Pears and Perils Page 8

  “That’s ridiculous! We failed because our gear was destroyed in the storm that you sent us into!” Dustin was growing red in the face while Justin watched calmly.

  “Correction: you sent yourself into it. You were hired as independent contractors. That means production of footage, as well as personal safety measures, were all on your head. So far as Camelot Burgers is concerned, all you did was take a plane ticket and a hotel lodging while providing us with nothing in return.”

  “Why, you son of a bit-”

  “Shut up.” Justin cut his brother off before Dustin’s rage could reach a crescendo. “I assume you have something else to tell us, otherwise you’d have let the lawyers relay this message.”

  Lawrence adjusted his regard of the quieter Goodwin brother. He’d taken him for shy at the outset, but it seemed he was merely smart enough to know when to stay silent. That made him both more useful and more dangerous.

  “I have a new job for you: one that pays high enough to take care of your lost cameras and cover your initial fee. This, like the other, is performance-based. No delivery, no compensation, pure and simple.”

  “Why should we trust you when you’ve already screwed us once?” Dustin snapped.

  “One, I didn’t screw you; you screwed yourself through poor observation of fine print. Two, given the cost of such powerful cameras and the relatively low liquidity of your company’s assets, I seem to be your best option by far.”

  Justin leaned forward on his couch and met Lawrence’s eyes, a feat few men had managed more than once. “I dislike that you know about our business. I dislike that you have backed us into a corner. I sincerely dislike the attitude with which you’ve come to us. All of that said, I have to agree that your offer is the best option before us so far. Now, let’s hear the details and I’ll tell you if we’re in.”

  “Double the agreed-upon fee and reimbursement of full retail cost to replace every piece of equipment damaged in the electrical storm.”

  Dustin snickered. “Sure, and who do we have to kill for that kind of money?”

  “If it were just murder the price would be far lower. No, what you have to do has the potential of being a bit more complex.” Lawrence didn’t lean forward, didn’t shift his position, didn’t make any overt alternations to his facial expression. None the less, Justin found his courage suddenly wavering and he looked away from the older man’s eyes. Something in those eyes had changed, and it elevated the stare to a level Justin couldn’t handle.

  “You two have been charged with the important task of bringing me a pear.”

  “That’s it? There are, like, ten in the welcome basket; take your pick,” Dustin offered.

  Lawrence shook his head. “Let me explain. This is a very special pear.”

  * * *

  “Fucksocks!” Thunder yelled from the bed of the pickup as a particularly violent bump sent him and Clint airborne. April and Falcon were squished into the cab of the rust machine with Mano and the cat. Since there wasn’t enough room for everyone, it was decided that the women and the driver were the logical choices for the safer seating. Clint was beginning to regret the chivalry as they bounced and bounded along the winding road.

  Wheeeee!

  Kodiwandae was somewhat less concerned, the exhilaration at such rapid movements overtaking any sense of fear he might have absorbed from Clint. In a strange way it was comforting; the mere idea of a god squealing with joy at a bouncing ride was so bizarre it made the whole experience seem surreal. This worked out, because if there was one time Clint needed a little distance from reality, this would be it.

  If the road had been dangerous in a passenger bus and by the light of the sun, then climbing it in a nearly-dead truck at night was as suicidal as an antifreeze-chugging competition. Whether it was by blind luck, Mano’s driving skill, or divine intervention, they were making progress inch by terrifying inch.

  Convincing Mano had actually been the first easy thing they’d dealt with all day. After hearing Kodiwandae’s voice, he’d given a courteous nod, started the engine, and motioned for them to pile in.

  On the way, April had been explaining the events leading up to their meeting, to which Mano was dutifully listening and answering with an occasional “Uh huh.” If she was expecting resistance, she didn’t find any. Mano simply absorbed what he was being told and kept his eyes on the road. It wasn’t that he was particularly gullible or stupid; it was simply that Mano was a good judge of character with an open mind. The tight-wound girl clearly wasn’t lying, so maybe they really had freed Kodiwandae. Mano had made friends with a shark using half a cheap beer: he wasn’t one to start lecturing people about the impossible.

