They had their performance in the nearby city, then directed Jonah to swim to the Llano. He set forth, and they slept.
In the morning they found the fish hovering over a broad, flat, treeless plain.
"Did he get lost?" the drummer asked. "Not a town or river in sight!"
"Cursed immortal creatures don't get lost," Jezebel said. "I know."
The drummer shrugged. By this time everyone knew Jezebel's nature, and that she was as totally uninterested in obliging any of their big notions as was Orb. The boys regarded it as a phenomenal loss, though it didn't seem to bother them by day. By night, however, their frustrated conversations were a source of continuing amusement to all three women. It seemed to be the consensus that never in history had three such attractive and virile young men been so intimately housed with three such beautiful women with so little significant action. What a ghastly loss! Lou-Mae was shocked by some of their notions, Orb was disgusted, and Jezebel bored. But not one of them ever hinted to the boys about this aspect of Jonah's nature; it was too much fun to listen. In fact, they discovered that they could talk freely to each other, from their individual chambers, simply by doing it; it seemed that by Jonah's definition, talking to a person was the same as talking about a person. It was convenient.
They rechecked the map, and found that Jonah had brought them to the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain, instead of to the county, town, or river.
"But maybe he's right," the guitarist said. "Maybe this is the real place."
"I don't know," Lou-Mae said, teasing him. "See how all the little counties are real squares, here, straight up and down. But down next to the County of Llano they're all jumbled, as if God just took them and shoved them over to make room for Llano."
He contemplated the map. "Maybe you're right."
"I'm not sure that human boundaries have any meaning for this," Orb said, though she, too, was struck by the manner that a large section of the counties had been skewed, as if riding a tectonic plate that had rotated forty-five degrees. Could that relate?
They decided to accept Jonah's verdict: that the plain was the correct Llano. The fish descended, and they disembarked.
Orb walked out on the plain, seeking the song. She did not know what she was looking for, but she hoped that if she made herself receptive it would come to her. If this truly was the place for it. She had been disappointed in India; the source of the Gypsies had not been the source of the Llano.
The Gypsies. It made no obvious sense, but maybe She looked around. The others were far removed, looking in their own fashions. No one would see.
She began to dance the tanana, hoping that it would somehow attract the song to it. She moved her body in the ways that were calculated to inflame men's minds, and assumed the poses that no decent girl should know. She was dancing for neither man nor fish, but for the song. Would it work?
She got into it, the spirit of the dance hauling her body and mind into it, making her wanton. Then it seemed that a melody began to come, very faint but evocative. Its theme was lovely, prettier than any mortal tune, but underneath was a richness and power that was to any ordinary song what the ocean was to a lake. The essence of it reached into the very heart of her, reshaping that heart to its own likeness, changing her being in an ineffable manner. Ah, the song, the song . . . !
Then it faded, and she found herself exhausted, standing alone. Had she tuned in on the Llano? Had she imagined it? She could not be sure of its source, but there was something; she felt it within her, like the onset of a pregnancy.
A pregnancy. What had happened to her baby, Orlene? Would she ever know?
Disheartened, she walked back to the floating fish. She was not sure whether she had accomplished anything.
The tour continued. They played to larger and larger halls, always filled to capacity. It seemed that the whole world now knew of the Livin' Sludge; news items manufactured from nothing appeared daily in the media. But they were bound to their quest, telling no one else about it. The Llano-where was it?
Orb's power of music was growing; there was no longer any doubt. She could tell this not so much by the way the Sludge performances mesmerized ever-larger audiences, but by the way the other members of the group performed. She no longer had to sing or play; she merely had to be there. That had not been the case at the outset of the tour. Now Lou-Mae could sing alone, and the magic reached out; the drummer could play a solo, and the magic was there. But the others informed her that when they practiced while she was out of the fish, it didn't work. They could play well enough, but there was no magic; they all felt the difference.
"When you're with us, it's in three-dee color," the drummer explained. "Otherwise, two-dee black/white. Without you, we're just another nobody group."
"Well, we are a group," she responded, trying not to feel flattered, knowing that her talent was from no virtue of hers; she owed it to heredity. "We will always perform together."
But she spoke prematurely. They were looping north, now, and it was winter; storms and snow interrupted communications and transportation. A few days before Christmas the weather was so threatening at the city of their engagement that they decided to set up at the hall early. Jonah nudged up to the building, and they unloaded the instruments. They no longer needed the mikes and amplifiers and speakers, because the magic reached the members of the audience more effectively. That was another evidence of Orb's increased power. The drummer and Lou-Mae and the organist remained there to warm up, while Orb and Jezebel elected to fit in some Christmas shopping. The guitarist hesitated, then decided to return to the fish with them. Orb knew why; away from Jonah, he was subject to the call of the H and he preferred to avoid that.
They boarded the fish, and Jonah swam up over the city. They went downtown, where Orb and Jezebel got off. The wind cut cruelly along the streets, driving them quickly into the stores. That was all right; shopping was what they had come for. Orb intended to get token gifts for all the members of the group, and Jezebel was interested in new books for her library.
