by A. R. Cook
“Maybe we should leave the boat hunt to Mac,” the Hijn decided. “We might make it harder to get anyone to help us. The Noble Races have treated Bayou dwellers like dirt for who knows how long. They have every right to refuse us. Not to mention we don’t have much in the way of payment.”
“That lizard may not make it any easier,” noted Gabriel. “We don’t know how the people around here feel about him, being able to make himself look human. Either way, I don’t like the idea of staying cooped up in this shack. Someone could get nosy.” Gabriel said this as he turned his head towards one of the window-holes in the wall. There was a quick glimpse of some frog faces there, but they quickly vanished, the sound of rapid splashing trailing them.
Chiriku shook her head. “You wanna actually go to that Mudhole place? Donkey Ears is right, they probably hate people like us. And having Mac as an escort won’t do any good. He’s probably as much a bum here as anywhere else.”
“I’m curious, do you do anything other than gripe?” Gabriel asked her.
Chiriku opened her beak to speak, but Desert Rain interrupted. “Hold on a second, I have an idea.” She reached into her pocket and took the black pouch.
“You’re not seriously going to talk to that moronic goat, are you?” Chiriku asked, sneering at the pouch. “What do you want to bring him into this for?”
“Goat?” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed inquisitively.
“He’s a Trickster who’s tagging along with me. Don’t worry, he’s really not troublesome…too much. But he might solve our ‘staying inconspicuous’ problem.” She loosened the drawstring and opened the bag. “Gothart? Are you still in here?”
She investigated the bag, seeing nothing but darkness. She shook the bag gently. “Gothart, I need to ask you something.”
“Ah, now you want my help,” she heard Gothart’s voice inside the bag, although it sounded distant. “I know I said I wanted to lie low, but you could’ve been a little more concerned about my well-being than this!”
“Why, are you sick?”
“Sick of being ignored! A goat can play so many rounds of solitaire before it’s boring. I’ve practically eaten all my books. But, because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll listen to your silly little question.”
Desert Rain considered closing the pouch but decided against it. “I have two questions: one, you must have spellcasting abilities, right?”
“Better and beyond that, my dear. I hope your second question is more interesting than that one.”
“All right, second: do you know how to skin mold?”
***
The Mudpuddle Oasis turned out to be a ship—the deck of one, at any rate. Whether the boat was sunk in the swamp, or the underside of the boat was gone, one couldn’t say. A walkway led up to the top of the hull, where there were two toad men that stood with sour looks on their faces. On the main deck, it was crowded with people at small, candle-lit tables, or people on a broad dance floor. Past the main deck was the staircase leading up to the quarterdeck, which had been transformed into a stage with a brass-and-drum band, playing the music Mac loved so dearly. There were six rectangular banners, as big as sails, along the railing of the main deck, painted with music-themed murals. On what was visible of the hull of the boat was painted the name of this establishment, in big red, black and yellow letters.
“She’s really something,” Mac said to his companions. “Some lizards-ssck found the boat sunk-kk here in the Bayou, and we fixed it-tkk up. The old folk-kk don’t like it much, but there’s always something for the young folk-kk to drink to here.” He looked at his friends, observing each of them again, as he had when he came back to his house and found all of them covered in remarkable skin-molds. “By the by, I like-kk what that goat fellow did with you all. If I didn’t-tkk know better, I would’ve taken you for genuine Bayou Folk.”
Desert Rain felt odd with the skin-mold on. She could still see, hear, smell and feel the same as always, but when she looked down at herself, she saw turquoise, shiny skin instead of her golden-ochure skin. Gothart had enchanted her bandana to make her appear as a frog nymph, which was a good fit for her, since frog nymphs had modified gills on their heads that looked like hair, so her long dark hair was now greenish in color. Nymphs also had long fingers and toes, so it didn’t stunt any of her normal hand movements. Even her face was not so different, except her nose was flatter and her eyes bigger and black, and her moonstone was hidden. Her donkey ears were replaced by fin-like ears, and her attire was sleek and skin-tight, as it was with most water dwellers. It was the sleekness of her outfit that made her nervous, but everything was covered well enough.
