Revel

by Maurissa Guibord

Zuzu glided into the kitchen. “So I guess you’ll be staying,” she said as I followed. She perched herself on the counter and helped herself to a muffin.

  “For now,” I answered slowly. “It seems like I’ve got no choice.”

  “You chose to come here. That was a choice.” Zuzu broke off a piece of muffin delicately and popped it into her mouth.

  “Right,” I said. “That was before I knew about the whole one-way-ticket thing.”

  “You’re lucky. The First Ones want you to stay.” She tilted her head to regard me. “I wonder why.”

  “Must be the stylish way I nearly drowned,” I remarked. “So. Have you always lived here?”

  “Of course. I’ve never been off the island.”

  “And you’ve never wanted to leave?”

  Zuzu smiled dismissively and examined the muffin. “No one can leave.”

  “My mother did.”

  At this she frowned and looked uneasy. “You say that like it was a good thing, some big accomplishment,” she said quietly. “But it’s not. People here say your mother was a traitor.”

  “A traitor? To what?”

  Zuzu stared at me with a pained expression. As if she couldn’t believe she had to explain something so obvious. “To us,” she declared, sweeping a hand. “To this. No one leaves Trespass. We love it here. We have everything.”

  “You say that like it’s something you learned in school.”

  Zuzu stiffened. Then, with a faintly challenging smile, she asked, “What’s the matter? Are you scared?”

  “I’d be pretty stupid not to be scared, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a dangerous place,” Zuzu agreed. “If you don’t know how to handle yourself. If you don’t belong.”

  It was so hard to tell what was going on with Zuzu. Was she trying to test me somehow? Or just scare me? I shrugged, doing my best to look unconcerned. “Guess I’ll just have to stay out of the water.”

  “Oh, the bad things aren’t only in the water,” said Zuzu, sliding off the counter.

  “You’re like the worst welcome wagon ever,” I observed.

  Zuzu looked surprised; then she laughed, a rich giggle. “Don’t worry,” she said, pulling open the refrigerator door, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know. I’m going to hang out with you.” She pouted her full lower lip, surveying the contents of the fridge. “Maisie doesn’t have much milk left.” She swirled an old-fashioned glass quart bottle and sniffed it. “I’ll introduce you around, stuff like that. We’ll be friends,” she added matter-of-factly, and put the milk back.

  “Thanks,” I said coolly, “but I don’t need a babysitter.”

  Zuzu blinked black feather-duster lashes and her eyes went wide. “That came out wrong, didn’t it? It did. I can tell. Look,” she said with a sigh, “I’m not used to being around someone I haven’t known my whole life. It’s weird, okay? We don’t do a welcome wagon. We don’t do welcome period. They just thought I could help you get used to things around here.”

  “Who’s they?”

  Zuzu shrugged. “Your grandmother. The Council.”

  I swept up the crumbs she’d left on the counter. “Like I said, I don’t need a babysitter. Especially not one ordered by any Council. And you know, it kind of freaks me out to think of strangers talking about me, arranging things for me,” I muttered.

  “It’s not like that.” Zuzu twined her long fingers together. “You’re the first new girl my own age I’ve met in, well, as long as I can remember.” She bit her lower lip. “I really want us to be friends.”

  She looked genuinely upset.

  “Well, I guess that would be nice,” I said slowly. And realized with a pang that it really would be nice. “Thanks.”

  Zuzu’s smile gleamed again, this time in a grin that made her cheeks dimple and displayed a little gap between her two front teeth. “Fabulous,” she said. “I can show you all around the island.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “There’s only one place,” she replied with a shrug. “The Snug.”

  HAM AND BEAN SOLSTICE EVE SUPPER—GET YOUR TICKETS EARLY!

