by Duncan, Dave
Avior matched it. “The flesh is willing but the spirit is nonexistent.”
“No improvement over Thabit and Tyl, you mean?”
That was a fairly open admission that the Family had been keeping watch on Kraz and prying into Avior’s affairs.
“Orang and Utan? They’re pretty good, I’d say.”
“Imaginative, but short on stamina.”
That was like calling the Pacific Ocean short on damp.
“You must have very high standards.” Not to mention the endurance of an alley cat.
Botein laughed. “Oh, I do! And since we’re admitting to incest, I’ll confess that once, a few years ago now, I set out to try a brother a night. They varied a lot, of course, but several performed much better than those two turncoat apes.”
“How long before you ran out of brothers?”
“Almost four months,” Botein said with a shrug. “By then I was scraping the bottom of the cradle and they weren’t much good for anything yet. Look, are you sure I can’t persuade you to come and say hi to Daddy? He’d love to meet you, and he really can be your fairy godfather and grant you three wishes. I’ll see you back here within the hour, I promise.”
Only a suicidal zombie would trust any promise from a member of the Family. Avior knew that. But she did need a break, and this might give her an excuse to stop work on the Rigel-corpse altogether. In that case, it would be nice to help the lad somehow. He’d done his best for her, despite what Botein said. And if the corpse scam was blown, then the opposition had no motive to harm Avior—had nothing to gain by locking her up or killing her. A chance to see more of the Starlands and meet the Monster Himself was very tempting, too. She glanced where Botein was looking and her decision was made instantly.
“My god! Is that what you came in?”
Parked on the shady side of the studio building stood a golden chariot, a Ben Hur–style, two-wheeled racing chariot. It balanced on its wheels, leaning forward with the single shaft extending out in front of it to keep it from falling over. That it was magic was obvious from the way it was powered. One shaft would normally imply either two or four horses, but this one had no provision for horses. Four short crosspieces along the shaft served as perches, and on each crouched an enormous eagle. Avior thought they looked miserable at being so close to the ground.
“Isn’t it bully? Oh, damn! That’s out of date now, isn’t it? Groovy? Is that still the in word? Come along, dear. I’ll give you a ride.”
Avior went with her, fascinated by the prospect of such an adventure. “I thought only elves could work magic?”
“Never call them that, dear. They’re liable to burn your nose off, or worse. Some halflings have magic up into the green. About a quarter of the Family can fly something like this. Hadar’s better than I am. In you get.”
Botein offered a hand. Unwilling to be touched, Avior scrambled up unaided. The chariot rocked, steadied, and rocked again as her chunky guide joined her. Botein gripped the rail with both hands. There was something odd about her right wrist, as if it had been broken and badly set. Avior tried hard not to stare, but disfigurements were her speciality, and this was the first one she had seen in the Starlands.
“Hang on, darling. Giddyup, chickens! Lean back, dear.”
As the passengers shifted their weight, the shaft started to rise. The birds extended their wings, displaying a wingspan of at least three meters, and then began to flap them, starting with the closest, because it was highest. The others soon joined in, gently at first, then with longer, stronger strokes. Dust swirled and the shaft tilted upward. Wheels turned, the chariot ran forward, and in seconds they were airborne, with all four eagles working in a rhythmic flow. Studio and other buildings slid away beneath them. The unicorns galloped wildly around their pen, and the two foreshortened Nusakan gaped up stupidly. No noise, no vibration, just effortless flight.
Avior didn’t even have to raise her voice to converse with her half sister. “How do you do this?”
“With an amulet,” Botein admitted. “But it needs personal magic, too, and a lot of training. Many of us can work air cars, and this is just a fancy air car. That’s a pretty skimpy little domain your tin-hatted boss gave you.”
The whole of Kraz was visible now, a sizable sprawling farm to Avior’s eyes. Its surroundings were hidden by clouds that she did not recall noticing from the ground. The chariot continued to soar upward and soon Kraz had disappeared altogether.
“What did you mean, it was skimpy?”
