Chương 18: Chapter 17 - Gumbo

The sweet dream of not having to walk all the way back to the motel gave me a burst of energy. Conrad was still back in the trees when Vance caught sight of me waving my arms, trying to get his attention without having to wade back into the channel in front of me. There was a whole maze of them that seemed to crisscross the swamp without any logic to their layout. Conrad said it might have been roots or something that made it easier for the water to flow one way versus another, but I suspected malice.

One second you're wading along with the water up to your stomach, the next second you're over your head, your feet frantically churning up the mud below you. Vance saw me, turned off the engine, and used the rudder to direct his drifting boat toward me. Then Conrad made it out of the trees. Vance's eyes widened. His arm and leg twitched, but whatever his initial reaction had been, he stopped himself.

As his boat came closer and closer, he treated our small group to another one of his spine-torquingly tense inspections. At least he hadn't drawn his gun this time. He didn't say anything until the boat was close enough, he wouldn't have to raise his voice. He nodded to Conrad.

"You that wolf I met last night?"

"Yes, sir," Conrad said. Vance let out a grunt.

"Can't decide which version of you is worse." While he turned back to grab his pole, I shared a sly smile with the terrifying wolfman. With his back still to us, Vance called, "I've been looking for you."

"Why?" I asked.

"I stopped by that round house that the Davids woman keeps. Kohler told me that you ran off into the swamp, looking for your lurker." Vance dug the pole into the floor of the swamp and used it to stand up. He turned and looked at Kappa, still perched on Conrad's shoulders.

"I see you found him."

"We did," I said. The grave man turned his eyes to me.

"You shouldn't run off into the swamp unprepared. This place is dangerous." I grit my teeth. Unprepared? How could we have prepared for any of this? I forced my jaw to relax. That was not wise. Tension was the only reason I was still on my feet. Suddenly, it was all I could do to stand there.

"We didn't have a lot of choice," I grumbled.

"How long have you been out here?"

"All day." Vance leaned on his pole and watched me. His tremendous beard made it impossible to read his facial expression, but even if he'd been clean shaven, I probably couldn't have managed it.

"Can you give us a ride to the motel?" I asked.

"The motel is miles back," Vance said.

"I don't want to miss my dinner." I bit the inside of my lip so I wouldn't tear up. I was at the point of exhaustion where even a hint of frustration or disappointment was hard to bear.

"Come back with me to my house," Vance said.

"We'll get some food. Then I'll take you to the motel." My heart leapt, but when Conrad asked if his house was in the preserve, it sank like it had stepped into a muddy channel. Daniel Vance paused and looked up. Conrad said, "I'm not supposed to be outside of the preserve in this form." Vance considered him, then said, "Your name was Bauer?"

"Yes, sir," Conrad said.

"My back door opens right onto the preserve. If I bring you in that way, it'll be two steps from the swamp to my private property. It's a hundred days between visitors for me, but I'll close the curtains and lock the doors. What do you think? Is two steps too much risk?" Kappa smiled and patted Conrad's head with both hands. Conrad smiled too.

"No, sir. That'll be fine." I laughed. After having spent the day fighting alligators and slogging through the swamp, Vance's boat was no longer frightening to me. I hoisted myself over the side and flopped into it with all the grace of a hundred-pound fish trying to end it all. Conrad passed me Kappa, and then Kappa, Vance, and I moved over to the other side to act as counter weight while Conrad got in. Then we were off, buzzing over the surface of the swamp, the cool wind chilling my wet clothes.

Vance noticed me shivering. He yelled over the motor.

"There's a blanket in that box at your feet. You should wrap up. You spend enough time in the water, it doesn't feel too cold, but it'll sap the heat right out of you." Conrad helped me pull out the blanket, and I threw it over my shoulders. Kappa crawled into my lap so I could wrap him up too. The blanket was army green wool. It had smelled funky when we pulled it out, and it smelled even funkier after soaking up some of the water from my clothes. I was still grinning like an idiot.

