Carousel Seas (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SUNDAY, JULY 9

LOW TIDE 4:30
P.M.
EDT

“It has been a little slow,” Vassily told me, adding, with the air of an old hand, “but it is Sunday. When everyone has checked in, and had their dinners, then it will be quick again.”

The kid has four Season Sundays under his belt, Kate
, I told myself.
If he’s not an old hand, he’s not a newbie, either.

Also, he was right. Early Sunday usually was slow, the reason being that the tourist population changed over on Sundays. The weeklies were all checked out by ten o’clock Sunday morning, and heading back to wherever they called home. The new batch of weeklies started check-in at three o’clock. After that, they’d want to grab a couple of hours on the beach, and get something to eat. The amusement park, open ’til midnight—they’d get to the amusement park when the breeze off the ocean turned cool, and the sun was starting to go down. Seven-thirty, eight o’clock, I’d have more riders than I could manage, all the way to midnight, and past, too; until the summer cops managed to herd everybody out, and Marilyn locked the gate.

Monday would be a little less intense, and Tuesday, again, park attendance sliding off until Friday, when everyone suddenly realized that there was only tonight, and Saturday night, to ride all the rides, and play all the games—and the park would be packed past closing again.

“It’s nice to have a crowd,” I said, “keeps me out of trouble.”

“Yes,” Vassily said, and hesitated.

“Something wrong?”

“No . . . I do not think so.” He chewed his lip, looking over my shoulder, possibly at the carousel, or possibly at something only he could see. I waited to see which it was—and it proved to be the latter.

“Kate Archer, I have prayed to my angel in heaven,” he said seriously.

“Thank you,” I answered, hoping I wasn’t going to have to dance around the question of whether I, too, had prayed to the angel in heaven. Or in Varoth. Whatever.

“My angel answers me, and he gave me these words to say to you. They are . . .”

He drew in a breath, and when he exhaled, his voice was deeper, vibrant; each word as fully formed and weighted as a stone.

“For a second time I abase myself, and I offer an apology. The bouquet and depth of your power led me to believe that I dealt with an Ozali of some age and experience. I was mistaken; thus, what I offered as opportunity became an entrapment.

“Though I regret the manner of it, I cannot regret that we have shared power. I have been enriched in the sharing; indeed, I will say to you that I have been
changed
.

“It is my sincere hope that, in time, you will also come to regard the gifts shared, and the alliance thus created, as one of the unexpected treasures of your existence.

“Peace upon you, Kate Archer. May your powers never cease to delight you.”

Vassily bowed, and straightened, blinking rapidly before focusing once more on my face.

“The message, it was clear?”

“Clear as glass,” I assured him. “How’s your head?”

“My head is fine.” Vassily smiled beatifically. “My angel is gentle and good.”

I opened my mouth—and closed it again. Vassily’s relationship with Prince Aesgyr of Varoth was vastly different from my relationship with that same sly prince. Prince Aesgyr had given Vassily peace, while he had given me . . . what exactly?

Deep breath, Kate.

“Okay!” I told Vassily. “Honor now being satisfied, you can go get your supper; I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes. Good night, Kate Archer. Thanking you.”

He picked his hoody up from the operator’s stool, threw it over one shoulder, and left me.

One of these days, I thought, watching him cross Baxter Avenue to Tony Lee’s, I was going to have to find out what, exactly, the kid was thanking me for.

There being nobody in line, and nobody on the grounds who looked like they’d be wanting a ride on the carousel anytime soon after I stepped out to look up and down Baxter Avenue, I walked back under the roof and jumped up onto the decking to do an inspection.

The inspection was busywork, but I was thorough, checking the area first for trash. Nothing really to inspect, there—Vassily was meticulous. No chance-blown bit of paper or plastic, no forgotten drink cup, or ketchup-smeared fries cone eluded him. The carousel deck looked freshly swept, and the animals gleamed, as if they’d been rubbed down with a soft cloth and wax.

Even the temporary fiberglass rooster—temporarily a member of the carousel’s company, that was; not temporarily fiberglass—shone as if it had been polished.

I walked the carousel widdershins, looking up into the sweeps. All the lights were shining bright. An outside circuit, again looking up, confirmed that the outline lights were all on duty, too.

If I wanted to be as thorough as possible, I’d inspect the cranking rods next, but that was really a job for when the park was closed, involving, as it did, a ladder.

I jumped back onto the deck, and, purely out of habit, stepped Sideways. The five animals that held—that
had held
—prisoners from the other five Worlds each glowed rosily, the supposed life essences partly obscured by the shadowy ropes of the binding spells. The scent of butterscotch—my magical signature—was thick in the air.

