Strange Music

by Alan Dean Foster

  Flinx was calm as he studied the cityscape spread across and over the summit of the distant hill. Mist had turned to drizzle. Smoke continued to rise from the city’s profusion of chimneys, though whether their fires were powered by wood or peat or coal, or something unique to Largess, he could not tell. The acrid yet sweet smell that began to drift outward from the tightly clustered gray and dull white buildings did not suggest any combustible material with which he was familiar. But on a world in which the overriding fragrance was of damp, it was often difficult to distinguish individual odors.

  “All my life, I have been faced with dilemmas as impossible as they were improbable,” he replied equably, “and each time I have managed a solution, so I am not intimidated, by the one that confronts us here. Compared to others with which I have dealt, this seems a small thing, a minor obstacle, a simple problem. I will apply all my knowledge, and utilize all my talents, to ensure that we do not return to Borusegahm, empty of hand and depleted in pride.”

  Wiegl’s ears were twitching so hard they looked as if they might break free of his head and fly off on their own. “We have your magician’s skills, it is true, and the flying creature of many colors that kills”—he pointed toward the metal walking tube that lay propped up against a nearby green-trunked growth—“and moves faster than the eye can follow. But these will not be enough, against the arms of Minord, let alone against those of which we are unaware, and may be possessed by the rogue human.” Nictitating membranes flicked down over his eyes as he was suddenly hopeful. “Unless you have, a plan you have prepared, which you have kept to yourself, and of which I am ignorant.”

  “My plan has not changed, which is to use my ‘magic,’ to persuade and convince, and also to improvise. All that has changed, is the location; from ship to town, from deck to floor, from cabin to castle.” Turning away from the stream, Flinx picked up the walking tube. A slight hiss rose from within. “We will take with us into the city, only that which we can carry, and will make our way inward, in the manner of casual visitors.”

  Wiegl’s head tilted to one side. “A suitable sortie, valuable at least for information, save for one slight problem, you seem to be forgetting.” When Flinx did not sing a reply, the guide helpfully explained. “Since the fact seems to have escaped you, I must remind you, that you are not Larian, but an offworlder of strange appearance, of strange locomotion, of even stranger eyes, and of too many digits and too great a height, and that therefore your presence, some slight notice might attract.”

  Flinx didn’t reply immediately, peering into the tube to check on Pip. Drowsy within the insulated cylinder, she barely glanced up at him before returning to her slumber.

  “I am counting on it,” he replied, in harmony deliberately curt so that there could be no mistaking his determination.

  —

  Run now, Wiegl told himself. Run, don’t look back, be content with your prepaid half-payment, and get away home.

  He couldn’t do it. Not because fleeing at this point would cause any damage to his reputation: none in Minord were aware of it, or him. Not because it might brand him a coward, in his own eyes if no others. No, he could not run away because he had become oddly fond of the strange offworlder who called himself Flinx. He might run out on an unpleasant employer, but never on a friend. Not even one who was a member of an alien species, even if it was a species whose kind he might never encounter again.

  Also, he was beyond curious to see what miracles the magician had in mind.

  Flinx easily sensed his companion’s emotional turmoil but chose not to comment on it. Wiegl had been wary of him from the start. Better not to let him know that his human companion could almost always perceive the guide’s true feelings.

  They arranged to stable the brund with an obliging quartet of fisherfolk. The family felt no compunction in assisting the strangers, even if one of them was an offworlder. Either the oddly matched pair of visitors would return and pay the agreed-upon fee, or they would never come back. If the latter, then the seiners would acquire a fine, healthy transport animal. The best gambles, the patriarch of the four reflected, were the ones that did not involve gambling.

  Only occasionally utilizing the metal tube as a walking stick so as not to disturb its sleeping occupant, Flinx sauntered deeper into the city, flanked by his reluctant but committed guide. The human had made no attempt to disguise himself, change his clothing, or mask his true barefaced appearance. When queried about these seeming omissions, Flinx explained his reasoning without hesitation.