  The sign was tacked on a dark wooden door decorated with brass trim. Inside was a dimly lit room filled with tables and booths, each set with a candle flickering in a jelly jar. About half of the seats were occupied with people eating and drinking. The smell of fried food wafted through the swinging doors to a kitchen. Posters of old movies, bands and cars decorated most of the darkly paneled walls except the one lined by a set of shelves sagging under the weight of books. A man in a faded denim shirt sat on a stool in the corner playing guitar. Whatever tune he strummed was drowned out by the buzz of laughter and talk.

  “Welcome to the Snug,” said Zuzu. “Combination restaurant, pub, lending library and gossip depot. It’s pretty much our only hot spot.”

  Zuzu introduced me to two girls. Linda and Marisa were sisters, both with strawberry-blond hair and big blue eyes. Linda was the older one. I knew this because she told me so. She also seemed to do all the talking for the pair of them.

  “Marisa has been dying to meet you,” Linda said, “ever since we heard you came to Trespass.”

  “That sounds funny, doesn’t it?” I said with a smile. “Coming to Trespass.”

  Linda tilted her head, her blue eyes looking a little alarmed. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”

  “No,” I murmured. “Okay. Really nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, Reilly.” Zuzu walked over and sat at a booth with the boy she’d been with when I first arrived. He had a half-finished sandwich and a rumpled magazine in front of him.

  “Hi. How’re you doing?” he asked me, making room in the booth. “I heard about what happened.” He gave me a rueful smile. “Guess you’re one of us now, like it or not.”

  “And why shouldn’t she like it?” Zuzu demanded, taking a french fry from his plate. “What’s wrong with us?”

  “Nothing,” said Reilly innocently. “We’re a real happy little gulag. And yes, I’m going to finish this.” He slid his sandwich away from Zuzu.

  “You’re the talk of the island,” he told me with a nod. “Not too many people have faced Glauks underwater and walked away. You’re lucky.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “But I really didn’t do much facing. It seems they were only trying to stop the boat. It was kind of my own fault that I fell out.” Several people at neighboring tables had turned to look at me curiously. At least they weren’t wearing the hostile stares I’d experienced on my first day. And nobody was holding a rock. This seemed like progress.

  I leaned across the table to them. “Sorry, but this … this is all kind of unbelievable, you know? You live on this island with sea monsters swimming around it.”

  Zuzu nodded, looking bored. “So?”

  “I mean, how do you live here, how do you spend your time? Do you have a school?”

  “Course we do, for the little ones, but we’re all done with that now,” Zuzu said. “Everyone has a job. I work at Gunn’s, packing lobster. Reilly works on the generators and the electric whatnots.”

  “Geothermal turbines,” Reilly said, giving Zuzu an exasperated look. He leaned forward, gesturing as he spoke with hands too big for his long skinny arms. “We use hot water that bubbles up from springs in the center of the island to power turbines and make electricity.”

  “That’s amazing. But wouldn’t you want the chance to go somewhere else?” I asked him. “To college?”

  Reilly shook his head. “Nah. My life is here.” He glanced at Zuzu.

  “And who needs college?” she said with a shrug. “The stuff you learn in school changes all the time. I learned a whole book, practically memorized it. The Book of Knowledge, a pictorial encyclopedia, BAL through CRU,” she recited. “Anyway, last month we got some Time magazines and I found out there isn’t even a Burma anymore. Exotic land of the monsoon, with chief commercial products of cinnamon, sugar and indigo?” She threw up her hands. “Gone.�
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  “I’m pretty sure it’s just called something else.”

  “Myanmar. I told her,” said Reilly. “And Pluto’s not a planet anymore,” he added to Zuzu. “Get over it.”

  “It just seems so weird,” I said softly. “You really have no telephone? No Internet? You’re cut off from the rest of the world.”

  Reilly nodded. “The whole island is in a constant state of electromagnetic flux. We have electricity from our generators, so we can play movies that we sometimes get. We can’t get any satellite feed for TV or even radio transmissions. Even compasses don’t function properly here.”

  “Why not?”

  Reilly smiled. “According to the First Ones, it’s because there’s a spell on this place. Personally, I think it’s because this island is centered over a tectonic plate fault resulting in magma extrusions and geomagnetic anomalies.”

