Thunder Run

by Daniel José Older

  “Yes?” Old Rose asked innocently. “You like?”

  “I have no words,” Mapper said. “Only the intense desire for more!” He grabbed up a second one as Magdalys finished hers and snatched the last one.

  “No words,” she agreed. “But, Miss Rose, you have to let us pay! We can’t —”

  “Can’t what? Can’t take gifts from a poor old lady? Ha!” She put an elbow on the counter and leaned her head against it, chuckling. “You know I was the first person to sell coffee down here in the French Market? Saved my money, bought my freedom, opened up this stand. I own this, you know? This is mine.”

  “Amazing,” Mapper said.

  “That’s right.” She smacked the counter, clapped twice. “Minuette! Reviens, s’il vous plaît.” The ceratops grunted, lumbered back to standing position. “Merci.” She waddled back behind the stand. “I am a businesswoman, you know. Which means I get to decide who eats for free. And you both, you are the freedom fighters of today. The heroes of our nation. You have already given so much, my children, and will probably give so much more.” She shook her head sadly.

  Magdalys couldn’t tell if the old woman could see into the future and past or was just being poetic. Didn’t matter really: She was right.

  “And you,” Old Rose finished, eyeing them both, “you eat for free.”

  “Thank you,” they said, munching down the last of their calas and finishing them off with sips of coffee.

  Mapper nudged Magdalys as they placed the empty cups and saucers on the counter. “What?” she whispered.

  “She probably knows everybody who’s anybody around here, and everybody else too. Go on! Ask her.”

  “Oui?” Old Rose said sweetly.

  “Ah …” Magdalys made a face. She didn’t want to ask for any more favors after Old Rose had already been so kind to them, but Mapper was right: If they were going to start getting their crew together, they had to start right away. And this was the perfect opportunity. “Do you happen to know, ah … who is the greatest dinowarrior in all of Louisiana?”

  Old Rose raised her eyebrows. “Oooh …” She swiveled her head back and forth a few times. “Hmmmm!”

  Magdalys waited, trying not to be impatient or disappointed. This whole thing just seemed ridiculous somehow.

  “There is one, but …” She scrunched her face into a disgusted sneer. “You know …”

  “What?” Mapper asked.

  All at once, Old Rose was gone. Magdalys and Mapper glanced around.

  “Did she just — ?” Magdalys started, and then a very short woman, barely taller than them, came out from behind the counter: Old Rose.

  “Whoa!” Mapper said. “How did you … ?”

  “Huh?” She looked taken aback, and for a moment Magdalys was afraid they’d offended her somehow. But then the old coffee seller shook her head with a smile. “Ah, I forget sometimes! It is Bonfouca.” She nodded back at the counter. A sleepy ceratopsian face, this one much bigger, peeked around the side. “Minuette’s father. He likes it when I give him scritches behind the ears. Anyway, it’s a dinowarrior you seek? Because the most renowned one in the area, he is … I wouldn’t send you his way.”

  Magdalys’s heart sank. “Drek?”

  Old Rose nodded, crinkling up her face. “A terrible, terrible man.”

  “I know,” Magdalys said. “I’ve tangled with him already. Out in the Atchafalaya.”

  “And you lived!” Old Rose’s eyes went wide. She examined Magdalys a little more carefully.

  “Barely.” The terror of those dinosaurs thundering toward her flashed back, that sinking feeling that no matter what Magdalys did, she’d never be able to fend them all off. That Drek had out-wrangled her at every turn. She’d panicked. She’d panicked and it had almost cost her and her friends their lives.

  “There has to be another super powerful dinowrangler in New Orleans!” Mapper insisted. “One who’s not some racist Confederate creepo!”

  “Oh, well, of course there is!” Old Rose said. “One far more powerful than Drek will ever be.”

  Magdalys blinked at her. “Wh-why didn’t you say so before?”

  Old Rose chuckled sadly. “He’s not a warrior, my dear. Not at all. But his skills with the dinos are legendary.”

  “Well … where … where is he?” Mapper stammered.

  Old Rose glanced up at the sun, bobbed her head around. “Ah, it’s time for a change of scenery anyway, no? And he should be in the square still at this hour. Come on, kids. Let’s take a ride on old Bonfouca here and see if we can’t find you your man.”

