Changer (Athanor)

by Jane Lindskold

  Bill shrugs resignedly. “I’ll come along. It’s not as if I’ll have any luck with the babes. I’m cursed.”

  “You should talk to our friend Georgios.” Rebecca giggles.

  “No!” Bronson says firmly, taking her elbow and steering her toward the Indian Arts Building.

  “Did someone call for Georgios?” says a voice filled with lusty enthusiasm. The satyr comes up, Demetrios trailing behind.

  Chris quickly offers his hand. “I think we met last night in the Pyramid Club. Rob was saying that you could teach my poor young friend something about getting girls.”

  “Nobody does it better,” Georgios says smugly.

  Over both Bronson and Demetrios’s protests, Bill is escorted off, linked arm and arm with Georgios. Rebecca notices that Chris looks as pleased as Bronson does worried. She wonders about it for a moment, then decides to relax. They’re all blending in wonderfully. There’s no need to be concerned.

  At the main gates into the fairgrounds, the Changer stands with Eddie, Anson, and Duppy Jonah. Arthur is already somewhere on the grounds escorting one group of theriomorphs. Vera is with another, Jonathan with a third. Sven had insisted on guiding a fourth and no one had been able to come up with a polite reason why he should not be. The rest of the athanor are either loosely attached to one of the groups or about their own business.

  The Changer looks about the milling grounds, a dissatisfied expression on his face. “It will take hours to find Sven in this crowd if I stay a human. I may even miss him entirely.”

  “He’s certain to be with some of the sasquatch and yeti,” Eddie offers. “The group we assigned him had the Trappers and the Snowbirds. That should make finding him easier.”

  “Still,” the Changer grumbles, “it will be easy to miss him. I had no idea the Fair would be so crowded. I may do better to wait until he leaves.”

  “We sent over vans,” Eddie says. “He won’t ever be alone.”

  “And you’re in a worse situation if you confront him in a place where there are members of the Accord,” Duppy Jonah reminds his brother. “He can appeal to them for protection against you and even if they don’t like it, he will be within his rights.”

  “I still think,” the Changer repeats, “that finding him will be nearly impossible.”

  “Then what do you want to do, eh, ancient?” Anson asks. He’s already wandered over to a cart and purchased a large bag of buttered popcorn.

  “Let me shift into a raven. I can scout the grounds and narrow our search.”

  “And your clothes?”

  “I’ll give them to you.”

  Duppy Jonah sighs. “Do it. You have a point. And if you see Amphitrite, would you tell me where she is?”

  “Gladly.”

  The Changer and Anson step into an empty restroom and the change is effected. A large black raven soars out the front door and into the twilight.

  “He says,” Anson comments as he rejoins the others, “that he will shift to an owl when the full darkness comes, but he prefers to be a raven while he can. They’re common here.”

  “And what do we do?” Duppy Jonah asks.

  “I suppose we enjoy the Fair,” Eddie says dubiously.

  Anson finishes his popcorn and licks the last of the butter from his long fingers. “Of course we do!” he says enthusiastically. “I’ve had enough of this health food. I smell barbecue, sausages, pies, and caramel apples. Let’s go!”

  A grin of pure amazement glints within the rich darkness of Duppy Jonah’s beard. “Yes, Spider, let’s go.”

  Over the fairgrounds the Changer soars, catching the warm thermals from the food stands, the rides, the clustered people.

  He perches on a tented bandstand beneath which a boy plays a country fiddle before a small but supportive audience. There are several green-robed yeti in the crowd and a faun pushing a kappa carefully propped up in a baby carriage. The kappa’s wizened features and indented skull are covered by a frilled infant’s bonnet. The Changer examines the group carefully but finds no flame-haired Sven.

  Pushing off into the air again, he soars over a long avenue lined with booths selling souvenirs and food. He sees Jonathan Wong helping a selkie select a tee shirt, notes Vera seated on a bench instructing her charges how to eat cotton candy.

