Strange Music Page 10

  “To be certain, to be correct, I must inquire. You seek the abductors of the Hobak’s Firstborn, the much-esteemed Preedir ah nisa Leeh, whose beauty is sung of across the seas, over the land and through the trees. A beauty as famed as is her bravery, as is her shape and her temperament.”

  This time Flinx replied with a simple gesture of acknowledgment. Wiegl’s response was equally concise.

  “Rumor has it but is now confirmed, that while intelligent are the offworlders, that clever and knowledgeable though they be, madness is not unknown among them.” Pushing off with his tail, he started to rise. The apprehension he exuded was almost visible.

  Flinx raised a hand, palm upward in the accepted fashion, keeping his middle and index fingers pressed together, apart from the two smaller ones likewise pressed against each other, and the thumb separate. The result was to mimic the three fingers of a Larian as visually as possible—though there was no way to imitate the connecting webwork.

  “To clarify before you flee, I seek the Firstborn but not her abductors, excepting any human who has interfered.”

  Wiegl hesitated. “One cannot be had without the other, as wishes cannot be had without the wishing. I am fond of my head in its current position, and would not go out of my way to lose it, in the service of a pricey folly.”

  “Your head and the rest of you will stay intact,” Flinx sang back, “as long as you help me to accomplish my task, as long as we do this work together.”

  The Larian issued a chirp through his stiffened nostril. “As I said and will say again, together is how I like my head and body, separated they do me far less good. Do you know what you are asking, have you a clue of what you request? I fear but two things, I tell you, human: that we will not the Firstborn find, and that we might. Then will come the sharp-edged reckoning, that separates the head from neck, that separates the dreaming from real life, and ends your quest in a flush of blood.”

  Flinx showed his own teeth and gestured at the metal tube that leaned against the wall nearby. “Though high technology I cannot use, you have seen of what my friend is capable; I assure you she is ready, to defend us both if circumstance demands.” Though it was difficult to find the exact center of the dark, angled Larian eyes, Flinx did his best to do so. “Furthermore I can tell you, there are things I must keep secret, that an advantage unique will give us, if we must deal with hostile others.”

  Wiegl let out a sharp bark, like sticks hitting the side of a snare drum. “ ‘Others’ I do not fear, as ‘others’ is but a general notion. But the ones I speak of, are far more than ‘others,’ and are well-known for dismembering, those who follow too close on their tails.”

  “Then you know who they are? Who took the Hobak’s Firstborn?” At Wiegl’s muddled look of incomprehension, not to mention the aura of disgust that was plain to perceive, Flinx hastened to refashion his response into intelligible singspeech. “Familiar you are with who took the Firstborn, since you speak of them as persons known, as persons of an unpleasant reputation, who most would prefer to avoid when possible.”

  The native’s answer took the form of a gesture that required no singspeech interpretation. “The death-dealing ability of your animal leaves me speechless, but not enough to chance becoming headless, which is surely what would us befall, if we were to pursue those of whom I have sung.”

  Reaching for a pocket, Flinx unsealed it and removed a container. Onto the table he dumped a generous number of the flat polished discs that served as currency on Largess. What the kind and quantity signified in local terms he did not know exactly, but Wiegl drew in his breath in a sharp hiss and the noise itself was sufficient to draw the attention of several other, heretofore disinterested patrons.

  “Better can you become,” Flinx murmured, “if my offer you accept; if you will in my experience trust, and become a hero as a bonus additional.” He indicated the pile of discs. “Take half now as a down payment, on your services that I wish to engage, and know that this and more are waiting, on the return of we four to the Leeth safely.”

  We four, Wiegl thought to himself. Offworlder human, the one (if not more) reputed to be interfering in Larian affairs, myself—and the Firstborn beauty Preedir ah nisa Leeh. Gamble he to accept the challenge? Dare he sing the dare? Wasn’t it only his imagination that something was tightening around his neck and screwing his eyes out of their sockets? Nothing more than his imagination?

