The Order of Odd-Fish (24 page)

“I know you’ve been up to
something
shady,” said Ian. “I don’t want to be sucked into it.”

“Ian, just once,” said Dugan. “I’ll never ask you for anything again. I don’t want to get you involved, either, but considering who I’m working for, I don’t have a choice.”

Ian approached Dugan, his arms crossed. “Working for? Who are you working for?”

Dugan said, “Oona Looch.”

Jo had never heard the name
Oona Looch
before, but the words seemed to freeze the room with a dreadful electricity. Dugan kept his eyes on the ground, looking more bashful than Jo had ever seen him. Ian stood frozen in horrified surprise.

“Oh no, oh no,” Ian said finally, holding his hands up and backing away. “Dugan, what were you thinking? How could you be so
stupid
? Oona
Looch
? You’re working for
Oona Looch
?”

“Ian, don’t be so judgmental. We don’t have much time, listen to me!”

“
You
get in trouble because you think you’re invincible,
you
get in some mess and I have to clean it up for you, and
I’m
a prig,
I’m
judgmental, there’s something wrong with
me
?”

“So you’ll do it?” said Dugan hopefully.

Ian had been energized by his anger, but now he faltered and stuttered. Finally he said, “Yes. Okay. I’ll do it. God, Dugan…”

“Who’s Oona Looch?” said Jo.

Dugan said, “Oona Looch is a…well, you could say she’s a businesswoman…”

Ian cut in. “She’s a mafia boss. She’s the queen of the Eldritch City crime world!”

Dugan looked uncomfortable. “That’s a limited way of looking at it, Ian. Oona Looch has done some sketchy things, yeah, but the alternative’s worse. Somebody has to take control, or—”

“You’ve been hanging around them too long, Dugan. You sound like one of them.”

Dugan bristled. “You’re naive.”

“You don’t know right from wrong anymore,” said Ian.

“Shut up!” said Jo. “I’m sick of your arguing, both of you!”

Dugan slumped into a chair. Ian started pacing. “Okay, Dugan. What do I have to do?”

“Oona Looch will be at the Dome of Doom tonight,” said Dugan. “Some of her bet boys have been roughed up, and Oona Looch has decided to show some muscle. I’m Oona’s bet boy tonight, so—”

Ian groaned. “What? You’re kidding!”

“Don’t worry, it’s simple. You’ll just be taking bets and paying out for Oona Looch.”

“I know what it
means,
Dugan,” said Ian. “But you said the bet boys have been getting hurt!”

“Well, that’s my job, and now I can’t do it! And if I don’t at least send a substitute, I’m dead.”

Ian looked shaken. “Dugan, I could get killed!”

Dugan threw up his hands. “I wouldn’t ask you if I had the choice!”

Jo said, “Can I come?”

Dugan frowned. “I don’t think so, Jo. Oona Looch prefers to have as few outsiders as possible, and it’s pretty dangerous down there. And even if—”

“Whatever. I’m going,” said Jo.

Later that night Jo and Ian took the subway to Lower Brondo, an out-of-the-way neighborhood of warehouses and old factories, desolate by day and mostly abandoned by night. The rain bucketed down, churning the puddles into mist as Jo and Ian splashed down the unlit streets, past boarded-up buildings and heaps of scrap metal, down an alley to an unmarked door.

After a hurried knock and a whispered password, the door opened to reveal a monstrous beetle. The beetle led Jo and Ian into a dark factory. Their soaked shoes squished noisily down the quiet assembly line, and there were swift movements and hisses in the darkness around them—other, unseen beetles following their every move. Jo took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She looked at Ian. He gave a thin smile, trying to put on a brave face. He looked sick.

They entered a grubby elevator. The beetle gave them a hard stare and slammed the door. Jo felt for Ian’s hand and took it. The elevator started its rapid descent, and two minutes later the doors opened. They were at the Dome of Doom.

The Dome of Doom was a cavern buried deep in the mountain—three levels connected by stairs, surrounding a great spherical arena enclosed by a cage of iron grillework. The gaps in the cage were large enough to see into the arena, and a pool of black water glittered at the bottom. The three levels were crowded with tables, bars, couches, and tunnels leading off to private rooms. These areas were dim and seedy, but the arena was brilliantly lit.

Jo and Ian made their way through the spectacle of disreputable-looking characters and bizarre creatures who stared suspiciously as they hurried by: cockroaches, centipedes, beetles, eelmen, and some creatures that Jo had never seen before, weird organisms that seemed dredged from the depths of the swamps, yet dressed in the height of fashion.

