by neetha Napew
“Oh, it is pretty here,” Marmion said, breathing in the rich damp-earth smells. “Trees are budding out!” she added in exclamation. “Almost overnight it seems.”
“I don’t think Petaybee’s keeping to schedule this year,” Whittaker said, sounding enormously pleased with himself. “I’d advise you to do the same, Marmie. You’ll get where you’re going faster.”
“Then where do you advise I go first, Whit?”
“Where I am,” he said, sitting back. “Just keep on this track, Faber, and when you reach the town, hang a right.”
Kilcoole, despite its mountains of once-snow-covered paraphernalia, had an air of desertion. Marmion remarked on it, nobly refraining from commenting on its appearance.
“Oh, a lot of folks have taken advantage of the thaw to visit relatives and exchange garden plants.”
“How wise. They’re ahead of schedule, too!”
“They did get the hint. And don’t be misled by all the stuff you see outside, Marmie. No one throws anything away that might be useful.” He pointed to several lads who were carefully moving machinery parts in the side yard of one house, obviously looking for a particular one.
Marmie caught their running commentary as the vehicle rolled by: “I know it was here ‘fore the first snow. And I know it was at this end.” “Well, my father was looking for stuff, and he might have just pulled the pile to pieces looking. You know how he is.” “Then try underneath.”
Faber braked suddenly as a trio of orange-striped cats jumped out in the middle of the road just ahead of them.
“My word, do they often commit suicide that way?”
“My fault,” Whit said sheepishly. “Should’a told you to stop at that house on the left. That’s where I’m working and where you should start.”
“But if you’re working there, Whit, I don’t want to intrude . . .”
“I’m working outside, Marmie,” Whittaker said, opening the door of the vehicle. The cats emerged from under the ancient 4x4, prrrowing to him; two of them propped front paws up on his knees to be petted. The third spoke to him, then turned to wait at the passenger door. “You’re invited inside,” he added. “That’s good, believe me.”
“I’m always agreeable to invitations,” Marmion replied, signaling for Faber to descend, as well. “What a marvelous shade of orange,” she said directly to the cat. When it turned, tail tip idly swaying high above its body, she followed. “Mirandabelle Turvey-West would give her eye teeth for a hair dye that shade, just wouldn’t she!” she murmured under her breath.
The cat shot up the muddy steps. Marmion, eschewing Faber’s out held hand, managed to place her booted feet carefully in the drier spots.
The door opened as they reached the porch and one of the largest, most impressive-looking women Marmion had ever seen, with a complexion to die for and a smile that was the most beautiful thing so far about Kilcoole, stood in the opening.
“Slainte, Whittaker, Miz Algemeine, Colonel Nike, grand morning for a ride, is it not? I’m Clodagh Senungatuk. I’m that pleased to meet you. Come in. I’ve fresh coffee and some decent baking just out of the oven.”
Warmed by the welcome, Marmion held out her hand, to have it briefly but kindly shaken and given back slightly floured. Then Faber was met with the same cordial treatment.
“The new shingles got here first light, Whit” Clodagh said, “but you’ve time for a bite and a sup first.”
“Hey, that’s good,” Whit said with more enthusiasm than Marmion remembered him showing. “I can probably finish the roof today. Maybe I’ll just get started, Clodagh, and grab a bite later.”
With a nod to the other two. he tramped to the edge of the porch and hopped off. A brief explosive exhalation reached the others.
“Leg’s not good enough yet to be jarred by leaping as if he was young again,” Clodagh said, tsking-tsking as she shooed her bemused guests inside.
Marmion’s first shock at the interior dissolved with the scent of spicy warm bread and her instant realization that this small home—and home it definitely was—was actually highly organized and astonishingly neat if you looked past what might be cursorily dismissed as “clutter.” There were, however, more cats inside who, one after the other, strolled over to make personal evaluations of the newcomers.
“Did we pass? Marmion asked as Clodagh gestured her to the rocking chair and motioned Faber to a sturdy bench.
Clodagh delayed answering until she had served her guests coffee and freshly baked hot cinnamon rolls, and placed a pitcher of milk and a huge bowl of sweetener before them. Refilling her own cup, she sat across from Marmion, her elbows on the table, placidly smiling.
