On Sunsday morning, a sobbing man on a citizens-band radio contacted the police station at Ferryman’s Landing and pleaded to have someone, anyone, deliver a message: the survivors in Talulah Falls wanted to negotiate with the terra indigene.
CHAPTER 19
On Windsday morning, Steve Ferryman and Jerry Sledgeman stood at the ferry’s rail. They had clear skies and smooth water, and plenty of Great Island residents had been at the dock this morning to take packages to the mainland half of the village and pick up anticipated deliveries.
Lois Greene, editor of the Great Island Reporter, had run a special edition yesterday with Steve’s list of emergency measures on the front page, guaranteeing it would command the attention of every adult in Ferryman’s Landing. So he wasn’t surprised to see the pile of backpacks and overnight cases at the dock, ready for the ferry’s return trip to the island.
The updated prophecy Simon Wolfgard had e-mailed to him had made his skin crawl. And being told that one of the Elementals’ steeds, in its chubby pony form, was staying at the Gardner farm because it was “waiting” was reason enough to figure that whatever was coming wasn’t going to pass them by.
“You okay with making this delivery?” Steve asked as they walked off the ferry with three plastic containers.
“Sure,” Jerry replied. “Just wish I had more cargo to justify the gasoline usage.”
“If things go the way I hope they do, this will be the last light delivery you’ll make to Lakeside. And at least some of the teenagers who are looking for work this summer will have jobs because the village businesses will need extra hands.”
They stored the containers in the van that was parked in the delivery area of the dock.
“We’ll see what we see.” Jerry closed the van’s back doors and went around to the driver’s door. “I’ll give you a shout when I return.”
Steve watched Jerry drive away. Then he turned back to the ferry, figuring he’d give his brother, Will, a hand storing all that baggage before running up to the bookstore to pick up a copy of the Lakeside News to read on the return trip to the island. But the skin between his shoulder blades suddenly started twitching and twingeing.
He looked at the sky and the water. Still clear, still smooth.
Something’s coming, he thought, seeing the way Will suddenly straightened up and looked at the sky and water.
Before he reached his brother, his mobile phone started ringing.
• • •
“So Ruthie is going to be an instructor at the Courtyard, teaching the Others how to get along in the human world,” Kowalski said as they drove out of the Chestnut Street station’s lot. “Like what we saw a while back in A Little Bite but more formal. It doesn’t pay as much in human money as her teaching job did, but with the credits for the Market Square stores, we’ll do all right.”
Hearing something different under the upbeat words, Monty studied his partner. “Do you have a problem with her working in the Courtyard?”
“Me? No. But we had dinner with my folks last night, and my father said he’s been hearing mutters at work about how people who help the Others are traitors to their own kind. My brother is attending the tech college, and he’s heard the same thing.” Kowalski hesitated. “I still think working with the terra indigene will pay off in the end, but . . .”
“But you’re worried about Ruthie’s safety?”
“Yes. More so after what happened to Merri Lee. And some of Ruthie’s friends—girls she’s known since grade school—don’t want to be friends anymore because she spends time in the Courtyard and helps the Others. And now with everything going on in Talulah Falls . . . All the TV talk shows are going on and on about what right the terra indigene have to dictate who runs the government in a human town.”
“They can dictate the terms because their alternative is destroying the town,” Monty replied quietly. “And as I understand it, Talulah Falls is no longer a human-controlled town. The government, such as it may be, will be there to keep public services running and act as a liaison between the town’s human population and the Others now in charge of the Courtyard.”
“I don’t think that has sunk in yet,” Kowalski said. “That the Falls is now a human settlement in the Others’ territory and they’re the ones making all the rules—and dishing out the punishment if any of their rules are broken.”
The radio stations barely played two songs in a row this morning without repeating the special news story: as part of the negotiations with the terra indigene, all the top government officials in Talulah Falls were required to resign and leave the area.
The Others weren’t just taking away the status and power those people had; they were driving out anyone they considered adversaries. And all the terra indigene who had run that Courtyard had also left in favor of new leadership that wasn’t already soured by extended contact with humans. A clean slate. A new start. A last chance for Talulah Falls to remain a place where humans could live, even if it was no longer a place where humans could do as they pleased.
The news stories didn’t mention that part, just as the news stories were suddenly vague when it came to acknowledging the people who were dead or missing in the Falls.
If we’re not careful, there will be a lot more humans among the dead and missing, Monty thought. “Tell me something, Karl. How many terra indigene living on this continent have any contact with humans? Guess at an estimate, figuring in every city, town, village, hamlet, and human settlement located deep in the wild country.”
Kowalski said nothing for a full minute. “Five percent? Could be less than that.”
“There have to be millions of earth natives living in Thaisia, hundreds of millions, maybe even billions, living throughout Namid. Only a small percentage of them have ever seen a human, and an even smaller percentage have any interest in seeing us as anything but meat.” Monty smiled grimly. “Our ancestors showed the Others how to weave, how to build a cabin, how to farm, how to build a boat and catch fish, how to build a fire. They learned everything they really needed from us centuries ago. All our technology, all our gizmos. How much interest do the terra indigene living beyond easy range of human habitation really have for such things?”
