“Yeah, I'm sure that's where Roman gets his coats.” She took another swig of beer and her stomach started gurgling, so she sat the bottle down on a table. “I thought I had a few days before Roman was going to interview me.”
“I told him you'd be ready. The more he and I talked, the more he wanted to get things going, to get the Agency back up and running. Oh, and he wants you to bring Dean's revolver. And pack some food in case you're there for a while.”
“Yes, mother.” Mars raised her arms in the air and stretched very slowly, wincing from the pain of her chest. Then she let her arms fall down to her sides and sighed. “So now you've let me out into the real world, does that mean you're gonna start trusting me?”
“What do you mean? I trust you more than I trust most people. In fact, there are probably five people alive who I trust, and you're one of them.”
“Oh, F, I know you trust me. What I mean is are you gonna tell me who you are? What you are? Why you've lived so damn long?”
He looked down at his cup of coffee. “It's not that interesting of a story. But... I suppose if you want to hear it I'll tell you one day. Soon even. Just not today.”
“Fine.”
“Hey, you haven't seen my blue spectacles, have you? The lenses are small and round?”
Mars raised an eyebrow. “I don't think I've ever seen you wear spectacles.”
“Well, they're not mine – they're Scape's.” He motioned to his eyes. “The lenses let you see memories, like how Edith sees them. I borrowed them for the meeting, and this morning I couldn't find them.”
“Nope. Maybe in the car or the warehouse?”
“I checked both of those.” He shook his head. “Those are going to be annoying to replace.”
She grabbed her beer from the table and took a long swig. Her stomach gurgled again, and her body swayed back and forth. “Um, I'll be right back.” She set the beer down and walked into the bathroom.
File 17 :: [Julius Marcos]
Making his way across the upriver side of Jackson Square hobbled the only living Agent besides Roman Wing. Amidst the frivolity of the Square on a ridiculously pretty day, with tourists meandering and artists selling their work and brass bands tossing up songs like fireworks into the air, Julius made his way through the crowds on his crutches. Even though he'd had a day to sober himself up, the sunlight still pierced his eyes like a pair of needles. He had to admit though that he did feel better – and even as he wished Roman would have just come up and sucker punched him in the jaw, Roman had still been able to shake Julius out of his slump with his talk. Now Julius felt a sense of purpose growing inside him like a tumor, eating up all his depression and self-pity to nourish itself. And then there was the pastry chef memory reader and all the implications that she brought to the city and the Agency.
He slipped between the mighty St. Louis Cathedral and the Cabildo (a building which was once a jail and is now a museum), and into Pirate's Alley. There were few places he hated more in The Quarter than that alley.
Historically the alley was used by Jean and Pierre Lafitte's pirates, smuggling guns and alcohol, opium and stolen goods. Julius himself (well, past incarnations of himself, to be precise) had pulled a lot of strings to burn or erase any actual evidence of the alley being one of the havens of the pirates, sensing the growing trend of people to romanticize the raping, murdering and slave-trading thieves. Unfortunately Julius' incarnations' efforts were for naught – for even though there remains no hard evidence of pirates having frequented Pirates' Alley, nearly everyone believes it to have been the case. And even if they didn't, the cursed alley would still be writhing with the ghosts of the seafaring, life-stealing bastards. Yes, the city remembers – its people remember through their dreams, through their hopes and wonders and fears. And Julius remembers too, one of his earlier incarnations having been brought over by the Lafitte brothers' pirates, kept at the very tip of southern Louisiana in the cages and camps on the islands of the Kingdom of Barataria[12]. He couldn't burn the memory from his skull if he'd wanted to.
He made his way down the cobblestone alley, making sure to avoid its thin, deep gutters which cut across it to create little streams when it rained. A little ways down the alley a face stuck out of the Cabildo's wall – a face all made up of scars and sneer and a bit more hair than a face ought to have.
“What do we have here?” said the translucent spirit. “The stories are true, ain't they? The angry cat-man's a fucking cripple, ain't he?”
