Chương 6: Chapter 5 - The Grave Man

At sunset I was sitting at the edge of some kind of wetland and wondering if Mayor Gladwyn would have called it a swamp or a bayou. It looked like a swamp to me. The tall trees had thick wavy trunks, and every branch was hung with moss. Scum and tiny green plants settled at the edges of the water, bobbing gently whenever a breeze rippled the surface. In the open water, the reflection of the trees and the sunset's reds and yellows were returned in dingier hues.

Everything seemed peaceful and motionless, but from the corner of my eye, I could sense small movements. A flutter. A dart. A sweep. It was always gone by the time I turned my head. It wasn't long before I stopped trying to catch the swamp at its game and let it dance around me, just out of sight. The place was dense with noise. I could hear crickets and make out the rustling of the water—sloshes, plops, and drips.

I thought there was some kind of owl as well—not because I had any naturalist wisdom, but because it actually made a "who" sound, like you were taught they would as a child. It was breathier than I expected, but otherwise recognizable, so either it was an owl, or some lonely ghost was out there, trying to convince me there was an owl. There were other noises as well. Chirps and clicks. Low, loud grunts. I couldn't identify any of them. I couldn't even tell what direction to look in.

Like the movements, they seemed to come from the swamp itself, hiding its aliveness around me. The sounds were too alien to fade into ambiance, but they seemed so innate to the scene, it felt like I was surrounded by another type of quiet. I shivered and pulled the edges of my hoodie closer. It wasn't cold, but I could feel the chill of the air and the hint of moisture on my cheeks. A soft breeze carried the wet, lush, green smell of the swamp to my nose. I'd assumed that a swamp would smell like decay. It didn't.

It smelled like life—something like the forest back at the Noctis mansion, only… duskier.

"Life in the shadows, maybe?" I muttered. Conrad, who was sitting beside me, tilted his head to glance at me.

"What do you think?" I said.

"You can smell it better than I can." He looked back out at the swamp without saying anything. He wasn't being rude or mysterious. He was in his wolf form, so he couldn't have answered if he'd wanted to, but his temporary muteness didn't stop me from enjoying our conversation. When I leaned over to bump my shoulder against his shoulder, the edge of my boot smeared a clump of mud by an inch. And I was sitting on the "dry" ground.

"So what do you think of your first-ever swamp?" I said.

"Or bayou. Or whatever the heck this is." His ears twitched back, but only for a second. His expression didn't change at all. There was a calmness there, as well as a subtle alertness.

"Yeah. It's pretty. And peaceful." I let my gaze rest on the water.

"In an eerie kind of way." I scooted toward him. If anybody asked, it was a selfish bid for body heat, and not because the eeriness was starting to get to me. I glanced at my phone.

"Seven-thirty. How much longer do you think we should give them?" Conrad gave me a look.

"I know," I said, "but Kappa's enjoying himself, and it's not like we know where we're supposed to go." We were a few yards off a back road, waiting at an old dock for our next ride to show up. They would take us through the preserve to the motel we'd be staying at. We'd been waiting there for two hours. The local Torr had sent an SUV with tinted back windows to take us from the airfield to the old dock.

Since the meeting spot was a few yards outside of the Sauvage Preserve, Conrad had to change into his wolf form in the car. The body-shy wolfman put me in the front seat and gave me strict orders to keep my eyes straight ahead. That worked—right up until Kappa had to ask for my help securing the rune wrap around Conrad's neck. Luckily, the wrap only had to be around his neck or wrist, so he'd already transformed into his four-legged alter ego, thus rendering all nudity acceptable. For some reason.

I thought it was silly, but I also make it a point not to argue with oversized wolves. When we arrived at the old dock, I went around to help Kappa out of his seatbelt. The moment I pulled him from the car, he lifted his nose into the air and started looking around. The swamp seemed to enchant him. It wasn't long before he launched a devious wiggle campaign to escape from my arms.

I fought him for as long as I could, but twenty minutes later, when we hadn't seen another soul and my arms had been reduced to limp noodles, I gave up. I extracted a solemn oath, on pain of no more tuna ever, that he would stay nearby and come when he was called, then I took off his raincoat and watched him slip into the water like a shadow disappearing into the dark.

He'd come back two or three times to burble an excited story about all the things he'd found and eaten, then he'd abruptly returned to the water, and all I'd see was his black eyes, bobbing along the surface. Watching him, I got the idea that he could be lost there in the same way you'd lose a leaf in the forest. I wanted to call him back, just to assure myself that he would come. I rubbed my forehead. One problem at a time, Emerra. Real ones first. Kappa getting lost in the swamp was only a possibility.

Our ride being two hours late was a fact.

"All right," I said.

"We'd better start figuring out what to do. If we wait until it's dark, there's less chance of us being seen. Do you think you could find the town? Or any town? I can call Big Jacky—" I stopped myself. Jack Noctis was famous for not answering his phone.

