“And that’s where the trouble would be?”
“Definitely,” said Jubah.
“There’s Pinky,” said Bulna. “What about Pinky?”
“Sure, there’s Pinky,” said Jubah. “That’s true.”
“Who’s Pinky?” I asked.
“Runs a carnival in Sand City. Just south of the switchyard I mentioned. Knows all kinds. You have to watch yourself with him, of course. He’s a little like Granny. Same social function, if you know what I mean. Never met him myself; he keeps well out of sight. He might be able to put you in touch with someone, if you make it worth his while.”
“All right,” I said. “That’s enough to go on, I think.” I got up and shook hands with my friends. “I’ll try not to be long. If you should happen to move, would you find a way for me to get in touch with you?”
“I’ll leave a message at the tomb,” said Bulna.
“So long then,” I said. “Wish me luck.” With that I departed.
42 Northward Bound
The world was the clacking of the car and the rhythm of its swaying and a reek of dung so strong it burned my nostrils. I opened my eyes. They met with untroubled darkness. I was on my back on a floor of rotten wood. The air was close and thick, set like plaster around me. I felt an urge to shatter the mold, and shifted my arms and legs.
Recollection came slowly. I sat up. The floor was filthy, and pieces of fodder clung to my hair. I was in the middle of a long boxcar. Iron tools swung back and forth from the rafters. There was a fence on either hand. Ventilation slots ran the length of the sides, admitting feeble gray light. It waxed slowly, revealing the white-gold ghost that slumbered beside me, swaying with the car’s motion. Arges sat upright even in sleep.
I got up and went to the side. Seizing the bar on the sliding door with both hands, I heaved with all my strength, opening it just enough to see out by. The landscape lay beneath the twilight of dawn. I’d slumbered through hundreds of miles. The edge of the viaduct was a translucent blur. The grid of horsetail fields lay beyond and below, crisscrossed with bars of light, interrupted here and there by a refinery crowned with jets of flame. The mountain rampart towered over all.
The belt of fields was wider than in the south, the mountain-wall taller and more forbidding. We were moving north along the Asur range, having passed a cusp of the coastline in the night. The livid roots faded to white-tipped pinnacles outlined against a roseate sky. The air was crisp, autumnal. I felt that a step or two might take me as far as I wished to go.
Day had begun to infiltrate the car. Now I could see chebothim huddled behind the barriers, feeble saurians beside the great bulls of Arras. They were pushing against one another and straining their necks, blinking their small yellow eyes as if in perpetual amazement. I smiled, wishing I had something to give them.
The sun rose into a pass. A bar of pure, pink-gold light fell through the open door and struck Arges full in the face. He opened his eye and looked directly into the daystar.
“Good morning,” I said. “We’ve made good progress. We’ll be there by evening, I think. Come break your fast with me.” I shared some cured meat with him. He ate it with resignation. I had refused to travel with a cannibal, and it would have been imprudent to feast on the cattle.
The journey lasted all day. We stayed in the same car the whole time. Only once were we disturbed, when the train made a stop at a rock-crushing plant and we had to hide in the corrals. The rest of the time I watched the scenery from the ventilation slots.
The eastward view remained uniform. The Asurs seemed hardly to move as the train drove northward. The air became warmer as the sun climbed to its zenith. Little hard-looking white clouds began to materialize, and the afternoon was filled with fleets of scudding cumuli that dappled the green grid with their shadow.
The viaduct clung to the city’s edge, supported over the moat dividing the methane fields from the metropolis. Smoke fumes hung heavy in the middle air. The towers were yellowed like stained teeth. At one point the train passed the old epicenter of an earthquake, a violent ruin pocked with craters where the lower levels had collapsed. The damage was chiliads old, as though the survivors had simply moved elsewhere with no attempt at rebuilding.
The train approached the northern reaches of the Asurs late in the afternoon. The range curved away to the northeast while the coast bent to the northwest. A lower range diverged from the main mass of the mountains and swept toward the tracks, its rounded peaks clad in purple scale-tree. The pinnacles beyond them had a queer, crenellated look. The marshes came to an end, giving way to a wilderness of warehouses, factories, tenement houses, empty lots, and cesspools.
The city presented a less uniform face now. The foundation-wall curved away with the coastline, and the barren space before it was a mosaic of housing projects, refineries, factories, saloons, warehouses, sandlots, temples, and stockyards, with the thousand eyes of the city gazing over it to the mountains. Children ran naked through the streets, laying with one another or playing violent games. Dead animals festered in odd corners. Big dragonflies sported over the filmy pools, gorging themselves on flies.
The train’s shadow soared up to meet us as the viaduct bent to the earth. The track continued between fences of corrugated metal. Soon the brakes were applied. “Come,” I said, heaving the right-hand door open. The cyclops crouched beside me. Other tracks came to meet ours as the train slowed. The view opened up. We entered a switchyard. As the trails curved to the left, we jumped out and ran as though pursued.
* * * * *
Pinky’s Playland stood out of Sand City like a cheap plastic brooch dropped into a dustbin. Its phantasmagoria of red and yellow and blue made a nimbus of false fire in the humid night.