They descended to the lowest level, which was not as crowded. Ian went to the bar and said, “Two black milks.” They were served, and they sat down.

Jo was still nervous. Everything seemed menacing in the dim, flickering noise, and the people looked rougher, more brutal than people she saw every day in Eldritch City. Jo wished they were back at the lodge. She had the queasy feeling that if she got in trouble down here, nobody could help her.

She sipped her black milk—and nearly spat it out. The drink tasted peppery and rancid. Jo saw that Ian’s mouth was puckered with disgust, and she started to laugh.

Ian grimaced. “First time I’ve ever had this stuff.”

“It’s my last,” said Jo. “What is it?”

“Fermented centipede milk.”

“You might’ve warned me! Ian, I’m going to throw up!”

Ian tried another sip. “I’m told it’s an acquired taste.”

Jo sighed and looked around the room. “What’s this place all about?”

“It’s where knights fight duels,” said Ian. “Squires fight here, too, but technically only knights are allowed to fight duels. Actually, all dueling is illegal, but it still goes on. The mob runs it.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

“No way! If we got caught here, we’d be kicked out of the Order of Odd-Fish so fast…Everyone here is incognito.” Ian drained the rest of his black milk. “God, that’s really awful. Why did I drink that?”

“I don’t know. Listen, shouldn’t you be looking for Oona Looch?”

“We’re early. I need to steel my nerves first.” Ian looked around, exhaling and nodding. “Say, can I have your milk, too?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Just then a gloved fist slammed on the table. Jo and Ian looked up to see a ferocious man with blue skin and a face bristling with grotesque moles, decked out in an ornate military uniform from an army that existed only in his overheated imagination, with a helmet of equal parts chrome and crocodile skin. He leered over them, growling, “That’s
my
drink.”

Jo said, “Hi, Audrey.”

Audrey seemed disappointed. “Oh…was it that obvious?”

“No, we just know you,” said Ian.

Audrey slumped into a chair. “Still, I would’ve liked to have scared you a
little.
”

“How’d you know we’d be here?” said Jo. She was relieved to see Audrey; their situation didn’t seem so menacing now.

Audrey started pulling the fake moles off her face. “I called the lodge, but you were already gone. I talked to Dugan and he said you’d be here. I wish you’d told me.”

“Why?”

Audrey grinned. “I love watching the fights!”

Ian was astonished. “You’ve been here before?”

“Oh, all the time. I’ve lost tons of money betting on duels. But they’re exciting,” said Audrey, her eyes blazing. “There’s nothing like it!”

“Did Dugan tell you why we’re here?” said Jo.

“Yes. He thinks he’s quite a little gangster!” Audrey snickered. “He can’t have it both ways, squiring for Sir Oliver
and
running odd jobs for Oona Looch. What kind of gangster gets
grounded
? He’s absurd.”

“I just want to get this done with.” Ian finished Jo’s milk. “And then I want to get out of here.”

“Ian, I’m starting to think you have no appreciation of the finer things in life,” said Audrey. Then, to Jo: “One time, I saw a guy get his arm torn off!”

“Ah, a connoisseur,” said Jo.

A beetle sidled up to Ian and whispered something in his ear. Ian quickly stood up, looking around nervously. “I’ve gotta go. Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg,” said Jo.

“Don’t let them break yours,” said Audrey.

“If it came to that, your boyfriend wouldn’t have much of a choice,” said the beetle, and led Ian away into the crowd.

Jo was worried. “Should we help him?”

“Aw, he’ll do fine,” said Audrey. “It’ll put hair on his chest. Let him sweat—
we’re
going to make a proper night of it. Ugh, did Ian really have you drinking black milk? Let me buy you the real stuff.”

Audrey went to the bar. Jo stayed at the table and took in the scene. It was very crowded now, and every table was occupied. The tension in the room, the expectation of blood, was intoxicating. Everything seemed both sleazy and glamorous. Even the candles on the tables flared with hellish energy. Jo noticed that only the highest and lowest classes of Eldritch City society were here: the criminals, spongers, and addicts, but also celebrities and politicians, smoking hookahs, spewing clouds of pink smoke, sipping gruesome, bubbling cocktails.

Audrey returned. “This is jinxjuice. Drink up! Here’s to the Dome of Doom!”

“Cheers!” said Jo, and drank. Audrey was right, jinxjuice was much better: it tasted of caramel and marigolds, and it made her lips tingle. When Jo finished it, a drenched moth flew out of the bottom of the cup. Audrey’s moth joined Jo’s, and they both fluttered away.

