Bandit left the porch and shuffled awkwardly down wooden steps to the dock. That other one must be senseless not to be aware of him. As he got closer the smell of liquor stung his eyes.
“Grrr!” Bandit said.
The raccoon didn’t leap and spin around. It seemed to be labouring to come out of a drunken daze. “Join me,” he said eventually. Without turning his head, he offered the bottle to Bandit.
“Thanks. Not now,” Bandit said. “Nice night.”
“Not so bad,” the other said. Then took a long, gurgling drink.
“Good place to sit and watch the River go by,” Bandit said. “Come here often?”
“S’okay. Lots to see.”
Bandit paused, trying to think of a more direct path into his question, one that didn’t seem intrusive. This was the other person’s special place to be alone. It must be special because it had only one escape route – straight into the water.
“Do many raccoons come ashore here?” he asked.
“Naw. Too open a swim from the Islands.” The raccoon gestured with his bottle at the islands at the back of Bandit’s house. “And nobody goes to the Islands, anyways. Those Islands are sacred.”
The raccoon looked long and knowingly into Bandit’s eyes, verifying a solemn truth.
“Didn’t know that about them,” Bandit replied.
“Yeah, they’re sacred, alright. Folks say they’re haunted.”
“Sure,” Bandit said agreeably. He sensed the prelude to a story. He really hoped the raccoon wouldn’t …
“Time ago, they say, the Great Raccoon Ancestor” – the storyteller immediately made the Hand Acknowledgement – “came down that there tree that goes through the Island …”
“Which tree?”
The raccoon paused to have another glug of spirit-sugar.
“… You’se can’t see the Tree. It’s invisible, like. But it’s there. The tree pins the Island to the riverbed so’s it won’t float away. And it holds up the sky, and on its branches hang the stars. Including the Great Raccoon, when he’s at home in his tree …”
“This is interesting, but …”
“Folks say he’s gonna come down his tree one day and save the world.”
“I have a question.”
The storyteller swept his interruption aside with a wave of his bottle.
“Questions ’r fer later. Right now is the story. Where was I?”
“You were saying nobody swims over from the Islands. Do Raccoons float downriver, then?”
“Yeah. Sure do. There was this lady just last night. You should’a seen the tail on her. Looked great when it was wet!”
“Good looking?”
“Great tail,” the storyteller repeated and leered at Bandit. “Pretty smart too. She didn’t use the dock. Too obvious. Leave her scent on the planks. So she came out downwind there.” The storyteller pointed to a rock at the far side of the cove.
“It’s not every night a person sees a beautiful lady float by,” Bandit said. “Anyone know who she is? Where she went?”
“Don’t know nothing about ’er. If you want to know, go ask Lockjaw.”
“Who’s Lockjaw?”
The other raccoon seemed to chew on the question as if it were a hard nut. “Lockjaw looks after people who come to the city and don’t know nobody,” he said eventually. “He gives them lodgings and jobs to do.”
A job? The idea was ludicrous. Sensibel wasn’t the sort of person who did menial work. It didn’t smell right. Menial work in exchange for a lodging. And the temporary lodgings in this city were squalid and had fleas. “I need a job. Where do I find Lockjaw?”
The informant continued gazing at the moon that had fallen into the river between the island and the cove. He’d lost interest in answering questions. Change the topic.
“Do you know where I could find a raccoon who’s an artist? A male, said to be handsome.”
“The lady swam to the City to be with her boyfriend? What happened? Did he steal your girl? Sorry mate. Here, have a drink.”
“Yeah, it’s something like that.” Bandit, against his principles, took the bottle anyway and drank. Whiskey – he’d tasted it before. He felt an instant bond with the drinker and all his sorrows. The other raccoon felt the bond too because he began to be helpful.
“Don’t know the Maker in question. You might look for him up in the Heights. The Makers are said to hang out there. They’re a secret society, you know.” The raccoon hung his head guiltily as if he’d mentioned something forbidden. Bandit returned his bottle.
“Where’s Lockjaw?”
“I don’t know where he is. Drooplip. It’s her you’se ’r after. She looks after the ladies.”
“Where?”
