Half-Off Ragnarok

by Seanan McGuire

  “Every man’s allowed his little vices,” he said, in a challenging tone. “I trade for them with the community.”

  “White mice taste better,” said Dee. She smiled at me, a slightly frayed air behind her apparent cheerfulness. She didn’t like being here, on the fringe, in the home of a man who represented an ideology she didn’t believe in. But she was trying, and I respected that.

  “I’ll take your word for that,” I said, and turned back to Walter. “When did you begin keeping cockatrice?”

  “Three years ago,” he said. “We get them from a family of Bigfoot who live upstate. They trap cockatrice for us, we give them organic produce. They’re very fond of ‘organic.’ I didn’t know most people grew inorganic tomatoes.”

  Lecturing this man on the local and organic food movement seemed like a bad idea. Instead, I nodded, and asked, “When did you start trying to breed them?”

  “Right from the beginning. It hasn’t worked yet, but we keep trying.” He shot a poisonous glare at Frank, the snakes on his head stirring themselves to hiss. “It might go faster if we could get some books on animal husbandry to reference.”

  “Buy them yourselves,” snapped Frank. “Or get on the Internet and order them like normal people.”

  “You’re allowing human culture to corrupt you,” Walter snapped back.

  “You want human books. How is that any different?”

  “We don’t need them!” Now the snakes atop both men’s heads were standing erect, hissing loudly and showing their fangs.

  “You may not need human things, but you’re both doing an excellent job of embarrassing yourselves in front of the humans,” said Dee quietly. The men turned to look at her. “This isn’t their fight. Perhaps we should stop providing them with a free demonstration of why it’s ours.”

  “Ah.” Walter leaned back in his seat, composing his expression. His snakes kept hissing, but otherwise stood down. “My apologies to our guests.”

  “But not to your brother-in-law?” asked Frank.

  “No, Franklin. Never to you.” Walter looked to me. “Why do you think we are so incompetent as to have lost a cockatrice?”

  “I don’t think you were incompetent,” I said, trying not to react to the revelation that Dee was Walter’s sister. “I think you were tricked. If you don’t know what chicken tastes like . . . the bones are similar. It would be easy to purchase a chicken or small turkey at a grocery store, make soup, and claim that it was cockatrice. With enough wild garlic and onion, the flavor would be even more confused. You’d never know. The count in your aviary would remain accurate, and whoever hatched the plan would be free to do what they liked with the cockatrice.”

  “None of my people would enter your city, or attack in such a vulgar way.”

  “No. But they might be willing to trade a cockatrice for something they wanted and couldn’t otherwise have.”

  Walter stood abruptly, his chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. “Come with me,” he commanded, and strode toward the door. He didn’t look back. Shelby and I exchanged a glance, and then we followed after him.

  There was a brass bell outside Walter’s door, old and battered and streaked with verdigris. When he rang it, it sounded like it should have been audible all the way into the next county. The echoes were still fading when the fringe gorgons came, walking in from the fields, from the houses, and from the various outbuildings. They were all dressed like the ones we’d already seen, in home-stitched clothes and plain, simple colors. The impression that we’d wandered into the world’s strangest Amish farmstead kept growing, even though I knew it was wrong.

  “These people,” said Walter, in a booming voice, “have come from the community, with news of the human cities. One of our cockatrice is loose. So I ask: who has given a cockatrice to an outsider? Do not lie to me. I will know.” He scanned the crowd, focusing his attention on a group of teenagers who stood slightly apart from the others. One of them was staring at the ground, the snakes atop her head virtually braiding themselves as they twisted together.

  Walter stepped away from the porch, walking over to her. “Marian,” he said softly. “What is it that you want to tell me?”

  “I . . .” She raised her head, biting her lip before she said, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so very sorry, I didn’t know he was going to keep it, and he offered . . .”

  “Marian.” The gorgon girl stopped talking. Walter crouched down so that his eyes were level with hers. “What did you do?”

