Nica of the New Yorks

by Sue Perry

  Kelly Joe's life was scrutinized for many cycles, for signs that the Four had exacted punishment. Legend held that the Four did take action and Kelly Joe was cursed to live an extraordinarily long life, with ever–fresh memories of the baby farm and his contribution to it. His wrist was branded with the mark of the probably damned, and he was given two ways to atone. One was to share his music with anyone who needed it; the other was to follow his messages, which directed him onto paths where he might help others. His tattoos, then, came from the Four. Legend had it that the Four were also musicians, so I got stuck picturing the Four as a cosmic version of the Beatles. John would have set the punishment.

  I lowered myself to the sands of knowledge. Or I fell. I crawled to a doorway of the Halls of Shared Knowledge and dragged myself upright there. I believe the bookcases spoke in farewell. "We wish you continued courage on your quest, seeker."

  I don't know what or whether I replied.

  I was on Julian's front stoop when I realized I'd left my books in a strapped stack outside the Halls. I stumbled back for the books, grabbed the strap, stumbled back to Julian, stumbled home to Ma'Urth, fell onto my couch.

  Couch bad. I was looking at where Kelly Joe had played.

  I found myself huddled in the stall of my shower, my shirt soaked with tears. When I came to, I was kicking the tile walls and pounding the glass shower door, which sagged where I had busted its hinge.

  No wonder Kelly Joe had a death wish. No wonder he was so reckless. He couldn't die, unless he found a loophole in his sentence. He would live with his memories forever. I caught myself feeling sympathy for Kelly Joe, which made me kick the shower door one more time.

  42. I SENSE WHAT IS ACTUAL

  I texted Hernandez and Jenn.

  ::Problems w apt bathroom. Best stay elsewhere. Meet up in morn?

  I needed to see nobody, which meant I should go back to Frivolous Bedlam. I took my strapped books with me because the books might not be safe if the chair thieves returned.

  When I got to Frivolous Bedlam, I went for a run. Food carts rattled at my heels. "Cat Shaver, what are you doing?"

  "Getting exercise to clear my head."

  "Clear her head." The carts played with this for blocks.

  I ran south along the Hudson, then I sprinted across town, faster and longer than I've ever sprinted before. I stumbled to a pause at Madison Avenue, arms behind head, gasping.

  "Cat Shaver, are you okay? Do you want us to carry you?"

  I wanted the carts to leave me alone but I couldn't snub their concern. "It's just—part—of the—exercise."

  They experimented with gasping noises. The buildings joined in and spread gasps in all directions. In spite of my mood, I laughed.

  I hobbled east and the carts stayed close, which was a comfort now that I could hear the crazoid babbling of the East River. I was in a face–your–fears showdown with my psyche and kept walking until I reached the parkland beside the East River. The carts held back on the other side of First Avenue.

  The East River sounded harsh and angry, which didn't match its gentle ripples. Now and again it would shriek and this corresponded to times when a pelican dived under its surface. It couldn't be healthy for the pelican to go in that water. Ha, maybe immersion in East River water was how the bird had mutated to be so very large. Was that the same pelican that had intimidated my books when they were flying free?

  Every time the pelican emerged from the East River, it skewed its head and flew erratically. Each time its flying got back to normal, it shuddered then made another dive into the water. This reminded me of parties with Ben's druggie pals. No way. Could the pelican be using the East River to get high?

  The River howled like there was such a thing as werewater, which convinced me that I had sufficiently tested my bravery. I headed west and so did the pelican—its shadow crossed me about the time the food carts resumed tailing me.

  I maintained a light jog, punctuated with half block sprints, and reached home stinking and exhausted, just the way I needed to be. I sweat more on runs during bad times, as though my whole body sheds tears.

  I might have pushed a titch too hard on my final sprint and had to cling to the bannister to drag myself upstairs. What kept me moving were thoughts of a shower with a working door. Some fool with the impulse control of a feral Chihuahua had busted my shower back home on Ma'Urth. Too bad I had not anticipated wanting a shower—I had no towels in Bedlam. Maybe I could run naked to breeze–dry. The food carts would love me no matter where I might jiggle.

