“What are you going to do on this night where we can actually get out into Barrenwood?”
“As it turns out,” Fennel said with a smirk on his lips. “This couldn’t have been a more opportune night for Marty’s deliveries to cease. As it turns out, I have been requested to join the Auxiliary Cultural Committee for Barrenwood’s annual festival. My humble opinion on matters of high culture has become of great interest to the state.”
Fennel adjusted his bow tie. He pulled on each end and made a regal gesture with his eyebrows. Isabella squinted.
“Is that really such a good idea? Sheesh. You seem determined to out us in Barrenwood. Caution, dear brother. The city is not the friend you think it is.”
“Wasn’t it I that just made the same claim to you?” he responded. “Sister, I am a grown man. I don’t think anyone, least of all you, would accuse me of considering this waste heap of a city my friend. I can make my own decisions. I will do as I see fit as you most surely do for yourself.”
“I know, Fennel. You are truly your own person. I just worry. Try not to make too big a scene and be as discreet as possible.”
“I am the Raven remember. I will swoop in and swoop out in the fit of night. No one will be the wiser and Barrenwood’s cultural life will be ever so much better!” Fennel made a mock evil grin and guffawed. “We both know Marty will return soon and, dear sister, I too have my little plots. This one will be fine, I assure you. Nothing too dramatic will occur.”
“Now that sounds like a lie if I ever heard one. Have your fun and be careful.”
“As delicate as a child I am,” he laughed.
The prospect of Fennel speaking in front of representatives of the city gave Isabella the chills. He was too wild. He would botch it for sure. Her brother’s taste for mischief made him a clearly unreliable public servant.
“So it appears that with this window opening for us, we are again on our own, dear brother. That is fine with me. I have matters I need to attend to anyway. As far as I am concerned, a free half evening in Barrenwood without the interference of Marty is a gift I am ready to accept. I will miss you though. Please don’t have too much fun. Let's rendezvous at the Guild as arranged at 3:00 AM.”
Isabella smiled at her brother as she unmoored the boat from the dock. They both jumped in and made their way to Le Chevalier Noir.
Heinrich greeted them in his usual manner. Fennel jumped out.
“You will have to excuse me, my dear old chap,” he said, grinning. “I have pressing matters of state to attend to. I am on my way to becoming a politician so prepare yourself, Heinrich. The world is about to experience politics in a manner it has long desperately attempted to avoid.”
Heinrich creased his brow and said nothing. He knew no response was desired anyway. He helped Isabella out of the boat. The mosquitos were whizzing by the lanterns and the air was thick.
“It looks like we will meet later this eve, sis. Don’t be surprised if you meet me as Mayor later this evening,” Fennel smiled, tipping his hat.
Isabella just turned away. She was tired of Fennel at this moment.
“Good evening, brother,” she said as she made her way toward the reception room. Heinrich whispered in her ear that the Persembes had come with an immediate request to see Isabella. Isabella felt a wave of comfort at the news. The universe seemed to be speaking to her. Even if she couldn’t crack the code on that sauce, there was still more than one way to skin a cat.
“Yes, please, come, ”she thought.
She whisked her way to the Burgundy Salon, waving goodbye to her brother who flew out toward the streets of Barrenwood with the energy of an excited rat. She scooted up onto her large throne where she could greet the gossiping sisters three. She sat on her chair and rang the bell for the ladies to enter. They rushed in a whirlwind of chatter dressed to the nines with their long hair pulled up into beehive towers above their heads. Upon seeing her, they hushed and bowed in reverence.
“Good evening, Miss Lady Isabella,” they all said in unison. They gathered in front of her with their faces most smiling. They had experienced something over the last week that clearly was more interesting than Isabella.
“Evening, my dears,” replied Isabella. “I suppose you have some news for me after our last soirée?”
“My goodness, do we! A more exasperating journey I could not imagine. Whatever have we done to deserve you, I shall never know,” Rana gushed. “But here we are—rescued from the sybaritic nightmare of our family name and their toilsome dullerdry. Sibel, as per our last understanding, has become our personal private eye and lovebird. But she is not alone. Oh, no, not alone at all. We are sisters after all. We couldn’t let her have all the fun.”
