Trader

by Charles de Lint

  Jilly put her hand on his forearm. “I'm not trying to get you to forget her. I just don’t want you to forget yourself in the process.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “I know. And it must be harder with everybody around you here having such a good time. Why don’t you come back to the studio with me? I’ve got a commission I need to finish and I could use a soundtrack while I’m working. I don’t have any decent tapes anymore.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  Jilly smiled. “Of course I’m just saying it. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true at the same time. So, are you up for it?”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Come on. When was the last time we did this?”

  “Last week.”

  “Oh please. That’s like forever ago.”

  “I’ll probably only be able to play laments and dreary old airs.”

  “That’s perfect,” Jilly told him. “This is a really sad painting I’m working on.”

  “Okay. I give up. I’ll come.”

  “Good.” Jilly gave a furtive look around the pub. “Do you think Tommy would notice if I snuck out with my glass of Guinness?”

  “God,” Geordie said, and he had to laugh. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?”

  Jilly gave him an innocent look. “I’m very corrigible. Everyone says so. It’s this—”

  “Gift you have,” Geordie finished for her. He stood up. “Can you fit the glass under your jacket?”

  “Not without spilling it.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll cover for you. Wait now. Wait. Okay. Tommy’s looking away...he’s...yes, he’s serving somebody...”

  With Geordie providing a screen, the two of them made their way outside with Jilly’s Guinness and not a drop spilled. They started up Kelly Street, walking arm in arm, sharing sips of the beer as they went.

  “You know,” Geordie said. “I am feeling better.”

  “Me, too. We should do this more often.”

  “What? Drink alcohol illegally on the street?”

  Jilly punched him in the arm. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Geordie told her. “And thanks.”

  It was good to see a real smile on his face, Jilly thought. Bullying Geordie into a better mood was easy for her; they’d been friends for so long she knew all the right buttons to push. If only it could be as easy to fix everything else that had gone wrong over the past few months, but that was out of her hands.

  It was up to Bones now. If he found Zeffy and Nia it would start to put a lot of things right. But she didn’t think he’d have any more luck tonight than he’d had any other time he’d gone. She couldn’t say how she knew, but she had the feeling that those hungry spirits he’d been talking about had taken matters into their own hands.

  9 ZEFFY

  When the boar-headed woman moved forward again, Zeffy gave her a sudden, stiff-armed shove that made her stumble off-balance, arms and legs quaking like shaken Jell-O. She would have fallen if not for her companions, three or four of them lurching as they took the brunt of her weight. The spite deepened in the boar-woman’s eyes when she regained her equilibrium. Zeffy glared right back at her, putting on a fierce look that was completely at odds with the thundering drumbeat of her pulse. But they didn’t have to know that, she thought.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” the woman said.

  “Done what?” a voice asked.

  None of them had heard the pickup truck pull over to the curb. Zeffy glanced hopefully toward the speaker, but her hopes were dashed when she realized he was only more of the same. He had human enough arms, the hand at the end of one grasping the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window, its fingers drumming a rhythm on the metal door. Human chest in a white T-shirt and jean vest, on his head a tan-colored flat-brimmed hat with a beaded sweatband. But the head itself was that of a crow—human-sized, all black feathers, blacker eyes and a long, sharp bill.

  “None of your business,” the boar-woman said.

  “Everything’s my business,” the crow-headed man told her. His voice carried a harsh rasp, like a crow’s caw.

  He dropped his gearshift into neutral, put on his hand brake and hopped down from the cab of the pickup. Below the waist, he was also human. Worn jeans, an old pair of cowboy boots, high-heeled and pointy-toed. The other animal people made way for him—all except for the boar-woman, who stood her ground. Zeffy and Nia did, too, mostly because the boar-woman’s bulk was blocking their escape.

  The weirdest thing about all of this, Zeffy realized in some tiny part of her mind that was still capable of rational observation, was how nobody else on the street gave any of this a second glance. Skateboarders, pedestrians, the old man sitting on a bench not two feet away who had just glanced up from his newspaper. Not one of them seemed to see anything out of the ordinary with a man that was part bird driving a pickup truck or the coterie of animal people that had been threatening Zeffy and Nia. Maybe they saw this kind of thing every day.

  “So,” the crow-headed man said in that same raspy voice of his. “Are we having a problem here?”

  The boar-headed woman stood her ground for a few moments longer, then reluctantly gave way to him. She waddled off down the street, accompanied by the fox-tailed man. The other animal-people drifted off as well, leaving Zeffy and Nia alone with the crow-headed man. He regarded them for a long moment, as though waiting for something, but neither Zeffy nor Nia seemed able to find their voice. Where the other animal people had been like strange double-images, the human and animal features both visible at the same time, the crow’s head on his shoulders was as solid as the rest of him— beak, feathers, the deep dark eyes.

  “Name’s Joe,” he said.

  Come on, Zeffy told her voice. This guy seemed all right. Chased off the boar-woman and everything. So say something.

  Yeah, but he had a crow’s head on his shoulders.

  Joe waited another beat, still expectant; then he shrugged.

  “First visit, right?” he said.

