by Susan Price
What a good question. She wasn’t sure that she would have thought of such a good question. Difficult to answer, though. If she spoke of “film,” Per would think of something thin and fine, something “filmy” like a cobweb or gauze. And “recording,” if it meant anything at all to him, would mean something written down. “It be like a memory. Far-see can show us memories as well as real things. There be no real, living tigers anymore, just these memories of them.”
He gnawed at the skin around his thumbnail and watched intently as, on the screen, a tiger reached high up a tree to sharpen its claws, tearing through the bark. “How come all tigers be dead? What could kill them all?”
“We did,” she said.
He looked at her. “Elven?”
She nodded. “We Elven did.”
“Wherefore?”
Was there a more disconcerting question than “why?” She began an explanation of jungles cleared for farmland, and the trade in tigers’ bones, flesh and skins. The more she explained, the more irritably guilty she felt. “Oh look! You killed all wolves in thine country, didst thee no?”
“Nay. There be wolves still.”
“But tha kills them, dost no? And sooner or later thou’ll have killed all wolves, just like we have all tigers, and there will no be any wolves left.”
He gave a long, considering stare, and then took the remote control from her hand. He handled it carefully, with many glances at her, to see if he was doing the right thing. He pressed one button after another. On the screen, a woman whipped eggs in a basin, a shark swam through a skein of blood, a water cannon was turned on a crowd, an actor pretended to shoot another actor who pretended to die, a car overturned at high speed, and then Per found the news channel which was showing, again, the heap of bodies.
Per dropped the remote on the floor and retreated to the headboard of the bed. Andrea got up and wheeled his drip stand after him. “What be wrong?”
He flicked the drip line away from his arm. “I want this taken away. I be no hound to be tethered to a post!”
“Be careful of it. They’ll take it away soon. They took other—”
“I want to gan home.”
“Per, I ken, but—” He held out his arms, and she sat beside him, still careful of the drip line, and put her arms around him. His back and sides felt hard and soft at the same time—stone covered with lambs’ wool—and his skin glowed with warmth. His smell of spiced musk rose around her as his arms squeezed her tight, and his cheek, almost as downy as her own, nuzzled her face. She was just sinking gratefully into the moment when he said, “Tha kens road, Entraya. Tha canst show me.”
Wary, she pressed her hands against his ribs, pushing herself back from him. “I ken road where?”
“To Elf-Gate, Honey. Tha canst—”
“Oh no. Forget that, Per.” She tried to get out of his arms and stand up, but he held on to her.
“Be so kind, Entraya, harken. Tha could—harken!”
Perhaps, after his time in hospital, where he’d eaten so little, she was as strong as he was, or stronger, but she could still only get away from him by hurting him—and she was worried about pulling the drip from his arm. So she didn’t fight him very hard. “No, Per! I am not going to be sweet-talked. We’d both get into trouble—”
“Tha’d be in no trouble, Sweet. I’d—”
“I would be in trouble! I will no do it!”
It was then that James Windsor breezed in, his arms full of shopping bags, to see her and Per sitting on the bed, Per naked with his arms around her and she struggling to get away from him.
“Oh dear! Am I interrupting something? Should I go out and come in again?”
Per, startled by the sudden entry of a stranger, let go of Andrea, and she was able to stand up, nervously pulling her skirt straight and touching her hair to check that it was tidy. “Mr. Windsor! Hello!”
He very obviously looked her over. “Well, Sexy! You’ve changed your look!” Instead of the frumpy jackets, skirts and big boots she usually wore, she was dressed in a calf-length, long-sleeved dress that flowed loosely over her large curves, with low-heeled pumps on her feet. She didn’t seem to have on any makeup, but her hair was pinned up, with only a tendril or two falling down. In a tall, imposing, matronly way, she was almost elegant, almost attractive. If you liked room darkeners.
There was no answer Andrea could make, so she tried to look as if she hadn’t heard.
