The Last Rakosh

Jack called back over his shoulder. “You can’t.”

A final glance at Scar-lip showed the rakosh still staring at him, then he parted the canvas flaps and emerged into the fresh air again.

A strange mix of emotions swirled around him as he returned to the car. Glad to know Scar-lip would be taking a dirt nap soon, but the very fact that it still lived, even if it was too weak to be a threat to Vicky, bothered him. He’d prefer it dead. He’d keep a close watch on this show, check back every night or two until he knew without a doubt that Scar-lip had breathed its last.

Something else bothered him. Couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had this vaguely uncomfortable feeling that he never should have come back here.

3

The following night Jack drove out to Monroe for another look at Scar-lip.

The rain started as soon as he stepped out of the car. It came in tropical style. One minute simply threatening, the next Jack was treading through a waterfall. He arrived at the gate soaked and mud splattered and in a foul mood. At least the main tent was still up, although the front flap was down and no one was selling tickets. Place looked pretty much deserted.

Jack slipped through the flap. The stale air trapped under the leaking canvas was redolent of wet hay and strange sweat. His feet squished within his wet deck shoes as he made his way toward Scar-lip’s cage, but stopped short, stopped stone cold dead when he saw what was behind the bars.

Scar-lip, all right, but the creature he’d seen last night had been only the palest reflection of this monster. The rakosh rearing up in the cage and rattling the bars now was full of vitality and ferocity, had unmarred, glistening blue-black skin, and bright yellow eyes that glowed with a fierce inner light.

Jack stood mute and numb on the fringe, thinking, This is a nightmare, one that keeps repeating itself.

The once moribund rakosh was now fiercely alive, and it wanted out.

Suddenly it froze and Jack saw that it was looking his way. Its cold yellow basilisk glare fixed on him. He felt like a deer in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler.

He turned and hurried from the tent. Outside in the rain he looked around and saw a trailer with an OFFICE sign on the door. Its canvas awning was bellied with rain. Jack knocked.

He stepped back as the door swung out. Prather stood staring down at Jack.

“Who are you?”

“And hello to you too. I was here the other night. I’m the ‘Hey, Rube’ guy.”

“Ah, yes. The defender of rakoshi. Jack, isn’t it?”

“I want to talk to you about that rakosh.”

Oz backed away. “Come in, come in.”

Jack stepped up and inside, just far enough to get out from under the dripping awning. The rain paradiddled on the metal roof, and Jack knew he had about five minutes before the sound made him crazy.

“Have you seen it?” Oz’s voice seemed to come from everywhere in the room. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“What did you do to it?”

Oz stared at him, as if genuinely puzzled. “Why, my good man, now that I know what it is, I know how to treat it. I looked up the proper care and feeding of rakoshi in one of my books on Bengali mythology, and acted appropriately.”

Jack felt a chill. And it was not from his soaked clothing.

“What.. .just what did you feed it?”

The boss’s large brown eyes looked guileless, and utterly remorseless. “Oh, this and that. Whatever the text recommended. You don’t really believe for an instant that I was going to allow that magnificent creature to languish and die of malnutrition, do you? I assume you’re familiar with-”

“I know what a rakosh needs to live.”

“Do you now? Do you know everything about rakoshi?”

“No, of course not, but-”

“Then let us assume that I know more than you. Perhaps there is more than one way to keep them healthy. I see no need to discuss this with you or anyone else. Let us just say that it got exactly what it needed.” His smile was scary. “And that it enjoyed the meal immensely.”

Jack knew a rakosh ate only one thing. The question was: Who? He knew Prather would never tell him so he didn’t waste breath asking.

Instead he said, “Do you have any idea what you’re playing with here? Do you know what’s going to happen to your little troupe when that thing gets loose? I’ve seen this one in action, and trust me, pal, it will tear you all to pieces.”

“I assume you know that iron weakens it. The bars of its cage are iron; the roof, floor, and sides are lined with steel. It will not escape.”

“Famous last words. So I take it there’s no way I can convince you to douse it with kerosene and strike a match.”

The boss’s face darkened as he rose from his chair.

“I advise you to put that idea out of your head, or you may wind up sharing the cage with the creature.” He stepped closer to Jack and edged him outside. “You have been warned. Good day, sir.”

He reached a long arm past Jack and pulled the door closed.