Surviving the Improbable Quest (7 page)

Chapter
10

Fur and Frowns

Eventually, daylight comes. A clamoring of machines and a hammering in the distance jumpstart Allan’s heart. Gears grind on metal and a burnt smell lingers in the air. Humidity and warmth remind Allan of the beach. He stretches his arms and yawns. Daylight sets Allan at ease, though the day is not that bright. What’s important is the shadows have been beaten back, so if there is something out there stalking him he can see it coming.

There’s a crash and someone yells, “Ah! You can’t do anything right. How do you even dress yourself?” The voice sounds squawky.

Allan pokes his head out from under the stairway. A string of moss gets in his face and tickles his nose and makes him sneeze.
Did anyone hear me?
He remains still, listening to the sounds. No one comes looking and the strange banging sounds continue. Allan rips down the moss that assaulted his nose. There’s more moss and tree roots growing from every crack in the stonework. The walkway between him and the river is slick with moisture. It’s not a river on this side of the wall, but a canal.

Allan’s stomach rumbles, but he hasn’t forgotten his mission. He needs to find someone sympathetic. Whatever kind of world the mountains hide, with all these strange creatures that speak about strange laws and strange horrors, it must contain someone with a heart. Surely someone here can look beyond Allan’s apparent monetary value and lead him back to his world. Maybe they’ll have some breakfast, too.

Allan peaks out from under the stairs then drags his body to the edge of the building. The river turns again, creating a new canal that heads into the city. Narrow walkways on either side are made of the same large stones, which are all damp, stained, or covered by moss or vines. The street reminds him of Venice. Further down the canal there are stone bridges that arch over the canal.

Allan pulls himself to the edge of the canal. He wonders if jumping in the water and pulling himself along like he did in the river would be a better way to travel. But now someone comes.

“It’s a dreary day. A dreary day in Dantia. You won’t get out of work today. No sirree. You’ll finish my flooring or else I’ll have you committed for re-Testing. Try surviving that.” The thing that yells the threat hangs out a window two stories up. It’s a yellow, furry thing with a short, dog-like snout and large, round eyes wearing some kind of golden headdress that shines like yellow chrome in the morning light.

Allan quickly rolls over to the canal’s edge letting his legs splash into the water. He pulls himself as tight as he can to the side hoping no one saw him. In time, he peeks. There’s a tall, thin creature coming down one of the long stairways. It has dark fur and wears a raggedy leather jacket and a top hat that is bent and faded.

“Yes, yes. I know how important your flooring is,” mutters the thing with the top hat. “Keep up your insults and I’ll set it crooked.” It cackles. When it reaches the bottom of the stairs it heads toward the city following the canal.

              The water tickles Allan’s chin as he glides through the water. He wonders about the creature in the top hat. Will it help him, some human from the so-called Waiting Place, or haul him to be Tested or sold? He knows nothing of any of these creatures. His father used to tell him to never talk to strangers. Whose didn’t? But his dad kept at it even when Allan got older. “Listen to your gut. You’re riding the city bus to school now,” Warren had said. “If you think someone looks mean, steer clear. Don’t look at them. If they speak to you, walk to the bus driver. Terrible people are everywhere.” Allan remembers rolling his eyes. “You’re paranoid, Dad. I’ll be fine.” Now Allan tries to listen to his gut, but everything seems dangerous, mean, capable of terrible things. How’s he supposed to choose who to ask for help when his gut clearly says, run, run, run from them all? Which is precisely the thing he can’t do.

Allan reaches the bridge and swims under it. He finds the lip of a stone to hold himself above water. It’s slimy with dark moss. A dozen four-inch tendrils with bulbs at their ends stick out of the cracks. When one touches Allan’s finger they all pull back into the cracks. It startles Allan. “Is everything here creepy and slimy?”

The top hat creature Allan had been following has a boat tied to the side of the canal a few feet from the bridge. It jumps aboard, rocking the narrow, wooden boat and sending waves fleeing. The front and the back ends of the boat rise higher than the sides and are adorned with woodcarvings of strange creatures. It looks too tall to pass under the bridge.

The top-hat-bird opens a box on the boat, pulls out something tan and bulging with red stuff and takes a huge bite out of it. Crumbs fling everywhere like leaping fleas, and the red stuff drips down its furry bottom lip. It takes another bite and the drip is reinforced enough to roll off the fur and splat onto the boat. The creatures here seem slightly cultured, but eat like wild animals. It bats away a dozen hungry flies.

“Arrrr. Drip in my boat. I’ll clean Mrs. Filiney’s favorite white dress,” the top-hat-bird says almost humorously. It licks its chin with a long, bumpy tongue.

