by Vernor Vinge
“Okay,” she said. “We’ve cleaned up our outfits. Your costume is still in good shape, Amdi. You just have to come on strong. You’re the Magnificent. What else can you introduce besides the juggling?”
“Knot tying? Can you do that, Ravna?” Amdi was pulling cordage from one of the wheelbarrows.
“Sure.” Better than a Tinish singleton, anyway. “And what about the comic relief?” That was a big part of circus performances in Woodcarver’s Domain.
A glint came into Amdi’s eyes. “I’ve been thinking about that.” Three of him were fiddling with a leash, making idle loops of it. “There’s a certain singleton that has been has been making me look the fool. Maybe now I can turn that around—”
As they’d been talking, Ritl had circled in on Amdi and was blabbering more and more loudly. She was now well within Amdi’s personal space. Five of him turned abruptly on Ritl, throwing the leash in a coordinated attack so that the singleton’s neck, forelegs and hindlegs were simultaneously caught in three separate loops. Ritl exploded in shrieking fury as Amdi flipped the creature onto her side. From the loft, Screwfloss hooted laughter.
Amdi stepped back, keeping tension on the various loops of leash. “Where was I?” he said. “Oh, yes. Ritl still needs her costume.” Two of him walked to the far wheelbarrow and took out a conical leather collar. He passed it from member to member, and those standing by Ritl’s head fastened the cone around the critter’s neck.
Ritl twisted about, jaws snapping on empty air. Her hissing spiked painfully loud. The conical collar stuck forward all around her head, drastically reducing her field of view. Her screeching quieted as she seemed to realize her total helplessness.
Amdi noticed the look on Ravna’s face. “I haven’t hurt her, honestly. This is a standard costume for clown singletons. Isn’t that right, Jefri?”
“Um, true.” But Jefri had a surprised expression on his face too. Amdiranifani was so rarely aggressive. More than most packs, the eightsome had sympathy for the oppressed.
“Right! Now it’s time to put on the clown paint.” He passed a couple of dye sticks to Ravna. “I’ll tell you what to draw. Just don’t touch her eyes or tympani and she’ll be fine.”
Ravna looked uncertainly at the two sticks. The handles were especially broadened for easy jaw handling. Amdi had plenty of free members to do the job himself.
“Go ahead, Ravna. The mindsound is awful, even from a singleton. I don’t want any more of me to stand near Ritl.”
“Okay.” Ravna knelt beside the animal, drew her hand in a gentle petting stroke along its back, much as the Children did with their Best Friends. Ritl shrieked and tried to scratch at her, but gradually settled back.
“Now start with big pink circles around the shoulder and haunch tympana…”
It took about fifteen minutes, and Jefri helping with the other colors, but in the end Ritl was dolled up more than any member Ravna had ever seen, including Godsgift.
When they were done, Amdi refastened the leash to a clasp that hung from Ritl’s collar. Then he let it go loose. Ritl was quiet for a second, then raced across the stable to where the brightest bit of sky light shone on the straw. The singleton spun around and around, futilely trying to get a look at what they had done to its body. Finally, the poor thing got tangled up in the leash again and tipped over.
“See?” said Amdi, though not quite with perfect enthusiasm. “The audience will think it’s hilarious.” He pointed a snout upwards. “Screwfloss thinks it’s hilarious.”
In fact, Screwfloss’ heads were rippling up and down in amusement. That cut short when Amdi sang out a sequence of chords that meant something like “now it’s your turn,” and gestured at the remnant to come down to ground level.
All heads but one jerked back, out of sight. Ravna heard sullen gobbling. Amdi replied with something cheerful. Three of him gathered up the dye sticks, the others looking up and gesturing to Screwfloss.
One by one, the remnant came down the ladder, the limper last of all. The four grouped at the bottom, glowering at Amdi.
Ravna and Jefri exchanged glances, and Jefri said, “Be careful, Amdi. Remember who that is.”
