by A. R. Cook
Desert Rain blinked, perplexed. So, wait, was she supposed to have learned something from this, or did he? Either way, she lost the round. Fortunately, no one had bet anything, so she stood up, thanked them politely for the game, and started to walk away, when she bumped into Gothart.
“There you are,” the goat said, apparently a bit tipsy due to the wine glass he was holding. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be keeping an eye on me, you’re not doing a very good job. I mean, this is my…wait, let me think…third, forth…some number glass of wine, and I…”
He saw the possum elder sitting at the card table and instantly sobered up. He dropped his glass, freezing in place. The elder was already shuffling for another game, and he started to look over his shoulder towards Gothart. Instantly, Gothart disappeared, into thin air. Desert Rain looked around in complete confusion, thinking Gothart should have at least poofed into smoke or something, not vanish entirely. She looked down at her feet, and saw a potato lying on the floor.
A white potato.
She felt eyes watching her, and she lifted her gaze back up to see the people at the card table looking at her. She shyly smiled. “I dropped my…potato.” She knelt and picked up the tuber, bringing her lips close to it in a harsh whisper. “What in Luuva did you do that for?”
Two tiny eyes and a mouth formed on the potato. “I wasn’t thinking clearly! I was nervous!”
“About what?”
“About…never mind. Hide me!”
Desert Rain shook her head and sighed. She took out the black pouch from her pocket and popped the potato inside. “Stay in there, all right?” She realized the card players were still watching her, seeing her talk to a potato. She smiled again and slipped away onto the crowded dance floor.
This turned out to be a bad idea, for she was jostled around by the dancers, bumping back and forth between them. She was rescued when a hand caught her wrist and pulled her into an open spot on the floor. It was Mac.
“Having fun yet-tkk?” he shouted over the noise.
“Sure,” she answered, saying it more to reassure Mac. “Where’s Chiriku?”
Mac pointed to the side bar, where Chiriku was taking in a few whiskey shots. “Some fellow tried to cut-tkk in on us, and when he made a grab for her, she gave him a good one in the eye.”
The crocodiles at the bar that had intimidated Desert Rain so much were not causing Chiriku any trouble—in fact, they were keeping a good distance from her.
“And Gabriel?” Desert Rain asked.
“Eh, he’s around. Don’t worry about it-tkk. Come on, one dance with your ol’ pal Mac?”
Desert Rain hesitated, and then nodded. Now that Gothart was in hiding again, she didn’t have to worry about anyone. Gabriel and Chiriku could take care of themselves. She was not used to Mac’s style of dancing, however, and found it hard to keep up. Eventually the dancing itself stopped mattering. She was having fun, a kind of fun she hadn’t had in a long, long time. The beat uplifted her, and for that moment, that single moment, everything else melted away. She could feel it, that artistic passion, deep down inside her again. It must have been that piece of soul she still had, and it was all she needed to take in the music, to feel both energized and peaceful.
The music abruptly came to a dead halt. The movement on the floor ceased. Mac and Desert Rain did not even notice at first that all heads had turned towards the entrance of the Mudpuddle. Trying to see over the crowd, they could not tell what was causing the commotion at first. The crowd on the dance floor parted and they got a solid look at who had come up on deck. There stood a large, shaggy figure, wearing a black overcoat and ratty top hat. He leaned on a cane, and his furry, clawed feet were bare save for some muddy spats. It was the face, however, that was truly daunting, a dark gray-furred face with a bristly muzzle like that of a rat or wolf. A sneer of dirty-brown teeth was set in that muzzle, a sneer that even made the crocodiles quiver. The narrow, beady eyes scanned the room, the pointed ears flattened against his head.
“Who is that, Mac?” Desert Rain whispered. When she didn’t receive an answer, she looked at him, and found his face had paled to a pink. His eyes bulged out of his head, and his legs shivered. Desert Rain had never seen Mac this frightened, ever. Katawa himself might as well have entered the room.
Finally, the eyes of the shaggy guest fell on Mac and Desert Rain. He locked on them, his sneer growing into a snarl.
“Macapailius-sssssck!” he bellowed. “You’re in big trouble, boy!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mr. Rotter
Mac stood there, shaking so badly, he might have shimmied out of his skin. Desert Rain could tell that this was not one of those odd Bayou greetings like the one Mac and Clinktail had shared. This time, the rodent-man addressing Mac was furious.
