“He’ll get over it,” Skallon said dryly.
“I believe his mood has affected Danon,” Joane said. “He was very tired and depressed when he returned.” Kish nodded, as though this confirmed his conviction that Earthers had a bad effect when they were thwarted.
“He is always in a rush,” Kish said. “Can I not offer him …?”
Skallon nodded. “A drink.”
He caught Fain’s eye in a moment and beckoned him over. Kish set two mugs before them. “Try it,” Skallon said, raising his voice to be heard as a burst of song rippled through the crowd at the far end of the room.
Fain sipped, then drank. Skallon found it a thick, mealy ale with a curious iron aftertaste. “Um,” Fain said impartially. “Not bad.”
“A stout. Velvet stout.” Kish poured more.
They talked about nothing in particular, Fain saying little and Kish rolling on, oblivious to Fains silence, spinning out tales of larcenous merchants and affronts to his honor, all duly rectified by a few dashing commercial maneuvers. Joane listened dutifully though she had undoubtedly heard all this before. Skallon studied the crowd.
“Approve this.” Kish slammed down full mugs again. A lighter brewing, this time. Bubbles beaded its amber surface.
“Ah …” Skallon began, after a sip.
“This is crap,” Fain muttered.
“You are right. Quite right,” Kish nodded assessingly, a critic of his own wares.
“An excretion better left in the horse,” Skallon said, remembering an old Alvean satirical text.
“To the point!” Kish said merrily, beaming. “Approve this, then.”
Mugs slapped down with a bang so that a fraction jumped out onto the table, as though to avoid the coming judgment. “Excellent,” Skallon said evenly, meaning it. The dark mellow stuff went down without effort.
“Umm. Good,” Fain agreed. “Good.”
Kish beamed more. He went to a back niche and brought forward more tinkling brown bottles, uncorked them from their wire tresses, and poured further dollops into fresh mugs. “The evening sings!” he said, and bade them drink on.
Skallon spoke to Fain for a moment and they both took from their belts small pills and swallowed them to free their bloodstreams of alcohol. It was a good precaution. Kish waxed warm and expansive, thumping down samples of rare ales and bitters from distant provinces. Here, plainly, was lie center of his gusto.
Danon came in, a bit rested and ready for some more supper. They gave him a sip of ale and the boy sat beside Skallon, watching as the crowd swelled and the air thickened with veils of smoke. The neighborhood gathered here, in the largest available Communal, particularly in Fest seasons. There were smiths, potters, butchers, fruitsellers and qantimakas strippers, porters and maids-of-all-work. Skallon loved the rich assortment of faces and ages. There were cadaverous and silent ale-soakers, steadily pouring brown bubbling liquid down themselves. Several women half-danced, half-staggered from table to table, mumbling songs and poetry, making it up as they went along, ready to rhyme anything. Everyone was happy, overwhelmingly certain that the world was a good place, the plagues would not wrap smoke fingers around this frothing circle so bright, and that the inhabitants of this room were a noble and notable set of folk. A girl danced, her knees tied together with rope, a man lumbering with her wielding a yellow-painted wooden phallus the size of a rolling pin. The room rocked with laughter. The girl rolled her eyes, licked pink lips in anticipation, submitted to a jerky thrusting mount. Then the man collapsed, slack-mouthed. She laughed and whirled away. Another man snagged her elbow and diverted her to his table. Laughter followed them, pealing in the close-packed room.
Fain was growing restless. He drained his mug. ‘Think I’ll go out for a while.”
“Why?” Skallon asked.
“To nose around. The Changelings got to have some effect on this city.”
“You won t find it at night.” The Changeling’s got to be nearby.”
“Unlikely.”
“It’s thumbing its nose—if it has one—at us, Skallon. That dumb chase—it was a joke.”
“That’s why I’m wondering about the Changeling’s motives. Maybe he’s not trying to go to the top of Alvean society. Maybe he doesn’t give a damn about the high castes.”
“I don’t know. That was the pattern before.”
“On Revolium? When you caught him before?”
“Yeah. There and everywhere else. Where I’ve killed them.”