“I mean what we saw from up here is all there is of it. That’s hardly a planet you’re living on, Sister. Don’t go for any long walks. Here’s the highway to Phegda.”
The chariot shot down through a hole in the cloud cover and Avior’s ears popped. Here the sky was blue and cloudless again. Below her lay a sprawl of fields and buildings, apparently all one gigantic ranch. She saw white horses, or possibly unicorns, several rows of parked vehicles, and lakes with huge white swans on them. Then Botein told her to lean back and do as she did.
The chariot glided in low over some rooftops, the eagles’ wings outstretched. The wheels touched down on the grass in a perfect two-point landing, and the car coasted over to a barn door before it came to a halt. Botein shifted her weight forward to lower the shaft. Just like magic! The eagles folded their wings and turned fierce glares on their passengers. They didn’t seem to be chained to their perches, but something had to be holding them there. A couple of mudling boys came running out to assist.
“Daddy told me several places he might be,” Botein said as she led the way over to the barn. “But I’ve had a wonderful idea, dear.”
“Do tell, dear.” Avior still hated that idiotic form of address.
“Let’s go and call on Sterope while we’re here—not that ‘here’ or ‘there’ matter when you’re in the Starlands, just as long as you’re staying in one domain. Phegda is big enough that you could spend your whole life exploring it. Daddy’s told me that he hasn’t even seen everything yet…”
Botein continued her empty chatter until they were inside the barn, where dozens of chariots and other wheeled vehicles were stored, and hammering noises suggested repair work underway. At once she turned toward a smaller door, set just inside the big one but in the same exterior wall. It hadn’t been visible from the outside, so it had to be a portal.
Botein threw it open. About to go through, Avior recoiled from the ammoniacal stench of confined livestock.
“Sorry,” said her guide. “Should have warned you. It does get stinky in here on warm days. Try not to notice. They’re naturally a bit sensitive. You’ll love Sterope, though.”
This second barn was even larger than the first, but was it a barn or a jail? A wide corridor ran off for at least thirty meters straight ahead, which was far from being the end of the enclosed space. Smaller passages led off from it on either hand, but all the walls and dividers were made of steel bars. The stalls were large enough for horses, yet they seemed more like cells, and most of the doors were closed. Sweating mudlings were scrubbing the paving of the corridors with buckets and long brooms, or tramping around, pushing barrows of straw, clean or soiled.
Just inside the portal stood a long wooden bench heaped with miscellaneous baskets and stacks of cloth, perhaps towels. A woman was sitting there, suckling a baby. Her name was Sterope and she had short vertical horns between her elfin ears. Even without those, she was much too ugly to be a starborn: her teeth were square, not pointed, and her nose was almost nonexistent. She wore the usual simple loincloth wrap, but below that her legs were thickly furred, and they ended in black hooves. She looked up, her oversized mouth open in a winsome smile.
“Botein Halfling! Been a long time.”
“Yes it has. Nanny Sterope, this is Halfling Avior. She’s Family.”
Nanny? Or nanny goat?
Both!
Another animal smile. “Pleased to meet you.” Sterope looked down at the baby, whose tiny, fuzzy legs were hoove
d. “You finished on that one? Try a burp.” She transferred the load to her shoulder, and patted its diaper. “What can I do for you, halflings?”
“Avior might have a job for a young buck, if you have one available?”
Avior had worked out what species she was dealing with now and was torn between revulsion and raging curiosity. The stench was bad, but it wasn’t straight pig farm or feedlot. There were interesting odors mixed in there too.
Sterope had pursed her thick lips doubtfully. “We’re a little short just now, dear. There’s Scheddi. But he blotted his copybook on his first rut and was sent home.”
“What’d he do?”
“Got a little too enthusiastic.”
Botein laughed coarsely. “I thought that was the whole idea! Let’s have a word with this Scheddi.”
Still looking dubious, Sterope heaved herself to her, um, hooves, and led the way along the wide passage. With a chorus of shrill squeals and screams, a dozen or so youngsters came streaming past, little hooves pattering on the flagstones. They seemed to be both boys and girls…billies and nannies…bucks and does? They were playing chase and the ones in front were certainly female.
