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On the way to the Hand camp, Nance wanted us to talk. Bloody Sarah had said that, although it had been no difficulty getting past their guards, it might be something of a difficulty getting a guard's attention, without making the clown look bad.
We didn't want to embarrass either the guard or the leader of the camp. Sharks that think they look bad don't think good, and the first thing they do is look for someone to blame. Since people with guns tend to do their blaming in the loudest and most destructive manner available, and since we had no doubt that the someones taking the blame would be us, Nance figured it would be best to walk in making as much noise as a marching band and let the guard discover us on his own.
While I walked, I listened a bit to the others, but I had something that was gnawing at the back of my mind. I took the opportunity to ask Nance. "If you left Garoit behind because he's so valuable, why did you bring me?"
She laughed and put her arm across my shoulders. She was about four inches taller than me. "Pobrecito," she taunted with a grin, "did big old nasty Nance hurt the little copper's feelings?"
I felt my face get red, then I laughed. "Okay, okay."
Nance's voice became serious. "You know, Bando, that number two of yours is real smart. Maybe smarter than all of us put together."
"Stays? He's an old bomb thrower. I've seen him foaming at the mouth and wearing a rubber jacket."
"Bando, did you get here because of your deep respect for government institutions, or because you were so well adjusted?"
I shrugged and put in a ment. After the mental moment had expired, I said, "Yeah, he's smart, but it's different than with Garoit. Pussyface got all his stuff out of books. Stays did some of that, but he's got something else. He watches people and I think he learns from them."
"How so?" Nance removed her arm and pushed her hands into her pockets. With the last of the red and purple light in the sky, it was getting chilly.
"Like when I look at us, Nance, I see a bunch of sand sharks kicking and biting to stay alive. Martin Stays sees principles, institutions, trends. This business with writing down the laws and policies. I never would've thought of that."
Nance nodded. "It was a smart move."
"I don't know. That list of rules is sort of developing a life of its own. Like that rule thirteen that makes a threat the same as the crime being threatened."
"What about it?"
"I thought it was a dumb rule. I guess I still do, but when the sharks were making bad-ass at the trial, I pulled old thirteen out of the hat to shut 'em up and save my buns. Just by doing that, I pumped life into that rule." I faced her. "I'd sure feel better about this law business if we weren't making it up as we go along. Don't you think we ought to get the whole gang to vote on some of those things?"
She heaved her shoulders slightly and cocked her head to one side. "Maybe. You know, this little gang of ours is less'n a week old? If we make it through another week, maybe we can start wading through votes, rules, laws, and such. Right now there's more important things to do, like getting out of the Forever Sand. Maybe this bunch we're going to see can help."
"Maybe."
She reached out a hand and squeezed my shoulder. "Don't worry about how the law's going in the Razai, Bando. There's nothing in the universe that's been jawed over, tested, and voted on more than the law back on Earth, and you remember what that was all about."
"Yeah," I answered. "The juicer.'
"It's a mess that no one understands 'cause it doesn't mean anything. It's just a machine for keeping the cockroach money threads rich, keeping the ins in, the outs out, and the downs down."
Nance stopped and turned around. I turned to see why. Bloody Sarah was tugging on Nance's sheet. After we had stopped, Sarah pointed to the top of the dune to our left. Standing on top of the dune, admiring the fading rays of the sunset, oblivious to all but the desert's beauty, was a guard. Although his hood was off, exposing his red hair, his rifle was slung and his arms were folded beneath his sheet for warmth. A ten-year-old nearsighted cripple with a wooden leg and a bad wheeze could have crept up on him and taken him out with a rubber chicken.
If we called to him we'd make him look bad. We also didn't want to startle him. Bloody Sarah held up a hand and said, "Look at that haircut. He's from Surya."
I looked, but I didn't see anything particularly special about the haircut. The sideburns were pointed, maybe the center brushed forward some. Anyway, it was a sign to Sarah. She cupped her hands, turned her back on the guard, and made a strange bird sound, like "Call-all-all-alllll."
I watched the guard and a smile spread itself across his face as he listened to the sounds of the early night.
