Eddie

by Scott Gustafson

  “Cairo, breakfast,” he called softly. A pitiful mew replied from somewhere in the shrubbery.

  Getting down on his hands and knees, Eddie peered beneath the largest bush. His nostrils filled with the musty smell of damp earth and growing things. Huddled in the back, close to the house, was the familiar silhouette of Cairo, his green eyes catching the filtered sunlight.

  “Ah, there’s the old troublemaker,” McCobber whispered. “Careful he doesn’t try to rip out your throat.”

  “Come on, buddy,” Eddie coached. “Time for breakfast.”

  Within the motionless black cutout of the cat’s form, green eyes blinked slowly.

  “Come oonn. It’s your favorite.” Eddie’s fingernail tapped the china plate, making a soft dinging sound. “Scrambled eggs.” Gingerly the old cat emerged.

  “Here you go, Cairo.” Eddie placed the plate in the grass within a few feet of the cat, who stretched and stiffly walked over to Eddie and rubbed against his leg. Then, purring loudly, the cat began to gobble down the eggs.

  Eddie stroked Cairo’s disheveled coat. There were patches of missing fur and a few cuts, but nothing too serious. “It doesn’t look too bad, Cairo. At least we’re still friends.” The animal’s trust further bolstered the boy’s spirits. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out who did this to you.”

  Just then the raven landed on Eddie’s shoulder. “How’d it go in there?” he asked.

  “We got out of it!” McCobber beamed. “Nobody’s gonna whip my boy today!”

  “Really?” The raven was delighted, yet skeptical.

  “Well,” Eddie said, petting Cairo, “that’s half-true. He’s given me twenty-four hours to prove I’m innocent, before he beats me.”

  “Ah, yes.” The raven smiled. “We can always count on our friend the imp for half-truths.” McCobber made a face. “So, what are you going to do now?” asked the raven.

  “Well, I wanted to make sure that Cairo was okay, first.” Eddie rose to his feet. “After that, I wasn’t exactly sure . . .” Looking across the yard, he saw his pillow lying in the grass. “I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.” He walked over and picked it up.

  From there he could see the path he must have taken a few hours before. His footprints were still visible in the dewy grass. They came from around the front of the house, stopped there at the pillow, and then continued toward the chicken yard and henhouse.

  “This doesn’t look too good.” McCobber sighed.

  “How about a new rule?” the raven suggested. “If you don’t have anything positive to say, then just SHUT UP!”

  Retracing his steps, Eddie followed them to the poultry yard fence. Inside, the chickens seemed to be clucking and scratching as usual. Then he noticed the rooster. Hiding under half of an old, broken barrel, he looked nervously out every few seconds.

  As a hen and her brood passed, a curious chick stopped and peeped into the shadow beneath the barrel. Fearing for his life, the panic-stricken rooster dashed for the safety of the henhouse. His once proud plumage was all disheveled, and large patches of white featherless skin dappled his scrawny body.

  Eddie felt something he never would have guessed he could have felt: pity, for that boisterous old bird.

  He looked at the buildings surrounding the yard. Across the alley stood Murphy’s boardinghouse, and behind him, the Allans’. On his immediate right was the henhouse and yard, and beyond that, the judge’s house and barn.

  It had all been so dark the night before, he thought, when he had looked at the same scene from the attic window. But wait—it hadn’t been all dark. There had been a light burning in the window of the back room of the boardinghouse! Someone else had been up as late as he was, and maybe someone else had been trying to get to sleep when the cock crowed!

  “Get away from there!” the judge shouted from the house. “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?!”

  “Sorry, Judge,” Eddie jumbled. “I . . . ah . . . was just paying my respects.”

  “You’ll pay, boy!” the judge was coming out his back door. “YOU’LL PAY.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Eddie bowed and started running. “I’d like to stay, but I fear I’ll be late for school.” With that, he disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving the judge to shake his cane in wrathful solitude.

