Creature Keepers and the Swindled Soil-Soles

by Peter Nelson

  In the center of the rickety riverside outpost sat El Encantado—a small cantina with a patio that hung out over the water, and an inside bar and café. It was one of the few structures along the bank that also accessed the land it was tied to. A series of short paths ran from the land side of the cantina about a hundred feet toward the tree line, to a few cabana-style huts.

  The sun was beginning to set as Jordan sat beside Kriss atop a tall Brazil-nut tree, looking down at the little cantina with its cabanas.

  “I’ll go down and have a look before it gets too dark,” Jordan said. Kriss whispered quietly, indicating the deeper part of the rainforest. Jordan got that he was going to go look for Eldon in the jungle.

  “Okay,” Jordan said. “It looks like they have rooms to rent at El Encantado. See what you can find in the jungle, and I’ll ask around here if anyone has seen or heard from Eldon. We’ll meet under this tree around nightfall tomorrow, okay?”

  Kriss nodded, dived from the top of his perch, and swooped off around the riverbed, leaving Jordan sitting alone, high in the tree. He watched the Mothman disappear into the jungle, then looked down. “Would it have killed you to give me a lift outta this tree?” he grumbled as he began climbing down.

  Jordan made his way along the riverside dock that served as the main street of Palafito. Barefoot locals ducked into small residential shacks, and a few fishermen sat with their poles dangling over the slow-moving waters of the Amazon. There were boats tied along this rickety lane offering river cruises or fishing expeditions. There was also a small warehouse of some kind, where, inside, Jordan could see a number of Brazilian workers packing into boxes what looked to be toys or clothing.

  Jordan stood before El Encantado and pulled out his postcard. It was the same place, but in real life it was a bit shabbier and more worn looking.

  Jordan walked through the river patio section into an open-air juice bar area and immediately noticed a unique theme: there was dolphin or porpoise art everywhere—murals painted on the walls, sculptures hanging from the ceiling, wood carvings on the tables and bar. And nearly all of them were pink. A few guests and locals sipped brightly colored fruit smoothies at the tables, while off to the side someone operated a loud blender behind the bar.

  “Greetings, my friend, and welcome to El Encantado!” a robust voice called out over the grinding noise of the blender. “You are new here, are you not?”

  Jordan looked over and saw the brightest smile he’d ever seen. The man behind the bar was very handsome, with a bronze complexion and bushy black moustache. He was dressed in a white suit and a matching fedora hat with a pink trim ribbon around it. His eyes twinkled almost as brightly as his teeth gleamed.

  He poured a bright orange concoction from his blender into a glass and offered it to Jordan. “Be my guest! First-timers to El Encantado get a free smoothie, on the house!”

  Jordan sat down and took a sip of the smoothie. “Wow,” he said. “That’s good.”

  “HAHAHAHA—squonk!” The handsome man’s laugh ended with a strange noise. He covered his mouth and then smiled at Jordan again.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Manuel Boto. At your service.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m—”

  “NO!” Manuel stopped him. Jordan glanced around. The other patrons were all staring at them. Manuel leaned in and spoke low and serious. “Here at El Encantado, we have a strict no-names policy.”

  “But—you just told me yours. Mr. Boto, right?”

  The bartender broke into a grin again. “Please! Call me Manuel!”

  “Okay, Manuel. And you can call me Jor—”

  “SILENCIO!” This time Manuel slammed a large hunting knife into the bar, skewering a chunk of guava. “Again. I must insist. No names, if you please.”

  “Uh, okay,” Jordan said. He opened his backpack and pulled out a photograph. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was here a few weeks ago.”

  Manuel took the picture from Jordan and studied it. “Yes. I have seen this person.”

  “You have? That’s great! When did you see him? Where did he go?”

  Manuel’s grin disappeared. “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is a remote place. It is hard to find, and even harder to get to. Many come here to never get found. Drifters, outlaws, retired librarians. This is why we have a strict house rule respecting the privacy of all our guests—no names are used in this place.”

