Cay found Misrules tucked into a tiny corridor off of Pirate's Alley, so narrow and dark that she probably wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it. Pirate's Alley was a short one block street between Royal and Chartres, named because pirates were taken through this shortcut to the Cabildo Jail. In the shadow of the Old St. Louis Cathedral, Pirate's Alley had cleaned up quite a bit to become a respectable tourist sight. But the alley that Misrules called home was a narrow, dirty, cluttered New Orleans affair awash in a smell of grease and liquor mixing up from the cobblestone walk.
Cay was rehearsing in her head what she was going to say if she ever came face to face with the voodoo priest when she was startled by a chicken running out of a broken boarded vent, coming straight at her, pecking at her feet as if to scare her away.
"Can you have chickens in New Orleans?" she wondered to herself and shooed the chicken away. The chicken clucked insistently, as if scolding her.
"Shoo," she said, "Go jump in a pot, or something." Cay felt silly and hoping no one was watching.
The chicken hovered behind her, several feet behind and Cay was afraid it was going to attack her heels at any moment. She located the elaborately scrolled sign spouting "Misrules" and pulled open the heavy wooden door below it. Cay was glad to close the heavy door behind her, though the chicken seemed to watch her enter the bar.
It was that time of day in News Orleans in the late afternoon when the work day was stale, but the night was still lay ahead. Not quite cocktail hour, but definitely past the martini lunch. A time when desperate men and loose women bellied up to the bar, drinking not to be social, but to begin the process of numbing so that sociability came easier. The time of day that if you walked into a dark dingy bar you had never been in, when everything, including the juke box, seemed to stop for a moment and look at you. But no one talked to you. Soon their eyes would move back down towards their drink and their desperation.
So Cay was surprised when she pushed past the ornately carved door and padded through the dark hallway, that she walked into a room filled with lights, beads and candles. The dark place seemed empty, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she saw two figures at the bar. One in front. One behind.
The figure seated at the bar pushed himself up off his barstool and threw a ten dollar bill on the bar. "Thanks for the Old Grand Dad, cap."
A dreadlocked man of indeterminate age saluted his customer as the tall man walked toward the door past Cay. "See you tomorrow, Bruce."
The tiny barkeep turned his attention toward Cay and motioned her toward the bar. In a Caribbean accented voice. ""Darling, come, come. A place awaits for every visitor."
He was thin and wiry and his eyes seemed to catch the light of every candle in the room. His smile, which seemed perpetual, flashed gold from every tooth. Cay was immediately drawn in. "Are you feeling alright today, darling? May I suggest a beverage to go with that pretty face and those beautiful beads you are wearing?"
He pulled up an unlabelled bottle from below the counter. "For strangers, I feed you my own wine. The first glass is free, and then after that you no longer stranger, yes? So then you buy." The man chuckled at his own joke and pulled a glass from the rack overhanging the bar.
Cay stood staring at this gnome of a Rasta man ambassador of good will. She couldn't believe that this place could be a stew pot of evil and death. In fact, she would have considered moving her regular drinking hole from McCloskey's to here if it wasn't so far away from her apartment.
She shrugged off her coat and eased herself up on a barstool that felt like it was from the turn of the century before the most recent. The wizened little man put a glass filled with a warm, ruby liquid in front of her. He gestured at it like a man presenting his newborn son.
"This is from my best batch yet. Welcome, welcome to the road. My name is Sting Ray." He offered his hand across the bar.
Cay almost choked on the wine when she heard the proprietor's name, but she quickly recovered. The wine was too good to waste. She was already mentally counting the bills in her purse in anticipation of buying her second glass.
"Cayenne McKenzie Del Roi. Pleased to meet you." She extended her hand and shook the hand of the bartender. His hand was warm and pleasing. "Happy Mardi Gras, Mr. Sting Ray."
"Please, please, no mistah here at Misrules." He pulled another glass down from the rack and poured himself a generous glass of his own wine. He raised his glass in Cay's direction. "Carnival, carnival! We feast before we fast. We dance before we die. Farewell to flesh!"
That comment brought Cay up short and she again choked on her wine.
"Are you a member of a krewe, darling? With beads of good taste like that, you surely know your Mardi Gras." His voice was friendly, but Cay noticed his eyes were sharply watching her.
"I'm pledging for the Krewe du Couture." Pledging? Cay thought to herself. Is that what they do?
There was a beat of silence as Sting Ray took a long draw on his wine. Cay's hands went instinctively to her beads, though she wasn't sure what they had to do with anything. Then the merriment in the room returned. Cay was beginning to feel the wine. She suddenly heard the music on the stereo system and the zydeco band and the rhythmic rubboard sounded familiar.
"Bang and the Questers?" Cay asked, before taking another appreciative gulp of wine.
"The lovely lady knows her zydeco." He disappeared through the kitchen door and returned with a delicate ring of pastry, sprinkle with chunks of royal purple sprinkles.