  He soars on. Near the barns where prize farm animals are waiting to be judged, he sees a pair of pooka giggling in a corner. He is not at all surprised when on his second pass two more ponies wait for the judges’ inspection.

  In the horse arena, Arthur Pendragon sits in the stands with a contingent that includes a few green-robed figures, the Smith, Frank MacDonald, and a brace of kappa sitting in their laps.

  Passing back over the avenue, the Changer sees Anson purchasing hats from a vendor. They resemble those worn by the Cat in the Hat in the book of that name. The ancient shapeshifter pauses long enough to watch the great and revered King of the Sea don his unlikely crown. Then he quorks laughter and flaps toward the midway.

  Full darkness is now falling, and the lights of the various rides glow and sparkle. The Changer sweeps down to the lip of a wire trash barrel to scavenge some french fries soaked in cheese. Thus fortified, he flies to a rooftop and turns into a small owl.

  Continuing his search, he lands between the cars on a towering Ferris wheel. He sees several green robes in line and soars down to check their company.

  He is in time to see a satyr get his face resoundingly slapped by a pretty red-haired woman, but, although he watches and listens, he does not think that this woman is Sven.

  Again over the grounds. Bronson and Rebecca Trapper, in the company of two humans that the Changer does not know, are walking from the Indian Arts Building. Bronson carries a package under one arm.

  Remembering that Sven was supposed to be escorting this group, the Changer examines the humans carefully, lest one of them be Sven in another form. Looking at the open, laughing faces, he finds no trace of mockery. Sven is not here, either. The Changer must fly on.

  In the animal barns, one of the pooka has been awarded a blue ribbon. The other has shifted human once more and is proudly parading his fellow out of the ring. There will be certain confusion when the authorities realize that these did not have proper entry forms.

  And the Changer soars on. He is not despairing—he is far too old for this small delay to bring him to despair, but he is growing tired. Little birds need a great deal of food and the owl cannot scavenge as a raven can. He compromises by shifting into a slightly anomalous raven and eating his fill and more from a trash can behind a line of food-vendor stalls.

  An old Navajo woman touches her bag of gall medicine when she sees him. He answers her gesture by cawing loudly, then launching into the dark skies. Let her believe she has chased the witch away. She will be comforted.

  He shifts back into an owl and flies over to the “Indian Village.” In a central space, six Pueblo men in elaborate beaded and befeathered costumes dance the formal, ritualized steps of some dance accompanied by music played on drums and flute. In the shadows, two fauns who have discarded their boots join hands and dance in company.

  None of those who wander about the perimeter of the dance area, eating fry bread smeared with honey or browsing the displays of jewelry and pottery, notice the fauns except to smile at their joyful romp.

  Next the Changer soars into the “Mexican Village,” and there he finds his prey. Sven Trout sits in a folding chair before a bandstand watching, with evident interest, a performance by a mariachi band. Over to one side of the bandstand, the Head and Louhi are inspecting a display of garish Mexican sombreros and sequined shawls.

  None of them look as if they are planning to depart anytime soon. In any case, the avenues away from this section of the fairgrounds are limited. The Changer marks the place, then flies off to find Anson and the others.

  He finds them at the intersection of the fairgrounds’ two main avenues with Bronson, Rebecca, and their two humans. Duppy Jonah is no longer
with them. Presumably, he has found Amphitrite and joined her party.

  By the simple expedient of dropping a small rock on his head, the Changer gets Anson to look up. The he lures the Spider to a place where he can shift and they can talk.

  “Sven’s in the Mexican Village,” the Changer says, as soon as he has shifted.

  “Put on your pants!” Anson says, handing them to him. “Now, have you thought about how you will catch him?”

  “I thought I would simply walk up to him and say I wished to have a word with him.”

  “It might work.” Anson hands the Changer his shirt. “I have a more complicated plan in mind.”

  “Why bother?”

  “What if he wishes to flee?”

  “I will hold him.”

  “And if he calls for help?”

  “Will he?”

  “Can you say he will not?”

  “No.”