Allan eases himself back under the bridge.
Not this one. It’s not a happy creature.
The top-hat-bird shrugs. “Okay flies, eat up my drips and stop bugging me.” It sets the sandwich on the box then takes off its jacket exposing a bald, liver-spotted belly, then tosses his hat aside. After a short rest it grabs a bulging bag with tools and sharp things poking from the top and leaps from the boat. It whistles a strange, high-pitched tune while heading back toward the building where Allan had first seen it.

Allan lifts himself out of the water and carefully rolls into the boat. With some effort, he situates himself in the middle, grabs the oars, and starts to row. The boat moves away from the edge and floats into the center of the canal.

The boat rocks, but is stable. It makes Allan smile. He loves boats. He’d read about sailboats called galleons or privateers. They were huge ships with a dozen sails and deadly cannons. He read about pirates like Black Beard and Henry Morgan as they’d plundered the Caribbean ports. It was Uncle Rubic who gave him his first metal sword. Allan didn’t put the thing down for months. Only after he’d nearly impaled his grandmother’s dog was the sword retired to hang on the wall.

It’s a good memory and only vanishes from his mind when he hears talking. The farther he gets into town the more creatures and people he sees. Yes, people. Actual humans. Though they’re wearing strange clothing, they’re less strange than the furry or feathery things.

Allan remembers Asantia and her large knife. Just because they are humans doesn’t make them any less dangerous.

A small creature, as naked as a hairless cat, sits on the side of the river. It’s fat, like a stumpy old man, but has only one large eye. The ugly thing picks up a long and twisted pole and casts a hook into the water. Two small fangs hang out the side of its wide mouth. The creature stares and blinks slowly as Allan passes. It only takes a moment for Allan to realize how strange his clothing must look to these people. He is dressed in jeans and an orange t-shirt with bright sweeping designs and video game characters on the front. Until he changes his clothes he’ll be a target. So Allan stops the boat under the next bridge and puts on the jacket and worn top hat that were left in the boat. They’re stained and stiff, but they’ll keep him incognito. The jacket pulls on the pin-up girl Rubic pinned to his shirt. He doesn’t want to lose it so he unpins the girl and tucks her into his pocket.

Allan begins rowing again. The boat moves and, thankfully, no one pays him any attention. He relaxes while he rows, the oars moving in slow sweeping circles. The city is dense and people are busy. Strange trees and mossy growths are everywhere. The trees have sharp leaves and spines on their trunks.
Great. Even the trees suck around here.
It also smells musty. Some buildings belch black smoke from chimney pipes, which add an acrid taste to the thick air. Another boat passes, piloted by a longhaired thing that has the face of a fox. There’s lipstick on her snout lips and her eyelashes flutter.

“Watch your bow!” the fox yells, her voice high-pitched but gravelly like a witch. “Where’d you learn to steer?”

Allan stops staring and corrects his course. “Arrrr, eat my paddle.” he yells in his best pirate voice. The fox-lady ignores him and continues on her way. Allan smiles at his attempt at bravado then realizes he could eat his own paddle he’s so hungry. His big guts are eating his little guts, and there doesn’t seem anywhere to get food. Even if his disguise helps him blend in he has no money or idea what to eat. He doubts he could get some scrambled eggs and bacon. Allan notices the half eaten sandwich on the box in the front of the boat. It looks strange. The bread is tan and covered with dark veins. The red insides might be a jelly. It might be guts. Allan remembers how the guard-bird tore apart the rodent like a zombie tears at fresh meat.

As he rows he can’t stop looking at the sandwich. Hunger finally wins. He steers the boat to the side and lets it bump the edge. He scoots to the sandwich and grabs it. After shutting his eyes he crams it into his mouth.

Sweet. And the bread is crispy like a baguette. Allan hardly chews as he devours the food.

Chapter
11

Killian Crow Comes

As Allan licks the jelly-like substance off his fingers, a boat slams into him. It’s a much larger boat. Its front wood fèrro, the part that swoops up and out of the water, is twice as tall as Allan’s boat and has a statue twice as big. The statue is of a naked woman with a cat face. Her bottom half is a mermaid and she’s framed in ornate flowers. Allan stares at the complexities of the carving when someone yells at him.

“Hey you!”

Allan looks toward the voice. The creature has a fat, thick beak with oily, marbled feathers. Goggles cover its eyes, and half of the beak is patched with a metal plate held tight by small rivets. Its wings have long thin fingers like a Pterodactyl. On the end of each finger are metal, pointy caps.

