Rain of the Ghosts

by Greg Weisman

  At the docks, where the fog had lifted but the rain persisted, a sailor was collecting I.D. badges from each passenger as he or she debarked. As prearranged, Rain and Charlie waved across the boat to Dusanek and told the sailor that they had already given their badges to the ensign. Dusanek waved back, and the sailor let them pass. Later, if asked, Dusanek would claim he had no idea who those kids were: they waved, so he waved back. That was the plan, anyway. In fact, Dusanek was never asked. Nevertheless, Miller would now owe him one.

  Ashore, Charlie tugged his damp t-shirt away from his slim chest and said, “It’s getting late.”

  Rain said, “If it weren’t raining, we’d be at the party, and there’s no way our parents would expect us home by now.”

  “But it is raining.”

  “You’re not really going to cut out?”

  “I just said, it’s late. I didn’t say I was ditching.”

  “Good.” She turned to ’Bastian. “Where to?”

  Out on the open sea north of the Ghosts, Callahan shut off the Bootstrap’s engine, worrying briefly about his ability to restart it later. Damn thing’s been acting up. He walked onto the deck and waited in the rain. At least the bloody typhoon has passed. His left hand gripped and regripped a small leather pouch inside his pocket.

  Right on schedule, another cabin cruiser approached. Callahan strained to catch its markings, but as soon as it got close, the new boat flicked on a spotlight, shining it right in Callahan’s face. Callahan shielded his eyes with his right arm. He tried to make out the figure behind the light, as the boat pulled alongside him. But all he could see was a dark male silhouette.

  The silhouette called out, “Callahan?”

  “Yeah. You, Setebos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shut off that light, mate; you’re blindin’ me.”

  “No. Do you have the zemi?”

  Callahan was annoyed by the man’s dismissive tone and prissy English accent. But the Aussie wasn’t there to make friends. “I’ve got it.”

  “Toss it over. Carefully.”

  “Money first.”

  “Fine.”

  Callahan couldn’t see but heard the thump of a package at his feet. He bent down, turning his back to the light and blinked a few hundred times until he could focus his eyes on the leather doctor’s bag before him. He snapped it open. It was full of one hundred dollar bills. He took his time counting.

  The voice called out: “The zemi, Mr. Callahan.”

  Callahan ignored him and continued his count. Finally, satisfied that his payment—50K American—had been received in full, he wheeled about quickly and tossed the leather pouch to the next boat. He saw two leather-gloved hands fumble for it, and half-hoped that this Setebos would bobble the thing into the ocean. Could charge a pretty penny to retrieve it all over again. But the hands secured the pouch and removed the armband. The golden snakes caught the light.

  The voice said, “And you’re sure this is the original?”

  “Yeah, of course.” It was only after he spoke that a wave of doubt swept over Callahan. The girl didn’t … She couldn’t have … The doubts led him down a less than profitable path, so he quickly pushed them out of his head.

  The voice betrayed some pleasure. “Good work, Mr. Callahan. One down. Eight to go.”

  “Same price.”

  “Yes.”

  “Same price for each?”

  “Yes. And a bonus when we find the ninth.”

  “Ripper. Nice doing business with you Mr. Setebos.”

  But the other boat was already pulling away. The spotlight continued to blind Callahan until the fog had completely swallowed up light, boat and employer. Callahan stood there in the rain with the doctor’s bag of loot tucked under his arm like a rugger ball. Then he nodded to himself. And took the Bootstrap back to harbor.

  But that wasn’t the only rendezvous of the night. It wasn’t even the first.

  What remained of Hurricane Julia—little more than a swirling, angry mist surrounding one weary eye—dragged itself onto Tío Sam’s shores and coalesced into a human female with the clear intent—to us, anyway—of having another go at Rain, Charlie and ’Bastian, before—or more likely during—their crossing back to San Próspero. But Maq and I were on the beach, ready and waiting to intercept.

  “That’ll be a quarter,” Maq said.

  “What?” she said, staring him down with dark eyes that flashed anger and lightning.

  “Every time you attack my people and fail, you owe me a quarter, Hura-hupia.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What else should I—”

  “You know my name.”

