“All stories in Periapt are true,” old Mae said, as she moved her hands under her shawl so that she looked like a bird on its perch. Hollis could swear he felt the air cool as she billowed its fabric.
The dining room was never a bright place, in its nook under the overhang of the cliffs above, but it somehow got even darker as she worked her hands within the intricate knitting of the shawl. Hollis didn’t need the inspector to know that was a fine piece of craftsmanship.
“All stories in Periapt are true,” old Mae repeated, beckoning others to respond.
“Even this one,” one of the older men said first, then others joined in, “Even this one.”
The sickly children and orphans among them gathered near Mae as she spoke. They said, “Even this one,” more excitedly than the others.
“I didn’t know at first to fear the fogs off the coast of Beckett’s Sound. Did you?” she asked. They shook their heads. “The fishwives and farmers prayed to the eidolons in thanks when the creeping wisps off the ocean watered their crops on those hot, thirsty summer nights. Did you? Some say it started six years ago, others eight, but when the tendrils of fog came at first, it was like a young maiden slippin’ past a crowd of drunken sailors. It moved quick and left nothing but craned necks. It was a ghost, a strand of fog here, maybe there, sneaking through the streets no higher than a boatswain’s ankle. Did you see it?”
“I did,” one of the older men said. “Down between the cobbler’s claim and the barber’s shop.”
“Oh, sure,” Mae said, “Some saw it there. Most who saw it at first lived in the fields and farms along the coast, and they spied it creeping through their crops under the moonlight. We thought nothing of it. Did you?”
Many shook their heads.
“Who could have? What could be less scary than a tiny tendril of fog?” Mae asked. “Ditch diggers and doctors all said it bid better luck to see the ghostly strands of fog shooting off the sound at night. When there was only one or two, why wouldn’t it be? So while the farmers thanked the old Scaring Crow for the nightly water, and the grocers thanked the Hook Man who lives across the cape for the same, we never knew our thanks were out of place. Did you?”
There was one small child, maybe six years old, with pigtails in her hair, who answered all of Mae’s questions with an electric fervor, as if she were being interrogated and wanted everyone to know her answers. Hollis couldn’t help but adore her earnestness.
Willo, who rested on his shoulder, was getting pumped up as well. Glowbugs of all kinds were natural storytellers, and now that Willo could hear and understand a story told in words instead of light, it was an overload to his senses. Hollis cupped the little bug in his hands so the blinking light wouldn’t draw even more attention.
“It grew slowly, night by night, so none of us even knew when a few tiny strands of fog had turned into ghostly waves off the ocean. It hit hard and flooded the farms with murky silver under the moonlight till the crops rose like gravestones out of its wake. The townsfolk called it a gift of plenty. Called it divine prosperity. Called it righteous destiny, Olivia’s promise come true. And we were, each and every one, fools. Were you?”
Hollis listened as best he could, seeing as this story was meant for him. He noticed, though, how Royle and Dakota took little joy in the story. If anything, they seemed embarrassed. Were they embarrassed for themselves, or for him? They ate their food fast and went to the kitchen to help clean up. Tawny pursed her lips and waited for the story to be over.
“When the roosters crowed at midnight, all wise ones knew trouble had come. Did you? When the livestock feared the dark and prayed to the farmers like they were eidolons, wise ones knew that danger was near. Did you? One sheep is a fool, but a flock is not, they say. Best check the barns, best walk the fences. The good farmers did, but it didn’t matter. First, the mice and rats fled the town or dug themselves deep underground like the packrats. Everyone knows rodents are the first to flee. No one could know they didn’t just flee ships. When the fog got its thickest, that’s when the livestock would not abide in the fields at night. They scrambled, and they screamed. Did you?”
The air grew colder as Mae wrapped parts of her shawl around her hands. Magic was at work. A storyteller’s art.
“Some animals went missing, dogs and such that had too much bite in them to run; they were gone first. Then the odd sheep or hen, then all of them, when the fog rose so high none could know what came off the sea with it. Did you see it then? What came, and what left from the sea? I didn’t. I locked my doors and boarded my windows when the sheep started screaming at night. Did you?”
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Many of the people there claimed they did. They nodded their heads vigorously.
“A lively town died in less than a week. The sailors sailed, and the traders traded up. Wagons were stocked, and the seats were sold. The town became a ghost before the fog ever grew thick enough to take a man with it, but when it did, we all moved west, hoping the empty streets of Beckett’s Sound would satisfy the fog. They didn’t. It chased us across the fields week after week. Some were brave enough to travel the dangerous road west. Others were brave enough to stay. Did you?” She looked over at Tawny.