  “If I try to conceal myself, then it will seem to anyone who sees through such a disguise, that I must have something to hide, and a need to conceal it from public view.” Raising a hand, he smiled and waved at a pair of elderly females who gaped at him out of an oval window. Young Larians gamboled behind the unlikely pair of visitors, chattering while telling jokes through mouthfuls of small fish, their jaws making smacking sounds as they strung together clumsy but evocative melodies. Some of their comments had to do with the offworlder’s height, others with his peculiar and opaque attire. The majority referenced the profusion of fingers on his hands, their lack of any connective webbing, and especially the absence of a tail. Wiegl they mostly ignored.

  Pausing occasionally in the middle of a street paved with quarried gray slate to ask directions of a solitary pedestrian, they drew penetrating stares but no crowd. The inhabitants were curious but cautious. Reaching out with his talent, Flinx perceived an ocean of emotion that ranged from mildly fearful to intensely curious to disgust or admiration. Only, of course, among those who were not singspeaking. In short, the citizens of Minord City did not know what to think of him. All of which contributed to the comforting knowledge that he was not expected.

  Having failed to intercept the Firstborn and her abductors before she could be brought into the city, he would now have to confront her captors directly and on their home ground. At least, it was home ground for the Minordians. Whoever was helping them was no more a valid resident here than was Flinx, no matter what local associations that still-unknown individual might have forged.

  “Don’t worry.” He could sense the guide’s tension and hastened to reassure him. “As I have dealt with such situations before, and have always managed to emerge successful, and with all worthwhile appendages intact.”

  Wiegl’s attention was drawn to a trio of uniformed locals. Plainly sizing up the visitors, two of them now broke away to dash up a nearby lane. The third kept pace with the newcomers, keeping his distance from them while his eyes continued to mark their progress. The guide pointed him out.

  “Your wish to meet with local officials, is about to be granted, is about to be fulfilled, if the one with the sword who does not turn away, belies anything with his body language.”

  Wiegl’s analysis was to be proven correct. Very little additional time had elapsed when the two soldiers, or police, or whatever the local peacekeeping force was called, returned with an entire squad of comrades in tow: a dozen or more of them. They joined their remaining colleague in paralleling the newcomers.

  But—that was all. No attempt was made to arrest, or even to question, Flinx and his edgy companion. The armed force, a mix of males and females, merely continued to track them at a distance. When Flinx made as if to swerve in their direction, they compliantly backed off. If he looked ready to head in the other direction, they moved closer. He and Wiegl were being monitored, but not interfered with. The squad’s uneasiness was plain to perceive.

  This won’t do, Flinx decided. If they were going to get anywhere, they needed to be interfered with.

  They emerged into a circular square. As the afternoon drizzle started to fade, Flinx began to ascend a series of concentric platforms carved from alternating slabs of green and gray granite. Water flowed down them, making footing slippery, but he continued until he was standing at the base of the three sculptures that crowned the top of the elaborate public fountain. These comprised a trio of different aquatic animals,
each more outrageous in appearance than the next, from whose assorted orifices water flowed. He did not pause to admire them.

  “What are you doing, what are you about, what irrationality is this?” Wiegl stammered from below. “Have we come then, all this way, to die for a farce?”

  Flinx looked past him. In addition to the persistent train of cubs and young adolescents, he had now acquired quite a crowd of adults, come to view the spectacle of an alien in their midst. Well, if it was a spectacle they wanted, he would give it to them. Leaning on the metal tube and striving to fill the minidrag within with nothing but soothing feelings, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

  Combined with the studies he had completed on board the Teacher, his travels from Borusegahm had equipped him with sufficient glibness to be reasonably sure of his diction. The only uncertainty that remained related to his singing voice. It had proven satisfactory for communicating with Wiegl and other individual Larians. Was it good enough to hold an audience? Or would his attempt at a singspeech speech fall as flat as the underlying notes?