  “Julia?”

  “No, old man! I am…” She stopped herself. It’s never wise to speak one’s true name aloud. Even among old companions. You never know who else might be listening.

  Maq chuckled, pushed his hat back on his head and waved the idea away: “I know who you want to be, Hura-hupia. But your wanting something doesn’t make it so. As I believe tonight has demonstrated.”

  “The night isn’t over.”

  “It is for you. You took your shot—the fourth in four nights if I’m not mistaken?” Her scowl demonstrated he wasn’t, so he forged on. “You took your shot. And they shot you down.”

  She looked from Maq to me, as if I might prove more sympathetic—or at least more reasonable. But I said nothing. If anything, I was far angrier with her than Maq was. He always excused her behavior on the pretext that she was following her nature. Only her methods made him shake his head.

  “You wanna know the definition of crazy?” Maq asked.

  “You?” she countered.

  Maq chuckled again. “I like that. But I was thinking that crazy is trying the same thing over and over, and somehow expecting different results. Bringing down the plane didn’t stop us all those years ago. Why assume it would tonight?”

  “It would have worked all those years ago, if you hadn’t cheated by pulling the Bohique out of the water.”

  “Sebastian made it to the surface on his own. That merited reward in my book. So what if Opie and I pulled him into an old fishing boat and brought him to Tío Sam’s? He wasn’t even conscious. He never knew it was us. Sure, I may cheat. But I cheat fairly.” She stared at him, appalled. And even I gave him a look over that one. But he was on a roll and waved us both off: “Point is, he beat you then. And they beat you again tonight.”

  She was on the verge of protesting once more that the night was young, but he’d have none of it. “I’m not telling you it’s over,” he said. “I’m just saying it’s over for the evening. They’ve earned the next step. You attempt to interfere with that, and you’ll have to face us.”

  “That prospect doesn’t scare me, old man.”

  “It should. At least, it should tonight. You can pretend they didn’t hurt you, weaken you, but we all know better. You’re in no condition for direct confrontation.”

  “If you’re so confident, why not end this now?”

  “None of ‘this’ begins or ends with you, Hura-hupia. Besides, confrontation isn’t my style. So don’t push me. None of us would wake up happy. Or even again.”

  She glowered at him for a good nine seconds. For exactly nine seconds. Then she nodded. He responded by stepping aside. But I was less inclined. I bared my teeth and growled at her. To my mind, ending it now did have some appeal.

  But Maq was already wandering off down the beach. Julia was already forgotten. For all I knew, I was already forgotten within what passed for the old bum’s mind. Embarrassed, I ran off after him, proverbial tail between my legs.

  Then at the last moment, Maq turned and said, “Wait. She owes me a quarter.” We both looked back. But she was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE CACHE

  The rain had finally stopped, and the moon, which had broken free of the clouds, shone brightly down upon Rain, Charlie and ’Bastian in the clearing. Everything smelled wet and clean and v
aguely of bananas. A flamenco guitar played softly in Rain’s head. She felt on the verge of yet another something new.

  Charlie, on the other hand, was still having trouble fathoming the old. How did we manage to get back here unscathed? The thought of Callahan still scared him, and the memory of the flight overwhelmed him. So he focused on the little things: “I can’t believe Miller, Dusanek—anyone—didn’t ask us about the plane.”

  Rain smiled wryly. “Why would they? It’s not like we could have possibly flown in on it, right?”

  Charlie chuckled involuntarily. No. Who would ever believe that?

  Both kids were still damp and shoeless, and mosquitoes buzzed around their ears. But ’Bastian was free of those plagues. He wandered toward the edge of the cliff. Rain turned to face him. “So your grandmother really brought you here … to the N.T.Z.?”

  “It didn’t have a name back then.”

  Charlie couldn’t hear ’Bastian and was still lost in his own musings. He waved a couple bugs away and looked skyward. “The rain’s stopped, and it’s not so late. If we hang out long enough, I bet a party’ll materialize.”

  “Then we better get to it,”’Bastian said, as he knelt beside a vine-covered section of the sandstone slab at the cliff’s edge.

