A Key, An Egg, An Unfortunate Remark

by Harry Connolly

  A few minutes later they had hung Natalie’s key ring on the outside of her office door and stumbled into the clean night air.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Marley said. “I never dreamed things had gotten so bad. Quigley has got to go.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Prioritizing Is the Key to Success

  “I’m sorry,” Albert said. “I was useless in there.”

  He collapsed against the hood of their car, letting his cheek rest against the cool metal hood. Marley came over and patted his head. “Well, of course, dear. I wouldn’t expect you to be much help against that sort of ghost. Not yet. Still, better to encounter one with me than all alone. Now, a word of advice: you’re going to feel like cursing just now. Don’t. Profanity only makes things worse.”

  “Okay then: I feel fudging awful.”

  Marley laughed. It was only a little laugh, but it surprised her nonetheless. “You can drive, can’t you? Of course you can. Let’s get out of here and visit a nice restaurant. We need fortifying and I’m afraid only chowder will do.”

  There were seafood places at the bottom of the hill but Marley didn’t want to risk another conversation with Natalie or Kara. For his part, Albert was happy to put as much distance between himself and Amos Quigley as possible. Eventually they drove all the way around the bay and pulled in at a seafood place across the street from the Sculpture Park.

  Albert parked in the gravel lot and helped his aunt from the car. He was still deeply shaken but did his best not to show it. “This place is a little rundown compared to your usual.”

  Marley walked away from the restaurant entrance, stepped between two cement blocks used to keep cars from encroaching on the train tracks, then stooped to pick up a stone about the size of an apricot. She turned it over in her hand as though she’d expected to find a message written on it, then suddenly threw it over her shoulder.

  It soared in a high, narrow arc and fell onto the windshield of a black SUV, making a small spider-web crack low on the passenger side.

  “Aunt Marley, what are you doing?” Albert looked around nervously, but no one had seen them. He looked at the SUV, hoping against hope that the cracked glass would magically vanish. Unfortunately, the laws of the universe did not violate themselves for his sake, nor did time flow backwards. The windshield was broken. Albert knew that, if that were his car, he would be furious.

  Oblivious to his concern, Marley started toward the door. “I like to eat in a variety of places, dear. And I hear their chowder is something special.” Still, she looked a little dubious as Albert opened the door.

  The chairs and benches were made of rough wood, scarred from years of ill-treatment and the tables were not much better. The booths were mostly empty and poorly lit. When the maitre d arrived, Marley asked to be seated near a family with children.

  The waitress and Albert both were startled when Marley informed them they would be starting with dessert and ordered two dishes of ice cream. “There’s an extra ten dollars in it for you if you can have them here in three minutes.”

  She did, and they both tucked in immediately. “Oh yeah,” Albert said. “This is just what I needed.” They forced themselves to eat slowly and savor their food, even though their encounter with Quigley had left them ravenous.

  When the waitress returned, they ordered entrees and clam chowder. “I can see why the TV people called the producer back to L.A.,” Albert said after she left. “It’s fun to watch the investigators on the show wander through spooky, decrepit buildings and freak out in the dark, but dealing with that Quigley dude wouldn’t have been fun at all. It was all...”

  “It was misery,” Marley said. “Misery and stale, irrational ideas that drain the vitality, creativity, and joy out of people. Don’t get me wrong; there are contented ghosts out there, breezing through their days thinking the same old thoughts and doing the same old things without harm to anyone, but some are desperately unhappy and frighteningly irrational.”

  “And not all of them are dead.”

  “That’s what ‘undead’ means, dear. Dead but not dead. If you’re going to stand astride the line between life and death, it doesn’t much matter which side you came from.”

  Albert’s scalp tingled. He had let himself fall into a routine almost as soon as he’d settled into his aunt’s home: job interview in the morning, work out in the afternoon, video games through the evening. He hadn’t even tried to contact his old friends from high school, not for weeks. He remembered Weathers stepping over the fishing line Marley had tied in her living room; Weathers must have seen everything as though it was new, every time he saw it. Albert didn’t think he could manage that, but he resolved to never let himself become one of those undead, not even a happy one. He didn’t want to be anything like Quigley.