  Zuzu rolled her eyes. “I just love it when he talks like that. Makes my heart flutter.”

  Reilly threw a french fry at her. “Brat.”

  “You should know,” Zuzu told me, while throwing the fry back at him playfully, “that Reilly doesn’t believe in anything.”

  Reilly shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. “I just think there’s scientific explanations for a lot of things people choose to see as magic.”

  “I’m also slightly psychic,” Zuzu said, leaning toward me. “Which Reilly doesn’t believe in either. My great-grandmother was a great shaman. Micmac Nation.” She frowned and a crease furrowed her smooth forehead. “I sense dark forces at work around you.” She covered her mouth.

  “It might be a little more convincing without the giggling,” I said.

  The door opened just then, and Sean Gunn walked in. The chatter in the place died down as heads turned and Sean was greeted with a wave or a slap on the back by almost everyone in the Snug. The young lobsterman responded with a quick word or a wave as he made his way over to the table next to us.

  He gave me a friendly nod. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” I answered.

  “That’s interesting. Sean doesn’t usually come here,” observed Zuzu. She glanced at me curiously.

  If she thought Sean Gunn’s being here had anything to do with me, it didn’t seem likely. Sean made no move to come over and talk to us. Although once or twice I did see him glancing over at me.

  Sean looked out of place. The chair seemed too small for his tall form and long legs, and he hunched over the table, drumming his fingers as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

  “He’s had to work really hard, taking over the lobstering business since his dad died,” said Zuzu. She frowned. “His mom has bad arthritis and can’t do very much for herself.”

  Soon a waitress brought over his order and Sean reached into his pocket. A number of coins spilled onto the table and I stared. It was a mix of old gold and silver coins, some that looked very similar to the ones I’d discovered in the safe-deposit box.

  “Nope,” the lanky bartender called over, “your money’s no good here, Sean.”

  Sean raised his cup. “Thanks, Donnie.” He scooped the coins back into his pocket.

  “Everybody loves Sean,” said Zuzu, with a smile. “He’s such a good guy.”

  “Were those gold coins on the table?”

  Zuzu shrugged. “I think so. Most everyone has some. The First Ones don’t care much about coins. They give us the ones they find in wrecks. Sometimes Ben Deare gets permission to trade a few if we need something special from the mainland.”

  It explained why Sean was unimpressed with my offer of money to turn his boat around. Money obviously didn’t mean the same thing here as it did in the real world.

  The real world. I wondered if I would ever get back to it.

  The man in the corner began to sing in a gruff, soft voice.

  “From old Long Wharf the Dover sailed out of Boston town

  With linen, wool and guns and gold for the British Crown.

  Halifax they’ll never see; the Dover’s taken down.

  The compass spins from north to south with Trespass on the lee,

  But a Trespass sailor never drowns; he’s only lost at sea.”

  It took me a few moments to realize where I had heard it before. My mother had whispered snatches of this song when she was sick.

  It was a beautiful tune, but sad. It seemed like most of the people in the Snug knew it well; quite a few of them joined in and sang along.

  “The briny witch she took them all beneath December waters—

  One hundred souls in coral chains, fathers, sons and daughters.

  The compass spins from north to south with Trespass on the lee.

  My heart’s an anchor weighing me, never to be free,

  For a Trespass sailor never drowns; he’s only lost at sea.”

  Sean didn’t sing. He swirled the drink in his glass. “Play something else, Jem,” he called over. The musician nodded and changed to a song with a lively, thrumming beat.

  Zuzu smiled and tapped her fingertips. “We’ll dance to this at Revel,” she said.

  “Revel?” I asked. “What’s that?”

  “It’s kind of a traditional celebration we have on the island every summer. It’s coming soon.”

  “It’s nothing special,” said Reilly, giving Zuzu a quick look.

  A woman came racing in, her face pink with exertion.

  “Crates down on Wreck Beach,” she shouted. “Pickin’s for all.”