  Eddie’s school day was a constant reminder of the troubles that he hoped he had left at home. It started in history class, where they studied the horrifying days of the Spanish Inquisition. All the talk of torture and interrogation only served to stoke the fires of McCobber’s imagination, leading him to wonder aloud which would be worse—to be slowly stretched to death on the rack, or enclosed in the spike-lined embrace of the iron maiden.

  Literature, usually Eddie’s favorite subject, was even worse. Today’s topic: the themes of heaven and hell in poetry. They touched on Dante’s poem The Inferno. Its descriptions of the damned, suffering the pains of eternal punishment, actually seemed like light reading compared to the unspeakable fate that awaited Eddie if he couldn’t prove himself innocent. Or at least that was McCobber’s opinion.

  Their teacher also summarized John Milton’s Paradise Lost. But Adam and Eve’s banishment from Eden seemed somewhat trivial considering Eddie’s plight. The teacher was reading some passages aloud when he came to Satan’s line, “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” McCobber cheered lustily in Eddie’s ear and stamped his clawlike feet.

  “That Satan,” McCobber hooted, “What a riot!”

  At long last the day was over, and Eddie headed without delay to the house in which the only other light in the neighborhood burned the night before.

  MURPHY’S BOARDINGHOUSE

  ROOMS TO LET

  NO PETS ALLOWED

  Eddie could read the sign from the sidewalk out front. Determined to get information, he pulled a pad and pencil from his book satchel, mounted the stairs, and knocked. A gray-haired woman answered. Although Eddie had rarely spoken with her, he recognized her immediately as the proprietor.

  “Mrs. Murphy, I presume,” Eddie said, and smiled. He would have tipped his hat if he had worn one.

  “I am here to offer you and everyone in your household a ten-day free trial of the award-winning Richmond Enquirer newspaper. That’s right, ten days of our wonderful newspaper absolutely free! Would you like to take advantage of this limited-time offer?”

  The woman was pleasantly surprised. “Why, yes,” she said, eyes glistening greedily. “We would like to get the paper for free.”

  “Wonderful!” Eddie lifted his pad and prepared to write. “Now, if I could have the names of all the residents, please.”

  Mrs. Murphy eyed him skeptically. “What do you need to know that for?”

  “Simply a formality, madam,” he answered. “We would like to make sure that each and every resident receives the free paper they are entitled to.”

  “Well, all right.” She seemed satisfied. “Let’s see. There’s Mrs. Holmeburger in the front room, the Olsons across the hall, Miss Wiggam, and then Captain Mephisto.”

  “Very good.” Eddie jotted happily. “Now, this Captain Mephisto. Is his room at the back corner of the house on this side?”

  “Yeess.” Mrs. Murphy’s suspicion had returned. “But why is that important?”

  “Just giving our delivery boy as much information as possible, ma’am.” He smiled and continued scrawling in the pad. “Now one last question and I will be on my way. Does anyone in the house have any pets—like, say, a raccoon or perhaps a baboon?”

  “Young man!” Mrs. Murphy stood up straight and pointed to her sign. “Can’t you read? NO PETS—and that’s exactly what it means. No pets, no exceptions! Besides, what has that to do with getting the newspaper?” Suddenly a light of recognition shone in her eyes. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you that Allan boy? The one who caused all the trouble this morning? What is this, another one of your pranks?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.” Eddie backed aw
ay. “And I hope you enjoy the newspaper.” Within a few steps he was off the porch and bowing a hasty exit. In a moment he was around the corner of the house and heading down the rutted earthen alley that ran along Mrs. Murphy’s property.

  As he passed the backyard, Eddie saw a boy about his age pulling weeds. He slowed his pace. Stepping behind a shed that stood in the alley, he stopped. Even the all-seeing eyes of Mrs. Murphy couldn’t see him there.

  “Psst,” he called in a loud whisper. “Hey, kid. Who lives in that room—the one on the corner?”

  The boy stood up, leaned on his hoe, and narrowed his eyes. “Who wants to know?”

  “Oh, just somebody who might be willing to trade this practically new penknife for a tiny bit of information, that’s all.” He pulled the knife from his pocket and displayed it temptingly.

