Looking hurt, she nodded, bit her lip, went softly out. Fain looked at the closed door and sighed.
Failure. That was what was eating him. Plain, simple, ordinary failure. Hell, it happened to people every day of the week. They tried something, it didn’t work out, they gave up, and they failed. But Fain wasn’t ordinary. It shouldn’t happen to him—ever. This world was beginning to remind him too goddamn much of Jado. The Changeling was playing with him again, taunting him. Should he keep on playing stupid, even without Skallon’s assistance, hoping to draw the Changeling in? That just didn’t seem like enough.
The Changeling not only had him stymied, it might very well have him beaten.
Testimony to that effect reached him through the walls of his room. He could hear the noise of shrill, angry voices in the streets below. All along he and Skallon had discussed the precarious state of order on this world. One thing could tip the balance over into chaos. Last night that one thing had occurred: the discovery of a disguised Earther in the streets of the city. They had done it all themselves—the Changeling had only applied the last crucial push.
Another knock at the door—more forceful than before. Fain grunted, and Danon came in. The boy looked haggard, drawn. Fain realized that he had probably waited up all night with the drugged Skallon. Fain himself had gone immediately back to the room after depositing Skallon in his hiding place. But he hadn’t slept. There would be time for that later. If nothing new happened, plenty of time. On Earth. As a failure.
“How is he?” said Fain.
Danon rubbed his eyes. “Skallon is fine. He is asking for you.”
“Does he remember anything of last night?”
“Only a little. He was not aware of what he had done.”
“Did you tell him?”
Danon nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He said he thought he had been drugged by the Changeling.”
Fain stood up. He’d had enough inactivity. It was time to be doing something, even if as yet he had no idea of what. Tm going to go with you into the caverns, talk to Skallon. Wait around for me. I’d bettter put my padding on.”
“You will come alone?”
Fain looked puzzled. “Sure. Who else would I bring?”
“The dog. Scorpio. It was Skallon’s suggestion, not mine. The caverns are dark and sometimes mysterious. Skallon fears the Changeling may also be hiding down there.”
Fain thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “It’s not such an impossible idea.” And one, he knew, he ought to have realized himself.
“So Skallon thought—do you remember how the room where he is hidden is situated? It lies at the end of a narrow tunnel.”
“I remember that, yes.” He was trained to recollect that sort of tactical detail.
‘Well, Skallon thought if you returned with me, you could leave Scorpio at that place. Then, while you and Skallon spoke, the dog could keep watch. That way, if the Changeling came near, Scorpio could catch him.”
“It’s worth trying,” Fain said. He had just finished attaching the last of his bulky pads and now quickly slipped into his Doubluth robes. “Ill get Scorpio and meet you in the kitchen.”
Danon bowed, grinning, his teeth like tiny lights against the darkness of his face. “I am happy that you are pleased.”
As Fain waddled down the hall toward Scorpio’s room, he idly wondered whose idea that really was: Skallon’s or the boy’s. There were times when Danon showed signs of being many years sharper than he had any right to be.
Scorpio’s room stank from his many days’ idleness. The air was thick with the odors of food and dung and musty animal. Fain wrinkled his nose. As quickly as he could, he explained to Scorpio what he wanted him for and why. Scorpio, once he understood, was more than agreeable. He, like Fain, seemed to welcome any relief from the constant tedium of waiting.
The two of them went out. Fain moved cautiously through the upper and lower corridors, but no one was” about. He could almost sense the utter emptiness of the rooms he passed. Why? he wondered. Where was everyone? Outside? He thought he knew. The crowds had claimed them. Alvea was like a drum drawn too tight. Skallon’s actions last night had burst the taut, fragile skin.
Joane was alone in the kitchen. Seeing Fain, she started to speak, then hesitated.
“Where’s Kish?” asked Fain.
She hesitated again and he saw that was indeed the source of her anxiety.
He cocked his head toward the wall, “Outside?”
She nodded tightly.
“And the rest of them? Your cooks, your employees? Them, too?”