  BONFOUCA WAITED AS Mapper and Magdalys climbed up onto his saddle; then Old Rose placed little Minuette in a basket hanging by the stirrups and hoisted herself up. Finally, she heaved up the big wooden sign — which turned out to be all there really was to the coffee stand — and yelled, “En avant, Bonfouca!” and off they went, water vats and dishes clanking along on either side with each of the dino’s lumbering strides.

  The ride turned out to be a pretty short one. They put the French Market and river at their backs, crossed a throughway bustling with dinos pulling wagons and chariots, then rounded a corner into a wide-open sunlit plaza. In the center of a garden area, a statue of Andrew Jackson gazed epically out at some imminent attack astride an iguanodon. Beside him, a young boy looked defiant, fists clenched. Magdalys scowled at it. Amaya had told her about President Jackson and how he’d implemented the forced removal of entire nations of Native people, which had resulted in thousands and thousands of deaths.

  “Commemorates the Battle of New Orleans,” Old Rose said. “The British came at this city with everything they had, and they still couldn’t conquer it.”

  At the far end of the plaza, an elegant cathedral seemed to preside over the whole world, its three white towers rising into the sky and then narrowing into pointed gray spires.

  “This must be Jackson Square,” Mapper said. “That’s the Saint Louis Cathedral!”

  Old Rose nodded, chuckling. “Very good, my dear.”

  “It’s lovely,” Magdalys said. Down on the promenade below, fortune-tellers chittered and cackled back and forth from their card- and crystal-adorned tables. An old woman in rags slinked along behind them, shaking her head and mumbling to herself as two Union soldiers looked on from their duckbill steeds.

  “That’ll be Lafarge there, I’d say.” Rose nodded her head toward where a crowd gathered at the foot of the church.

  A sudden flash of color swished up over the onlookers. Magdalys flinched — the last time she’d seen a rainbowed flock of pteros, it had been Elizabeth Crawbell’s killer archaeopteryxes wreaking havoc through the skies over Chickamauga. This though, she quickly realized, was another thing entirely. The shapes moved as one just like Elizabeth’s had, but there was a precision to them, a poetry even, that those bright-feathered battle lizards didn’t bother with. These pteros were about the same size — a little smaller than a chicken — but they had no feathers at all. Their little gray bodies were striated with patterns of red, blue, and yellow. And while a dactyl’s crest reached back in a narrow point from its skull, these creatures had tall, sail-like shapes bursting from the tops of their heads, like mini versions of the sails on spinosauruses.

  “Tupuxuara,” Magdalys said out loud, taking in the gorgeous display the pteros were putting on as they flapped out of their initial tight formation and filled the sky, then suddenly resolved into a shape.

  “Gesundheit!” Mapper said.

  “No, silly. That’s what kind of ptero that is. Oooh!” It was a heart, she realized. They’d formed two mounds in the sky above Jackson Square and now were filling it out with a pointed tip at the bottom. The whole crowd gasped with approval and then broke out into wild applause.

  Magdalys had never seen anything like it. Sending dinos or pteros into coordinated attack patterns was one thing, but this … this was something entirely different. It was beautiful!

  Around her, people oohed and aahed,
their eyes fixed to the fluttering shapes above. A little kid grabbed her mom’s hand and pointed at one of the tupus fluttering in little loops at the tail end of the heart. Old men on a nearby park bench put down their newspapers and gazed skyward, nodding their gentle approval.

  A guy with a clarinet played a sweet melody to go with the flapping wings.

  For as long as Magdalys had known she could meld her mind with giant reptiles, she’d been sending them to kill and die. Sure, it had been to save her life, but … it had never occurred to her that they could bring people joy too — pure, unfiltered joy, not just the thrill of making it alive out of a shoot-out.

  “Ridiculous old goat,” Old Rose scoffed. “He’s just trying to impress me again.”

  “Oh?” Magdalys said. The crowd made way for them as the tupus fluttered into another chaotic splash of color.

  “Thought I recognized that tired old ceratops coming this way,” a voice called from below. It belonged to a hunched-over white man in faded trousers and buckled-up shoes. He leaned on a wooden cane and wore a wry smile beneath the gray mustache on his weathered face.

  “Thought I recognized that corny sky nonsense,” Old Rose grumbled.