  “But Quigley was extremely dead,” Marley said reassuringly. Her nephew would have been disconcerted to discover just how easily she could read his expressions. “He’s just about at the farthest, nastiest end of the bell curve.”

  “And we’re going back there to deal with him.”

  Marley sighed. “We are, but not right away. I already knew he was there but hadn’t realized he’d gotten so... intense. Still, Aloysius’s murder has to be our top priority. As troublesome as Quigley has become, the mystery surrounding my nephew takes precedence.”

  “Still, ghosts and vampires... It’s not like the movies, is it?”

  “Has Hollywood misinformed you?” She laughed, but it was a pleasant sound. “Do you think forensics examiners have labs with glass walls and atmospheric blue lights. Do you think they run DNA tests on every piece of evidence for every crime, with the results coming back that same afternoon? Do you think doctors charge into operating rooms shouting ‘Stop! You’ve misdiagnosed that patient!’ ”

  Albert grinned sheepishly. “Point taken.”

  “People don’t want to see the real thing, because it’s often so dreary. There’s so much grief and unhappiness, and entertainment is meant to be fun.”

  “In that case, let me ask one more thing.”

  “I won’t be ready to work on the task at hand until our food arrives, so please do.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for letting me ask so many questions. Okay. Here we go: What’s the craziest secret about the supernatural here in Seattle? What would really blow my mind?”

  “Albert, those are two very different questions. The craziest secret is that our city is very ordinary in terms of the supernatural powers here. But what would probably blow your mind the most is…” she paused for dramatic effect, “that there’s a dragon in Puget Sound.”

  For a moment, Albert didn’t move or think or do anything at all. A dragon? As much as he feared the animal teeth and claws of a werewolf, a huge creature like…. He tried to convince himself he’d misheard. “Um, a... what?”

  “A dragon, dear.”

  “Like a real St. George-on-a-horse dragon?”

  “Oh, please! Saint George.” She said the name with genuine distaste. Just like that, Marley was angry and snappish again. “The only dragon you can kill with a sharp stick is a little baby one. And you don’t condone killing babies, do you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Albert said promptly.

  “Hmf.” Marley knew she’d let her temper get away from her. The effect of Quigley’s power had still not given way; she needed that chowder. “Anyway, dragons are quite powerful and mysterious creatures. Wondrous, dangerous, and thrilling.”

  “So, if I got a scuba suit, then, and dove into the deepest parts of the Sound, would I see, like, scales the size of trash can lids?”

  Marley gave him a shrewd look. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question: what do you think you’d see?”

  He fell quiet and thought about it for a moment. The waitress arrived with their food and he didn’t answer until she’d arranged everything and left. “Magic becomes less powerful when it becomes real, yes? And dragons are very powerful—“

  “—Possibly the most
powerful things in the world.”

  “Which would mean that wherever I looked, I wouldn’t find it, because it isn’t real, even though it’s most definitely there.”

  “Oh, what a joy you are to me, Albert. You have no idea how nice it is to talk with a man who listens.”

  As they ate, their moods began to improve. When the waitress returned to ask if everything was all right, Marley ordered ginger ale for the both of them, and that also turned out to be just the right thing.

  Their meal was nearly finished when a woman across the room began to scream. Everyone leaped up to see what was going on. A young mother had jumped up onto the seat of her booth, and she was holding her two-year-old over her head.

  Albert moved around Marley toward the commotion. “I’ll check this—”

  “Oh my God!” A man said. “It’s a rat!” He had a military haircut and biceps that could have landed him on the cover of a fitness magazine. He snatched up a big suitcase from his own booth and ran for the door.

  “Ah well,” Marley said. She threw a handful of twenties on the table and sedately joined the herd of fleeing customers.