Isabella just stared at Rana and sipped her grape juice. As sullen and stern as her face appeared, Isabella couldn’t be happier. This was how the world was supposed to be. She was in her element. If Rana was rescued by her she felt equally rescued by them.
“Continue,” she stated blankly.
Rana continued apace, “Sibel, forgive me, I know this is your story and I will be sure to stop shortly so you can fill in the juicy parts. For now, I just want it said that Yosune and I enquired further to all our various friends and family regarding the inner workings of the city, you know, to find out about this Castilla and more so, what the mayor might be up to in that little hut outside the Mortestrate.”
Sibel burst in, as was the only way to talk when Rana was in the room, “I did as you said, but I must say that it has blossomed. I think I might have been sidetracked by love.” (And love it was. More than she could express in the room. It had taken her heart by surprise and made her mad with passion. Every night she saw him. In her sleep, she smelled him. She was perhaps in pain. Yes, pain. The love was too intense. They would never understand.)
Isabella could sense it—a rare feeling from these Persembes—a trickle of the water issued from Sibel, her agony an awful awakening. Her fingernails were eaten down to nothing. Her agitation and vexation were palatable. Isabella licked her lips.
“Love! Your request to spend time with Minasha somehow turned into a double matchmaker extravaganza,” laughed Rana.
“Enough, Rana, let Sibel tell her story,” barked Yosune, and Rana, for a tiny shred of time, backed off.
“As I was saying, I, well, we, did as you said. It is all rather confusing. Perhaps you and Minasha Darkglass are secretly connected. We were about to set up a meeting with her when we found ourselves invited over to her place for tea. This kind of thing never happens. Anyway, we accepted, which perhaps had you not asked us to spy on her we may have refused, because, of course, being in the company of Minasha Darkglass is not exactly something we enjoy. Anyway, it matters not. For reasons that I cannot completely understand, when we arrived, Minasha Darkglass had a secret guest at her small gathering.”
Even telling the story brought it all back. Sibel’s blood rushed up into her face. Her cheeks became hot.
“Love at first sight. Yes, that is what happened. Instantaneous. Peter Wilkins is his name.”
“And they are in love already!” laughed Rana.
“Shut up, Rana. Don’t make me lock you out of this meeting,” snapped Yosune.
“Yes, don’t ruin my story. Isabella you have to take partial credit for my beating awful heart. He is so wonderful. The most romantic, soft-spoken dreamboat. Of course, he isn’t from Barrenwood. I knew I needed something from not here. The men of this city are so beaten down. Not Peter. He is from a place called Gorsten or something like that. Anyway, it just so happens, he is from the same place where his employer, Mr. Castilla, is from. We have dined a few times since we spoke last and, in fact, I would say, we are in the midst of a glorious romance. He is everything. He is quiet, affable and possesses the most quaint, charming accent. This twang sound on his lips. It is so captivating. He is quiet, soft-spoken and very simple. Not a complicated boy, but a handsome one. I like him so much I must say I half feel guilty for saying all of
this.”
Isabella listened with what felt like electric pins tingling inside her. The city was speaking to her in a strange way. It led to Minasha Darkglass. It led through these sisters. And now it led through love. Sibel was on fire and Isabella could nearly feed off the warmth. But what was it trying to say?
“So, Minasha Darkglass introduced you at tea?” queried Isabella.
“Yes, he was there as her guest which is odd considering he is only a carriage boy.”
“Do they know each other, Minasha and Peter?”
“No,” blushed Sibel. “We joke about it now. He received her request to tea as a complete surprise. It came out of the blue. He was extra uncomfortable at that meeting. He just sat in the corner stirring his tea uncontrollably as though he were trying to make a whirlpool inside it.”
The girls laughed. It was very true.
