On Assignment to the Planet of the Exalted

by Helena Puumala

  “Yeah.” Lank grinned at her. “We’re going to use the town sort of as a story background, a made-up story of course. Like, ‘Oh, I’m in the lovely town of Oisir,/ I’m in Oisir with my buds’ and so forth. That’s a part of the chorus.”

  “Oh.”

  The woman looked a little dubious. Clearly she had no idea what Lank was talking about. Mathilde had warned Lank that she would be quite ignorant about music and songs, but Lank had said that it did not matter. He just wanted the word out that they would be using the town’s name in a song. It was pre-emptive damage control for “The Slumming Song” he had said. Kati had judged that the idea was a good one, and had told him to go ahead.

  She led the Troupe back out to the Square. They walked around it, determining that the best place for the performance was an open grassy area close to the Town Office, and across from the Inn and the Tavern.

  “There should be room for everyone in town,” Rakil said as he looked around. “People will have to sit on the grass or bring their own seating, though. But I imagine that they’re used to that.”

  There were a few benches on the Inn and Tavern side of the Square, but nothing on the grass.

  “We’ll have to stand, but that’s all right; we usually end up on our feet anyway. The drummers can sit cross-legged on the grass,” Kati added.

  “The lighting isn’t going to be all that great,” Lank muttered, looking up at the couple of street lights that were the only lamps in the area. “We’ll have to rig up our cart lights around the ‘stage area’ somehow. It’ll be dark by show time.”

  “The lights are portable,” Joaley said. “But we’ll need some kind of poles for them.”

  “We’ll go back to the Town Office and see if that lady knows where we could get some poles,” Kati decided. “They must have run into this problem before.”

  *****

  It was Mimi, the Inn proprietress, who provided them with four poles on sturdy bases. Normally they held the clotheslines, which were used by the Inn maids, but since it was not a wash day, Mimi’s handyman removed the lines and, with Rakil, Zass, and Lank’s help, hauled them to the Square from behind the Inn, and helped to attach the cart lights to them. They would have to be returned to their original use the next morning but that was hardly an insurmountable problem; the Troupe was leaving in the morning, and everyone would be up early.

  Once the lights were taken care of, the performers returned to the Inn, and, with Mimi’s permission, took their instruments to the back yard which now was empty of the clotheslines. With a couple of picnic tables there, it was a pleasant place to compose a song on a nice afternoon. Although Kati had to agree with Lank that on a laundry day it was likely not as good a hang-out.

  “Unless you’re a sheet or a towel,” he added with a grin, “then it likely is a grand place to hang.”

  Joaley groaned.

  *****

  “Perhaps you have heard rumours that we were busy today composing a new song, to honour this town, Oisir,” Kati said during her patter, about halfway into the sing-along portion of the show. “Well, the rumours are true. We have written a song, a tongue-in-cheek, sing-along ditty which was inspired by something we saw shortly after we arrived. Every one of us contributed a verse, so there are six, and I will name the contributor before each verse. But first, let’s learn the chorus of ‘The Slumming Song’ as we’re calling it.”

  The three Exalted men and their wives had positioned themselves in the front row when they had arrived at the Town Square. They had ostentatiously pushed aside a group of children who had come early to stake out the best spots, causing Kati to grit her teeth. But since the adult townspeople had accepted the intrusion of the nobles and their chairs without a murmur, she had decided to let well enough alone. To her surprise, the Exalted had settled down to enjoy the show. They listened to and applauded Mathilde’s ballads, and followed Rakil’s juggling antics and poetry recital, with as much joy as the now crowded contingent of children did. They gamely sang along with the choruses of the Tarangay sea shanties.

  It was the wives who appeared to look upon the Troupe members with apprehension and irritation. Perhaps they were perfectly aware that the Ordinary Citizens of the town were laughing at their husbands’ airs behind their backs, as the lesser classes habitually do.

  And Kati and her crew were about to encourage the mockery with their new song.