  “Please,” Jordan said. “I’m very tired. And my friend isn’t any of those things. He was just passing through, and now I need to find him. He sent me a postcard from your wonderful cantina here. He said it was the finest he’d ever seen.”

  Manuel smiled at this. He caressed his bushy moustache. “And did he, by any chance, mention anything else?”

  Jordan studied this strange man for a moment. “Uh, yeah. He loved the porpoises you’ve got here. They’re his favorites.”

  “Dolphins. The rare, pink Amazon river dolphin. Not porpoises. Porpoises are the swine of the sea. Are we clear on this, senhor?”

  “Of course, of course! Dolphins. That’s what he said. Not porpoises, no. Ew. It was the rare, pink Amazon river dolphin he spoke so highly of. Forgive me.”

  “You are forgiven. And your friend, did he mention . . . anything else?” Manuel was now adjusting his hat and raising his chin to catch the light just so.

  “Oh, uh . . . he definitely commented on how, uh, handsome the bartender was.”

  “Ah! Yes, I remember him now. He was quite . . . observant.” Manuel leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. “Your friend came here after a long journey. He was in very bad shape. He needed rest—and many smoothies—to feel better. He stayed as my guest for a few nights, then once he was stronger he asked me if there was someone who could take him upriver, into the deep jungle.”

  “Please,” Jordan said. “Do you know who might’ve taken him?”

  “I certainly do, senhor.” Manuel smiled. “The most dashingly handsome—”

  “Okay. It was you.”

  “—charming, suave—”

  “Manuel, I get it. You’re referring to yourself.”

  “—dazzlingly attractive—”

  “MANUEL!” The bartender shot a surprised look at Jordan.

  “It was you, Manuel. I get it. You’re describing yourself.”

  “That is correct! Such a smart boy!” Manuel poured Jordan a fresh smoothie. “Here, another icy fruit beverage for the smart boy! On the house!”

  “Thank you, but what I want is for you to take me to the exact spot where you dropped off my friend Eldon. Right now. Please.”

  “Of course, of course! But I cannot take you now—it is too dark. The river is dangerous at night. We will go in the morning. You will stay the night, as my guest.”

  Jordan turned and looked out over the patio. The sky above the jungle had grown a deep shade of dark orange. The sun had set, and night was falling fast.

  “All right,” Jordan said. “That would be great, Manuel. Thank you.”

  “Please, senhor. It is my pleasure. And again . . . welcome to El Encantado.”

  16

  Jordan was given a small towel and bar of soap and made his way out the back of the cantina onto the river bank, through a narrow path that led into the jungle. Just behind the tree line was his cabana—a very small but very cozy little hut with a sink, toilet, and single cot. There were no windows or doors, and the thatched roof was worn thin in spots, allowing Jordan to stare up at the stars through the jungle canopy.

  He thought about how these were the same stars Abbie might be looking up at from Syd’s tree house deck, and he hoped she was with Syd. If anything happened to her or Doris or Syd because of his carelessness, he’d never forgive himself.

  The sounds of the jungle at night were different from anything he’d ever heard. Lying there in the dark hut, Jordan couldn’t begin to imagine what the creat
ures making all those chirps and squawks and clicks and squeaks might look like. In this place, he thought, a cryptid might actually walk around unnoticed. The exotic symphony soon had his eyes growing heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

  SMASH! Jordan woke to the sound of shattering glass. He didn’t know the time or how long he’d been out, but it was still pitch-dark in his cabana.

  CRASH! Another burst of noise told Jordan that whatever was happening, it was happening in the cantina. He heard muffled voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Jordan slid off his cot and out of his cabana and tiptoed down the path to the open back window of the cantina.

  Inside, on the same barstool where Jordan had been sitting earlier, sat a tall figure in a dark hooded robe. The figure was facing Manuel, who was behind the bar as before. But Manuel didn’t look his usual cheerful, confident self. He looked scared.

  “You are acting crazy,” he said nervously. “What I gave you was—”

  “What you gave me was no good, Boto. And I don’t like to be cheated.” The hooded figure spoke in a deep, croaky whisper. Jordan couldn’t see any features other than the back of its head, which was covered in the dark, tarp-like hood.