I considered them each minutely, detecting neither stress nor weakening. The binding spells and the life-glow not only looked convincing, they
felt
convincing. In fact, they felt so convincing that I wondered if my subconscious hadn’t woven a teensy tiny little truth spell into the binding spell. It was, I supposed, possible. Spellcraft, as Mr. Ignat’ was often pleased to tell me, was more art than science. He also swore to me that, as my
jikinap
and I got used to each other and how we operated, I’d find my spells informed by past work, and infused with special fillips that I hadn’t specifically called for.

Mr. Ignat’, being an old and very experienced Ozali, seemed to think that was a feature. Myself, I was leaning toward bug. I didn’t necessarily want my power making independent decisions, even based on a comprehensive database of my previous actions. Consistency isn’t exactly my strongest suit.

All of which sort of brought me around to Vassily’s angel from heaven, Prince Aesgyr of Varoth, the Land of Air and Sunshine.

Since I’d come to know Prince Aesgyr so well, and through no wish of my own, I knew that he was also an old and very experienced Ozali. He’d taken what I had to assume was a calculated risk in forcing a sharing of power—though maybe that should be instead, a
desperate
risk. Certainly, he’d been desperate to recover his consort, and he’d thought that I knew the location of each prisoner
as an individual
. Gran might have known that, but I never did, so Prince Aesgyr had taken his risk for nothing.

Or not. According to the message he’d given Vassily to deliver, he found value in the sharing of power, memory, and spellcraft. I sort of doubted that, since I was a callow and half-trained youth. Even if my
jikinap
tasted old—which it did, and was, since it had belonged to Mr. Ignat’, before he gave it to me.

And yet . . . he specifically mentioned that he had been
changed
.

That . . . was disquieting. Had the exchange of powers also included the small homey magics that attached to the Guardian of Archers Beach? Or—

My cell phone warbled. I fished it out of my pocket, grinned at the number on the screen and flipped it open.

“Hey, there,” I said.

“Hey,” Borgan answered. Usually, hearing Borgan’s voice made me feel happy. But that
hey
. . .

I swallowed, feeling a little lump of dread lodge just under my breastbone.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a slight pause.

“Well, now, that’s what I don’t know. Something’s gone off; the balance in the waters, say it . . . changed, and not in a way I’ve . . . ever felt before.”

He was worried;
really
worried.

“What can I do to help?”

“Don’t know until I have an idea of what’s going on. Might take some time, so I thought I’d better let you know I won’t be by tonight.”

The little lump of dread got bigger.

“Be careful,” I said, thinking how the
ronstibles
—Daphne and her, as far as I knew, nameless sister—had come ’way too close to his undoing.

“Take Nerazi,” I added, and didn’t say,
if you won’t take me
.

“I’ll be careful as can be,” he promised, but he didn’t promise to take Nerazi as backup. “If I get this settled quick, I’ll come by the house, if that’s all right?”

“It’s all right. Borgan—”

“And if I find there’s something you can help me with,” he continued, “I’ll call you, Kate. Now, you take care, too. I’ve gotta go.”

He cut the connection. I stood there between the dolphin and the deer, staring down at my cell. Finally, I shook myself, snapped it shut, and shoved it back into my pocket.

The dread—that wasn’t as easily put away. Something had upset the balance of the Gulf of Maine, and the Guardian had no idea what it was. That was just . . .

But, really, Kate
, I said to myself, i
f something went pear-shaped with the land, would you necessarily know what it was, right off? Think of the still zones and how much work it is to scope them out.

“You worry too much,” I said out loud.

It didn’t seem to do anything positive for my state of mind.

Fine, then. Borgan was a grown-up, and if he wasn’t as old as Mr. Ignat’ nor as accomplished as Prince Aesgyr, he was more than able to take care of himself. He’d be
fine
.

“Merry-go-round!” a shrill voice interrupted these reflections. “I want to ride the merry-go-round!”

I looked up.

A little boy in shorts, flip-flops and a red T-shirt emblazoned with the words
New York Yankees
was pulling his mother’s hand, urging her to
hurry
.

I swallowed my dread and my agitated thoughts, and jumped off the decking.

“Good evening!” I called, walking toward the operator’s station. “It’s a terrific night to ride the carousel!”

The goblin Daphne had been . . . a challenge, with anger and grief buoying her natural abilities.

A challenge, but in the end a challenge met, though it was well, she reflected, as she reclined in the goblins’ former dwelling—it was well that she had supped of Olida/Korkilig first.

The sea moved sluggishly in this secret spot; it nourished, but not at the speed nor the depth provided by the open waters of which she had so recently partaken. She therefore faced a decision: remain here, and remain hidden from the Borgan, as the goblins had been hidden from him. Or return to the open waters, where his eye would be upon her.

She considered the choice, though there was very little to recommend the goblins’ lair. If she was to bring the Borgan into her net quickly, she must build her strength. The consumption of the goblins had greatly improved her situation; she must not waste that peculiar blessing.

So, she would go again into the open waters. It was in her mind to seek this Seal Woman, whom the goblins had called Nerazi.