  “Well, let the chips fall as they will,” she subvocalized to the Granda before segueing into the chorus. The Monk did not bother to respond.

  THE SLUMMING SONG

  Chorus:

  I’m in the lovely town of Oisir

  I’m in Oisir with my buds,

  We came to this town to strut about

  And to drink the local suds.

  We’re here to do some slumming

  Among the local cruds,

  Among these hopeless duds.

  First Verse, by Lank:

  Know that I am a most important chap

  Know it by my bright gold crest.

  Oh, please observe my colourful cape

  And my fully puffed out chest.

  Well, I’m here to do some slumming

  And if you haven’t guessed,

  I think I’m better than the rest.

  Chorus

  Second Verse, by Joaley:

  Oh, I don’t like red-haired women

  That colour’s absurd to me,

  Though red’s OK for my cape and shirt

  Don’t ask for consistency.

  Well, I’m here to do some slumming

  And as you can no doubt see

  I don’t always think logically.

  Chorus

  Third Verse, by Rakil:

  The travellers who came to this town

  Brought an ape to juggle some balls!

  Well I don’t care how hairy he is

  Though I’m bothered by his treetop calls.

  Well, I’m here to do some slumming

  But you know what really galls?

  I think the ape has the bigger balls!

  Chorus

  Fourth Verse, by Mathilde:

  Well the local folk work hard and toil

  While I spend my days at play,

  Well someone’s got to spend the cash

  ‘Cause these suckers like to work all day.

  Well, I’m here to do some slumming,

  I know what you wanna say,

  Some day someone’s gonna pay.

  Chorus

  Fifth Verse, by Zass (with Lank’s help):

  Now all you people just roll your eyes

  While I sing my song of sorrow,

  It’s a very difficult life I lead

  Due at the racetrack on the morrow.

  Well, I’m here to do some slumming

  Though I really am quite poor, Oh

  Got some cash that I can borrow?

  Chorus

  Sixth Verse, by Kati:

  I’m an excellent, Exalted fellow,

  A member of the one percent.

  My society owes me a lot

  We Exalted are heaven sent.

  Well, I’m here to do some slumming

  And though I’m a perfect gent

  Things do seem a trifle bent.

  Chorus

  “Hey, that song’s about us!” Kati heard one of the peacocks in the front row, loudly whisper to his neighbour at the end of the song. “She sang ‘Oh, I’m an excellent, Exalted fellow’. Did you catch that?”

  “I sure did,” replied his wife, who appeared to be the oldest of the Undar girls to have married into nobility.

  “So don’t sound so sour about it, Babsy,” the husband said. “Heh, that’s kind of cool, you know. The off-worlders said they were going to sing about Oisir, but, instead, their song is about us, the Exalted visitors!”

  He sounded inordinately pleased, even while his wife clearly fumed. There were a few titters from the non-Exalted part of the audience, and the neighbours shu
shing the titterers. A child or two laughed, and Kati hurried to start the chorus again, calling on the listeners to join in with her, and, this time, try to sing the whole song with the Troupe.

  The three Exalted men clapped their hands and sang the song lyrics uproariously with the rest of the audience. The townspeople and the farmers obviously loved the joke; they participated in the sing-along with the enthusiasm people usually reserved for the “Mudball Song”, and howled for repeats.

  Kati, however, eyed Babsy’s angry face with unease. Babsy was going to make somebody pay, she guessed, and most likely her chosen payer would be the Troupe Leader.

  The show was a success in monetary terms, although the take at the end of the night was not as substantial as the rewards had been at Marita’s.

  “As long as we make ends meet on the road,” Kati said, as they totaled the coins.

  They had agreed to keep the income earned on the road in common—kept in the bag that Kati had hauled across the Drowned Planet, and brought to Vultaire. From it necessities would be paid for, and, as Kati had declared, “if someone needed or wanted something special, it would be bought as long as the funds were there”.

  *****

  “You damn foreigner bitch,” the Undar woman snarled at Kati, ignoring everyone else on the Square.