  “I think I might be sick,” Clint said as they took a tight curve, throwing he and Thunder to the other side of the truck’s bed.

  “Pukers go starboard, por favor.”

  I forbid you from such an act while I am here. It seems unpleasant.

  “I don’t get much say in the matter.”

  “Dude, you can still take aim.”

  “No, sorry, Thunder, not you. I’ll try to go over the side. I was taking to Kodiwandae.”

  “Ohhh; you should put a finger on the forehead when you’re doing inner chatter. Then we’d be copacetic.”

  “That’s actually a good idea. I’ll start doing that when I can use my hands again.” The extremities in question were currently coiled around the lip of the bed in a white-knuckled grip to hang on.

  “Word.” Thunder’s hands were a mirror image of Clint’s.

  The truck kept bounding along, meeting various obstacles and hurtling past them by the sheer gift of knowing it would fall apart soon anyway, and if some silly tree wanted to get in its way then that just meant company on the journey to the object afterlife. There’s a power in genuinely not giving a fuck, one that extends to the sentient and inanimate alike.

  At last, after several close calls including a low hanging branch that Clint would swear took a few inches off his hair, the truck burst forth into the familiar clearing.

  Clint and Thunder dropped onto the moonlit grass and panted, physically and mentally exhausted from the ordeal of living through the drive.

  “Thank God we’re alive,” Clint mumbled.

  You’re welcome.

  “Funny; real funny. Let’s get on with this.”

  Clint pulled himself up and looked over at the tree. The others unloaded from the cab and gazed at it too, the light from the stars twinkling through the branches and falling upon the stone altar and the pool of water in its basin. The rock was still there, too, a dark spot in an otherwise silvery surface. They could see it with perfect clarity, because there was nothing on top of it to obscure their vision. No pear, save for the ones still swaying softly on the limbs.

  “Fucksocks,” Clint swore.

  11.

  Sprinkles stared out across his island from atop the hill which had once imprisoned Kodiwandae. The humans were still by the altar, bickering about what to do next. They would scramble back and forth from idea to idea like rats climbing a rolling cheese wheel. Sprinkles had never understood the decision making process of non-feline creatures. For him, it was simple: you laid out the facts and reached the appropriate conclusion. That’s what he was doing as he watched the trees waving in the wind, greeting their hilltop king as he watched over them.

  Sprinkles had to accept that the dilemma these humans currently faced was his fault. Had he not been present, Kodiwandae would not be romping about in one of their minds. Sprinkles hadn’t known that at the time, but it didn’t excuse him. They would likely blunder about without his assistance; look at how inept they’d proven at even getting here. Recovering the pear was going to be much harder; Sprinkles could already sense that it was no longer on his island. He could feel the direction it had wandered off in, though; once he’d gotten to the site he’d picked up the trail. The pear was already some distance away, past the edge of his kingdom. Sprinkles was under no delusions. This chase wo
uld likely take him away from the island. He liked the island: it was warm and pleasant and the people showed him the proper respect.

  Still, Sprinkles was not only a cat and a godling, nor was he merely some icon for the people to bow to. Sprinkles was a King, and as King, he felt the weight of responsibility for his people and his actions. He’d caused this to happen to guests on his island. He would do whatever it required to set things right. That was the burden of the crown.

  The dark cat rose from his sitting position and took one last glance at the land below. He had not left his island for a very long time. Perhaps it would be a good thing. Cats are ill-equipped to shrug, but Sprinkles was not only a cat, so shrug he did. His choice was made; all that remained was to see what came of it. He turned and began heading back to the five humans and the one impotent god.

  * * *

  “Maybe we can draw it out and trap it in a gourd,” April ventured.

  “No one is putting me in a damned gourd! If I’m going to be stuck, I’ll take a prison cell that can at least drink away its troubles.”