The rodent-man approached Mac slowly, stalking, his cane thumping the floor. He came so close to Mac, his muzzle was barely brushing the lizard’s scaly nose. Mac stared back in frozen terror. The rodent-man’s voice was a raspy, vicious whisper. “The back-kk room. Now.”
The “back room,” as it turned out, was the captain’s cabin located behind the quarterdeck, which Mac was tossed into by the two security toads with as much care as throwing away garbage. The rodent-man entered the room next, slamming the door shut behind him. Desert Rain was not even allowed to put an ear to the door to listen, thanks to the toads guarding it. She sought out Clinktail to find out what was going on.
“Mac isssss in deep mud now,” Clinktail told her. “That’sssss ol’ Missssster Rotter, richessst man in the upper and lower Bayou. He’ssss got a hand in almosssst every busssinesss in the whole ssswampland.”
“Why is he angry with Mac?”
Clinktail shrugged. “Alwaysssss been sssome bad vibesss between Mac and Rotter, ever ssssince Mac wasss workin’ for him assss a newtling. I’m sssure Mac isssss drowning in debt to Rotter again. Not assss if the ol’ coot needsss any more change in hissss fat pocketssss.”
Desert Rain couldn’t help but worry about poor Mac. It did not look like this Mr. Rotter would be easily swayed by any of Mac’s silver-tongued words. “What is it that Mr. Rotter does for a living?” she asked.
“He’sss runsss the busssinesss in the Bayou that’ll never…die.” Clintail chuckled when he said this, and Desert Rain was not sure why.
“What’s so funny?”
Clinktail leaned in close to her, smirking. “He’sss the undertaker.”
Mr. Rotter sat at the furnished desk in the captain’s cabin, rapping his fingers on the desktop calculatingly. His stare consumed Mac with an icy chill, those white eyes set on the lizard like a predator’s. Mac stood on the other side of the desk, trying hard not to sweat, lest his human side start leaking out. He swallowed back his shivers and gave Rotter a flashy smile.
“First of all, it’s-ssck a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rotter sir,” Mac began at a rapid-fire pace. “You’re looking spiffy, you are. That’s-ssck a new hat? New cane? New something, or maybe that’s-ssck your dazzling old self—”
“Shu-ttttk up,” Rotter commanded, accentuating each word with the sharpness of alligator teeth.
Mac instantly quieted.
Rotter folded his hands together on top of the desk, and gave Mac a pleasant smile, seasoned with spite. “You’ve been gone from the Bayou a long time, Mac-k-k. You weren’t-tttk trying to avoid ol’ Rotter, were you?”
Mac shook his head vigorously. “By no means-ssck, my good man. Been doing what merchants do, looking for a good spot-ttk to sell his wares-ssck, that’s all.”
Rotter’s smile dropped. “I hope you’re selling well, after all the money I gave you to further those half-brained ideas of yours-ssssck. Which, need I remind you, you haven’t-tt-tk returned a single red cent-tt-tk to me yet. But I’m guessing that’s-sssck why you’re back in town, to give your old boss Rotter what’s-sssck coming to him.”
Mac tugged at his shirt collar, gulping. “Well, nat’rally, my old friend. And,
might I add, those banishing dolls-ssck I said would sell, they sold good. Got a good chunk-kk of change for them. But, if I may explain, I was in Syphurius-ssck when this big ol’ Nasty started wrecking up the joint-tkk. I lost-tkk a lot of my wares, and I was helping out some good folk-kk, and it’s-ssck by Bayou honor that I help folk-kk in need.”
“Yes-sssck, I heard about you hanging out-tt-tk with some ‘folk-kk,’” Rotter said, sitting back down. “I heard you were seen walking through town with some strangers-sssck. Some…snoots-ssssck, or so I hear.”
Mac’s head spines quivered slightly. “Snoots” was a term some Bayou Folk gave to the Noble Races, and, as one could imagine, it was not a term of endearment. Particularly the older residents had grown some deep-down roots of hatred for Nobles, and Rotter might have had the deepest roots of anyone in the Bayou.
“Well, yes, some…snoots-ssck,” Mac confessed, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. “They’re lost-tkk, that’s all. They were lost in the swamp, and as an honorable lizard, I thought it was the right-tkk thing to do to guide them out-tkk. I took them into town so they could get some food and drink-kk before they go on their way. Just because they’re snoots-ssck doesn’t mean we have to be all snooty too, right-tkk?”
