“The Black Lagoon meets the Six Gun universe” is how Joe R. Lansdale has described Josh Rountree‘s new novel, The Legend of Charlie Fish; it’s also been described as “True Grit by way of The Shape of Water” — which are two pretty great pitches, in my opinion! To mark its upcoming release, Tachyon Publications have provided us with an excerpt to share with CR’s readers. Before we get to it, here’s the synopsis:

As an unlikely found-family flees toward Galveston, a psychic young girl bonds with Charlie Fish, an enigmatic gill-man. Meanwhile, they are pursued by bounty hunters determined to profit from the spectacle of Charlie. But the Great Storm—the worst natural disaster in U.S. history—is on its way.

As always, Floyd Betts rides into town alone. He arrives for his father’s funeral, but he is returning to Galveston, Texas, with two orphaned siblings he has rescued. Nellie, who is descended from a long line of witches, has visions from other people’s minds. Hank, her impulsive younger brother, just wants to break out his outsized revolver.

Along the way home, Floyd, Nellie, and Hank encounter a dubious traveling salesman, Professor Finn, and his henchman, Kentucky Jim. They are struggling to capture a fish-man in order to put him on cruel display. When Nellie taps into the peril of the gentle Charlie Fish, Floyd’s makeshift family expands to include the lost, two-legged amphibian.

With the circus charlatans in pursuit, ominous winds are picking up from an impending hurricane. Meanwhile, all Charlie Fish wants is to return to his home at sea.

*

“Somebody is in trouble,” she said. “Hank, be alert with your pistol in case it’s needed.”

“Hank, do not draw that pistol,” I said.

Nellie was up on her knees in the back of the wagon now, trying to look out ahead of us. What passed for a road cut through some low brush and ran close to the river again, but there was nothing ahead of us but miles of swampland.

“I’m an expert pistoleer,” Hank said. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Betts.”

“That doesn’t matter. Keep it in the holster.”

I didn’t like the thought of Hank waving that pistol around, taking shots at shadows. He was just as liable to shoot me or one of the horses as whatever he was aiming at, and I was convinced the power in that pistol would put the boy on his behind if he pulled the trigger.

Nellie was close behind me now, and I could feel the worry leaking off her.

“Do you have a gun, Mr. Betts?” she asked.

“I have a rifle with me, in case we want to hunt some supper.”

“Maybe you should take your rifle in hand.”

“Nellie. Tell me what you’re on about.”

“We’re about to encounter some scoundrels.”

“Say again?”

“Some bad men,” she said.

“My pistol’s loaded, at least,” said Hank.

The horses led the wagon around a bend, and we saw another wagon, pulled off the road in the trees near the river’s edge. It was tall and enclosed, with wooden panels that would open up along the side, and the panels were bound shut by what looked like rusted baling wire. Professor Finn’s Healing Spirits, Waters, and Mystical Tinctures was painted on the side in sloppy red letters. The wagon looked uncared for. Planks of wood had pulled away in several places, revealing the wagon’s dark interior, and the metal tire on one of the wheels was warped. I could envision that tired old wagon moving down the road like a man with a limp, rattling whatever questionable wares were stored inside, and shaking her passengers down to their bones.

A pair of sorry horses pulled the thing, their ribs like saw blades on the underside of their skin. They lapped at the river and swatted at mosquitoes with their tails.

Two men—one of them, presumably, Professor Finn—wrestled with something at the water’s edge. They looked to have captured a giant fish, or maybe an alligator, and bound it in ropes, but were having trouble getting the monster out of the water and up the riverbank. The fish thrashed and fought in the shallows as the men struggled against it.

“They’re hurting him!” Nellie said.

“They’re just fishing,” I said. “Caught a monster, looks like.”

“He’s not a fish,” said Nellie. “Look at him.”

“He’s got a face!” said Hank.

“Maybe an alligator,” I said.

“He’s a person,” Nellie said. “They’re going to kill him.”

Nellie climbed over the side of the wagon and ran toward the commotion.

“Get back here!” I said.

“She ain’t listening,” Hank said.

I set the wagon brake, climbed out, and followed her.

Nellie was engaged in a full-throated rebuke of the two men by the time I caught up with her. They had managed to get the fish onto shore, and the larger of the two, a giant who was a foot taller than me and had to weight over three hundred pounds, squatted on top of it in an effort to keep it still, while the second man tightened the ropes around their catch.

“Put him back!” she yelled. “Let him go. He’s not an animal.”

“Quiet yourself, girl,” said the man with the ropes.

He wore a long, cowhide coat that was far too much for the weather, and a bowler hat that clung tight to his head, no matter how hard he struggled against the fish. He was clean-shaven but for sideburns that grew to sharp points, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with one lens missing rested far out on the bridge of his nose. Sweat poured down his face, and he gritted his teeth as he cinched up the last knot binding the still-thrashing fish. He stepped back, clapped his hands in satisfaction, and turned to face us.

“You’re making a terrible racket,” he said to Nellie.

“Let him go, scoundrels!” said Nellie.

“I’ll do no such thing. And it’s no business of yours.”

“Nellie, come on!” I said.

“Yes, Nellie,” said the man. “Listen to your father.”

“It’s not a fish.” Nellie looked up at me, tears in her eyes. “These scoundrels are going to harm him.”

“You keep calling us scoundrels like you just learned the word,” said the man in the bowler. “Perhaps you need to broaden your vocabulary.”

“I have an extensive vocabulary,” said Nellie. “I call you that because it’s the name that best suits you.”

“You’re an insolent thing. If my daughter was speaking to someone that way, I’d lay a palm up against her face.”

“You do that, you’ll find yourself short one hand,” I said.

The man grinned like he was trying to eat something dead and convince you it tasted good.

“Forgive my manners,” he said. “You came upon us during our struggle with this monster of the sea, and my blood is still running hot. I’m Professor Finn. You may have heard of me?”

“I have not,” I said.

“Surprising, if you’ve spent any time in these parts.”

“I spend as little time as I can in these parts.”

“Well, that explains it. My medicines and curiosities are well known. People are positively delighted to see this wagon roll into their town. Toys for the children. Healing balms for grandmother’s aches. Special concoctions for would-be lovers. Arthritis and tuberculosis and fevers, all cured thanks to me. And of course, a few oddities from the four corners of the earth, to entice the thrill seekers. Things that can be experienced nowhere else. Have you any interest in seeing a genuine jackalope skull?”

“I can’t say that would appeal to me.”

“You’re not a professor,” said Nellie, “and he’s not a fish.”

“Young lady, I assure you I studied at many of the top schools in the eastern part of this great continent. Schools where only the finest gentlemen are admitted. Places of quiet reflection, where the yammering of hardheaded children is forbidden. You are correct, however, that this is not a fish. This is one of the wonders of the world. My companion and I have been following stories for years. Chasing down false paths. I was not even entirely convinced of his true existence until I laid eyes on the monster myself, but as you can see, he is real. Imagine what someone might pay to see such a creature, and I’m letting you look for free.”

I finally looked at the struggling fish.

And, of course, it was no fish. It was a man, covered in scales as I’ve already described him. And when he stared at me, blinked, and bleated like a sheep, I felt my legs nearly buckle underneath me.

*

Josh Rountree’s The Legend of Charlie Fish is due to be published by Tachyon Publications in North America and in the UK, on July 25th.

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