  The manager stood by the door, pleading with people not to go, for all the good it did him. Marley patted his arm as she went out and assured him that she’d left money for the bill on the table. He thanked her sincerely.

  Just before the door closed behind them, they heard a woman’s high-pitched voice shout “Again, Rocky? Again!”

  They walked across the parking lot. Albert looked around guiltily for the SUV his aunt had damaged, but it had already left the lot. “That was gross.”

  “Oh, stop,” Marley scolded him. “There was nothing wrong with our food, except for all the salt and heavy cream.” She turned and looked across the street toward the Sculpture Park. Night had fallen but the park was lit up. “So. Shall we take a walk?”

  Her phone rang. There was a low hissing voice on the line. “Danger,” it said. “You will die. You will in danger. You will have fear and have pain. You will in danger.”

  Marley’s response was chipper. “Why thank you, dear, for letting me know. I’ll be right over.” She hung up the phone.

  “Albert, let’s get the car. We’ll have to take a detour from our so-called investigation. I think it’s time to introduce you to one of the more colorful residents of my city.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "We Like Kitties"

  At Marley’s instruction, Albert found a parking space in a small corporate campus on the south side of the ship canal, then he and Marley walked along the trail toward Lake Union. The was getting late, but there were still joggers on the path—most of them students—and a few couples braving the late chill to sit by the water.

  Now that night had fallen, Albert’s paranoia shifted into high gear. The path was poorly lit and filled with greenery. If a vampire was going to swoop down on them, this would be a likely place for them to do it. Not that he could really picture Betty, Clive, or Spire actually swooping, but the thought was in his head and there was no dislodging it.

  Worse, the canal on their left cut off retreat from that direction, and the path itself was an effective bottleneck. If those gunmen made another try for Marley, Albert would be unable to protect her. They certainly couldn’t swim to safety.

  Marley was utterly untroubled by such thoughts as she led Albert to the underside of the Fremont Bridge. The trail was cramped, with chain link fencing on the canal side and an extremely steep, overgrown hill on the other. Worse, as far as Albert was concerned, was that the bridge above blocked almost all of the light from the streets above.

  Marley stood on the path and called: “Hello, Fremont Bridge!”

  Something rustled in the bushes on the hill, making the hair on Albert’s neck stand straight up. He started to move in front of his aunt to guard her, but stopped himself. She’d made it pretty clear that she didn’t want him to be her bodyguard. “We’re going to talk to a bridge?”

  “No, dear. A troll.” Albert thought immediately of the Fremont Troll, a statue tucked under the northern end of the Aurora Bridge. It was little more than a huge trollish face, with one hand laid over a stone Volkswagon. Albert’s heart began to race. “Trolls don’t have names of their own,” Marley continued, “so they take the name of the connection they live under. Isn’t that right, Fremont Bridge?”

  “Yes, Marley Jacobs.” The low, hissing voice came from the bushes, and Albert jumped back.

  “It’s all right, Albert. Fremont Bridge, would you come out a bit so I can introduce you? There are no people nearby.”

  “Yes, Marley Jacobs.” A long-fingered hand emerged from the bushes. The arm it was attached to was also long and frighteningly slender. Then the body slid into the faintly-reflected streetlights, and Albert could see the whole thing.

  It was smaller than he expected, about the size of an underweight twelve-year-old boy. Its arms were as long as an orangutan’s and its feet were another set of hands. He thought it looked like it was built for snatching prey from hiding, and he was right.

  It was the face that disturbed Albert most. It was like the edge of a pillow, rectangular but rounded off, and wrinkled like ruined leather. It had no eyes that he could see, just two nostril holes it could close and open, and a lipless mouth full of tiny, sharp piranha teeth. Albert felt a strange hollow chill in the pit of his stomach and he had to squelch the urge to grab his aunt and carry her back to the car.

  “Fremont Bridge, this is Albert Smalls.”