  Zeffy managed a slow nod.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’s like moving from the city to the country—you’ve got to adjust to all that fresh air.”

  Zeffy wasn’t sure she’d ever adjust to something like this.

  “Well, let’s get going,” Joe said. “Hop in. You can put the dog in the back.”

  “I...I don’t think so,” Zeffy said.

  It was hard to read expressions in those feathered features, but he seemed to be amused more than anything else.

  “That’s really not a mask, is it?” Nia said, speaking up for the first time since the animal-people had accosted them.

  Joe turned to her, lifting a human hand to his feathered head.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  “A...a bird’s head.”

  Joe turned to Zeffy. “You, too?”

  She nodded.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  All Zeffy could do for a long moment was stare at him. Finally, she cleared her throat.

  “So other people don’t see you the way we do?” she asked.

  “Hell, no. Got to keep some mystery, right? People come, they can’t find their way around—can’t see—so you can make a pretty good living as a guide.”

  “Is that what you do? Guide people around in the—this is the spiritworld?”

  “It is,” he said, “and guiding’s one of the things I do. I’m kind of a Joe-of-all-trades, you know? Do what needs doing when it comes up. I don’t usually make plans too far in advance.”

  “And people pay you?” Zeffy asked.

  He looked slightly uncomfortable. "In a manner of speaking. Things change hands.”

  Zeffy could hear Gregory’s voice, rising up from her memory, warning them. Get your pretty asses out of here, unless you don't mind going home missing a piece or two of who you are.

  “What kind of things?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “This and t
hat. Nothing anybody would miss.”

  “And what are you hoping to...get from us?” she asked.

  “Nothing—unless you’re wanting a tour of the place.” He looked up and down the street, dark gaze finally settling back on her. “But maybe we should discuss this somewhere else. You know, hit the road before those spirits get their courage back up and something bad happens for real.”

  He started for his truck, but neither Zeffy nor Nia followed. When he turned to look back at them, the enormity of that crow’s head being where it was struck Zeffy all over again.

  “Now what’s your problem?” Joe asked.

  Zeffy had to ask. “What kind of bad things are we talking about?”

  Joe leaned back against the door of the truck, propped one booted foot up on the running board. A dangerous light flicked in the depths of the crow eyes.

  “Well,” he drawled. “How about those spirits coming back and thinking maybe they’ll take you apart, just to see how you work? Or they could take a liking to some story you got locked away behind your eyes and decide to take it for their own—maybe suck your personality dry, just for the buzz it’ll give them.”

  Zeffy glanced at Nia. Her companion had gone pale, any sense of calm drowning in her panicked gaze.

  “Jesus,” Zeffy said. “What kind of a place is this?”

  “A dangerous place.”

  Joe fished a package of tobacco out of his vest pocket and started to roll a cigarette, the action reminding Zeffy of Bones. It wasn’t a comforting reminder. It was because of Bones that they were here, though—she had to admit—he’d only sent them because they’d insisted.

  “It’s not like it’s all bad,” Joe added. He got his cigarette lit and blew out a stream of smoke in their direction. The salty breeze, blowing up from the beach, took it away before it could reach them. “But it’s not like it used to be either. There was always danger, sure, but it wasn’t as hungry as it is now. It didn’t used to come looking for you so much—you had to stumble into it.”

  “What happened?” Zeffy asked.

  Joe shrugged. “There’s too many connections between your world and this. Shit happens in your world, it crosses over and affects us. Last hundred years or so, you people have been propagating like flies. And the nasty business you get into.” He shook his head. “You’ve got guys raping babies. You’ve got genocide because one bunch of people got themselves born on the wrong side of some genetic line. You’ve got meanness for meanness’ sake. It’s always been there, but now there’s just so goddamn much of it, I’m always surprised there’s anything decent left.”

  “And it’s not like that here?”

  "Oh, we’ve got the good, the bad and the ugly—same as you. Thing is, the good used to way outweigh the bad. But the balance is shifting.”

  “Making the spiritworld a dangerous place.”

  Joe gave a humorless laugh. “Well, yours isn’t any great shakes anymore either, sweetheart.”

  “My name’s Zeffy.”

  “Sorry. No offense meant.”

  He actually seemed sincere about it, Zeffy realized.

  “This is Nia,” she said. “And Buddy.”

  “Good names.”

  Zeffy shrugged. “It’s just what people call us.”

  “Careful names, too.” Joe smiled. “That’s encouraging.”

  “So the way our worlds connect,” Zeffy began, wanting to get as clear an understanding of how things worked as she could while she had the opportunity.

  “I know where you’re going with that,” Joe said, “and the answer’s no. They’re not real reflections of each other. The spiritworld’s a malleable kind of place. Get enough people dreaming strong dreams about something and it could exist here, but everything doesn’t match up with something in your world. Not by a long shot. You need strong dreamers and a lot of them—and you need a piece of real estate on this side that’s willing to go along for the ride.”

  “So many people dream of going to Hollywood and making it big,” Nia said. “That’s why you’ve got an L.A. here as well, right?”

  Zeffy glanced at her. Nia didn’t look quite so scared now. She still seemed a little nervous, but the color had returned to her cheeks.