"Call-all-all-alllll," Sarah repeated, and the smile faded as a frown creased the fellow's forehead. He looked to his left, to his right, then unslung his rifle.
"Call-all-all-alllll," cooed Sarah, and the guard looked down at us.
The man studied our party for a moment, then said, "That's the call of a beautiful bird, but the nearest one of those birds is forty light years away from here, nohomiht?"
"Ahviht," replied Sarah, and the guard came down from the dune, his rifle carried across his breast. He stopped several feet from us. After examining our faces, he asked, "And who is the Suryian night dove?"
"I am," answered Sarah.
The guard squinted in the fading light, then his eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Bloody Sarah, as I live and breathe!"
"And you?"
"Vin Otelli." He smiled. "The UTR stains sent me here for serving the other side of the rebellion."
"Yet we are both here, nohomiht, Vin Otelli?"
He nodded. "Ahviht. All of us had assumed that when you were taken to Earth that it was to receive a slap on the wrist and a fat pension. Instead we are both here, which makes me wonder just what the point of the war was."
"What is the point of any war, Vin Otelli?"
"Freedom, justice, rights, and other meaningless mouthfuls." He smiled and nodded. "You do the night dove call very well."
"Thank you."
"It made me wonder, just a bit, if I was losing my mind." We all laughed, and Vin Otelli asked, "Who are these others?"
"We are a delegation of peace from the Razai."
"Razai?" He frowned. "This is the word for the desert death lizard on Surya."
"We are named after the lizard. It seemed appropriate since we were born in the desert."
His face seemed to light with hope. "Is your gang from Surya?"
"Ah, you are homesick." She shook her had. "We are not from Surya. We are from Earth." Sarah nodded toward Nance. "This is our leader, Nance Damas." She held a hand out toward me. "Bando Nicos, one of our subchiefs, and our guards, Clay, Silver, Toan, and McDavies."
Vin Otelli studied us for a few seconds. "I've never heard of the Razai before. There is supposed to be nothing between the Hand and the Southern Divide but Kegel."
"You have heard of us now," said Nance. "We've come to parlay with your boss."
Vin Otelli studied Nance. "You boss the Razai?" asked the guard.
"That's right."
"I've heard about Quana Lido, but you're the first woman gang boss I've ever seen." He grinned. "Is this because there are a lot of women in the Razai?"
"Why?"
"Women are in short supply in the Hand. They are in short supply everywhere."
"Vin Otelli," Sarah interrupted, "shouldn't you notify someone of our presence?"
The guard's face became serious. "Look, if I should do that, the two men would be put to death." He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I was about to say that you women might be able to find husbands and protection in the Hand, but this one," he indicated the Chopper, "is too old."
He nodded toward Nance, "You've been a boss, and that might be too much of a temptation for you. Carlo would want you thinned just as a safety measure. Besides, you're a little brown for Carlo."
He faced Sarah, "And you, you're ju
st plain too dangerous to let stay alive. Everybody in this galaxy must've seen those vids of you back in that village." He pointed at Marantha. "You might be acceptable."
Marantha said quietly. "I am so relieved. For what might I be acceptable?"
"Marriage. Marriage in the Hand. You look like just what Carlo has been after."
"Indeed."
Vin Otelli frowned as he looked us over once again. "Where's the little black one?"
"Behind you," Sarah answered.
The guard's frown deepened as he turned and saw Minnie McDavies standing behind him. I could tell from his expression that he really wanted to know how Minnie had managed to get from in front of him to behind him in full view without being noticed.
"Don't creep around like that, sister crowbar. You make me nervous."
"I make a lot of people nervous, brother." Minnie grinned. "You were about to say about the little black one?"
"Yes." Otelli looked back at Nance. "The little black one would be killed on the spot. No maus, no chops, hows, or chilies."
I snorted out an angry laugh and pointed a finger at the guard. "Well, brother crowbar, just what in Hell do you have to be to get into this exclusive club?"