  She took a deep breath. “A man came through the forest, past the lindworm. He said the community had sent him. Said they needed a cockatrice, but that they were ashamed to ask it of you. He brought payment. A dead bird in a bag for the stew, and sweets for the children, and good yarn for the knitters. All he asked was one of the young males, and we had too many . . .”

  “And you gave it to him?”

  Marian’s voice seemed to desert her. She bit her lip again, and nodded.

  “I see.” Walter’s hand lashed out almost too fast to follow, grabbing a fistful of her snakes and yanking. The rest hissed madly, but didn’t try to bite him. I guess even snakes can be smart, under the right circumstances. He turned back to the rest of us. “You should go now. You have done enough damage.”

  “Walter . . .” began Dee.

  “You are as much of an outsider here as these apes that you sully yourself by traveling with,” spat Walter. “Our father would be ashamed to see what you’ve grown into. Go.”

  I took Shelby’s hand, sparing one last glance for the girl, Marian, who was weeping as she hung limply in her captor’s hand. If he’d been human, I would have tried to do something—but it’s not my place to criticize the culture of the cryptids we work with. Gritting my teeth to keep from saying something I would regret, I turned, and let Frank lead us away from the fringe, back across the fields to the woods.

  The lindworm’s body was still sprawled where we had left it. It was still too fresh to have attracted any large predators, and its partially-petrified state was probably confusing the bugs. I stopped to pick up the eye I’d pried loose earlier, shoving it into my jacket pocket. Maybe I could learn more about the petrifaction process by studying it. It was worth the effort.

  We’d been gone long enough for the frickens to forget what had happened earlier. Their small, piping voices escorted us back through the woods, and no more lindworms came to kill us. After what we’d been through so far today, that was enough for me.

  Seventeen

  “Try your best. That’s always been enough for the people who love you.”

  —Alexander Healy

  Finishing dinner in a hidden gorgon community in the middle of the Ohio woods

  DINNER WAS SERVED AT a long table in the middle of the community’s “town square.” It consisted of root vegetable stew with unidentified chunks of meat that I suspected were either rabbit or jackalope, home baked bread, and suspicious looks from virtually everyone around us. I couldn’t blame them, considering the situation. It had probably been a very long time since Hannah had invited humans to dine with her chosen family. Shelby and I might have impeccable table manners and the best of intentions, but we were still mammals, and hence not to be trusted. Also, we smelled like onions.

  Some of the gorgon teenagers cleared our plates when we were finished eating, despite not having dined with us; they had their own table, set a little ways off from the adults, where they wouldn’t be scolded or looked at funny for the crime of being teenagers. They cast sidelong looks at Shelby and me as they removed dishes from the table, and more than a few of the girls looked longingly at her hair. Not in a “I wish I were human” sort of way—more in a “what a wonderful fashion accessory” way.

  Dee smiled as the last of the girls left. Leaning toward Shelby, she confessed, “When I was thirteen, I dreamt about starting a wig shop just for gorgons. Hair is so much fun. You can’t style snakes. They pretty much style themselves, and you just get to learn to live with i
t.”

  “Bet you save a mint on shampoo, though,” said Shelby.

  That was the right thing to say. The other gorgons at the table—five in all, bringing our total number to ten—laughed, some of the tension slipping out of the gathering.

  One of the men looked at me, and asked, “So you’re really Jonathan Healy’s boy?”

  “I’m his great-grandson,” I said. “Forgive me for my ignorance, but . . . you look way too young to have known him. He died before my father was born.”

  “I am the only one here who actually knew dear Johnny, but all of us know of him,” said Hannah. “He was a great friend to the gorgon community. To all of the gorgon communities, really, in the places where we were divided as well as the places where we came together.”

  I blinked. Hannah smiled a little.

