Carousel Seas (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

MONDAY, JUNE 26

HIGH TIDE 12:36
P.M.
EDT

It was too early for Vassily to be at the carousel, so, after I left Peggy at the Mango, I walked across Fountain Circle to Fun Country, down Baxter Avenue, across the service alley, and deep into Kiddie Ride Land. There I found Jess Robald, not, as I had expected, with her head inside Tom Thumb’s temperamental engine, but sitting on the operator’s stool, coffee cup propped on the control panel. Her head was bent over a newspaper.

“Morning, Jess,” I called, bracing a foot against the lowest rung of the guardrail, and crossing my elbows on the top.

“Hey, Kate! Pretty one, ain’t it?”

Jess grinned like she was actually glad to see me—which she probably was, Jess being the kind of person who manages to combine thinking the best of people with being a realist. She got up from her perch on the stool and came over to the rail, folding the paper into thirds as she walked.

“You see the Trib?” she asked, shaking the paper at me. “Moving a buncha wild cats is front page news?”

“They’re townies,” I said. “How’d you like it if one of the summer people decided carnies were bringing down his property values and petitioned the town manager to have us moved out?”

“Manager couldn’t be on the phone to the bus company fast enough, I’m thinkin’,” she said with a half grin. “But, c’mon Kate—what’s the fuss? Councilors say they’re gonna set ’em up nice in the country—barn, mice, birds, plenty of sunshine and good farm air . . .”

I sighed. “The Dummy Cats are an established feral cat colony. Camp Ellis is their home. Relocate them, no matter how nice the location, or how far away, and half’ll try to find their way back to the Camp. Some’ll make it; some’ll die. In the meantime, while the cats are away, the rats are going to throw themselves one hell of a party.”

“There’s that.” Jess frowned thoughtfully, and crossed her arms on the top rail. “Best to leave the workin’ system in place.”

“That’s it,” I agreed, and pulled the folded letter out of my back pocket.

“Henry Emerson asked me to bring this down to you. I looked it over, like I said I would, and I asked Peggy, over at the midway, to take a look, too. I think it’s a good letter that addresses all the points the committee talked about.”

Jess cocked a sapient eye. “What’s Peggy Marr, who works direct for Management, think?”

“That Management won’t be persuaded,” I said promptly. “But we’ve gotta try, Jess.”

“Hell, yeah, we gotta try. Though I’ll tell you what, Kate—I think we
need
to have the park with us, if we wanna stretch the Season out from twelve weeks. People won’t just come for the ocean, ’specially once the weather turns.”

“We’ve got other options,” I said, slowly. “There’s the new art gallery . . .”

Jess shifted, and I held my hand up, forestalling whatever she’d been about to say.

“No reason there can’t be more destination stores—
like
the art gallery. If we can offer unique shopping, that might tempt the Leaf Peepers to stop at the Beach on their way up-country or down. That means all the stores, plus the motels, and restaurants would have to be on board with staying open longer on spec, but most of them have town roots.”

Jess gave me an odd look. “You really think we can pull this off,” she said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

Jess took a breath, and let it out on a nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I thought so.”

I straightened up from my lean on the rail and used my chin to point at the folded letter in her hand.

“Take a look; see what you think. If it’s good, then let’s start getting signatures. The sooner we hear back from Management in New Jersey, the sooner we’ll know exactly what we’ve gotta do to make this thing work.”

Jess laughed. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll step down and make you committee chair.”

“No, ma’am!” I said with a grin. “You’re the motivator; I’m minion material.” I raised a hand. “See you later, Jess. You need me to take a shift persuading signatures out of people, let me know.”

“I’ll be taking you up on that,” Jess said, raising her hand in turn. “Thanks, Kate.”

* * *

The storm gate was open when I got back to the vicinity of the carousel, and delicious smells were emanating from Tony Lee’s Chinese Kitchen. I sniffed appreciatively, but sternly turned my steps toward the carousel. Business before pleasure. Or egg rolls.