  “Get to what?” Rain—followed by a meandering Charlie—approached him.

  ’Bastian reached toward the wiry green-brown strands, but stopped himself before his hand passed through them. The two kids stood over him. “Move the vines,” he said. “They weren’t here, and I remember…”

  Rain crouched down and tore the vines free of the slab, revealing a circular indentation in the stone. ’Bastian nodded. “Like my abuela always told me: ‘To unlock a door, you need two things…’”

  Rain immediately understood. “‘A key…’” she said, removing the entwined snakes from her arm, “‘… and someone who knows how to turn it.’” She placed the armband in the indentation. Perfect fit. Then she twisted and removed the snake charm as she would the key to her locked bedroom door. She stood and stepped back as the sandstone block began to glow … to her and ’Bastian, at least.

  The stone began to grind and move. Charlie backed away cautiously. ’Bastian did the same. The slab slid over to the side, revealing a set of stone steps descending down into the cliff and darkness.

  In sarcastic unison, ’Bastian and Charlie said, “Gee, never saw that coming.” Rain smiled at her companions and led them forward, padding down the cold stone stairs. ’Bastian followed, but so did Charlie who walked right through the Dark Man, unaware. ’Bastian pulled up short, visibly annoyed to anyone who could see the dead. Then grunting to himself, he took up the rear.

  The stairway was circular and close. Damp sandstone walls made it necessary to walk single file. The moon shining down from the entrance above and ’Bastian’s soft glow were the only sources of light. Rain began to feel apprehensive again as the guitar in her head picked up the tempo. “It’s getting pretty dark in here.”

  Suddenly, beside her, a torch flared to life, startling all three of them. Rain glanced back at Charlie, smiled weakly, then continued down. He hesitated, staring at the flames. “Now that’s service,” he said. And then, “I’d like a cheeseburger.” He paused, waiting.

  Behind him, ’Bastian was growling impatiently, “Come on, kid, move it.”

  But Charlie couldn’t hear him. Rather, he reacted to the lack of a magically materializing cheeseburger with a shrug and a “Worth a shot.” He followed after Rain. “You ask for one.”

  She ignored him. She reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped down into a darkened hold. Another torch, to her right, flared to life. Then one by one, consecutive torches flamed on all around the stone room, shedding rich, flickering firelight on the ancient chamber. Now, Rain could see where she was: a wide expanse, cut into the cliffside. Along the wall to her right were one, two, three … nine stone seats carved out of the rock. Along the left was a long empty shelf, also carved out of the wall. And before her, there was no wall at all. Just a wide terrace, open to the elements, revealing nearly the same view of the ocean that one could see from the sandstone block at the edge of the N.T.Z.

  Charlie and ’Bastian stepped off the stairs to either side of her. All three were pretty darn impressed. Charlie even whistled. “Now, this took some work.” His whistle and his words bounced along the stone walls, echoing through the chamber. Fascinated, he walked past Rain to explore the room.

  ’Bastian shook his head in wonder and glanced back up the staircase. “What do you figure, we’re about thirty feet below the clearing?”

  Rain turned to him. “Have you been down here before?”

  “No. Never. Didn’t know it existed.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Rain, over here.” It was Charlie. He was standing at the far end of the left wall. There were nine indentations in the otherwise smooth-carved rock shelf. The last one, the one he stood next to, looked vaguely skull-shaped. He ran his hand along the shelf, passing the other indentations: a deep widening groove, an oval ring, a larger more circular ring, a shallow cup, a semi-amorphous cross, a thick equilateral triangle, a small cylindrical hole. And finally another circular indentation matching the one from the N.T.Z. above. Rain and ’Bastian moved in to look. And Charlie said, “Looks like another keyhole to me.”

  Rain was still holding the snake charm in her hand. She took a deep breath and placed the armband in the indentation. Immediately, the charm began to glow—hot yellow, orange and red.

  “It’s glowing,” Charlie said.

  Rain stared at him. “You can see that?”

  Charlie’s eyes remained fixed on the snake charm. “Yeah, of course.”