  It was early morning. The fellows were taking down the clothesline poles which had held the cart lights. Kati was returning the lights into their storage box which would go back on the cart. Joaley and Mathilde were not present; they were busy removing the travellers’ bags and instruments from the Inn, in preparation for an early start to travel.

  Rakil, Lank, Zass, and Mimi’s handyman who was helping them, stopped what they were doing to gaze at the confrontation. Rakil looked about ready to pitch the pole he had in his arms, and to rush to Kati’s aid. Kati noted the head shake which Lank directed at him; it clearly said “Let Kati handle this.”

  “You think that you’re so smart, you alien dirt, making a public joke out of my noble husband and his relatives!” Babsy added. “You’re nothing but a cheap Adventuress! Are you sleeping with the juggling ape, you whore? I’ve spent time in Port City and I know that the off-worlders consider the Borhquans great lovers. And I know the Warrions, so I know that you somehow managed to smuggle that simple Vultairian boy, who’s actually a Wild Klenser, out of Port City, right under the Warrion noses! And I’m going to tell them about him drumming with your Troupe, and they’ll come after you to take him back—he’s their property, after all!”

  She stomped closer to Kati, unpleasantly close; suddenly her arm struck out and Kati felt the sting of a slap on her cheek! For a split second she was in shock; then, she felt her own hand rising to grab the back of the shirt of the woman who had turned to stomp off. She stayed the hand.

  “Let me at that cow!” The Monk snarled inside her head. “I’ll fix her!”

  “No,” subvocalized Kati, but, oh, it cost her! Still, a cat fight was out of the question!

  Out loud she only said: “I guess we pissed somebody off!”

  Her cheek stung. The Granda would take care of it, though.

  Rakil and Lank stood still, holding the poles they were removing, seemingly in slight shock. She shook her head at them, to warn them to not do anything foolish.

  Mimi’s handyman shook his fist after the woman’s retreating back.

  “That Babsy Undar, she’s a piece of work,” he snarled. “Parlayed her looks into a rise in caste—almost. Got herself an Exalted husband. Note that she’s still an Undar, though. Her man’s family hasn’t invited her to become one of them; they don’t have to since she’s an Ordinary Citizen. So their kids will be just regular folks, too—if Old Man Undar’s descendants can be considered that, no matter that they’re not Exalted.

  “She tried to worm her way into the Warrion Family, but they’re too canny to fall for the charms of her like. Mathis Warrion used her, and then dropped her; she has to make do with the lack-brain that she snagged.

  “She’s a bitter woman who has to scrape and bow to the Exalted idiot she married, and is looking to get back at the world. Watch your backs. She’ll make whatever trouble she can.”

  “Drat,” Kati subvocalized to The Monk. “’The Slumming Song’ was a mistake. I should never have gone along with Lank’s notion. Mikal would not have done that.”

  “It’s too late for regrets,” The Monk responded with the mental equivalent of a snort. “You’ll just have to deal with the fall-out. And don’t talk like your boyfriend’s perfect. He isn’t.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Just southeast of the Ithcar Province was a region of rugged hills, unclaimed by any of the Four Hundred Families. It was not suitable for agriculture, and the trees, difficult to harvest, had been left to form an old-growth forest. Wildlife was abundant, and not afraid of human beings. Over the centuries, the area had acquired a reputation as a dangerous place. In the minds of many people it was populated by mythical monsters and ferocious creatures, making it a region to be avoided. Perhaps flying vehicles had been lost, never to be found again, in some distant past, since the Exalted would not fly their flits or flyers over it, but, instead, always detoured around it, regardless of how much this added to the length of their trips.

  The avoidance of the area was not altogether universal, however. The Carmaks of Ithcar were aware that the region’s reputation was unwarranted, as were the Ordinary Citizens in the nearest of the towns inside the Province. At some point, as the Resistance to the Oligarchic Government had developed, it had occurred to some bright rebel that the fear associated with the Dark Forest could be useful. A small portion of it had been turned into a rebel haven, known as the Underground Base.

