by Guy Haley
At the top the pavilion stood proudly. What looked grand from a distance was a sorry sight close in. Flaking gold and red, grey wood showed where the colour had failed, four storeys of cracked timber posts, ornate carvings rounded thick by generations of careless paint, a small courtyard of worn stones in front of it. The pavilion door gave a hefty shudder and creaked open. A midget emerged, tiny by the huge portal. It was heavily made up, and wore a velveteen dress and a lady's red satin cloak, although it was plain that he was a man. A turban of green satin sat on his head, an enormous ostrich feather topping that tripling his height, a heavy globular brooch holding it in place. As he approached, mincing and fussing, his pearls and earrings chinked and jangled, the clack of tiny high heels loud on the flags in the night.
Richards stopped dead. From the dwarf, the music of Pl'anna's Gridsig rang loud, its normal purity encumbered by harsh notes of corruption and parasitic rewrites. Little, flighty, wise Pollyanna, fond of shopping, fashion and inscrutable pronouncements, turned into this parody. Anger at k52 boiled in Richards.
"Greetings!" said the little transvestite in an effeminate voice. "Welcome to the Dragon Tower!" A waft of winey breath overlaid with stale perfume and staler sweat greeted them.
The dwarf waddled over to where the three of them stood. "All is ready, my lords!" he squeaked, his voice a wavering contralto. He bowed, his ostrich feather tickling Richards' nose. Stretching itself to his full height of a nearly a whole metre, the dwarf piped proudly, "I am Bodrick, son of Makkar the Strong, son of Gelndar Dragon Smasher, of the line of Trakmore the Mighty Right Arm." He looked a little sheepish and hesitated before coming to some decision. "But people usually call me Linda, Mrs Linda Circus. It is the name I prefer. This way, gentlefolk," he said brightly. "Your banquet awaits!" He glanced up at Richards and a flicker of recognition passed over his face. Then it was gone. Circus slipped a tiny hand into Richards'. It was dry and soft as kid leather, and his grip was firm for one so small. Richards tried to marshal his thoughts, but they were buried under an avalanche of maddening hunger. Lucas and Bear appeared entranced.
Inside the tower was a single tall room, balconies lining the walls in place of upper storeys, leaving plenty of space for carvings of whip-thin dragons, of which there were many. The yard-thick rope of the pylon mounted on the roof ran through a hole in the ceiling, passing down through the centre of the room to disappear through a double trapdoor in the floor by way of another round hole. Clustered round the rope were long, shining chains of steel and brass, many tipped with barbed hooks whose ornate inlay did not disguise their wicked edges. Hidden behind heavy drapes was a bank of levers, their oily utility at odds with the room's luxury. Cushions of silk and low couches lined the walls. Exquisite carpets carpeted the floor. All was rich, but worn.
The chains and the cushions and the grandeur, all this was lost on Richards. His stomach spasmed painfully. His eyes were fixed on a hollow circular table around the rope, laden with food of every conceivable variety. Fruits, meats, pies and shortbreads, desserts and tottering trifles, salads, loaves, fish and fowl, wine and beer. The centrepiece was three large pigs, roasted whole and presented on golden platters with which one could have bought a small asteroid. The pigs' flesh was crisp and brown, glazed with honey and shiny juices. It was expertly carved. Richards could only just see the lines where the knives had parted the flesh, and he knew that it would come away from the carcass with the greatest of ease.
A struggle mounted itself in his mind. "This is wrong," he tried to say, but his voice was weak, and Bear and Lucas paid no attention. They ran forward to help themselves to piles of steaming meat, while Richards exerted all his will to prevent himself following suit.
"Well, this is very nice," he said, saliva threatening to choke him, and he wondered if this was how it felt to drown.
"Why do you not join your friends? Eat, eat! All is prepared."
"I'm not hungry, Pollyanna," said Richards.
Circus did not react, and the Gridsig faded a little in Richards' mind. "You are not eating, my lord?" he said, suspicion creeping under his cracked foundation. "Come now, you must be famished." He giggled. "All we creatures here know the pains of humanity. How is my lord finding the sensation of hunger?"