They forgot the time and were late finishing. Dusk was closing when they stood on the street with their arms full of packages, and Orb mentally called Jonah.
Normally the fish arrived promptly, but this time he didn't. They waited somewhat impatiently, the wind seeming to become more cutting. Orb's cloak automatically thickened, keeping her warm, and Jezebel was immune to temperature, but they didn't like getting their hair mussed. Finally they backed into an alcove for shelter-and found themselves in the company of several shivering musicians of another kind. They were of the Salvation Army, and it was evident that their effort to raise funds had been practically blotted out by the weather.
Orb set down her armful and reached into her purse-only to discover that she had spent all her available cash. She looked at Jezebel, who shook her head in negation. "They wouldn't care for demon-offering," she muttered.
"Oh, I don't know," Orb said. "Isn't it the spirit that counts?"
Jezebel shrugged and brought out a golden coin. She tossed it in the kettle-and the moment it touched, it burst into flame, taking with it whatever paper money had already been there. "Damned money!" the succubus exclaimed, meaning it literally. "Now look what I've done!"
Appalled, Orb looked at the musicians. How could she apologize for this? She knew that Jezebel had not intended evil, but the evil attached to her without her choice.
"I-I'll try to make it up to you," Orb said. She borrowed a book from the hands of the nearest musician, and opened it, and began to sing:
"Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war, With the Cross of Jesus going on before."
She did not have her harp with her, knowing that it was quite safe in Jonah. But the magic was present, and the melody rang out across the street. Jezebel shrank away, but the others joined in. The magic spread out to touch them, too, the effect amplifying.
People hurrying by paused to listen. Others emerged from the stores. By the time the song was finished,
there was a crowd-and offerings were pouring into the kettle, far more than enough to make up for what had been lost.
Then Orb saw Jonah nudging in. She hurried to pick up her packages. "Bless you, soldiers!" she cried. "Come on, Jez!"
Jonah opened his mouth and they stepped in. No one seemed to notice. The crowd was beginning to dissipate, but money was still coming into the kettle. The musicians seemed bewildered, but pleased.
They had boarded just in time, for now the sun was setting, and Jezebel became her nocturnal self. "I was afraid I'd get caught out there too late!" she said. "But you know, Orb, if you don't have the Llano, you surely have something like it. What you did was what the Llano does."
Orb paused, surprised. "I never saw it that way," she said. "But I suppose-"
"We got to get moving!" the guitarist said, hurrying up the throat. "It's almost time for the show!"
"I know!" Orb exclaimed, sweeping on toward her chamber. "We forgot the time, then Jonah delayed. Where were you going, so far away?"
"Nowhere," he protested. "Jonah was just sitting there waiting; it only took him a minute, once he started moving. You mean you called him before?"
"Certainly I called him!" Orb snapped as she picked up her harp. "A good ten minutes before he came!"
"Maybe he didn't hear you."
"He must have, because he did come-eventually."
Jonah was swimming down again. Orb and the guitarist stood just inside the piscine lips, ready to jump out the moment the mouth opened. "I'll have cocoa waiting for you," Jezebel said, standing behind them. They had discovered by experimentation that no drug, alcohol included, had any effect within the fish, so the boys had gravitated to the more wholesome snacks that the girls preferred. Even the caffeine in coffee was nulled. Clean living was the order of the day and night, in Jonah.
The mouth opened. The tongue flipped, and abruptly they were out.
"Hey!" Jezebel exclaimed.
Orb looked at her, startled. "But I thought you were staying in!"
"That's what I thought!" the succubus replied.
"Jonah spat us all out," the guitarist said.
Orb turned to face the fish. "Jonah, she wasn't supposed to-" But she broke off, for Jonah was gone.
"Where are we?" the guitarist asked.
"Why, at the auditorium for-" Orb broke off again. For that was not where they were. Instead they stood before the city hospital.
"Jonah got the wrong address!" the guitarist cried. "He never did that before!"
"Did he?" Jezebel asked. "Then why did he spit me out? You have to watch these demonic types; I know. I think he wanted to clear us all out of him."
"I can't believe that!" Orb said, flustered. "All he had to do was make known his wish, and we would have left."
"Listen, we can't worry 'bout that right now," the guitarist said. "We got a show to make!"
"But the hospital is all the way across the city from the engagement hall!" Orb said, upset. "The program is set to begin now; we can't possibly get there on time."
"What about me?" Jezebel asked. "You know what's going to happen within my hour?"
Orb put her hands to her head. "I don't know what to do"
"Call the hall, call a taxi," the guitarist said. "I'll do it."
But there was no phone on the street, and no taxis in sight, and the blustering wind was buffeting them. "Inside, there must be a phone," Orb said.
They piled into the hospital. But they had entered by a side door, and there was no desk and no phone. They moved down an endlessly long series of halls.
A white-gowned doctor emerged from a side hall, almost colliding with the guitarist. "Ah, there you are!" the doctor said. "Not a moment too soon! We ran out an hour ago, and our replacement can't get through till tomorrow."
"This is a misunderstanding," Orb said quickly. "We don't belong here; we're just looking for a phone."
