The Order of Odd-Fish

by James Kennedy

  Ken Kiang was deeply humiliated by the prank.

  The Belgian Prankster had also stuck him with the bill.

  JO woke up and for a moment had no idea where she was.

  Gone was the vast jeweled egg she’d woken up in every other morning of her life. Her new room was barely large enough for her narrow bed, a wardrobe, and a scruffy wooden desk. Morning sunlight quietly streamed in from a little arched leaded-glass window. There was a tiny bathroom and another door leading out to the hallway. That was all.

  Jo suddenly realized she was still wearing her waitress uniform. At once she threw off the sheets and scrambled out of bed—she couldn’t get out of the crusty, stinky thing fast enough—hopped, stumbled out of the pink polyester, left it in a heap on the floor, and staggered into the bathroom. She turned on the shower: hot water: glorious.

  Jo had never savored a shower so much. She scrubbed every corner of her body in an agony of relief, washed her hair twice, and for a long time just stood under the hot water, breathing the steamy air. She finally came out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, and opened her window to look out at Eldritch City waking up below: people walking down the sidewalks, market stands being set up, cars and elephants moving in the boulevards. She took a deep breath of the morning air. From up here, it felt as though the city were all hers.

  Just then someone knocked on her door. She opened it a little—Sefino.

  “Already up and about, I see.” The cockroach glanced at Jo and coughed in embarrassment. “Do put some clothes on. Dame Lily would like you to come to her room for breakfast. She has something to tell you.”

  It was a long breakfast.

  The eggs and toast went cold, untouched, as Aunt Lily told Jo about her strange and violent birth. Jo could only stare in appalled shock. The story was the same the Belgian Prankster had told Ken Kiang, except for one detail.

  “I was engaged to him,” said Aunt Lily.

  Jo nearly spit out her coffee. “You were engaged to—you were going to marry the Belgian Prankster?”

  “No, Jo. I was engaged to Sir Nils. I still can’t believe what he’s turned into.” Aunt Lily closed her eyes. “Maybe losing my memory was for the best. It must’ve been a relief to forget it all and walk away.”

  Jo stared at her wasted breakfast. She felt so shaken she couldn’t think straight. “Then we shouldn’t have come here,” she said. “We should’ve stayed in California. We have to go home!”

  “We can’t.” Aunt Lily’s voice was strained but calm. “I know this is awful for you, Jo, but it’s even more dangerous for you outside the city. The situation is changing fast. Sir Oliver is afraid the Belgian Prankster has something terrible planned.”

  “Who knows who I really am?”

  “You and I. Sir Oliver. Colonel Korsakov and Sefino. That’s all.”

  “Not the other knights?”

  “We can’t tell them everything right away.”

  Jo felt more and more helpless. “Why not? If they’re our friends, why can’t we tell them?”

  “Because some people, and not just crazy ones—” Aunt Lily paused, as if what she was saying was painful. “They blame you for nearly destroying Eldritch City.”

  “Me?” It was as if the ground had reeled under her. “But I was just a baby!”

  “That makes them all the more afraid,” said Aunt Lily. “Even today, the neighborhood where your parents lived is deserted. All because the Silent Sisters wanted you.”

  “But I don’t even understand who these Silent Sisters are!”

  “Nobody does. There’s only rumors, old legends…Sir Oliver and I are trying to figure it out.” Aunt Lily looked carefully at Jo. “All we know is that if anyone found out that you are the Hazelwood baby, your life would be in danger.”

  Jo felt such a rush of shock she could hardly choke out, “Why?”

  “Because some people believe if the Ichthala returns, the city really will be destroyed,” said Aunt Lily. “All of it. And for good.”

  Jo shuddered. That word, Ichthala—just hearing it made her skin prickle. “Then why did you and Colonel Korsakov fight to protect me?”

  “I knew your parents had nothing to do with the Silent Sisters,” said Aunt Lily. “They were my friends. They were Odd-Fish.”

  “But so was Sir Nils!” said Jo. “And you were engaged to him!”

  Aunt Lily closed her eyes. “I’ll tell you about Nils some other time. For now, I’m going to keep your ring in my jewelry box. If you were caught with it…”

  Jo shook her head. “Why’d they make me a ring if I was a monster?”