“But that isn’t the only way that you and Minasha are psychically connected,” stated Yosune, “for her invitation has also allowed us to know more about this Mr. Castilla. As it turns out, Peter is extremely close to Mr. Castilla. He works as his carriage boy. It is almost as if you and Minasha both want us to find out about Castilla. Ha-ha, I’m joking. I don’t see how Minasha Darkglass gets anything out of this, but it is all rather bizarre that you have us finding out more about this Castilla and then bam, here is this extremely proximitous source of information. Turns out Peter is orphaned, and Castilla has taken him on as a sort of pet project; a semi surrogate son, though what he is doing as a carriage boy is beyond me. That perhaps will be solved later in my investigations. As it turns out, Castilla works for a land company called Gaventas. They have been on an extended stay here for some time due to some business that Peter knew nothing about.”
Sibel interrupted, “Peter knows very little at all. About not only Castilla but well, anything,” she giggled. “I like them more that way, I think. Dumb as a rock and handsome. I might just marry him and make father crazy!”
Rana burst in as she had held her breath long enough. “If you married him, father might annihilate all of Castilla and this Gaventas and possibly even Big Boy Charlie. No, I don’t think you should do that, sweet sis. I mean if you did that too, we would have nothing left to investigate. Everyone would be dead!”
The sisters laughed. They laughed because it was sort of true. Sibel’s laughter was nearly hysterical as it touched too close to the agony inside her. Yes, it was funny she was in love with a dumb errand boy. But it was love. No question about it. And the thought of it made her miserable and wild.
Rana collected herself and continued, “Well, it shouldn’t surprise our dear Isabella that she sniffed a rat and a rat she has found. For while no one knew of this Mr. Castilla, they did know about Gaventas. Our father, for one, was quite aware of him and he indicated—with little interest in telling us much more—that so, too, were the Houses Revan, Ellington, Imbetta and even Calliban. In fact, from what I gather, Gaventas is part of something that has been more than a thorn in the side of the great Houses.
“Father went on to ask where I had heard of them and I just lied and said I had heard about them from friends and was embarrassed to say I didn’t know what they were talking about. To this father simply stated that all we needed to know about them was that if they had their way the great families would be begging for their dinner on a Mortestrate sidewalk. ”
Isabella felt progress was being made, but perhaps it was trickling in all too slow. “News is news, I suppose. Things seem to be afoot in Barrenwood.”
Yosune laughed, “I couldn’t agree more. To find something that all the great Houses actually agree on is quite miraculous. It is, in fact, a gold mine of gossip if you will. Gaventas, it seems, will be the talk of the balls, galas, and dining rooms for the next few years to come I would imagine. And to think there is something out there that could threaten them enough for them to unite! It is exciting.”
“What do you know of this Mayor,” asked Isabella.
“As you may know,” responded Yosune, “the Mayor has traditionally been hand-picked by the united efforts of our houses. They are capable administrators put in place to run the ever-complex arrangements that are the inner workings of civic life. This Mayor, Big Boy Charlie, we like to call him, has been in office for almost twenty years now which is basically our entire lives. He is as Barrenwood as they get. In general, I would say he has been the embodiment of capable corruption.—assuaging the right merchants, paying proper homage to the right houses, not letting the trash pile up, keeping the peace, but ultimately, not doing much of anything. In the last few years, however, I have heard it said that he has begun to—in a way most out of character—make waves in the sense that he has come to the table with some big ideas—new concepts of road management, public parks, public education and the like. I suppose he now considers himself a pudgy Renaissance man.”
“Big Boy Charlie was at our house about a month ago. He comes by every so often and smokes cigars and talks shop with pop. He isn’t the least bit interesting if you ask me,” said Rana.
“I have heard about enough I suppose,” said Isabella, getting up from her seat. “I would be pleased if you could continue your relationship with Peter. As you two possess mutual affections, this shouldn’t prove too difficult for you. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble and emotional turmoil, I would greatly appreciate it if you could at least allow the relationship to inform us all on the inner workings of Castilla himself. And you girls, perhaps you could keep your questions at a minimum to your parents and society. I get the feeling that we have wandered into something that might actually be interesting. I wouldn’t want you getting your hair mussed over it or worse.”
