moments to retch in this dark alley or that. Her journey was not only a failure but a colossal setback. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to turn.
It had been a few days and her fever and chills were worse. She was a tiny mess getting smaller by the hour. She tossed and turned, trying to add up the facts, but all she could get were mumbled impressions of corncob pipes and bone necklaces. She had managed to gain some knowledge on the houses, on Marty, on the demise of Sibel, and confirmation that it wasn’t just her, but that the water was in fact disappearing. It all seemed to be such a faint concern at this point. She hadn’t retrieved those Marty hairs. Her sickness was completely overwhelming and now she wasn’t sure if she was in hospice or not.
She lay on the couch telling herself that she didn’t mind death. Let it come. She didn’t want to fight for life like the rest. She wasn’t so clingy as to have to have it. It seemed at every turn, her liberation eluded her. Perhaps she was meant for this kind of small existence. A crumb on the sofa.
When she woke at twilight, she could hear the drums from the parade. The crowd sounds played against the muggy night along with the occasional boom and crack of fireworks. The city was alive. Like static electricity, the air had ions bursting and exciting the hairs on the skin. Isabella could feel it and even felt a cosmic lift in her spirits. She put her tongue out of her mouth and tasted the air. Fun was out there. The day of the festival had at last arrived.
She dressed in a black lace evening dress and put on her most elegant red ruby jewels. She pulled her hair up on her head into a tall beehive and dressed her lips red. Looking in the mirror, she knew she couldn’t cover up the terrible feeling that was now herself, but she winked at her reflection anyway.
“Even in death,” she whispered.
<
br /> Isabella had invited Barrister Bruno for company, as she couldn’t possibly imagine going alone (and she didn’t have much of a plan). Caperwill, who continued to sleep on a cot in the corner of the room, was adamant she not go, but she was determined. With the knock at the door, Caperwill jumped up and greeted the Barrister. He arrived in his buttoned up white cotton suit with a bow tie and cigar. He was puffing away madly and she thought he might already be drunk.
“Isabella, my dear. You look incredible. A queen of the ball, I must say!” he bowed low and kissed her hand. He then presented her with a singular plucked blue lily. Isabella took it and smiled.
“Ever the gentleman, Bruno. I am pleased you will be my date to the Barrenwood gala.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s the one time of year that the city is of some interest. And I get the feeling this is really going to be a rumpus. People are already wildly drunk. The bars are overflowing and the parade is a mob scene. I got us a place in one of the penthouses across the square from the festival. Friend of mine I met on some business. Speculator. Nice guy who just made a ton of dough. Anyway, he has a great home where we can look at the party, eat caviar and not get our fine clothes sullied by the pabulum that is the masses.” Bruno winked at her and took her by the arm. Isabella grabbed her cane and they both wished Caperwill good evening.
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