Rotter squinted his eyes in skepticism. “You consort-tt-tk with some bad company, lizard. And it’s that-tt-tk kind o’ damned generosity that’s-sssck put you in debt, and me losing money! You used to be good at what-tt-tk you do…swindling. Now you’re going on about-tt-tk being ‘honorable,’ and blathering nonsense-sssck.” A devious smile spread over Rotter’s face. “I still got that-ttk coffin, Mac-k-k. You know which one I’m talking about-tt-tk?”
Mac, with wide, terror-filled eyes, nodded.
“I kept it all these years-sssck. Maybe you’d like to take-kk a walk down to my place, take-kk another look inside—”
Rotter’s talk was interrupted by a commotion outside. There was the sound of a scuffle, and the thud of two heavy things dropping on the floor. Then there came a loud pounding on the door, which after about three pounds burst open. Standing in the doorway was a gecko, a blue one with brown spots, and she stood over the two toad guardians, who moaned on the floor, one holding his stomach, the other his face. Behind the gecko was a frog nymph—the one who had been with Mac when Rotter arrived—and an otter dressed in a green cape and hat.
“I don’t know who you are,” the gecko shouted, “but nobody messes with Mac unless I say it’s okay!”
“Chi—Speckle,” the frog nymph said bewilderedly, “You didn’t have to go kicking down the door!”
“So much for low profile,” the otter mumbled.
Rotter stood and curled his lip at the intruders. “Friends of yours-sssck?” he growled to Mac.
“And downright-tkk good ones, even if they’re a bit-tkk too loyal,” Mac said, looking directly at Chiriku. “You must-tkk forgive them. They’re from down the coast-tkk, so they don’t know how things work-kk around here.”
Rotter raised his bristle-haired nose, sniffing at the intruders. He may have been old, but he was no fool, and his nose was as sharp as ever. He wrinkled his face and stepped out from behind his desk. “They’re Bayou Folk-kk as much as I’m a newt-tt-tk!” he snarled. “Bad enough you’re hanging out with snoots-ssck, but you’ve been consorting with bewitched snoots-sssck!” He advanced towards Chiriku, who stood her ground defiantly. “I ain’t afraid o’ no hexes-sssck, and I ain’t fooled by no magic skins-ssck you’re wearing. You smell like-kk feathers. You must be a bird snoot-tt-tk.” He looked at Gabriel. “And I can smell your human funk-kk all the way from over here! Arrogant, hairless-sssck, flat-faced weasel, is what-tt-tk you are!” He turned to Desert Rain, and his nose wrinkled in puzzlement. He sniffed at her closely—a little too closely, so Desert Rain stepped back a pace. She felt like this scenario was strangely familiar—in fact, Rotter reminded her of somebody, or somebodies. Rotter growled and turned back to Mac. “You wanna be a snoot-tt-tk too, Mac-k-k? Is that why you’re befriending these…these high-and-mighty turned-up-noses-sssck? Got noses so high in the air, they feel rain coming ten minutes-ssck before the rest o’ us—”
“Holy buzzards, will you shut up??” Chiriku blurted. “Who died and made you boss anyway?”
Rotter inhaled a deep breath, as if he were preparing to explode at Chiriku. But his voice came out softly, darkly. “Interesting you should say ‘died’…”
Mac was starting to sweat, and his scales were turning the peach tone of human flesh.
“I’m boss-ssck ‘round here because-sssck people die,” Rotter continued, advancing on the pretend gecko. “I’m very rich because people die. It’s-sssck the one thing you can always-sssck count on…people dying. It’s a very profitable thing. You don’t get-tt-tk into the Eternal Deep unless you got a few coins-sssck for the man who’ll send you there properly.” He lowered his face so his nose pressed against Chiriku’s. “I’ve seen so many dead folk-kk, heard so many stories-sssck about how they died, I can even tell how any person I see is-ssck gonna die. Maybe you would like-kk to know?”
Chiriku furrowed her eyebrows, stepping back. “You are one creepy guy,” she said.
“Please, Mr. Rotter, we didn’t mean to barge on in here and be rude,” Desert Rain said. “We were worried about Mac. He’s a really kind, warm-hearted lizard, and if you could find it in your heart to go easy on him—”
Rotter barked a boisterous laugh. “I don’t-tt-tk know where you’re from, missy, but I don’t fall for a couple nice words-ssck from a lady. ‘Find it in your heart-tt-tk”…I’m too ol’ and tired for having a heart-tt-tk!” He stared at her peculiarly, and Desert Rain felt she knew what he was thinking. What are you really, underneath that magic skin?
“Surely, we can come to an agreement—” she began.