“This is my parking spot.” It puts a clawed foot on the edge of the boat and leans its crane-neck way over the edge of his boat. The bird’s head tips to the side as it inspects Allan. “Funny looking goat, in a stolen boat,” it says. It leaps with a single flap of its wings and lands in Allan’s boat. The boat rocks then slams into the canal wall. As fast as the strike of a rattlesnake, the bird seizes Allan by the arm. It rips off the worn and bent top hat and grabs Allan’s chin. It’s three times Allan’s size and as strong as a gorilla “A boy.” it shouts.

“Please. I’m looking for. . .”

The bird pulls Allan off the bench, turns him around and grabs him around the neck. “Oh, don’t you worry little boy from the Waiting Place. You’re gonna make me some money.” Allan struggles to slip out of the bird’s grasp. It stinks and is hunted by hungry flies. “So, you want to fight me. Please! I love a good fight.” The bird’s grip tightens until Allan can’t breathe. Allan twists his torso and pulls at the bird’s feathers. The feathers come out easily, but the bird doesn’t even notice.

The bird leaps to its boat with Allan dangling like a rag doll.

“I’ve just the thing. . .” the bird says. It sweeps cans and trash off a filthy blanket then rips it aside. Underneath the blanket is a cage. It’s rusted and bent up and looks too small for Allan, but the bird shoves him in anyway.

“Move your legs or I’ll cut them off,” the bird hisses like a viper. It tries to close the cage door.

“I . . . can’t move my legs,” Allan gasps, his neck aching.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re broken.”

The ratty-bird lifts up Allan’s limp legs and shoves them into the cage. “Scrit! You won’t be worth half as much.” It slams its fist on the side of the boat. After a moment of silence it concludes, “But I guess anything’s better than nothing.” It takes a hold of the long oar that extends out the back of the boat and starts turning it in a circle. The boat pulls away from the canal’s edge embracing the center current in a silent gesture. “So welcome, boy, to the rest of your life. Dantia is a wonderful city, and as long as you can work you won’t get whipped.” The ratty-bird cackles.

Fish bones, what looks like rotting apple cores and mud are everywhere. It stinks.

“Excuse me?” Allan says trying to reason with the ratty-bird. Maybe it has a heart somewhere under its filth. Maybe he’ll promise it diamonds and gold.

“Zip it, lock it up and throw away the key,” the ratty-bird mumbles.

“Please, I don’t know where I am. I need help. My uncle is hurt. We have gold. Lots of it.” But the ratty-bird isn’t listening.

As the boat floats deeper into the city, the canal widens. Tributaries split off in all directions. The buildings tower overhead, and all have stairways winding around the outer walls that go up and up and up. The sun doesn’t rise above the skyline because the city seems above the sun, above the clouds, above all that is good.

Allan wants his mother. He wants to go back in time so he can cry in her chest and be hugged. He wants someone to tell him it will be okay even if he doesn’t believe them. The boat turns and enters a narrow waterway. Strangely dressed people and creatures of all shapes and sizes are everywhere, all busy. Others with long feathers and large wings fly through the air. There are shops on the first floors of the tall buildings. They have oversized doors next to large windows filled with displays. Plants and vines grow over the bricks, but there are modern elements as well. Signs stick out of the walls, crooked oil-burning lamps are posted on every corner and a few horse-drawn carriages come and go—though the horses aren’t horses at all but smaller, hairier versions.

There’s a shop with huge cakes on display, a place called The Tailor and a clothing store displaying suits on mannequins. A mannequin sips on a drink from a long spiral straw leading to a ceramic mug on the floor.
So they’re not mannequins showing off the latest fashions, but slaves
. The next shop is a butcher. Its window is packed edge-to-edge with skinned animals as small as mice and as large as pigs. The corpses have smeared blood on the windows. Allan looks away, fearful of losing the fruity sandwich he’d eaten.

The boat approaches a corner crowded with creatures and odd-looking humans. They surround a tall man standing on a box. He wears a ragged white and purple striped suit. His head is shielded by a metal pot adorned with dials and gadgets. He’s yelling to the crowd when his attention turns to the boat. The crowd complains at the man’s departure, but he pushes through anyway and runs to the edge of the canal. “You there. Have you captured Jibbawk?” The man has one green eye and one orange eye and is missing two front teeth.

“Buzz off, Mister Zlack.” yells the ratty-bird. “I’ve got another one of your kind and he’s going to Killian Crow. He’ll fetch me two hundred coins, unless you’re offering more?”

The man stares at Allan for a moment. “I see nothing but a small speck of dust blowing through the air.”

The ratty-bird elongates its neck toward the man as they slowly drift by. “Good. Then we have no problem.”

“You must put your efforts into capturing Jibbawk, not some boy from the Waiting Place. Jibbawk is the real threat to all of us.” The crowd behind Mr. Zlack roars in agreement. The ratty-bird laughs and turns the oar harder leaving Mr. Zlack and the crowd behind.