“Not much interest at all when you put it that way,” Kowalski said.
“I keep thinking about the Humans First and Last movement. I keep wondering if any of them have paid any attention to the history of our world and the history of Thaisia in particular.”
“What about it?”
“For the most part, the Others leave humans alone—until our actions force them to become aware of us.”
• • •
Not much mail, Meg thought. Not many deliveries. Not much of anything but waiting.
She pulled a copy of Nature! from the stack of magazines she’d picked up at Howling Good Reads. There wasn’t anyone else supplying her with images that would help her identify what she saw in a prophecy. She didn’t have access to the thick binders of pictures anymore. But she could start creating her own set of image binders. Then whoever listened to the prophecy could have a reference for what she had seen.
Besides, the color photographs taken of creatures from all over the world fascinated her. She just had to remember to limit the number of new images she absorbed each day from the magazines. She didn’t have those disturbing blank spots—information overload, Merri Lee had called them—when she looked at a few new images and then switched to a magazine she had already seen. That was restful, especially since she absorbed so many new images just by going through her daily routine.
The Courtyard kept changing, dazzling her with the flowers that bloomed between one day and the next, with the bare branches of trees that were swollen with the buds of new leaves and then fuzzed with green. Every day, she drove a familiar road through a new place. It delighted her, excited her, but she had to admit that the relief of being
in her own unchanging apartment was almost painful some nights.
A cassandra sangue could absorb only so much that was new and strange before her mind shut down. Had that always been true, or was that, like the need to cut, something that had been bred into them to keep them dependent?
Either way, she probably should mention this recent understanding about herself to Simon . . . or Henry, since the Grizzly would, most likely, simply accept the information and not make a fuss about it.
She didn’t know how long she’d been staring at a picture of tiny, bright-colored frogs when she heard Nathan snarl and a man calling, “Hello?”
Opening the Private door, she stepped up to the counter in the front room. A big man stood just inside the door. He held three rectangular plastic containers and a manila envelope.
“Are you Meg Corbyn?” he asked.
Nathan snarled louder at the mention of her name. She couldn’t see the Wolf, which meant he was right in front of the counter and ready to attack.
“Yes, I’m Meg.” She didn’t recognize the man or the van, and she hadn’t placed any orders in the past few days. She didn’t think anyone in the Courtyard had. Their bus had made the plaza run a couple of times, but only a handful of terra indigene had gone out to shop, and Henry, Vlad, or Nyx had been among the Others who made the trip—a reminder of why the humans needed to behave.
“I’m Jerry Sledgeman, of Sledgeman’s Freight. Got a delivery for you, compliments of Steve Ferryman on Great Island. Okay if I put these on the counter so I can show you the paperwork?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” When Jerry didn’t move, she added, “It’s all right, Nathan. I was expecting this delivery.”
Nathan backed away just enough to give Jerry room at the far end of the counter.
Jerry set the containers on the counter in a stack. Giving Meg a measuring look, he shifted the two top containers to sit on the counter so she could see the printed information taped to the lids.
“Eamer’s Bakery?” Meg asked.
“Two sisters, Mary and Claire, run it and do most of the baking,” Jerry said. “Have another good bakery in Ferryman’s Landing, but that one prefers doing breads and rolls and things like that. Good bread, but when Steve talked to some folks about making some special cookies for Wolves, Mary and Claire were the ones who wanted to give it a try. They—”
Meg slapped a hand on a container as Nathan made a lunge for it.
“Nathan!” she scolded. “If you make another grab for these cookies, you won’t get so much as a crumb!”
Nathan leaped away, stared at her for a moment—and howled.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Meg said. “Don’t be such a puppy.”
Howl!
Another Wolf answered Nathan. And another. And another.
Watching the color drain out of Jerry’s face, Meg pulled the lid off one container and grabbed a cookie. “Here. Here-here-here, have a— Oh. It’s shaped like a cow. How cute.” She took a moment to absorb the image.
Nathan slapped his front paws on the counter. Despite his speed, Meg noticed how carefully he took the cookie from her.
“The cow-shaped cookies are probably beef flavored,” Jerry said. “Claire did say they tried different flavors. It’s explained in the paperwork.”
She watched Nathan prance over to the Wolf bed set up on one side of the office. She also noticed how, despite acting preoccupied with his treat, his attention stayed on Jerry Sledgeman.
Before she could open the envelope, the back door slammed and Simon shouted, “Meg!” He charged into the front room, almost knocking her into the counter as he focused on the human male.
“Everything is fine,” Meg said at the same time Simon said, “Sledgeman?”
“Mr. Wolfgard,” Jerry said, brushing a finger against his cap. “Brought a delivery.”
Meg noticed the slight tremble in Jerry’s hand and the shine of sweat on his face. And she noticed three Wolves crowded in front of the office door. She’d never seen him in Wolf form, but she’d bet Blair was the one staring at the unfamiliar human. The other two seemed younger, and a fourth Wolf, who had his paws on the window and was watching Nathan eat the cookie, was definitely a juvenile.