“Kids, kids!” Sterope shouted reprovingly, but no one paid any attention and the herd vanished around a corner. She turned into the passage the stampede had come from. Most of the cells, or stalls, were empty, but a couple of them had straw in them. The one she stopped at was in use.
The occupant was a male satyr, asleep on his straw; facedown, because his horns were enormous compared to Sterope’s, rising straight up from his head and then curving back, and sleeping in any other position would be almost impossible for him. Apart from that he looked human above the waist, but he was thickly furred from there to his black hooves.
“You keep him locked up?” Avior asked nervously.
“It’s his first rut,” Sterope said, as if that explained everything.
Scheddi hit the cage door with a clang, and all three woman jumped. He had moved faster than a startled cat, from prone to operational in nothing flat. Massive fists clutched the bars, and he thrust his snout through them, sniffing. That wasn’t all that was thrust through the bars. Avior had never seen junk like that on a biped. His eyes fixed unerringly on her.
“Lady want fukfuk?” he said eagerly.
His smell was rank, but it was rank male. She was suddenly certain that Scheddi would make the twins look like celibates.
“You need fukfuk, Scheddi always ready.”
“Talk properly, lout!” Sterope barked. She positioned the baby at her other teat and adjusted it to suck.
The satyr pouted, then said primly, “If my lady wishes discourse on philosophy or the literary arts, then I regret to confess that I am unable to oblige. When it comes to copulation, though, I am in my métier and can keep going indefinitely.” He showed his teeth again. “Come on in for a free sample.”
“What do you think, Avior?” Botein asked, looking doubtful. “We’d have to ask him, but I’m sure Daddy will let you borrow Scheddi if you fancy his type of service.”
“I service very well,” Scheddi said. “One hour? Two? Just set my timer.”
“And how would I explain him to Rigel?”
“You could tell him you tired of the Nusakan and traded them for Scheddi at the market in Canopus. I’ll have to remove them anyway, because Scheddi will get possessive. Let’s go and see what Daddy says. Let him out, Sterope.”
The nanny hesitated. “You promise to behave this time, buck?”
Scheddi’s elfin ears drooped in submission. “Yes, Mommy. Lady says stop, I stop.”
There was no key in sight, but the gate opened at Sterope’s touch. Scheddi emerged and went straight for Avior. He was not quite as tall as she, but his ears and the enormous horns made him much taller overall. Moreover, a Nusakan would have very little over him when it came to Hunk of the Year. He slid one arm around her and leered. At close quarters his smell made her eyes water, but it was not repellent. Far from it, in fact. He sensed her interest. Golden eyes gleaming, he licked his lips, and then his nose, with an enormous pink tongue.
“Fukfuk soon?” he whispered.
“Don’t you have to put some clothes on?”
“No. Fukfuk soon?” Scheddi was nothing if not single-minded, and a moon-cloth wrap would not hide much of his grotesque anatomy anyway.
“Let’s see what the prince says.” Avior had no doubt that Vildiar would agree to the arrangement. This whole thing had been set up in advance. The Family had analyzed Avior well enough to know that a satyr would be the perfect bribe. How fortunate that they happened to have one available!
Botein led the way back to the portal. Scheddi’s one-arm hug grew so tight that Avior was almost lifted off her feet. His large, rough hand had closed on her breast. She tried to pull his arm away and nothing happened. It felt like a steel girder.
“Let me go!”
“Why? You not care for Scheddi?”
“I haven’t decided.”
He clearly did not believe her. His grip grew tighter.
This time the portal led them to fresh air, very fresh. Freezing, in fact, for Avior lacked the starfolk’s preference for low temperatures. The room was large and bare, more of a gym than anything else. Unglazed windows looked out on towering ice-clad mountains, range after range below a wintery-pale sky. About fifty starlings, from toddlers to Izar-type pre-adolescents, were exercising, playing games, shouting, and laughing, just like earthling children.