  “Jo, you’re not a monster. Korsakov and Oliver don’t think so, either. Most people know the Ichthala stuff is just a crazy old legend, it’s—”

  “But it’s not just a legend!” said Jo. “If those Silent Sisters really did come to Eldritch City, if there really were fires and earthquakes, and if the Belgian Prankster—”

  “Jo, don’t.” Aunt Lily held up her hand. “Just because some cult—some crazy old women—tried to kidnap you, it doesn’t mean they were right about who you are.”

  “But even Sir Oliver wrote that I was dangerous!”

  “We weren’t sure back then. It was a risk. I suppose it still is.” Aunt Lily rubbed her temples. “At my trial, they asked me what happened to you. I said that your mother had given birth to a monster. And that the Silent Sisters took it.”

  “And that’s what everyone believes?”

  “Well…no,” said Aunt Lily. “Some people think the Silent Sisters disappeared only because I killed the Hazelwood baby.”

  Jo stared back at Aunt Lily in horror. “Would you have? If I had been a monster?”

  “Jo, this is hard enough.” Aunt Lily looked down. “People were asking questions when we first got here. I told everyone that you’re my niece from California. Oliver thinks we can pull it off. Anyway, it’s worth it. You don’t belong with the Silent Sisters. You belong with us. With me.” Aunt Lily took her hand. “You’re the only daughter I’ll ever have.”

  Jo’s hand sat awkwardly in Aunt Lily’s. She stared at her knees and murmured, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing for now. Sir Oliver and I are working on this. Just try to blend in, lead the life of a normal Odd-Fish squire.”

  Jo pulled her hand away, incredulous. “Try to blend in? Be normal? After everything you’ve just told me, how could I possibly—”

  Someone knocked on the door. Aunt Lily turned and called out, “Yes? Who is it?”

  Dame Delia poked her head in. “Everybody’s waiting for you, Lily.”

  Aunt Lily nodded. “We’re on our way!”

  “Where are we going?” said Jo as Aunt Lily started to gather her things.

  Aunt Lily stood up. “Downtown. To Commissioner Olvershaw’s. Today we are making you a proper squire.”

  Downstairs there was much coming and going and jostling in the halls as knights and squires and butlers prepared for the day. Jo descended the stairs slowly, still in a state of numb shock.

  The common room was a busy chaos, everyone intent on some project, rushing and fussing and bumping into each other. Dame Isabel and Nora McGunn were repairing a long silver horn stuck into a black vinyl sack studded with chrome spigots—the device, Aunt Lily had explained, that Dame Isabel used to capture her unusual smells. Sir Oliver, Sir Alasdair, and Sir Oort breezed through the room, Sir Oort rapidly hopping around the two larger, slower gentlemen, waving his hands, energetically outlining a metaphysical argument that seemed to leave them unconvinced. And out the front window Dame Delia led a lavishly costumed elephant out of the stables, singing contentedly to herself. Jo watched it all with dazed envy, her head still buzzing. The cheerful uproar of the common room comforted her and almost made Aunt Lily’s story of her birth seem safely distant, even unreal. She suddenly wanted something of her own to do, something that would give her a rightful place in the bustle.

  “Good morning, Jo!” boomed Colonel Korsakov. �
��Come down, come down!”

  Colonel Korsakov was happily idle in the commotion, sunk side by side with Sir Festus in overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. The gigantic head of a shaggy, viciously fanged, extravagantly horned beast was mounted over the fireplace’s mantel, its eyes frozen in bewilderment, its gargantuan bulk making the rest of the room feel cramped.

  “The Prancing Gobbler!” said Sir Festus to Jo. “I couldn’t help noticing you admiring it.”

  “It’s…large,” said Jo carefully.

  “Now that was a beast,” said Sir Festus with great satisfaction. “Took ten of us to bring him down. Those were the days, eh, Korsakov?”

  “Ah, the glories of youth,” said Colonel Korsakov wistfully. “I’m afraid those days are behind us forever.”

  “Nonsense!” said Sir Festus. “What we lose in vigor, my good man, we only gain in cunning. And Korsakov…you do have some unfinished business here in Eldritch City…”

  Colonel Korsakov’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”

  “I do,” said Sir Festus. “The Schwenk.”

