Trickster yawned. "She thinks I'm not real," he said to a passerby.
The passerby, who turned out to be a weird mix of Brady Street aging hippie and Downer Avenue skateboard punk, smiled disagreeably at the Obstinate Woman. Clad in studs, leather, peace symbols, and embroidered patches, the passerby said, "Life's a bitch and then you die. So fuck the world, let's all get high." The fellow skateboarded away, his studs glinting in the two o'clock sun.
"I'm going home," muttered the Obstinate Woman.
And she did.
A bus ride later, the Obstinate Woman soon rounded the corner of Park and Shepard. As she did so, Trickster jumped out at her from behind a maple tree. He was dressed just like the skateboarder from downtown, his black hair sticking straight up, garish earrings swinging from his right ear.
Grinning, Trickster said, " This more real to you, girlie?"
"Go away," said the Obstinate Woman. "And phew, what is that smell—"
"Week-old sweat. Like it?"
"Get out of my way!"
Trickster looped his arm in hers. "Come on, girlie. We're going for some coffee at the Downer Cafe."
"Not dressed like that, you're not—"
"Relax, will you? There. Smell's gone. Happy?"
"I would hardly call it that," she grumbled, slinging her purse over her shoulder and turning back the way she had just come. Miserable and certain that this meeting with Trickster would end in disaster, the Obstinate Woman walked toward Downer Avenue, Trickster jabbering merrily in her ear.
Greatkin Rimble and the Obstinate Woman took a win-dow table for two at the restaurant. Airy fans rotated above their heads while the espresso machine bubbled and frothed behind the hardwood bar. Trickster ordered iced coffee. The Obstinate Woman ordered a tall iced tea. She dumped cream into it. Trickster watched her and grimaced.
Seeing his expression of disapproval, the Obstinate Woman began to laugh.
"Don't say a word about my table manners, Rimble. I know all about yours at the Panthe'kinarok."
Trickster dabbed his lips primly with his paper napkin and said nothing.
"So what's this about? Why do you want to see me?"
Rimble took a deep sigh, his expression unexpectedly tired. "I want you to put my name on the cover of your books. Doesn't have to be in the title.
See, the more my name is known, the more the myth will change reality.
And the more I will matter."
Rimble snorted haughtily. "Nobody knows it here. And nobody remembers it there."
"You exaggerate," replied the Obstinate Woman, clearly unimpressed.
"Of course, I exaggerate!" said Rimble. "Nobody pays any attention unless I exaggerate. Watch, I'll show you." Before the Obstinate Woman could stop Rimble, he flagged down the wait-person for their table. Scanning the menu, Rimble ordered a certain breakfast item that was only served between seven and eleven. It was now three o'clock in the afternoon. As expected, the wait-person told Trickster he couldn't have Benedict Oscar at this hour. Trickster nodded and let her go on to the next table.
"So?" said the Obstinate Woman.
"So watch this," said Trickster. Flagging down a different wait-person, he repeated his request all over again. The wait-person started to tell Trickster that he couldn't have Benedict Oscar. Before she had gotten the sentence out of her mouth, Trickster's lower lip began to tremble. His eyes went mournful. Great crocodile tears dripped from his nose. He bawled loudly.
Heads turned in the restaurant.
"They won't give me my Benedict Oscar. They won't serve me because I'm a punk. Boo-hooooo," he added in perfect mimicry of Greatkin Phebene.
Both the wait-person and the Obstinate Woman were mortified and scandalized by Trickster's performance. The wait-person tried to assure Rimble that she liked him just fine as a skateboarding punk and was happy to serve him.
"No, you're not. I know you don't like me one bit. Boo-hoooo."
"Rimble—good God. Shut up!" hissed the Obstinate Woman.
"Prove you like punks," cried Trickster, his voice growing louder by the moment. "Make me a Benedict Oscar. Please?" he asked, now smiling in his most friendly manner.
Licking her lips nervously, the girl went to the kitchen. Within minutes the cooks prepared the most scrumptious Benedict Oscar imaginable, the eggs fluffy, the crab meat delectable. As the wait-person set the steaming plate on the table, Rimble leaned toward the Obstinate Woman and said, "See?