  The Underground Base deserved its name in two ways. Firstly, it was populated by revolutionaries who wanted, or found it necessary, to disappear from the Exalted-controlled society. Secondly, it had been built into a natural cavern, which had, over time, been found to be not large enough, and had been expanded to accommodate more space under a construct built to look like a messy hill, covered with fallen trees, boulders and live shrubs. To get to the Base, a person had to hike a considerable distance from either Bouldertown in Ithcar, or from a campground just outside the province, on the road leading to the Capital City.

  One of the people at the Base was a runaway slave named Roxanna. As an off-worlder, she was so distinctive-looking that the Base was the only place on Vultaire where she was safe. So short that her head came barely to the chest-level of an adult Vultairian, and chocolate-skinned with curly black hair, she could not hope to pass as a native. The trip that had brought her from captivity in the Capital City to the Dark Forest had been a nightmare spent hiding inside a specially built cart, allowed out only to eat and to relieve herself at night. Even then she had had to be covered from head to toe, a large hood shadowing her face; the pretense having been that she was a very ill child.

  Because the Exalted whose property she had been, were equipped with translation nodes, Port City, where otherwise she might have passed unnoticed among the other off-worlders, was not a possible refuge. Any Exalted in touch with the Malaudin Family, would have recognized her in an instant. Port City would have been the first place the Malaudins would have sent word of their loss, and the Warrions were known for their fondness for making extra money by collecting and redeeming anything that earned them a reward—Wild Klensers and runaway slaves were both on that list.

  Since her arrival at the Base, Roxanna had made herself useful. Thanks to having a node, she had a facility with languages that none of the ordinary Vultairians had, an ability to quickly make complex calculations, and a memory which could accurately store a phenomenal amount of information. In fact, she was still discovering what her nodal capabilities were, but she had put those that she knew of at the service of the rebels who had rescued her.

  She had left the Malaudin’s brothel by herself because her friend Ingrid, brought into the bordello the same time that s
he had been, had refused to leave when opportunity had come knocking. Roxanna understood why the blond girl had refused to accompany her, but the loss of her only connection to her previous life was, nevertheless, frustrating. Ingrid had taken on the role of a protector to four little green girls who were also captives at the brothel. The girls adored Ingrid, bodily hung on to her every chance they got; Roxanna had had the weird feeling that somehow they drank Ingrid in, drew from her energy, energy which enabled them to endure the degradations that they were subjected to. Roxanna had been reminded of how, on the slave ship which had taken her from her home world, one of the odd-looking little boys who had come from some planet other than Earth, had called Ingrid a “she-god” as soon as his newly implanted translation node had started to function. Ingrid had been embarrassed by this, and Roxanna had teased her about it, but later she had come to wonder if the boy had not expressed something that the green girls sensed, too.

  “I can’t come with you, Roxanna,” Ingrid had said, running her fingers through her naturally platinum locks. “You said that there’s room for only you and me, and even if there was room for the girls—well, I have the feeling that the Malaudins would search high and low for them. Whatever they’re getting from the green girls—they value it highly. And the girls tell me that I’m what’s keeping them alive; usually their kind die quickly when they’re away from home. They want to stay alive in spite of everything, because, as long as they’re alive, whoever snatched them doesn’t have to go back and grab more girls. As long as they’re alive, they’re protecting other little green girls.”

  Her eyes had filled with tears.

  “If they can endure, I can, too.”

  She had taken a deep breath, and given her shoulders a shake.

  “But you have to go. And if you get a chance to find help for us, somewhere, somehow....” Her voice had trailed off.

  Roxanna had grasped the taller girl into a fierce hug.

  “I’ll do my best, I swear it. But I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

  Ingrid had hugged her back just as fiercely.

  “I understand. After all we haven’t heard from Katie yet, and she’s been gone for who knows how long. I know she would have done her best to get help—but who knows what’s out there? We don’t know what sort of a universe we’ve stumbled into.”