  I can never remember cheezoid lyrics and I can't sing to save a whale, so I substituted volume for accuracy as I climbed the stairs. "Born free, as free as the zum zoom, as free as—ow!" I pulled my top over my head as I entered my apartment, which caused me to collide with the door jamb. I kept humming and moving forward, though my top was so wet it stuck on my head. I yanked the top off with a "Ha!" but stopped singing. "Seriously?"

  Anwyl stood in my kitchen, bemused or amused.

  I wasn't embarrassed—hang with me long enough, you'll hear bad singing and you'll see me in a sports bra. Worse, I was instantly miserable again. Last time I'd seen Anwyl in my kitchen, Kelly Joe had been playing in my living room, albeit in another Frame.

  Kelly Joe. I so wanted to question Anwyl about Kelly Joe's role in the baby farm, but I couldn't because I was pretty sure Anwyl would disapprove my visits to the Halls of Shared Knowledge, and I was certain he would forbid my efforts to free the books. With more time, I might devise a plausible alternate story about how I learned the truth about Kelly Joe. But today I could only fish the edges of that pond.

  "Hey. You. Here. Welcome. I was going to shower but. That can wait." I'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes and my top was too wet to put on again without becoming a comedy act, so I tossed my top toward a corner and flopped onto the couch. Anwyl—what else—paced the perimeter. It was easy to imagine him prowling a forest, impossible to picture him in a supermarket.

  "Trying to remember whether I've ever seen you relax," I grinned.

  "Very well," he bared teeth in what must also be a grin, and strode over to take the other end of the couch. Huh.

  I stood, slowly in case the couch might tip. "I need water. You?"

  "As you please."

  The water at the kitchen sink was so cool and refreshing I slid each forearm through the flow. Leaning over the sink, I guzzled a gallon of water, then brought two full glasses to the front room. When I settled back onto the couch, I manufactured a sigh and nodded toward the corner where Kelly Joe had set up his equipment on Ma'Urth. "That was such an amazing concert that Kelly Joe gave us."

  "Kelly Joe played his music," Anwyl agreed.

  "I can't imagine what it would be like to be so talented. I always get the sense that he's not happy, though. Do you get that sense?"

  "I sense what is actual," Anwyl said.

  "Not sure if that was a yea or nay. Anyway, do you know why he's unhappy?"

  "That is a tale only one man should tell and that man is not here."

  "How come you like him so much? I mean, I do too, but I like a lot of people."

  "Each in our way, we seek justice for anguish," Anwyl replied. He was remarkably forthcoming today. Not saying he made more sense than usual, but I didn't have to pry the obscurities out of him. He even added a comment without prodding. "His gifts can win many a battle."

  Anwyl always measures value in terms of uses. He sipped his water like he didn't want it but didn't want to waste it. Anwyl never just happens by so I was going to ask him what was new, why he was here. Then he looked at me and I knew. I took a mental gulp. He was here for me.

  I stared at him for a good long while, savoring the moment. Never again would I be about to have Anwyl for the first time. I knew why he was here and he knew I knew and every molecule in me wanted to leap on him, but I held back and the pain of waiting was exquisite and thrilling.

  He reached for me and I responded with all the passio
n and romance for which I am renowned. That is, I put a hand up between us and said, "Warning. I'm covered in sweat. I need a shower."

  He shrugged. "If you did not now, you would soon enough."

  43. MARZIPAN STANDS AGAINST EVIL

  Wow. That's all. My Anwyl fantasies had been strength speed motion. The reality that night was slow caresses and a master showman's understanding of the right moment. In an instant's lucidity, I wondered whether he had broken his own rule and was reading my thoughts. But if he did that he would discover the things I was hiding from him and then he'd be angry with me. And he definitely wasn't angry with me. Although I wouldn't blame him if he was. Fortunately, my guilt attack was fleeting because thoughts had no place in my mind then. I was conscious of little except the intensity of the experience.

  I woke up to the never–polluted sunlight of Frivolous Bedlam and Anwyl's hand on my hip. Mmmm. Good morning so far. Yet something was amiss and another moment awake made me conscious enough to know how I knew.