Sometimes gratitude is all about context. Brodie was right. Vance's house was a shack. The ancient-looking one-story building was only big enough for one or two rooms. The shallow slope of the rusty metal roof squatted over wooden walls that were so weathered that only hints of their original color could be seen through the sun-bleached gray. The whole thing stood on stained stilts that were as weathered as the walls. Floating vegetation bobbed at the water lines where the longer stilts disappeared into the water.

As dilapidated as it was, it felt right. It looked like it belonged there. The green branches of the surrounding trees didn't look like they were consuming it; they looked like they were leaning on the building, as two comfortable friends would lean on each other. Through the back window, I could see a warm yellow light. As we drew close, Vance cut the engine and let the boat drift toward the small dock at the back of his property.

"You leave the light on?" Conrad asked.

"It brings me home," Vance said.

"It's kind of like the opposite of the eternal feu follet," I said. My tongue tumbled around the unfamiliar syllables.

"Heard about that, did ya?" Vance said.

"Did I say it right?"

"Wrong accent." My nose wrinkled as I bit back my laugh. Vance said, "Sauvage is a strange place. Strange places collect stories."

"Are any of them true?" I asked.

"All of them are true, to one degree or another." He looked thoughtful.

"And depending on what you mean by true." The side of the boat bumped into the dock with a gentle double thump. As Vance stood up, he added, "You don't get a story without a seed. Sometimes it comes from the circumstances. Sometimes it comes from the people. But it's always there." Kappa was the first out of the boat. I folded up the blanket and left it there before taking the hand Vance offered to help me out. Conrad got out as Vance finished securing his boat.

When that was done, Vance led us up the short dock to the small staircase that led to his back door. He opened the door, but before he could step inside, Kappa hopped past him to start sniffing around.

"Kappa," I yelled, "don't lick anything!" As Vance went inside, he said, "Has old Miss Durand seen you like that, Bauer?" I thought it was funny that Vance would call Olene Durand old when he probably had one or two decades on her, but I decided not to point it out. I wouldn't want to offend the man who decided how much dinner I got. My stomach growled at the first whiff of the strange smell of whatever he was cooking. The scent reminded me of chili, but I knew that couldn't be it.

Conrad glanced at me for clarification.

"She's the motel manager," I reminded him.

"No, sir," Conrad said. Vance stopped a few feet inside the door and turned to look at Conrad.

"You a shy one?" Conrad was shy enough that he didn't want to answer. Vance grunted.

"Can't blame you." He turned to a small side table by the door, removed the outer shirt he was using as a jacket, and hung it on a metal hook screwed straight into the wall. Then he took off the chest holster that held the cannon he was trying to pass off as a hand gun, and laid it on top of the side table.

"Miss Durand is one of those good old girls," he said as he turned to the rest of the room.

"She keeps her traditions. Catholic. If she sees you, she'll cross herself a time or two." He walked over to his kitchen. It only took up one half of the short wall. It consisted of a fridge, some cupboards and counters, a two-burner gas stove, the smallest oven I'd ever seen, and a sink. On the counter was a slow cooker. Kappa was hovering nearby on the floor, his raised nose quivering.

"There's a story about the swamp," Vance said, his voice suddenly deeper and slower.

"They say that a monster wanders around out there. He has the body of a man and the head of a wolf. They call him the 'rougarou.' He eats Catholics who don't follow the rules of Lent." Vance lifted the lid of the slow cooker. The scent of the food bloomed into a heavy, savory smell. Kappa stared up at Vance, his face full of wonder. I couldn't tell if it was the smell of the food or the story that had enchanted him. Vance's eyes moved over to Conrad as he reached behind the slow cooker for the stirring spoon.

"Do you eat Catholics, Mr. Bauer?" It was impossible for me to tell if Vance was joking or not, but the edge of Conrad's lips inched upward.

"No, sir," he said. Vance's lips pursed out for a second, almost far enough to emerge from the wilds of his beard.

"I guess that part of the story isn't true. What about gumbo? Do you eat that?"

"I never have before," Conrad nodded to the slow cooker, "but if that's what I'm smelling, I look forward to trying it." Vance looked down at Kappa.