“Vem air thu?” Per said, speaking to Windsor and addressing him as an inferior— “Who art thou?” not “Who are you?” He didn’t understand what Windsor had said but could tell that Andrea hadn’t liked it. And the man was dressed soberly, all in black and white, and was carrying parcels—a servingman who thought he could take advantage of Andrea’s gentle nature. Per didn’t like that. He didn’t like anything of the stranger’s manner toward Andrea at all. Getting up from the bed, the drip line trailing from his arm, he went to stand slightly in front of Andrea and reached behind him to take her hand. He stared at Windsor. “Entraya, vah sayer han?” What says he?
“Nie ting, Per. Olla air rikti.” Nothing. All is right.
Windsor looked at Per, shook the shopping bag from one of his parcels, and slapped a pair of folded blue jeans against Per’s chest. “Maybe you can find a use for them.” Leaning past Per, he gave Andrea a large box of chocolates. “And I’m sure you’ll know what to do with them.”
Andrea took the chocolates and dropped them onto the seat of a chair behind her without looking at them. It was like Windsor to generously buy presents and then insult you as he gave them to you. Perhaps he was just paying for the right to insult you.
“Vah sayer han?” Per asked again. She hushed him, patting his back so he wouldn’t take offense.
“Fraternizing with the natives?” Windsor said.
It had been written into Andrea’s contract that she wouldn’t “fraternize” 16th side. She’d signed it without a thought, thinking it would never be a problem. “We were just talking.”
“Talking?” Windsor said. “Not what my mother would have called it. Your lucky day, eh, Andrea?”
“Vah sayer han? Vent air deyn karl?” Who is this man?
Windsor was tossing the other things he’d bought onto the bed: a large bouquet of flowers, crackling in its cellophane wrappings and tied with a wide yellow ribbon, and a big basket of fruit, decorated with a blue ribbon. The gigantic blooms with their garish colors held Per’s attention. There was nothing like them in Man’s-Home.
He was still looking at them when Windsor slapped a scarlet baseball cap onto Per’s head. Startled, Per fended it off and knocked it to the floor. “Texas Longhorns” it said across the front, in white letters. Windsor stuck his right hand out at Per. “James Windsor. I’m glad to see you looking a lot better than the last time we met!”
Andrea translated, and added, “This be Elf-Windsor, Elf who came to see thy father. He brought thee through Gate—he saved thy life,” she added generously.
Per turned a long, considering stare on Windsor. He had no clear memory of his life ever having been in danger, so he wasn’t filled with gratitude. This, he thought, was the Elf who had trapped him in Elf-Land. This was the Elf who gave his father orders, forbidding the Sterkarms to ride or hunt in their own country—and had the impertinence to think he would be obeyed.
But Per knew his manners. In Elf-Land he was a guest, even if an unwilling one. He offered Windsor his right hand and turned his left cheek toward him, so that the older man could give him the greeting kiss. Windsor took his hand and tried to crush it, but made no attempt to kiss him. Per half turned his head toward Andrea in surprise. Plainly, this Windsor was a boor, with no idea of how to behave. But it wasn’t Per’s place, as by far the younger man, to offer the kiss first, or to correct Windsor’s manners.
“No mistaking whose son you are!” Windsor sai
d. “If his mother grew a bit of bum-fluff round her chin, they’d be twins!”
“Mr. Windsor says tha looks very like thine mother,” Andrea told Per, who merely nodded, while continuing to stare at Windsor.
“His mother can smile, though,” Windsor said. There was no good humor in the boy’s face. His eyes were just as big and striking as his mother’s, their blue as silver-pale, but Per’s straight stare translated into something like “Get lost.” A sulky teenager—who’d have thought it?
The boy’s obvious hostility rather amused Windsor—at least, while the boy was alone, here in this 21st hospital room, it was amusing. Impossible to imagine this boy tying a man’s head to his saddle. He would be more credible in the Upper Sixth, well scrubbed and demure on Parents’ Day and afterward smashed and sick on cider. It wasn’t going to be as hard to keep young Sterkarm on a leash as he’d feared. A few shiny toys and a good bawling out if he overstepped the line should be enough.