“But that word—pattern.’ The whole thing about Changelings is that they don’t follow patterns. They’re pure intuition.”
That’s why I think it s keeping close to us. We zig, it zags.”
“He’ll never get any power in Kalic that way.”
“Why not? That’s where we’re hanging around, waiting for it to show up.”
True.” Skallon sipped a thick, aromatic bitter Kish had poured.
“I think it’s watching the hotel.”
“Staying here, you mean? A guest.”
“No. Too risky—Scorpio would spot it”
That’s why you want to go out at night With Scorpio.”
“Right. The Changeling knows us by sight. Okay, deprive it of that Scorpio can pick out a Changeling in the dark.”
“I…”
“See you later,” Fain said abruptly and waded away through the crowd.
When he knew what to do, he acted. Skallon had a certain admiration for that. No second thoughts, no doubts, no alternate theories. Pure action.
“Approve this,” Kish intruded on his thoughts. “An unusual brewing method. Here—” Kish handed the two mugs to Danon, who was clearly showing some effect from the drinking. The boy fumbled the mugs, spattered a brown film on the bar top, and steadied himself with a shaking hand. As he gave Skallon a mug he mumbled, “Believe … I need to clear…my head.”
Kish laughed, his voice booming out over the Communal. “The boy must learn.” He winked at Skallon, When Joane looked over at him his face went a decorous blank.
Smoke layered the dense air. Skallon was thinking muzzily of going off to bed, perhaps with a sign to Joane for her to follow after a discreet wait The Communal was less boisterous now; some faces were slack, staring into space. The singers mumbled to each other. Others sniffed the smoky euphorics. Skallon had breathed some of the acrid stuff as it drifted in the room. It seemed to have some effect on him. The Communal seemed smaller, the walls pressing in, and he balanced woozily on his stool.
The faces caught in the flickering oil lamps had turned inward. They seemed to perceive that now, on the downward slope from the evenings opening hours, they were not splendid creatures in a fine world, but rough-handed workmen and women grown squalidly and dismally drunk. A graceless and mangy crew, indeed. But Skallon saw through this layer of remorse and revelation that had descended on them all. He perceived in these people a hard, tough core that the plagues could not defeat But they were adrift, there was the smell of that A stable society pays for its security through inflexibility.
Danon came back in, eyes bright.
“Something’s happening a few blocks away. I can hear the noise. A crowd,” he said breathlessly.
“Is Fain there?”
Danon shook his head, his cowl fluttering. “Don’t know.”
Skallon lurched to his feet, the fog of the Communal clearing slowly from his mind. “Let’s go. Keep in the shadows, though.” He nodded to Kish, to Joane, and they left, shouldering their way through the people.
Skallon heard the muffled sound of many people talking, shouting, when they reached the street. Maraban Lane was sunken in darkness, but down a connecting street reflected a glow. He and Danon hurried toward it.
Everything was very clear. They rushed along smooth empty streets, feet scuffling and clacking, air caressing Skallon’s face. The diffuse light resolved into street lamps and hand torches. At least a thousand people were standing in a ragged crescent, listening to a fat Alvean on a raised
platform. Skallon saw the man was standing on a vegetable cart, feet crushing qantimakas stems.
The crowd rustled and murmured, as if urging the speaker along. He was saying something about the vicious defilement of the Festing times by disease. By intrusion. By the Earthers, who snatched life itself from the bleeding lips of the starving poor.
Skallon listened intently to this, scanning the crowd for a sign of Fain. Nothing. Was there any indication that the Changeling was behind this? Skallon frowned. Hard to tell.
Meanwhile, the faces in the crowd occasionally turned toward him, inquiring eyes boring into his. Perhaps something was wrong with his robes. Skallon looked down, tottered, straightened a tuck here and there. Everything seemed all right.
The crowd’s faces made up a fabric, crazed and weaving, fine as a speckled lace. Each knotted face, each intent set of eyes and mouth, was poised in a sharp and well-defined space. Framed, yes, unnaturally spaced to be fresh and clean, like in a well-designed painting. A painting, yes. Unsigned, of course. Yes.