Julius stopped his pace, his hand tightening its grip on one crutch while the stub of his arm tightened its grip on the other. “I'm not in the mood,” he said, which was a blatant lie. He was hungover as all hell and very much in the mood.
The pirate-ghost swaggered out of the wall, rum bottle swinging from one hand as he kicked one of the crutches out from under Julius, who fell with a smack into the cobblestones and gutters. Yes, he was left unceremoniously sprawled on the ground of Pirates' Alley, but not before grabbing a fistful of the ghost's shirt and slamming him into the ground next to him.
The wide-eyed pirate shook underneath Julius' hairy fist, its claws digging into the pirate's ghost-flesh, ichor[13] trailing in thin streams down the pirate's chest.
The pirate cried out in pain. “It was an accident!”
Julius growled, bringing his face close to the ghost's. “So is this,” he purred, just before he twisted his claws into the pirate's chest. The pirate cried out, then Julius held the pirate down with the stump of his leg, pulled an empty Jack Daniels bottle from the backpack he carried and with his only hand, shoved the pirate-ghost into the bottle (no easy feat with two hands, let alone one, even after having multiple incarnations with which to master said skill). He twisted the cap on with his teeth, then placed the bottle with the screaming pirate in it back into his backpack. God, he fucking hated pirates.
Julius crawled over to the wall that the pirate had come out of, stood his crutches up against it and eventually managed to get onto his foot. Then he grabbed the crutches and continued down the alley. He passed the bar which bore the name of the alley, and the next shop over was called Faulkner House Books, a bookstore beneath the apartment where William Faulkner wrote his supposed first novel, Soldiers' Pay[14]. Between the Faulkner House and the bar called Pirates' Alley there was a thin stretch of brick wall with a thick pipe running down the center, and it was this wall upon which Julius Marcos rapped with his knuckles.
A middle section of the pipe popped forward and turned, then one of the bricks was pulled back to leave a rectangular black hole. “Pass and word,” said a squeaky little voice.
“I need to see Madness Took,” said Julius.
“Pass and word.”
“Tell him it's Julius.” He always went back and forth about whether he liked the Collectors. The Function had once theorized that the only reason Julius didn't hate the strange creatures was because he had to go through Pirates' Alley to see them, and compared to the pirates the Collectors seemed like little cherubs in Julius' eyes.
“Me is Madness Took,” said the voice. “Pass and word.”
“No you're not. Tell Madness Took that Julius is here to see him.”
“Second. Pass and word first.”
There was no password and anyone who had dealings with the Collectors knew it. They were always asking for a password or saying you have to beat them at some game or other. The truth was the Collectors were much too disorganized for any kind of structured system, though their 'disorganization' was a kind of game itself to them. They could be organized, they just loved not to be – at least that's what Julius believed.
Julius sighed. “Word and pass.”
“He has answered!” proclaimed the squeaky voice, followed by two cheers from inside the wall. “And his answer is... correct!” The wall folded in on itself like origami, creating a low rectangular doorway. Julius carefully ducked underneath while walking through on his crutches, and the wall closed up behind him. He walked down a dark ha
llway and into a room full of couches and cardboard boxes that were used as tables. Incense was thick in the air and a few candles lit the dim room, which had doorways opening into hallways that lead to other parts of the building.
Julius turned and looked at the wall, seeing in his periphery the few shadowy figures reclining on couches with their feet up on the tables or crouched upon the backs of the couches like gargoyles[15]. More than a few of them were eating pieces of Wonder. Julius had never minded dealing with the Collectors, but often Agents disliked them – especially new Agents. The Collectors were, however, one of the most integral parts of the city.