"What?" said Richards, but Circus smiled and fetched for him an apple. He cradled it in both hands, as if it were the most precious thing in all creation. The brooch on Circus's turban opened up to reveal an unblinking eye. It swivelled slowly and fixed itself morosely on Richards' face. "Or perhaps a drink? Shazam!" said the dwarf, or something very like it, and a goblet of bubbling black liquid appeared in Richards' hand. A smile creased the make-up caked onto Circus's stubble. "Drink!"
"I'm not thirsty," said Richards. He fought his hand as it raised the goblet to his lips. With a cry, he threw it aside.
"Oh, no need to be, my lord. If it is not to your tastes, cast it away! Why not? There is so much more to feast upon in the tower of Linda! Come, come! This way, sit with your friends, find something you like –" he leaned in close, his odour enveloping Richards "– and eat." He guided Richards by the hand onto a big cushion. "Of course you are hungry," said Circus. "Of course."
Circus waved a piece of meat in front of Richards' face. It repulsed him, the thought of eating another creature's flesh, but he could not help himself; it smelled delicious, and his stomach called for it with a voice all of pain. He allowed Circus to push the meat into his mouth. It tasted unlike anything he had ever sensed. Juices ran down his chin.
"There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it? I will retire to my chamber. If you require anything, my lords, please ring!" Circus indicated the silver bells on the table in front of the travellers, and shuffled out of the room backwards, bowing repeatedly as he went.
"Dig in!" said Bear, his fur matted with fat.
"Maybe I'm not so down on my luck after all," said Lucas, stuffing a piece of pork into his mouth from Bear's plate.
"I'll drink to that!" said Bear, round a mouthful of pig, waving a goblet carelessly in the air.
Richards said nothing, his face contorted, sinews standing out on his neck as he struggled not to swallow.
Bear chewed slowly, his paws moving from his mouth. "Are you OK?"
With a titanic effort, Richards spat out the meat. Biting out his own tongue would have been easier.
"Spit it out!" he gasped. The stomach pangs were crippling, the urge to stuff the food into his face overpowering.
"Bear," said Lucas, "is your nose OK?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it looks sort of… flatter," said Lucas.
"Stop eating, both of you," said Richards.
"No, it's not," said Bear.
"Yes. Yes, it is, Bear! Noticeably so. Here, look in this." Lucas swept a pile of sweetmeats from a silver tray and held it up to Bear's face.
"Bloody hell!" said Bear, reaching up to feel at it. "It is too." He gave an experimental sniff. His eyes widened in panic. "It doesn't smell right!"
"What do you think it could be, Richards?" said Lucas. His skin was becoming a ruddy pink.
"Oh, no, oh, no." Richards shoved himself back from the table, attempting to put distance between himself and the food. "Too late! The meat, it's invasive… invasive code…"
"What? What is he gabbling about? Tell me, man, tell me!" said Lucas.
"It's… magic!" said Richards. "Magic!"
"Your nose… your nose…" said Bear.
"Is it getting flatter too?"
"No!" shouted Bear. "It's turning into a pig's snout!"
Lucas held a hand up to his nose, a hand that was rapidly morphing into a trotter. "Oh, dear, so it is. I don't think I can… oink. I'm sorry. I mean oink! Oink! Oh, dear. This is worse than the hiccups. Excuse me." Lucas dropped to his hands and knees, his flesh writhing.
Richards crawled away from the table, fighting the urge to drag himself back to the feast. Bear jumped to his feet. "Damn!" he shouted. "Damn, damn, damn!" Large bare patche
s were appearing as his fur fell out in clumps. His ears had become hairless and floppy, and one paw had changed to the pointed fingers and nails of a pig's foot. "Goldilocks' knickers! It's the bloody food. I should have known! I should have known! I knew it didn't smell right! Damn! Curse my hairy hide for being so greedy. Curse those bloody squirrels!"
"Oink!" snorted Lucas.
"Oh, no," wailed Bear, "my tail's gone curly."
At that moment Circus made a grand entrance. He swept in, head held so high that Richards could almost see it over the pile of figs between them.