“I’ve always had a lot of cats around,” she began.
“All of them orange?” Marmion asked. “Or are they a singularly unique Petaybean breed?”
‘You could definitely say that.”
“I just did. My, these rolls are delicious,” Marmion said, lightly changing topics. “And thank goodness you know how to make proper coffee. Doesn’t she, Faber?”
“Yes, indeed, you do, Miz Senungatuk,” Faber said, smiling in that unexpectedly charming fashion that had disarmed many folk more worldly than Clodagh. Clodagh grinned and winked at him for his accurate pronunciation of her last name. That was another trait Marmion admired in Faber Nike. “Are you able to get regular supplies?”
Clodagh grunted. “Whit got this batch. Said it was a bleeding shame what SpaceBase did to unprotected coffee beans.” She nodded to a corner of her crowded workspace. “I grind them myself when I need them, and keep them frozen till I do.”
“Wouldn’t that be a bit difficult to do right now?” Marmion asked delicately.
“Nah. Even the thaw doesn’t affect the permafrost cache much.”
“Ah, yes!” Marmion said. “I have read, of course, of the permafrost layer that is so like frozen rock, but I had not appreciated until now its practical applications.”
“Well, usually we only use it in summer,” Clodagh said.
“So then good coffee is as much a treat for you as it is for us,” Marmion said and took another grateful sip. The milk in the pitcher had been fresh, too, cream rising to the top. Judging by various-sized lumps, the sweetener had also been home-ground.
“That it is,” Clodagh said.
Marmion felt something press against her lower leg and dropped one hand to touch a furry skull, which she obediently scratched.
“Your cats survive the extremes of Petaybee’s temperatures?”
“Bred for it. A course, they’re smart to begin with, and they use their instincts, too.”
“As do most of you living here on Petaybee, I’d say,” Marmion remarked, getting closer to the purpose of her visit.
Clodagh folded her arms in front of her and said emphatically, “We’ve learned to live here. I wouldn’t much want to live anywhere else.”
As shrewd a woman as she’d ever encountered, Marmion decided approvingly.
“I shouldn’t like to see you anywhere else but here in your home, dispensing superb hospitality to those lucky enough to find their way here, Miz Senungatuk,” Marmion went on. “It’s so rare these days to find people content with what they are and where they are.”
Clodagh regarded her for one long moment, taking in Marmion’s practical but elegant outfit, as well as her expressive face.
“Not knowing who you are or where you belong can cause a person a lot of problems. This planet’s not an easy place to live, but it’s what we’re all used to and we manage fine.”
Hovering in the air were the unspoken words: when we’re left alone to get on with our lives as we want to live them.
“Would you have enough coffee left in the pot for me to have another half cup, Miz Senungatuk?” Marmion asked, fingers laced about her cup so she wouldn’t appear to expect the extra indulgence.
Clodagh’s face lost the tension it had been displaying and suddenly softened into a smile. “Please call me Clodagh. I’m mo
re used to it.”
“Marmion is what my friends call me. Even Marmie’s allowed.” And the very wealthy, very clever Dame Algemeine held her cup out as unassumingly as any supplicant.
“You, too, Faber Nike? Clodagh asked when she had filled Marmion more than halfway.
“Don’t mind if I do . . . Clodagh.”
Clodagh poured him some more coffee, then passed the rolls around again.
“I had hoped to meet more of the people of Kilcoole, Clodagh,” Marmion said, her tone brisker now. “I’m here as I believe Whit will have told you, to investigate the unusual events which the planet seems to be taking the blame for.”
“Planet’s not taking any blame, Marmion,” Clodagh said with a grin and a dismissive wave of her hand. “Planet’s doing what’s needful, too. Showing folks what it will and will not allow done to it. Same’s you wouldn’t want a lot of holes dug in your front yard or pieces of your garden blown up. Whittaker got that message loud and clear, but that son of his didn’t. Nor some others—but the ones who did understood real well.”
“You know the planet did this on its own cognizance?” Faber asked, his voice gentle, the way he spoke when he didn’t want to scare misinformation out of people.