“Arroooo!” The single vocalization from the youngster at the window quickly became a chorus.
Grabbing a handful of cow-shaped cookies, Meg pushed past Simon and opened the go-through that gave her access to the rest of the front room. The Wolves outside backed up enough to let her push the front door open partway.
“Here,” she said. “Have a cookie and stop making a fuss.”
The juvenile Wolves took the cookies and trotted off. Blair stared at her a long moment before taking the last cookie and walking away.
As she returned to the counter, Meg narrowed her eyes at Nathan.
Crunch, crunch. There was a smug satisfaction to the sound.
Simon opened the envelope and the rest of the containers. He held up a cookie.
“Human-flavored cookies?” He sounded pleased.
Nathan pricked his ears and said, “Arroooo?”
What little color Jerry’s face had regained drained away again.
Meg looked at the papers. “The people-shaped ones have chamomile. They’re soothing.”
“Soothing?” A thread of something dark and menacing in Simon’s voice.
“Chamomile tea is soothing,” Meg said, looking at the rest of the information the bakery had sent. “I like to drink it in the evening.”
Simon studied her. “You do?”
“Yes.” She peeked in the containers. “Okay, the cow-shaped cookies have beef stock for flavoring. The bars have honey. Henry might like to try one of those. The . . . what is that?”
“Turkey,” Jerry and Simon said.
“That’s the poultry-flavored cookies. And the people-shaped are chamomile. The bakery is asking for feedback on taste and texture.” Meg went through the papers again, then looked at Jerry. “I don’t see an invoice.”
“These are the samples to see if we can produce what you were looking for,” Jerry said. “After that, you can talk to Mary and Claire about the size of the orders and price and such.” He looked at Simon. “And Steve will need to talk to you about how to increase the island’s allowance for the ingredients.”
“Let’s see how this goes, and then I’ll talk to him,” Simon said.
“No.” When they looked at her, Meg pointed at the front door. The three juveniles were back—and the crunching sound inside the office had stopped. “Can we have a rule that you can’t use howling as a form of coercion?”
Simon stared at the juveniles, who immediately looked more subdued. Then he turned to Meg. “If they’re annoying you, just bite them on the nose.”
Jerry coughed.
Meg sighed. “I don’t think that will work for me.” Pulling out her clipboard and pen, she wrote down the information for Sledgeman’s Freight and tucked the business card Jerry gave her under the clip.
“You have a minute?” Simon asked Jerry.
“Sure,” Jerry replied. He brushed his cap again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Corbyn.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Simon. “Am I allowed to lift things yet?”
“No,” he said at the same time Nathan sprang to his feet.
She thought that would be the answer. “Then you bring the cookies into the sorting room.”
“Why?”
“So I can sort them.” If the containers weren’t in the room that was mostly off-limits to everyone else, the floor of the front room would be littered with cookies and Wolves in minutes. Not that she would say that to the dominant Wolf—especially with a human present.
He must have known why she wanted the containers brought in because he grumbled, “I want to try some of these.”
“I??
?ll make up sample packages. If we’re going to order fresh-made cookies, I need to know what flavors are preferred and how many Wolves want which kind.”
He stared at the containers. “How long can these last?”
Meg shrugged. “I think I saw something in the paperwork about being able to freeze them. They won’t last as long as the dog cookies I’d ordered from Pet Palace, but they should last a few days. Why?”
He whined softly. “There’s going to be a gathering here in a couple of days. I’d like to have some of these for that.”
A gathering that made Simon uneasy? But wouldn’t he have been the one to issue the invitations? “I’ll put aside enough for your meeting.”
Returning to the front room, he vaulted over the counter and walked out with Jerry Sledgeman.
“What kind of meeting is he having here?” she whispered to herself.
Her back was suddenly filled with that pins-and-needles feeling that indicated the answer could be found in prophecy. Gritting her teeth, she waited until the feeling faded. Then she called a couple of the Market Square stores to find the small containers she wanted.
• • •
Steve watched another busload of children head down to the dock.
Moments after he had that uneasy feeling, the grade school and high school principals and the owners of the two day-care centers on the mainland side of Ferryman’s Landing called because they, too, suddenly had a bad feeling. Then his aunt Lu called to say she was getting her boat ready for anything he needed. Then his parents called to tell him they were bringing the barge across ahead of its usual schedule. Then Roger Czerneda drove up in Great Island’s new official black-and-white patrol car with its flashing lights and sirens. The other vehicles they used for police business were ordinary cars with regular horns and bubble lights that could be stuck to the roofs. Funny thing. All but one of those cars were also on the mainland side of the river that morning.
Something’s coming, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck. Hide the children.
There wasn’t any debate about where to hide them. Everything he’d been told lately indicated that the island was the only place. And just to be sure, the ferry and barge weren’t giving passage to anyone who wasn’t a resident of the village.