  That was the trouble with having an active imagination, he told himself. All very well and good to envision one diving deep, to slay the bumptious blarminp and take its razor-sharp teeth for a necklace. In one’s imagination all things were possible, no matter how difficult, no matter how dangerous. Even unto stealing back the Hobak’s Firstborn from the potluck of pirates who had abducted her and taken her north…or so he had heard was the case.

  Was there a human or two among them, as the one across the table from him claimed? Wiegl did not know, but was intent on keeping his ignorance close to his chest. Let the offworlder think he knew more than he did. Bargaining chips were as hard to come by as coin. Of which speaking, it was an impressive little pile that sat on the table in front of him, just waiting to be scooped up. With more promised. Avarice was an irritant that made one’s eyes speak of water.

  He had no way of knowing, of course, that as he sat there in silent contemplation, the subject of his musing was perusing his true feelings as easily as reading the pages on an unfolding scroll.

  He knew himself well enough to realize that if he accepted the offworlder’s proposal, he would be getting himself into something much bigger, more dangerous, and potentially more lethal than any imbroglio he had been embroiled in before. The thought conjured up an image of him being present at an elegant state dinner—as the skinned and broiled main course. A Larian deprived of his fur was not a pretty sight.

  Dare he?

  For his part, Flinx was watching the native closely. Wiegl’s present emotional state was a conflicted mess, his feelings running into one another like a crowd of nervous drunks. Deducing what the local was really feeling was like trying to stir honey with a blade of grass. Flinx’s perceptions kept getting stuck and pushed around. Try as he might, he was unable to lock on to any one dominant sentiment.

  Fortunately, Wiegl eliminated any need for additional emotional analysis by sweeping the metal discs on the table into the pouch that was slung across his chest.

  “It cannot be denied now that I am a fool, for having ritually if not verbally accepted your offer; it marks me an idiot, but one with a full purse.” The top of the pouch closed with a crude zipper. “I will go with you; to rescue the Firstborn, to savor her singing, to offer an arm for biting, in the hope I will live long enough to retain it. And all other limbs, and all parts, of which I have become fond, and would prefer to retain, for the rest of my living.”

  Flinx smiled. From what he could sense, the Larian was now willing to participate, even if he was still notably lacking in enthusiasm. “Where do we start, as I am to follow you?”

  “Answers are hidden,” the Larian chirped, “like bluestone in rocks, waiting to be discovered, by those who would seek, by those who ask deftly.”

  Flinx leaned back. “And are you, master of words, mincer of offers, a good hunter of bluestone, on whom I am to rely?”

  “Bluestone and redstone, blue skies and red bone; the former I will find, the latter seek to avoid.”

  As he started to rise from the bench, Flinx reached for the metal tube in which Pip snoozed. “Blue sky here is rarer, I think, than gemstone of any kind, than anything that can by your money be bought. Looking up, I see only gray, no matter how hard my seeking, no matter how anxious my squinting.”

  “Bluestone and blue sky, both are rare, but both yield to persistence pending,” his newly engaged Larian guide sang, “and may be found by those with patience.”

  “Then find me now,” Flinx said, stumbling over an octave as they headed out of the establishment and back onto the busy, mist-
muffled street, “the Hobak’s Firstborn, and the offworlder looming over her. That I may deal with the latter trending, while you attend to the nisa Leeh’s needs.”

  They turned up a street neatly paved with large square stones. Scalloped gullies separated the paving stones, drawing the water from the mist and the occasional shower off the slightly concave avenue and into drains along both sides. Borusegahm was an advanced town with well-developed civil services. What they would find once they left its comparatively civilized surroundings behind, Flinx knew, could not even be accessed via Commonwealth records. Because as with any Class IVb world, there was a great deal still to be learned about Largess. He looked forward to filling in some of the blanks.

  —

  As they struck out into the sprawling northern suburbs of the Leeth the following morning, the leaden cloud cover gave way to intermittent low fronts. Light drizzle was interspersed with heavy cloud and, as if intent on confirming Wiegl’s presumption of his own skills, even a sporadic glimpse of streaky blue sky. In contrast to the dreary heavens, every home and commercial building boasted planters filled with an astonishing array of decorative plants. Only on one other world had Flinx encountered such an explosion of green and attendant colors. But the variety of form and hue on that singular globe was far greater than what he was seeing here, and these planters evinced an utter dearth of consciousness. The plants burst forth from their sculpted containers in a thousand different shapes, but though varied in color, all were subdued, as if each was ashamed to be brighter than its neighbor. They were healthy, even explosive, but with a reluctance to blossom fully that made them all seem variations on one original cutting.