"And what about you, Blue Boy? I think you can eat this." He put all the fingertips of one hand together and touched them to his lips.

"You hungry?" The two-foot glutton bounced as he cried, "Yes!" Vance's surprise manifested as a half-second of stillness broken by a rough huh sound.

"Four bowls then." Vance reached up to his cupboard. He was an old man who lived alone and cooked for himself. I didn't want to belittle his hospitality (and I really wanted to try whatever gumbo was), but I felt bad about imposing on him.

"Are you sure there'll be enough? It's just, I don't—" Vance interrupted my stammering: "Whenever you make gumbo, always make the largest batch you can. That's my tradition. Damn near my religion. We'll have enough. You can get the bread out of the cupboard." The bread was a white loaf of Wonder. He didn't have butter, and his margarine was the cheapest stuff to be found. The table was worn and rickety. It still had the coffee ring from that morning.

None of the chairs matched, Kappa had to sit on my lap, and Vance didn't bother setting out the dishes before we sat down. We passed them around while Vance served us. Igor would have been appalled, but there was something comforting about it. It felt honest. And homey. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. And even Igor would've been forced to admit that the gumbo was prize-winning delicious.

Kappa didn't think much of the sauce, but he picked out the chicken, sausage, fish, and shrimp, and noshed on them while Conrad and I listened to Vance tell us more legends about the swamp. He used that lower, slower voice whenever he was reciting a story, but once the commentary began, he bounced back to his natural tone.

"They say that there's a crazy old man that made his home in the swamp," he intoned.

"He had a mind so twisted, the maze of the trees meant nothing to him, and he knew everything about the swamp. Strange and spooky things followed in his wake. If you ever saw him, you'd be wise to jump aside and cross yourself. And if you're ever lost in the swamp and happen to find his home, turn and walk away. The swamp's indifference offers more hope than that cursed place." Kappa paused with a shrimp tail still sticking out of his mouth. The fins on his head eased back.

I was leaning as far forward as I could without crushing Kappa.

"What happens if you go in?" I whispered. I had to whisper. There's little difference between creepy swamp legends and a standard ghost story, and there are rules one must obey. Vance droned on, his voice so low it was mesmerizing, "Some say that he eats you, biting down on your bones until they crack, singing along with your cries of pain like it's dinner music. Others say you're lucky if all he does is eat you." Vance shrugged, and suddenly his voice was back to normal.

"That's a favorite with the children." He stood up and walked over to his fridge.

"They've been telling and embellishing that one for so long it's almost history."

"Any idea when the story got started?" Conrad asked. Vance opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. The margarine may have been cheap, but the beer was a good bottled brand. He held it up and motioned to Conrad and I with it while raising his eyebrows. Conrad accepted the unspoken offer with a please, but I shook my head. Vance grabbed a second bottle, picked up his bottle opener from the nearby counter, and returned to the table.

"I couldn't tell you," he said as he sat down, "but my grandpap told me that story when I was a boy, and he said he heard it from his grandpap." He passed Conrad one of the beers, then opened his own with a fast, practiced motion. He was about to pass the bottle opener to Conrad, but Conrad had already clawed off the cap. Vance shrugged and dropped the opener on the table.

"And what part of that story is true?" I asked, hoping with all my heart it wasn't the part about the crazy old man singing along with your screams. Vance took a long drink before he answered.

"I think it's me."

"You?"

"A crazy old man that lives in the swamp." He looked at Kappa.

"Strange things follow me." A slow smile spread over Kappa's face. Vance finished with, "I'd say that fits well enough."

"But that story's older than you are," Conrad pointed out. Vance took another swallow.

"There's always some crazy old man living around here. Before me was Old Man Stacks. After me, I think it might be that Kohler boy."

"Brodie?" I said. Vance looked up at a corner of his ceiling. His eyes narrowed.

"I think he's the right kind of crazy. We'll see what the swamp wants to do with him." I thought about Brodie saying that he felt like the swamp called to him and smiled. Maybe he was the right kind of crazy.