Allan wonders about Jibbawk. Who is it and why is everyone so afraid? Could it be more dangerous than all the other creatures? Allan imagines a huge thing with scales, bloody teeth and big muscles. Then Allan hears loud grunts. He turns to look. The canal leads to a roundabout where a dozen elephants drink water through their long trunks. They are smaller than Earth elephants and have pointy heads. They chat with each other, push their neighbors playfully and take turns drinking the water.

The ratty-bird stops before entering the roundabout. Off to the side is a wooden dock with three narrow slots, two of which are occupied by large, ostentatious boats with canopies, gold statues embedded in carved wood poles and red pillows. The ratty-bird’s boat slips into the empty space. The ratty-bird ties a rope to an ornate gold handle. It grabs the filthy blanket that is crumpled on the floor of the boat. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay quiet, boy.” It pecks the metal cage, and as the metal plate of its beak hits the bars, sparks fly. “You a long way from home.” It clicks its metal-tipped fingers together then whips the blanket over the cage.

Allan can feel the boat rock as the ratty-bird leaps out. His stomach tightens, overwhelmed by the odor of the blanket. He must do something. In just a few minutes he’ll be taken to Killian Crow, whoever that is. Allan pinches the blanket and pulls it little by little until it slips off the cage. The building in front of the boat is taller than all the others. It is littered with windows, and gold figurines adorn the window sills and doorways. The ratty-bird is hoisted up the side of the building in an exterior elevator rigged with thick oily ropes, wheels and pulleys.

“Help!” Allan yells. He rocks the cage back and forth. “Somebody. Please!” He turns and looks through the back of the cage. He sees the roundabout and the elephants. “Help me!” He screams over and over.
Someone has to help. Someone in this god-forsaken world has to lift a finger for someone like me.

An elephant looks toward him. “Yes. Come here. I need you.”
The elephant leans to a neighbor. Soon all the elephants look at Allan. Finally, one comes lumbering toward the boat. It’s wearing a tall gold crown on its head, and a jewel-laden saddle sits upon its back. A few other elephants follow.

The crowned elephant reaches into the boat with its long muscular trunk and pulls the cage out. It sets the cage down between it and another elephant.

A different elephant’s foot presses the top of the cage while another elephant’s trunk wraps around the door and yanks it off. The Queen Elephant reaches in and pulls Allan out by the waist.

“Thank you! Now, please, get me out of here. That ratty-bird is coming back.”

The Queen Elephant sets Allan on his feet, but his legs fold like puppet limbs under his weight. “Why, he can’t walk,” said the elephant. “Poor boy.”

“Please, I need to get home. My uncle is hurt and he needs help. I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t even know where here is.”

With a momentary screech, the elevator on the side of the tall building starts back down. A grey bird with a short beak and a navy-blue top hat pokes its head out of the side of the elevator.

“Who comes?” The Queen elephant asks.

“Crow comes. Killian Crow comes,” says a different elephant.

The Queen lifts Allan off the ground then hands him off to another elephant. Allan is passed, from trunk to trunk.

“You down there.” yells Killian Crow. “There is a valuable fair in that boat. Guard it. Make sure it is not mistreated.”

The elevator arrives and the door opens. Killian Crow steps out casually and with grace. He has a pressed navy suit and a bow tie. The ratty-bird follows him, chatting. Allan is set on the ground and pushed underneath one of the elephants. The ratty-bird runs to the smashed cage. “What is this?” He lifts the door. “The elephants stole my catch.” He kicks the cage off the dock where it clatters onto his boat. “This is an outrage!”

Killian Crow turns to the Queen elephant. “Is this true?” He eases out a short pole then whips it toward the ground. It clicks as it elongates. Killian thrusts it at the elephant. When it hits the elephant’s skin it snaps and sparks, and the elephant cries out. All the elephants start to back up toward the roundabout. Some run up the small hill in between the tall buildings. “You don’t steal from me.” He zaps the elephant again.

“He was freed by a band of Chicubs, sire. They came from the buildings and took him away. We came to stop them but could not.”

The ratty-bird marches up to the Queen elephant. “She’s lying! There are no sneaky Chicubs anywhere.”

Killian waves his wing and the Queen moves aside. “Then let’s have a look around, shall we?”

Allan is shoved behind a baby elephant who sits, blocking Killian Crow’s view. Killian Crow and the ratty-bird push through the elephant crowd and peek behind a tree growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. They’re getting closer and closer to Allan, and even though the elephants did their best, Killian Crow is going to find him. There is nowhere to crawl.