Strange Music

by Alan Dean Foster

  “The abduction was m-my idea,” Na Broon sang without a hint of embarrassment or regret, “to strike at the organizer, of the betrayal of Largess itself, to force h-him to back off, to back down, to watch h-his own back, instead of promoting this nonsense of union.” One three-fingered hand rose to point at the silent Vashon. “M-my minions carry out m-my directives, they fulfill m-my commands, without question or hesitation, regardless of origin, regardless of species. In this Vashon’s work has been exemplary, to ou-our mutual benefit, though m-my aims are lofty, and h-his merely mercenary.”

  Vashon did not flinch at the implied insult. He was not a man who was offended by the truth, be it complimentary or distasteful.

  Flinx replied with the Larian gesture indicative of understanding. “I am glad that your investment in this one, has proven worthwhile, but I am prepared, to improve upon it.” As Wiegl gaped at him, Flinx straightened to his full height, holding the walking tube out in front of him. It appeared to be nothing more than a hollow metal tube, but the Larians in the room clearly believed it might be dangerous. While the underling recoiled, an unflinching na Broon remained stolidly in his seat as Flinx continued.

  “I propose that I take this Vashon’s place, as your advisor and confidant, and promise that if you will let me, I can see Minord made no less than first among equals, be it standing alone, or at the head of some future union, of Leeths and their leaders.” Making a guess at the importance of the uneasy underling, he added, “This I will do, to the best of my abilities, ensuring a bright future; for Minord, for yourself as director, and at less cost to the city treasury.”

  His supposition was correct. For the first time, the Hobak’s subordinate exuded positive feelings in Flinx’s direction. If he had not made an ally, he had at least neutralized a potential adversary.

  Vashon’s laughter revealed everything he thought about the absurd proposal. He stopped laughing when he saw that the Larian equivalent was not being emitted by either the Hobak or his assistant. Could the admittedly shrewd Felelagh na Broon—never one to jump to conclusions, always ready to mull alternative possibilities—seriously be interested in this newcomer’s ridiculous ploy? For that was all it had to be. Even so, in the absence of mutual amusement he felt compelled to respond.

  “This is nonsense, twaddle, claptrap, be it said in terranglo or sung in singspeech! What could another of my kind, about whom you know nothing, save his admitted hostility to me, bring to your service, that I have already not shown? He arrives here, confessing to a mission to arrest me, and also to return the Firstborn, to her Leeth. Confronted with resistance, or at least with indifference, he now offers you his service, apparently on a whim.” He jabbed a finger in Flinx’s direction. “How could you possibly, consider such an ‘offer,’ consider such lies, from one you do not know, from one you cannot trust?”

  It seemed an eminently logical riposte. Even the Hobak’s assistant was persuaded. Only na Broon was not convinced.

  “All offers are worthy, of at least casual consideration, lest something of value, be unthinkingly cast aside.” He glanced sharply at Vashon, then back at the new visitors. His manner, Flinx thought, was almost kindly. No, that was not the right interpretation, he told himself. Na Broon was being—professional. Thorough. At least, so it seemed. Try as he might, Flinx could still not get a firm handle on the Hobak’s stew of emotions.

  “As to the matter of trust, in this I-I believe I-I know more than y-you, for while I-I know not how it happened, happened it has, and this happenstance of which I-I will speak leads m-me to think, I-I can in some things rely, on the honesty of th-this person.” Once more he pointed, this time toward Wiegl and then to Flinx. “Though th-this visitor is from offworld, and human like y-yourself, h-he is also somehow become, something of Largess, for like h-his companion h-he wears the mark of a Zeregoine.”

  Vashon’s gaze narrowed. “You mean—are you talking about that mark on his forehead? On their foreheads?” In his surprise and haste, he had forgotten to employ proper singspeech. The Hobak’s minion scowled at the indignity. Na Broon ignored it.