Just asking for what you want doesn't carry any punch. Now I've made a splendid scene. I've exaggerated the wait-person's fears as well as the problem. And look
what happened. I got Benedict Oscar at the wrong time of day."
"You also got the Downer Cafe manager," said the Obstinate Woman, as a thin, officious-looking man approached their table, his expression far from pleased.
Rimble-Rimble.
11
Although it was a searing summer's day in Milwaukee, it was a brutally cold night in Speakinghast, the wind chill bringing the temperature to well below zero. Cold of such caliber was expected this time of year. At least the physical cold was. However, no one in the city, including Zendrak, expected the emotional freeze that accompanied the gusting winds. Enter Elder Hennin's wasp-keeper, the perversion of Suxonli's draw—gray-robed, shuffling Akindo.
Horses shied and bolted when Akindo passed them. Children woke crying fitfully in their beds. Lovers broke off lovemaking. Politicians had nightmares. In short, the whole city of Speakinghast was affected by the monster. Wherever Akindo walked, he brought despair of the worst kind.
Hope shattered in his presence, love fled. No one was immune to Akindo except one person: young Yafatah.
The univer'silsila wasps had done their job well. They had immunized the Tammirring child from Akindo and the deadly holovespa hive he carried on his back. She alone would remain unharmed through the next few days.
Rimble had followed the mythmaking orders of the Mythrrim; he had created an antidote to despair—the univer'silsila. As much part of nature as Akindo was part of the cursed draw of Suxonli, the univer'silsila preyed on the feelings that Akindo inspired. Where Akindo brought pain, the univer-'silsila brought pardon and healing. Unfortunately for the city of Speakinghast, however, the wasps under Akindo's control had a wasp queen, Elder Hennin.
The univer'silsila were as yet without a queen, and were therefore unorganized, the good they did random and occasional. Akindo's holovespa were directed—powerfully.
Akindo made his way to the Jinnjirri Quarter. He did not head in the direction of the Kaleidicopia at this time. Instead, Akindo passed the playhouse belonging to the all-Jinnjirri acting troupe called the Merry Pricksters. He shuffled and drooled down Renegade Road toward Rhu's house.
Until his death the previous fall, Cobeth had lived at this residence with Rhu. Cobeth and Rhu had been lovers. Rhu was Jinnjirri-born and was employed as the stage manager for the Merry Pricksters when Cobeth directed and acted for them. After Cobeth's death, the troupe seemingly lost a lot of its political momentum. This had made Guildmaster Gadorian happy, as he had perceived the Pricksters as a potential hotbed of radicals and dissidents. Like the rest of the Pricksters, Rhu kept a low profile during the scant three months following Cobeth's drug overdose at the Kaleidicopia; no one wanted the Guild to investigate the Pricksters. If the Saambolin Guild had done so, it would have discovered that the Pricksters were a front for some of the most notorious dope dealers in all Speakinghast, the props and powders used by the special-effects personnel in the troupe cut with holovespa and royal sabbanac from the north. Tree was blissfully unaware of this side of the Pricksters while he worked for them, the pushers always opening the shipments before he did. Cobeth had been a master of trickery and stealth. As long as Cobeth lived, he had never been caught. Rhu, his second-in-command, wanted to keep it that way, so she had cleared every drug out of the playhouse. Now the guild could search all it wished; it would find nothing.
Akindo stood outside Rhu'
s house, the bitter cold not affecting his skin. He made sure the holovespa swarm on his back stayed covered. He could hear the wasps buzzing angrily inside. These wasps acted this way all the time, their level of activity agitated and somewhat ferocious. The winter should have killed them. However, Elder Hennin's poison had raised their metabolic rate, giving them a nastier temper and making them more difficult to destroy.
Akindo let one worker-wasp free from the hive. It flew into the house.
Tracking Rhu's body scent like a blood-hound, the wasp found its intended target sound asleep in her bed. The holovespa worker-wasp stung Rhu on the neck. Unlike Aunt, Rhu did not have an allergic reaction to the wasp.
Aunt had been a person who rejected the kind of despair these wasps inflicted on their victims. In rejecting the despair, Aunt had also rejected Elder Hennin's bid for control over her. When the holovespa stung someone, the wasp opened a psychic back door to the wasp queen of Suxonli. From that moment on, the victim was expected to do the bidding of the queen. If you were not working for Hennin's cause and part of her growing hive-mind, then you were a drone—dispensable. Aunt's will had put her in this latter category. She had resisted Hennin to the last, her Mayanabi loyalties preventing Aunt from falling to Hen-nin's designs.