  “The…Schwenk?” said Korsakov in a strangled roar. “The Schwenk is still loose in Eldritch City? After all these years? The Schwenk still roams our streets unchallenged? I knew it, Festus. My digestion was distinctly disturbed last night, though I could not pin down the cause. Why, the Schwenk must have learned of my arrival and was capering outside my window, giggling Schwenkishly, engaging in rampant Schwenkery, even as I tossed and turned…oh, the Schwenk, Festus, the infamous Schwenk, the unholy Schwenk!”

  “What’s the Schwenk?” said Jo.

  “A fearsome beast,” said Korsakov. “Some say even more fearsome than the Prancing Gobbler.”

  “You say that,” said Sir Festus.

  “All due respect, my dear Festus, but everybody does,” said Korsakov. “Or they would, if the Schwenk could ever be found. You see, Jo, when I was a young squire, not unlike yourself, I was given the quest to slay the Schwenk. So far the clever beast has eluded me.”

  “Permit me to say it has eluded you for nearly fifty years,” said Sir Festus.

  “Hmmm, well,” said Korsakov uncomfortably. “These things take time.”

  Jo said, “So that’s what squires do? Slay Schwenks?”

  “I get to slay the Schwenk,” said Korsakov. “You’ll get your own quest at the Municipal Squires Authority. From Commissioner Olv…Olver…”

  Jo remembered the name: “Commissioner Olvershaw?”

  Korsakov winced. “Yes…well…ahem. The commissioner will have to register you first, of course.”

  “That’s what we’re doing today,” said Aunt Lily, coming around the corner, trailed by a group of curious squires: Ian Barrows, Albert Blatch-Budgins, and Daphne Brockbank.

  “Do you mind if we come along?” said Korsakov. “I intend to register Ian myself.”

  Jo hadn’t seen Ian since they were separated at the banquet; she had almost forgotten about him. “So you’re not a squire yet, either?” she said.

  Before Ian could answer, Nora looked up from Dame Isabel’s machine and called out, “Ian just hangs around the lodge and pretends to be a squire.”

  Ian leaned against the wall. “This from a girl who spends every day collecting smells?”

  “At least I don’t have a half-grown mustache.”

  “You should try it, Nora. It could only help your face.”

  Nora snorted and turned to Korsakov. “Why on earth are you taking on Ian Barrows as a squire?”

  “Sir Oliver recommended Ian, and that is enough for me,” said Korsakov, frowning at Nora. “I understand he is a cousin of Sir Oliver’s squire, Dugan Barrows.”

  “Where is Dugan?” wondered Sir Festus. “It’s disgraceful he missed the feast. How long has he been gone? Two days?”

  Albert Blatch-Budgins smiled. “Ah, there’s always something up with Dugan.”

  Nora skirted around the room and popped up at Jo’s side. “Hey, Jo! Sefino told me to fetch you. C’mon!”

  “Right now? Okay, okay!” said Jo as Nora tugged her sleeve, leading her down the dusty, debris-strewn hallway. Once they were out of earshot, Nora turned to Jo with dancing eyes.

  “So you’re really getting registered as a squire today? You and Ian?”

  “Yes,” said Jo. “Why do you give him such a hard time?”

  “I give him a hard time? That’s rich! Don’t worry, Ian can handle it. It’s about time they made him a squire—I was getting embarrassed for him. Too bad I won’t be there to see it.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I’ve got other business in the city.” Nora ducked her head, looked around carefully, and added, “Actually, Jo, I’ve been meaning to get a minute alone with you.”

  “What about?”

  “I think you know…I was trying to tell you last night.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, Jo. The Ichthala.”

  The word Ichthala hit Jo like a bucketful of ice water. At once she tightened all over—was it possible Nora knew?

  Nora chattered on, “Now, no disrespect, but I think Dame Lily isn’t telling us everything about the Ichthala. That’s why I think if we worked together, Jo, we could figure out just what the Ichthala is, where it is. Living with Dame Lily for so long, I bet you have tons of clues, don’t you? Most people think the Ichthala is dead, you know, or that the Silent Sisters have her locked up somewhere. But I think the Ichthala walks among us…. Hey, what’s wrong? You look sick.”

  Jo managed to say, “What do you think this Ichthala looks like?”