“I … I remember. I’m not going to force anything on him.” Amdi started toward the far end of the stable, where the harness gear was hung. It was cozy, but with enough room for two packs to have a private chat. After a moment, Screwfloss followed suspiciously. The two disappeared behind the harness racks. There was the sound of quiet discussion. “I can’t tell what they’re saying,” said Jefri. Half a minute passed and still no battle sounds. The loudest sounds in the stable were the kherhogs fidgeting in their stalls and Ritl hissing to herself.
─────
It was getting noisy outside. Ravna recognized the wheezy music that announced entertainment events.
Screwfloss and Amdi broke off their rehearsing. Amdi hustled around the stable, getting everyone together, making sure the necessary props were all in a single wheelbarrow. Screwfloss moved close to the door. His smudged disguise had been wiped away—not that a disguise made sense this far from Woodcarver’s Domain. Now his pelts were decorated with a black and white checkered pattern. He held Ritl on a leash. Screwfloss didn’t look happy, but that might have been Ritl’s fault. Ravna walked over to give the pack some encouragement. Screwfloss looked up at her and spoke the first Samnorsk she’d heard from him since the night that part of him died: “We make big laugh. You see.” One of him gave her a gentle bump.
Outside, a pack thumped on the door and gobbled loudly.
“They’re ready, guys!” said Amdi. “Ravna, please get on my general left.” Jefri was already standing on the other side of the eightsome. “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I’ll give you plenty of cues. We’ll be okay!” Wail.
The door was already sliding open, the music shifting to a fast tempo. Screwfloss lurched into the daylight, Ritl perforce accompanying him. Beyond the musicians (one or both of their guards were making all the wheeze), Ravna could see a well-spaced crowd, nothing like the mob of earlier in the day.
Screwfloss still had his limp, but now he was faking another limp on the other side of himself. The two of him who were holding the leash walked close together as if they were suffering from lateral hearing impairment. It was the gait he’d been practicing since he’d finished putting on the checkered makeup. Ritl might not be acting a part, but her dogged efforts to inconvenience her “master” were a perfect foil for Screwfloss’ performance: the fool and the fool’s pet. It was cruel medieval humor, and the crowd’s laughter drowned out the music.
Then Amdi stepped out into the daylight, flanked by the two humans. The crowd’s laughter faltered, and there were wondering hoots. The two guards walked forward, clearing the way. One of them was dragging the barrow like a small cart.
“Just stroll along after the guards,” said Amdi. “The Innmaster told me these are paying customers, charged double to see us both here and then again for our performance.”
The guards followed a flagstoned path leading to the inn. There were wagons parked everywhere, even near where the winch platform sat like a cockeyed gazebo in the roar and the mist of the waterfall.
More packs were watching from the portico of the inn, but now the guards swung wide around that building, leading both the performers and the high-paying customers on a long parade that ended at the largest amphitheater Ravna had yet seen on Tines World.
─────
Amdi’s troupe paused under awnings at the edge of the arena, hidden from the view of the crowd.
The Innmaster walked to the center of the arena. The flagstones were fitted in an intricate design, but here and there were dark splatter marks that were not part of the design. Ugh. Animal sacrifice?
The Innmaster was giving some sort of speech. That went on for only a few seconds before there were shouts from above, and a then a steady chanting from all sides. Amdi had a couple of heads in public view, but the rest of him was crouched down
. “Hei! They’re shouting ‘We paid our money and we don’t have to listen to you!’”
Out on the arena, the Innmaster tossed his heads in a disgusted gesture, and stomped off to his box in the grandstands.
“Does that mean we’re on?” said Ravna.
The eightsome huddled down lower.
“Amdi?” said Jefri, cajoling from the pack’s other side. “You’ve done fine so far. Go!”
“I, I, I haven’t had enough time to plan. I—”
The crowd chanted louder and louder. A very rotten yam splashed across the awning, sending little splatters down on Screwfloss. He made a disgusted noise and lost his close hold on Ritl’s leash. The singleton bounded into the open, her caution of earlier in the day forgotten. She ran in a wide arc, all the while gobbling loudly. She stopped, pranced about on her rear legs for a moment, then lost sight of the ground behind her collar/blinder and tipped over. She bounced up, still shouting. She was bragging about something, almost certainly nonsensical. But the eerie thing was how much she sounded like the Innmaster giving his spiel.