  In all that greenery he saw only a few distinctive shades. Airborne pollinators would have a difficult time in this weather, he told himself. When he sang of the absence of brightness to his companion, Wiegl drew him over to a cluster of waist-high growths fronting the entrance to some kind of workshop. Fire and iron were visible within, but Flinx was more interested in the plants. Leaning toward what resembled meter-high corncobs minus the stalks, he saw the tiny purple flowers that grew directly on the trunks: efflorescence.

  As he looked on, a pair of winged cylinders landed on one stalk and began picking at the flowers. Unlike terrestrial bees, they inhaled what passed for pollen to store it in special compartments inside their bodies. Probably to keep the delicate organic material from becoming drenched in the often-saturated air of Largess, he speculated. Squinting, he noted with quiet astonishment that the flying cylinders themselves were completely dry. Their chitinous bodies, or whatever their iridescent purple shapes were made of, was naturally hydrophobic. The drizzle flowed over and around, but not on, them.

  There were quasi-trees, too. Tall, narrow-boled growths with branches that grew only slightly perpendicular to the trunk before turning straight downward. All boasted broad, wide leaves for collecting as much of the intermittent sunlight as possible. Growths with yellow trunks had neither branches nor leaves, and one dark red tangle of brambles flaunted huge serrated thorns that looked like miniature scimitars.

  There were no stirrings from within the metal “walking stick” that Flinx carried. Snug within her vertical cocoon, Pip slept soundly.

  From time to time Wiegl would call a halt to their hike. Vanishing into a building, he would ungraciously leave Flinx waiting out in the dismal weather while he conversed with unknown individuals inside. At least he was not plotting treachery, Flinx knew. He could perceive the Larian’s emotions as clearly from outside a structure as if they had been standing side by side within—at least when he wasn’t singspeaking. Nor did Pip evince the slightest unease. Flinx began to relax—as much as he ever dared allow himself to relax. True relaxation was a state of being that had been virtually unknown to him since childhood. The best that could be said of it was that when he felt relatively safe, he entered a condition of lenient wariness.

  If the guide’s intentions included betrayal, Flinx felt, the Larian was hiding his feelings exceedingly well.

  It was near the outskirts of the Leeth, where businesses had been left behind and homes were now isolated and scattered, that Wiegl emerged from a simple single-story house fashioned of rough-hewn stone and boasting a roof of woven red reeds, and for the first time beckoned for Flinx to join him within.

  The ware sculpture that framed the door was slender and sheathed in what looked like mottled, dark maroon leather. Not every creature on cool, clammy Largess grew fur, Flinx knew. A living lintel, this one spread itself across the top of the portal. Stretching down either side, both limbs terminated in bony, taloned fingers that were as long as Flinx’s forearm. They didn’t look very strong, but Wiegl assured him that if their owner were so inclined, they could easily spill a person’s intestines all over the stone walkway.

  From the center of the attenuated body, a hairless head dominated by a sharp beak and two large yellow eyes tracked the approach of the tall offworlder. Since Wiegl had previously been admitted within, the watch-thing paid the guide no attention, focusing all its attention on Flinx. As powerful grasping hands flexed, a tremor rattled the metal walking tube wielded by the human. Pip was stirring within, reacting to the rising emotional threat posed by the Door Watcher.

  Just before Wiegl led Flinx to within hand’s reach, a female emerged from the depths of the structure. Though bent with age and from a lifetime of hard work in the brooks and fields of the Leeth, she was still strong enough to give the side of the doorway a couple of vigorous slaps with her tail. Coding and conditioning put the Door Watcher at ease. Fluttering fingers relaxed, the eager yellow eyes closed, and the beaked skull slumped forward. Still, Flinx did not let down his guard until he and Wiegl were inside the house.