Thinking of toys made him remember a present he’d forgotten, and he slapped himself to find which pocket he’d put it in. From his hip pocket he brought a folding leather wallet, and opened it to show, a wad of notes inside. “It’s unlucky to give an empty wallet, I was always told, so I went to the cash machine. Here.” He held it out to Per. “Maybe you can buy some clothes. Get him to put something on, Andrea. Even if you like the view, we should spare the nurses’ blushes.”
Per had taken the wallet, out of curiosity, and was rubbing his finger on the paper inside it. He pulled out a slip of it and admired the beautiful patterning.
“Penya,” Andrea said. Money.
Per looked at her and laughed. Money was coin, copper, silver and gold. Not worthless paper.
“Sootha, Per. Truly. It be a present from Master Windsor. So thou canst buy things while tha’rt here.”
Per looked at Windsor sidelong. “Tahk shkal thu har.” Thanks shalt thou have. “Herr Erlf, nor gaw yi hyemma?”
“What’s he say?” Windsor asked.
“He says, Thank you, and he wants to know when he’s going home.”
“Ah,” Windsor said. He put two fingers on Per’s arm and pushed him toward the bed, leaning past him and pulling the bedcovers back. “Why don’t you hop back into bed, old son? Rest up as much as you can.” Per looked over his shoulder at Andrea, and she nodded to him, so he got onto the bed. Windsor threw the covers over him, put the baseball cap back on his head, and passed him the basket of fruit. “Get stuck into that.” He looked around for the chocolates, picked them up and passed them to Per as well. “There. Enjoy yourself.”
Per didn’t understand what Windsor said, but he read his face and manner easily enough. Windsor didn’t wish to answer him—that told him a lot. It was also quite clear that Windsor had no respect for him. He tossed the wallet and its Elf-Money to the end of the bed.
To Andrea, Windsor said, “I hope you’ve got your bags packed?”
Her face brightened. “Most of my stuff is still 16th side, so—”
“Well, the Tube’s going to be up again this afternoon, and I want you on the other side as soon—”
“Oh great!” She looked past Windsor to the bed. “Per! Harken—” Per was watching her attentively, but she broke off as Windsor waved his hand before her face.
“You, I said. I didn’t say anything about him. He stays here.”
“Oh, but his leg’s as good as healed and—I don’t know if your secretary told you about his not eating.” She saw no understanding in Windsor’s face. “I explained it to her.”
“Andrea, Andrea. Watch my lips. He’s not going back. He’s more use to me here. And you—you’re more use to me 16th side, earning your pay.”
“Vah sayer han?” Per asked.
“Nie ting, Per. Sssh!” To Windsor, she said, “You can’t!”
“I can’t? What can’t I?”
“You can’t just— He’s not eating! He won’t eat our food. He’ll starve.”
“Oh, he’ll get over that soon enough.”
She wanted to clench her fists in the air and yell. He hadn’t watched Per refusing the hospital meals and rationing out his tiny supply of food, and yet he could complacently brush her fears aside. “What if he doesn’t? What if he makes himself ill?”
“Get a grip,” Windsor said. “The day a big healthy teenager starves himself to death, pigs’ll fly.”
“But you can’t keep him here by himself.”
Per could see that they were quarreling, and he got out of bed again, bringing the drip stand with him. “Entraya?” He edged himself slightly between her and Windsor, looking at Windsor with a frown.
Windsor gave him a look from the corner of his eye. “Should I be worried? Look, Andrea. You’re employed as—” He raised his hand to wag a forefinger at her. Per put his own hand over Windsor’s and pushed it down. Per thought pointing was rude. Pausing, Windsor tutted, and said, “Can we talk about this outside? Without Sunny Jim?”
“Per.” Andrea turned to him, pushing him to the bed with both hands. “Lie down and rest thy leg, love. I have to talk with Mr. Windsor.” The back of his knee struck the bed and he sat down heavily. She kissed his cheek. “I will no be long.”
He caught her wrists. “I’ll come with thee.”
“Nay. I have no time to tell thee everything that be said. Best if tha stays here. I’ll be back in an eye’s blink, truly. Per, let go.”