"A lady of your appreciation of taste and a pledge to the Krewe du Couture surely must appreciate a fine King Cake."
"From the Slippery Slope?"
Sting Ray shook his head in appreciation and smiled a huge grin. "Again, the lady shows her perceptive taste."
Cay felt like she was being offered the forbidden apple. She thought of the locked cabinet and the legend of Philippe's being the best, baked and prepared for only a few. Some doubt pricked at her as her mind skipped over the vision of Hillary's bloody shirt, but then she remembers the delicious sprinkles she had tasted off the lips of the gorgeous JeanMarc. Her curiosity got the better of her.
"Ah, you must be part of the inside ring," Cay said. Sting Ray looked at her sharply. She explained herself. "I tried to order one of these cakes before but I guess I wasn't on Philippe's special list."
She chose a medium sized piece, trying to continue to play the delicate lady. It was soft and light as a feather. She took a bite. The buttery deliciousness and light touch of sweet made her toes curl. It was truly heavenly, and the sprinkles gave her tongue a gentle after kiss. She barely had chewed her first bite, when she just had to take another. The second had a different taste. As she bite down, her teeth were stopped suddenly and instead of sweet, she tasted the distinct taste of plastic.
"Wha…" she mumbled through heavenly crumbs and reach into her mouth. She pulled out a plastic baby, half covered with uneaten cake. She held it out to Sting Ray.
"Ah, queen for a day." Sting Ray said and once again raised his glass, then tipped it back to drain it. The now familiar cold finger of fear touched the back of her neck again. The wine was really making her head spin now. She looked at Sting Ray who seemed to grow about a foot taller.
"Darling, I have been looking for something I want most badly. The baby always finds his way and now he has found you. You have the bead darling, and I think you will find it is in your best interest to give it to me with a fuss."
Sting Ray chuckled. His hair seemed to slowly rise and stick out as if filled with static electricity. Cay swore he grew another foot. She shook her head, trying to shake off the effects of the magic wine (or more likely tainted) but she felt her hand moving on its own accord, reaching into her pocket and wrapping itself around the bead. She tried to stop it with her other hand, but it was if she was in a dream. She watched herself hand the bead over the counter to the man who was obviously behind the murders of at least three people. Her hand placed the bead on the bar and returned docilely to her lap.
Sting Ray smiled his enchanting smile and poured her another glass of wine. "Queen for the day, darling. Second glass is on the house." He turned to the back room. "Beaux, come out and say hello to our guest."
The big bruising bouncer from Pon Pon's waddled out from the back room, his eyes laughing as if the biggest joke had just been played, and the patsy was still trying to figure out the punch line. He came over and stood right beside Cay..
"So we meet again, girlie," he said menacingly.
She couldn't say anything smart back to him. Her mouth seemed paralyzed. She watched mutely as Sting Ray began to dance behind the bar. His eyes rolled back in his head and he swirled as if a puppet on a string that has been wound up and let go. Cay realized the zydeco music had turned into a pulsating rhythm of a talking drum and it built up into a frenzy.
She tried to reach across the bar as if to stop him, but Beaux grabbed her hand.
"Never touch him when he's in a trance. It could kill you." Then he started laughing at his own joke.
Cay stared at Sting Ray, as he twitched and twisted and danced and dervished until she felt a fierce blow to her head and the world turned black.
*********************************************************
She came to in a dark, musty cellar which she assumed was below the bar. The place was damp and seeping moisture from being below sea level. She tried to move but she was sitting in a solid wooden chair with her arms tied behind her and each of her ankles were knotted to a leg of the chair.
As her eyes began to focus, she was drawn toward a small, cluttered table in the corner. There were two candles softly glowing on either sides of the table. The flame from the candles was fuzzily reflected off a small piece of metal, and the flicker undulated in Cay's visions. She figured she was still dizzy from the blow to her head. Cay thrust her weight forward several times to get a rhythm going and propelled her chair inch by inch closer to the table. As she got closer, to her horror she realized that the fuzzy metal was Zy's stolen rubboard tie, standing like a dagger at the center of the altar. Brownish red spots darkened the edge. Cay looked around the table. She realized that this was an altar of some kind.
Beside the rubboard and the candles, Cay saw there were various ancient Tarot cards, small vessels filled with odd looking liquid, and something that looked like a lock of black hair that looked a lot like Beaux's curls. A small plastic baby seemed to reach out his hand to her. Her eyes were drawn to an ornate looking piece of artwork propped up with a small pencil extended from a silken cord. It was an old Carnival dance card with early 1900's artwork of a jester, his mouth opened wide in a devilish grin. She moved her chair closer and in the process hit the leg of the altar with her knee. The dance card tipped over and Cay could see that there was writing on the inside. From the angle of how the card fell, she could see the names written on the lines inside. "PPP. Pon Pon. Couture. Del Roi."
She could also see that the card had fallen back onto four cloth figures, three of which had a pin solidly in their chest.