“Yes. It is like—like a Fest outside. There is excitement and—and anger. The men feel it is better to run about and rage, better than waiting to die.”
“And you don’t?”
She shrugged. “I believe that death is not an end.”
Fain suppressed the impulse to agree. He realized she was exposing a part of herself to him that she had previously kept well hidden. This was how she must: talk to Skallon, he thought, and for a brief moment he felt an emotion very like envy. “But can I trust him? Kish? Is he running around outside for fun, or is he going to end up leading his friends in here to tear me apart?”
She refused to reassure him. “I never know what Kish may do.”
But Fain knew he didn’t have any choice. If he left the inn, he could only run and that would mean leaving the city-and the planet-firmly in the hands of the Changeling.
‘Where’s Danon?” he asked. “He was supposed to meet, me here.”
“He went on ahead with food for Skallon.” She seemed to appreciate the return to a subject that carried less emotion for her. “He said Skallon becomes anxious when he’s left alone. He left instructions with me on how to reach the hiding place. Do you need them?”
“No, I can find the place. If I can’t, Scorpio can.”
“You will be back?”
He nodded. “I will. Shortly. And you’ll stay here? You won’t let anyone come through after me?”
“I will try, Fain.”
“Thank you.” He spoke sincerely, even though he knew her gesture of help was largely useless: no woman was apt to stop the Changeling. Still, Joane was the one person on this world whom he trusted. If nothing else, Scorpio’s presence in the kitchen testified to her honest faith. At least Joane was who she said she was.
Beyond the kitchen was a small room, in a corner of which was a trap door leading directly into the underground caverns below. Kish often used the space underneath the inn as a storage facility. Fain threaded his way past stacks of canned food and bottled liquor and then, igniting the flash he carried, proceeded to follow the intricate path that would eventually lead him to Skallon. The tunnels were generally broad and spacious, branching frequently into wide caverns big enough to hold several hundred men. Fain experienced no difficulty recalling his steps from the previous night. That was his training again, and he felt pleased. The air was surprisingly clean, almost crisp. There was some water seepage through cracks in the stone floor, but Fain easily avoided the few shallow pools.
They had covered perhaps half the distance to Skallon’s hideaway when Scorpio began to sniff loudly and fall behind. Fain waited for him in a cavern. Scorpio stopped a few meters away and placed his nose against the floor. Then he lifted his head and told Fain, “It. May. Be. The. One.”
“The Changeling? You’re sure?”
“No. Not. Sure. Weak.”
“Old?” Was it possible the Changeling had used these caverns and tunnels as a hiding place all along?
“Not. Sure. Steps through…Water.”
“Then it may be recent.” The Changeling would not bother to disguise its tracks unless it feared pursuit—from Scorpio. “We’d better hurry then. But be careful. I don’t want to bump into it around the next corner.”
“I. Will. Sniff. Fain.”
“Good.” Fain set out again, moving this time with a mixture of caution an
d haste. After a few hundred meters, Scorpio reported that the scent had grown weaker. It was definitely an old trail now, at least by a few hours. Fain felt relieved. He couldn’t conceive of a worse place to confront the Changeling. The darkness and limited space down here would destroy nearly every advantage he possessed. He would be at the Changeling’s mercy.
Reaching the entrance to the narrow tunnel that led directly to Skallon’s room, Fain had Scorpio make a quick reconnaissance of the area. When Scorpio reported the same weak scent as before, Fain decided to go ahead with Skallon’s plan and let the dog stand guard. He told him to be careful. “If the Changeling does come—if anyone comes—don’t attack unless you’re sure it’s safe. Let it enter the tunnel, then let up a howl I’ll come running and that way well have it trapped between us.”
“A. Good. Plan. Fain.”
Re nodded, not so sure as the dog. “I hope so. But if not—if nothing happens—I should be out in an hour or so.”
“Good. Bye. Fain.”
“Good-bye, Scorpio.”
