“Daddy!” screamed Tan-Tan, jumping to her feet.
Ione pulled her firmly into her lap and held her still. “Quiet, pickney. Don’t distract your daddy.” Tan-Tan bit her lips against the sobs that threatened to break through.
A sharp line of red blood was oozing through the slice in Antonio’s black armour. He ran a hand through it, then shook his head like a bull snorting in anger. He leapt vigorously at Quashee, slicing and slicing through the air. Quashee didn’t let a single thrust through. He jumped, he dodged; he used his machète to block all the chops Antonio was throwing for him. He was good, and young, and fast. Tan-Tan held Mummy’s hand tight-tight. Ione curled her arms round Tan-Tan, never taking her eyes off the ring. She mumbled, “Chop he, doux-doux; mash he down!”
Antonio got inside Quashee’s block. He chopped off a piece of Quashee’s forearm guard clean. But the cut barely grazed the skin. Antonio dropped to the ground and swept the blade of his machète at Quashee’s ankles-them. Quashee jumped up over the blade but got tangled in midair in his own two feet. He crashed down. Antonio was on top of him one time; he pinned Quashee and put his machète right up under Quashee’s chin guard, where his neck was exposed. Quashee wailed, “Ai! Mercy!” He dropped his machète and froze, his palms spread rigid in front of him. A trickle of blood was running down his neck. Antonio had nicked him.
“You want me to stop?” Antonio roared into his face.
“Yes, yes! I done, I done!”
“All right, little boy, Mama man; I go stop.” The scorn in Antonio’s voice was how you would speak to some stray dog you kick in the street. He slapped Quashee on his ear with the flat of the machète. Quashee howled again.
“Ey!” shouted the marshall in his enhanced voice. “Enough of that!”
Antonio stood up. Ben rushed over and unbuckled Antonio’s helmet to reveal his triumphant, sweaty grin. “Oh,” said Ione softly. She loosened her hold on Tan-Tan a little.
The marshall hurried over to the two fighters, face black as a passing shower.
“Antonio, you know the rules. Once Quashee ask you to stop, you had no right to box he like that!”
“Man, don’t give me no umbrage today. I win the fight fair, and I taking my wife and my child and going home.”
Somebody in the stands shouted out, “Bloodfire! What wrong with Quashee?”
Quashee hadn’t gotten up, was lying limp as do-do in the dirt.
Ione sniggered. “All that just for a little pin prick? Quashee!” She yelled, “You could stop making mako now! Fight done!”
Quashee started to make a horrible choking noise. Alarm jumped plain onto the marshall’s face. He lifted Quashee’s helmet, then shouted for the doctors. The team jogged to Quashee’s side, carrying a stretcher between them. They assessed the information they were getting from his earbug and began to minister to him. The marshall got the listening look of someone getting a message from an eshu. He scowled at Antonio, who looked confused and angry.
“You coward dog you!” The marshall motioned to the sheriffs. “Arrest he.”
All the way home in the sheriffs’ car, sitting with Antonio between the two guards, Ione was only beating her breast and carrying on, holding on to Antonio like she would never let go. Antonio reached out from time to time to pat Tan-Tan’s head where she sat crying in the front seat. “Maka get it wrong,” he fumed. “The poison was only supposed to slow he down, not make he sick so.”
The streets were a little clearer. Everybody would be following Fimbar and Philomise’s band “Wail for Marley” as it made its first lap through the Cockpit County parade route. Then it would be time to see the band off to Liguanea Town for the competition. Nanny’s guidance was for the sheriffs to take Ione and Tan-Tan home, then drive Antonio to the shift tower in Liguanea and confine him there. Whether Quashee lived or died, things weren’t going to go good with Antonio.
“That blasted Quashee. He constitution too damn weak, yes?”
Tan-Tan was so frightened she couldn’t think. They were going to lock Daddy away! She kept reaching out her hand to touch Antonio’s sleeve, but he wasn’t paying her plenty mind, only stroking Ione’s hair and saying, “Don’t cry, doux-doux, don’t cry.”
They reached the mayor house. “Compère,” said one of the sheriffs, “you have one hour to pack up your necessaries for the jail.”
“Pack? Why?”
“You just pack up what you need, oui? Provincial Mocambo not going to waste resources on you, you must bring your own. And make haste, yes? Sooner we get you there, sooner we get to jump-up this Carnival.”
“Nanny save we! Antonio!” Ione moaned in grief, taking Antonio’s face between her hands and kissing it all over.
“Doux-doux…” Antonio picked her up and took her inside, Ione holding on to him and sobbing for dear life. Tan-Tan tried to follow them inside the bedroom, but they closed the door in her face.
“Daddy! Mummy!” She threw herself to the floor and cried like her heart would break. She was still weeping when she felt the touch on her shoulder. She looked up through bleary eyes. Nursie and the sheriffs. Nursie shook her head sadly. “I hope your parents find enough drama to suit them this time.” She pounded at the door; no answer. She sucked her teeth in disgust. “Them two have one solution for every problem, oui?” One of the sheriffs sniggered. Nursie silenced him with one look. She picked Tan-Tan up and rocked her. Tan-Tan threw her arms round Nursie’s neck and blubbered.
“Oh, doux-doux darling, don’t fret so, nuh? Nursie go take care of you. Come lie down.”
“No! I want Mummy! I want Daddy!”
“They go come and see you soon, darling. Come now.”
She put Tan-Tan to bed, but when the fetch brought in the cocoa-tea, Tan-Tan remembered how it had made her sleep the last time. She only took couple-three little sips. She pretended to be drowsy. Slowly she closed her eyes and made like she was asleep.
Nursie stayed. Tan-Tan was frantic. Nursie had to go away! Finally Nursie sighed and left the room. When Tan-Tan couldn’t hear her steps retreating any more, she swung herself carefully out of bed and began to put her shoes on; a quiet pair, not the barking alligator shoes. Then quickly, just in case eshu decided to check with Nursie or Granny Nanny, Tan-Tan ran out through the porch door and round to where the sheriff’s car was parked. Her earbug clicked as she moved out of the house’s detection field. The trunk was open. Tan-Tan stood on tiptoes to look inside.
“You is Tan-Tan.”
Tan-Tan jumped. The voice was deep and sad as a potoo-owl’s cry. She peeked out from behind the car. The man who stood there had the massive chest and tree branch arms of a runner. His forehead sloped back to his peaked hairline, giving him the appearance of royalty. His brow was creased like ugli fruit skin, his mouth turned down in a forlorn bow. He looked like everybody in the world had decided to stop talking to him. “You is Tan-Tan, ain’t?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“I name Maka.” He whistled a tune. Her earbug crackled into static, then faded away. “Your daddy in trouble,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I sorry too bad for it.”
Why was he sorry? He wasn’t Quashee.
“I could help he. You want that?”
“Oh, yes please, Compère.”
“Then you have to help me.” He held out a small playback machine wrapped in what looked like datastock.
Tan-Tan reached for it. As she took it from him, she felt the callus on his fingers. “What I must do?”
“Find a way to give he that when nobody ain’t looking. And mind you don’t talk about it out loud, not you and not your daddy. You must keep quiet, quiet about it like a mus-mus, like a mouse. Seen?”