by A. R. Cook
“Nice place you got here, Mac,” Chiriku commented dryly. “Between the mud, the view and the smell, it amazes me that you’d ever want to leave this place.”
“It gets even better,” Mac replied. He was having no problem walking through this scenery—he walked through the mud as casually as if he were on solid ground.
It took about another half hour of walking before they came upon the first sign of an inhabited town. Stretching out over a millpond was a wooden walkway, simple boards tied together with frayed rope. It extended past the pond, off into the brush and fog. The bridge swayed and bobbed up and down uneasily, and Desert Rain feared it would give under their combined weight. Frogs bounded away as they walked by, but other than that and the creaking boards of the walkway, all was quiet.
Mac suddenly stopped, causing Chiriku to bump into him.
“What’s the holdup, bottom feeder?” the Quetzalin inquired, placing her fists on her hips.
“If you all could give me a minute, I want-tkk to get comfy in my home surroundings.” He smoothed back his red hair, and then jumped off the walkway and into the water, vanishing completely beneath the surface.
“Mac! Be careful, something could be down there,” Desert Rain called to him.
“It’s not like he can hear you,” Chiriku scoffed. She looked at the spot in the pond where Mac had dived in, and she knelt to get a closer look. “What an idiot. Making us wait while he takes a swim in that disease-carrying water. I hope he grows fungus out the sides of his head.”
When Mac splashed up through the surface of the water, he had indeed grown something. He no longer had human skin, but bright red scales. His hair had transformed into long, curved spines, which ran from the top of his head down his backside. His fingers now had black hooked claws. The most severe change was his face; although his eyes were the same, his face was fully reptilian, with an iguana snout and striped dewlap under his chin.
“That’s more like it!” Mac said as he slithered out of the water, standing up and shaking the algae off his clothes and scales. He puffed out his lime-green chest in pride. “I was starting to miss-ssck my ol’ skin.”
Desert Rain did her best to hide her shocked expression, for although she knew Mac was a Bayou lizard, she had not expected his transformation to be so severe. Gabriel did not look surprised, but then, surprise was not something he easily showed. Desert Rain wondered if Chiriku had always known what Mac really was—she may have seen his lizard tail peek out from under his waist wrap. The Quetzalin was quiet for a second, but then she laughed.
“That’s an improvement,” Chiriku sneered. “Certainly easier to look at than your other face.”
Before she could continue with any more remarks, Mac whipped his tail at her ankles, tripping her off the walkway and into the pond. She was beneath the water for a mere moment before she popped back up, spurting water and coughing. Mac let out a deep, hearty guffaw at the waterlogged Quetzalin.
“Mac, that wasn’t very nice,” Desert Rain said, although she hid a small smile.
Gabriel said nothing, but he smirked.
“You stupid four-legged snake!” Chiriku grabbed onto the walkway and lifted herself out. She swatted the algae off her feathers and pants. “I oughta rip those spikes off your head!”
Chiriku then noticed that the others were looking at her peculiarly. She gave them all a glare. “What’re you looking at?”
She looked down at her feet, and saw she was standing in a puddle of blue. She looked at her arms, and amidst the royal blue feathers were dingy russet ones. She blushed, putting her arms behind her back and rubbing the back of her right leg with her left foot.
Mac let out a loud, jovial laugh. “You ain’t a natur’l blue!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Night in the Bayou
Walking through the mist, the four travelers came upon houses that rose out of the swamp, rocking gently on top of the mucky waters. Many of the houses were boats, and others were simple huts floating atop rafts of wood. All the houses were attached to the wooden walkway with rope bridges, which did not look secure. The homes were rustic to say the least, with chipped paint jobs, swollen wet wood, tin or thatch roofs, and moss and mold coating the outer walls. There was not a resident to be seen, nor any lights coming from inside the floating houses. With the gray haze and the echoing noises of the swamp, the place seemed little more than a ghost town.
“Where are we, Mac?” Desert Rain asked in a hushed tone, the spookiness of the dilapidated houses making her cautious.