  The boy looked warily to the house, and then in two quick stealthy steps was in front of Eddie, staring longingly at the knife. Eddie put it into the boy’s hand, and the boy smiled at the feel of it. “That would be Captain Mephisto, the magician. That’s who lives in that corner room,” he said, opening and closing the knife.

  “‘Magician?’” Eddie asked. “What do you mean by ‘magician’?”

  “A real magician.” The boy’s expression was very serious. “He gave some tickets to us and the missus, and we seen him do his show over at the playhouse. He can make gold coins appear out of nowhere, and rabbits and pigeons disappear right before your eyes! But”—he shrugged—“I guess you can do that sort of thing when you’re friends with the devil.”

  “Just because he can do tricks,” Eddie said, “doesn’t mean he’s friends with the devil.”

  “Oh, it ain’t just the tricks.” The boy looked over his shoulder, making sure nobody would hear him. “Sometimes . . . late at night, when I walk past his room, I hear him in there talking with the devil . . . and then . . . I hear the devil talkin’ back!”

  Eddie’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. “Really?” Perhaps, he thought, he had more in common with this Mephisto fellow than just staying up late.

  “Yeah, yeah.” McCobber yawned. “Big deal.”

  “So, what does this devil sound like?” Eddie asked, intrigued. “What language does it speak?”

  “Oh, it’s demon language, that’s for sure,” the boy said. “It’s all snarly and snorty and other sounds I don’t understand, but when it laughs . . .” He looked over his shoulder one more time. “It sounds like Satan laughin’ on Judgment Day!”

  The hair on the back of Eddie’s neck stood on end.

  “Whoa,” McCobber gasped. “I gotta meet this guy!”

  Eddie swallowed hard. “If . . . if I came back tonight around midnight, could you let me in?”

  “NO WAY!” the boy blurted loudly. Then, remembering himself, he went back to a whisper. “Why, the missus would tan the hide off’n both of us if she caught me doin’ somethin’ like that. No, sir!” He shook his head to underscore his meaning. “I’d rather sit up all night listenin’ to that devil laughin’ than cross the missus!”

  “ISAIAH!” Both boys nearly jumped out of their skins. Eddie flattened himself against the shed, and Isaiah stepped out in plain view and answered, “Yes, ma’am!”

  “What are you doin’ back there?” Mrs. Murphy called from the back door.

  “Just pullin’ these pesky weeds round the back of the shed like you asked me to.” He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm.

  “Well, hurry up!” she cried. “Cook needs the kitchen wood box refilled!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bent over, pretended to hoe, and without looking up whispered to Eddie out of the corner of his mouth, “I gotta go.”

  “Wait!” Eddie whispered back. “I have to see that devil!”

  “You might not see the devil,” he said as he bent over and picked up the basket full of pulled weeds, “but you can see the man easy enough. He leaves the house every evenin’ right after supper and heads to the theater at exactly quarter past seven.”

  “Thanks, Isaiah,” Eddie called softly.

  “Thank you.” Isaiah smiled and patted the hip pocket that held his new penknife, and then he hurried off toward the house.

  Eddie put in an appearance at dinner and even tried to make small talk, though no one, not even Fannie, was particularly talkative. Claiming he was overloaded with homework that evening, he said his good-nights early and retired to his room to study. He arranged his schoolbooks, pen, and paper to look as though he had been working. Then he took the extra blanket from his bed and rolled it in such a way that approximated his own height. Placed under the covers with a couple of strategic bends, it became an amazingly convincing substitute for a sleeping Edgar. Sneaking through the upstairs hall and down the back stairs was more of a challenge, but he made it—undetected.

  At about fourteen minutes past seven, he was casually strolling across the street from the front of Murphy’s boardinghouse. Promptly at seven fifteen a white-bearded gentleman wearing a sea captain’s hat and a black inverness cape emerged, carrying a medium-size suitcase.

  “Something tells me there’s a demon in that luggage,” McCobber speculated.

  “Or an exotic pet, perhaps,” Eddie added.

  The man was no more than a step or two down the porch stairs when a familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” she called after him in a very businesslike tone.