  “My tales do not match what you know of your own history, do they? Does your family still keep Aeslin mice?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. It seemed best to be respectful when speaking to a gorgon hybrid whose age and capabilities were unknown to me. Respect is rarely the thing that gets you killed.

  “Ask them. They may have moved some of the celebrations and festivals into the background, but they will remember who he was, and what he did for the people who put their faith in him. That is the beauty of the Aeslin.” Her smile grew a bit, turning almost wistful. “They never forget anything; they never leave anything behind.”

  “Speaking of forgetting things,” I said, as delicately as I could, “weren’t we supposed to be discussing what our next move was going to be?”

  “Don’t worry: it was not forgotten, merely . . . set aside for a short time, to allow us to remember that we are all friends here. We are all friends here, are we not?” Hannah’s smile suddenly seemed to contain a few too many teeth, and those teeth were very, very sharp.

  There are times when no amount of reminding myself that I am a trained professional can override the small, frightened part of the mammalian brain, the one that is always six inches away from being eaten by something larger. I managed to swallow my shudder, but I couldn’t stop my skin from breaking out in goose bumps. “I’d certainly like to be, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Hannah turned her attention on Dee, and I suddenly found it much easier to breathe. It’s never fun to be reminded that humans aren’t necessarily the apex predators on this planet. “What did your brother have to tell you?”

  “That he’s lost a cockatrice recently, although he didn’t realize it until we came to see him; one of his little farmhands sold it to someone who came through the woods claiming to have been sent by us.”

  “I see. Please do tell Walter that I am displeased with his ability to mind his people. I expected better of him than this. Your father always kept the fringe separate and safe. Your brother should do the same, if he expects to be allowed to keep it.”

  Dee flinched, and nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

  “So we know where the cockatrice was acquired, and better, we know that it is unlikely whoever is responsible will have access to more than one.” Hannah turned back to me as the gorgon teens returned with trays of cheese and fruit. “Are you satisfied that none of us is responsible for this horror?”

  Every instinct I had shrieked at me to tell the nice giant snake-lady that yes, of course I was satisfied, now if she would please just refrain from eating me, that would be swell. Sometimes, training wins out over common sense. “Respectfully, ma’am, I am convinced of the exact opposite. I do believe you have not, as a community, declared war on the city of Columbus with nothing more than a single cockatrice. If you chose to break the peace, you would be much more efficient, and we wouldn’t be sitting here now. But Walter—who seems to keep his people on a very tight leash—was able to lose a cockatrice without realizing it. Dee comes and goes with impunity, and she can’t be the only one. I can’t say for sure that someone here is responsible for this. I can’t say for sure that the opposite is true, either.” I decided not to mention the lindworm. No cockatrice could have petrified it, but that would just complicate things in the here and now.

  “What Alex means to say is ‘no,’” said Shelby. “Forgive him. His mother was a dictionary, and he feels like he’s dishonoring her if he uses simple words.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, and stopped as I saw that Hannah was laughing silently, her mouth open and her fangs on casual display. Sinking back in my seat, I blinked and waited to hear what she would say next.

  “Your point is a valid, if long-winded, one,” she said finally. “Go, then, Alexander Healy, and I will speak to those who dwell here with me. If there is a traitor or a misguided crusader in our midst, I will find them.”

  “And will you tell me?” I asked. I didn’t bother to correct her on my last name. If she was a fan of my great-grandfather’s, I might as well take advantage of whatever goodwill that was going to buy me.

  “I will,” she said. “I will not surrender them to you, but I assure you, justice will be done, within the standards of our law.”

  Based on what I knew of gorgon law, that meant the offender would either get a stern lecture, or a swift death. I took a breath. “If there is any danger remaining to the people of Ohio—”

  “There won’t be,” she said, and this time, when she smiled, there was no mistaking her fangs for teeth.