  The man raised one dark, bushy eyebrow and tilted his head. “All for you, ma belle fleur.”

  “Bah!” She glanced at Magdalys and Mapper. “He’s been thinking that little pun is cute for half a century now because my name is Rose.” Then she yelled, “Save it for your pteros, Lafarge. I didn’t come to reignite tired old flames, eh!”

  “Yowza,” Mapper exclaimed.

  Magdalys elbowed him. One thing she’d learned about adults was that if you stay quiet, they forget you’re there and reveal all kinds of stuff kids aren’t supposed to know about in front of you.

  Old Rose glanced up. “Ah, you are too kind.”

  Overhead, the tupus had arranged themselves into the shape of a coffee cup, complete with steam rising from it and a spoon alongside. “I have my moments,” Lafarge allowed with a wink. The folks who’d been watching his pteroshow dropped some coins in the donation bucket and started to gather around where Minuette was already prancing back and forth with a tray of coffees and calas at Bonfouca’s feet.

  “Now’s your chance,” Old Rose said, nudging Magdalys. “Go talk to him. Now you, young man —”

  “Mapper, ma’am. They call me Mapper.”

  “Mapper, very good. Help me with these orders, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Oui, oui!” Mapper yelped, leaping into action. “How may I help you today, good people of New Orleans? Coffee? Caloo?”

  “Calas,” Old Rose corrected.

  “Calas? Bonjour? Oui, oui?”

  Magdalys shook her head and climbed down Bonfouca’s saddle, then made her way through the crowd toward the steps of the Saint Louis Cathedral, where Lafarge tossed bread crumbs to his crew of tupuxuaras. They squabbled and squawked at each other playfully around Magdalys’s feet as she strode past. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Mm? What can I do for you, little soldier? No more tricks today, I’m afraid. The tupus are all tired out and ready for their siesta.” He let out a soft, rattly chuckle and sighed.

  “No, I was wondering if …” Her words trailed off. How to even broach the topic? I want you to join my elite squad of dinowarriors just didn’t seem like something you could walk up and say to someone. Magdalys remembered how careful Old Rose had been to differentiate what Lafarge did from Drek. This man didn’t consider himself a dinowarrior. Not yet anyway. She would have to work her way up to it. “How did you do that?”

  “Training, mon ami. These little tupus have been with me for many, many years now. I trained them since they hatched. Tupus are some of the most traina — What?”

  Magdalys hadn’t realized she’d put on a face of undisguised skepticism. Too late to go back now. “Tell me the truth.”

  “My dear child, I have no idea what —”

  “That wasn’t training. No dinowrangler could —”

  He stood, face darkened. “Are you saying I am a liar?”

  She stared up at him, traced the lines leading away from his eyes, the crease of his brow.

  “People come from all over the world to see my pteros. They always want to find out my secret. My trick! Well … hard work! That’s my trick! Discipline! Eh?” He smiled so suddenly, it caught Magdalys off guard. “You think there are shortcuts in this life? You think I’m special?”

  “I know you’re special,” Magdalys said. Now she was smiling too. “Just as special as I am.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

  “But I know there’s still hard work to be done. There’s still so much for me to learn.”

  Lafarge just stared at her.

  “I want you to teach me, Monsieur Lafarge. Teach me to be a master of the dinoarts. Teach me to be even better at reaching into their minds and understanding their thoughts. Teach me to —”

  “Silence!” Lafarge’s face trembled ever so slightly as he squinted down at her. “Enough! You are speaking madness, child. I don’t — Ah!” His eyes suddenly went wide. Around them, a single tupu surged into the air, then swirled in a perfect spiral to form a dizzying ring around where Magdalys and Lafarge stood. It zipped suddenly low and then loop-de-looped into the air and landed with perfect precision on Lafarge’s shoulder. “Hyacinth!” he gasped. “H-how …”

  Magdalys took a step closer to him, still smiling slightly. “You know how.”

  “I … I …”

  “Stop lying, Monsieur Lafarge. Teach me.”

  He gaped down at her, and for a moment she thought he might strike out, or run away in terror. Instead, his tight face eased into that suddenly whimsical grin of his. He shook his head, dragged a hand across his eyes. “You came with Old Rose, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Tell her to bring you to my grotto tonight at seven.”

