So, that was how some spies got girls to sport with them, I pondered through a haze of pain. I had in fact done a lot of espionage work, but my contacts had all been men. I was fairly sure that a complaint to either my master or the directant of Wayfarers would not improve matters, however. I walked around the corner of the tavern to a quiet spot, sat down on the cobbles, and wiped my face with wine using the scrap of scarf from my mug. Presently I felt well enough to attempt walking, so I stood up very slowly and entered the tavern. Ten minutes, Riellen had said. Had ten minutes passed? I neither knew nor cared.
I took a rack lamp from the hospitality counter, climbed the stairs, and found the green door straightaway. I pressed the latch and strode in—and was confronted with Lavenci sitting on the edge of her bed and removing a boot, and Pelmore in the process of lowering his trews and presenting a view of his hairy backside that caused severe damage to my aesthetic sensibilities. Lavenci screamed and pulled her skirts down over her knees. Pelmore pulled his trews back up and shouted at me to travel to the nethermost circle of all hells and there engage in reproductive activities with one of the more repulsive locals. I backed out hurriedly, and after pulling the door closed behind me, I checked the other doors. I discovered the basis of my mistake.
"Constable Riellen, where are you?" I shouted as I stood in the passageway, passably close to vomiting from raw distress.
"The green door, sir!" she called.
"Riellen, all the damn doors are green!"
"Oh, sorry sir, this one," she said, opening the door to the room next to the one I had entered. "Madame Norellie is ready for you." I entered. A woman of about thirty was sitting on the bed. She had dark, wavy hair that reached down past her breasts, and wore a dress in the style of the windrel women of Acrema. A cord belt emphasised the fact that she had a pleasantly narrow waist, but I was well past appreciating that sort of thing. Riellen knelt down on the floor. She appeared to be writing out a receipt.
''Sir, this is Norellie, and we have negotiated an agreement on a rate of four florins per hour," Riellen said without looking up. "Revolutionary sister, I shall be in Room Eight with the inspector's purse, so knock on my door as you leave and I shall make payment."
"Aye, a constable, is it?" said the woman on th^ bed with an appraising glance in my direction. "Inspector, actually," I responded hoarsely. "Ever do anything brave?" Norellie had an unusually deep and mellow voice. She also had astonishingly large breasts and an odd, almost rakish demeanor about her bearing. I opened my mouth to reply, but Riellen was quicker.
"Oh Inspector Danol is very brave, he has worked hard with me in the service of the downtrodden and exploited people for three years."
"Aye? Inspector, are you then? I was once a lamplight girl. Ever arrest someone like me?"
"I'm not that sort of inspector," I said, tossing my purse to Riellen for safekeeping.
I took the scrap of scarf from my mug and wiped my forehead again, then put the mug down beside the hearth. It was now that I noticed a regular creak-gasp sound coming through the wall.
"Inspector Danol is a servant of the hard-pressed and downtrodden minorities!" continued Riellen.
"Sounds like someone next door is getting pressed down pretty hard," commented Norellie.
"Have you ever thought of forming a healers' collective?" asked Riellen, looking up from her receipt. "You could then organize a healer women's liberation lobby to press for reforms in the laws that oppress you."
"Er, what's a collective?"
"It's like a guild, but all may join as long as they work together. United, you could have a say in the running of Gatrov."
"Us?" she laughed. "A few raggy healer women?" Through the wall I could hear that Lavenci and Pelmore were making their creak-gasp sound in 2/4 time.
"Riellen, can this wait until later?" I asked. "My head feels like—'
"How many like you are there in the district?" asked Riellen, totally focused on her potential revolutionary audience of one.
"A dozen or so healers," replied Norellie, "and maybe a dozen more from the farms and villages who know the arts but work at other things. Busy port, is Gatrov."
"That is a substantial number, sister. Together, you are an important economic force in the town economy."
"Riellen, this woman charges by the hour!" I croaked hopelessly.
"Think of it, sister. Two dozen women who buy food, clothes, and all the other things that towns provide. Taken together you are not to be trifled with. You pay taxes and dues, like everyone else."
