The Song of Phaid the Gambler

by Mick Farren

The father moved to help with the skinning. Phaid turned away. Although lupe skinning was probably, in its way, a very skilled art, it was particularly unlovely to watch. Finally, when they were through and the son was bundling up the pelts that still steamed in the cold dawn air, the father came back to Phaid.

  'Me Traan. Him Doofed. Him me son.'

  So they were father and son. By the father's tone, Phaid was led to believe that Doofed might not be quite the son that Traan had hoped for.

  Doofed hoisted the pelts on to his massive shoulders. Phaid got Edelline-Lan and Chrystiana-Nex up and on their feet. He looked questioningly at Traan.

  'Where do we go?'

  'We go back t' camp.'

  The hunters set a brisk pace that soon had Phaid puffing and gasping. Fortunately, the camp wasn't too far away. It had been pitched in a small clearing. A ramshackle wagon powered by a basic flipper drive unit was both the hunters' dwelling and transport. Two women had a small fire going. Food was cooking in a blackened pot that hung over the fire from an iron tripod. When the hunters' women saw their men coming they ran to meet them. Then they spotted Phaid and his company and hesitated. They seemed wary and even hostile towards strangers.

  Phaid wondered unkindly what passed for courtship and sex appeal among these primitive, cold land hunters. It was almost impossible to tell the women from the men, they were so thickly bundled in shapeless furs. Admittedly the women didn't wear beards and plaited moustaches, but they did have the lower half of their faces covered with brightly coloured knitted masks, which amounted to the same kind of facial concealment.

  The hunters' mobile home was, as far as Phaid was concerned, a much more fascinating sight. Running on four long, polished skids, it was a unique combination of stripped down technical function and primitive decora­tion. The moving parts were all old, but as equally well looked after as the hunters' antique guns. It was obvious that they took more pride in their mechanical skills than any big city tech.

  The front of the machine was the handler's position. To simplify the controls, he straddled the drive unit, sitting in a kind of bulky saddle, enclosed in plexiglass to protect him against the weather.

  Behind the driver was the main body of the wagon, a ramshackle, boxlike affair constructed from wood and more plexiglass and held together by plasteel bands. The construction was neither particularly ingenious nor even very sound. What started Phaid inspecting the vehicle so carefully was the mass of intricate decoration that almost completely covered it.

  Almost every piece of woodwork was rich with tiny detailed carvings. The hunters' graphic representation may have been crude, but both their industry and im­agination were prodigious. If the carvings were anything to go by, the lupe hunters' mythology was complex, diverse and often verged on the nightmarish. Giant lupes menaced tiny human figures, mythical scaled and clawed beasts were locked in mortal combat. Birds with flat, axeblade wings roosted in intricate intertwining trees that bore exotic flowers and were protected by vicious thorns. In the middle of the foliage, athletic and sometimes double jointed couples, trios and quartets engaged in complicated fornication. The whole lush panorama seemed to be presided over by a number of grinning demons with pot bellies and enormous sexual organs.

  Phaid was just starting to try and work out what kind of people he had fallen in with when he was tugged back to the matters at hand by two new arrivals. He had assumed the hunting band was comprised of just the father, son and the two women. The arrival of two more men meant that he had to rearrange his calculations.

  Traan quickly introduced the newcomers.

  'Him and him other sons. Him Dwayne and him Dunle.'

  Phaid noticed that he had not been told the names of either of the hunters' women, nor did Traan expect any formal introduction to Edelline-Lan or Chrystiana-Nex. On the other hand the three sons openly stared at the two city women, doing absolutely nothing to conceal their basic and obvious intentions. Phaid hoped that this wasn't going to cause complications.

  He had no time to ponder the problem, though. The hunters seemed set for a quick meal and then an early start for the south. Before this could happen, Traan felt obliged to negotiate a price for passage and protection to Bluehaven. As with so many primitive peoples, haggling had developed to high and baroque art. It took Phaid the best part of an hour to pay a small fortune for a set of three, smelly fur suits and three cold sets that consisted of a chest heater unit and a mask, hood and air filter to be used in the worst of the cold.