“If you mean did the planet do it without us helping it, yes. Not that anybody could help a planet if it’s got its own mind made up and is perfectly capable of making that known.”
“The problem we face,” Faber went on, “is establishing that the planet is the source of the unusual occurrences.”
Clodagh gave him a momentary blank stare. “And what else could be doing such amazing things? Do you know how long it takes to melt a pail of ice over a fire? Do you think we”—her unusually graceful hand circled an area over the table that signified Kilcoole—“could have caused the melt so early? Or pushed up a volcano? Or shaken the land as I would crumbs from this table?” Her tone was not argumentative; it sounded slightly surprised at such thick-wittedness from an apparently intelligent man. She shook her head. “No, the planet decided all by itself that there had been too many diggings of holes and plantings of explosives and such, and it wants those stopped.”
“The planet is, in your opinion, sentient?” Marmion asked.
“The planet is itself, alive, and,” Clodagh said, turning to Faber with mischief in her eyes, “totally cognizant of what it’s doing.”
Marmion rested her head against her propped arm and, with her free hand, turned the coffee cup around and around by its handle, absorbing this message. Frankly, she was now far more worried for Clodagh’s sake than the planet’s. The woman truly believed it—Marmion was half-way to believing it herself—and Matthew Luzon would make mincemeat of her.
“Is there any chance that the planet’s intelligence can be proved? Without scientific doubt?”
“Early spring, volcanoes, and earthquakes aren’t proof enough?” Clodagh asked.
I am not the only person investigating the unusual occurrences on Petaybee, Clodagh,” Marmion began slowly. “Is there someplace, someone you could visit, somewhere inaccessible? For a week or so?”
“What for?” Clodagh stared at Marmion as if she’d lost her mind, then rose indignantly half out of her seat. “Why should I leave? When Kilcoole needs me the most it’s ever?” She plumped down again, her jaw set, spreading her fingers possessively and protectively on the table’s surface. “No, ma’am. I stay! I stay here! No one’s moving me from my home!”
“No, I don’t guess that would be easy, Clodagh, but impossible it is not, I fear.” Marmion leaned across the table to the healer. “If somehow, I could . .. experience . . . the planet myself . . .”
“Like Whit and the others did in the cave?” Clodagh asked, relaxing a bit more but crossing her arms firmly across her formidable bosom.
“Yes, something subjective so that I can come down as heavily on your side as possible.”
“Ah!” Clodagh said. “So you can stand for us against whats-is-name, the one Yana calls the buzzard.”
“His name’s Matthew Luzon, Clodagh,” Whittaker Fiske said with a not-quite-reproving grin as he appeared in the doorway. He paused to wipe the clods of mud off his boots, mopping his sweaty forehead as well, before he entered. “Do I smell cinnamon buns? I do.” Snaking a cup from the many hanging underneath the wall cabinet, he sat down at the table, angling the chair so he didn’t have his back to Faber. He poured coffee and took two big bites out of the cinnamon roll from the plate Clodagh passed him. “We’re lucky you decided to come, Marmie. You’ve got more common sense in one strand of your hair than Luzon has in that egg head of his, But—“ and Whit emphasized that with a pound of his fist on the table.
Marmion noted the crumbs jumping on the surface. How would a planet do such a thing on a larger scale? Shift tectonic plates? but those shifts were minute and occurred under specific conditions . . . She turned her attention back to Whit.
“But . . . the one we have to contend with is Matthew Luzon, and you know what he’s like. He’s never been one to let the truth, even if his nose is rubbed in it, stand in the way of his preconceived notions. If you hadn’t come, Marmie, I’d’ve—no, by God, I wouldn’t have left Petaybee.” The fist came down again.
“If, however, Whit, we—Faber and I, plus Sally and Millard can be convinced, we are a united force on your side.”
Whit inhaled deeply, obviously mulling over the arguments for and against. “They’d say you’d flipped, Marmie.”
“Ha! I’ve too many PIHP—that stands for persons in high places, Clodagh—for even Matthew to succeed . . . But it is He who has to be convinced.”