  “Plus, I’m pretty sure that’s a different mythology,” Falcon pointed out.

  “Perhaps we can appeal to another of the gods to help,” Mano suggested.

  “Are you kidding? Look, this is embarrassing enough. For my kind, being powerless is the equivalent of you shitting your pants at a wedding. It’s the sort of shame you never live down.”

  “All of the islanders know the story of Kodiwandae,” Mano said.

  “Yes, but that’s just humans. I can always show up and deny it, say I went on a good bender with some mountain gods for a few centuries.”

  “No way that’ll fly, bro; they’ll know you’re all up in liar town.” Thunder was lounging on the grass, looking at the stars, the least wound up of all of them at the moment.

  “Well, of course they’ll know. They won’t be able to prove it, though, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “So what, you’re just going to knock around in my brain until I die and then float around freely?” Clint asked.

  “Might as well.”

  “That’s insane; how is being trapped better than asking some other god for help?”

  “You don’t really grasp the timeline of immortals. We have the advantage of being able to wait out most problems. Sooner or later, there will be a solution.”

  “Maybe for you, but Clint spends the rest of his life with a mental hitchhiker,” April said.

  “Look, you’re the ones who did the ceremony and forgot to pick up the pear. This is hardly my fault.”

  “No one told us about grabbing the pear,” Falcon said. “Kaia left out any mention of needing it after the ceremony was done.”

  “Then be mad at this Kaia woman.”

  “I think there’s enough blame to go around,” Clint mumbled,

  Sprinkles did not mew to announce his presence as he re-joined the group. Such things were unnecessary. His presence announced itself more effectively than any minor yelp could ever dare hope to. He slipped between them, the towering legs supporting unsure minds, gliding like the fog over to Clint’s side. Sprinkles took a seat and waited. He didn’t have to wait for long.

  “The cat knows where the pear is heading.”

  “The cat? How the hell does the cat know?” April asked.

  “Well, he is the King of Kenowai,” Mano said.

  “Oh yeah, one of the bartenderinos mentioned there was a royal kitty running around,” Thunder recalled.

  “Your people have a fascinating system of rulership,” Falcon observed, trying as best she could to phrase it complimentarily.

  “Actually, we have a governor we elect every three years. The whole ‘King of Kenowai’ thing is just a running joke among the islanders.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life. I’m positive that cat is the one we call the King.”

  “It is. I just meant it wasn’t a joke.”

  “So the cat is actually the ruler of the island?” Even Falcon sounded a bit dubious now.

  “In that it manages daily bureaucracy? No. But it does keep the island running smoothly, and right now it wants to help us.”

  “I thought you said minds were too messy to read,” Clint accused. “Plus, I have to be touching someone for you to peek in their brain.”

  “Human minds are; animals are another story. Besides, the cat is special.”

  “It is?” Clint sounded dubious.

  “I haven’t met too many animals that were royalty,” Falcon pointed out.

  “That, too.”

  Clint contemplated objecting, then realized he’d come this far into the land of insanity - he may as well stamp his passport and accept his citizenship. “Okay, so the cat can lead us to the pear. How do we get him to start?”

  On cue, Sprinkles rose from the ground and ambled over to the beat up truck, nearly forgotten in the rush of panic. He climbed through the open door and across the threadbare seat, leaping up onto the dashboard and settling in. With minimal movement, the golden tip of his tail swung forward, pointing toward the east end of the island, the opposite side from where they had come from.

  “Kitters is a pointer,” Thunder surmised, leaping into the bed of the truck without even a hint of fear despite the experience he’d endured less than an hour ago.

  “This feels too easy,” Clint said.

  Think of it this way: finding the pear is only half the battle. We still have to get it away from whoever knew enough to take it.

  Clint stuck his index and middle finger to his forehead. “I guess that’s a fair point.”

  “Who are you saluting?” April asked.

  “No one; this is my way of saying I’m talking to Kodiwandae so you guys don’t get confused. It was Thunder’s idea.”