Many screamed they did, but Hollis doubted this group had much say in the matter.
“So what did the brave and foolish see in the fog when they dared to look? Some say the monster is like a great squid. Others say it is a shark god, tired of bartering. Others say the spirits of dead sailors walked through the streets. Some have seen men walk into the fog in a trance, never to be seen again. Death swims through those silvery stacks; it swims over the foggy fields to the east, and one day it will swim here too. Will you?”
The children screamed, “No!”
Many laughed in the end. Even though she was talking about a terrible tragedy that had ruined their lives, it was like they were escaping into it. Hollis thought it odd, but maybe the power of stories was to make real things imaginary, if only for a moment.
He thought about her lively story. He was hoping to gain a bit more information than that. Though if they had the answers, they wouldn’t still be in such a desperate situation.
Mae’s story appeared on Hollis’ inspector as she spoke.
People clapped after she was through, but she wasn’t done yet. She locked her eyes on Hollis.
“We need someone to stand for us,” she said. “Are you the Kazier to do it? Have you sailed from the Cat’s Eye nearly a decade since any other, just in time to save us before it is too late?”
That was a loaded question. He could slither out of it if he wanted to. A simple “I’m looking into it” would probably work. He went with something else.
“I’m going to figure out where the fog came from. I’ll do whatever I can to stop it,” Hollis said. That was a bold thing to say, but he knew he would investigate. He might as well be confident about it.
The sick and elderly cheered, while Tawny scowled as she cleaned the kitchen.
With the story over, and the room growing a bit brighter and warmer, Hollis rose from where he had been sitting and went to talk to the others over in the kitchen area.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dakota assured him as he wiped down his bowler hat. “I told old Mae I was going to fix it years ago, and no one seems to remember. They’ll forget in a week.”
“Everyone remembers your drunken vow,” Royle said as he handwashed some dishes. “We just never believed you to begin with.”
Dakota almost started bickering with him, but must have thought better of it.
Tawny still wasn’t saying anything. Otis was busy setting up a pile of fish to be smoked. He was tuning out the whole world.
“So what have you discovered about the fog?” Hollis asked. “This sounds like some kind of curse, maybe. Like the grave robbers up on Barton’s Hill who got struck with madness under the full moon.”
It was a notable quest in the game.
“That was years ago,” Tawny said. “We solved that problem with a few bullets. No one even knows what we’re dealing with here. Kaziers have tried to fix this, you know. They failed. Whatever good they might have done in the world is gone because they treated this like a children’s story. Now, I made you a plate of food. If you eat it, you’re promising to go help on the next hunt. I get the sense you know a bit about hunting, or else you just know how to dress like it. The fog has been unbeatable. Hunger, so far, has not. I’d appreciate it if we focused on the problems we can solve.”
She pointed to a ceramic plate with the same fish and veggies the others had. Hollis had been so distracted, he hadn’t even noticed when the berries and mushrooms he had eaten wore off.
He could go hunting. As he looked around the room, he realized what a tremendous undertaking it was to feed nearly two dozen people under these conditions.
Tawny left to go tend to her patients. Hollis devoured the fish.
“So what do we hunt in these parts?” he asked.
“Anything that doesn’t hunt us,” Royle said with a smile. “And a few things that do.”
Hollis thought better than to ask how a man could hunt without the use of his eyes. If the attack he had used with the falling stones was any indication, Royle could be useful without sight.
“We’ve been doing this for years,” Dakota said. “There’s not much around here we can’t kill. How about you, newbie? What have you hunted?”
“Bit of everything,” Hollis answered. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “The fog makes it pretty far inland, I noticed. Does it get to the canyon?”
Royle was stacking plates and drying them with great efficiency. Dakota wasn’t doing much of anything. Their expressions got dour.
“They say some fog spills over the cliffs when the wind blows hard,” Royle said, “For the most part, we huddle behind our walls and never look outside.”
“And how long can that last?” Hollis asked.
“Been in this hideout three years,” Dakota said. “Every few weeks, we get a scare that the fog will make it here. We got all these plans to escape. Maybe we float the river. Maybe we hit the trail. I said we should repair a ship out in the bay and sail out to the outer islands. Problem is, every plan gets shot down for almost the same reason.”
“You have too many people,” Hollis said.
"That we do,” Dakota said with a laugh. “That we do.”