Gabriel’s hat was enchanted to give the illusion that he was a sort of otter, although it didn’t matter much since he was pretty much hidden beneath his clothes anyway. The color and style of his apparel was different, however; it was no longer a muddy brown, but a clean, fine hunter green. His mantle was trimmed in gold, under which was a black shirt and green pants.
Chiriku was not happy with her skin-mold. She was a blue, brown-spotted gecko. Her clothing had not changed from the baggy pants and T-shirt at all, except there was a long-banded tail trailing out behind her. She had to leave her hammer at Mac’s house so not to scare any of the locals, but if she had it, she would have beaned that dumb goat. She was tempted to kick off her left shoe that possessed the skin-mold enchantment so to break the spell, but she wanted to get out of this Bayou quickly, and they needed to fine a boat captain to do it.
Then there was one more in their entourage, for Gothart, when he found out they were going to a musical soiree, refused to go back into his pouch. Desert Rain could not do anything to convince him otherwise, and he wanted something in return for his skin-molding services, so all she could do was make him promise to stay on his best behavior. He had not given himself a skin mold, for he would not mar his great goatliness by masking himself in amphibian or reptilian skin. Goat humanoids were not considered Nobles, so there would not be any problems with the locals—providing that Gothart did not choose to cause any trouble. Gabriel was monitoring the Trickster extra-closely, not trusting him any farther than he could fling him with one hand. What had been peculiar was that Gabriel had not looked surprised to meet the white goat that magically popped out of pouches, but as stated before, surprise was not Gabriel’s thing.
The music of the Mudpuddle, even from where they stood, was a cacophonous blast of brass, percussion and vocal warbling. It was not like any other music heard in Luuva Gros, and while it was foreign, Desert Rain found herself liking it. It was not the docile, practiced music taught by professional composers and theater artists, but the carefree, improvised, untamed rhythms of the soul. It was what music should be, in Desert Rain’s mind, but Chiriku thought otherwise.
“What is this noise?” the Quetzalin cawed, putting her hands on her ears.
“It’s the beat-tkk of the Bayou,” Mac answered, “and, I should tell you—” he pointed to Chiriku’s new face, and said with a smile—“that’s an improvement-tkk.”
Chiriku scowled at him.
They ascended the wooden walkway to the rail of the Mudpuddle’s deck, where the two toads stared at them warily. Mac, leading the way, puffed out his chest and swished his tail. “Long time no see, gentletoads-ssck! You can strike up the band, ‘cause Mac is finally back-kk!”
The toads’ eyes widened initially, obviously recognizing the lizard, but then those eyes narrowed, and they crossed their arms. They did not move.
Mac glanced back and forth between the two bouncers. “Come on, you both ain’t forgotten about ol’ Mac, have you?”
“Not by a long ssssshot,” came a hissing voice behind the toads. Out stepped a purple lizard, taller and slinkier than Mac, and not half as friendly-looking. A large circular frill flared up around his head, and his eyes were cold. “You’ssss got sssome nerve coming ‘round here.”
“Clinktail Bone,” Mac addressed the purple lizard, saying that name rigidly. “Nice-ss
ck to know you never left the Bayou.”
“Unlike sssome lizardssss I know.”
Desert Rain could sense a bad confrontation coming, but her fears turned out to be unnecessary. After a short stare-down, the two lizards suddenly started laughing, and then Clinktail came down onto the walkway and gave Mac a slap on the back. “Where have you been? The Mudpuddle wasss getting boring without you,” Clinktail said.
“Been out and about-tkk, here and there,” Mac replied, putting his arm around Clinktail. “Thought I would bring some friends-ssck for a night out-tkk.”
“I ssssee,” Clinktail said, eyeing the others, in particular Desert Rain. He gave her a crooked smile. “Who’sss the lovely lady?”
Desert Rain knew what Clinktail was seeing was her skin-mold, and not how she really looked. Still, the word “lovely” made her feel patronized.
