The Order of Odd-Fish

by James Kennedy

  Sir Alasdair seemed not to hear her. He continued to eat his pork chop.

  “So…do you play anything?”

  No answer.

  “Do you, um, like music?”

  Nothing.

  “Can you even hear me?”

  Sir Alasdair nodded, tearing off another bite of pork chop.

  “Then why don’t you answer me?” said Jo, exasperated. Then, under her breath: “You’re even ruder than that smells lady.”

  Sir Alasdair’s eyes lit up. He paused over his pork chop. “Ah yes, the…smells lady,” he said slowly. “Or, as I prefer to call her, my wife.”

  Jo reddened as Sir Alasdair dissolved into snuffling laughter.

  Dame Isabel said stiffly, “Your squire will learn how to properly address a knight.”

  “She will,” said Aunt Lily. “Though you’ve given her little reason to be polite.”

  “I wasn’t aware I had to grovel to the great Dame Lily’s squire,” said Dame Isabel. “Apparently the laws don’t apply to Dame Lily’s squire. That’s no surprise. The laws don’t seem to apply to anything about Dame Lily.”

  “Enough, Isabel,” said Sir Oliver, with as much authority as he could muster from within his absurd costume. “Don’t ruin the feast.”

  The woman sitting on Jo’s left said, “Don’t mind the Coveneys, they’re insufferable. I was Lily’s squire once, too, and Alasdair and Isabel gave me just as hard a time. I’m Delia. Delia Delahanty.”

  Dame Delia was a middle-aged black woman, angular and elegant, with short hair and rectangular glasses. She looked at Jo with amused kindness, and just when Jo had regained enough confidence to ask, “What do you study?” she interrupted herself with an “Oh!” as a brilliant gold-and-emerald feathered snake with dozens of wings slithered out of Dame Delia’s sleeve and stared at Jo.

  “Absurd animals,” said Dame Delia, petting her snake absently. “Any living thing that’s extremely rare, extinct, mythical, or horribly deformed is of great interest to me. Don’t worry about Snoodles, he’s just curious. Back you go,” she said, waving her fingers, and the snake slithered back up into the folds of Dame Delia’s gown.

  A meek voice from the other end of the table said, “Nobody’s asked me what I do.”

  Jo didn’t feel at all comfortable about “Snoodles,” but asked anyway (even as she darted a glance back at Dame Delia’s sleeve), “Oh? What do you study?”

  “I’m Dame Myra Uldermulder,” said the unseen knight. “I study improbable botany. That is, strange plants. But don’t mind me,” she said sadly. “Don’t mind me at all.”

  “That actually sounds interesting,” said Jo. “What kinds of plants?”

  “I study ludicrous weaponry,” interrupted Sir Festus.

  “But Dame Myra—”

  “I shall tell you about a certain sort of sword,” continued Sir Festus. “Commonly used three thousand seven hundred years ago, in the Fidbiglian Empire. A sword made out of biscuits!”

  “Dame Myra was talking.”

  “Never mind Dame Myra. These biscuit-swords were the only weapons allowed in the Fidbiglian Imperial Army. A bizarre palace intrigue had resulted in the coronation of the Imperial Chef!”

  “But—”

  “The swords were absolutely useless. The entire Fidbiglian army was defeated in the next war. Against the Glovians, no less!”

  “Ah—”

  “The Glovians! Can you believe it? And then the Glovian army ate the swords.”

  “I see.”

  “Very humiliating for the Fidbiglians.”

  “Was it.”

  “Biscuit-swords. Swords made out of biscuits. I don’t know what the chef was thinking,” said Sir Festus. “The Fidbiglians later drowned him in a kettle of his own custard.”

  “Go ahead, ignore me,” sighed Dame Myra. “I’m used to it.”

  Dinner was finished, and the cockroaches served everyone coffee and bowls of jelly-like cubes floating in blue cream. The cubes were cold, slippery, and tasted like sour apple; after eating a few, Jo felt unexpectedly light-headed. Some of the knights produced pipes and began to smoke.

  “Now that we’re all snug with our coffees and pipes,” said Sir Festus, “could Dame Lily tell us just how she found her way back from exile? Didn’t you have all your memories removed?”

  “Yes, that was part of the mayor’s sentence,” said Aunt Lily. “So we’d never find our way back to Eldritch City.”