“Does anyone eat the moth, too?” said Jo.

“You’re gross,” said Audrey. “Hey, look—there’s Ian.”

Ian was standing in a little booth. A line had formed, and he was rapidly taking money from people and making notes on a pad of paper.

“What’s he doing?” said Jo.

“Taking bets,” said Audrey. “The mafia uses people from outside the mob families to take the bets and pay out the winnings, just in case there’s a disagreement.”

“Why?”

“Most of those disagreements end in someone getting murdered,” said Audrey. “And somebody from outside the mob world can be killed without causing a gang war to break out.”

Jo gasped. “You don’t really think Ian might get killed!”

Audrey shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

Just then a great rhythmic booming started. Somewhere drums slowly thumped, accompanied by a crash of cymbals and gongs. The drums throbbed faster and the cymbals banged more frantically, so thunderingly loud Jo soon had to put her hands over her ears, and just when it became sheer deafening noise, it suddenly stopped, and a voice rang out:

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the DOME OF DOOM!”

Raucous cheers and wild applause. Audrey stood on her chair and hooted. Jo clapped tentatively and looked over at Ian. He was taking final bets from some stragglers. He then closed up his cash box and looked at her. Jo smiled back.

The announcer continued: “Tonight! Fumo, the Sleeping Bee, versus Zam-Zam, the Dancing Ant of Sadness! Duelists—present yourselves and make your boasts!”

Audrey tugged Jo away from the table, leading her up to the metal cage that fenced off the arena. Jo saw two duelists on opposite sides of the arena, each astride an armored ostrich. Both duelists wore costumes, but Jo couldn’t quite tell what they were supposed to be.

“Why are they dressed like that?” said Jo.

“Part of the dueling ritual,” said Audrey. “You have to dress up as one of the gods of Eldritch City. That way, the duel isn’t really between you and your enemy, it’s between the two gods, and the violence becomes more abstract. And it looks cooler.”

“How many gods do you have in Eldritch City?”

“One hundred forty-four thousand, four hundred forty-four. The duelist on the right, he’s dressed as Fumo, the Sleeping Bee. The one on the left is Zam-Zam, the Dancing Ant of Sadness. Now wait, listen, before they actually fight they have to exchange ritualized threats and insults in the old classical style.”

Fumo and Zam-Zam had struck stylized poses for the exchange of insults. Fumo wore an elaborate costume of black and yellow, with jiggling antennae and a long stinger; when she spoke, her voice was distorted by an electric box that made it sound as though she were buzzing. Zam-Zam wore sleek sheaths of segmented steel that made him look like a baleful robotic ant.

“You are named Sleeping Bee,” bellowed Zam-Zam, “but I shall wake you from your slumber and turn your own sting upon you, to pierce you with your own foolishness! Rivers shall run red with
your
blood,
your
name shall be cursed by generations, and
your
children shall be three feet tall, totally hairless, and perpetually drenched in their own stinking sweat! When I am finished with you, your body shall be torn asunder by five wild boars and buried in five ignominious places, each one more shameful than the last! I have spoken!”

“So, Dancing Ant of Sadness! Bold words!” buzzed Fumo. “But your ant-dance shall be to the music of
your own
sadness! For I, Sleeping Bee, shall buzz and bewilder you; verily shall I construct honeycombs of your carcass; verily shall I feast upon your shame! I have spoken!”

“Your words are as empty as your sting, Sleeping Bee!” retorted Zam-Zam. “Your feast shall be of the ashes of defeat, and on those, you shall feast heartily! Your corpse shall be torn to bits by my thousand children, who shall raise each morsel to their mouths, chew your disgraced innards with contemptuous joy, and excrete them with a smirk! I have spoken!”

“Vile boaster! Just as I, Fumo, the Sleeping Bee, have defeated both Quafmaf, the Pigeon of the Moon, and Nixilpilfi, the Gerbil Who Does Not Know Mercy, so I shall dispatch you, Zam-Zam, to the realm of obloquy, and force to your lips the flagon of infamy! I have spoken!”

“Idle threats, Fumo! They hold no terror for me, Zam-Zam, the Dancing Ant of Sadness! I, who have vanquished not only Mizbiliades, the Bleeding Butterfly, and Paznarfalasath, the Rhinoceros Whose Laughter Destroys Worlds, but also Zookoofoomoot, the Maggot of Dismay, and Pft the Mouse! In a similar fashion shall I tuck you, Sleeping Bee, into a bed of disgrace, and sing you the lullaby of destruction! I have spoken!”