Grim Tides (Marla Mason)

by Pratt, T. A.

  “Congratulation, Mrs. Mason,” Pelham said. “And, of course, also my sympathies. I know the arrangement will be difficult for you.”

  “First B, now you,” Rondeau said. “My friends keep turning into gods. Why don’t I ever get tapped?”

  “I’m sure the first time there’s an opening for the god of hedonistic excess, you’ll make the shortlist,” Marla said.

  “You better not change, Marla. Or start putting on airs. I’m not going to address you as ‘Your Divine Shadowhood’ or anything. Does this mean you’re going to go all goth, start dressing in vintage wedding dresses or black lace and spiderwebs?”

  “I was thinking a black cloak, maybe with something in a matching scythe, but I’ll have to see what the wardrobe department has in my size.”

  “This is good,” Reva said. “For one thing, becoming a god yourself will help you better understand the minds of gods, and perhaps you will stop holding my interventions on your behalf against me – ”

  “You, shut it,” Marla said. “And as a part-time goddess in training, I can say that to you without fear of repercussion. What I’m going to do is help Death and you and any other so-called higher powers I run into learn what being human is about. Which means I need to keep my humanity in the forefront for the half a year I’m allowed to be wholly a woman and nothing else. That’s why you’re never going to see me again while I’m up here in the world, understood? Don’t take on any guise, don’t come visit, don’t happen to be on the same hiking trail or tour of the catacombs with me, nothing. You now officially have a restraining order, Reva – so restrain yourself. I’ve had quite enough of your meddling. I don’t care if you meant well. I’ve learned firsthand that good intentions don’t matter much, and my husband tells me we use them for paving stones back home.”

  “Marla, you’re one of my people, whether you want to be or – ”

  Marla leaned forward. “Reva. You’re a genius loci with no loci, right? And I’m, at least for half the year, part of the double deity that has full power over the entire sphere of death. So correct me if I’m wrong, but: don’t I outrank you?”

  “That was very royal, Mrs. Mason,” Pelham said approvingly.

  Reva scowled. “It’s not like we have ranks, exactly – ”

  Marla gave him her most withering stare. Or, at least, the most withering stare she could muster as a mortal. Apparently as a goddess she’d be able to literally wither things. She still wasn’t sure it was a good idea to let her wield that much power, but given that most stories about gods depicted them behaving like spoiled horny entitled spiteful children, she’d probably be better than most. “Don’t screw around with me, Reva. I’m not condemning what you do. I plan to go into the freelance do-gooding business myself. Just stop doing it to me. Call it a character flaw, but I don’t like people messing around with my life. Understood?”

  “Yes, my queen.” Reva gave an over-elaborate bow.

  “Good.” She leaned back in her chair. “There’s one favor you can do for me, as my loyal subject. I need you to go see Death, and tell him the same thing I told you. He isn’t to have any contact with me while I’m above ground. He gets me for half the year, and that’s it. I won’t have his long-view tainting my here-and-now. Plus, I’m still pissed at him for... well. I have my reasons, and he knows what they are.”

  “I could do that – ”

  “But listen, Reva. Take a walk with me. We need to talk. Because even though it’s probably wasted, I want to try to make you understand why I’m doing this – for you to try and see my reasoning from a human point of view. And I want you to tell Death the whole story, try and get him see it from my side, from everybody’s side, so he can understand there’s a whole universe of stories that don’t revolve around him, and a whole lot of things that matter other than his own convenience and contentment. He really needs to understand that people are real, all of us – every one of us – and that we mean more than just what he can use us for. Do you think you can do that for me?”

  “You’d better do it, dude,” Rondeau said. “She didn’t say ‘fuck’ once during that whole speech. That’s how you know she’s serious.”

  “So that’s why I’m here,” I said, leaning back in the chair Death had grudgingly offered me. I took a sip of water cold and freshly drawn from some sunless lake. Death’s meeting room was paneled in red-tinted wood, and full of heavy furniture and shelves lined with countless books, all black, their spines unmarked.

  Death sat in dark leather chair, swirling amber liquid in a glass. “I told Marla she didn’t need to send a messenger anymore. That she could tell me anything she had to say directly.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think she much cares what you want, really. Anyway, she knew I could fill in certain portions of the narrative, tell you about things she didn’t see herself, and details she didn’t know.”