  “I would never cheat you,” Manuel protested. “We had a deal, and I delivered my part of the bargain. . . .”

  “THE DEAL IS DEAD!” The hooded stranger shot back. “What you gave me wore off, as you can see. Now, I’m going to ask you again—will you give me more, or am I going to have to squeeze your eyeballs until I get what I want?”

  “Listen to me! I told you when I gave it to you! Once taken, the transformation can be made at will, but if the subject is exposed to his natural element, he will permanently return to his natural state! Now, as I heard it, you had a recent conflict in which you—uh, how shall I say this—got into a little hot water. . . .”

  In a flash, the hooded figure reached out and grabbed Manuel by the throat, knocking off his fedora. “Whatever you heard isn’t relevant to this conversation, BOTO.”

  “Please.” Manuel panicked. “My hat! Give me my hat, I beg you! I’ll give you anything you want! Just cover my head, quickly!”

  Jordan strained to see where the hat landed, and what was so special about it. Here this odd, violent figure had him by the throat, but all Manuel cared about was his hat? Jordan couldn’t believe it when Manuel started to sob—over his hat.

  “Please, senhor, show mercy and return my hat, before someone sees!”

  The figure reached under the bar and picked up Manuel’s fedora. He pulled the sobbing man’s face even closer.

  “Thank you, oh, thank you.” Manuel was still crying but had calmed down at the sight of his beloved hat.

  The figure set the hat just out of Manuel’s reach, and pulled something out of his robes. He placed it against Manuel’s cheek.

  Jordan couldn’t make out what it was, but a chill shot down his spine as he noticed the figure’s hand. It was brown and scabby, with long, gnarled fingers and nails, like a claw. Jordan caught his breath as he watched the figure’s talon-like hand push whatever he had against Manuel’s trembling cheek. A knife?

  “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The raspy voice whispered from inside the hood. Jordan’s eyes went wide at what happened next—the figure’s long, nasty tongue extended from the dark void of the hood and licked Manuel’s cheek. He then slipped whatever he’d pressed against his cheek into his robe pocket, picked up the fedora, and dropped the hat on Manuel’s head, releasing his neck.

  Jordan had to put his hand over his mouth to muffle a small squeal from the shock at what he’d just seen. Manuel looked up at the window, and the hooded figure spun around. Jordan ducked down just in time. He crouched in the jungle bushes outside the window, trying to be as still and as quiet as he could, hoping they hadn’t seen him.

  When he heard their voices resume, he decided it was safe to peek in again.

  “Try to relax,” Manuel said calmly. “Soon you will feel like a new man.” The hooded figure was breathing heavily, but had calmed considerably. “And of course I am happy to give you what I have, as a symbol of my allegiance to you. And, I trust, to reestablish our bargain.” Manuel wrote something on a napkin as he spoke.

  “I will consider it,” the hooded figure said. His voice sounded suddenly clearer and less strained.

  “Well then, please, accept also this token to show my loyalty.” He slid the napkin over to the hooded stranger. “I think you may find it informative.”

  “WHAT?” As soon as the hooded figure read the napkin, he leaped to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Where is he?” He knocked over his stool and spun around. Jordan ducked down again as he heard the crashing of chairs and the smashing of glass. “Never mind! I will find him myself!”

  Jordan crouched in the dark bushes as the figure rushed out of the back doorway of the cantina and ran past him down the narrow path into the jungle. Manuel tore out, chasing behind him.

  Jordan looked back at the two of them disappearing into the dark jungle, then quickly climbed into the cantina. He rummaged through the broken glass and furniture on the floor until he found what he was looking for. There, under the bar, was the napkin. He picked it up and read it. Written on it was a simple message:

  G. WAS HERE.

  The hooded stranger’s raspy screech echoed through the jungle, and Jordan heard more smashing and crashing—this time from the cabanas.

  He quickly pocketed the napkin, jumped out the window, and ran along the riverside, back to the Brazil-nut tree, where he hid between its wide roots. He decided it was safer sleeping among whatever was making all those chirps and squawks in the jungle than facing whoever was making all that noise back at El Encantado.