  “You’ve got it,” Joe said. “And so many of those dreams don’t pan out, or they turn bad, so our version’s a lot darker and more dangerous than yours.” He took a final drag on his cigarette, then dropped it onto the asphalt and ground it out with the toe of his boot. Stooping, he retrieved the butt and stowed it away in his vest—again reminding Zeffy of Bones. Though Bones didn’t have a crow’s head sitting on his shoulders like Joe did.

  “Look,” Joe said. “I don’t mind filling you in on whatever you want to know, but we should get moving.”

  “Where are you planning to take us?” Zeffy asked.

  “Don’t know for sure. We’ll drive until a place feels right. Then you can tell me where you want to go and we’ll see what we can do about it.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “You talk to anybody else while you were here?”

  “There was this guy reading a book on the beach,” Zeffy said. “We asked him where we were but he just thought we were stoned.”

  “And then we met this really crazy guy named Gregory,” Nia added.

  “Crazy, how?”

  Zeffy and Nia exchanged glances.

  “He was a white guy in his forties with dreadlocks like a Rastaman. Had ribbons and pockets sewn all over his clothes. And he was seriously paranoid.”

  Nia nodded. “He was really good at throwing his voice—like a ventriloquist, you know? He made it seem like Buddy was talking to us. Or my knapsack.”

  “Good trick,” Joe said.

  “And he had this water container with the genie from Aladdin on it, except the genie disappeared.”

  “The decal probably just fell off,” Zeffy said.

  “Or maybe he had a good reason to be paranoid,” Joe said. “Maybe there was a little spirit hiding in that genie image and it ran off to tell the fat lady and her friends that you were here. And maybe now they’ve gone off to tell something bigger and stronger.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “I’m telling you, we’ve got to get moving. Now.”

  He opened the door of his truck, but again neither of them moved forward.

  “We still have a problem?” he asked.

  Zeffy nodded. “Why are you helping us? What’s it going to cost?”

  “I’m helping you because I’m feeling benevolent and it’s not going to cost you a damn thing if you don’t want it to.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you want to give me something for my trouble if I get you out of this, I won’t turn it down, but I’m not asking for anything. Now you’ve got a choice—either you come with me, or you wait here and see who’s going to show up next. Maybe you’ll luck out. Maybe they’ll only take a memory or two and leave the rest of you pretty much intact.”

  He looked from one to the other.

  “So,” he asked. “Which is it going to be?”

  10 NIA

  Maybe, Nia thought, they shouldn’t have been so quick to accept Joe’s offer of help, for no sooner had they left town, than she was already having regrets. It was nothing Joe did or said, but the trip itself.

  He took the highway out of Santa Feliz, but when they reached the freeway, he cut under its six lanes, following the sandy bed of a dry wash on its way toward the distant mountains. A half mile from the freeway, he steered the truck through an opening in the mesquite and scrub bordering the wash and drove straight out into the desert. Mirages flickered in the late-afternoon sun, vanishing moments before they were upon them, while the confined space of the cab was soon an oven, dust rising up from a hole in the floor and the open windows letting in far too much hot air.

  They were positioned three across with Zeffy in the middle, banging back and forth against each other and the sides of the cab as Joe navigated their course across the rough, unev
en terrain. Buddy sat on the floor between Nia’s legs, his head on her lap when he wasn’t mournfully peering up into her face. She kept giving him comforting pats and wishing there were someone to calm her down in the same way.

  Her pulse went into overtime when Joe suddenly bent down to reach for something under the seat, not seeming to pay any attention to his driving. He came up with a bottle of water and passed it to Zeffy.

  “Get some of that into you,” he said. “You won’t believe how fast you’ll get dehydrated out here.”

  Zeffy accepted the bottle, but reluctantly it seemed to Nia.

  “This place,” Zeffy said. “It’s like being in Faerie, isn’t it?”

  Joe gave her a sidelong glance with a dark crow’s eye. “I suppose. But I don’t see what difference—oh, I get it. You think you’re not supposed to eat or drink anything while you’re here or you’ll be trapped for a hundred years or something.”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “That’s just in stories,” Joe assured her.

  “And you’re not?” Zeffy asked.

  “What does it matter? I’m one of the good guys. Any story I’m in always has a happy ending. Trust me.”

  Zeffy didn’t say anything, but Nia knew what she was thinking: Why should they? Except they were already here with him, weren’t they, bouncing their way across the desert on route to who knew where, so it was a little late for second thoughts. And he had chased off that horrible boar-headed woman and her friends.

  “I’ll have some,” Nia said.

  Zeffy shrugged and passed it over. The water was warm and flavorless, but Nia thought she’d never tasted anything half so good. She took a couple of long swigs, then handed the bottle back to Zeffy. Cupping her hands, she asked Zeffy to pour some into them for Buddy, who lapped it up gratefully when it wasn’t tossed in his face by the truck hitting a bump. Nia rubbed the spilled water into his fur.

  “I’ll bet that feels good,” she said.

  Beside her, Zeffy sighed and had a drink herself, then passed the bottle back to Joe.

  “So,” he asked after having some himself. “Feel any different yet?”

  “Are we supposed to?”