  “And then you were dumped back in your old home in…California, was it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Never heard of the place. Thoroughly ridiculous name, it sounds made up. But, moving on. How did you get back to Eldritch City?”

  Aunt Lily raised her eyebrows to Sir Oliver. He nodded. Then she stood up, and from a carton, dumped onto the table the remains of the black box.

  A long silence broke into confused arguing and exclamations of dismay.

  Dame Isabel said, “If this is your idea of a joke—”

  “It is not a joke,” said Sir Oliver gravely.

  “I don’t believe it,” gasped Sir Oort.

  “Where—where did you get that?” said Dame Isabel.

  “It fell out of the sky into my backyard,” said Aunt Lily.

  “That’s your explanation?”

  “Isabel, I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know who is responsible,” said Aunt Lily. “But I do know that, yes, it is what you think it is.”

  “What’s going on?” said Daphne. “Everyone seems to know what that thing is but me.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Albert Blatch-Budgins.

  “What is it?” said Nora, whipping out a notebook and pencil.

  Sir Festus stood up and spread his arms. “Perhaps it would be best if I explained the history of this unique mechanism, which has, by strange chance, found a path back into our hands.”

  Nobody objected, but Jo did notice some squires roll their eyes.

  “Twenty years ago, an experimental project was undertaken by the Order of Odd-Fish,” intoned Sir Festus. “A formidable enterprise, its commencement fraught with controversy, its progress beset by hazards, its final outcome potentially catastrophic.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Daphne.

  “Our story begins, as many good stories do, with me,” said Sir Festus. “While pursuing other research, I happened across some curious documents. Ancient documents, from shadowy sources. Documents of a disturbing nature. Terrifying documents. Shaken, I put the documents away and attempted to return to my research. But those documents…those documents! They would not let me rest!”

  “In the end, did you bravely face the documents?” said Phil.

  “I did,” said Sir Festus. “For the documents contained blueprints for a device too intriguing for the Odd-Fish to ignore. After much debate, we voted to build the device. But the vote was close. Some among us felt we were toying with forces beyond our control. They argued the principles underlying this device were too bizarre to be accepted. They claimed—”

  “I just said it was a silly idea,” said Sir Alasdair.

  “Same here,” said Dame Delia. “I just thought it wouldn’t work.”

  “What wouldn’t work?” said Jo. “What was a silly idea?”

  “Dame Lily supervised the construction of the device,” said Sir Festus. “But everyone’s assistance was required for this complex project, a project that had to be undertaken in strictest secrecy. For if any outsiders found out about what we were building—the deep and terrible forces we were wrestling with, the ancient energies we were unleashing, unbeknownst to the city, in our unassuming lodge on its quiet street—the same street where children would run about and play—the children! what about the children!—the mayor would have disbanded the Order of Odd-Fish without trial.” Sir Festus quaked with the drama of it all. “The children, the children,” he said again. It had a nice ring. He decided to run with it. “The children of Eldritch City. What manner of world were we passing on to
them? Would it be a world in which the mechanical marvel we were constructing would exist not as a dark, fevered fantasy—but as a grim reality?”

  “The grim reality is that we still don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Phil Snurr.

  “I will tell you,” said Sir Festus. “We built…an Inconvenience.”

  There was a long silence.

  “An, um, what?” said Jo.

  “It is a device that causes inconveniences,” said Sir Festus.

  “I told you it was a silly idea,” said Sir Alasdair.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jo.

  “Nobody truly understands,” said Sir Festus. “Not even those of us who built it. Nevertheless, let me try to explain what we do know. Suppose I wanted to annoy someone.”

  “Surely you don’t need a machine for that?” said Jo.

  “I mean seriously annoy them. Listen. First you steal a small item that belongs to the person. Then you lock it inside the Inconvenience. Then you get rid of the Inconvenience—toss it out the window, throw it in the garbage, feed it to a walrus, it doesn’t matter how. For only if the Inconvenience is properly lost can it start operating—that is, the Inconvenience causes a sequence of coincidences and unlikely events to occur to that person, making their life terribly inconvenient.”

  Ian said, “Like they fall and break their neck?”

  “No, that’s too much. The Inconvenience only causes moderately irritating things to happen.”

  Jo felt she was starting to understand. “So when the package fell from the sky and hit that boy on the head—”

  Sir Festus smiled. “Annoying, no?”