Vin Otelli slung his rifle and held out his hands. "Look, I'm not trying to start a war. I'm just telling you how it is in the Hand. If you can't scare up a Sicilian or two in your family tree, or at least an Italian with a bad attitude, forget it."
Nance poked Vin Otelli's chest with her finger. "I'm from Earth, Hand job, and I've seen enough genuine goombas in and out of crowbars to populate this planet ten times over. One thing I know about 'em is that they keep their mouths shut. You work your mouth like every backyard gossip I've ever met. The other thing I know is that none of them ever looked like you. With that red hair, teeny nose, blue eyes, and whitey-white hide, you're about as Sicilian as shamrocks."
"Vin Otelli," said Bloody Sarah to herself as she smiled and nodded thoughtfully.
The guard's face was very angry. "I'm not from Sicily myself, but my family came from Sicily, and that makes me Sicilian."
Sarah laughed and nodded, "Vin Otelli!" She pointed at him. "I know you, but if your family came from Sicily it was by way of Belfast." She faced Nance. "When I knew of him, Vin Otelli pronounced his name Galvin O'Dell. Back on Surya, Galvin O'Dell used to make quite a point of mentioning coming from a long line of Irish revolutionaries." She looked again at the guard.
"Have you been giving us a wee little kiss off the old Blarney Stone, goomba? Sure and you must be the fastest of the world's fast talkers to convince Olive Oil and the rest of the gooms that you come from a long line of pepperonis."
All humor left the guard's face as his finger moved into his rifle's trigger guard. "I am descended from Sicilians—"
The guard arched his back and looked strange for a moment. That was when I realized that Minnie had somehow gotten behind him again. We heard her quiet voice.
"With me right now, O'Goomba, I have the sharpest razor the universe has ever seen. Ease that finger off that trigger, brother crowbar, or what I have in my hand right now goes home with me."
He quickly removed his finger from the trigger and held the rifle by its muzzle at his side. "Okay?" he asked with a note of panic in his voice. "Okay?"
We heard a very girlish giggle, and then Minnie said, "Finestkind." She moved to his side and looked up at him with an enormous grin.
"Hey, goomba," said Marantha Silver. "Parla italiano?"
"What?"
"Non capisco, Vin Otelli," said Marantha. "What is going on with the Hand? Do any of you know anything about Sicily? Do you people know anything about our thing?"
"Our thing?"
"Cosa nostra?"
"I don't understand."
Marantha Silver smiled and nodded. Looking at Nance she said, "This is amazing. Somewhere along the line some boss began living a fantasy about being a mob don. Using whatever he had in his head for guidance, he's got the whole bunch living the same fantasy." She pointed at the guard. "Or in the case of our goomba shamrock here, living a lie to stay alive."
"That's not true." He pointed a finger at her. "Who are you to judge these things, anyway?"
"Mi chiamo Maranta Argento."
She looked at Nance and repeated, "My name is Maranta Argento. I had it legally changed to Marantha Silver when I joined the MJ."
Nance's eyebrows went up as she nodded, very impressed. "Argento? Are you any relation to Red Pete Argento? The Argento family of Philadelphia?"
"He was my father."
Nance shook her head in wonder for all of us. The story behind a genuine Mafia princess winding up as a top MJ cop must be a trim little tale, indeed. It would have to wait, though, until several urgent crises had their turns.
Nance walked up to the Irish goomba and poked him in his chest with her forefinger. "Look, ratbait, it appears that the only real Sicilian around here belongs to the Razai. We have your lie, as well as the Hand's lie, all sewn up in a little sack. Is my message coming through?"
"I think so."
"I'm going to be straight with you, Mick O'Goomba. The Razai needs help, and we're hoping to get it from your bunch here. But don't ever get the idea that we're helpless. Right now our legions surround this place and are ready to land on the Hand like sixty tons of cement."
She folded her arms. "We're a peaceful bunch, and all we want to do is ask for help. The Hand is free to help us or not. But if that group of bogus goombas wants to make trouble, we'll leave nothing but your bones and moustaches for the sand bats. Is any of this getting through to you, O'Goomba?"