"Aye, true," said Norellie, sitting up on my bed and putting her arms around her knees. "I suppose there's even more of us than cobblers, tinkers, or tailors hereabouts."
"I can write out a charter for you."
"Really? Will you?"
"I shall need some details from you first, and you will have to form an electocracy." "What's an electocracy?"
"It's from the Diomedan word electrel, meaning many things acting together." Realizing that I was being ignored completely, and rather distressed by what felt like a very large, white-hot coal behind my left eye, I backed out of the room. Besides, I was convinced that no charm or spell by even the greatest sorcerer in the world could ease the pain in less time than it would take for the dance outside to end. The creak-gasp from Room Ten was lancing through my head like a volley of hot needles, and nausea was getting a pretty good grip on me as well. It was not until I was back in the taproom and returning my lamp that I remembered tossing my purse to Riellen. Rather than bother to go back to fetch it, I just continued on out to the stables.
I collapsed in some hay after dousing my head in the horse trough. The windows from the upstairs rooms looked out over the stables, and they were all open because of the night being very warm. The grrrok-snurf of snores came from Roval's room at the end, someone was playing 'The Balasra Hayricks" on a whistle in the next, creak-gasp was announcing what was going on in Room Ten, while ". J. the principles of electocratic liberation from the mon^rchistic oligarchy that oppresses the freedom-loving..." was emanating from the window of what was supposed to be my room. One the positive side, nobody was in Riellen's room, and the remaining five upstairs windows were on the other side of the building, looking out over the street and the dance.
A horse began to nibble at the hay that I was lying on. I got to my knees, shuffled over to the muck-out trough, and threw up copiously. This induced brilliantly flashing lights behind my eyes, and waves of pain like storm surges of white-hot needles. I felt a serious need to die rather than face any more Of the headache. For a time I hit my head against the side of the muck-out trough to the beat of creak-gasp, then lay exhausted on the ground while Riellen explained to the woman who was supposed to be healing me that"... authoritarian repression of women of independent means can be overcome by means of solidarity!" The pain intensified further, and was soon so bad that I felt as if my mind were detaching itself from my body to escape. Somewhere nearby, a horse voided its bowels. One of my boots was closer to the site of impact than I would have preferred, but somehow that was no longer a serious issue for me.
"Mee-ow! Mee-ow!" echoed out nearby in Wallas's characteristic tone, in time with creak-gasp, and grrroktsnurf of the snores. After a minute someone from the adjoining building instructed Wallas to "Gerroutavereyabassardt!" and this was followed by the crash of breaking glass.
"2042 Halsborn, you're drinking cheap!" shduted Wallas, before reverting to cat language. More bottles, jars, and abuse followed.
At around this time some couple arrived and spught the discretion of the hayloft to do something rather indiscreet. They were panting heavily, and had presumably arrived from the dance, but they too turned out to be noisy lovemakers. Through waves of pain I suddenly realized that all of the sounds had somehow locked into the 2/4 time of the "The Bal-asra Hayricks," in a fantastical concerto of grunt^gasp, creak-gasp, "Mee-ow!," "Gerrovaere!," crash-tinkle, and grrrok-snurf.
I felt myself drifting off toward either unconsciousness or
death, and was not really concerned about which of the two it might be.
>: >:
I awoke on a darkened riverbank, lying on black grass. As I sat up I noted that the pain behind my eye was gone. That was good. Nearby was a stone pier, flanked by a small black tower topped by a burning torch, and beyond that was absolute darkness. That was bad. Tied up at the pier was a snowy white punt garlanded with primroses, and with a small toy bear dressed as a sailor tied to the bow. That was unexpected, but I was nevertheless fairly sure that I was dead.
"Oh shyte, I thought that last migraine felt like a real killer," I muttered aloud.
A figure materialized out of the darkness, a woman wearing a red gown that was slit all the way up to her waist, and whose breasts were not so much covered as vaguely supported by some skimpy red lacing. She reminded me of a woman who had run an establishment in Palion, and whose girls charged a hundred florins an hour—and where I had once conducted a business transaction because I was rather lonely and it seemed like a good idea at the time. The figure before me carried a picnic basket on one arm, and had a white ferry pole over her other shoulder. I got to my feet hurriedly and bowed.