  “How do you know all this, Reva? These stories you told, these conversations you recounted?”

  “Some of it comes from direct observation – I was there for a lot of this, you know, either openly present or watching in secret. I tried hard to tell the story as objectively as I could, not to editorialize, to make myself just another one of the people in the background. Some of it I got from a little light mind-reading here and there, especially from Rondeau – I promised not to pry into Pelham’s mind anymore, but I never promised that to Rondeau, so I rifled through his perceptions a bit. I also got to know Crapsey fairly well – he’s the ultimate exile, he’s not even in his home universe anymore, and after Marla and company stuck him on a boat back to the mainland I visited him, taking on the form of a crew member, and talked to his deepdown parts. Crapsey’s not a bad sort, apart from being a mass-murderer. I learned a lot about Jarrow from him. Some other things Marla told me, and sometimes I read between the lines of what she told me – though you’ll have to judge whether it’s all true or not.”

  I coughed, though of course, I never really need to cough. “And, I’ll admit, sometimes, I was just guessing, and making things up. Maybe I got a little carried away with the story here and there. But the point stands. Marla understands why you did what you did – and she wanted me to tell you this story so you’d understand why she doesn’t want to hear from you during her six months on the Earth. She needs to know you aren’t meddling, that you respect her humanity, even if you don’t understand it. She needs to figure out her life, and what she’s living for, and what’s worth living for, without interference from either of us.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Still in Hawai’i. She’s tracking down Gustavus Lupo, because she feels like that’s her responsibility. Once that’s done, though... Who knows? She talked about going to Malaysia with Pelham to cure him of his Nuno infestation. She’s talked about walking through the American West. She’s never been to Europe. She’ll see the world.”

  “My Persephone,” Death murmured, swirling the amber-colored liquid in his glass.

  “No,” I said. “Not your anything. She’s her own Marla.”

  “You told me all this. Do you understand the point she was trying to make?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “And I have to be honest with you... that kind of uncertainty is a new experience for me. Not a terribly pleasant one. Creatures like you, and to a lesser extent I, are used to feeling certainty in all things – aren’t we?”

  Death finished his drink, and we sat silently together for a while in his room at the bottom of the end of the world, thinking the thoughts that gods think, which are not entirely like the thoughts of women and men, or so I understand.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have a lot of people to thank for this one. My wife Heather Shaw, of course, is first, for her tremendous support in helping me find the time (between parenting and a full-time job) to write this book. Thanks also go to Dan Dos Santos (who painted the cover art for six previous Marla Mason books!) for suggesting illustrator Lindsey Look to create a painting of Marla for this book. Th
anks to Anne Rodman, the producer tirelessly working on bringing Marla Mason to the big (and little) screen, for renewing her option on the series and providing my family with enough money to take a vacation/research trip to Hawai’i. Jenn Reese and Cameron Panee gave me advice on martial arts and general violence-related matters. My copyeditor Elektra Hammond saved me from quite a few continuity errors and awkward phrases. John Teehan of Merry Blacksmith Press has agreed, once again, to produce the trade paperback print version (as he did for Broken Mirrors). Many of my writer friends, and longtime readers, spread the word about this novel, for which I’m eternally grateful.