"I can call Iset," I said, "and get Mayor Gladwyn's number." I glanced at my phone again. No signal.

"They'd have cell reception in town, wouldn't they?" We could be in the most remote place on the planet—the end of the world, where maps were skewed and some scribe had written in a shaky hand Here Be Dragons— but if people lived there, there was bound to be coverage. At least, I sincerely hoped so. I stood up and turned to face the road. Not that I could see it. Not through all those trees. I went on, "I can handle a couple of hours of walking.

The luggage might be an issue, but if worse comes to worst, we can hide it by the side of the road and come back for it. Kappa should be getting sleepy in about an hour. We'll have him walk for as long as possible, then we can take turns giving him piggy-back rides." Conrad stood up, eyed the trees in the direction of the road, then eyed me, meaningfully.

"No! Iset told me to stay out of trouble! You can stay like that. I'll figure out how to tie Kappa to your back with my hoodie if I have to. Or would that hurt your back?" I never got his answer. His head suddenly craned over his back. His body straightened out behind him, and he was facing the water again. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of a motor coming from further out in the swamp. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Conrad and I walked over to stand beside the dock— not on it. Oh, geez. Definitely not on it. All that was left of the dock was an ancient, splintered, rotting mess of wood that was barely too organized to be mistaken for something that had been thrown in a pile. Even if it was strong enough to hold my weight, I wouldn't trust it. If I got a splinter, I would probably catch some mysterious disease where my toes turned purple and fell off. I thought about calling to the person in the boat but hesitated.

If they had come to fetch us, then they should know where we'd be. If they weren't there for us, I didn't know if it'd be a good idea to draw their attention. The fur on the back of Conrad's neck started to rise. My nerves took note and put me on high alert. I hoped that Kappa had found somewhere good to hide. A shallow-bottomed boat with a flat bow emerged from the trees.

There was probably an official name for the kind of boat it was, but based on nothing but the sound of the word, it looked like a "dinghy" to me. It had battered, unpainted aluminum sides with two benches spanning between them. Grimy military-green boxes were pushed up against the sides and rear of the boat, and smaller boxes were tucked under the benches. The boat was large enough to carry the driver— Driver? Does someone drive a boat? Oh! That's right. He was a skipper.

It was large enough to carry the skipper, the three of us, and our bags, but it would be a tight fit. The man in the boat shut off the motor and let the vessel drift toward me and Conrad. The dim light made it difficult to see, but the closer he got, the more I could make out. The first thing I noticed was the hair and the beard. They were both long, shaggy, and white.

The hair fell to his shoulders while the beard reached mid-chest, and it looked like the only trouble he took to groom them was to push them down with his hands. They blended into each other seamlessly, becoming one element: the hair. All you could see of his weathered face was his forehead, his nose, and a small patch of each cheek. His salt and pepper eyebrows sat low over his eyes. The skin around his cheeks and eyes were covered in wrinkles, and none of them were smile lines.

He wore loose jeans and a heavy olive-green corduroy shirt he used as a jacket. Its sleeves were frayed. His boots were so old that the soles had been worn down to a quarter inch, and everything about him, from the way he sat, his hair, his clothes, and his eyes— especially his eyes—made him look somber and serious. Skipper was probably the wrong word. He didn't strike me as the kind of man who'd skip. He inspected me with those solemn eyes of his. I squirmed and wondered what he made of me.

We were still about ten feet apart when he slowly rose to his feet. One hand was in his pocket. The other was down by his side, holding something. There was no change in his expression, but I heard the quick double click that I recognized from the few cheesy westerns I'd seen. It was the sound of a hammer being pulled back on a revolver. It did not sound cheesy at all in real life. The hairs on my arms stood at attention. Beside me, Conrad's head and shoulders dropped by a full inch when he tensed.

The man said, his voice low and calm, "Mind tellin' me why you got a wolf with you?" It took only a split second for me to consider and discard the idea of trying to pass Conrad off as some kind of mutt. Whoever this man was, he wasn't the kind of person you lied to.

"He's my guardian, sir," I said.

"He dangerous?"

"Sometimes. Not now."

"Why not now?"

"Because he hasn't been provoked." We stood there, watching each other, for what felt like a year. Me, standing on the bank, trembling. Him, unconsciously shifting his weight to match the rocking of his boat. He uncocked his gun, pulled the side of his shirt-jacket back, and slid the revolver into a holster secured to his chest.

"Sounds like a reasonable creature." I let out a slow breath and tried to pat down the hairs on my arms. Conrad relaxed. The man said, "That Kohler boy got me on the radio a half hour ago." He had an accent similar to the mayor's, only there was nothing subtle about it. All his words seemed to roll over his tongue before dropping off his lips, half pronounced.

T's, d's, and b's, were ambiguous noises that I had to interpret by context, and "dat" didn't skulk around in shame—it completely and proudly replaced "that." He went on, "Told me that the preserve was going to have visitors. That you?" My mind said, A half hour ago? while my mouth said, "I expect so." He grunted.