  “I think that went well,” said Shelby amiably, as Dee and Frank walked us both out to my car. Faces peeked at us through the darkness; the gorgon teens who had served during dinner, trying to get one last look at their interesting guests. “No one got bitten and we didn’t need antivenin, so I’m calling it a victory.”

  “You have an interesting definition of ‘victory,’” said Dee. She sounded exhausted.

  “I’m with Shelby here, actually,” I said. “We’ve learned a lot, we’ve established that we mean no harm, and nobody got hurt, unless you count the poor lindworm.”

  “We put that creature out of its misery,” said Frank. “Nothing reverses petrifaction that has gone that far. It would have died anyway, writhing and in pain.”

  “Cheerful,” I said. I turned to Dee. “See you at work tomorrow?”

  She blinked, and the snakes atop her head hissed in genuine surprise. “You still want me to come to work?”

  “Dee, I knew you were a gorgon when I hired you, and I know neither you nor your husband is responsible for what’s happening at the zoo. I don’t think I can manage a cockatrice hunt and keep the reptile house running if I don’t have my assistant. Not to mention the part where I’m pretty much expecting the rest of the staff to stop showing up any day now. Most folks don’t like going to work when they’re afraid it will get them killed.”

  Dee smiled a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good.” I extended my hand toward Frank. “It was a pleasure to meet you. If you ever need a source for larger medical supplies, let me know. My mother knows a Bigfoot metalworker who makes his own extra-large tools and equipment. She swears by his products.”

  Frank looked pleased as he took my hand, his fingers eclipsing mine completely. “I will keep that in mind, Mr. Price,” he said. “This has been a very . . . edifying . . . evening. I look forward to seeing you again under less troubled circumstances.”

  “Nice meeting everyone,” said Shelby. “You throw a good party. I wish everyone would arrange for giant lizard fights as an icebreaker.”

  Dee laughed. There didn’t seem to be a better farewell than that, and so I got into the car, waiting for Shelby to do the same before I fastened my seat belt, started the engine, and pulled away.

  Shelby stayed quiet as we drove out of the small gorgon community and up the winding path that would take us to the main road. Only when we were back on the highway, pointed toward Columbus, did she relax, and I realized just how wary she had actually been.

  “Shelby? You all right over there?”

  “I hope you won’t think less of me for admitting I’ve been scared out o
f my mind for the last few hours.”

  “Only the last few hours?” I merged smoothly with the oncoming traffic. “’Cause see, I’ve been scared out of my mind since the lindworm tried to eat us.”

  “That was about the only thing that didn’t scare me,” said Shelby, with a ragged-edged laugh. “Australia’s not all crocodiles, no matter what the movies try to tell you, but I went to university as a zoology major. I worked in animal conservation in Queensland. Giant lizards that want to eat me are familiar enough to be almost comforting.”

  “I’d think less of you if you hadn’t been afraid,” I said quietly. “Fear is natural. It’s a close cousin of respect, and between the two, we don’t forget that this isn’t our world. We can police the edges, we can keep things from getting more unpleasant than they need to be, but we’re never going to belong to places like that. And that’s okay. We were born human. There’s no shame in that.”

  Shelby laughed. “I think I like you better now that you’re being honest with me.”

  “That’s good. I know I like you better.”

  “Alex . . .” Shelby took a breath. “Are we going to get any more work done tonight?”

  “It’s late. We have to work in the morning, and we won’t have a copy of the autopsy report for the second guard until tomorrow afternoon.”

  “No midnight cockatrice hunts?”

  “Not for me, thanks. We’ve confirmed that the cockatrice has a handler, and by now the handler is probably on his guard. This isn’t an ordinary wild animal hunt anymore.” I chuckled a little. “Because ‘ordinary’ was totally the word before this.”

  “I see.” Shelby’s hand was somehow resting on my thigh, her fingers slipping a little higher than could be explained by a friendly pat. “You know, it’d probably be best if neither of us went about without backup for a little bit. Just for now, you understand, until nothing’s trying to kill us.”