“What are you doing now?” asked Rana. “Are you heading over to the Chateau de Crawler again? That was ever so much fun.”
“I’m afraid not this evening, my darlings. I have pressing matters. My time is running short, and I am forced to become more utilitarian than I am comfortable with.” She pulled out a bag of coin and flung it toward Yosune. She then rang the bell and Heinrich stepped into the room. “Thanks again for your assistance.”
“Ladies,” Heinrich said as he opened the door for them to leave.
The Persembes bowed low and exited.
Chapter 13
Fennel could feel excitement at the evening ahead. He had always plotted to integrate himself into the inner workings of the city, but Marty had been very cautious to make sure he was never in arm’s reach of it. In fact, he was sure that Marty used Isabella as both a sister and a security guard. Well, basta to all that! He was liberated. The city was his oyster and he was going to shuck it and swallow. Sure he had sort of tricked his way into this event, but he was convinced once they heard his thoughts on the festival, they might possibly embrace his wit and charm. And even if they didn’t, they would have to be impressed with the results afterward. He was a social architect and that was all there was to it.
Marty lacked the proper faith in him. That was all there was to it. Fennel and Marty shared a mutual admiration for all things perverse and what could be more perverse than a festival planning meeting by the city? In a strange way, Fennel felt he was meant for things cultural. He was an artist in his own wetlands inspired way. He couldn’t help but feel like the world was reverberating through him, singing its own convoluted tale. He just wanted to be true to its spirit. It was in acting in great harmony with it that he found most thrilling.
Of course, he was excited to participate in the planning of the city’s festival. Not only did he already harbor machinations to unveil his statue during the festivities, but he also possessed a bold vision to catalyze a more frantic and exciting collective citizenry. The festival provided an opportunity to try out his own PT Barnum dreams. He would create a truly amazing carnival—a world where the multitudes of the tawdry could frolic together and be united in the dance of complex emotions and behaviors. It would be an opera full of fireworks, drinks, dancing, costumes, unexpected tragedies an
d anticipated revelries. He wanted so badly to choreograph the world’s emotions like an epic song.
Costumes would prove critical. Revelry mixed with costumes stirred magic out of the core of the earth. It let people become foreign to themselves. Something about a mask allowed them—like a sort of societal pass— to let their more mutable selves drift outward. They became something altogether heavenly. And groups of people frantically becoming something else was all that a little PT Barnum social architect like Fennel could ever wish for. Which reminded him, he needed to find a circus.
Fennel bounded up to the rooftops to make his way to the City’s Auxiliary Meeting Hall in Barrenwood’s Garibaldi Plaza. He bounded across the tops, feeling each tile underfoot. He leapt like a flying squirrel, shooting himself as high as he could into the air and then landing ever so gently back onto another rooftop. He was quite the sight. It was his favorite kind of calisthenics, to feel the air flying past him; the humid soaked nights of Barrenwood moving across his spindly body.
Heading toward the center of town was easy enough. City Hall loomed large with a massive high beaux arts capital building that situated at the exact middle of Barrenwood. All four major roads met up at the office of the mayor. It was a city planning charade that made Fennel laugh. No matter how the city was designed, he thought, there is no way that the person in that building would rule the city. Nevertheless, City Hall itself made quite an impression. Its central tower rose up high into the sky with a triumphant statue of a young man holding up the crown of blessed victory. His young outstretched arms made Fennel roll his eyes.
Staring down at the city from his perch high above, he watched the people coming and going—their bodies lost in the maze of a built world. Before he even spied it with his eye, Fennel sensed it with his heart. Along a small road off the town square, an arrest had been made. The city’s soldiers had in hand a man, handcuffed behind his back, and were forcibly walking him toward the paddy wagon. The man was angry and scared. Defiant and down. His eyes were opened wide with fright. He struggled unsuccessfully, his legs dragging behind him. Sure he was a drunk redhead, but he had juice inside him. Fennel could feel the water flowing from the man and watched in remorse as he was thrown headfirst into the back of the paddy wagon.
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