I approached the entrance alone, stepping into the stream of helots converging upon the gate. These comprised a different class than what I had come to know in the south. Sand City was like a vision of Hela’s past, from the days of princes and serfs. The Hela I knew would be found under the strip of city to the west.
In my ear, a voice said: “What do you think you’re doing?” A heavy hand settled on my shoulder and twisted me inexorably around. I found myself looking into a broad, florid face. One eye was hard and mean. The other, glass, was pointed in an irrelevant direction.
“I’m just going to the carnival,” I said. We were an island in the stream now.
“Not with that, you’re not,” he said, pointing at Deinothax. “You’ll have to check it, friend.”
Silently, I cursed myself for not having left it with Arges. “Check it?” I said. “What do you mean?”
The man gripped me more tightly and shook me a little. “Do I need to draw a diagram?” he growled. “Leave. It. Out. Side.”
“Trust me,” I said, patting his arm. “Ask Pinky.”
The man flushed a deep shade of crimson. An idiotic smile settled on his face. With an almost dreamy expression he twisted me into a wrestling hold. Reflecting that I had miscalculated, I prepared to resort to extreme measures. It would have gone badly for at least one of us. But a shrill voice stayed my hand.
“Truro!” it shouted. “You meathead! What are you doing?”
“Eh? What?” the guard grunted. He began to release his hold. I looked up, wincing. My rescuer was a scrawny girl with matted red hair.
“If he’s a friend of the boss,” she said, “then squashing him into jelly isn’t going to brighten your prospects any, is it? Not that they’re wonderful as it is.”
“Well, I—”
“Let someone with brains take care of this, Truro.” With a wink at me she mouthed: “Overworked.”
Truro let me go, then stood there clenching his fists uncertainly, his oblique eye giving him a look of desperate confusion. “Take a hint, Truro,” the girl bawled, slapping his meaty arm. He began to move off, muttering under his breath. The girl took my hand, and together we entered the carnival.
43 The Carnival
She led me up a gas-lit aisle
. There were cabarets and saloons, game booths and augury tents, thrill rides and skill gauntlets. I eyed it all curiously.
More curiously still did I cast sidelong glances at my rescuer. She wore a loose, rough-spun shift over a black lace camisole and black hose. She had on too much perfume, and it was bad perfume. Her glittery face looked as though it hadn’t been given a good washing in days.
We turned a corner. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Oh, come on,” she giggled, sidling a little closer. “You owe me one ride at least.”
“I’m not sure I can afford it,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“Don’t worry. They all know me here.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Lydia. What’s yours?”
“I’m Keftu,” I said. Though anxious to get away from her, I reflected that at that point she could make more trouble for me than I could deal with.
We were in the midst of the rides and gauntlets now. I watched them whirling through the fervid air, mesmerized by the garish lights and the gyration of the blood-stained bludgeons and the tinny music that failed to drown out the scream of machinery. We went to board one. The operator admitted us with a peculiar deference.
We had the car to ourselves. I observed the machinery with interest, recognizing in it a copy of a derelict piece I’d seen on Arges’ island. As the mechanical arm began to move I glimpsed a white shadow at the edge of the carnival, watching me. Then the car dropped and the machine began to go faster and faster.
The girl had chosen her seat skillfully, for the centrifugal force pushed her against me. Her viselike hands were clasped around my arm. “Oh, Keftu,” she giggled, “aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“Of the ride, silly!” She screamed with laughter as the car dropped and drove upward again.
“Oh. No, not really. What can you tell me about this Pinky? Do you know him personally?”
“You might say that,” she said, simpering. “What do you want with him?”
“A friend told me he might be able to help me with something. I want to talk to him.”
“With the tip of your little friend there?” she giggled, pointing at the pommel of my sword.
“No, of course not. I just prefer to be ready for contingencies.”
“Well, Keftu, I’m a contingency you didn’t plan for, aren’t I? I’ve got you right where I want you.” She laid her head on my shoulder. When she thought I wasn’t looking, she signaled to the operator to keep the ride going.
“What’s he like, this Pinky?” I asked, anxious to change the subject.
“He’s a small, ugly man who wears loud clothing that’s too big for him. He fancies himself a ladies’ man. His mouth is wide, like an ehmoth’s. There’s a cleft in his chin. His hair is perfumed and pomaded. He looks mean and is mean.”
“You have an eye for detail,” I said. “Why do they call him Pinky?”
“He’s always washing his face. That makes his skin raw, so he covers it up with base, which makes him look, well, pink.”
“And how do you know him?”
“Oh, that’s my little secret,” she giggled. She held up her face to be kissed, but I looked away just in time. The car was slowing again. It came to a stop, and we got off.
“Can we see Pinky now?” I asked as we walked.
“We’re taking the long way around,” said Lydia. “You’re not getting impatient, are you? I’m not boring you, am I?” She leaned closer, and said viciously: “Because if I am, I’ll just make a little scene, and life will become much more interesting for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “Just what do you want from me?”
“A little company. Is that so much to ask? Here. Let’s go down Prodigy Alley. I do love to look at a good freak.”