The crowd’s chanting turned to laughter.
Ritl hesitated, nonplussed. She hopped back and forth, demanding serious attention. When the laughter just came louder, she charged the nearest of the tiered stands—and was hauled up short by Screwfloss’ leash. She darted off to the side, pulling on the leather. Meanwhile, Ravna noticed Screwfloss’ heads bobbing in surprised amusement. He slid a glance in Amdi’s direction, and then—still out of sight of the audience—very deliberately dropped the leash.
In the arena, poor Ritl almost fell over again. Then she recovered and ran along the edge of the stands, trailing her very long leash.
Screwfloss bumbled out into public view, his members covered with that checkered design, limping on two sides. He chased after the singleton’s leash, remarkably missing it again and again. Finally he did a four-way body flop on the stone flags, trapping the leather somewhere under himself. He rose, the leash grasped firmly in four pairs of jaws. He bowed triumphantly, and started making his own speech. But the fool’s pet was not cooperating: Ritl ran round and round the foursome, faster and closer as the length of free leash diminished.
Finally, Screwfloss tripped on the leash. He staggered around, squawking indignation. The crowd thought this was still funnier. More rotten vegetables splattered down, but this was crude applause. One caught Screwfloss on a shoulder, splashing color across his checkered design. Ritl seemed to be laughing about this, but she had her own missiles to avoid, and without success.
Screwfloss dithered in apparent panic, then all of him turned toward where Amdi and company were hidden. Even Ravna could see the melodrama in his pose. His Tinish plea meant something like: “Master. Master! Come out!”
And so Amdi was forced into action. He gave a low, heartfelt wail … and bounded into the arena.
The laughter changed to cheers, and the rain of rotten vegetables ebbed. Amdi was walking more proudly than Ravna had ever seen him, with the ones in the middle pointing their heads straight up. If this were a human, it would be a guy holding his arms up for the audience’s acclaim.
Jefri slid across the space Amdi had vacated. He had a huge, wondering grin on his face.
“What’s he saying?” asked Ravna.
“It’s too fast for me. He’s promising them things—”
Consider the local dialect differences, Amdi was probably talking too fast for much of his audience—but maybe that just added to the glamour. Amdi waved grandly to Screwfloss and Ritl. The two left the arena, still very much in character—though Ravna was convinced their behavior was only an act for one of them. Screwfloss slid under the awning and tied Ritl to one of the wood pillars. He was grinning and grumbling—and taking turns trying to swab the juice off his pelt. He glanced across at Ravna and Jefri and there was something wicked in his smile, something that seemed to say “your turn is next!”
“Jefri! Ravna!” Amdi’s human voice spoke as he continued his showman gobbling. “I’m just about ready to invite you out. Jefri comes to me and Ravna stays back out of mindsound range. Okay?” It was essentially what they had discussed back in the stable.
“Okay!” Jefri shouted back.
But then the clouds briefly parted and Amdi was standing in late afternoon sunlight, his cloaks’ beadwork aglitter, his painted footgear shining like real silver tines. Somewhere in the midst of him were the two members that didn’t have fancy costumes, but Ravna couldn’t see them.
Amdi glanced up at the sunlight, startled. Then: “Very good!” he boomed, now making a simultaneous translation. “I give you the wonders of the northern world, the creatures from beyond the sky, the creatures who can think without sound, who can think each by itself. I give you … the two-legs!” Four of him jammed their heads straight up, and the other four swung around to point where Ravna and Jefri were hidden beneath the awnings. By golly, there was even a musical fanfare coming from the eight.
“Do you suppose that’s our cue?” said Jefri.
“Unh,” said Ravna, finally feeling stage fright herself.