Rhu woke from her sleep with a start. Feeling the sting on her neck, she was incredulous. The poison began to work in her system almost instantly.
Rhu got out of bed, feeling more and more depressed by the moment. She took an artist's rendering of Cobeth down from the wall. Seeing his face, she wept tears of longing for him. Rhu walked over to her desk. She pulled open a desk drawer, her expression angry. Rhu reached for a piece of folded paper. She opened the paper and read the words printed on it: Cobeth, you bastard—
We've taken Mab back to the Kaleidicopia. Used your bathrobe. You want it back? Come and get it if you dare. Doogat'll be waiting for you—not to mention the whole house. See you at the Hallows.
Love and kisses,
your ex-housemate, Timmer
Rhu reread the note several times. As far as she could make out, Timmer, Mab, and Doogat had all been present the night of a Saambolin drug raid on her house last autumn. Cobeth had made nothing of this at the time; he hadn't wanted the Guild authorities to close the Kaleidicopia on suspicion of drug dealings before he had a chance to get even with the Kaleidicopians—his way. His way entailed dropping a hefty dose of hallucinogenic holovespa into the punch at the Rimble's Revel, which the house sponsored annually. After everyone was thoroughly dosed and flying, then he would go get the Guild. But Cobeth's plans had failed that night; Rimble himself had killed the scrawny Jinn actor through the touch of his famous "chaos thumb." So the Guild had never figured out that anyone at the "K" knew Cobeth, much less had ever lived with him.
Rhu would fix that now.
Smiling, Rhu climbed back into bed to wait until sunrise.
12
The guildmaster and his wife, Sirrefene, had been arguing since dawn.
Gadorian had waked with the conviction that he should and would close down the Kaleidiscopia Boarding House. He was suddenly certain that this house was the root of all civil unrest in the city. United under one roof, the residents could meet whenever they wished and hatch plots to overthrow his governance in Speakinghast. Worse, the house rested in the Jinnjirri Quarter, a section of the city famous for its politically anarchistic ideas and intemperance. Gadorian had told Sirrefene his decision while he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Sirrefene had reacted negatively.
Gadorian had been shocked. Astounded at his wife's vehement defense of Janusin, Rowenaster, and the rest of the residents of the "K," Gadorian now sulked in his pillow, the sheets pulled over his head.
Sirrefene wagged a finger at her husband, her wavy, dark tresses tumbling down her back. When she had finished her tirade, she reached to the end table nearest her and picked up a blue ceramic jar of hand cream. She put a dollop of sweet-smelling goo on her dark-skinned hands and rubbed vigorously, her motions angry, her expression stern.
Gadorian grumbled under the blanket, his words muffled.
"What did you say?"
Gadorian threw off the blanket. "I said—I don't know why you're sticking up for the residents of that house. What is it with the Kaleidicopia, anyway?"
he asked the universe-at-large. "Why can't I close it down? I'm the Guildmaster. It's my job to close down houses like that one."
Sirrefene shrugged. "Rimble-Rimble."
Gadorian snorted. "That's exactly my point. The 'K' celebrates revels to the Patron of Deviance! It's a cult, that's what it is. We should do a drug raid.
Then we'll see something, Sirrey. You mark my words."
"Professor Rowenaster would never live in a house that had drugs in it. He's as clean as they come, Gad. You know that."
Gadorian grunted. "Including the new kid from Tammirring, Rowenaster lives with nine other people. Nine other people—three of them Jinn—are liable to do anything."
"Nonsense."
Gadorian glared at his forty-six-year-old wife. She was a beautiful woman, as lithe as he was obese. Scowling, he remembered the affair she had just before they were to be married—with a Jinnjirri! Scowling, he wondered just how deeply her Jinn sympathies went. Mostly, he didn't want to know. He was afraid the truth would destroy their marriage. Thanks to the efforts of the Merry Pricksters last fall, relations between the Saambolin draw and the Jinnjirri draw were more than strained; they were potentially explosive.