Mac waved his hand in a nonchalant manner. “Don’t-tkk worry, Dez. This is the quiet-tkk side of town. Mostly old folk-kk who don’t like the hullabaloo of the young crowd living up the way.”
Chiriku scanned the area vigilantly, her hand already reaching back for her hammer. Gabriel, using his battlestaff as a walking stick, seemed more at ease. He brought up the rear, and every now and then he glanced back to see if anyone, or anything, would appear out of the mist behind them. Desert Rain stayed close behind Mac, perking up her ears for any odd noises.
Mac was quite comfortable, and he walked along with his hands behind his head, whistling a little tune. Then, for a moment, he stopped whistling and sped up a little. He broke into a brisk walk, and Desert Rain was wondering what had caused him to move faster.
A floating house appeared on the left, much larger than the other houses. It was probably the nicest one in the lot, made of good water-resistant wood, with a shingled roof and even a little decorated paneling on the top and bottom of the walls. It did not bob on the water, for it was supported by thick legs of wood from underneath. It was a little out of place with the huts and boat homes, although the gray paint job was peeled, and moss appeared between cracks around the windows and doors. The windows, black with shadow, were like foreboding eyes watching all that passed by. Desert Rain wondered if someone was home, for she thought she saw movement in one of the windows. She did not get a chance to find out, because Mac’s tail wrapped around her wrist and hurried her along. Chiriku and Gabriel noticed Mac’s rush as well and hurried to keep up.
“Does someone live in that big house?” Desert Rain got to ask after Mac had finally slowed down.
“Eh, prob’bly,” Mac said, scratching his chin. Mac did not have nervous twitches like Desert Rain, but he did a terrible job hiding the uneasiness in his voice.
The walkway became more complex, branching off into various directions, and was elevated by wooden poles so that it was higher above the water. The haze thinned, so they could see more floating boats and houses ahead, as well as larger structures that may have been taverns, inns or stores. Torches atop the poles burned with a friendly red-orange flame and smelling of charred spice leaves. A faint rhythmic beating pulsated in the Bayou, and as they continued, it evolved into upbeat, brassy music. Mac put a hand to his ear—which, in his lizard form, was really a hole on the side of his head—and let out a contented sigh.
“Ah, now I know I’m back-kk in my home sweet home,” he said, smiling broadly. “Can’t beat-tkk the good ol’ Bayou beat-tkk.”
The Bayou became increasingly cluttered with houses as they continued, and a few smaller ones were situated up in the bulky trees due to lack of space on the water. These tree-houses looked like slapped-together nests made from rubbish and planks with slanted tin roofs. It was beginning to look as cramped as Syphurius, or even more so, for there was no even flow or architectural design to it all like the beautiful metropolis. There was about as much thought put into the placement of houses and the pattern of the bridges as one puts thought into sleeping.
Desert Rain had no idea that so many lived in the Bayou, and she saw a wider variety of people than she had ever seen anywhere. None of the species were familiar—no elves, no Falcolin or Quetzalin, no humans, no Stonebreakers—but there was a wide array of furry and scaly humanoids that filled her with awe. Most of them dressed in simple light clothing, particularly those accustomed to moving swiftly through the
waters rather than by bridge. Some, on the other hand, had strange, elaborate tastes in clothing styles, which would cause the fashion-sensible Quetzalin of Syphurius to be either repulsed or amazed. There were lizard people, like Mac, as well as frog, possum, otter, snake and rodent kind. The dreary shadowiness of the swamp that had surrounded them earlier was now replaced by the lights and sounds of the downtown Bayou, and the foursome received more than a fair share of curious looks from the locals.
Desert Rain had always felt out of place wherever she went, but it felt particularly odd to be a Noble in a town of Lejenous. She had absolutely nothing against Bayou Folk—after all, Mac was one of her best friends. It was bizarre, however, and a little funny, for the tables to have turned, for the Nobles to be the minority for a change. She kept her eyes downcast, keeping close to Mac so the locals knew she was with him, but she could feel the gazes of reptilians and aquatic mammalians crawling over her, probing her.