  The lanyard was prickling, and maybe had been for a while, based on vague dreams about bee stings. I was concerned but not afraid. If I wasn't safe in Frivolous Bedlam with Anwyl right here then I was doomed, so no point fretting. I slipped out from under his hand, which dropped with the weight of deep sleep. I limped—marvelously sore!—to look out the kitchen window. Maybe I'd see a Cyst on the fire escape, gloating in my stolen lawn chair. By the time I reached the window, though, the lanyard prickling had ceased. Had it really been prickling, or had it taken me a few minutes to shake a dream?

  Anwyl sat up. "Didn't mean to wake you," I greeted him.

  He gestured for me to join him, and I was more than happy to comply. Some time later, he nibbled my nose and whispered, "I must away."

  "Mmmm. Thanks for stopping by."

  The instant he was gone I showered, then donned a sheet and went back to Ma'Urth to change. It was still early morning there and my apartment was empty. When I got back to cellular service, my phone buzzed away half its battery life. Jenn and Hernandez had sent many texts overnight. I replied with just one.

  ::Am fine but mostly out of service range.

  I had two hours, by Ma'Urth time, before I should head out to meet Lilah, so I had time to pursue book enslavement leads. As I'd learned at the Halls of Shared Knowledge, three Maelstrom accomplices might have survived with knowledge of the baby farm and book enslavement operations. One of the beings was from Next Vast, which was Miles and Monk's Frame. I'd save that for third—I didn't want word getting back to the Watts Towers that I was investigating in their Frame. One of the beings was a male model from Expletive Deleted. I was in no hurry to return there. That left one choice, a humanoid from a Frame [that sounded like] Marzipan.

  Traveling to a particular Frame for the first time can be tricky. Fortunately, Kelly Joe had done some of my early training in Marzipan. I focused on its most distinctive feature, its glowing yellow sky, and Traveled to reach that sky.

  I arrived on a street that was empty except for a woman with a Modigliani neck. She was covered in dark blue fur like Christmas velvet and stood beside a food cart that was stacked with items that appeared to be pretzels covered in fuzzy blue mold.

  "Excuse me," I greeted her. "Is this the Frame called Marzipan?"

  Her voice had a 78 r.p.m. warble. "No, this is Marzipan."

  I smiled to hide my groan. At least she hadn't laughed at my pronunciation. "That's what I meant."

  "Then welcome, friend. Would thee like a proustel?" She proffered a pretzel. "They are renowned in many Frames for their digestive and nostalgic properties."

  I had never eaten food from another Frame but no one had ever warned me against doing so. When I bit down on the pretzel, the fuzzy mold squeaked against my teeth. I fought my gag reflex and forced a smile, which turned genuine. The blue–furred woman laughed. The pretzel tasted –

  – like a pretzel. But every bite of fuzzy mold evoked a wonderful memory... My most recent pretzel was in Frivolous Bedlam when a food cart requested bite marks in one... My worst pretzel was at a street festival where Ick and I played horseshoes with inedible fare. His pretzel was the horseshoe and my churro was the stake. No one was more surprised than Ick when the pretzel caught on the churro. That explosion of a Ha! when Ick was surprised—I heard it now as if he were beside me... My dad would pretend surprise when we played hide–'n'–seek. I'd hide in a closet and boo! out at him...

  I didn't want to stop remembering but I was running low on proustel. My bites became nibbles but the smaller the bite, the less powerful the memory. I couldn't cheat the effect or extend it. I finished the blue mold treat with regret.

  The vendor could tell I wanted more. "Thou art welcome to take a second proustel, but thou should not eat another right away, lest thou build an immunity."

  A pair of humanoids approached, their outlines faint at first, becoming more solid: Travelers entering the Frame. They purchased proustels, bit immediately, and said, "Double the usual. We cannot return for a fortnight." The vendor filled a large bag with proustels. I fought a bizarre urge to grab the bag and run. Must. Have. Proustels.

  The customers paid with thin gray coins and headed down the street, gradually shifting out of Frame again. The vendor called after them, "You are ever more blue. Slow thy pace to maintain thy hue." At this, one of them snatched a proustel from his mouth, the other yanked a hand out of the bag.