Mac took his arm off Clinktail to put it around Desert Rain. “This-ssck is my Gila Gul, Rain,” he said without hesitation—he had obviously practiced the introduction in his head. “And that-tkk is my cousin Speckle and her groom-to-be Riv. They’ve come from down the coast-tkk.”
Chiriku and Gabriel inwardly fumed at Mac having made them fictionaly fiancés, but they didn’t say anything.
Gothart cleared his throat loudly.
Mac glanced over at him. “Oh, and the goat-tkk. He followed me home, so I kept him.”
Gothart wrinkled his nose at Mac. “Very cute,” he mumbled.
“Any friendsss o’ Mac be friendsss o’ mine,” Clinktail said, taking Desert Rain’s hand and kissing it. “I will ssshow you to my perssssonal booth.” He gestured for the toads to move aside, which they did, and Clinktail led them through the maze of candle-lit tables and carousing Bayou Folk.
“What was all that about?” Desert Rain whispered to Mac. “The way he first greeted us, I thought he was going to give you trouble.”
Mac laughed. “Just-tkk a game we play, Gila. Much more interesting than a simple hello, don’t you think-kk?”
Desert Rain nodded, wondering how she was going to pass off as Bayou Folk when they had such strange ways of doing things—even saying hello!
Clinktail’s “private booth” was a table for six situated near the rail near the broadside of the ship. It was half-way towards the stage, so the music did not drown out their speaking. The booth was directed beneath one of the mural banners, so at least that was nicer to look at that the swamp water below. The table was covered in a red cloth, and the chairs padded in the same color. Almost as soon as they sat down, a reptilian barmaid came by with an array of wines and ales for them to choose from. Mac and Clinktail chose the “lizard’s favorite,” a strong ale, and Gothart took a glass of red wine. The others politely refused drinks, which made the barmaid cast confused glances at them.
“They’re from down the coast-tkk,” Mac explained to her. “It’s-ssck dry territory down there.”
The barmaid shrugged and walked away.
“Pardon me, gentssss and ladiessss,” Clinktail said, “but I have to be on ssstage sssoon. Maybe Mac the Lounge Lizard will join me?”
Mac lifted his mug of ale to him. “Wouldn’t miss-ssck it.”
As soon as Clinktail was out of ear-shot, Chiriku—or Speckle, as she had been dubbed—got to the point. “So anyway, where do we find any supposed sailors in this place?”
“Relax-ssck, we don’t have to get right-tkk down to business right now, do we?” Mac took a gulp of his ale. “We’re here to have some fun.”
“Finally, someone who speaks my language,” Gothart mused, sipping his wine.
Gabriel narrowed his otter eyes at him, and then on Mac. “We’re here on business. I don’t know how Bayou Folk run things, but we do have some time constraints.”
“Oh dear, another boring one.” Gothart emptied his glass, and then broke off a piece of the glass and ate it. “I’m going to go schmooze, if that’s all right with you.”
“No, it’s not all right!” Desert Rain grabbed Gothart as he was standing up, and she pulled him back down. “You are not going anywhere out of sight tonight, got it?”
Gothart half-laughed, half-brayed. “Yes, mother,” he joked.
Chiriku sighed irritably. “Let the goat go do whatever he wants. Maybe we’ll lose him finally.”
“I’m going to go look around and see if I can gather any information,” Gabriel said as he stood up and slinked away into the crowd.
“Can we please-ssck have some fun now?” Mac asked as he finished off his ale. “Oh, I like-kk this song. Come on, Gila Gul, let’s hit the floor. You too, Eye-pecker.”
“You two can go on,” Desert Rain said. “I want to sit for a bit.”
“Suit-tkk yourself. Join us when you’re ready.” Mac then grabbed Chiriku and hoisted her to her feet. The Quetzalin did not even get a chance to squawk a protest before Mac pulled her out onto the dance floor. Desert Rain thought they looked cute together, but maybe that was because Chiriku had on a lizard guise.
