Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill)

by Wellhauser, David S.

  “We’re almost there. When we arrive, let me do the talking—and don’t let them see you’re tired. I understand what you’ve been up against, I think, but they won’t feel understanding.”

  “Make certain your people don’t try anything—I may be tired...” Pym didn’t finish, and Synon looked back and nodded. They travelled the rest of the way in silence. Eventually, the buildings and roads opened up, and there was even the occasional sound of a truck. Normally, Synon shied away from these, but as tired as he was, Pym wasn’t interested in why. His interests now were in finding some place to sleep, or to get a few minutes’ rest.

  “Stop.” Synon spoke quietly, holding up a hand. Suddenly people were stepping out from alcoves, alleys, and shattered doorways. The neighborhood was rough looking, but these people didn’t seem to fit. They were the most forlorn, raggedy group of people Titus had yet seen in the city, or anywhere else.

  “These? I’m supposed to be afraid of these?”

  “They mayn’t look much, but they’ll have your back if they accept you.” Titus chuckled at that, and a young man stepped up. Swinging wide at Pym, the latter laughed as he stepped between the man’s arms. Blocking the blow with the injured arm, he drove his fist, holding the pipe, into his face. The younger folded with a moan.

  “No!” An older woman ran out from the same place the younger appeared, and Pym turned on her.

  “Don’t.” Synon put a hand on his shoulder. “His mother.”

  “That’s what you have to offer? A kid and an old woman?”

  “No, but there are a lot of those.”

  He heard a man’s voice, a little low and on the high side of forty. As the voice stepped out, Pym had judged correctly. He was in early middle years, but looked hard and filthy—most appeared as though they had not bathed in a long time. If he thought Synon looked rough, these were much worse. Pym, supposing it could not hurt, took a step back, attempting to keep all the new arrivals equidistance from him. They did not seem dangerous so much as pathetic, but he could be wrong about that.

  “You lead these?”

  “My name’s Bannly, and no, but I help where I can.”

  That sounded like leadership to Pym, but he wasn’t interested in arguing.

  “This,” Synon stepped up, “is Titus Pym. He killed a man down on the docks, by Zampton’s.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “He tried to...”

  Bannly interrupted the girl. “Let him tell it.”

  “Followed me from the bar, I think. Wanted what I had.”

  “And you weren’t interested in sharing.”

  “He didn’t want a share—besides, you earn a share.”

  “As you do here.”

  “That,” Synon answered, “is why I brought him.”

  “You,” the boy’s mother answered, “should have asked first.”

  “You people,” Titus bit back, “look like you can use all the help you can get.”

  “We do.” Bannly seemed to have begun this as a question, but midway into the thought it became a statement.

  “What can you do for me?”

  Synon looked at him in amazement.

  “We can give you a place to belong. If that isn’t enough, we can give you a place to hide from what the city would do to you if they knew you were from the blockade.”

  “Not from that, the Beluga was carrying medical supplies and food.”

  “You save any of it?” the injured boy asked from his mother’s arms.

  Pym shook his head.

  “What happ...” Bannly began.

  “Another time, maybe.” Titus answered. Bannly didn’t appear satisfied, but allowed it to go. Pym supposed he’d greater concerns.

  “Still want to join us?” the elder asked.

  Pym nodded, but was not certain this was the best idea.

  “Okay then, we’re heading out at dawn, so you’ve got a couple hours of sleep coming.”

  “Where are you people located?” Synon looked at him quizzically. “Where’s your place?”

  “You’re standing in it.”

  He looked around at the ruined neighborhood and smiled. “We’ll sort that out later.” Bannly looked at him askance but didn’t bother to enquire what he meant.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “There’s a latrine around the corner.” Synon called after him, pointing.

  Nodding, Titus followed the hand but wasn’t looking for the latrine.

  Several minutes later, he returned without the pack.

  “We could have taken care of that for you,” Bannly said.

  “No problem.”

  The old man seemed to understand without being told and took it no further. When Bannly had gone, Synon took him to an upper floor with a door.

  “This one’s got a dead bolt so you’ll feel safe enough to sleep, but no one will harm you here—or try.”

  Pym smiled at the last.

  Synon appeared to want to stay with him, but until he’d a better understanding of these people, he’d be sleeping in a locked room with one eye open. The evening had taught him that much. It seemed, however, he’d just gotten to sleep when Bannly was knocking on the door.

  “Time there, Titus.” They wound their way out of the derelict district—though Synon said it was one of the better districts in town, excepting for the middle class and wealthy neighborhoods now heavily guarded—in an almost straight line. There were, occasionally, distant sounds of traffic, but this was never heavy—though the individual vehicles sounded this.

  “Police and Militia,” Synon answered as he stopped to listen. “They don’t normally come down here unless they are looking for us.”

  “You the only ones here?”

  “Organized, yes.”

  “Organized—this is organized?”