A tall, slender figure was at the operator’s station, standing straight and easy. Vassily the greenie, that was; I recognized the hoodie, if not the stance. “Greenie” is what we call the summer temp workers the Chamber of Commerce imports from Ukraine and Russia and Poland and other countries. It comes off of “green help,” and isn’t quite accurate, because we get a fair number of greenies who come back to us, Season after Season.

Vassily, though; he was a true greenie from Ukraine working his first Season at Archers Beach. He is, or had been, morose, and tense from carrying the baggage of a bad past and a recent tragedy. He’s devout—at least, he believes in heaven, hell, and angels, which counts as devout with me. And he’d also been touched by Prince Aesgyr, whom he believed to be an angel. Believing that, he’d opened his soul, so the prince could use him as a living gateway into the Changing Land, and have the use of Vassily’s body here, if he chose.

In exchange for this, Prince Aesgyr, in his role as angel from heaven, had promised to redeem Vassily’s soul, and give him a free pass to heaven when he died.

I’m not an expert on souls or redemption; I have no idea if Prince Aesgyr can come anywhere close to making good on his promises. Though, thinking about it, if any Ozali I’d ever met could, it would be Aesgyr. In any event, I suspected the point was moot, Prince Aesgyr having gotten what he came for. At the very least, though, he had given Vassily . . . peace. I’d seen it in his eyes yesterday when I’d come in for my shift, and I could see it right now, just looking at his back.

“Morning, Vassily,” I said. “How’s it going?”

He turned. He
smiled
.

It was the smile of a man with no stain on his soul, and no doubt of his future.

I took a careful breath. That smile made my chest hurt—quiet, deep-rooted joy isn’t something you see, up close and personal, every day. Or even every year.

“It is going well, Kate Archer, thanking you. And for you?”

“I’m good, thanks. The new lock working okay?”

“The new lock is very excellent, and I see nothing funny or suspicious when I come to open up.” He smiled again. “Nancy already has asked me these questions.”

I heaved a deep, theatrical sigh, and turned my hands palm up.

“I’m gonna make Nancy manager, and retire to Florida.”

Vassily tipped his head slightly to one side, apparently giving this statement serious consideration.

“I think you will not like Florida?” he said slowly. “You will be away from those things that give you meaning. This beautiful carousel. And Anna. And
this place
.” He moved his hands, forming an oblate against the air, possibly intending to encompass all of Archers Beach. Which was more correct than he knew.

It occurred to me to wonder, then, if Vassily’d gotten a dash of knowledge from Prince Aesgyr, too. That worried me for a second, since Vassily obviously fell into the subgroup of those mundane people who can see, and do not fear, the wyrd. It was only a second’s worry, though; done was, after all, done. Nothing I could do about it one way or the other.

What bothered me a lot more than the state of Vassily’s soul was Prince Aesgyr’s long-term plans. All very well to release a being wrongly imprisoned, be he lover or passing stranger. And all honor to him, for granting Vassily that smile of tender peace.

But he
had
to be planning to punish those who had conspired against him. And if he was planning on involving the Changing Land in any part of that—

Okay,
now
my stomach hurt.

“You are not any more good?” Vassily asked.

“A little less than. That’s what happens when you think too much.”

“Yes,” he said wisely. “But you will not go to Florida.”

“You got that. Too many bugs, too much sun, not enough snow. I like it fine right here.”

I hesitated, because it was a stupid thing to ask, then decided I could afford to be stupid today.

“Do you have everything you need?” I asked Vassily. “You’re getting your pay?”

“I need nothing. Samuil receives my pay, to keep it safe on account.”

Oh, really
? I thought.

“That’s nice of him. When will Samuil give you your money?”

“When we are come home,” Vassily assured me serenely. “After the agency has its fee.”