"What about the feu follet?" I said.

"What's true about that story?" Vance's brows pulled down. I had to assume he was scowling, but it was hard to tell with his beard and his beer hiding what little I could see of his mouth.

"Can't speak to that one," he said.

"I've never seen them."

"Never?" Conrad said. I remembered what Brodie had told me.

"Only some people can see them. They choose you." Vance nodded to me.

"That's right. That's the story." He leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Maybe they don't bother with me because I can get plenty lost without them. The swamp is disorienting. Whenever I get turned around, I have to call on the lurkers. They're the only ones that always know where they are." He motioned to Kappa with his beer—a one-sided toast to acknowledge his respect. Kappa grinned and bounced on my lap.

"So the lights don't exist?" Conrad asked.

"I wouldn't be too quick to say that," Vance said.

"There's a word for them everywhere in the world, and that Kohler boy was telling me that scientists have decided it's swamp gas decomposing or some such. Natural lights. Like fireflies." He took another swallow.

"Over the years, scores of people have gotten lost out here, swearing they were chasing the lights. How much is true, and how much is an excuse?" He shrugged.

"I've read that will-o'-the-wisps lead you out into the deepest part of the moor and drown you," I said.

"Blood-thirsty little bastards," Vance said—as if he hadn't just been telling me about a musically inclined cannibal that ate his victims alive.

"Ours aren't that mean."

"No one's died out here?" Conrad asked.

"Not that I know. It's possible one or two people have gone missing out here and never come home, but not many, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was none. The lurkers won't allow it. Whenever they find someone out in the swamp who isn't supposed to be there, they come get me."

"You must work with the lurkers a lot," Conrad said. Maybe I was hearing things, but Conrad sounded thoughtful. Vance drank the last of his beer and placed the bottle on the table with a grunt.

"It's against the rules, but I don't think much of those rules. I don't think the people who made them knew anything about the swamp or the lurkers."

"What rules?" I asked. Mayor Gladwyn had mentioned something about how Ayla was supposed to limit her contact with the lurkers, but he hadn't said anything about rules. Even worse, he hadn't mentioned whether or not those rules applied to us, and what, if any, punishments might be handed down for breaking them. Vance eyed me for a long time. I tried to look innocent and confused—which was easy since that's exactly what I was. Vance must have decided I wasn't a Torr agent out to trap him into a confession.

Either that, or he didn't care. He leaned forward and put his elbow on the table.

"They give you a contract four pages long, small print, but I can sum it up for you." He raised his index finger.

"Take nothing out of the swamp, leave nothing there." He raised his middle finger.

"Don't interact with the lurkers."

"You trade with them," Conrad said softly. He put down his beer bottle.

"You taught them how to test the water."

"They're my friends. Knowing them has done a world of good—might have saved a few lives—and as far as I can tell, it's done no harm. Besides, I'd like to see what those rule lawyers would do if one of the lurkers came up and started teaching them how to sign." Conrad inclined his head toward me.

"I think we found the bracelet man." I stared, wide eyed, at Vance. The surprise almost instantly disappeared, replaced by a whooshing feeling of "why didn't I think of that!" It made so much sense that I knew it was true before I could summon up the reasons to explain it. There were only a few people allowed in the swamp, and of those people he was, by far, the most likely to know the lurkers well enough that they would consider relying on him. And they did rely on him!

They usually went to get him when they needed help.

"You can communicate with them!" I blurted.

"That's what connects you to them!" I held up my hands, palms toward him, put my palms together, then held them out again. Vance's bushy brows had sunk low over his eyes when he heard Conrad's comment, and they stayed low as his eyes went from my face, to my hands, back to my face.

"That's the sign for signing," he said. That left only two questions. One—if the lurkers trusted him enough to routinely ask for his help, what intrinsic trait barred him from helping them now? And two—"Why do they call you the bracelet man?" I asked.

"Didn't know they did," Vance said.