The speaker bellowed out his simplistic truths. Devious. Faithless. Vermin ruthless Earthers. Alvea had cast them out but the plagues went on. Their stamp remained.
Skallon nodded, shook his head, nodded again. The Alvean didn’t understand what was happening. Obviously the man had no knowledge of social dynamics, of genetics, of history. The fat man was spinning out a plausible but hollow argument, missing the real points. Skallon remembered crowds like this he had been in, assembled in yards and fields and dormitories. Instructors had told those crowds what was expected of them, what the penalties were if they didn’t measure up, why it was all necessary. Nobody ever got to talk back; the crowd stood numbly, taking it in.
But this jam of Alveans was different. At each shouted invective they rustled like leaves in a wind, a fierce breeze blowing away from the gesturing, sweating speaker. Some shouted encouragement.
Skallon listened carefully, trying for a fresh grip on each moment, each word. He felt himself drifting through the edges of the mob. Danon whispered something, urging him back. Fingers plucked at him. The boy fell away, behind. Words washed over Skallon. Jumbles of phrases. Faces turned toward him, fluttering in the gale.
The cart loomed, larger than he had estimated. A mouth, asking questions. A shove, arm out stiffly, and it went away. He moved on fragile knees. Hand on the cart, breath rasping, boosting up. Speaker turning. Another face, that’s all, just another face like the others.
Skallon barked out a sentence, another. 1 bring clarity. Hands picking at him. He gave them an elbow, another shove. They fell away. A hush washed over the framed faces below. Eerie, the expectant silence. A union of aims. Danon in the distance, a clear definite tight little boy’s face. Like the others, tilted up to hear the truth. Listen to … A fresh, enlightening breath. Strength through knowledge…
To show them, he slipped back his cowl. Loosened the tucks and folds and false fronts of the Doubluth robes. His Earthly features lifted clear in the dim light. Yet I do know you … A gasp. And your planet, this rich world…Movement…. yet wracked with rot…Hands…. false history…Grasping. A muted angry roar from below him. You must see … Speaking very slowly, clearly, so they can understand the subtle point he must make.
But the hands. Clutching. Wrenching. A blur of motion. The faces in wan orange light sliding by. Chill air. A cart wheel seen upside down. A wad of noise enveloped him. Somehow, something had gone wrong.
14
People, so many people. They pressed on all sides. Angry faces. Noise, shouting. No words, just sounds.
Then Fain. A tight face, mouthing something. Walk? Run?
His feet touched the firm, forgiving earth. Fain leading him. Frightened Alveans running away in the watery light. Fain. Shadows. Through narrow alleys. Fain glancing back, then surging ahead. Hurry. Run.
Maraban Lane. Into the hotel, quick clicking of feet behind them. Someone looming out of pooled light Danon? No, Joane.
Through a corridor. The kitchen. Warm, spicy. Scented air. He felt himself tilt forward, head down, face to the table.
Time drifted by. Joane’s quick words, darting. Fain, an edge in his voice, panting. Shallow breaths. Scorpio whimpering.
Kish, a muddled voice, cut off abruptly. Words, all jumbled together. Skallon gave up piecing together the puzzle and a warm dull buzzing came over him. He explored his teeth with a thick tongue.
Up. Up. Hands lifting him until gravity came again and he was on his feet. The kitchen began to weave around. Suck in moist air. One step. Two. Joane, whispering.
More walking. Shadows. Skallon? This way. Here. Scorpio’s gruff voice: Safe. Inside.
Caverns. Moldy rock walls. Walking, squeezing, walking. Dim ruby lights dotting the walls. Fain stumbling, cursing. Thick stone pillars. Wooden beams. Chill damp air. Splashing steps as they waded through a trickling stream. Muttering. At last, a place to sit. To slump. Footsteps fading away into the lengthening shadows. Distant voices.
A dull humming in his head. Then sleep. Sleep.