  Magdalys’s smile grew wider. She released the tupu into a wild scatter across the skies. Took a step backward toward the crowd. “Thank you, Monsieur Lafarge.”

  “And little soldier,” he called as she turned away. “Tell Old Rose to bring coffee and calas when she comes. Otherwise the deal is off!”

  “LOOK, CHILDREN,” OLD ROSE said, bringing Bonfouca to a halt outside a large metal gate near some train tracks and, beyond that, the Mississippi River. A few tired dinos lumbered along the dusty road that stretched into the distance in either direction, but that was it. “Lafarge is a strange one.”

  “So we gathered,” Mapper said.

  “I know you need his help, and I’ll do what I can to help you get it, but don’t get your hopes up, eh?” Old Rose had brought them over to her apartment on Ursulines Avenue in the French Quarter, not far from the barracks, and whipped up a delicious dinner of seafood gumbo while Magdalys and Mapper filled her in on their journey so far.

  “Why not?” Magdalys asked. “What’s his deal?”

  Old Rose shook her head, scowled. “It’s not my story to tell.” The gas lanterns on either side of Lafarge’s gate flickered a warm glow against her face, danced in her dark eyes. “But he is a good man. And I trust him.” She rolled her eyes. “Even if sometimes I want to strangle him.”

  The gate creaked and swung slowly open. Bonfouca strutted through and it seemed like they’d stepped right back into the bayou. Tall oaks stretched their thick branches across the sky. Little dirt paths led off into the greenery, and more lanterns cast their gentle glow on palm fronds, white jasmine flowers, and bright pink explosions of bougainvillea.

  “Wow,” Mapper said, blinking at some microdactyls at play in a burbling, moss-covered fountain. “I didn’t think … I didn’t …”

  “You didn’t think a lowly street busker could live so lavishly?” Lafarge’s gruff voice said from the far end of the garden.

  “I was actually gonna say I didn’t think you could have such a peaceful slice of paradise in such a wild city,” Mapper said. “But whatever.”
/>   “Ah.” Lafarge strode out of the underbrush and grinned roguishly. “Fair enough.”

  “I mean, since you brought it up though,” Magdalys said, “how does a street busker live so lavishly?”

  “Come inside,” Lafarge said. “You can leave Bonfouca in the garden.”

  Lafarge led them through a door, past a small, dimly lit living room, and then out into a wide-open atrium area with dino enclosures on either side. The familiar smell of poop reared up to greet them like an excited puppy.

  Old Rose groaned. “I don’t know how you do it, Lafarge. I really don’t.”

  “What? The smell? Ha! Who even notices it anymore?”

  “We do,” Magdalys, Mapper, and Old Rose all said at once.

  “And we shovel it in the Union dinostables every day,” Mapper added. “Poop still smells like poop.”

  “Eh.” Lafarge shrugged. “Small price to pay to be surrounded by God’s most magnificent creations, in my opinion.”

  He does have a point, Magdalys thought, but she still didn’t think she’d ever get used to that stench.

  “Now.” He walked out into the middle of the dirt-covered open area and spun around, his gaze sharp on Magdalys. “Before we begin, let me say this: no.”

  Magdalys cocked her head. “No what?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Let me see: You and your friend here, you are soldiers, I see. The Louisiana 9th, I presume, as most of the Native Guard has been deployed to Tennessee, from what I understand. You’re not from around here. Up north, by your accents. Probably New York or Boston. And you’ve been through plenty, hm? Anyone of your race has, to be sure, but to have made the journey down here, well, I’m sure you’ve seen some things. Still … your face isn’t altogether devoid of innocence either, eh? You are, after all, just a child. Twelve, tops, no?”

  She just blinked at him. Dinos began emerging out of the darkness. First she just heard their grunts and heavy breath, the rumble of their approach. Then a trike appeared, followed by several ankylosaurs, a small brachy, two giant tortoises.

  “Still, you carry a certain air of authority about you, don’t you?” Lafarge said. “You are on a mission, are you not? Something of great importance. You don’t have the bearing of an average foot soldier. You approached me in the square — Old Rose brought you, in fact. Which means you sought me out. Went looking for a dinomaster of particular abilities. And when you saw what I am capable of, you came and asked if I would teach you.”