“I don’t make deals with snoots-sssck. And I’m tired of lizards-ssck talking me into loaning them money for stupid ideas-ssck.” He looked back at Mac, who was furiously wiping off sweat so that he would remain as red-scaled as possible. “You’re gonna work-kk off that debt, lizard, down with the coffins-ssck, and by my count, you’ve got ten years worth o’ work-kk before you even come close to paying me back-kk!”
Mac was shaking terribly now. “Please, I’ll get-tkk you the money! I’ll go out-tkk and sell double! I’ll work-kk my claws to the bone, but-ttk don’t make me go down with the coffins-ssck!”
“You’re the undertaker, I take it?” Gabriel asked.
Rotter sneered at him. “You’re one of the genius snoots-ssck, ain’t you? What’s it-tt-tk to you if I am?”
“It seems to me that a man of your shrewd intelligence and eye for business wouldn’t waste his time on a mangy lizard like Mac. Are you running so short on dead people that you need to scrape money from a lousy merchant? Surely a man of your wealth doesn’t need a few extra coins from an unreliable reptile.”
Mac was about to protest, but he kept himself quiet, hoping Gabriel was going somewhere with this.
Rotter took another irritated inhale, tightening his fingers on his cane. “Maybe a human like-kk you needs-ssck enough money for himelf, but some o’ us folk-kk have families-ssck to take care of. Stupid, free-loading families-sssck.” He looked away, his train of thought taking him to a dark place he had been countless times. “Like-kk I would care about collecting debts-ssck if I didn’t have to look after those good-for-nothing nitwits-ssck. Always-ssck eating, always-ssck sleeping, and never around when you need them. Supposed to be learning the family business-ssck, but instead they go off and run rampant-tt-tk around the country, and use the money I give them to buy a damned boat-tt-tk so they can go sailing to some damned islands—”
That was the last thing Desert Rain heard before her mind’s gears went to work. A boat, owed by some boys who wanted to go north towards the islands of the Coast Keepers? This was too good to be true! Maybe it was that whole “design of destiny” thing again. She had to meet whoever Rotter was talking about—but would he co
operate?
“—and have swamp mud for brains-sssck!” Rotter finished his ramblings. He took a minute to breathe and calmed himself.
“Mr. Rotter, if I may ask—” Desert Rain began again.
“No, you may not ask-kk. And stop calling me Mr. Rotter,” he snapped. “That’s-ssck my first name, Rotter, and it’s unrespectable coming from a snoot-tt-tk. You call me formal-like-kk—Mr. Vermin.”
Desert Rain’s jawed almost hit the floor. That name—she knew that name! Now she knew who Rotter reminded her of. “Mr. Vermin, you wouldn’t happen to be related to three Vermin brothers, would you? One kind of brawny and brown-furred, one skinny and black-furred, and one little and white and can’t seem to control how loud his voice is?”
Rotter grimaced, tapping a finger on the head of his cane. “How do you know my nephews-sssck?” he asked.
So they were related. What a small Luuva Gros it was!
“Answer me,” he barked. “Where do you know my nitwit-tt-tk nephews from?”
“Well,” Desert Rain answered, “I was going on a trip to Syphurius, and they sort of ran into me—well, jumped me, is more like it—and they gave me quite a scare, but that was before I realized they were silly boys playing a joke.”
Rotter went suddenly rigid. He looked horrified but was keeping himself under control as best he could. His cane rattled on the floor, for his hand was shaking. Finally, he calmed, and his body sunk into itself. He tightened his lips, and cocked an eyebrow, as if he were thinking intensely about something. He looked back up at Desert Rain. “And that was-ssck that? They gave you a fright, and left-tt-tk?”
“Pretty much,” the girl replied. “Oh, and I gave them a little food I had, to show no hard feelings, but that was it. No harm done.”
This made Rotter go rigid again. This time he looked appalled, and furious. “You…you’re coming with me,” he hissed, pointing his cane at Desert Rain. “Now.”
Rotter Vermin lived in the big scary house in the quiet part of the Bayou, which Desert Rain figured he must have since Mac had been so scared of that house. Now the windows were lit with a faint orange, and it came close to looking cozy from the outside. Rotter was prodding Desert Rain along with his cane, while the others followed behind quietly. Mac would have ventured to say something optimistic, if he weren’t terrified of the rodent-man in front of him. Chiriku crossed her arms and scowled, while Gabriel was not either worried or pessimistic about the situation. In his mind, he could see things coming together, and somehow that desert Hijn was making it work.