Each time a tourist or local experiences awe – whether from the unique mix of architecture, from the surreal costumes of random passersby, or from the sudden eruption of a second line[16] – that awe manifests around them like a flowering plant, and that plant's fruit is known as Wonder. The near-invisible Collectors are constantly hopping and climbing throughout the city, reaching down from light posts, leaning out from passing mule-drawn carriages, snatching up the Wonder like grabbing apples from trees. They eat the Wonder until only the large seeds are left, then toss the seeds into mason jars which they trade to the Agents in exchange for trinkets and answers to riddles. The Agents then pour the seeds into the city's heart, so that the Wonder flows back through the city's veins, growing up like vines all over the buildings and eccentric locals and oak trees, thereby inspiring more awe from people and continuing the cycle.
“All hail Julius!” one of them called out.
“All hail!” said another.
“Your humor is only surpassed by anyone and everything,” said Julius dryly. “I'm here to see Madness Took. Where is he?”
“You are Madness Took,” said a slower, heavier voice.
Julius looked at him through the corner of his eye. “Hello, old friend.” The thin creature stood in one of the doorways, wearing a thick cloak with various golden chains wrapped around his torso and holding in one hand a twisted branch as a staff.
“What can you do for me, Madness Took?” said Madness Took.
“I have come to call in one of my five favors.”
“Five flavors of ice cream?”
“One of five. You'll still owe me four.”
“Oh.” The Collector seemed almost sad as it looked down at one of its hands. “Four flavors of ice cream left.”
“I need you to take me to the swamps.”
“You don't need to take me to the swamps, Madness Took,” said Madness Took.
“I'm calling in a favor. It shouldn't take more than a day. We'll be back some time tomorrow.”
“You don't owe me any flavors,” said Madness Took. “I am Julius Marcos, and you don't owe me five flavors of ice cream. Because I am Julius Marcos. We never made that deal.”
Julius' hand tightened on the crutch. “Madness Took.” He growled, feeling his teeth growing inside his skull, feeling his fingernails starting to shape into claws as short, dark fur covered the back of his hand. He turned and looked at where the Collector stood, not seeing him but smelling him. The other Collectors in the room slunk away from Julius, but Madness Took himself did not stir. “I am Bes,” Julius said, his voice now heavy and guttural, “and this is my final incarnation in this city, inside the body and life of Julius Marcos. And I, Bes, do have a deal with you, Madness Took. You promised to me five favors from three of my past incarnations, and I am here to collect one of them.”
“Ah!” The Collector stepped forward and stamped his staff on the floor. “I am Bes! You owe me five flavors of ice cream! I want swamp-flavored ice cream as one of my flavors. You understand now.”
Julius relaxed and the fur sunk back into his flesh, his teeth back into his skull.
Madness Took pointed at Julius with the staff. “We will eat swamp-flavored ice cream right away.” He turned to one of the other Collectors. “We will turn into a canoe!” Several of the creatures vanished through various doorways.
Julius stretched his neck until it popped. That was easier than he thought it would be.
File 18 :: [Mars]
The sun was bright and the day beautiful, with the wind a bit cool and brisk compared to the day at the warehouse and the docks. Mars felt the sunlight on her skin, felt it recharging her. She wore a white shirt with Japanese kanji symbols scrawled in red all over it and had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. The shirt was one of the few she owned that she hadn't cut yet to show off her tattoo. She'd felt so wrong covering it up, but it had looked even worse than the day before – the edges of the giant bruise had turned all yellowish and reminded her of mold.
Earlier she had felt the back of her head with her fingers and could feel the bump and a long scratch, and thought that someone standing behind her might see it through her dreads – so she wore her hair up in a bun, with several long needles sticking out of it and a couple of thick strands hanging down beside her face.
She looked out across the river at the barges and cruise ships and paddle boats going by, hearing the roar of the big fountain behind her. Spanish Plaza was basically a big square between the Riverwalk Mall and the ferry terminal with a ferry that carried cars and pedestrians across the river to Algiers Point, a charming New Orleans neighborhood with quaint little shotgun houses and cute coffee shops, not to mention the only authentic English Pub she knew of in the city (she knew of some Irish ones, but not another English one).