The place where he had secured Skallon after the riot last night lay two hundred meters farther on. He had to stoop to enter the tunnel and, before he reached its end, move on all fours. A great place for a sudden ambush, he thought, and a lousy place for moving quickly. He began to think less and less of Skallon’s plan. He worried about Scorpio; the risk to the dog seemed too great. But he didn’t turn back. If he’d had a better plan of his own—even a better idea-he might have considered it. But he didn’t. His mind was a disturbing blank. For the moment, he had no choice but to let Skallon—or Danon—take the lead. As he moved, he turned his flashlight forward and back. But there was nothing. Just himself. Some water. The dark tunnel.
He came to the door of the cell and knocked. That was what the room had been centuries before—a cell. The door was thicker than both his legs and the one small window barred. Danon had stumbled upon the cell as a very young child and had never forgotten its location.
Skallon said, “Come in, Fain.”
There was a single dull lantern strugging to illuminate the entire room. A cot, a desk, and a chair made up the only furniture. Danon had secreted these here long ago when he’d used the cell as a lonely hiding place. There was a door in the opposite wall, but it led into a shallow closet. The way in was the only way out and Scorpio was guarding that. Fain left the door open so that he could hear the dog. Skallon lay on his back on the bed. He was alone.
“I wondered if you d bother to come.” Skallon sat up, but slowly.
Fain shrugged, keeping One ear cocked for Scorpio. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because of the stupid thing I did last night.”
That wasn’t you. That was the Changeling. You were drugged. Just like an Alvean on Vertil. You couldn’t help yourself.”
“You’re sure of that? You know I was drugged?”
Skallon seemed badly in need of some reassurance. Fain saw no reason to withhold it. Tm sure. As sure, at least, as I ever am of anything. It could have been me as easily as you. It just happened that you drank the wrong mug of ale.”
Tm glad to hear that, Fain, but if s still over, isn’t it? Danon told me it’s really a mess up there. The people are rioting, hunting everywhere for disguised Earthers. It’s only a matter of time before they catch us, Fain. We can’t get away, and we can’t stay here.”
Skallon’s analysis wasn’t far from Fain’s own, but he saw no need to go into that now. Instead, he concentrated on something else Skallon had said: Danon. Where was the boy? “Didn’t Danon bring you your lunch? He was supposed to have left before I did.”
“No, I haven’t seen him,” said Skallon.
That’s odd.”
“What isn’t on this world?” Skallon came off the bed, suddenly animated. “I tell you we never should have come here in the first place, Fain. That was our first mistake—our only real mistake. We should have let the Changeling-come in and do as it wished. This isn’t our world. These people are pseudo-men, closer to the Changeling than they are to us. What makes them our responsibility, our worry?”
Fain shook his head. Skallon was blowing off, letting his anger run. “I thought you were the one who admired them so much.”
“That was before they tried to kill me. Think, Fain. Look at how we’ve employed our best minds trying to conquer their plagues. And how have they repaid us? Fain, they’d kill us in a second if they caught us, tear us apart. It’s not just the Changeling, either. The Changeling follows chaos the way Scorpio does a scent. It doesn’t create. It reinforces what’s already there. These Alveans aren’t people. They’re nothing—absolutely f rapping nothing.”
Fain came close, trying to calm Skallon, but Skallon pulled out of his grasp and headed for the door. “I’m going to piss. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Sure,” said Fain. He still didn’t fully understand Skallon’s outburst. He had sounded more like Fain than himself. Was he serious? Was there some real reason for all that fury?
Then he heard it. More than likely the sound had been present in the room for some time but muffled by Skallon’s angry words. It came from the closet. It sounded like a man’s choked voice.
Fain went over to the closet. The sound was coming from here. Tentatively, he opened the door.
Inside, he saw a man bound and gagged in torn sheets. The man’s eyes rolled with strain and he struggled to speak past the mass of the gag.
The man was Skallon.
Fain swore. He spun and drew his heatgun in a single flash of motion. He sprinted for the door, ducked down, and ran as fast as the tunnel allowed.