15
Joseph Fain sat in the center of his rumpled bed and sipped a mug of Kish’s dark ale. The cold bitterness of it hit his stomach like a clenched fist, but Fain knew he needed it to focus his thoughts. The Changeling, he thought, always sly, always different. After the dumb charade in the hotel, he had decided on a change of tactics. Fain had followed Skallon’s advice too much on this job, and that made both of them look dumb. You always made mistakes operating in a strange culture, but this time it was laughable. Okay, fine. Admit that fact. At the hotel Fain had decided to use it against the Changeling. Continue looking stupid. Let Skallon keep tripping over his own feet. Look dumber and dumber and finally the Changeling would overreach itself. Fain had used that method before and he knew it could work. Wherever the Changeling was, it was laughing at the moronic Earthers. Good. Let it laugh. He had to admit the damned Changeling had brought off a real coup last night, plastering Skallon that way, using him to incite the crowd. If Fain had been a little faster he would’ve nailed the Changeling right there. Next time would be different. Fain lifted his mug in a mock salute. ‘Till we meet again,’’ he rasped, and drank.
A soft tapping at the door.
Tm here,” said Fain.
Joane entered hesitantly, showing her awareness of the changed situation and her uncertainty about her own present status. Fain assumed she had never seen a man in a quiet, calculating rage before. Her life had been spent in controlling boys: Kish, Danon, even Skallon. She couldn’t control Fain and he knew that was what disturbed her. He knew but right now he didn’t care. “Well?” he said gruffly, making no move to ease her discomfort. “What did you find out?”
“We—we did as you said, Kish and I. We went out and—” Unconsciously, she turned and started to bolt the door.
Fain interrupted. “Get away from there.”
She spun, her face tinged with embarrassment. “But I only meant—
“I know what you meant. Now get in here. Talk. I want to know what’s going on out there.” He pointed to the walls of his room. “Spill it.”
‘Trouble,” she said hurriedly. “Great trouble. Kish and I, we both hear the same things. The Earthers are here—on Alvea. They are disguised and are creating the plagues. One was discovered last night, but there are many more. Three men were torn apart by mobs near the Great Hall. A speaker said they were Earthers.”
“And were they?” Fain asked mockingly.
“No, of course not. You know that—”
He held up a hand. “I was joking. But what about Skallon? Have you had time to drop down and visit him today?”
“Danon is with him, not I. I have been with Kish as … as you directed.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said dryly. “But what about me? Did you hear anything about a second Earther? I want to know if it’s safe for me to go into the streets.”
“That is difficult to say. No one is sure how the Earther got away. Some say he
didn’t—he was killed. Others say a group of Earthers took him. Some think he managed to run but is now hiding. But everyone is looking for Earthers now. If you went out, you would be discovered, surely. You must stay here and wait.”
He shook his head, not because he didn’t recognize that what she said was true, but because right now he didn’t want to hear her advice. So the Vertil had indeed worked last night to cover his tracks. That, if nothing else, was a pleasant sign. He had taken an inject as soon as he’d spotted Skallon among the crowd and realized what he intended to do. The Vertil had allowed Fain to distract enough of the mob to get Skallon safely away. He thought he’d made it back to the hotel without being seen. Danon, who had been with Skallon, had suggested a hiding place: the caverns beneath the city, seldom used since the early years of the colony when it had been necessary to live at certain times underground to avoid being fried to a crisp by the sun. Skallon was there now.
“Skallon was drugged, you know,” he said.
“Yes—yes, we thought that might be the case.”
“It means you’re going to have to watch his food. Cook each bite yourself. His food—and mine. Keep Kish away, everyone. Tell them I said so and, if they don’t agree, then tell me.”
“I did that this morning with Skallon’s breakfast. Only Danon was with me.”
“Well, do it from now on, too.”
‘Then you trust me.”
“No, not especially. But, this way, if either of us does get poisoned, I’ll know exactly who to blame.” She smiled, but he didn’t want that, either. “When do you expect Danon?”
‘It is nearly noon now. He should be coming shortly for Skallon’s lunch.”
“When he does, send him up here. I may want to follow him back.”
“You’ll want some lunch yourself. On an empty stomach the ale is like a bitter fire.”
He glared at her. What was it she wanted? Sex, love, control, or just kindness? Right now he had nothing to offer. He jerked a thumb at the door. “Get out of here, Joane. Leave me alone.”
Find the Changeling Page 15