  Memories can be wonderful but addiction isn't my thing. I took a step away from the proustel cart and its irresistible fuzzy mold but I forced a smile for this dealer in memory crack. I needed intel from her.

  "I'm surprised you're alone. I'd expect long lines at your cart to buy these amazing things."

  "I sell here where I do least harm. Here in the ruined city, no one comes without intention so I tempt no passersby." She closed the lid as she talked, making me wonder if she struggled against sampling her own wares.

  "How did the city become ruined?"

  "It was destroyed during the pogrom." I must have looked surprised, because she added, "A pogrom by a being called Maelstrom." She looked pleased when I reacted to his name. I got the sense that not everyone knew who he was anymore.

  "Why did Maelstrom target this Frame for a pogrom?"

  "No decent soul can ken such a being, but Marzipan stands against evil so mayhaps Maelstrom saw us as the fierce foes we shall always be. When he ravaged the Frames we did not cower in corners to avoid his attention."

  I wished I had time to get to know her a little. This was my first encounter with a dealer who persuaded customers to go easy using her wares, or who boasted of fighting evil. "I heard that someone from this Frame helped Maelstrom establish the baby farm. Any truth to that?"

  The vendor watched me closely during her reply. "It is good and right that thou knows about the baby farm. Too few do. When evil is held secret, more evil grows. A son of Marzipan was tricked to assist with that foul enterprise. Maelstrom tricked many, to savor the flavor of despair when a good being learned what they had assisted."

  "What happened to that helper afterwards? Did he or she return here? Maelstrom wanted his accomplices dead. Is that why he staged a pogrom here?"

  The vendor opened the cart lid, releasing a smell like hot chocolate by a campfire. "For a stranger, thou asks many questions. But who shall the answers serve?"

  I stepped closer, forcing myself to concentrate on our conversation. Now the smell of the fuzzy mold was like grass on a summer morning and I so wanted another proustel. "You seem like a being of some power. Can you read thoughts?"

  "Of course." Her eyes were the same plum blue as her fur.

  "Then read mine. See that we fight on the same side."

  "But should thou be a being of great power, thou could trick me."

  I snorted. "Unless of course you are a spy for Maelstrom, in which case I risk my life by revealing myself to you. But I have to take risks, time is so short before Maelstrom escapes." And I had to get back to Ma'Urth to get to
the Lobotomist recruitment meeting with Lilah.

  A white–furred couple strolled up with arms linked. The vendor served them proustels and pleasantries but she kept staring at me and her hand shook while she served. As soon as the couple had strolled out of hearing range, the vendor whispered, "Did thou speak what I heard? Did thou speak with certainty of Maelstrom's escape?"

  "Correct. Maelstrom will be free soon. I don't understand the details, and if I did there'd be no time to share them. We can't stop him from escaping. He will move to rule the Frames and we will fight to resist him. I am part of the resistance, along with Anya, daughter of Niav, and Anwyl, son of Reyn."

  "Anwyl. I know that Framewalker," she said.

  The way she smiled gave me a flare of jealousy, then shame—I didn't own Anwyl.

  The vendor tugged the cart's awning to lower it, yanked a lever to release the wheel brake, and shoved the cart up the street, calling back to me, "I must alert my people. We have opposed Maelstrom many times. He will seek vengeance. We thank thee for this warning. I must away."

  I caught up to jog alongside her. "I need information about the baby farm."

  "Then walk with me and I will tell thee what little I know."

  So I did, and she did, but she knew less than I did. When I left the vendor, I was no closer to understanding book enslavement or to finding out what had happened to Maelstrom's accomplice, but at least my news about Maelstrom's upcoming escape was important to her.

  44. YOU BROUGHT HER HERE

  I was five minutes late to rendezvous with Lilah and then we just missed a train and then we caught a train that sat in a tunnel waiting for traffic ahead to clear and by then we were frazzling.

  Lilah smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. "We don't need to be tense. Yesterday people trickled in for quite some time after the meeting started."

  I dangled from a strap in front of her. "Let's take all this as a sign that we should try a different meeting. The handler showed too much interest in us yesterday. Let's get off at the next stop." The train jerked into motion again.