"Voodoo" she spoke aloud, the damp walls swallowing her fear. "Phunny Phorty Phellows, Evangeline Pon Pon, Hillary, and now, me."
Cay felt the panic rise in her throat. "Shit," she said, realizing how much trouble she was really in. She willed herself not to look at the rubboard and its macabre painted edges. Then she noticed the bead, nestled in a small box lined with silk, like a spoiled princess lying in her bead. The altar was now complete.
"And I brought it right to his damn door," Cay cursed. She knew her only chance to survive a beastly death was to get the bead and rejoin it with the strand of beads hanging around Mary Dan's neck.
She immediately tried again to slip her hands out of the heavy knots, but without warning she felt a hand grab the back of the chair and yank her backwards. Sting Ray had slipped behind her without warning.
"Darling, darling. You've had a long day. You should be resting"
Sting Ray dragged her back to the original spot. He pulled up another chair alongside of Cay's and amicably pulled out a flask. "Queen for the day." He put the flask to her lips. "Let us drink to your royalty." He forced the wine down her throat. Cay, in spite of herself, felt a rush and took a bigger gulp than she needed to.
"Darling, thank you for finding me the bead." He paused, and took a sip of the wine himself. "Or should I say that the mojo baby has found you. You have returned the bead to me and now I, the King of Misrule, Captain of the Thirteenth Revelers have all I need to rule all the krewes of New Orleans.
"You see, my queen," and he flourished his hand toward the altar, "the bead you so graciously delivered gives power only to he that know how to use it. No one ever knew how to release the power, And they didn't want to know. They just want to use Mardi Gras to have fun and celebrate. Not even your father was interested in the power. And he refused to tell me where the beads were.
Through her haze, Cayenne jerked her head up at the mention of her father.
Sting Ray chuckled. "Yes, chere. Your father. Running him down got the beads circulating again, and when I found out that Mary Dan had them, I conspired with Evangeline to get them back. But she and my weasel of a bartender double-crossed me and there was only one path to get the bead back. Using Zy's rubboard sent a message to all that I knew of the double-cross and that I would have not mercy."
He got out of his chair and walked over to the altar where he picked up and caressed the curly black lock of hair. "Beaux was easily convinced to join me. A simple spell. Appealing to his greed."
Sting Ray's eyes grew big, possessed. Cay could see that the bead was indeed evil, possessing his soul.
"I was going to be king." He ranted, walking in a tight little circle. "I was going to begin the glory of the Krewe again. Someday the Thirteenth Day Revelers would be as big as Rex, as big as Zulu. We would parade down Canal on Mardi Gras day. I would be king of New Orleans." He paused to take a sip of potent wine and shook his head. "But nooooooooooooo…. Your father thought he was protecting everyone by safeguarding the bead." He leaned in close.
"And now, three more are dead because of his stubbornness," Sting Ray ran his finger along Cay's cheek, "and the gods demand one more before I shall rule the night time streets of New Orleans," He laughed a maniacal laugh. "but not until the stroke of midnight tomorrow, darling. That is the hour that the old ends and the new begins."
Sting Ray's gold capped smile caught the light of the candles. "I knew who you were even before you stepped through my door today. That is why your father left New Orleans. To take the beads and protect them and to always keep them together. When he died, you didn't know what you had, so you sold them carelessly. The beads made their way back through Philippe's cakes."
"You used Philippe's cakes?"
He waved his hand modestly, then reached over and took the plastic baby off the altar. "I broke into his bakery at the beginning of the Carnival season and took this little fellow. And now, all his King Cake babies that come from his special cabinet follow my will and help me find who has the bead."
"But don't you need all the beads?" Cay's head was reeling.
"I do not need the others!" Sting Ray roared and pounded his chest for emphasis. "The others were fools." Sting Ray grabbed the purple beads around Cay's neck and yanked hard. The beads scattered across the stone floor. "I, alone, know the power of the one bead."
Sting Ray leaned closer. "And now, my queen, during the Dauphine Street Parade tomorrow night, I will become Lord of New Orleans. Tomorrow is my calling out." He paused and gave her another sip of wine, then kissed her tenderly on top of her head. "Now sleep."
She heard him chuckling as he climbed the ladder to the door leading to the bar above their heads.
Cay felt wave after wave of drowsiness roll across her. She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. As she fought against the wave of unconsciousness, visions raced through her head, calling out to her. Hillary in her blood soaked shirt of toasters. The smile of JeanMarc as he slurped an oyster. Her father's face smiling as he celebrated Mardi Gras. Mary Dan saying over and over again, "It is best if no one dies." Evangeline Pon Pon shoving the bead into a sack of Mardi Gras coins, Marcy and Roux in the Barkus parade. A chicken pecking at her toes.
Cay startled and lifted her head. The clucking and the light grew fainter and fainter as she finally gave in to the darkness of the basement and the despair knowing she was going to die.
CHAPTER TEN: The Killer Sound of a Rubboard
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