  And, of course, my biggest thanks go to the donors. This book would not exist without the generous individuals who gave money to me directly, or through my Kickstarter campaign: Diana Potter, Matt Yoshikawa, Alexa Spears, His Royal Splendidness Greg van Eekhout, Mur Lafferty, Samuel Montgomery-Blinn, Christian Decomain, Michael Jasper, William Shunn and Laura Chavoen, Dave Lawson, Deborah Schumacher, Ori Shifrin, Atlee Breland, Lianna Tepp, Jon Hansen, Steven Desjardins, Tiffany Baxendell Bridge, Zorknot Robinson, Natalie Luhrs, Julia Gammad, Holly Shaw, Ted Brown, Anna Enzminger, Sarah Householder, Wendy Fisher, Gary Singer, Ben Esacove, Sara, Allen Edwards, Rachael Squires, Jeffrey Reed, Ron Jarrell, Alexa Gulliford, Sharon Wood, Joshua Day, Kendall Bullen, Pedro Manuel Arjona, Dean Roddick, Scott Drummond, Max Kaehn, David Martinez, Steve Feldon, JR Vogt, Keith Garcia, Philip Adler, M.K. Carroll, Enrica Prazzoli, Samantha Roshak, Tara Smith, Sheilah O'Connor, Kristel Downs, Lexie Cenni, Hugh Berkson, Bill Jennings, Besha Grey, Keith Schon, Heidi Berthiaume, Tina Mosca, Paul Boros, Tom Bridge, Jeanette Marsh, Kerim Friedman, Shirley Darch, Eric Altmyer, Tammy Thaggert, Adam Caldwell, Rick Cambere, Arachne Jericho, Claire Connelly, André Twupack, Claudia Sadun, Ian Mond, Dmitri, Deborah Vause, Jon Eichten, Edward Greaves, Cinnamon Davis, Catherine Waters, Susan, C.E. Murphy, Dave Thompson, Michelle Ossiander, L Wong, Russ Wilcox, Mick, Jeffrey Huse, Kristin Bodreau, Raul Francisco, Rob Hemstreet, Jason Wilson, C.C. Finlay, Marius Gedminas, Michael Jacob, Rachel Sanders, Armi Gerilla, Arlene Parker, Neil Graham, John Hathway, Alanna Maloney, David Raynes, Paul R Smith, Maureen Soar, Elektra Hammond, Renee Diane LeBeau, James M. Yager, Clara Asuncion, Ann Pino, Amanda Fisher, John Teehan, Jeanne Kalinowski, Linda Wood, Topher Hughes, Gann Bierner, Crystal Landry, Ben Fisher, Conor P. Dempsey, Mike Schwartz, Laura Cox, Jonathan Dean, Cori Lynn Arnold, Lindsay Stalcup, Danika, M D Spangler, Alan Yee, Paul Echeverri, Lilia Schwartz, Elias F. Combarro, Glyph Lefkowitz, Meredith Fletcher Hines, Tony James, Denise, Joeseph Felt, Arun Jiwa, Greg Kinney, Donald Mayne, Stephen Courson, Scott LeBeau, quiltingkitty, Lalith Vipulananthan, Margaret Klee, Tara Rowan, Bryan Sims, Kevin Hogan, Danielle Benson, Elaine Williams, Melissa Tabon, Jim Kirk, Rodelle Ladia, Paul Bulmer, Anton Nath, Jeremy, Davis, Kris, Ro Molina, Nellie Batz, Amy Gentilini, David Bennett, Sam Courtney, Mihir Wanchoo, Jess Jacob, Sarah Heitz, Rebecca Harbison, Danielle Van Gorder, Suzanne McLeod, Michael Bernardi, Kylee Livingston, Judy, Marguerite Kenner, Jonathan Spence, Juli McDermott, Kurt Miles, Jon Freestone, Jenn Reese, Dan Percival, Chris Baclayon, Sean Havins, Scott Blizzard, Sean Elliott, Josh Haas, Jamie Dawn Hickok, Kathlyn Payne, Von Welch, Keith Weinzerl, Athena Holter-Mehren, Danielle Daly, Joey Shoji, Katherin Douglas, Rion Wentworth, Nathan Bremmer, Jan WIldt, Russell Fry, Jordan Miller, Chris Kastensmidt, Gene Girard, Lynne Whitehorn, and Jennifer Sparenberg.

  I hope you all like this one. It’s my favorite Marla novel yet.

  Grim Tides is copyright Tim Pratt, 2012. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Tiger Bright Studios.

  For more about Tim Pratt, visit www.timpratt.org

  For more about Marla Mason, visit www.MarlaMason.net

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Let Me Tell You A Story

  Murder By The Sea

  A Conversation With Koona

  A Visit From Death

  The Bad Doctor

  A Mother's Love

  Death Makes An Offer

  Meet Elsie Jarrow

  Seeing The World

  Revengers Assemble

  The Dead, Walking On The Beach

  Brotherly Love

  Everyone Is Someone's Dog

  Jaws

  In Flight

  Things Are Never So Bad They Can't Be Made Worse

  Proverbs Of The Obvious

  Places Of Refuge

  There's Always Someone Better Than You

  Claiming Asylum

  Captivities

  Breaking Bread

  An Exchange Of Prisoners

  Welcome To Death

  Such A Full Sea

  Walking The Earth

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright Information