"Best get you back to the motel then. Toss me your bags." I picked up Conrad's duffel and threw it over to him.

"We're going by boat?" The old man caught it and stowed it.

"You can wade or you can take a boat. The western bank is mostly dry, but we're a good two miles from that area. Only about a quarter of the rest of this place is dry this time of year, and none of it connects." I was clearly in the presence of an expert. As I threw him my bag, I said, "Sir, is this a swamp or a bayou?"

I hadn't been able to decide between a carry-on suitcase or a duffel bag like Conrad's, so I'd split the difference and bought a heavy canvas bag that was shaped like a carry-on but could be hauled like a suitcase, a backpack, or a messenger bag depending on which straps you favored. I liked it because it could take a beating and be tossed around with impunity. The man caught it with a grunt and set it on the bench in front of him.

"This here's swamp. Further south and east, flow starts pickin' up. You'd call that a bayou." He grabbed my bag's handle and stowed it beside Conrad's duffel. Last came Kappa's backpack. The man nodded to Conrad.

"Can it make the jump?"

"Easier than I can. Let him know when you're ready."

"Hold a minute." The man pulled out a long pole and pushed the boat closer to the dock. He took a rope and threw it over one of the rotting upright dock supports. I would have sworn that all he did was wrap it around a few times, but when he was done, the rope was holding itself in some kind of knot. He grabbed onto the pole and scooted to the far side of the boat.

"Ready," he said. Conrad took two loping strides, then jumped and landed in the boat. It rocked so much that the water came over the shallow sides. The two passengers eyed each other, sizing one another up. It took a while. Even in his wolf form, Conrad was big, so there was a lot to size. The man turned back to me. I tried to gauge the distance between me and the boat. It appeared to be roughly two miles, and it was growing by the second.

"Um," I said, "is there anything…dangerous…in the water?" The man shrugged.

"Not a lot of snakes around here right now, but some. Got water moccasins in this area. Gators are around too. Don't know if there are any nearby."

"But you'd know, wouldn't you?" Really, what was the point of an expert if he couldn't tell me if I was going to be dragged to my doom? He shrugged again. Conrad dipped his head to try to hide his smile. Right. Snakes and alligators. I decided to risk using the dock. I crept along the rotted boards, thinking feather thoughts and trying to move as fast as I could without losing my balance. The man reached out to take my arm as I hopped into the boat.

I grabbed onto his shirt with my free hand to help steady myself, only to discover that, when it came to boats, there was no such thing as steady.

"First time on the water?" he asked. I swallowed and took a deep breath.

"Yeah." He nodded to me.

"You shave your head?"

"It was chemo." Then, despite my nerves, the hordes of alligators and snakes hiding in the shadows, and the fact that I was facing the world's most serious old man, I grinned.

"But I think I'll try to grow my hair out like yours." He didn't smile—I could tell that much—but the line of his mustache flattened out some.

"Might take some time." I felt my nose wrinkle when I tried to keep my face stern.

"The beard alone would be worth it. I'm Emerra Cole, by the way. The fluffy one is Conrad Bauer."

"Daniel Vance. I'm the grave man." Yep, I thought, that fits. I released his arm and plopped onto the nearest bench before I could fall over and hurt myself. Conrad climbed over the bench to get to me and sat in the bottom of the boat with his side pressed up against the side of my leg. He felt reassuringly solid. Hang on a second… I looked up at Mr. Vance.

"Um, excuse me, but when you say that you're 'the grave man' do you mean that you're a gravedigger or something?"

"You don't dig graves around here," Vance said.

"They don't last. Fort Rive hired me to take care of the grounds." Fort Rive. That was the name of the town outside the Sauvage Preserve. Vance continued, "I take care of the yards outside the town hall and patrol the edge of the preserve, but the townsfolk mostly see me taking care of the graveyard by the old church, so they call me the grave man."

"If the graveyard is by the church, isn't the church supposed to take care of it?"

"That church is gone. Died out…" He paused to calculate, then grunted and let his face relax.

"Too long ago. Maybe a century. Maybe longer. But the graves are still there, and someone has to look after them." He turned his head and ran his eyes over the bank of the swamp.

"I was told there'd be three of you. Even counting your wolf, we're one shy." Ah. Yes. The moment had arrived. Fleeting memories of Mayor Gladwyn saying "that thing" echoed in my head along with the sound of a revolver being cocked. But as Ms. Elstein had told me—many times—sometimes the only way out is through. I cleared my throat and turned my head.

"Kappa." For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then the water beside the boat parted and fell away from the two webbed hands rising to grab the edge. Kappa pulled himself out of the water and perched on the rim of the boat. He stared at Vance, his little body hunched over itself, the fin on the top of his head pulled halfway down, and the water on his skin glistening in the last of the light.

"Well now." Vance sat down on the second bench. He closed one eye and pointed a lazy finger at Kappa.

"I don't think I've met you."