"Ha ha! Greedy, greedy, my lords. Your true natures are revealed by your gluttony." Lightning played around the eye in his turban, the pupil of which had reduced to a tiny black point.
"Circus… Circe! You turned them into pigs," groaned Richards. "More classics."
"As you will be too, my friend. The transformation will not be complete until every inhabitant of the world is dead and the Flower King dispersed! When these creatures are no more, that will be that, and I, I will be a beautiful woman, as I always have wanted to be."
"But Pl'anna, you are a woman!" shouted Richards.
Circus's face creased in confusion. "I…"
"Circus, you monstrous pipsqueak!" came a voice from above. Richards managed to look up, and found if he didn't look at the food he was able to think more clearly. Tarquin paced tensely round the balcony, an expression of savage rage across his face. "Idiot dwarf! Louse! Freak!"
"How dare you! How dare you!" screeched Circus. "Never call me that again!"
"Fool!" roared Tarquin. "Kill him, kill the man named Richards, kill him now! The Lord Penumbra still has half a world to lay waste, and you invite his enemies into this pavilion."
Circus wrung his little hands, a look of abject misery upon his face. He looked at the lion, then Richards. "He has eaten of the meat, he will be swine as his fellows."
Richards kept his eyes on the lion, forcing his mind to grasp this stupid world. His anger pushed him through and he found the code, a hideous worm that impelled him to feed, and crushed it vengefully. He gasped aloud as his hunger released him, his handle on the world code going with it, leaving him wrung out and pained. He got to his feet unsteadily.
"Cretinous midget! Dimwitted dwarf, oh!" snarled Tarquin. "This creature has not eaten. He is an interloper, a Class Five AI! I recognise it, I see it now! There is no place for him here. Once I have dined on them, Circus, I will devour you piece by screaming red piece! I trusted you to murder him by your magic, now I see I must do all myself lest we are all undone by your vanity!"
"What to do, oh, what to do?" Circus's face crumpled and he brought his hands up to his face. "Now the master will destroy me and I will never be a woman."
"Mr Richards, we are utterly, utterly shafted," said Bear. He was having trouble remaining on his hind paws. He was roughly half pig, half bear. Which bits were stuffed was up for debate. It was not a pretty sight.
"Nothing, Circus. I will consume you the slower for your idiocy." The lion licked his black lips. "At least you have done half your job," he laughed. "You first, bear. Richards, I will save you for the master's return." It jumped, landing squarely on Bear's bald back. By now Bear was hardly a bear at all, and the lion's claws drew not stuffing but parallel lines of bright blood.
"Mr Richards!" grunted the toy. "Get it off! It's going to bloody kill me!"
"Shit!" Richards pelted the lion with anything he could lay his hands on. Silver salvers, soft fruits and heavy puddings ricocheted off Tarquin. Bear, slick with blood, managed to wrestle the enraged creature round until he had it in a firm headlock, but his arms were shrivelling into those of an over-sized boar. He was big, Bear, and the code had much to rewrite, but working it was, and much too fast for Richards.
"Look out!" said Bear, somewhere between a squeal and a roar. A bolt of purple energy slammed into a table and Richards was thrown backwards. Splinters of burning wood landed amidst the silken cushions and set them alight as Richards found himself dodging back and forward round a heap of fruit in a highcharged game of peek-a-boo with Circus. The little man's hands were clawed, his painted nails held before him as ridiculous daggers. His face was contorted with rage, teeth bared and mouth frothing. "Richards?" he shrieked. "Richards? Richards! Richards in my house! Curse you! Curse you!" The brooch on his head stared maniacally forward. Lightning crackled and another bolt of energy erupted from it. Richards ducked, and the blast arced over his head to shatter an ancient timber. The building groaned as weight was redistributed through its structure in new and unsupportable patterns.
"Pl'anna! Stop!" said Richards.
"Aieee!" screamed Circus, and yanked Richards' legs from under him. Richards was caught in a whirlwind of unwashed silks and limbs, ripe with the scents of old sex. "I kill you, Richards! I kill you!" squeaked the dwarf. He knelt on Richards' throat, pinning him to the floor. Richards' eyes bulged as the little man reached up to his turban and withdrew a long hatpin, gripping it in one jewelled fist like a stiletto.