A beaver woman bumped into Chiriku, who in predictable fashion, squawked irritably at the furry-faced female. Chiriku cut her squawk short when she looked into the face of the beaver lady, and jerked her head back in disgust. The beaver woman scuttled away from the agitated Quetzalin.
“It would be best to keep a low profile,” Gabriel advised Chiriku, and he pulled his hat an inch lower over his brow.
“Oh, like that’s possible.” Chiriku looked around at the inquisitive faces of the Bayou residents. “A human, a Quetzalin, and a Hijn following a bright red lizard with a big mouth. We’ll blend right in.”
Mac’s home was not what anyone was expecting. The other houses of the Bayou had not been glamorous, but Mac’s abode was little more than a giant barrel lying on its side, stranded on a small island of wet sod out on the swamp water. The water here was shallow, ankle-deep, which was probably why Mac had no rope ladder leading out to his barrel-house. A small tin stack poked out from the top, thick iron rings held the barrel together and a red-painted door with a small window welcomed them.
“There’s my quaint-tkk and cozy roost-tkk, le Chalet de Mac.” Mac took a second to gaze upon his personal abode. “They don’t make houses like this-ssck one any more.”
“That’s because this place is a dump!” Chiriku snorted.
Mac shrugged. “She’s not much to look-kk at on the outside, but she’s a beaut-tkk on the inside. Come on in.”
A large animal loomed outside the barrel, resting in the cool mud. It lazily stood up, and due to its bulk sunk into the mud up to its knees, its belly skimming the bog. It chewed on some swamp grass, glancing at the visitors with shiny black eyes.
“Kurl?” Desert Rain was surprised, remembering that they had left Kurl back in Syphurius weeks ago.
“There you are, my big ol’ buddy,” Mac said as he strolled up to the strongback, patting him on the nose. “Glad to see you found your way back to the ol’ homestead. Kurl always-ssck comes back-kk here whenever we get separated,” Mac explained to Desert Rain, answering her question before she asked it.
Kurl grunted happily, still chewing on his grass. He still had most of the merchant sacks strapped to his back, although it looked as if he had been looted once or twice along his way home, so Mac swiftly undid the straps and relieved him of the bags. Kurl plopped down into the mud again, content in knowing that his master was home.
Desert Rain came over and patted Kurl as well, and the strongback nuzzled her hand affectionately. Chiriku wrinkled the nostrils of her beak at the mud-covered beast of burden, and Gabriel did not give any acknowledgment at all. Kurl shimmied a little deeper into the cool mud and grunted to himself.
There was a thick lock on Mac’s door, and he couldn’t find the key to it on his person. He found a hairpin in his pocket, which turned out to be useless, so Chiriku removed the lock with one swing of her hammer. The door swung open on its rusty hinges, but the four stood inside the doorway for a moment, since the inside was so cramped with various junk and furniture, there didn’t seem to be any other place to stand.
It was one room, but it had the accessories of every room that could be in a house. There was a mattress on the floor in one corner, a tin stove in another, a table with two chairs next to that, a pile of random clothes on the floor next to that, a small bookcase full of miscellaneous oddities, a ratty armchair that was really too big for the available space, tacky curtains that trimmed sawed-out holes in the walls, and then various bits and pieces of junk that Mac had been experimenting with to make his next big invention. On a shelf that spanned one whole wall were jugs and bottles labeled “tea.”
“Care for a drink-kk?” Mac asked as he took a bottle off the shelf and popped off the cork. “This stuff lasts-ssck a lifetime.”
The others shook their heads, detecting a weird odor from the tea bottle.
“Do you have any drinkable water, Mac?” Desert Rain asked. “We emptied the flasks that the Ahshi gave us.”
“Hey, there’s-ssck no cleaner water than Bayou water. Needs-ssck to be strained a li’l.” Mac found amidst the clutter a dented metal bowl and a square piece of wire-screen, and he made his way back outside. “Make-kk yourselves at home,” he called over his shoulder.