“Hello, Mars,” said Roman from behind her.
She turned to see the odd looking man, who was a little taller than she was and wearing his long gray coat. He stuck out his hand and she shook it, but it seemed more like shaking hands with an alien who had learned “how to act” from watching television shows that were broadcast into space. Still, she struggled to hide her excitement to be meeting with him. “Good to see you, Roman.”
“Shall we begin?” He motioned for her to walk with him towards the fountain. “Mars, I'm not going to pretend that this is an interview.” They walked down the steps to the fountain, which was surrounded by the seals of the provinces of Spain. The water shot up like a tower from the fountain's center. “You know who the Agents are. You know that there are severe dangers involved. Nearly all of the Agents recently perished.”
“I understand.”
They stood at the base of the fountain. There was a couple talking across the fountain from them, and a family with two children who were laughing and chasing each other.
“You will be paid, but it will not be very much. Certainly not enough to throw your life away. No one becomes an Agent for money. There will be little to no recognition for your deeds. Neither your name nor your photo will show up in the newspaper, no matter how many times you help save the city. The city itself needs the Agency. It needs people who love it, who will risk everything to take care of it. And somehow throughout the city's short life there have always been those who step up to the challenge, to fill the ranks of the Agency. And the city itself will know who you are – it will know that you are an Agent. Even though the Agency has very little money, we are taken care of in other ways. If you take care of the city, the city will take care of you.
“There will be plenty of time for questions. But for now, Mars, do you have any questions that lie between you and accepting this responsibility? Any doubts I may be able to relieve?”
Mars took a deep breath and searched through her thoughts, then shook her head. This was what she'd been wanting for a long, long time. “No. I'm ready.”
Roman took off his coat, then, crouching down and pulling up the sleeve of his white button up shirt, he reached into the pool of the fountain. Opening up a small metal box, he turned a switch that was inside, and the stone tiles on the ground next to them began shifting around and lowering into a curved staircase which led down into the ground.
The two children, a boy and a girl, stopped chasing each other and looked at the staircase. Roman flipped the switch back and closed the panel. The childrens' parents didn't seem
to notice the huge staircase – only the children noticed it.
“Whoa,” said a little boy. “What's down there?”
Roman smirked. “A secret headquarters. With laboratories and strange experiments and tunnels that go under the whole city.”
“Cool!” said the girl.
“Are there weapons?” asked the boy.
“Sure, I suppose there are, of a sort.”
“Can we go down there?”
“Maybe when you're older,” said Roman as he led Mars down the stairs.
Mars looked behind them as she descended, and the children were standing at the top of the stairs peering down. “Why did you tell them?”
“They won't remember. It'll just show up in their dreams, making those dreams richer. Inspiring them in their lives, which will in turn inspire the city.”
When he got to the bottom, he turned another dial which was set into the wall and the stairs rose back up to the surface. They were in the middle of a long stone hallway and lanterns attached to the walls all lit up one by one in each direction. A ways off she could see doorways that were outlined in great stone arches. The stones themselves reminded her of the stones on the levee, only smoothed out and fitted together.
“The kids not remembering the staircase. It's because of Wonder, right? You have some kind of device charging the fountain with Wonder, and the switch for the stairs also activates the Wonder. That's why the adults didn't see the stairs at all.”
Roman nodded and smiled. “Mars, I am really going to enjoy training you.”
He took her down the long hallway, past several large wooden doors and then stopped outside one such door.
Mars sniffed at the air. “Smells dusty in here. I suppose a cleaning crew doesn't fit into the budget?”
“The secrecy doesn't allow for it, but the main reason for the dust is that this place was not used as our headquarters until about seven months ago. This is an old headquarters, built when Spanish Plaza was called Eads Plaza, named after the man James Eads who engineered jetties that helped the maneuverability of the Mississippi in the eighteen seventies, helping New Orleans keep its importance as a valuable port city.”
The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1) Page 12