  The little troll made a sound like it was clearing its throat, which Albert immediately recognized as laughter. “What part of you is small?” it asked. “You seem large to me. Too large for climbing.”

  “I think the smallest part of me,” Albert said carefully, “is my knowledge of trolls. You don’t look much like your statue.”

  Marley grimaced and waved furtively at Albert, trying to back him off the subject, but it was too late.

  “Not my statue! I never make statue! No one make statue of me! Statue is horrible and insulting! Statue has eyes.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Albert said, his mind racing through all the possible things he could say to make things right. “It must be obvious how little I know about trolls, since I’ve just insulted you when I meant to compliment you.”

  The little creature considered this a moment. “I understand. I take a compliment instead. Your meaning smells strongly to me now.”

  “Fremont Bridge, why did you think I was in danger?”

  The troll curled its hands in front of its chest. “Marley Jacobs, you stood in place that will be destroyed. You go there and then will you die. If you die, who will bring new batteries for my phone?”

  “Too true. Do you know what sort of danger it is?”

  “Place will be destroyed. Marley Jacobs die. Batteries die. No more Candy Crush Saga.”

  “We must avoid that, if we can. Thank you for the warning. How have you been?”

  “Lonely.”

  “Oh, good. I’m very happy for you.”

  Albert spoke up: “I just realized that the murder took place just across the canal. Two nights ago.”

  The troll uncurled its legs, rising upward as though it was a marionette and someone was pulling invisible strings. “Fremont Bridge never murder. Fremont Bridge keeps to its deal. Never break. Likes batteries. Likes delicious birds and rats. Likes kitties.”

  “Yes, of course. We like kitties, too, in our way,” Marley explained. “But we’re not asking if you ate him, dear, only if you witnessed his murder.”

  It looked mildly confused. “Why do you care about someone else’s prey?”

  “He was my brother,” Albert said.

  “Connection,” Marley interjected. “We’re connected to him.”

  “That is a strong smell to me now. Humans have many confusing connections. I am disappointing to you, Albert Smalls, because I did not witness this killing, only the activity that came after. I was in my invisible place hidi
ng from burning light for many hours. When I woke, the dark had come long before and the prey you are connected with had been discovered. Many people. Flashing lights.”

  “Ah,” Marley said. “Thank you. Do you need anything? A new battery?”

  “Battery is fine for now but I would like more kitties. I am bored eating rats and crows.”

  “How about a fish, instead? A nice, long, fresh salmon?”

  It clasped its hands together in delight, made that laughing sound once more, then sprang against the side of the bridge support, scrambled up the vertical face with astonishing speed and grace, then crawled along upside down until it vanished on the underside of the bridge.

  Marley took Albert’s elbow and they began to walk back to the car. “Dear, I suppose you’re curious about trolls, now?”

  “Hell yes, but you’ve been answering my questions all day, and I’m working for you. I don’t want to be a pest.”

  “If I think you’ve become a pest, you’ll know. I don’t suffer in silence, believe me. I’m glad you asked it about the murder. I’d never have thought of it.”

  “For all the good it did.”

  “It’s important to ask! Feel free to do it again.”

  “What did he mean by ‘invisible place’?”

  “I made a special bag for him. It’s completely invisible.”

  “You can do that? Then—“

  “I didn’t use one for us for several reasons. They’re very difficult to move. They’re very difficult to move around in. They’re also very dark. They’re collapsed-mine-shaft-a-mile-down dark.”

  “They are?”

  “These bags are invisible, dear. That means no light gets inside. And that’s fine for a troll—it doesn’t have light where it comes from and it doesn’t much like it. But for a human being it’s deeply disturbing. It’s like punishment.”

  “Where does he—it, I mean, come from?”

  “I don’t know. Trolls are an interesting problem. The rumor is that some fool was trying to open a connection to another place, and screwed up so badly that he brought trolls into our world. They’re spread out over the whole globe and the whole of human history. When a new bridge—a new connection between places—is built over water, one of the trolls, summoned so very many years ago, appears beneath it.”