  “The Zeregoine are a sincere and trustworthy faction, of resolute believers, and though I-I do not subscribe, to th-their their ideology, preferring as I-I do, a life on land, it seems as if th-they have made, th-this countryman of y-yours, one of th-their own. In such case, I-I can do no less, than at least consider h-his offer, and ponder the options, it presents to Minord.” Sitting back down in his chair, forced by his physical deformity to lean far to his right, he regarded Flinx with a black-eyed stare of intense speculation.

  “Until such time, as I-I have come to a decision, regarding not only y-your fate, but that of all concerned, y-you, will be m-my guests. Allowed to wander freely, but within reason, knowing that y-you will be watched, and y-your activities monitored.”

  Spreading only one hand wide, since the other was required to hold on to Pip’s tube, Flinx expressed his pleasure without showing his relief. His gambit had paid off—for now. He had bought some time. Sooner probably than later, the Hobak would decide how to respond to what he perceived to be a genuine offer. Before that happened, Flinx knew he would have to take action. Not only to defend himself and Wiegl, but to liberate Preedir ah nisa Leeh and to deal with Vashon, whose emotional state, despite the fury visible on his face, inexplicably remained a blank to Flinx no matter how hard he fought to penetrate it.

  16

  ■ ■ ■

  Though physically damaged and somewhat mentally addled, the Hobak of Minord proved as good as his word. Flinx and Wiegl were assigned quarters and allowed the run of the rambling collection of conjoined buildings that were known collectively as the City Hall. Some sections showed evidence of great age, especially those that bordered directly on the nearby oceanic inlet. Others were more modern, reflecting the advances the Larian species had made since emerging fully from the sea. There was a network of tubes powered by compressed air that sent scrolls shooting between offices, a rudimentary alert system based on pull-cords and bells, refrigeration that utilized ice stored beneath part of the complex, and more. Enough to indicate that Largess was only a step or two short of discovering and utilizing steam technology, and a few more from learning the benefits of electricity.

  A union of Leeths that would qualify for associate membership in the Commonwealth would legalize outside assistance and greatly accelerate such development without damaging the social structure. Felelagh na Broon’s calculated obfuscation could only delay that natural progression, not stop it. Unless, Flinx knew, the Hobak of Minord managed to sway others and bring them around to his way of seeing things. Then the setback to Largess’s development could prove far more serious, and the consequent loss to its naïve population more detrimental.

  Guards at every entrance had plainly been instructed to prevent them from leaving. With Pip, Flinx could easily have forced an exit. But that would solve nothing, though an increasingly anxious Wiegl disagreed.

  “We have come to find the Firstborn of Borusegahm,” Flinx reminded his companion, “so we can return her to her family, and so put an end, to this obstruction by Minord.”

  “I know, I realize, I am aware,” the guide muttered melodically, “though I would feel far better about our prospects, if you would put to use your magic, instead of crafty words.”

  Their efforts took a step in the right direction when they encountered Preedir ah nisa Leeh the following day. Flinx found it instructive that while he and Wiegl were allowed free run of the municipal complex, the Firstborn of Borusegahm was accompanied on her walk by four tall, well-armed guards, all of whom appeared to regard their assignment with the utmost seriousness. While outwardly appearing calm, collected, and in charge, emotionally they were tense and on edge.

  Sighting Flinx, the Firstborn swerved and came right up to him. Having received orders not to prevent such a meeting but, in contrast, to take note of everything about one should it occur, her escort hung back and allowed the encounter to pr
oceed.

  “I am delighted to have the honor, to finally meet in person—” Flinx began in his best singspeech. He was not allowed to finish the melody.

  “You are a human, who sings our language, like the walking offal, who brought me here.”

  “The language yes, the description no, as by any account”—eyeing the attentive but distant escort, he lowered his voice to a melodious whisper—“I and my friend, are here to rescue you.”

  She gestured curtly and made a show of looking long and deliberately past him. “While I approve of your sentiment, your methodology strikes me as lacking, as I see only two of you, and no army behind.”

  Plainly taken with the beauty and spirit of the Firstborn, Wiegl felt a need to contribute to the conversation. “There is no army, only just we two, as it was felt that an armed force, would too readily alert the Minordians, to our true intentions.” He eyed his employer. “Or so it has been sung, by my companion here, he of many surprises and too many digits.”