  She wasn’t happy with the tone and replied in clipped, stressed syllables. “You’ve been here one night and not seen more than the docks and us—wait ’til you’ve seen more before you judge us.”

  “You people need some serious help.”

  “And you are going to give it us?”

  He laughed at the woman’s anger. “Yes—first chance I get, If Bannly is interested in improving your situation.”

  “Like he said, he isn’t in charge.”

  “No one is?”

  “We have meetings and vote on what to do.”

  “There’s your problem—right now you’re outside the law. Voting is not going to help you feed yourselves and stay alive.”

  The woman didn’t answer, but walked ahead. She didn’t speak to him again for the rest of the march north.

  Titus took the time to examine the districts they wandered through—it was more a meandering hike than march—and then the column itself. There was little by way of weapons. The knife he’d taken from the thief was, by far, the best weapon any one of them had. Bannly, however, had a revolver; this seemed not only antique but also poorly maintained. Pym could neither see nor smell gun oil and not all chambers appeared to be loaded. So dodgy did the weapon seem that it looked as if it was as likely to misfire as fire—if it came to use. Perhaps the mere presence of the gun gave the group courage. If so, it was a false courage, and that was an easy thing to break. Given an opportunity to go back and choose to follow Synon again, he doubted he would have.

  The rise they stood on looked down on the shattered, burnt remnants of a neighborhood, but across a wide avenue there began another one. This one had lawns—well-maintained, street lamps, which were now just flicking off, and clean streets. There were no walls here, though. He half expected the community to be gated and guarded, but there was no sign of either. “This the target?”

  Synon nodded, taking a long drink from a water bottle. Passing this to Titus, he took it and drank deeply. Luckily, the water was clean—he’d almost expected something as filthy as the bay. Finishing, he returned this.

  “What now?”

  “Now we send some scouts down to
pick a likely target.”

  “Have your people ever done this before?”

  “Not up here, but we’ve done so down south.”

  “Your district?”

  “Docks too.”

  “Not the same—people here will be expecting something like this—should be at least; better let me go.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes—I know what to look for.” He did, but he wasn’t going to go into why.

  “You’ll have to check with Bannly.”

  “Thought he wasn’t in charge?”

  “He isn’t, but this was his plan, and we all agreed to it.” Pym hung his head then took this in a hand.

  “You people are going to get me killed.”

  The woman didn’t respond to the jibe but pointed to Bannly.

  Leaving the girl, Pym edged behind a long, exposed line of skeletal indigents ranged along the edge of the rise. Anyone looking would see them all and know exactly what they were up to. As he approached, he saw Bannly was down on a knee with a hand to a young man’s head. It was the same kid he’d knocked down a few hours earlier. His mother was on the other side of him. The young man was sweating, but everyone was sweating; it was the tropics, or subtropics. “You okay, kid?” Pym asked approaching from behind Bannly. “Didn’t think I hit you that hard.” The mother shot him a hard look, but he didn’t expect more of her.

  “He’s okay, just a little tired.” At that, the kid was taken by a violent bout of shivering; it was almost as violent as a fit or petit mal. The young man’s eyes didn’t exactly roll into the back of his head, but they did reach toward this and his tongue was stuck out at an odd angle. When this happened, the woman stuck a folded piece of leather in between his teeth. He bit down and the fit became a grand mal. Now the eyes became white. Together with the dark skin, there was something disturbing and monstrous in the look. Pym wasn’t sure, but took a step back nonetheless. “Sweating Sickness?” It wasn’t really a question.

  Bannly nodded without turning.

  “How long have you known?”

  Continuing to hold the young man as the seizure peaked and slowly ebbed, the elder did not answer right away. As Pym waited, Synon and others joined him. No one looked particularly disturbed by the seizure or the knowledge this was the Sweating Sickness. However, the others kept a discreet distance, and some covered their mouths and noses. Some women, who’d brought older children, took these back down the rise into the ruined buildings. There was, then, some level of anxiety about the disease, but there also appeared a resignation—virtually fatalistic in its approach. With the passing of the fit, Bannly passed the young man into his mother’s arms.

  “When he’s strong enough, take him back down, but keep him away from the other mothers and children—no need to make them more anxious than they already are.” Turning back to Titus, he continued wiping the sweat from the young man off on his pants then washing these with a distilled alcohol.

  “That’s Lamban—very strong. If you drink it be careful—too much will blind you.”

  “How strong is it?” Titus asked. He knew perfectly well he’d have to make its acquaintance sooner rather than later.

  “Sometimes as high as one-hundred sixty-six proof—there had been few regulations in its production. Now there are none. It’s made from the sap of the coconut flower—foul stuff.”

  Now he had to try it—but later.

  “Good disinfectant,” the woman nodded.

  When Bannly finished drying his hands, he joined Titus, smiling.

  “I wasn’t certain, and we needed everyone that could walk on this job.”

  “Why you took me on so quickly?”