He slammed a shoulder into the stone and winced. Ahead was darkness, waiting darkness, and he lunged senselessly forward, his face rigid, after the Changeling.
Part Four
1
Sliding, stepping, singing, the Changeling skates clean and smooth through the streets of Kalic. Doubluth robes flutter about its legs. Its face ripples in sympathy, taking on echoes of the features of the strangers it meets. Here a man, heavy and jowly. There, a woman, face drawn and tight, lips puckered. Echoes. Its face is in and of the Dance. Echoes.
It nears the place of the Earthers. The world watches, murmurs, sings in anticipation. Here, the yellow lights. A worn building, smooth with years.
It has let the city seep into itself, bathed itself in the many wilting moments of the Alveans. Now it knows, the answer floats up from nothingness into its mind: the time to enter the nest of the Earthers, the crucial time, is now.
The doors of the Battachran Hotel lie open. Within lurks Fain but—worse—his dog. Carefully, cautiously, it penetrates this sanctum. The purple robes of its new caste reek with the stench of the apparently dead man. There are voices—human. It shies back. One-Fain?—speaks like an Earther. If Fain is present in that back room, the dog must also be near.
“Honored, sir, may I be—?”
It spins, huge body awkwardly tilting. A heatgun hidden in its belt. But, no. It relaxes. A boy, small child, Alvean, growing now toward first plumpness. “I seek,” it begins, in the gentle, musical tones of a native Doubluth—
“Fellow pilgrims,” says the boy, edging toward a flight of stairs. “If you’ll take a room, I can—”
It grabs his arm, pulls. Face against face. It breathes harshly, waits, whispers, “Those men in the back—who are they?”
“…Men of Earth,” says the boy, in the flat tones of the Vertil-drugged. “Fain and Skallon.”
“An animal is with them?”
“A dog. It speaks.”
“And you? Your name? Who are you?”
“I am Danon. My mother—Joane—is wedded to the innkeeper, Kish.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
It is made too easy—giggling gift from a chaotic universe. “Outside.” There are deep shadows here-vacant streets. It questions the boy in considerable depth, knowing from long practice the exact areas to penetrate. In time, the drug runs
thin. The boy nods, sleeps, wakes. It grasps his hands. “Not yet—no. A further question—please.”
The eyes of the boy flicker with thin awareness. “Yes—I—yes—”
“Your life,” it asks, uncertain of what will come. “Tell me if you have enjoyed it.”
The boy stammers, hesitates. In spite of the Vertil, he cannot formulate an adequate response.
It shakes the boy brutally, snapping his neck back and forth. In his stupor, the boy does not resist. “Answer me—yes or no. I must have an answer to my question.”
“I—no. No, I have not enjoyed my…my life. I think that…” He sleeps. That quickly. Gently, approaching tenderness, it lowers the boy to the pavement and arranges his limbs in a comfortable posture. Then, crouching, dropping to its knees, it leans heavily across the boy, clutches his throat in its fat hands, squeezes.
No! It is not easy. The boy awakens, groans, thrashes. This is not a fat Doubluth who is dying but a boy, mere child. Squeeze. There is no meaning to the act of murder. No birth—no death. All is nothingness, cosmic illusion, part of the One. I curse you, it thinks savagely. I curse you, oh One, for creating this universe in which boys must die without living. You are All but All is chaos—it is evil.
Something snaps. The boy s head bobs weakly.
No, not easy. Breathing heavily, it rises to its knees in a posture mocking prayer. The slide into death is a beautiful thing, a sad thing, worthy of tears and mad laughter. The mere Earthers and Alveans sense it not The loss and the replenished joy.
The body must be disposed of. A shallow grave. It finds soft earth in a hidden alley and claws with its fingers. On a world where death comes quickly for many, one more grave will attract little attention.
It screams as the willed transformation begins. Fat, gross Alvean body torn asunder. The Doubluth robes are too big. It undresses, slips into the child’s gown. Stumbling, ending its tears, it enters the hotel again. Silence. The Earthers—Fain and Skallon—have gone.
“Danon, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
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