“Convincing that man will take considerable effort, time, and probably a miracle, although we’ve had the next best thing to one, and that doesn’t seem to have impressed him either.” Whit paused, his shoulders slumping in momentary defeat. He saw Clodagh’s eyes on him and straightened up, his attitude once more decisive. “We’ll just have to outwit him.”
“Or,” Faber put in, turning to Clodagh, ‘let the planet do it?”
She pulled at her lower lip. “A man doesn’t hear what he doesn’t want to hear. Your son’s like that, too, Whit, sorry as I am to say it to your face.”
“I’m sorry, as well, Clodagh, but for your sake, not mine.”
“Matthew’s not begun his investigations,” Marmion said, breaking off pieces of another cinnamon bun and chewing to aid her thoughts, “so we’ve a little time in hand. He loves to have plenty of hard copy to support his claims even before he makes them. He’s got all those physically fit young men running about SpaceBase. I wonder . . .” She turned to Faber. “I wonder if they’d be the place to start. And as soon as possible. We’ll leave Braddock Makem till last. I thought at first I might win him over, but since then I’ve noticed that he apparently rather relishes Matthew’s brand of management, instead of resenting it as one would expect. Indeed, of all of the minions, he appears to be the most in accord with Matthew and the least open-minded. Doing the others first will slow Matthew down to a crawl.” She began to smile at everyone around the table as she popped the last of her roll into her mouth and happily chewed it down. “Well, let’s get started. Clodagh?”
Chapter 8
Dinah heard the noise before Bunny, footsteps coming down from the hill above. The dog strained forward, listening, doing the whine—yip, whine—yip that preceded her full-throated “woo-wooing” cry.
Bunny, still feeling queasy from her experience in the cave, held on to a handful of brush to pull herself to her feet. She heard Dinah scrabbling up the path, icy rock slipping under her paws.
“What is it, girl?” Bunny began, turning toward the sound of the dog. But about then, Dinah yipped and fell silent.
“Dinah?” Bunny whispered into the dense shadows, reaching for the comforting warmth of the dog’s coarse thick fur “Dinah?”
Her out stretched hand was suddenly clasped in a vise and Satok stepped out of the shadows.
“Slainte, p
retty Shongili snocle driver. How sweet of you to come and meet me. Where’s your boyfriend?”
“What have you done to Dinah?” she hollered at him. “Let go of my hand.”
Instead, he captured the other one. “The dog? I knocked her fraggin’ skull shut. She should know better than to bark at the shanachie. The other dogs learned. Go ahead, scream. I’m waiting for your boyfriend to come to the rescue, and then I can send him to keep his dog company.” Bunny did scream, and kicked, and hollered, but the whole time he dragged her up the path to his house, no lamps lit in the darkness of the village below, no faces peered out windows or doors to see what the commotion was about. Not at the Connellys’, nor anywhere else.
As he dragged her away, her hand brushed against Dinah’s still warm fur, sticky with what could only be the faithful dog’s blood.
But the boys must have heard her. They must have.
Once, she thought she saw the shine of coppery eyes from one of the surrounding rocks, but otherwise, there was no witness to her abduction at all.
When they were well above the village and beyond the cave mouth and no help appeared, she decided to save her strength for later, and allowed herself to be led with only token resistance to the man’s house.
Several outbuildings dotted the rocky mountain meadow where the sturdy stone house stood. It was the finest Bunny had ever seen, without a bit of scavenged material in its makeup. Thick stone walls, a roof of some sturdy material Bunny recognized from her trips to SpaceBase as similar to the stuff on the barracks buildings, and real windows of thick plasglas, heavily draped.
A high corral fence contained many curlies, among them Diego’s Cisco and Bunny’s Darby. A team of dogs, snarling and snapping and for all their red fur as unlike the gentle and intelligent foxhounds of Kilcoole as they were unlike caribou, were tied in the open, a short distance from the house. She could smell the filth of their leavings even through the icy wind.
Satok misinterpreted her lack of struggle and perusal of his holdings.
“Ah, so you’re impressed, eh? Well, girl, all this comfort and luxury can be at your disposal if you’re nice and do as you’re told. Come in now, while the night is still young.”