  “And Korsakov and Sefino showed up, and Korsakov was shot, and Sefino was tied up—”

  Sir Festus nodded. “A nuisance for both of them, no doubt.”

  “And the package said something about the Odd-Fish, and then Aunt Lily’s magic show went haywire, Mr. Cavendish’s head flew all around the restaurant—”

  “How marvelously irksome. The Inconvenience must have been working at peak performance.”

  “Our house was fumigated, Sefino got drunk, senior citizens rioted, a Chinese millionaire tried to kill us, our plane was shot down, and then we were eaten by a fish and brought here—”

  “What an exquisitely obnoxious twenty-four hours you’ve had. The device has performed beyond our wildest hopes. Ah, did you, by chance”—Sir Festus’s eyes twinkled—“did you happen to turn its silver crank?”

  “Yes!” said Jo. “Twice! What’s it for?”

  Sir Festus settled back, grinning. “That was my little addition. Whenever you turn the silver crank, whatever irritating situation you’re in immediately becomes even more irritating.”

  Jo groaned. “But why? Why did it make all those insane things happen? Couldn’t it just make us, I don’t know, lose our keys or something? Don’t you think it’s all a bit over the top?”

  “The Inconvenience has an extravagant sense of style,” said Sir Festus. “That’s part of its design. It annoys with panache.”

  “But who wanted to annoy us?” said Jo. “With panache?”

  “Nobody wanted to annoy you,” said Sir Festus. “Nothing of yours was found inside the Inconvenience. But the Inconvenience did contain Sefino’s pipe, Korsakov’s hat, Sir Oliver’s scarf, and Dame Lily’s ring. Someone wanted to annoy all of them.”

  Aunt Lily gave Jo an almost imperceptible nod of warning. Jo took the hint. I should probably shut up, Jo thought. But why isn’t anyone supposed to know my ring was in there?

  Maurice said, “Why were you all surprised to see the Inconvenience?”

  “Nobody expected to see it again,” said Sir Oliver. “Thirteen years ago—the very night we finished constructing it—the Inconvenience disappeared from the lodge. At first we thought it went missing because, well, that would be an inconvenient thing for it to do. But it soon became clear someone had stolen the Inconvenience. Apparently to make life inconvenient for Lily, Korsakov, Sefino, and me.”

  “Inconvenient? On the contrary,” said Dame Isabel.

  “I assure you, we have been very inconvenienced,” said Sefino.

  “I think not,” said Dame Isabel.

  “What do you mean?” said Aunt Lily.

  “Oh, come now,” said Dame Isabel. “This whole affair has been quite convenient for you. Thirteen years ago you, Colonel Korsakov, and Sefino were exiled from Eldritch City. All your memories of Eldritch City were removed so that you’d never find your way back here to stir up more trouble. And what happens? By some bizarre sequence of circumstances, caused by a device you supervised constructing, you are brought back to Eldritch City and your memories are restored. Not only that, but for reasons that completely elude me, an idle nostalgia for your era has set in, and you are now a folk hero in Eldritch City. So you’re given a hero’s welcome. It’s beyond convenient. It’s beyond coincidence. It’s downright suspicious.”

  “What are you implying, Isabel?” said Aunt Lily.

  “I imply nothing,” said Dame Isabel coldly. “I merely state facts.”

  “But that’s the least of our problems,” said Sir Alasdair. “Ever since the lodge was stolen, the mayor has wanted to revoke our charter. He says we put the city in danger. Well, make no mistake: tonight will send him over the edge. Lily, Korsakov, and Sefino are in exile, after all. For them to return to Eldritch City—for them to stay at this lodge—is simply illegal.”

  Sir Festus spluttered, “Are you saying we should kick Lily, Korsakov, and Sefino out?”

  “Excuse me, but is there another definition of exile?” said Sir Alasdair.

  The table broke into a din of angry protests, but Sir Alasdair raised his hand.

  “Quiet down! Listen to sense!” he said. “The mayor will let you stay for a few days. Maybe a week. And perhaps he’ll allow Korsakov and Sefino to stay in town—with proper restrictions. But Dame Lily’s crime is serious. Her presence is a challenge to the mayor’s authority.”

  “I’ll take care of my own problems with the mayor,” said Aunt Lily.