  “Ooh, anything, don’t you think? I imagine the Ichthala is some kind of orange octopus with eyes all over its head, and each of its tentacles is bristling from top to bottom with claws and spikes and goo-shooting tubes. And it can fly, too. But you know, I don’t imagine it having wings? Isn’t that funny? Of course, that’s nothing what it’s like on the show, although it’s still a monster, but…What do you think the Ichthala looks like?”

  “Nora, you might not believe this, but I’d never even heard that word before this morning.”

  Nora gasped. “Really? Well, I guess that makes sense, Dame Lily having her memory removed and everything, but…well, that settles it. You’ve got to watch the show.”

  “The show?”

  “That’s why I’m going downtown. You remember I said it’s all been foretold, don’t you? Oh look, I’m already late! Here we are, the butler’s lounge. Bye!” Nora turned and ran back down the hall, leaving Jo speechless.

  Nora had left Jo in a quiet corner of the lodge, next to a closed door that came up to her waist. After a moment, Jo knocked hesitantly, and the door immediately opened, revealing a fat-faced cockroach with an extraordinary mustache.

  “Yes? Well? Hmmm?” growled the insect. “What do you need?”

  “Is that Jo?” came Sefino’s voice. “See her in, Umberto, see her in. Now, as I was saying…”

  Jo whispered, “What’s this all about?”

  “This,” muttered Umberto, shoving a newspaper into her hand. “Come on.”

  Jo ducked inside and found herself stooping in a round, low room hung all around with rotten red velvet drapes, stale smoke, and frayed golden tassels. All the cockroaches were here, lounging around a circular table, finishing their breakfasts and listening to Sefino, who was in the middle of a rousing speech:

  “Gentlemen, this is the final straw!” roared Sefino.

  “Hear, hear!” cried the other cockroaches.

  “We cannot laugh this off anymore,” said Sefino. “These gossip-mongers have gone too far!”

  “Too far! Yes!” shrieked the cockroaches. “Ooo!”

  “One newspaperman in particular has repeatedly crossed the line,” declared Sefino. “Exhibiting a reckless disregard for our reputations and, indeed, the truth—I hesitate to speak his infamous name—but it must be done—yes, I accuse Chatterbox—”

  “No! Boo!” howled the cockroaches. “Down with Chat
terbox!”

  Jo glanced at the newspaper Umberto had given her. It was that morning’s Eldritch Snitch, and it had a picture of Sefino in a plane, crying and hiding his eyes in terror. The headline read:

  SIMPERING SEFINO SUNK IN SKY-HIGH SKIRMISH

  KORSAKOV’S COWARDLY COCKROACH

  CALLOWLY CRINGES, CRIES IN CATASTROPHIC COMBAT

  INFAMOUS INSECT INDIGNANTLY IRKED IN INSIPID IMBROGLIO

  “How do we respond to these attacks on our honor?” said Sefino. “For our honor has been attacked, gentlemen.”

  Cicero stirred. “Our honor remains intact, Sefino. No newspaperman can take that from us.”

  “Our honor is intact, Cicero, but no reputation, however honorable, can withstand the ceaseless slanderous scribblings of these mischievous muckrakers, a ruthless rabble for whom no libel is too licentious, no hearsay too hurtful, to perniciously print in their poppycock periodicals!”

  “Hooray!” shouted the other cockroaches. “Hear! Hear!”

  “This is what I shall do”—Sefino pointed at Jo—“I shall take Jo Larouche, an eyewitness to the event, to the Eldritch Snitch and demand they print her version of the story. Gentlemen, we shall combat their scurrilous lies with the light of truth; we shall smash their sneaking slander with the sword of justice!”

  “Whoa, what?” said Jo, startled. “I never said I’d write an article!”

  “But you must. Oh, Jo, I beseech you, come to our aid in this noble struggle against a tyranny of tattlers, ink-inebriated idlers who hold decent gentlemen up for scorn, atrocities dripping from their pens, calumny erupting from their typewriters, a billion-headed beast of babblement that shall not be silenced until it is slain!”

  “Hear! Hear! Woo!” shouted the cockroaches. (They all seemed happy to have Sefino back.)

  “But why do they write these articles about you?” said Jo.

  “Jo, Jo,” chuckled Sefino. “As you can tell, we are extremely glamorous.”

  At this, all the cockroaches fell into fits of grotesque preening.