"Danolarian, you once served with my Andry in the Wayfarer Constables," she declared as I stood before her, apprehensive yet dumbfounded. "Sit down, young man, sit down. Creamcake? I mix honey in with the cream."
"I—er, thank you. I know Andry's had a lass or two, but he's never mentioned you, Madame Death—or is it Lady Death?"
"Ferrygirl, actually. I was once Madame Jilli of Palion." "That's where I know you from!"
"Oh very good! You were the young reccon who had just survived some awful battle and was celebrating still being alive. You paid for Rosita's bliss and serenity services, then
just took her out to dinner, walked her back to my front door, and kissed her goodnight." "Er, I—"
"I felt really terrible about that, but by the time Rosita had explained and I ran outside to persuade you to stay, you were gone."
"I just wanted company, not an orgy—"
"But I'll make it up to you, now that I have died and become the ferrygirl. Wine?"
"Yes please—no, I mean ... Look, how long before you ferry me to ... wherever I'm going?"
"About sixty years."
"What? You mean I'm not dead?"
"No."
"Then what am I doing here?"
"I told you, I want to make up for that night ^vith Rosita, three years ago. When you return to your body, y4>ur migraine will be past."
"And will everyone be quiet?"
"Certainly."
"Even the albino lady and her blond bedmate?t
"Oh yes. Poor girl, growing up in the shadow of her mother and sister like that. You would not believe what a burden presses down upon her."
"It was Pelmore by the sound of it."
"Pah, in another time, and in your reality, Pelmore is already leaving Lavenci's bed in shame and disgrace."
"Really? It sounded to me like he gave her the ride of her life."
"The girl's plight is worse than Pelmore's. You can help her."
"What? Me? Er, what is her plight?"
"Were you dead, I might be tempted to tell you ... but you are alive, so I cannot."
With that Madame Jilli rolled about on the blacjk grass, giggling hysterically and exposing vast amounts of shapely, bone-white leg. Then she rested her chin on her hand and smiled at me in a very sly and inscrutable fashion.
"Dalliance is as easy as rolling on top of me, young man. You may do so if you want proof of my words."
"Look, given the circumstances, I'd not be at my best. I mean, nothing personal, but I like a bit of fun and seduction first, not just mechanical jiggery."
"What do you think?" asked the ferrygirl, now looking past me.
"You may go now," declared a soft but terrifyingly strong voice behind me. The ferrygirl faded from sight, and I turned to see ... well, I cannot relate what I saw. It was like making love: I felt, saw, heard, and even savored the presence that confronted me.
"You know who I am, Danolarian."
"You are Love?" I ventured.
"Close, I am Romance. Love and Seduction wanted to be here too, but together we would have overwhelmed you." "Er, ah, honored to meet you."
"Danolarian, be at ease. I am very pleased with you. I am just here to tell you that making love is easy, but making friends is much harder."
"With respect, ladyship, I've been finding invitations to make love few and far between, of late," I managed, then immediately regretted my coarse words.
"Danolarian, you worry about how people feel, and that is very rare. You are a good friend to those close to you .. . but even you need more than a friend sometimes. You need this."
Her face loomed before my eyes, I felt lips against mine, all warm, live softness, tingling and silky smooth.
"Your body is past the worst of your migraine," she announced after some indeterminate length of time, "and your life is past the worst of its nightmares. I shall send you back, but first I have a question."
"Er, is this one of those riddles that gets me rowed over to the afterlife if I get it wrong?" I asked nervously.
"Oh no, it is just something I want to know. Even a goddess cannot know everything."
"Ask, then."
"Why did you choose 'Evening's All for Courting' when you played the sun down on Alpindrak? We divinities all thought you would play 'Farewell the Day.' "
"Is there anyone, anywhere, alive or dead, god or mortal, who does not know that I played the sun down on ^lpindrak?" I exclaimed.
"/ believe it was my turn to ask a question," Romance replied huffily.