  “Ah, Mrs. Murphy,” Captain Mephisto said before turning around. “So glad you caught me. I was just on my way to the theater when—” As he turned to face her, he was greeted by an outstretched hand. Judging by her stern expression, it was obvious that she was not expecting a hardy handshake.

  “Ah, yes.” He stopped mid hat-tip. “The rent. I believe I have it right here.” With a flourish he set the case on the stair before him and opened it. “Here we go. Just as I thought.”

  The case was nearly empty, with the exception of a few magicians’ props; among them was a small, glittering chest, which he removed. Displaying it in showmanlike fashion, he opened it and looked in. His smile vanished, becoming a perplexed frown. Shrugging, he turned the box upside down . . . Empty.

  “Now, this is mysterious,” Mephisto said, putting his finger to his chin in thought. “Where do you suppose that rent money has gone? Mrs. Murphy, are you sure I didn’t pay you already?”

  The landlady grew even more stern, placed her other hand firmly on her hip, and moved her outstretched palm closer to him.

  “Why, Mrs. Murphy, I fear you don’t believe me.” Mephisto laughed nervously. “Or are you simply having fun at my expense?” He reached up and pulled something from behind her left ear. After displaying a gold coin between his thumb and forefinger, he dropped it into her hand and smiled.

  Registering only slight surprise, she brought it to her face for closer inspection. Mephisto tipped his hat and started to leave.

  “That will be two weeks’ rent, please, Captain.” She glowered in continuous expectation.

  His laugh was truly nervous this time, as he produced another coin from behind her right ear and placed it within the woman’s grasp. At that moment Captain Mephisto’s magical powers performed a true miracle, and those that saw it rubbed their eyes in disbelief. Mrs. Murphy actually smiled.

  “Thank you, Captain,” she chirped, “and I hope you have a pleasant evening and a good show.” She then disappeared into the boardinghouse.

  The captain sighed as he latched his suitcase, and then continued down the stairs. He turned left and headed in the direction of the theater by way of the alley.

  The raven landed on Eddie’s shoulder as the boy pretended to lean disinterestedly against a lamppost across the street.

  “Well,” said Eddie, “so much for secret devils or trained animals hidden in the suitcase. It was practically empty.”

  “Maybe his demon is invisible like yours,” the raven suggested. “Why, it could be enjoying the evening air from its master’s sh
oulder right at this very moment.”

  “Ya mean just like you, ya freeloader?” McCobber sneered. “Besides, invisible or not, I could see any demon who was out in the open,” he said proudly. “It’s me second sight, ya know.”

  “Ah, second sight,” said the raven. “Does that mean that by the second time you look at something, you have usually imagined it is something else entirely?”

  “Don’t twist my words,” McCobber threatened, “but speaking of being invisible, since you are not, maybe you should find a less conspicuous place to rest that mangy black carcass of yours.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right, Raven,” Eddie said apologetically. “You do rather draw attention to yourself.”

  “Oh, all right,” the raven conceded. “I’ll see you boys in the alley by the stage door.” And with a few strong wing beats, the bird flew effortlessly up and over the rooftops.

  “Aaach,” whispered McCobber, watching the raven bank and glide from view. “If you ask me, that feathered scoundrel could have easily carried off a pillowcase filled with one measly cat and a skinny old rooster!”

  “Shhh,” Eddie whispered as he crossed the street and turned down the alley. “We had better keep an eye on the real suspect before he gives us the slip.”

  There was a little alley that cut between the boardinghouse yard and the neighbor’s yard. This dirt path met a larger alley that ran behind Mrs. Murphy’s, the Allans’, and the judge’s houses. Where the two wagon-rutted pathways met, they formed a T intersection. When Eddie reached that point, he was surprised to find no one in sight in any direction. Puzzled, he stood in the center of the intersection, wondering where the man could have vanished to in such a short time.

  As he peered off in the direction of the theater, Eddie was startled when suddenly a dark figure appeared behind him. In a moment Mephisto had swept by him and on down the alleyway.

  Eddie quickly pretended to walk in the opposite direction, paused behind a tree, and then proceeded to follow his quarry.