  Whatever you are going to do, whatever you are going to say, standing up there like a proud fool, an uneasy Wiegl thought, please leave me out of it.

  Today was not his luckiest of days.

  “My friend and I,” Flinx began singspeaking boldly, “having heard tell of a possible conflict, brewing between the peoples of the North and those of the South, have journeyed long and hard, to preach against it!” Stirred initially by his fluency in their language and more deeply by its content, the squad of peacekeepers now began to move forward, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd toward the central fountain and its unlikely resident. Taking note of their approach, Flinx sang faster.

  “Some speak of an abduction, of an important personage, from the great Leeth known to all, as Borusegahm!” The peacekeepers’ advance now took on an air of urgency as their emotions filled with alarm. A couple of them had drawn pistols and short swords and were waving them warningly in Flinx’s direction. He pretended not to see. “A personage of beauty, of education, and of breeding; one who is central, to the people of Borusegahm! She is here, of that I am certain, knowing as I do that—”

  Elongated three-fingered hands were grabbing forcefully at him now, threatening not just to draw him down but to pull him off his perch. Having no wish to stumble and hit his head against the slick stone, or have his head “accidentally” make contact with it (the number of witnesses notwithstanding), he allowed himself to be half dragged, half guided off the fountain and back to the ground, all the while keeping a steady grip on his emotions so that Pip would not take alarm. Held firmly in the grasp of two of the peacekeepers, Wiegl glared at the human.

  “Is this the outcome you sought, offworld magician; a quick visit in freedom, followed by a doubtless lengthier one of restraint?”

  Of the three slender but muscular peacekeepers who were holding him, two flinched at the guide’s words while the third actually let go. To his credit, the officer facing Flinx held his ground. But while he might appear bold and in charge, Flinx could sense his fear and uncertainty. He had no intention of exacerbating it.

  “We are your prisoners, now at your disposal, to be taken to whatever, place you wish.” He executed most handily the Larian gesture indicative of ready compliance.

  While pleased (and relieved) to receive the alien’s articulate submission, the officer was anxious to be rid of the creature and its companion as soon as possible.

  “You will come with us now, in silence and subservience, to the central detention center, at City Hall. No trouble will you give us, no argument or dissension, or further restraint will be applied, and I do not mean with words.”

  Indicating that he understood, Flinx obediently fell in line between the two ranks of peacekeepers. Wiegl followed close behind, peering at the ground while mumbling to himself a tune that was definitely not in the form of a love song.

  “Are we then, under arrest; formal prisoners, under what charge?” Flinx essayed conversationally.

  “I do not know, what you are,” the officer responded with tuneful honesty, “by which I mean to say, I do not know what you are.”

  “I am an offworlder,” Flinx replied helpfully, “more specifically a human, citizen of a government called the Commonwealth, that seeks to aid each and every inhabitant of Largess. Including you”—he nodded toward several of the other peacekeepers, who studiously ignored him—“and you, and you, and even you.”

  “I would have you leave me out of it,” the officer replied earnestly, “of whatever it is you speak, and let the adjudicator, decide your fate, your tomorrow, and whatever truth may lie in your words.”

  15

  ■ ■ ■

  As lockups went, the one situated in the bowels of the sprawling City Hall complex was an appropriate depiction of the general level of technology on Largess. The stone walls (red granite this time) were polished instead of rough, a nice touch when one considered that aesthetics were not usually a priority for most species who occasionally needed to restrain antisocial members of their own culture. Instead of bars, fine cross-hatched iron grillwork shut the cell off from the subterranean corridor it fronted. Utilizing his greater human mass, Flinx thought he might be able to bend the metal strands. Even so, it would take many hours to make a hole big enough for him and Wiegl to crawl through. It would be a futile exercise in any case, since they would then be faced with the prospect of safely exiting the corridor and escaping the building.

  And to what end? It was not as if they could hide somewhere in the city. That was not what had prompted Flinx to perform publicly. Save for the inability to move about at will, he and Wiegl were more or less exactly where he wanted to be.