Four or five adult starfolk were supervising, and one of them was Prince Vildiar, recognizable by his startling height. The fact that Botein had known exactly where to find him merely confirmed Avior’s suspicion that her afternoon had been scripted in advance. She recalled Tyl mentioning a Family crèche at somewhere called Unukalhai. Now all she needed was some way to get word to Rigel that the outlaw might be hiding at Unukalhai. But Vildiar was planning to use her against Rigel, and perhaps against the queen to whom she had sworn loyalty. She resented the assumption that her allegiance was so fragile.
But she could not deny that the bribe was tempting.
Vildiar was supervising a bare-knuckle fight. Two imps much younger than Izar were slugging away at each other with more ferocity than science. The ring was exactly that: a circle painted on the floor, with the spectators standing around the edge, ready to push the contenders back in if they put a foot over the mark. The smaller boy was obviously getting the worst of it, and the spectators were jeering at him.
Vildiar frowned at the new arrivals, especially at Scheddi. He pointed a long arm at the door.
“You! Go and stand over there, facing the wall.”
Scheddi reluctantly released Avior and stalked away. Even a satyr could not defy Vildiar Naos.
Vildiar turned back to the fight. The bigger boy had managed to make his opponent’s nose bleed. “Oh, good one, Pherkad! Don’t stop now! Keep after him. Hit! Hit! Hit!” The smaller boy was obviously hurting, and now had to endure a renewed assault.
Avior was furious. Did they think she enjoyed watching children being hurt? She had her faults, but she never descended to that. Or was there a double bluff involved? If Vildiar was hoping to persuade her that he was a kind, loving, law-abiding father, then he would never let himself be seen tormenting baby halflings, would he? Unless he wanted her to think that he hadn’t planned this meeting. She didn’t believe that.
“Fight back, Wazn!” the prince shouted. The smaller boy’s eyes were now so full of tears that he was having trouble even seeing Pherkad, let alone defending himself against his opponent’s fusillade of punches. Soon his lip was bleeding, too. Eventually Vildiar seemed to decide that he had been punished enough, and he called a halt. Gasping and puffing, the combatants stopped fighting.
“Pherkad won,” the referee announced. “So Wazn gets a free punch. Hands behind your back, Pherkad. Wazn? Are you brave enough to hurt him now?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Not
too scared of him now that he’s beaten you?”
Wazn shook his head.
“Then go ahead.”
Revealing bloody teeth in a smile, the smaller boy hauled back and smashed his fist into Pherkad’s nose as hard as he could. Blood spurted and the victim reeled back with a cry. Everyone else cheered. Vildiar laughed and said well done, then sent them all off to the swimming hole.
He turned to look down at Avior. She bowed, not too low. She was afraid that he might try to embrace her, but he didn’t. She sensed a calculating, predatory mind behind the opalescent eyes.
“Daughter!”
“Your Highness.”
He shook his head as if he could read her thoughts. “The boys all have healing amulets. They’ll be good as new by bedtime.”
She hadn’t thought of that.
Vildiar pressed his advantage. “I am truly sorry about what happened to you. Had we been able to find your mother, we would have rescued her and brought her to the Starlands, to bear her child in peace. The woman who was supposed to keep track of her was severely punished.”
After being transformed from being the two boys in Botein’s version? And if they had found her mother? Would Avior have grown up here at Unukalhai, learning to box, learning to be an assassin? She had no answer to that, either. Silence was the best defense.
It didn’t faze the giant elf, though. He seemed amused. “Whatever I can do to make redress, you have only to ask.” Fairy godfather, three wishes.
She pulled off her head cloth. “Can you heal my ears?” Rigel had suggested that it might be possible, but he had never followed through.
Vildiar frowned and took a closer look, right then left.
“Yes. I’ll send you some ointment. One application will be enough, but they’ll need a year or so to grow back fully. What else?”
Despite herself, Avior glanced across to where Scheddi was obediently staring at the wall, hiding his grotesque genitalia from the children.
“Scheddi?” Botein suggested.
“Certainly. If you want that satyr, Avior, I’ll gladly give him to you.”