  Phaid had expected, particularly in view of the large sum of money that he had handed over, that the three of them would ride inside the hunters' wagon. Directly the band started south it became clear that everyone except Traan and his women, who took turns driving the machine, was expected to walk. The wagon's engine was solar powered without any sort of back-up. This meant that, with only the pale chilly sunlight to drive it, it only made an agonisingly slow pace, even without any passen­gers riding on it.

  While they were still following the trail in the compara­tive shelter of the forest, the trek wasn't too wretched, but, as the trees dwindled and gave way to open fell, walking turned into an exposed freezing trudge. It didn't help to know that the weather would get colder and more violent all the way to Bluehaven.

  It wasn't only the temperature that reminded the travellers that they were getting closer and closer to the ice plains. Now that they were out on the endless white of the rolling fells, it was possible to see the band of purple cloud on the horizon. It twisted an contorted in a constant shift of a million never repeating, tortured shapes. It marked the path of the furious gales that continuously ripped at the icy landscape.

  Phaid knew that all too soon he would be crossing those gales and his only protection would be an ice boat that could be anything up to five hundred years old. It seemed inconceivable to Phaid that there was no way that he could avoid constantly getting into these absurd and hazardous situations.

  One of the problems about a forced march across the fells was that it gave Phaid an awful lot of time for thought and reflection. There was nothing to do except wearily place one foot in front of the other. There was nothing to look at beyond the ominous clouds and the featureless, snowbound countryside. There was nothing to hear, either, except the wagon creaking and groaning as its drive unit laboriously dragged it across the snow.

  All one could do was to keep pace with the wagon and not fall behind. Beyond that, each of the travellers was lost in his or her own thoughts and at the mercy of his or her private fears. Distractions were few. During the icy and tedious afternoon, a flock of birds came over, flying high in V-formation, heading north, away from the cold. Everyone, including the hunters, stopped and stared upwards. The wearisome trudge didn't resume until the birds had completely vanished from sight.

  If the days were tedious and exhausting, the nights hardly qualified either as havens of warmth and relaxa­tion. Traan and his woman kept the wagon strictly to themselves. The three sons and Phaid's party were expected to sleep outside, huddled around the fire, shivering even though they were draped in thick lupehide robes and had their chest heaters turned full up.

  After two nights on the trail, Chrystiana-Nex started climbing into the same robe as one or another of Traan's sons. Phaid even suspected that she might have switched brothers during the night. He was at a loss to even guess at what she found alluring in Doofed, Dwayne or Dunle. As far as he was concerned, the brothers were smelly, inarticulate throwbacks and he strongly felt that the ex-president was either capriciously playing with fire or up to something exceedingly devious.

  One dreary morning, when they were stumbling wearily behind the wagon, making their way through particularly deep snow, Phaid decided to question her on the subject. Chrystiana-Nex had bristled and told him that it was none of his business. Under more normal circumstances, Phaid would have merely shrugged and dropped the whole subject. Out in the frozen tundra, however, Chrystiana-Nex's sex life might be a serious factor on everybody'
s chances of survival.

  'You have to realise that these hunters are, at best, semi-savage. They seem to believe that they own their own women and, as far as I can see, if you go on fooling around with those three there's likely to be an explosion.'

  'An explosion might do a lot to alleviate the boredom.'

  Phaid started to get angry.

  'You can alleviate your boredom once I've delivered you to that Tharmier banker and collected my money. Until then you do what I say.'

  Chrystiana-Nex scowled. Since they'd started their long march across the snow her bouts of withdrawal had grown less and less frequent and, although her behaviour left a lot to be desired, she was acting more like a normal being; right at that moment, like a furious human being.

  'So you think you're in charge of this little expedition, do you?'

  'Sure I do.'

  'And I suppose you think you know about nomads.'

  'A little.'