"You don't have the medication?" the doctor asked, appalled. "The message said an entertainment group was bringing it. We have terminal patients in pain; we don't know how we're going to tide them through the night! Listen."
They listened. Now they heard a low groaning that seemed to come from several rooms, punctuated by a sudden scream. "They are beyond ordinary drugs," the doctor said. "The pain reaches through and it doesn't stop."
The guitarist swallowed. "Could you use spelled H?"
The doctor looked at him with renewed hope. "You are the courier!"
The guitarist brought out his packet. "Guess so."
The doctor took it eagerly, weighing it by heft. "This is potent?"
"Strongest H on the market."
"Excellent! This amount should tide us through the night. What's the charge?"
The guitarist gulped again. "No charge. It's-you know, gray market." The doctor nodded. "We certainly appreciate this! A dozen patients will bless you, sir!" He hurried off.
"You gave away your H?" Orb asked, still hardly believing it.
"Well, it's, you know, good for killing pain, when the legal stuff don't work."
"But how will you get through?"
"It was them or me, and what am I worth?"
"About what I am," Jezebel said glumly. "Damn, I hate what I'm going to do!"
Orb made as if to tear her hair. "Why did Jonah do this to us? Everything we have had is going to fall apart tonight!"
Jezebel looked at her. "You know, when you sing, your magic touches everyone near. I wonder-if Jonah can do it-"
"Yeah!" the guitarist agreed as if grasping at a straw.
"You make us more than we are! Maybe if you sing now-" Suddenly Orb remembered her experience in the Llano Estacado. That feeling of wholeness, of power. Was it possible?
"Take my hands," she said.
They took her hands, standing there in the hospital hall. Orb sang the song that came to her, heedless whether it was relevant.
"You must walk that lonesome valley You have to walk it by yourself ..."
The magic came, spreading through her body slowly, as if encountering resistance. She fixed the image of the plain in her mind, seeing it as the valley of the fate of those with desperate compulsions. She walked that valley, not by herself, but with and for those who could not otherwise get through it.
"Oh, nobody else can walk it for you ..."
But somebody else could walk it with them, and that was what she was doing. They walked for themselves, but buttressed by her song, that was spreading slowly to their bodies. It was not the Llano, but it suggested it, as the magic suggested that of Jonah, stabilizing them. She became a conduit for a hint of the enormous power she sought, the power to put a hold on a curse. The walk of life itself, through lonesome territory, but not alone. Sustained by the strength of friendship and commitment.
Orb became aware that the song was over when they disengaged their hands. "It's backing off!" the guitarist said. "I think I can fight it, now!"
"Yes," Jezebel agreed. "Not as far off as it is in Jonah, but distanced just enough."
Orb wasn't sure what she had accomplished, or whether they had merely convinced themselves that she had helped. She decided not to question it. Certainly something had passed through her.
They resumed their walk down the hall. Now they came to a desk. "Ah, you must be the entertainers," a nurse said. "That ward's about to burst at the seams! We promised them their kind of music, but with this weather we were afraid you wouldn't get through. Right this way."
"Their kind of music?" Orb asked. "What is that?"
"They call it 'rusty iron'," the nurse said. "It's horrible." She paused, glancing back at them. "Uh, no offense, of course. To each his own peculiar taste."
"You know that kind?" Orb asked the guitarist.
"Some," he admitted. "But listen, that stuff is bad! We used to try it once in a while, before we got with you, but, well, that's part of what got our other singer out other head. You have to be insane to go for it."
"Here we are," the nurse said. "The psyc
ho ward. Go right in."
"Suddenly it makes sense!" Jezebel said.
"Wait!" Orb protested. "We can't do this! We-"
"You have to," the nurse said, looking harried. "They'll riot if we renege now! We had to promise-"
"You don't understand," Orb said. "I'm the only one here with an instrument, and I have no knowledge of-"
"You don't understand," the nurse said. "The season and the storm have brought the inmates to the point where any trifling thing can set them off. We're shorthanded for the same reason. Once things get out of control, there will be absolute mayhem!" She unlocked the door and drew it open.
The sound hit them like the roar of ocean breakers. It was bedlam. Patients were running around, some in dishabille, some screaming unintelligibly, some banging against the furniture. Harried aides were trying to attend to the needs of individuals, but it was evident that they were so tired that they were hardly better off than the patients. This might once have been an orderly ward; now it was at the verge of chaos.
"They're here!" the nurse screamed. "Find your places!"
The effect was magical. "Rusty iron!" a patient cried jubilantly, and suddenly every person was scrambling for his chair. This was evidently intended to be a social setting, with comfortable chairs and television and assorted board games, cards, and books; the cards and books were scattered across the floor, and the television screen was filled with an interference signal, appropriately. Live entertainment was what was required.
"We've got to do it, somehow," the guitarist said. "But you know I can't sing a note, and without my strings-"
"I'm not part of this at all," Jezebel reminded them. "Cooking's the only mundane skill I ever tackled."
"But I couldn't possibly do this-this rusty iron," Orb said. "The best I can do is support someone else who performs it. All I can do alone is my kind of song."
"Do what you have to do!" an aide cried urgently. "Maybe they'll buy it!"
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