Gadorian no longer frequented any portion of the Jinnjirri Quarter without an armed escort. Politically speaking, he knew it was wise not to trust anyone—not even his wife. This thought hurt. Gadorian winced, and turned away from Sirrefene. The tensions between the Saam and the Jinn perfectly reflected themselves in his marriage. It angered him that Sirrefene refused to stand by his decision to close the "K." Turning back to Sirrefene, the guildmaster repeated, "Why do you defend the people at the Kaleidicopia?"
"I hate scapegoating, Gad, My family has lived in this city for generations.
I've got guildmasters galore on both sides of my family. I know this city. I know how it gets when it gets scared. And right now Speakinghast is scared."
"The whole city? Oh, come on—"
Sirrefene nodded, her expression grim. "The weather's all wrong. It's made everyone's internal rhythm go weird. In a situation like this, people react blindly. But whatever's amiss in Speakinghast, I'll wager many silivrain you won't be able to control it, Gadorian. The changes afoot are bigger than you—"
Regarding his great belly, Gadorian chuckled and said, "Nothing's bigger than me in this city."
"Rimble is."
Gadorian laughed derisively now. "Well, you've certainly got that wrong.
The one thing I do recall about Greatkin Rimble is that he's uncommonly short."
"That's not the kind of size I meant."
There was a short silence.
Gadorian pursed his lips. Then he said suspiciously, "How come you know so much about Rimble, Sirrey?"
Sirrefene snorted. "Meaning what? You think I'm part of some cult, too?
Gadorian—you're so predictable."
"I'm Saambolin! I'm supposed to be predictable! You're Saambolin! You're supposed to be predictable, too, Sirrefene! What's wrong with you?"
Sirrefene lost her temper for the countless time that morning. "How do I know so much about the Greatkin? Because I took Rowen's course. And I passed it, Gadorian. Passed it with high marks."
"Are you saying you think I'm stupid? Because I didn't ?"
"No! And don't change the subject." Master Curator Sirrefene got out of bed.
She went to the closet and pulled on a warm, golden-colored bathrobe. It had fur around the neck and cuffs. Her expression now imperious, Sirrefene looked like a queen about to give orders. Whirling on her husband, she snapped, "Twenty some years ago, you screwed up that course, Gadorian.
Why? Because you thought
I was having an affair—"
"You were having an affair! I caught you naked in that Jinn's room!"
"He was an artist! I was his model! He was telling me where he wanted me to sit! Damn it to Neath! How many times do I have to tell you this? You and your murderous paranoia! I hate you, Gadorian! I hate you!" she repeated, beginning to weep. Struggling to speak, Sirrefene added, "The truth? You blamed me for something you were doing—"
"Are you mad? I had no affairs—"
"Liar! You think I'm stupid? I knew what kind of man you were when I married you, Gadorian. You have an appetite for a great many things. One of them is women."
"Oh, yeah? Then why did you marry me? Never mind, I know why. Some political convenience of your mother's, no doubt." he said referring to the fact that the previous guildmaster was Sirrefene's mother.
"No!" she shouted. "I married you because I loved you!"
There was a long, painful silence.
" That was stupid, Sirrey. No one in your position ever marries for love."
"Well, I did!"
Sirrefene went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Gadorian could hear her sobs. He got up slowly. He went to the solid oak door and knocked on it. "Sirrey, come out, will you?"
"No!"
Gadorian sighed. Leaning against the door, he spoke to Sirrefene from where he stood. "A man has pride, Sirrefene—"
"Fuck your pride! A woman has pride, too!"
Gadorian winced and tried again. "It wasn't seemly for you to be modeling in the nude for a shift," said Gadorian, using the pejorative term for a Jinnjirri-born. "You were the guildmaster's daughter. You were consorting with the worst sort of people—intellectuals and artists. It made you look bad. It made your whole family look bad. And because I was your fiance, it made me look bad, too. You were a hot-head, Sirrey. A libertine by Saa'm standards. Why shouldn't I have thought you cuckolded me? Your mother—"
The door flew open. "Yes, and I expect she was the one who told you I was having the affair. Well, she must've told Rowenaster, too. I had lunch with him the other day and he confided he knew about my affair." Sirrefene swore. "It would've been just like Mother to conclude something like that.
Trickster's Touch Page 10