"That must be a recent change. They used to call me the boat man. Then the sign man. Then this—" He curled his right hand as if he was holding something vertical, cupped the bottom of his fist with his left hand, then jerked both up and back. The moment I saw it, I knew what the motion meant and laughed.

"They called you the gun man?"

"There was an ornery old female alligator out in the swamp two years back. She didn't like the fact I had some work to do near her nest. I had to give her a warning. The lurkers were mighty impressed with that."

"And the bracelet man?" Conrad asked.

"That must be the trackers," Vance said.

"I'm the one that gave them out. I tried to get them to wear it on their wrists, but they liked it better on their ankles, and Kohler said it didn't matter, so long as it was secured." Still grinning, I said, "And all you had to do was ask them?" Vance shook his head, as grave as anything.

"Only a fool would ask them. I let them persuade me to trade for them—and, boy, I made them work for every last one of them. I made-believe those trackers were the most precious things I'd ever carried. Next thing I knew, damn near every lurker in the preserve wanted one." There were probably stars in my eyes as I gazed, awed, at Daniel Vance. The man could cook, he had his own shack, and he was brilliant. It was a miracle he was still single.

"You're such a trendsetter," I said. Conrad asked, "Do you usually work with Miss Davids?" Vance's head jerked back when he let out a brief, loud huff from his nose.

"I don't have nothing to do with that woman if I can help it."

"Why?" I asked. Vance stood up and started gathering the dishes.

"Don't much like her." I fumbled around with my dishes in a vague and distracted attempt to help him.

"Is there a reason?"

"Too familiar for my tastes." Conrad got up to help Vance rinse the dishes. I stayed with Kappa. The two men worked in silence for a while, then Conrad said, "Do you know why Mayor Gladwyn brought us in to help?" My ears perked up. Conrad didn't go around talking to people casually. If he was saying anything, he was saying it on purpose because it mattered too much to ignore.

"I didn't even know he was the one that sent for you," Vance said.

"Have you noticed anything strange with the lurkers?" Conrad asked. Vance gave him an affirmative grunt.

"I've seen them out more lately. They don't come to trade as often. If I had to guess, I'd say they were upset." When he went to set down one of the bowls, he turned his head, and I caught a glimpse of his profile. His voice had sounded relaxed and flat, but a frown was pulling down the spot where his beard and his mustache blended together.

"Something's wrong," he muttered.

"I think they can sense it." Conrad paused. I understood his hesitation. Those two sentences didn't seem to belong together. Something was wrong, but the lurkers didn't have to sense it—they knew all about it.

"The lurkers have been going into town," Conrad said. Vance's frown deepened. He appeared to have a whopping total of two settings: grave and graver.

"Did Gladwyn bring you in to find out why?" Conrad nodded. Vance picked up the towel he'd left lying on his counter and wiped his hands. When he passed the towel to Conrad, he motioned with his head toward me and Kappa.

"Did Little Boy Blue help you talk to them?" Conrad ignored the question, probably because it was easier than trying to figure out how to answer it.

"The lurkers said that they were looking for something. An object. Do you have any idea what it could be?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"Communication was difficult." That was exhaustingly true. I tried to stop it from showing on my face. Vance shook his head.

"I don't know. It doesn't sound like them."

"They've never lost anything before?" Conrad asked.

"They've lost a million things—but it doesn't matter. They don't much care if they lose them. It's part of their way of life. They have to rebuild their home whenever the water gets too high. They shift their routes around the alligator nests each year. Their weapons break all the time. Their beds get built, torn down, and remade. It's a rhythm. Things come and go."

"So, you can't think of anything?"

"Not only can I not think of anything, but I can't imagine them building something that important to them." My heart sank. We were sitting with a man who probably knew them better than the experts who were trying to study them. If he couldn't figure out what it might be, how could we possibly hope to? Vance reached deep into the wilds of his beard to scratch his chin. When he spoke, it was in a mumble that made it sound like he was talking more to himself than to us.

"On the other hand…" Conrad's head jerked up at the same moment mine did. Even Kappa sat up. Vance looked from Conrad, to me, then shook his head. He wandered back to the table and picked up his beer bottle. As he went to pick up Conrad's, he raised his eyes to me.