  It was as unpretentious within as it was without. Furnishings were ample and utilitarian. Animal skins splayed across two walls went unrecognized by Flinx. A kind of couch marked with a deep channel between cushions and back supported their host. He was lying on his side, his head propped up by the inflated corpse of a dead sea creature. Scarred of snout and missing one eye, he boasted a build that was thicker and more knotty than that of the average Larian. And, Flinx realized suddenly, this Larian’s tail was missing. Without such, Flinx knew, a member of his species could not stand for very long. Or execute the many other functions for which their short, stiff tails had evolved.

  He was too polite to ask what had happened to the important appendage. It did not matter. Noting the offworlder’s line of sight and divining his thoughts, their host provided an answer to the unasked question.

  “They cut it off, they did as warning,” he growl-sang. “To ensure my silence, their anonymity to preserve, by threatening worse still, to me and my family.” Off to his left, Flinx saw the female watching quietly. Her long arms were wrapped across the front of her body, the webbed hands pressed together. She looked tense. What emotions Flinx could read from her confirmed it. Likely she did not want her mate singing of the subject to strangers. But she did not interfere, or interrupt.

  “Stopped nearby did a strideship recently, laid up for the night in a meadow adjacent.” The old hunter-gatherer on the couch relayed the memory without hesitation but with unmistakable bitterness. “A place I do not own but frequent occasionally, far does it lie from hearth and home, farther still is the place from one town or another. Good hunting is there among the redwork, and sandalstalk hearts to be gathered in plenty. A place no one owns, of fair tides and clean water, a place I myself would choose for resting.” As he shifted on the couch the pain from his amputated tail was concealed in his expression but open to Flinx’s perception.

  “Out for three days I had my curiosity heightened, so close I crept that empty net to fill. A rougher lot on the deck than could be imagined, walked to and fro amid much cursing and laughter, the cursing full of humor and the laughter devoid of it. As I crouched half down among the redwork and ignored the nibblers, that around my ankles had begun to cluster, I saw on the deck by the few li
ghts suspended, a sight that piqued my interest beyond any gathering.

  “Between two figures as different as daytimes, stood a female of bearing both threatening and proud. Hands bound behind her she glared at two others, who sang to her firmly without expecting a response, who sang to her in tones of warning and caution, that she appeared to ignore as she sought to strike them.”

  Flinx felt he had to interrupt. Clearing his throat, he sangspoke as clearly as he could. The Larian couple eyed him in surprise, not expecting the taller of their two visitors to speak their language.

  “Can you this odd pair, describe to us clearly, describe to us indicating that perhaps one is not Larian, that one is offworlder?”

  “One was Larian, of that there is no doubt,” their host told him, “as of equally no doubt, I say without hesitation, looked the other much like—you.”

  So the suspicions of Padre Jonas and her colleagues were correct, Flinx decided with satisfaction. An offworlder—a human—was indeed involved in the kidnapping of the Firstborn of Leeth. How much illegal advanced technology that individual had utilized to facilitate the abduction Flinx did not know. But before this particular excursion was over, he intended to find out.

  Using two fingers, Wiegl gestured at their host’s partially visible backside where it was tucked into the channel at the vee of the couch. He did not sing the unspoken question. Nor did he need to.

  “While I stood in shallow water watching, came upon me from behind a pair of sentries. Outlying sentries, sensibly set, which I in my fascination neglected to espy, neglected to look out for. Overpowered, I was taken on board the strideship, there to be stood before the Larian friend, of the offworlder who had admonished the captive, and sung to her words I had been unable to hear.

  “He spoke to me harshly, this hard-faced hooligan, who by his manner and words was clearly unworthy, of any company deemed honest and moral. Myself I consider brave if not feckless, but this individual I would run from, in daylight or night. Being held firmly I could not flee, being restrained I could not fight, so there was naught I could do but stand and curse foully, in the hope that my boldness might commend me to this being, and set me free to disappear into the night.” Again he shifted his position on the couch, and again Flinx sensed the pain from his amputated tail.