Gothart watched the dancing and made an annoyed bleat. “Look, you owe me some fun. You’ve kept me inside that bag for way too long. It was a shame, really, since I heard in on that discussion you had about going on this silly quest and all. If you had bothered to ask me what I thought, I might have been able to give you some valuable insight.”
“Like you had a plan?”
“A very ingenious one, I must say.” Gothart bit off another piece of his glass. “Much more practical than this ‘going to find an ancient magical device guarded by xenophobic elves’ plan.”
Desert Rain curled her fingers. “You know, if you had an idea, you could have given me a sign!”
“I was, but you were too busy doting on that know-it-all elf’s every word,” the goat stated. “Oh well, too late now, I suppose. We’re here now, might as well forget it.”
Desert Rain did her best to stay calm, and not get agitated. She folded her hands together on top of the table. “I suppose I’ll regret asking, but what was it?”
“What was what?”
“Your oh-so-ingenious plan!”
“What plan? Oh look, crabcakes!” Before Desert Rain could stop him, he bounded out of his chair and trotted up to a barmaid with a tray of finger food.
Desert Rain rubbed her sinuses. I think he does that to see the vein in my head pulsate. She sighed. Chiriku’s right, I can’t babysit him all night. I won’t get anything done. She got up and took a walk around, taking in the sights and sounds of the Mudpuddle. She tried to spot anyone who had the appearance of a seafarer, but when she did—a couple of brawny crocodiles hanging out at a side bar—she thought it better not to approach them. She spotted a group of rugged-looking men seated around a table playing cards and wondered if she should ask them if they knew anyone who could help her. As she decided that it would be best to leave them to their game, one of the men, an old possum, looked over at her.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” he called, gesturing for her to come over. “Care to join us for a game?”
Desert Rain stood there shyly, but then she saw next to him, leaning against the table, was a staff—a braided greenwood staff. Her initial shyness was erased as she walked up to him, looking deep into his eyes. They were eyes she knew all too well, those of a shaman that had visited her twice before. The possum elder—or so he was now a possum—winked at her.
“You again?” she half-whispered.
“Sit for a spell,” he said, and his fellow card players nodded enthusiastically. “You know how to play?”
Desert Rain sat down in the empty chair next to him. “Not really, but I was wondering if any of you knew where I could find—”
“A date?” eagerly asked a frog sitting across from her.
“Show some respect,” the possum elder said. He turned to Desert Rain, smiling kindly. “You will find what you seek in time. How about a quick round of cards before you move on?”
Desert Rain cocked an eyebrow curiously. Okay, what was this shaman trying to teach he
r now, and what could he possibly teach her with a card game? “I don’t know how to play,” she answered.
“There’s no trick to it. Here, I’ll be your coach.” He shuffled the cards, and dealt a new round, five to each player. Desert Rain picked up her cards and looked at them, finding them not to be any sort of playing deck she had ever seen. Instead of numbers, or symbols, or words, there were pictures of various animals. As the game ensued, the players took turns laying out different cards that for one reason or another beat another player’s card, and then chose whether or not pick a new card from the deck. Points were tallied according to what card a player played, and Desert Rain did not understand the system at all. The possum took occassionaly glances at her cards, and suggested which ones to keep, and which to throw. Somehow, from the reactions of the other players, Desert Rain thought she must have gotten a good hand.
Then there was one turn left for everyone. This part was called the “top of the food chain,” and would determine the winner of the round. Desert Rain looked at her cards: a bluebird, a boar, a lizard, and a spider. She had come to understand a little more of the game by now, but this did not look like a good hand anymore. The elder saw the confused look on her face and leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“We’ll work on your game face later,” he whispered with a chuckle. “But for now, I recommend you ditch the bird and the lizard.”
Desert Rain almost instinctively did as she was told. She put her hands on those two cards, but stopped. She stared at the bluebird and lizard, and then looked up at the elder. She wrinkled her brow and tightened her lips.
“I’d rather not,” she said.
“I’m telling you, if you keep those cards, you might lose.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
The elder paused, and then smiled. “Good to know you don’t always do as you’re told.”
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.