  'And young men too?'

  'I was one.'

  'Do you really believe that by having us women keep ourselves to ourselves it's going to avoid trouble from those three young idiots?'

  'That's the general idea.'

  Chrystiana-Nex's lip curled.

  'Well, Master Phaid, that would seem to demonstrate just how little you know, and probably just how unfitted you are to lead anything. You say you understand young men and nomads. You know nothing. I was brought up among nomads and I've been manipulating young men all my life.'

  'I can imagine that.'

  'Oh, you can sneer, Master Phaid, but if I'd done what you wanted those three would have killed you by now. They would have raped Edelline-Lan and me and then either killed us or forcibly made us their wives.'

  Phaid didn't like this theory one bit.

  'Traan would never . . .'

  'Traan wouldn't give a damn. He's got your money and, while he wouldn't actively break his word to take us to Bluehaven, if the sons started causing trouble, I doubt he would stop them, particularly if two of them wound up owning brand new slave wives.'

  Phaid looked quite rueful.

  'I never thought of it that way.'

  'Of course you didn't. That's because you're a man. Doing this my way makes those three fools think that I'm some sort of wonderful novelty. They don't know what's going to happen next. I can wrap them round my little finger.'

  'What about me? Aren't they liable to see me as some sort of threat?'

  Chrystiana-Nex looked at him in surprise.

  'You? Good Lords no. They think that you're some sort of ineffectual pimp. They aren't worried about you at all.'

  Phaid raised both eyebrows.

  'I'm not sure I like that idea.'

  Chrystiana-Nex stopped in her tracks and regarded him scornfully.

  'As usual the male ego would risk anything, even death, rather than not be thought of as the most splendid fellow in the world.'

  'Wait a minute . . .'

  'You know it's true.'

  Phaid walked in silence for a while and thought about what she had said to him. Life had been a great deal simpler when he'd been able to think of Chrystiana-Nex as a simple, mindless tyrant.

  After a lot more silent walking, Chrystiana-Nex smiled brightly at Phaid.

  'Did I ever tell you how I made pain so fashionable in the city?'

  Phaid sighed and shook his head.

  'No, you never did.'

  He stared out across the monotonous snow and pro­foundly wished that he had stayed in the jungle.

  At least once a day, the sons would put on skis, sling their guns over their backs and take off on a scouting trip. Phaid really couldn't see the point of these expeditions, the fells were so blank and featureless that it was hardly likely that anything was going to sneak up on them and, so long as they kept the purple clouds in front of them, they had to be in roughly the right direction. It also seemed there was nothing out there for them to kill, a suggestion that received confirmation from the fact they never re­turned with any game. On the fifth afternoon, however, they did come back with some news.

  Traan related this news to Phaid who was tramping along at some distance from the wagon, lost in thought. He fell into step beside him.

  'Could it be anyone follow thee?'

  Phaid started.

  'What?'

  'Could it be anyone follow thee?'

  'Follow me?'

  'Thee and thy women.'

  Phaid knew he had to expect some sort of pursuit. Makartur, for one, was not the kind to give up and let them go when he didn't catch them on the line train. Nonetheless, the news took him completely by surprise. He stalled for time, wondering how much it would be safe to let the old hunter known about his troubles.

  'Are you telling me that there's someone following us?'

  'Two o' 'em.'

  'You're kidding.'

  'Kid thee not.'

  This was something of a shock to Phaid. He had expected Makartur to be coming after him, but he couldn't imagine who the second pursuer might be.

  'When you say there are two of them, do you mean two people, or two groups?'

  'Furthest away are a pair, two o' 'em. They still cast around as though seeking a trail. They got flipper an' it lucky we got wind to cover our tracks, otherwise they catch us pretty damn quick, yes sir.'

  'And the other?'

  'Just one o' him. He real near. He keep pace with us but don't move in. It strange, damn strange if you ask me.'