Chiriku immediately took the armchair and sprawled out in it, since this was the obvious place of comfort in the room. Desert Rain and Gabriel sat down in the wooden, padless chairs at the table. The table was also covered in knick-knacks and do-dads, and some ideas scrawled on pieces of stained paper. Mac must have had quite a lot of free time when he was at home, although the one success to come out of his brain-storming so far was the tea.
Mac reappeared quickly, the bowl full of water, and he shook out the wire screen he had used to strain it. The water looked cloudy and had a few floating particles in it, but it still smelled safer than the tea, however old that was. He poured the water into three cups that he found sitting on top of the stove and distributed them to his guests. The others did not have the luxury to be picky. The walk had been long, and any drinkable water was welcome.
Mac found a tinder box and some crumpled paper in the bookcase and used them to start a fire in the pot-bellied stove. The stove fire bathed the room in a warm glow, making it feel homier. He plopped onto the armchair—which meant he also plopped onto Chiriku, who squawked and squirmed out from under him. She moved to sit on the arm of the chair, while Mac shimmied himself into the cushion and sighed.
“As charming as this place is,” Chiriku commented, “I’d like to know where we could get something to eat. It doesn’t look like you have much here.”
“I can whip you all up something,” Mac offered, leaning forward. “You ain’t tasted nothing like Mac Lizard’s patented Super-Spiced Sweet-and-Sour Sizzling—”
“I’d like to eat something that won’t kill me,” Chiriku cut in.
“We also need to know where the port is, so we can start looking for someone who owns a ship there,” Desert Rain added.
“And a place where we can resupply,” Gabriel noted.
Mac rubbed his scaly chin thoughtfully and stood up. “Let’s-ssck see…we need a nice meal, some seafaring folk-kk, some supplies-ssck…I know where we can get all that in one place-ssck.” He started going through the pile of clothing, pulling out some rather gaudy-looking apparel. “We need to visit-tkk my ol’ lounge, the Mudpuddle Oasis-ssck.”
Chiriku snickered. “Sounds charming.”
Mac rummaged a little longer, pulling out some extra clothing. “It’s the best-tkk place in all of the Bayou. Good food, good company, and it’s the hot spot-tkk for music and dancing.”
Desert Rain tapped her fingers on the table. “Mac, I want you to answer me honestly. Do you want to go to that place to party?”
Mac looked at her anxiously. “Dez, I’ve been away from home for months-ssck. I’ve spent the last two weeks with elves and sick-kk people, and it was downright-tkk depressing. I—we—deserve some fun after all that-tkk. A night out is want we need to chase-ssck the blues away.”
“But w
e’re all exhausted. We spent the last three days traveling nonstop. I don’t think any of us have the energy for a party.”
“Not to mention we’re trying to keep a low profile,” Gabriel repeated. “The last thing we want is for people around here to get too curious about what a bunch of Nobles are doing here. They might get suspicious.”
Mac glanced at Chiriku, who did not look too eager to go anywhere. He paused, scratching the back of his head. “Tell you what-tkk—it’s still early enough in the day. You all can rest-tkk for a while, and see how you feel tonight. I’ll drop into town and pick up a snack-kk for you all.” He went over to one of the tea jugs, popped off the cork and turned it upside down, pouring out a few bronze coins that jingled onto the floor. He picked them up and pocketed them, then gave the jug one extra shake to see if he had missed any. Then, humming a little tune, he scurried out the door, shutting it behind him.
“I bet that bum’s going to that Mudhole place right now,” Chiriku commented. “He’ll be back completely drunk.”
“Not Mac,” Desert Rain said. “He won’t forget us. Although I wouldn’t mind staying here the rest of the day, whether he goes to that place or not.”
“If we are going to find someone with a ship and crew, it sounds like a good place to start,” Gabriel suggested. “Better than hunting through every inn and tavern in this town and stirring up the locals. Will that lizard remember to look for a captain and crew on his own?”
Desert Rain sighed. “Mac’s reliable, but he might get carried away with the partying.”
“Hey, the sooner we get a boat, the sooner we get out of this dump,” Chiriku said. “I don’t care if we have to steal one. I can figure out how to sail a stinking boat.”