  “I believe if he thought that he could use the Accord against you, then he would not involve ordinary humans.”

  “I see…”

  “Rebecca Trapper has friends who can help us. What I have in mind is…”

  Sven Trout sincerely likes mariachi music and Mexican food, but both are better for their location away from the midway.

  In Sven’s restless state of mind, long waits in line for a minute or so of artificially created terror hold no appeal. Realizing that Snowbird and his family will be engaged by the rides for some time and that Demetrios is fully capable of keeping track of the satyrs, Sven had used the excuse of checking up on Bronson and Rebecca to make his escape.

  No one seemed terribly sorry to see him go. He was certain that everyone was relieved when the Head and Louhi left with him.

  “Hello, Sven,” says a voice at his right shoulder.

  He finds Anson A. Kridd and Eddie sliding into seats behind him. They wear matching red-satin jackets emblazoned with the logo of the Albuquerque Dukes and floppy, striped hats. Anson’s is red and orange, Eddie’s blue and purple.

  “Having fun?” Anson asks, popping an éclair into his mouth.

  “I am,” Sven says. “I love mariachi music.”

  Eddie grins. “I won the jackets in one of the basketball-shooting arcades. You should have seen the look on the proprietor’s face. I’m sure the hoops are rigged, but after just one shot I got a feel for the spin.”

  He mimes shooting baskets.

  “Did you win the hats, too?” Sven asks, sincerely interested. Something for nothing has always interested him.

  “Nope.” Eddie gently punches his buddy on the shoulder. “Anson got them for us.”

  “Where’re the lady and the Head?” Anson asks, digging through his pockets and discovering only an empty bag where he clearly had hoped to find another snack.

  “I think they’re in one of the stalls.”

  “We should go pay our respects,” Anson says, “and I want another éclair. That one was too small.”

  Eddie chuckles. “I wish I had your metabolism, Spider. I bet that Arthur would like it even more.”

  “Sorry, I’m not giving it up.”

  Sven waves casually as they wander off. The band is starting a new piece. He leans comfortably back in his chair. About halfway through the song, he hears a deep, gravelly voice at his right shoulder.

  “Hello, Sven.”

  Sven feels his bowels tighten. He fights down the urge to flee wildly.

  “Hello, Changer.”

  “I heard you were in town and thought that it was time for us to chat.”

  Sven turns slightly in his seat. The Changer is directly behind him but he can see that the ancient studies him out of only one eye.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t approve of what you did to me, and now that you’re outside of Arthur’s protection…” The Changer lets his words trail off.

  “We made a deal!”

  “I didn’t deal. You offered terms I had no choice but to accept if I wanted my daughter to live.”

  The gravelly voice speaking directly into Sven’s ear seems louder than the mariachi music, but that music is making their conversation quite private. The people nearest to Sven have moved away, perhaps made nervous by his one-eyed visitor.

  Sven looks around anxiously. Neither Louhi nor the Head is in sight—he doesn’t dare guess in which direction they have gone. Then, at the fringes of the Mexican Village, nearly hidden by the darkness, he sees two red jackets, two silly hats, a tall black man and a shorter white man.

  They’re sharing a huge cotton candy between them.

  Hadn’t Eddie and Anson said they were going to look for Louhi and the Head? And even if his cronies aren’t nearby, he can always claim the protection of the Accord…

  “We can’t talk here,” he says. “Let’s walk.”

  The Changer grunts agreement. Sven ambles as if picking a direction randomly, but really walking toward Eddie and Anson.

  “Now, Changer,” he says bossily (must keep him from noticing where they are headed), “what do you want from me?”

  “Restitution,” the Changer says, “and your binding word that you will not act against me or Shahrazad again.”

  “And why do you think you can get away with this?”

  They have almost reached Eddie and Anson.

  “I am who I am,” the Changer says simply.

  “And if I don’t agree?” Sven says cockily.

  “Then reluctantly,” the Changer says, raising his hand and grabbing Sven by the throat, “I will break your neck.”