  Our trio took a step back as the glow raced from the charm to the shelf and up the side of the wall behind it. The entire wall seemed to catch fire, flaring brighter and brighter until all three were shielding their eyes and Rain could feel the heat speed-drying her clothes and hair. Then the light waned until all that remained was a set of flaming letters. Words. A message:

  BIENVENIDO, BUSCADORA, A LA CACHÉ.

  BIEN HECHO. HAS ENCONTRADO EL PRIMER ZEMI.

  COMO TÚ, ES EL BUSCADOR Y EL CURADOR.

  COMO TÚ, TAMBIÉN ES EL PRIMERO DE NUEVE.

  TENEMOS POCO TIEMPO Y SÓLO UNA OPORTUNIDAD PARA CURAR LA HERIDA.

  ENCUENTRA LOS NUEVE. PARA TI Y PARA ELLOS SON LAS LLAVES QUE ABRIRÁN EL VERDADERO ACERTIJO DE LAS FANTASMAS.

  Rain’s eyes were wide, scanning quickly, trying to take it all in. On her left, ’Bastian was doing the same, but to her right, Charlie was clearly frustrated. “Wonderful. It’s in Spanish. Translation, please.”

  Before she could respond, the flaming letters burnt out, but the words remained charred into the back wall. Rain’s brain tried to keep up, to adjust to all these changes. Gearing up to translate for her friend was the least of her problems: “Uh … It says ‘Welcome.’ ‘Welcome, Searcher, to the Cache.’” She looked around the stone cave. Loosely waved an arm at it. “I guess this place is ‘the Cache.’”

  “And I guess you’re ‘the Searcher,’” Charlie said with almost casual wonder.

  Rain brightened with that epiphany. “Hey, yeah.” Smiling, she refocused on the message. “It congratulates … ME … for finding the first ‘zemi.’”

  All three looked confused. Charlie asked, “What’s a zemi?”

  Rain looked at ’Bastian. He just shook his head and shrugged.

  She said, “I don’t know. Well … Wait a minute—” She looked down at the shelf, at the snake charm key still snugly stuck in its keyhole. “I guess this armband must be a zemi, whatever that means.”

  Charlie was getting impatient now, losing himself finally in his curiosity and the quest. “What else does it say?”

  Rain looked up again, reading and mentally making the simultaneous translation. “It says: ‘You have found the first zemi. Like you, it is … the Searcher and the Healer. Like you it is
also the first of nine.’”

  ’Bastian was stunned. “There are nine of these?”

  Not hearing that, Charlie nevertheless responded. “I counted nine keyholes. They’re all different shapes.”

  And Rain, “Every one?”

  “Every one, yeah. Keep reading!”

  Rain found her place again. “‘We have little time and only one chance to…’” She paused, trying to decipher the next phrase.

  ’Bastian prompted her: “‘Heal the wound.’”

  “‘Heal the wound…?’” she repeated, unsure and frustrated. “I don’t know what that means either.” Failing to find any immediate answers, she shook off her confusion to finish the translation: “‘Encuentra los nueve. Find the nine. For you and they are the Keys to unlocking the true Mystery of the Ghosts.’”

  The three stood there in silence for a time as the phrase “Mystery of the Ghosts” echoed through the Cache. Rain looked around the chamber. At the nine stone chairs. At the nine keyholes. At the words, the walls, the torches flickering in the wind. At the night sky and the ocean in the distance. The room, the world, seemed very large, and the three of them felt very small in comparison. And yet, none of this made her unhappy.

  ’Bastian spoke. “Looks like we have another mission.”

  Rain nodded. “I’ve got to search out eight more of these … ‘zemis’ … and use them to heal some kind of wound before it’s too late…”

  “Okay,” Charlie said. “You twisted my arm. I’m in.”

  “Me too”—from ’Bastian.

  Rain looked from one to the other. “Thanks. Both of you.”

  Rain lifted the snake charm out of its slot and slipped it back onto her arm. “Guess I’ll need this for the next time we find a zemi.”

  “Plus,” Charlie said, “it’d be cruel to strand ’Bastian down here.”

  Rain and the Dark Man exchanged a look. ’Bastian said, “I think he’s getting the hang of this stuff.”