“Sounds good,” I said, which wasn’t exactly the most truthful sentence I’d ever spoken. “Well, if you’re all set, I’ll be getting on with my day.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is a beautiful day.”

“It is,” I agreed, and left him.

* * *

Two minutes later, I was sitting at the table in Tony Lee’s back kitchen, coffee and egg roll to hand, keeping out of Anna’s way while she monitored the various foodstuffs in process.

Apparently satisfied with progress, she joined me at the table with her mug.

“What’s bothering you, Kate?” she asked.

I laughed.

“Am I that obvious?”

Anna smiled and sipped. “Only to those who love you.”

I shook my head. Anna is the nicest person I know—not the sappy kind of nice that’s all sweet words and no backbone. Knowing Anna, you just want to
do better
, so you’ll be worthy of her faith in you.

“I was just talking to Vassily,” I said, breaking open my egg roll. “Asked if everything was going good for him, if he was getting paid . . .”

“Ah,” Anna said softly.

I looked up from my plate and waited.

Anna sipped, her eyes focused somewhere between me and Ukraine, then she sighed and looked at me straight.

“Vassily told you that his pay was being saved for him by the team agent . . .” She frowned.

“Samuil,” I supplied, and she nodded her thanks.

“Yes. Samuil is holding everyone’s wages, and Vassily will receive his money when he gets home, after the agency fee has been paid.”

“You sound like you’ve heard this story before,” I said. Tony Lee’s fed all the Fun Country greenies, and Anna knew each one by name, knew the names of their hometowns, and their siblings. Knew what they cared about, dreamed about, and what scared them. People talk to Anna, that’s all. They can’t help themselves.

“I have heard this story,” she agreed, “and it’s troubled me in the past. I talked with Katrina about it. She told me that they’re not cheated, and she praised Samuil’s diligence in taking care of them, and making certain that their contracts aren’t breached.” She paused.

“I thought that Katrina might be—getting special treatment, so I talked to Sergei, too. He tells essentially the same story.”

Anna produced a smile.

“Katrina has been with the program for the last five years; she told me that this year she is Samuil’s assistant. There’s increased responsibility, but also an increase in her rate of pay. She’s very pleased.”

“So you’re saying that it’s a cultural thing,” I said slowly. “That as long as the . . . arrangements are within bounds, what’s to complain?”

“That seems to be it,” Anna agreed. “Does Vassily feel otherwise?”

“Vassily seems to feel that Samuil will safeguard his interests and his money, and that he’ll get paid when he gets home.” I made owl eyes at her. “After the agency gets its fee.”

She laughed.

“I think that the agency’s fee might get smaller every consecutive year, but that’s speculation,” she said. “What I do know—what we’ve both seen—is that they tend to be hungry when they get to us.”

“They do,” I agreed, thinking of Vassily adding enough sugar to his coffee to make rock candy. “Well. I guess I won’t meddle, then.”

Anna nodded, and got up to check her cooking. I finished my egg roll and the last of my coffee.

“You need anything in town or around?” I asked, as I stood up and deposited plate and cup in the trash can. “Today’s my errand and grocery day.”

Anna threw me a smile over her shoulder.

“That’s very kind, Kate, but I don’t think we need anything right now.”

“Right, then,” I said, moving toward the back door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Take care—and give my love to Andre. You two are going to be so good for each other.”

I turned to look at her, but she had her back to me, her attention on egg rolls.

News travels fast in a small town.

I slipped out into the service alley, closing the door behind me and making sure the latch caught.

Fountain Circle was crazy with people, the circle drive itself packed with pedestrians. Summer cops on bikes wove around and between the happy vacationers, and the air rang with talk and laughter.

I smiled in spite of the racket and the press of bodies. It was a good crowd. If arrivals kept up at this rate, we’d be standing room only by the Fourth.

My cell phone vibrated vigorously in the pocket of my jeans. I dodged a family group—mom, dad, and three kids from about fourteen down to rides-on-dad’s-shoulder.