  They are in the shadows now, away from the shops, away from the loud mariachi music. Sven knows that the Changer can do as he threatens, but still he is filled with surging triumph.

  “I call,” he says loudly, “on the protection of the Accord!”

  Eddie and Anson turn slowly and face him full on for the first time. Sven feels a prickling of adrenaline, for now he is close enough to get a clear look at the two men.

  They wear the hats, the jackets. The white man even has a brushing of something dark across his jawline to simulate Eddie’s five-o’clock shadow, but neither is Eddie nor Anson.

  They nod politely to the Changer and start walking away.

  “Wait!” Sven shrills. “Help me! He’s going to kill me!”

  “I don’t think so,” the white man says.

  “And even if he was,” the black man adds, looking pointedly at the Changer’s missing eye, “he might have a really good reason for doing so.”

  They walk away and Sven realizes that he is alone with a creature out of nightmare. The grip on his neck is firm, and he knows that even if he shapeshifts, the other will keep his hold.

  “So,” the Changer says almost conversationally, “do you agree by our blood to foreswear the protection of Arthur’s house and of the Accord in the matters associated with your kidnapping Shahrazad and the price you extracted for her return or…”

  He gives Sven a shake that pops the vertebrae in his neck.

  “Or do I break your neck here and now?”

  “You’re going to break it eventually,” Sven sulks.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Think for yourself, Fiery One. Would I stop to talk if all I wanted was you dead? I want restitution and an opportunity to remind you what happens when you use your elders as toys in your games.”

  “That’s all?”

  “When I am finished with you, it will be enough.”

  “Then I guess I can do what you want.”

  The Changer does not release his hold, and their proximity is such that Sven feels his dry chuckle as much as hears it.

  “Sven, I must have you swear. So that none will misunderstand my desire to bring you harm, I want my complaint against you to be a public one.”

  “Public?”

  “I think that, if you swear as I have asked, we can use the athanor forum that is already gathered beneath Arthur’s roof. However”—the dry chuckle again—“I am not such a fool as to let you go there without your promis
e to foreswear—in this instance—the protection you have already claimed.”

  “I never thought you were a fool, Changer.”

  “But you have misjudged me, Sven. You would never have drawn me here if you believed I would move against you.”

  Sven sighs. “You’re right, but I wasn’t certain if you would attend the Review this time. Louhi had made promises.”

  “Your explanations will not sway me, Sven. Now, are you going to swear, or am I going to break your neck?”

  “I swear by our shared blood,” Sven says stiffly, “that in matters related to the kidnapping of Shahrazad and the ransom extracted from you for her safety, I do not and shall not, claim the protection of Arthur’s house.”

  “Very prettily said,” the Changer says, “and our blood stands witness.”

  Sven cranes his neck in an effort to face the Changer. “Let me remind you that this is an oath under duress.”

  “That seems only right,” the Changer says, moving his hold to Sven’s arm, “for what you have taken from me was taken under very similar circumstances. Come along. Eddie and Anson are waiting for us, and our night at the Fair is coming to a close.”

  Chris and Bill walk quickly away from where the one-eyed man holds the red-haired one prisoner.

  “Do you think we did the right thing?” Bill asks worriedly.

  “I do,” Chris answers firmly. “Those guys reacted just like Rob Trapper told us they would. I don’t think the guy with the one eye is going to hurt the other one.”

  “No.” Bill ponders. “Chris, I’m beginning to wonder if these people are dealing drugs after all.”

  “I’m not so certain anymore, either” Chris admits, “although this last bit could have been some sort of gangland rivalry. Listen, Rob Trapper promised that he’d be calling. He hinted that he had something important to tell me. That’s one of the reasons I agreed to go along with this whole thing.”

  “Even if we never learn the truth,” Bill says, cheering up, “we got these cool jackets and hats for our night’s work. And that Georgios taught me some amazing things.”

  Chris stares disbelievingly at him, then laughs. “So he initiated you into the deep secrets of romance. Is that it?”