  One by one everyone rose, emptied their drinks or took a last bite of what they were eating and left the tables, making for the door.

  “C’mon,” Zuzu said, rising. “Let’s go see.”

  On Wreck Beach the waves crashed on the sand in overlapping curls of blue and green and white.

  Wooden crates and white plastic tubs were strewn across the sand. Some containers were at the very edge of the water, tipping over and rolling in the surf.

  “How did this stuff get here?” I asked, watching as people scrambled along the sand and waded through the water to claim boxes.

  “The First Ones,” Zuzu answered, surveying the scene with a look of excited pleasure. “They give us supplies from things they’ve collected.”

  “Collected? You mean they sink ships?”

  “Of course not,” said Zuzu. “That would attract too much attention. But containers are always getting lost from cargo ships. Falling off docks, slipping out of holding straps on rolling decks.” Her eyes scanned the beach. “I hope they brought some DVDs; we need new movies.”

  It was like some kind of combination shopping spree and scavenger hunt. Boxes of tennis shoes, a case of shampoo, metal canisters of propane, and a pallet laden with crates labeled Bananas—Product of Ecuador. The assortment seemed completely random.

  There was a woman who stood apart from the rest of the crowd. While others scurried from container to container, she remained motionless, staring out at the water. But piles of items were at her feet, and as I watched, one of the men brought a bag of oranges and added it to the rest.

  “Who’s that?”

  Zuzu glanced over. “That’s Sophia Clark. Isn’t she lovely?”

  She was. Sophia Clark must have been in her thirties and had long, straight ash-blond hair. She wore a silky green print dress, and a striking gold medallion dangled from a gleaming chain at her neck. But her dark eyes held a haunted look. She seemed unaware of the activity, keeping her gaze trained on the water as if searching for something, or someone, out there.

  “Finally,” muttered Zuzu. She bent over a wooden crate and fished out a can with triumph. “Mandarin oranges. I’m so sick of cling peaches.”

  Suddenly a high-pitched wail broke out behind us. Sophia Clark pointed at the water. “It’s coming.” She paced through the sand, back and forth, while hugging her arms tight to her body.

  I looked in the direction she was pointing. There was nothing out there except the empty, rolling water.

  “Don’t pay any attentio
n,” said Zuzu in a low voice. “She gets like this sometimes.” She went over to the woman. “It’s okay, Sophia,” Zuzu said, bending to pick up some of the items at the woman’s feet. “Here. Look at these. People magazine. Look, Brad and Jen are splitting up. Wow, that’s too bad. Shall I help you get these home?”

  The woman quieted and blinked. Then, as she seemed to notice me for the first time, her face contorted. “It’s her,” she yelled. “She’s bringing it here.” She covered her ears with her hands and began to cry.

  “What’s coming?” I asked.

  “The monster,” whispered the woman. “The monster.”

  Zuzu shook her head and said in a low tone, “Sophia gets mixed up about stuff, and you’re new here. Maybe it frightens her.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  Zuzu nodded. “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry. I think you’d better go home, Delia.”

  I walked away thinking exactly the same thing.

  CHAPTER 7

  On Trespass the water was never far away, and the sea made sure I didn’t forget it. The smell of salt, the bite of wind and the rumble of the waves were everywhere, all around me. As each day passed I felt more and more trapped on this island.

  I went to the dock, making sure I stayed in the middle of the walkways and well away from the edge. I didn’t care to have any more encounters with anything that lurked beneath the surface-though I couldn’t help but wonder about the dark-haired First One named Jax. Would I see him again?

  I found Ben Deare working on his boat. The Belores looked more dilapidated than ever, even though repairs had begun; there were new planks in place on the deck and the smell of varnish hung in the air. Ben’s back was to me, and I noticed he was moving slowly.

  “Ben.”

  “Ben.”

  “Ben!” I shouted.

  Ben leapt up and spun around, looking like his limbs were being jerked by puppet strings. “Hell’s bells, girl! You’ll kill a man with that caterwauling.”