  Dame Isabel said, “You don’t get it, do you, Lily? It’s not just you, but all of us, who are endangered if you stay here. We are harboring you in this lodge illegally. That’s just the excuse the mayor needs to shut down the Order of Odd-Fish. But hey, that doesn’t matter to you. As usual, you are above the law, and the rest of us are unimportant.”

  “Sir Alasdair, Dame Isabel,” said Sir Oliver. “When you joined the Order of Odd-Fish, you took an oath to defend and support your fellow knights to the death.”

  Sir Alasdair said, “If Dame Lily stays, the Order of Odd-Fish will no longer exist.”

  “No,” said Sir Oliver. “If we refuse to let Dame Lily stay, then the Order of Odd-Fish will no longer exist. That is, it will no longer exist in any way that makes sense to me. And that is the last I will hear on the subject.”

  Dessert was over. The cockroaches had silently cleared the table during the debate. Some other cockroaches were gathered in the corner, and Jo noticed they had trombones, drums, violins, and a couple of instruments she couldn’t identify. They were arguing over some greasy sheet music, which was being hastily passed around, torn and crumpled in the handling, leading to renewed outbursts of whispered quibbling.

  Sir Oort cleared his throat. “Sir Oliver, you said that after dessert you would tell us who had stolen this lodge.”

  “That’s right. I will,” said Sir Oliver. “It was someone we all know.”

  In silence—except for the rustling of sheet music by the cockroaches in the corner—the Odd-Fish waited for Sir Oliver to speak.

  Finally he said: “Sir Nils.”

  This meant nothing to Jo. But all around her, the table erupted: “Sir Nils?”—“It can’t be!”—“He’s dead!”—and Sir Festus shouted over them all: “Dame Lily killed Sir Nils! Everyone saw it—By crumb, that’s why they exiled her!”

  “Did you see Sir Nils?” said Dame Delia.

  “I did
,” said Sir Oliver quietly. “Fortunately, he never saw me.”

  “Why did he steal the lodge?” said Sir Alasdair.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t fight him?” said Sir Festus, his hand twitching. “You didn’t even yell at him?”

  “Sir Nils is now a servant of the Silent Sisters,” said Sir Oliver. “Nothing can hurt him, or help him, anymore.”

  With a roar, Sir Festus leaped on the table.

  “He’s lucky! He got off lightly!” shouted Sir Festus. “Why, if I’d got my hands on him, I’d’ve snapped him in two and stirred my coffee with him! I’d’ve tied his arms and legs in a knot and used him as a tuffet! I’d’ve ground him up into a paste and made a hundred tasty snack-packs out of him! I’d’ve hollowed out his guts, inflated him with hot air, and gone ballooning! I’d’ve swung him around by his hair until I took off like a helicopter, and then I’d fly to a bakery on the moon, and buy myself a moon cake with my own moon name on it, and then I’d—”

  A dignified cockroach coughed. “Sir Festus—if you would kindly not stand on the table—”

  “Hell’s monkeys, Cicero! Sir Nils is back from the dead, Sir Nils is working for the Silent Sisters, and all you can do is tell me to get off the table?”

  “Sir!” said the cockroach sharply. “You will descend from the table. Immediately, sir.”

  Sir Festus seemed to deflate. Mumbling “Sorry, Cicero, a bit out of hand,” he climbed down from the table. Cicero, the cockroach, eyed him with disdain.

  “Just because the lodge was stolen,” said Cicero, “does not mean that the staff will stand for breaches of propriety. Standing atop a table and blithering like a madman, indeed. Where has gone the dignity of the Odd-Fish?”

  Sir Festus looked down in his lap.

  “It’s all very well for you to rave on to all hours of the night, but we butlers are run off our feet,” said Cicero. “Benvenuto is already asleep.”

  “No, I’m not,” said a cockroach curled up in the corner.

  “Tradition demands that the Honorable Dance of the Odd-Fish commence after dessert,” said Cicero. “I will not have tradition trifled with.”

  All protests from the weary knights and squires were drowned in the din of the small orchestra of cockroaches in the corner: an explosion of trombones, drums, and violins, sounding not so much like a band playing as a band falling down the stairs. The cockroaches that weren’t in the band busied themselves pushing and tugging the squires and knights off their seats—even the venerable Sir Oort, who, not rising quickly enough for the cockroaches’ taste, was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.