  “No army, just two; you two, most unimpressive.” Her gaze flicked from guide to human. “In place of offworld trickery, I would rather see swords and cannon in number, the better my freedom to secure, the better certain body parts here to remove.”

  Behind her words lay a host of emotions, easily accessible to Flinx. There was anger, and frustration, and barely suppressed fury. So much of it, in fact, that as they stood conversing, Pip reared her head from the mouth of the walking tube, yawned, looked around, and eventually focused on—the Firstborn.

  Flinx had a moment of panic. Their jailer had emitted a mixture of curiosity and wariness: Pip had not reacted. The Hobak’s chief assistant had evinced unease and concern: Pip had not reacted. Na Broon’s confusion of feelings had swung between curiosity, amusement, boredom, and wariness: Pip had not reacted. Vashon, the cause of so much trouble, had been and remained an emotional blank. Pip had not reacted.

  Now, in a moment of delicious but dangerous irony, the only individual they had encountered in Minord who had generated enough animosity in Flinx’s direction to stimulate Pip defensively was the very one they had come to help.

  A couple of hastily sung fawning sonnets praising her determination and perspicacity mollified the Firstborn’s feelings sufficiently for Pip to withdraw back into the tube. With her brief appearance blocked by Flinx’s body, the minidrag had not been noticed by the quartet of soldiers, who milled about nearby singing in low tones among themselves. On the heels of Flinx’s flattery, Wiegl essayed a tune that further calmed the situation as well as the Firstborn’s boiling emotions. While inaccurate, the guide’s words offered up encouragement. Like Flinx, he kept his singspeech to a whisper.

  “Though I am of similar mind, Firstborn, and would myself prefer to be backed by an army, we are not as helpless as we may appear, not as defenseless as others may think.” He gestured in the direction of the walking tube. “You saw the head of the creature that sleeps within, whose venom is capable of killing the strongest of enemies, with a single spit. As for my companion and employer, he is no ordinary human, but an offworld magician, commanding powers great and strange.”

  Preedir turned a penetrating gaze on the taller Flinx. “Is there any truth, to what the servant babbles, and in that truth, some small chance of flight?”

  There were times, Flinx knew, when an expeditious lie was more useful than an inconvenient truth. He could always explain later.

  “Wiegl is my friend, and not a servant, whose company I respect, and whose skills are vital. It is true that I am a magician.” Out of the corner of an eye, he could see the triumphant guide, whose expression and emotions both shouted the equivalent of “I knew it!” Flinx continued.

  “But I am one whose abilities must for now remain veiled, as we must choose carefully, the moment of our leave-taking.”

  Satisfied with this explanation while not believing all of it, Preedir indicated her understanding. “I will rely then, on this unlikely claim, since in any case, I have no choice. Might there be a possibility, as we make our departure, of paying farewell to certain individuals, and dispatching them slowly? I have made promises to myself, promises I should like to keep, and need only a blade, with which to fulfill them.”

  Flinx swallowed. The Firstborn of Borusegahm was a barely contained cauldron of rage. He wondered if she was like this all the time, or if it was her abduction that rendered her (emotionally at least) borderline apoplectic. If she was elected Hobak of her Leeth (it was not a hereditary position), her energy would bode well for Largess’s ascension. Provided it could be directed away from thoughts of general homicide and into more practical channels.

  “I can make no promises,” he sang carefully in reply, “since we can only respond, as the situation develops, and proceed from there.”

  Once again he was relieved to perceive that she quite understood. “I follow your reasoning, if with some disappointment, and will restrain myself, until such circumstances suggest otherwise. I will content myself, with inventive imagining, of how I might at the least, extract some small measure of retribution. Against those who have taken me, against those who threaten Borusegahm, against those who would, for reasons deranged and misguided, hold back the advance, of all Largess.”

  Flinx read her emotions, shuddered, and was glad he was not one of those individuals on the receiving end of the Firstborn’s fantasies of revenge.

  —

  “Though one of my own kind, this visitor poses problems, that need to be resolved, as quickly as possible.”