  Furthermore, wary of approaching the peculiar offworlder too closely (and fortunately for them), none of their escort had thought to check the interior of the alien creature’s walking stick.

  In between two long, very low cot-like arrangements was what at first glance appeared to be a third. It took a moment to find the fill spigot and controls. At first he thought it was a bath, until Wiegl explained to him that for a Larian, regular immersion in water was a necessity, not a luxury. There was no window, but that didn’t bother Flinx. He did not expect to be here for very long.

  “A most excellent conclusion,” an irritated Wiegl sang bitterly, “to all our traveling, all our fighting, all our efforts most strenuously expended.” Elongated black eyes gazed into Flinx’s own. “What now do you propose, offworlder, human, magician? To request that the Hobak, bring his captive to us here, and then set us free; to go home, to go south, to leave his boundaries, accompanied by his profoundest apologies?”

  “Maybe.” Unharmonious though they might be, Flinx felt that Larian culture could benefit from the inclusion of a few one-note responses—Wiegl’s wincing at the acerbic reply notwithstanding.

  “So what do we do now,” the guide sputtered as he paced the restricted, enclosed area of the cell, “while we linger for some adjudicator, to determine our fate?”

  “We wait.” Flinx took a seat on one of the cots, having to practically squat in order to do so. He continued in proper singspeech, feeling he owed it to Wiegl to spare the guide’s ears. “Until someone comes, of amiable disposition, to let us out.”

  “Let us…?” Exasperated and disbelieving, Wiegl slumped down on the cot opposite, not even bothering to finish the tune he had started.

  Less than an hour had passed when a Larian draped in unexpectedly colorful and conspicuously official gossamer came down the corridor and stopped in front of their cell. After studying the unlikely pair inside with unabashed interest, she beckoned to Wiegl. Anxious not to make things any worse and hopeful of currying whatever favor might waft his way, the guide stood up quickly and hurried over to the grate.

  “I was told an offworlder, had been remanded into custody, for declaiming in a public place, things better left unsaid, best left undiscussed. An offworlder with too
many fingers, and ears on the sides of its head instead of properly atop, and a face that looked as if stepped on, and nearly naked of hair besides.” Her ears and proboscis twitched in disbelief. “I would not have countenanced such a thing, were I not standing here, seeing it for myself, in plain view.”

  Understanding everything she said, Flinx smiled helpfully. She ignored him, singspeaking only to Wiegl.

  “I have been told to inquire, if it has special needs, as it is deemed important, to keep both of you alive and well. Until the adjudicator can return, to take up this unusual case, or until the Hobak himself, deigns to intervene.”

  Flinx rose. “Why wait for an adjudicator?” he proposed, shocking yet another citizen of Largess with his ability to singspeak, “when the Hobak can determine, through his greater skill and perception, what fate should befall my friend and myself?”

  Don’t be so helpful, Wiegl wanted to say. But mindful of the magician’s skills and of abilities perhaps as yet unrevealed, he kept quiet, stepping aside as the human rose from the cot and walked over to the grate.

  Flinx gazed down at the jailer, trying to penetrate her stare, to see beyond the black eyes. Entirely unaware of what he was trying to do, she did not move away. Just looked back, scrutinizing him with equal intensity.

  “So the noble Hobak, Felelagh na Broon, is himself nearby, is available for consultation?”

  Her response was a desultory snort through her single flexible nostril. It wetted his shirt. He paid neither the snot nor the sentiment the least attention.

  “What does it matter,” she sang, “as he would never deign, to waste his valuable time, on a pair of common prisoners.”

  Flinx persisted. “But we are not common prisoners, and it is imperative that we meet, the Hobak in person, to discuss why we have come.” He continued to stare hard at the guard. “Surely one of your experience, equipped with such knowledge, must fully grasp, the importance of the moment, the importance of the passion, that underlies our request?”