  17

  In the morning light, Jordan’s cabana looked as if a meteorite had crashed into it. The thatched roof was torn off, the cot ripped to shreds, and some contents of his backpack were strewn all over the dirt floor of the tiny hut. He immediately began rummaging through his things, and a panicked realization quickly set in—his grandfather’s journal was missing.

  “HAHAHA—squonk!” A familiar laugh echoed behind him, from the cantina.

  Jordan stood up, and before he realized it, he found himself running through the path, bursting into the cantina, and confronting Manuel in a very loud voice.

  “Where is he?” Jordan yelled. “Where’s the psycho who trashed my room and stole my stuff?”

  Manuel glanced nervously around at the few customers in his juice bar, then tried his best to calm Jordan down. “Senhor, please. I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. . . .”

  “You’re lying! I heard you two! You told him I was here! You slipped him this note!” Jordan pulled out the napkin and held it in Manuel’s face. “See? ‘G. WAS HERE’! Now who is he?”

  A flash of worry crossed Manuel’s face. Then his expression warmed into a sly smile. “I told you,” he said. “El Encantado house rule—no names, no questions asked. You are a smart boy. Think, senhor. How could I tell anyone you were here if I do not know your name?”

  Jordan thought about this for a second. Then he thought of something else. He jumped up and grabbed Manuel’s fedora off his head.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GIVE THAT BACK!” Manuel covered the top of his head with his hands, and glanced around at the other people in the room. “Give it to me this instant! Please! I beg of you!”

  Jordan jumped up onto the bar and walked over to the blender. He turned it on and held the fancy hat over the spinning blades. “Not ’til you give me some answers! If the G on that napkin isn’t me, then who is it? Who did you mean?”

  As Manuel reached to grab a bar rag to throw over the patch of scalp atop his head, Jordan caught a quick glimpse of something strange. The pink bald spot wasn’t just skin—there seemed to be some sort of hole there. Jordan wasn’t quite sure what he saw, and before he could look closer, Manuel had covered it up.

  “Please!” Ma
nuel yelled. He held out a trembling hand. “I cannot give you the name of the stranger, because of El Encantado policy.”

  “It’s your policy or your hat!” Jordan pushed it toward the blades. “CHOOSE!”

  “WAIT!” Manuel suddenly whispered. “All right, I will tell you only this.” Jordan could tell he was thinking quickly, trying to figure out a lie. “The initial on the napkin, senhor—it was not for you—it was for . . . Gusto. The G was for Gusto.”

  “Gusto?” Jordan tossed Manuel his hat and jumped down off the bar. “Areck Gusto was here? Where is he now? Tell me!”

  The other customers immediately filed out of the cantina as Manuel frantically pulled his fedora over his head. He suddenly seemed very frightened. Jordan approached him.

  “Manuel. You have to bring me to him. Where is Gusto?”

  “It is complicated, senhor,” he whispered again. “And very dangerous. He is—”

  CRASH! Tables and chairs outside on the patio suddenly toppled and flew against the cantina as a strong gust of wind blasted off the river. A loud whirring sound accompanied the chaos. Jordan fought his way out onto the patio.

  Outside, a white flying machine hovered over the river. It was a futuristic aircraft, with the rotors of a helicopter but also armed with massive jet thrusters on the side. The rotors spun, but were nearly silent. Over the quiet whirring, a horrible voice called out.

  “Looking for someone, Grimsley?” Jordan stared up at the aircraft. A side cargo door slid open. Gusto stepped out onto the running board. He was covered head to toe in the sparkling Hydro-Hide bodysuit, formed from the scales of the Loch Ness Monster, made from properties that could control water. His left hand gripped a side rail, and Jordan spotted something on his finger, catching the sunlight. It was his grandfather’s clear, crystal ring. The one Eldon had given him, and he’d lost.

  “Well, here I am, once again, working right under the noses of the noble, vigilant Creature Keepers! Tell me something, Georgie boy—did you miss me?”