She led me by the hand down a long tent lined with booths. Displayed in each was a man or a woman touched in some way by nature’s disordering finger. Lydia kept giggling and making crude jokes. “You’re so serious,” she chided. “What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you seen freaks before?”
“I have,” I said. “To tell the truth, they bore me. Some men are monsters on the outside. Some are monsters on the inside. How many are out there in that crowd, just walking around, I wonder? If only the secrets of the heart were visible! Now that would be something worth paying to see!”
“Hear, hear, brother!” said a six-fingered man.
“Quiet, you!” hissed Lydia. The man lapsed into a sulky silence.
We went out the far side, stepping into what was apparently the hub of the carnival. There Hex the Inexorable, a six-armed mechanical god, offered oracles through his shapely interpreter, Vera the Virgin. “Come on,” said Lydia, tugging at my hand. “Let’s go get our fortunes told.”
She pulled me up to the interpreter. “Hello, Vera,” she said. “We want our oracle.”
Vera made a face but went over without asking for payment. The god began gesticulating its brass arms and emitting puffs of steam and rolling its enameled eyeballs in their sockets. I was reminded of the mechanical image I’d seen in the procession.
Vera came back. “Hex speaks truly, as always,” she said. “The oracle is for the young man.”
“Well, what is it?” demanded Lydia.
“If you see a maugreth tonight, grab it by the scruff of its neck and give it a good beating.”
Lydia turned white and her eyes flashed. “Well,” she spat, “guess I’ll be seeing you around, Vera. Or maybe not.”
“I guess not,” said Vera. She gazed languidly at me. “Easy come, easy go. Take care of yourself, handsome.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Lydia, pulling me away. “It’s about time you met Pinky.”
She didn’t talk as we approached the enclosure where the workers lived. The metal buildings gleamed in the light of the huge magnesium torches that lined the perimeter of the carnival. Lydia led me to a small one at the back. “Wait outside,” she said. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
A moment later she returned. “Good news,” she said. “He’ll see you. You have to leave your sword out here, of course.”
“Very well,” I said. “I’ll leave it with you.” I unthreaded the scabbard and handed it to the girl, then went past her into the building. The room was strongly reinforced and completely empty. The door slammed shut behind me. A bolt shot into place.
“Now that I’ve got you where I want you,” I heard the girl say, “perhaps we can do a little business. Pinky’s been looking for someone like you.”
“You’re making a serious mistake,” I said. Then I added: “Pinky.”
The girl was silent for a moment. “So,” she said. “You guessed. More fool you for getting yourself caught. That’s the first time I—what—what the—oh, my god—Keftu, you have to—aieee!”
“Don’t hurt her!” I shouted. “Get me out of here!” There was a tremendous popping of rivets as the roof was rolled back over my head. I leaped up to the top of the wall and swung myself over. Arges was there, holding Lydia in the air by her shift. She was kicking her legs and screaming horribly.
“Hex speaks truly, as always,” I said. “Better quiet down. My friend here won’t like it if you draw attention to us.” Lydia fell limp. “Set her down,” I said. “Let’s move toward the fence to talk.”
44 Sand City
We were beyond the cluster of buildings now. The barren earth was like a lunar landscape under the magnesium torches. “Just what do you want?” Lydia demanded.
“I’m trying to get to the Deserits,” I said. “I’ve been told there might be trouble in the Tartassus. Someone suggested I ask you for help.”
“Why should I help you?” she said.
I nodded toward the cyclops.
“Fine,” she said. “It won’t cost me a rod. Perses the Druin’s your ticket. He’s been looking for a partner to try to get back home. He’s a proud, ill-tempered man. Not sweet, like
you. I don’t have any use for him. But he’s your ticket.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Take us to him.”
“What? Me? Why should I?”
I sighed. “My friend here—”
“Never mind,” she snapped. “Just follow me.”
She led us to a locked gate in the fence and let us out. It was like leaving an enchanted circle. The line of high-rise towers piled on its plateau of masonry blocked the view to the west. Ten thousand twinkling eyes looked unconcernedly over the trough of Sand City. Smoldering kilns and fire pits dotted the urban wasteland. Solitary helots wandered the streets.
Lydia led us under and over railroad tracks, through warehouse yards, around oil sumps. I walked with my hand on the hilt of my sword. Arges stalked silently behind.
“You look like him,” she said. “You must be a Druin, too.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not.”
“What takes you out to the Deserits?”
“I’d rather not say,” I said. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. She puzzled me. Her manner had changed. She seemed to have suddenly grown up.
“Look,” she said slowly. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. We can let bygones be bygones, can’t we?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I really have been looking for someone like you. Business hasn’t been doing so well. I don’t know what it is. Helots just don’t come like they used to. I’ve been trying to think of ways to get my profits up. We’ve been running this carnival the same way for who knows how long. We need something new. Something the people haven’t seen before. So I was thinking, processions. You know, like they have for the lottery winners. Only ours would be for, you know, helots, and misfits, and people like that. Sheol! and phylites, too, if they want to come. There would be food, and games, and whatever else we could think of.”
Dragonfly: A Tale of the Counter-Earth at the Cosmic Antipodes Page 23