"You say you're here to help?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"You with the Torr?" My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I didn't even know which corner of my brain I should be shooing them out of. How could I answer that question? No matter what I said, I'd be stretching the truth to get there, and Vance was looking at me in a way that made me feel like the truth needed to be presented to him whole and unstretched. I licked my lips.

"I offered to come."

"Why?" He was staring me right in the eyes too. The shabby lights made his face look like a Rembrandt portrait. The weight of his character and the years were etched into the shadow of each wrinkle. My mind went blank. Unfortunately, not once in my whole stupid life—either of them! —had that stopped my mouth from moving.

"Because I love Kappa." I heard my answer, flushed because of how stupid it sounded, chiseled my eyes away from Vance's, and stared at the coffee ring on the table instead. It seemed less likely to judge me. Kappa's hands tighten over one of the forearms I had wrapped around him. I saw Vance's shadow move as he straightened up and walked away from the table.

He was standing next to Conrad when he said, "I was only here a year when the lurkers told me there was a place in the swamp that they wanted me to stay away from. I was only supposed to patrol the perimeter of the swamp back in those days, so I didn't mind it much. But it always struck me as odd."

"How so?" Conrad asked.

"They were always careful to tell me if something was dangerous. It was one of the first signs they taught me. But they never told me the area was dangerous—only that they wanted me to stay away from it."

"Does the Torr allow you to go where you want in the swamp?"

"They do now. Never been there though. It seemed a small enough thing to keep in good standing with the lurkers."

"Would you mind if we went to check it out?" I raised my eyes in time to see Vance shrug.

"It's not sacrosanct. Kohler's been in there. He got turned around for a few hours and asked for a ride back to the yurt. If the lurkers don't want you there, they can tell you themselves."

"Do you have a map?" Conrad asked. Vance motioned for Conrad to follow him over to a shelf nailed to the far wall. He pulled out some rolled maps and passed them to the wolfman. They came back to the table. Vance had to unroll one or two of them before he found the correct one. Conrad held down two corners. I held down one, and Vance held down the last while using his free hand to gesture to the map. When Vance was done explaining where the area was and how we could find it, Conrad nodded and thanked him.

"You need a picture or anything?" Vance asked.

"No, but thank you," Conrad said as he rolled the map.

"I'm good with directions."

"Good enough you only need to see a map once to know where you're going and how to get home again?"

"Yes, sir." Conrad handed him the map. Vance glanced at me. I smiled.

"Yeah, no. He really is that good."

"All right." Vance's eyes narrowed as he looked out the window.

"It's about sunset. We should get you back to the motel before it gets dark." Disappointment tugged on my stomach. I was finally starting to feel warm and comfortable despite how tired I was. I didn't relish the idea of going back to our hideous motel room. I'd rather spend more time in the run-down shack.

"Is it bad to be out after dark?" I asked.

"Gators are more active at night." I shot to my feet while hoisting Kappa to my hip.

"Ready when you are, sir." Vance and Conrad made sure Kappa and I were wrapped up in the smelly green blanket before we took off. We didn't talk on the way back to the motel. It was easier than trying to yell over the sound of the motor. I enjoyed watching the colors and shades of the swamp shift and flow by me as the golden light faded from the sky. I was the first one out of the boat when we reached the motel's dock, but Vance called me back before I could head to our room.

He stooped and pulled something out from under a bench. By then it was dark enough that it looked like nothing but an ambiguous black shape. I only realized what it was when he put it in my hands. It was the plastic box we'd found that morning.

"How did you get this?" I asked.

"Kohler told me to give it to you," Vance said.

"He said you'd left it back at the building when you went running after your friend." I stood there, staring dumbly at the box in my hands. It felt as if someone had used an electric mixer to stir up all the thoughts that had been milling around my head.

"Rules, Miss Cole," Vance said as he pushed away from the dock with his pole.

"Take nothing out. Leave nothing there." He turned on the motor and puttered away.