  “It’s like the siggie you use when you’re getting chatty out of character mid-game,” Thunder called from the truck.

  “Wait, what?” Clint stared at the man in the pink polo, uncertain he’d heard correctly.

  “Nothin’, bro, don’t worry about it. Let’s vamoose!”

  “We’re so sorry to impose on your generosity, but would you mind taking us a bit farther?” Falcon said, her old hippie eyes opened extra wide as she asked Mano. The tan man gave her a smile.

  “You have the god and the King of my island with you. It is an honor to drive you wherever you need to go.”

  Mano meant it, too, or at least he did if any of this was true. If it wasn’t, then these people were bat-shit crazy and the last thing he wanted to do was piss them off. Alone. In the woods. In the middle of the night. Without having told anyone where he was going. Had Kodiwandae been in full possession of his abilities, he would have felt Mano drop a prayer in his direction as the true weight of the situation fell upon those muscular shoulders. There was nothing to do but press on, though, so Mano pulled the keys from his pocket and sat behind the wheel.

  “I’m sure we’ll find the pear and help you regain your glory,” Falcon said before getting into the cab.

  “Plus, we’ll get rid of your little squatter,” April tossed in, giving Clint a warm smile. It might very well have been the first non-measured thing he’d seen her do since their meeting. He didn’t know if that made it more encouraging or depressing.

  Squatter? You mortals have really let your understanding of respect slip since I’ve been gone.

  “I’m sure she meant it in the nicest possible way.”

  Oh, well, in that case I suppose I can let it slide.

  Clint couldn’t really tell if Kodiwandae didn’t get sarcasm or was just screwing with him, so he let the question fall out of his mind. He walked over and climbed into the bed, bracing himself for another jarring journey. He wondered what happened if you died in a car crash while shuttling a god around. Maybe there was some special consideration for that scenario in the afterlife.

  Clint almost smacked himself on the forehead. The afterlife! And why they were here, and why bad thin
gs happened to good people, and every other impossible question he’d ever faced. He’d been so stuck on the downside of his situation that Clint hadn’t stopped long enough to realize that he was plugged in to someone who could give him answers to the unanswerable questions mankind faced.

  His face twisted into a very un-Clint-like smirk. So Kodiwandae wanted their help in returning him to power. He wanted to ride around in Clint’s head. He wanted them to go on some insane goose chase for a pear. Fine, fine to all of it. But Kodiwandae was about to start paying some rent.

  * * *

  The boat captain was uncomfortable with his new passengers. It could be the way they seemed to communicate without words, or how their eyes said quite plainly that everything they saw was beneath them. It especially might have been the way they’d simply walked up to him, held out a stack of bills, and told him where to go. In his experience, these sorts of enterprises almost always involved drug deals or body disposal, though he was fine with either so long as the body in question wasn’t his. These were the odd jobs one had to take in a tourist-driven economy. Sometimes people wanted to go watch dolphins swim among the waves, other times they just wanted to exchange cocaine for cash. The customer was always right.

  “I still think we should have searched around for her more,” Dustin whispered to his brother, their conversation concealed by the splashing sounds of the boat pushing through the water.

  “You heard the charter captain: a woman matching her description booked passage on the last ship of the day to Alendola.”

  “The description was just of a tall, pretty island woman who seemed completely wasted. Besides, why would she take the pear to a neighboring island instead of where the temple is?”

  “I don’t know, Dustin. If I did, I’d have a better idea of how to intercept her. She essentially has a doctorate in mythology, though; we have to face the possibility that she knows some use for the sealed power that we don’t. She was smart enough to grab it, after all.”

  Thunder’s camera had captured more than just Clint’s apparent electrocution. As the spiky-haired youth had rushed forward to help his lighting-injured friend, his video camera had continued rolling. It had captured video evidence of their immediate panic and calling for the driver, it had documented them loading the unconscious body into the bus, and in a few key frames, it had recorded a thin, tan woman removing a pear that seemed to be emitting a soft glow from the altar and then stuffing it into her backpack.