  Light from the tall, thin, cast-iron oil lamps that lined the waterfront promenade burned with a warm glow that no modern photophilic material could replicate. They were not as bright and not even a fraction as efficient as the cheapest modern lighting, but they possessed a life no Commonwealth technology could easily duplicate.

  “I have heard it soft-sung, that this human is a magician, and can defend himself, without physical weapons,” Zkerig replied in response to Vashon’s comment.

  The long prehensile tongue of a dadderig shot out of the water off to their right and snatched a big-eared skwyk out of the mist-laden air. The skwyk didn’t even have time to squeal. Human and Larian ignored the spontaneous predation.

  “Firstly,” Vashon replied, “saying one is a magician does not make him so, and secondly, there are no such things among my kind as true magicians. There are plenty of fake magicians; clever manipulators of reality and sight, who are ready to fool the credulous, and make money from their deceptions.” Vashon aimed an irritable kick at a nogabloat squatting on the wooden plank in front of them, but the warty greenish lump of flesh expanded and propelled itself into the water before the tip of his boot could arrive.

  The Tralltag’s tail switched up and down as they walked, the human’s footgear making a soft clatter on the wooden walkway while the Larian’s leather-clad feet produced hardly any noise at all.

  “From what I have heard, this one plays boldly, and with apparent confidence, considering that he is betting with his life.” Black eyes regarded the brooding Vashon. “Why, it is said that he self-promoted, before the honored Hobak, a version of himself, to replace you. Imagine the audacity, that a stranger to Minord, and an offworlder no less, would have to muster, to make so bold a proposal! Surely you are not worried, the great and resourceful Vashon is not concerned, that this is a possibility, the Hobak might consider?”

  Zkerig had spent enough time in the human’s presence to learn the meaning of certain looks, gestures, movements, and reactions. As everything he observed now pointed to Vashon’s genuine discomfort, the Tralltag was well pleased. He was not exactly the human’s underling, more an appointee of equivalent but different rank. Only when the Hobak issued specific orders for him to follow Vashon’s instructions was Zkerig compelled to assume the role of a subordinate. Such had been the case in the recent business of abducting the Firstborn of Borusegahm. That task accomplished, he and the human were now once again more or less equals.

&nb
sp; It did him good to see the human so discomfited. He did not even have to exaggerate the awkwardness of the situation in which Vashon must now find himself. As if reading his thoughts, or perhaps merely the Tralltag’s body language, Vashon glared at him through the mist.

  “Who can say, with any confidence, what our noble Hobak, might do? If there is one constant to Felelagh na Broon, it is his unpredictability, and it is not inconceivable, that he might make a decision, that he might make a choice, that goes against the best interests of Minord, as well as himself.”

  Zkerig gazed up the inlet in the direction of the Kelleagh Shallows, a prime seafood-producing corner of the Ghaleargh Sea.

  “It is the job of the Hobak,” he replied, “to make such decisions, and while na Broon may seem odd, his thoughts are not bent, as is his body. The people trust him to do, what is right for Minord, as does the High Council—as do I, his Tralltag.”

  What Zkerig did not say was that he had long since grown tired of Vashon using every opportunity to lord it over him. Though he knew nothing of this new human, and might be doing no more than trading one offworld master and tormentor for another, he was willing to take the risk that might result from such a change.

  “So you will not help me then,” Vashon challenged him, “to deal with this nuisance, and save the Hobak, the trouble of doing so?”

  Zkerig had about had enough of Vashon, not only this night, but in every way possible. The human’s persistence, his whining if fluent singspeech, had grown wearying. The Tralltag decided he definitely would welcome a change, even if possibly for the worse. That did not prevent him from equivocating.

  “The nuisance will resolve itself, through the decision of the Hobak, and whether it remains a nuisance, only time will tell, only days will say, only further acquaintance will dispel.”

  Vashon’s lips tightened and he nodded. “I had hoped better of you, after all this time, had hoped a stronger alliance, had perhaps been forged. But I see it is not so, and yet I can understand, that your first loyalty is to the crazy one, and not to an offworlder.”