  Phaid didn't know what to make of this second, nearby pursuer. It wouldn't be like Makartur to hold off and keep pace with the hunters. Makartur would be straight in for the kill. Assuming that it wasn't Makartur, didn't, how­ever, make Phaid any happier. There was something sinister and unnatural about the way whoever was out there simply kept pace and made no move. It made Phaid paranoid. What also made him paranoid was the way that Traan was looking at him.

  'Thee'd be smart to tell me all thee know.'

  'What are you talking about? How the hell should I know who's following us?'

  'Thee cons me.'

  'Listen, I . . .'

  'Thee cons me!'

  Phaid and Traan both halted. Phaid didn't like the way that Traan was holding his gun.

  'There was a spot of trouble back in the city.'

  'Cityite trouble?'

  'Yeah, you could call it that.'

  'Trouble cost thee extra.'

  They both started walking again. Phaid gazed up at the clear blue sky. Now that Traan had mentioned money, Phaid saw he might be able to turn the situation to his advantage. He looked speculatively at the old hunter.

  'What exactly does this extra money buy us?'

  'It stop me dumping thee in the snow right now.'

  'Nothing more?'

  'Depends on what thee willing t' pay, my chumee. What more did thee have in thy mind?'

  Phaid flexed his fingers inside his gloves.

  'Why don't we look at it this way. Say whoever is out there wanted to come and take me and the women. What would you do?'

  'I'd have a choice, wouldn't I?'

  'You would?'

  'I could have my boys run 'em off or I let 'em take thee.'

  'And I suppose the price would determine what your boys did, right?'

  'Thee catches on right fast.'

  'So what is the price?'

  Traan named the price. Phaid haggled a little and then settled. He knew that the hunter probably thought that he was robbing Phaid, but even the first price that he had named was ludicrously low by city standards.

  Feeling much happier to have four experienced guns between him and whatever was after him, he made one further request.

  'Suppose your boys were to go out and maybe scout out these people who are after us.'

  'That would cost thee a lot more.'

  Traan named a higher sum. To Phaid, it was still absurdly cheap. He haggled for a while, just for the sake of good form, and then he agreed.

  It was decided
that the scouting expedition should be made the same night, immediately after dark had fallen. There were some protests from the three sons. At least one of them probably had planned a nocturnal adventure with Chrystiana-Nex and none of them seemed to relish a night spent skiing around in the icy darkness. Traan, however, brooked no arguments where money was con­cerned and, as the light was fading, the sons were dis­patched on their enforced mission.

  They were to make the longer journey first, all the way to where Phaid hoped the pair of supposed pursuers were still casting about for a trail. Once they had taken a good look at the couple in the flipper, they would swing back to check on their nearer shadow.

  Phaid had pointed out that it would have been quicker to send one son on the long trip and the other two on the shorter one, but the brothers flatly refused to be split up, and Traan didn't force the point. After a single appeal to a sense of efficiency, Phaid let the hunters plan their own expedition.

  Once the sons had vanished into the darkness, Traan went back to the wagon and Phaid to the fire. Wrapped in their lupehide robes, Chrystiana-Nex was distant and withdrawn, but Edelline-Lan was anxious to know what was going on.

  'Where have the idiot sons gone? Are you up to something, Phaid?'

  'We're being followed.'

  'Who's following us?'

  'It's not a who, it's a they; a pair of them some way off and another one shadowing us just out of sight.'

  'But who are they?'

  'I don't know, that's what the idiot sons have gone to find out.'

  Edelline-Lan looked even more anxious.

  'I don't like the sound of this.'

  'I don't like it either, but I'm happier now I've paid Traan to put his sons between us and anyone who comes after us.'

  'You think it's the rebels?'

  'I think it's a character called Makartur.'

  'Is he after the president?'

  Phaid nodded.

  'Yeah, he'd like to take her head back with him, but he's also got a grudge against me.'

  'Could this Makartur get past Traan and his sons?'

  'I don't know. They're all basically the same kind. Makatur's a barbarian from the hills. If anyone could do it, it would probably be him.'