"Oh yes, sorry. Well, I suppose I just don't like farewells, I prefer to look forward to meetings and assignations."
"/ see, how very romantic. You are definitely in my favor. For answering my question, I shall give you some ifdvice in return. Act with honor, even when the entire world screams at fyou to act with common sense."
"But I have lived my life by common sense, ladyship." "Indeed, but now it is time to stop. I am Romakce, remem-| ber? Common sense and I have little in common^ Remember, too, what I said earlier: the worst of your nightmares are over. Go now, return, lam watching over you...."
j. XXX
I was awakened by Pelmore falling over me in the shadows of the stable floor. In the weak light I saw him aim a barefoot kick at what he thought he had tripped over. This turned out to f be a wooden pail of horse droppings, and he spent some mo!ments gasping, cursing, and hopping about holding his foot. I noticed that he was dressed only in his trews, and speculated that he might have been ejected from Lavenci's room in something of a hurry, hopefully for some matter of failed perfor-Lmance. He snatched up his scattered possessions, then put on ibis tunic, coat, and boots. Finally he hoisted his pack and f limped away to climb the wall of the stable yard! Dawn was 'definitely in progress; there was no mistaking the soft glow from the sky and general stillness. I heard a giggle from the hayloft—then realised that my headache was gone! The nicest thing about migraine headaches is how good everything feels when they stop. They are a bit like the reverse of a hangover: pain first, then bliss. For a time I lay there, contemplating a vivid, even lurid, dream involving an encounter with the Ferrygirl on the banks of the river between life and death, then a kiss from Romance, the very goddess herself. Romance. I struggled tio recall her
form, but could visualize only wavy black hair cascading down past the waist of an hourglass figure, and lips that filled the entire world. It was, of course, a dream, yet it had been curiously real as dreams go. There was the taste of honey and pastries on my lips as I licked them. Kissed by Romance. Why me? Oddly enough, I had dreamed that Pelmore would slink away from Lavenci's bed ... but was that so surprising? Falling in love is easy, the tricky bit is crawling out again.
It was now that another vision approached me. It was that of a woman I had once escorted, Terikel, and she was dressed as a
Metrologan priestess. Faint blue light spilled from her eyes and mouth, and the glare shadowed her face almost beyond recognition. I could feel considerable heat as a clawed hand stretched out to hover above my face.
"The young and gallant reccon," declared a voice like dry leaves thrown onto glowing coals. "You are not the one."
I squeezed my eyes shut in an extended blink, and when I opened them again she was gone. Heat. Claws. Could she have been something to do with Gilvray's murder? I wondered. Had she even been real?
Feeling somewhat disoriented, I entered the darkened tavern, climbed the stairs, made my way along the corridor—and fell straight over Riellen, who had apparently been waiting for me beside my door but had fallen asleep.
"Sir, sir, Norellie is ready for you." she whispered as we both got to our feet.
"Are you sure?" I muttered. "No more political theory, consciousness raising, representative-election principles, or organizational solidarity for working women against male-dominated societal infrastructures?"
"Oh! So you were close enough to hear?"
"Yes! I was down in the stables, having a migraine headache that bordered on a near-death experience, and you had the window open. I also heard more than I really wanted to from two copulating couples, Roval snoring, a drunk whistle player trying to learn 'The Balasra Hayricks,' a serenading tomcat named Wallas, and someone throwing bottles at him. Oh, and a horse shat on my boot."
"Sir, I am so sorry. In my zeal I forgot that you were in extreme distress—but Madame Norellie did say she had a powerful herbal infusion bag that you might use next time. She's still in your room with the lamp burning, reading my copy of—" "She is?"
"Hurry in, sir, she is waiting to treat you."
"Riellen, why bother? My migraine's peak has passed. I am currently feeling a little wrung out, but otherwise well."
I pushed open the door. Madame Norellie was curled up on my bed, and Riellen's book was beside her, open at page one. I stared at her with my hands on my hips for a moment, then shook my head.
i"Is there a problem, sir?" whispered Riellen.
"Riellen, she's asleep."
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