They walked out from under the awnings, and stood at their full height, visible to all. Just as when they emerged from the stable, the audience fell nearly silent. Jefri and Ravna turned in opposite directions, raising their arms to show off their hands. Ravna was scanning the crowd, watching for yam throwers. These stands were similar to Woodcarver’s meeting place at her old capital, but even larger. Each tier was built almost directly above the one below, and the “seating” was delimited mainly by quilted sound absorbers and premium boxes. Amdi’s moment of sunlight was past and the grandstands were in deepening gloom. It was hard to say how many packs were up there; they were crammed together closer than she had ever seen. There were heads everywhere, almost all focused downwards, on the two humans.
And then she and Jefri were face to face again. She reached out, brushed his sleeve with her hand. “I never guessed we’d end up here.”
Jef’s tense expression broke into a smile. “And I’ll bet you never guessed that my juggling was a survival skill.” He caught her hand for an instant and then they parted, Ravna retreating to the edge of the arena.
Amdi surrounded Jefri, continuing his showman’s spiel. He wasn’t translating anymore, but Ravna recognized the chord “five-tentacle paws.” He walked to the wheelbarrow that was set near center of the arena, and tossed three colored balls to Jefri.
Jefri began cautiously, with just the three balls in a simple up and across. Then he launched them higher and higher, brought them down low, bounced the cycle of tosses off the ground. Amdi threw him a fourth ball. That had worked well enough when they were practicing in the stable—but now Jefri lost control. It took him several tries to keep all four in the air. Ravna looked across the stands. Still no rotten yams, and the storm of clicking sounds was applause. To these packs, the impressive thing was that this monstrous, teetering singleton could juggle anything at all.
The most popular part of Jefri’s act was a bit of luck right at the end: A persistently rowdy pack in the second tier tossed a single yam down at Jefri. Jefri snagged it without getting splattered—and now he was juggling five!
“Toss it back,” said Amdi, and shouted some kind of warning into the stands. Jefri brought the other balls down to earth, then stood eyeing the stands. No pack could have seen much in the beclouded twilight, but after a moment, Jefri stepped back and threw a high, slow lob—that plinked exactly the member of the pack who had tossed it.
Ravna held her breath. She had no idea what such an insult might mean to these creatures. But everyone was laughing. The fellow looked around, even its own heads bobbing with amusement. It had other veggies, and after a few tries—and a sturdier yam—the pack and the two-legs were playing catch.
Before there could be more audience participation, the Magnificent Amdi waved Jefri out of the arena—and gestured to Ravna. Her show business debut was at hand.
─────
Alas, the knot-tying made a limp finale. Even with the heavy ropes the Innmaster supplied, there wasn’t much for the audience to see, especially in the fading light. On the other hand, it didn’t challenge her sense of balance—and no one tossed rotten yams at her. As she held up her latest creation, she looked across the stands. The applause wasn’t wild, but she sensed a kind of somber speculation looking back at her. Perhaps she had not proved her super-singleton intelligence, but she had demonstrated that, for close work, a two-legs was defter than any full-bodied pack.
In any case, her act did not go on as long as Jefri’s. Amdi began to wind things down, waving at Screwfloss to do one more comedy go-around. But as the remnant untied Ritl, the Innmaster came strolling out from his private box in the grandstands. His gobbling carried liquid overtones. He was asking for something, all very politely. Whatever he was saying met with loud approval from the audience.
Amdi dithered in surprise. Jefri was walking out onto the arena.
“What? What?” said Ravna.
Jefri gave her an odd smile. “I think our host wants permission for a select few of the audience to come down and … um … pet us.”
Amdi had turned his attention to Ravna and Jefri, and for the first time his posture slumped out of magnificence. “That’s exactly right. None of these packs have met humans before; if even a few are hostile … what do you want to do?” Now all of him was looking at Ravna. And so was Jefri.
“I—” she looked up at the crowd. At this moment the vast majority were actively friendly. And we may need that tomorrow, when we try to leave. It was the story of her life on this world, making scary near-term bets. “Tell them ‘yes,’ Amdi.”
“Okay.” Amdi boomed his agreement, for a change speaking very slowly and simply. Then to Ravna and Jefri he said, “I told them only one at a time. The Innmaster’s guards will stay near enough to make sure no one plays rough.”