  “Pretty much—but if you can kill, that’s more than most of us have done and I’m not certain most will be able to.”

  Titus considered that a moment before continuing. “But infection?”

  “We don’t know how it’s communicated—even quarantine doesn’t help, unless there is significant distance. Some feel it’s airborne, others by intimate contact or even touch; some are of the opinion it’s passed on through blood. There are even those that have a metaphysical hypothesis. But no one knows.”

  “This explains why no one is running away.”

  “They also know they will need someone to take care of them if, or when, they get it.”

  “If he dies?”

  “There are collection sites all over the city—we’ll leave him at one of these.”

  “And this is how it is?”

  “This is how it is.”

  Titus stared down at the woman as she slowly helped her son to his feet. Inside he was fighting with the panic but knew this wasn’t the time or the place for it—doubted whether there would be a time or place until he was out of the city. For the moment, though, he needed to focus on the immediate problem.

  “Your people have never scouted in unknown territory before?”

  “No.”

  “Then I should go with them—I’ve some experience of what to look for.”

  “Normally I would agree, but we know the house we’re looking for—they’re just checking to make certain there is no one out and about yet.”

  Pym nodded, staring down at the houses across the road.

  The residence was late Imperial in design, with gables, trestles, and peaked roofs. There was a romanticized gothic feel to the place. Yet, it was not falling to ruin. This house, and most others in the neighborhood, was well maintained and some, even now, were undergoing renovations. “What’s so special about this place?” As Titus spoke he noticed flankers moving out along both sides of the street and others slipping around back of the houses, what good they’d do without proper weapons was not clear.

  After all, this neighborhood looked as if they could afford to maintain a small security force with more than enough weapons to get the job done.

  “The owners have moved to the east-end—a gated community.”

  “They’re not here?”

  “Correct.”

  “There is no security firm taking care of this place?”

  “No longer. The price of security has gone beyond most here, and those that can still afford it are moving on—such as these people.” Turning back to the house, a runner came from down the street.

  “A car,” a boy of about ten years old and rail thin panted before continuing, “is coming—looks like someone heading out to work early.”

  “Clear the streets, but keep a lookout. If they see you or look suspicious, you know what to do.”

  The boy nodded and waved to either end of the block. Suddenly the streets were emptying out.

  Bannly took Titus by the arm and led him around the side of the building. “I thought,” as they took cover behind a large temperate bush, “fuel was hard to come by?”

  “It is,” Bannly answered, craning his neck out for a better look at the oncoming traffic, “but some here still possess the wherewithal. Personally, I believe it is more a matter of status than need. Most of the companies still functioning in the city prefer to collect and return their employees to their homes—where they’ve not moved them into company compounds for security purposes.”

  “Those gated communities you were speaking of?”

  “No, there is only one gated community that is maintained by the wealthy and professional classes. What the companies have are military installations, and within these, they’ve put living quarters. Often, the living quarters are next to or close by the offices and factories.”

  “But many still prefer to stay here?”

  Bannly nodded, holding up a hand for quiet. As he did so, a town car pulled onto the street, drove slowly past them, and turned right onto another street. “They’ll be heading for the Core and the political district—New Panaderos.”

  “Politician?”

  “That’s the type of car the Governor gives their upper level bureaucrats.”

  “You just let a lot of money drive by you.”

  “We don’t have t
he weapons necessary to deal with the militia—and that’s who they’d send after them.”

  “I got a good look at your neighborhood; you’d be able to hide the entire Diet in there, and no one would find them for a year.”

  “Not possible to be certain about that.”

  “You are not going to feed these people if you do not start taking risks. I may be new...”

  “You are, and you do not know these people.”

  “You don’t either, if you think they’ll continue to support starving to death. You are starving, right?”

  Bannly nodded, not looking at Titus.

  “Then you are going to have to find a way to feed them.”

  “It’s what we’re doing here.”

  “Do you have many more down south?”

  “Several hundred.”

  Titus stepped out from the bush, now that the car had disappeared. “You’ll never feed that many—even with what you get here.” Wiping his sweating face with a cloth, the man continued. “If you want to feed them, you’ll have to begin taking some long chances—whether or not you are properly armed.”

  Without answering or looking at Pym, Bannly turned and proceeded around back.

  “Ignoring me is not going to make your situation any better.”

  As he called after the man, Synon took his arm. “He knows, but there is nothing else any of us can do.”

  Titus took the woman’s meaning but did not respond. Instead, he allowed the young woman to hook her arm through his and lead him along the side of the house.

  It was a large, rambling affair, not quite a mansion but more than a single family dwelling—even if you had a large, unwieldy number of children. This was generally not the case with the upper middle classes. One or two children tops, on average. There were outliers and deviations, of course, but in the main, a house like this was all about status and had little or nothing to do with the facts of life. Around back, they joined the others as a young man beat on the basement door with a hammer.