"Pl'anna! Pl'anna! Stop!" Richards spluttered. He slapped at the dwarf, causing him to squeal and clutch his cheek.
"My face! My beautiful face!"
Richards rolled to the side, levering the dwarf off him, and scrambled to his feet. Circus swiped at him with his pin. Richards kicked him hard in the chest, sending Circus back down, and stamped on his wrist. The dwarf shrieked, dropped the pin and spat at him with hatred.
"I killllll you!" The brooch glowed. Richards leant forward and grasped it. Though it burned with an appalling electricity he held it fast.
"It's me, Richards! Pl'anna, I know you're in there!" He pulled the brooch hard.
Circus screamed. There was a ripping noise like wet satin, and Circus came undone like a week-old banana. As Richards pulled at the eye jewel, a zip appeared in the dwarf's face, and it unzipped. Not just the turban, or his clothes, but his entire façade, as if maquillage, vestments, skin and hat were all of a piece. The zip's teeth were the teeth of civet cats, curved and interlocking. They yielded with the faintest of mewls. Circus bucked and shrieked and fell beneath the table. Richards stood confused in the blazing room, clutching the eye brooch, which swivelled and wetly tickled his palm. All around was flaming peril, the taste of meat vile in his mouth.
He made to cast the skin aside.
"Misserr Rissshars! Missserrr Rissshars!" said Bear. "Reee! Reee! Re rion!" Richards stared at him for a second then hastily pointed the brooch at Tarquin. The arm Bear had the lion pinioned with had become that of a pig completely, leaving him defenceless.
"Er, Shazam!" yelled Richards, mimicking the dwarf. But Circus had not said exactly that, and the result was not what he intended. Rather than a heavy carving, Bear found himself wrestling with a skinless lion. It roared in agony as its hide slapped into a wall.
"What in the sweet holy name of God is fucking going on here?!" shouted Richards. He stared at the jewel – it stared back. He held it aloft, pointed at the lion and Circus attacked.
Richards' skin crawled in revulsion as the thing Pl'anna had become landed on his back. Atrophied fingers closed round Richards' face, obscuring his vision as a stench of rotting mackerel stole his breath. Richards staggered to and fro, knocking food and crockery into the voracious blaze as he went. He grabbed at the dwarf-thing, but his hands skidded on its slimy flesh.
"Richards! Richards! I didn't know, I didn't know! He changed me, he changed me! Help me, Richards, please!" Pollyanna's voice bubbled through inhuman lips even as claws scrabbled at Richards' eyes, and its voice changed back to that of Circus. "You wicked creature! All I ever wished for was womanhood!" Richards reeled back. Flailing madly, he drove it hard behind him, praying he did not stab himself on the hooks about the room. He was rewarded with a pitiful scream as the creature was impaled. He ran blindly. There was a jingle as the chain went taut, and Circus was wrenched from his back. Richards ran to the levers behind the curtain. He grasped them at random, flinging them this
way and that, using the slippery dwarf-case to protect his hands from the fire-hot metal. The jerking thing that was once Pl'anna dropped a few feet, screaming as it bounced. Large protruding eyes sat awkwardly either side of a lipless mouth, legs built for jumping, broad and powerful, forelimbs feeble sticks. Richards watched it scrabble weakly at the hook embedded in its shoulder. It looked at him pleadingly. Cheerful eyes in an ever-changing mask; flighty, wise, idiotic Pl'anna.
My God, what has k52 done? he thought.
Richards released the brake on the lever and yanked it back. There was a swift tattoo of chain on hollow wood, and Circus disappeared upwards, bleating as he went, pursuing the flames that devoured his home.
The pagoda was ablaze. Richards gagged at the pig carcasses, nausea redoubling now he realised their origins. Green fire played over them as their fat burned. Fruits roasted in the heat where they sat on the table. Bread blackened, baked for a second time. The furnishings against the wall burned, fire crawling from them to the higher levels of the tower. The huge rope, inflammably thick, twisted in the heat.