"Yes. I'll do whatever you want."
"I want you to help us, understand?"
"I understand."
"If you're helpful to us, Galvin, we'll take you into the Razai." Nance grinned. "And we do have lots and lots of women."
Galvin O'Dell started as Minnie McDavies put her arm around his waist, leered at him, and said, "Lots and lots of women."
In moments O'Goomba was leading us through the dunes to the camp. Just before we reached the lights of the Hand's camp, Nance and I were at the rear walking together. When she could see my face, I raised my eyebrows and mouthed the word "Legions?"
She pulled back one corner of her mouth into a tiny little grin and walked ahead. It was funny, because Nance never struck me as being any kind of operator. She had always seemed to be straight up, her thoughts and feelings right on the tip of her boot for anybody. There was all of that I'm no good and that's why I'm leaving Garoit behind stuff for just one example. Of course, she might have been the best confidence operator ever to grace my experience. If that's what she was, she was more than good. She was beyond art.
I looked at her back as we hiked through the sand. She was a big, bull-croc lizzie who had survived the universe's endless series of harsh judgments with her fists and her will. The longer she lived was how she measured her revenge against life.
Sure, she had done a neat little con on O'Goomba, with the mighty legions of the Razai surrounding the Hand, awaiting only the slightest signal to roll down and tamp the camp. Why shouldn't she know how to do the con? She went to college at Ol' Miss in Greeneville, and the Crotch was the best place to learn such skills.
I shook my head as I trudged along, my heart filling my throat. Conning others was never a problem for me. It's second nature to anyone coming off the block. It's conning myself I was no good at. As the first lights of the camp appeared, I was afraid and that protomo feeling was all over me. I found myself walking next to Minnie McDavies, and I whispered to her, "Just what was it of O'Goomba's you had in your hand?"
I know she was a mau and it was night, but I swear she blushed.
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The Prince
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From the outside it looked like something from the vids, maybe the Arabian Nights with a bad cast. Huge tents filled the c
amp area. They were made of the same material as the sheets we wore, but they carried bright colors in several designs, including handprints.
The colors and designs were repeated on some of the sheets on the soldiers I saw. They seemed to be the military markings Ondo mentioned. There were a couple wearing red markings, and bunches who wore blue, black, green, and white.
After being challenged, O'Goomba informed the guard commander of the great and powerful Razai gang's desire to parlay with the Hand. He added that, should this parlay not transpire, or should it turn out badly, there were the many legions of the Razai straining at their leashes, waiting to tear out the throats of the Hand.
It sounded a bit overdone to me, but the guard commander seemed to buy it. He sped off, and returned in a few minutes and said, "Please follow me."
The biggest tent looked huge enough to house an elephant parade. With Galvin O'Goomba and his guard commander leading, and flanked by an armed guard of about eighteen or twenty men, we were led inside as the iciness of the night spread across the sand. No one had searched us, and no one had asked for our weapons.
Once inside the huge tent, we were led through a corridor illuminated with oil lamps. There were more guards lining the corridor, and even if they didn't impress Nance or Bloody Sarah, they sure as hell impressed me.
The corridor opened onto a huge central room that was comfortably warm because of all of the oil lamps lighting the area, and from the four metal pots which contained the burning blue ice. The air in the tent smelled a bit smoky, but sweet, like flowers.
The room was crowded, and when we entered the crowd spread to the sides giving us a view of the opposite side. O'Goomba faced away from us, held out his hand, and said. "Pau Avanti, I present the boss of the Razai, Nance Damas."
O'Goomba faced Nance. "Boss of the Razai, this is Pau Avanti, Prince of the Hand, Son of Carlo T., Don of the Eastern Shore and the Sunrise Mountains."
Pau Avanti looked like something out of a fantasy vid. He sat high upon a golden throne inside his huge palace of a tent. He was a tall, powerfully built man with a dark, scowling face and shifty, suspicious eyes. His robes were of some fine light blue cloth that shimmered as it moved. On his fingers he sported golden rings set with large, garish gems that seemed not only to reflect light, but to give off a light of their own.
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