“What be he to thee?”
She looked over her shoulder at Windsor, who was standing with his arms folded, amused by Per’s glower. “I work for him. He be my … master.” She couldn’t think of another word that Per would understand, but it was all wrong, suggesting that she was bound in service to Windsor as the Sterkarms’ hired men and kitchen maids were bound in service to them.
Per had been letting her go, but now his grip tightened again and he pulled her back, his frown deepening. “What work?”
She was stuck for an answer. She cupped her hands about his face, her wrists still gripped by his fingers, and kissed him. “Per, let me go. I’ll be back in a couple of heartbeats—”
Behind her, Windsor said, “How sweet.”
“—and I’ll explain everything then, I promise.”
Per looked from her to Windsor. “When gan I home? Ask him!”
She looked over her shoulder. “He still wants to know when he’s going home.”
Per watched Windsor as Andrea spoke, his wide stare taking in the man’s whole figure, his face, his movements. He saw Windsor tilt back his head, as he stood with folded arms, and smile a tight-lipped smile.
“Soon,” Windsor said. “Tell him very soon.”
Per went on watching Windsor as Andrea translated his words. He saw the man look aside and grin. Watch a cat, and you can tell when it’s going to jump, and which way. Per knew Windsor was lying.
“Gan with him and talk, then,” Per said to Andrea. He kissed her cheek, but she pulled back and looked at him, puzzled by the hurt tone in his voice. He ducked his head forward and kissed her on the mouth, startling her, and then, when she thought he was going to release her, hugged her hard.
“Per! I shall only be gone an eye’s blink.”
“Gan then.”
She gave his cheek a kiss, got up and followed Windsor.
As soon as the door closed on them, Per took hold of the drip feed in his arm and pulled it out. Bright red blood welled up in the crook of his elbow, and he stanched it with the sheet, bending his arm over it. The needle made a fine, sharp pain as it left the vein, but he’d felt worse a great many times, and it balanced the pain under his ribs. His Elf-May did not love him so much as she sought the favor of her Elf-Master. She had brought him into Elf-Land to please her Master.
The pain swelled under his ribs. It felt as if his heart would burst, filled as it was not only with the grief of losing his Elf-M
ay, his wife, his future, but with the humiliation of having been tricked, of having loved and trusted her when she hadn’t loved him. All the kisses she’d given him, all the assurances and promises, the accounts of his having been near death—the wound on his leg looked as if it had never been more than a scratch—all lies told for her Master!
It was clear to Per why Elf-Windsor wanted him. He hardly had to think about it. As a child, he’d played at riding with his cousins and the other children of the tower, games that had taken days to play out, as they’d fought battles with wooden swords and lances, driven off real or imaginary sheep and taken prisoners. They’d held long ransom negotiations, with hard-driven terms, the ransoms paid in pebbles, buttons and shells.
And then hostages had been exchanged, to make sure the terms would be kept. Haggling over the hostages had been fiercer still. Your enemies always demanded as their hostage the person you were known to love most dearly—and even in play, it was hard to give that person into a captivity that was likely to be harsher than that of a real hostage.
The next stage of the game, inevitably, was the breaking of the terms, the renewing of hostilities, and the vengeful killing of the hostages.
Per was surprised that it had taken Elf-Windsor so long to see the only way to make Toorkild obey his orders.
The duty of a hostage was to escape if he could. And for every day he stayed a hostage in Elf-Land, a year or ten years or a hundred years might pass in Man’s-Home.
When he thought of leaving Andrea, and perhaps never seeing her again, he knew he should feel glad and angry—well rid of her! But it felt as if another long needle were being withdrawn from his heart, and he had to keep touching his eyes to take away the blurring of tears.
Free of the drip line’s tether, he got up and looked at the britches the Elf-Man had tossed at him. They were of good, strong, tightly woven material—would be good for riding—but went all the way down to the ankle in Elvish style. Still, he would be noticed less in Elvish clothes. He pulled them on, but had difficulty with the fastening.
