Carousel Tides by Sharon Lee

Author:Sharon Lee
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction - Adventure, Science Fiction - Space Opera, Fiction - Science Fiction, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy fiction, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Space Opera, Fiction, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Suspense, Adventure, General, Maine, Fantasy - Contemporary
ISBN: 9781439133958
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2010-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

Sunday, April 23

High Tide 8:15 p.m.

Sunset 7:34 p.m. EDT

Baxter Avenue was a zoo. There were tourists going and tourists coming and tourists standing around in big, sloppy groups, talking and laughing. Two teenagers in black T-shirts and black jeans were getting the lobster pitch set up, and lights were on around the fortune-teller’s store front. From somewhere to the right I heard the hiss of an air tank, which meant that the dart game was getting ready for customers.

I threaded my way through the noise and bustle, grumbling to myself. Crowds are no fun when you’re on the short side of average. Gran would just glide through a mob like this; people would look up, see her coming and automatically step out of the way. Me, they didn’t see at all, unless I banged an elbow into a knee as I tunneled by.

Eventually I made it to the service alley, where I paused in the shadow of a police call box to catch my breath and wait for a break in the steady flow of happy pedestrians.

To the right of my position was Katahdin Street, which was even more crowded than Baxter. The stage where local bands sometimes played during the Season had been opened, and a couple guys in Fun Country Maintenance uniforms were tinkering with the mike and the lights. The speakers crackled, spat, and a guy’s voice boomed across the park, asking, “Is it on now, Morris?”

Strung over the plaza, low enough that Borgan would have had to duck to get under it, was a brand new white banner, red letters shouting out: ARCHERS BEACH WELCOMES SENIOR FUN LOVERS!

Well, at least now I knew which group was giving the prize, I thought, and spied the hoped-for break in the crowd. I darted across the alley, ducking to the inside of the walk, close by the log flume, and proceeded at a reasonably good pace, hugging the Plexiglas splash guard.

I slipped ’round the corner, relieved to find the side street almost deserted.

To the left, back against the beach, the red and gold lights were on at Keltic Knot. Nearer to hand, the Scrambler was running, slightly squeaky at half-speed. A black haired girl with multiple piercings stood behind the controls, her attention on a guy who might’ve been her father, who was studying the movement of the cars. He raised a hand and brought it down, and the girl obediently pushed the stick. The guy was walking into the center of the pattern before the cars had completely stopped, a can of WD-40 in his hand.

I jogged down to the Knot, and looked over the fence.

All of the cars were on the track and the track itself had been greased until it shone like true silver. Up on the platform, a purple boom box that had seen better centuries was precariously wedged between the stick and the control box, something Big Band-ish blaring tinnily from its dented speaker.

The owner-operator, however, was not immediately in evidence.

“Mr. Ignat’?” I called. “It’s Kate.

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