J. Calvin Pierce, page 66
She started to straighten up, to square her shoulders, but found it to be too much trouble. She sighed and left the lane. Did people knock here? she asked herself. Besides the field guide, she needed a pamphlet on etiquette and protocol. She was halfway between the lane and the door when she was stopped by a voice from behind her.
“Lulu!”
Marcia didn’t bother to turn quickly. She stopped, paused, then looked back. Suzy, still dressed as she had been at the dance, stood across the lane between two shanties. She was the only spot of color to be seen. The night, the shadows, the silhouetted buildings, even Marcia’s clothing seemed to present to the eye only shades of gray. Lulu looked like a hand-tinted figure in a black-and-white photo. Her matching lipstick and shoes seemed to burn in the darkness.
“Don’t go in there.”
Marcia noticed Suzy’s voice had lost its sprightly lilt.
“What, the band’s no good?”
Suzy smiled. Marcia had no idea what a dreen was, but this one was very pretty. When Suzy took a step toward her, Marcia raised her hand in warning.
“You’ll have trouble there,” said Suzy in a monotone that didn’t go with her appearance. “And Ulda will find you if you exert your power.”
“I’m having trouble everywhere.”
“You are weak now.”
Marcia felt the anger rising in her—the now-predictable tiny throbbing of the mark next to her eye.
“Then stop me, Suzy.” She strode to the door with more confidence than she felt, and knocked briskly.
The face that greeted her seemed to fill the door. “Oh, a vissitor,” it hissed. “How nice. Do step in.”
Marcia took a step backward instead. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Suzy crossing the lane. Her smile had vanished; her face looked grim.
“Don’t be shy,” urged the voice from the door. It was high pitched to come from such a large mouth. The face drew back. It was perhaps not so large as Marcia’s first startled impression had made it seem. It belonged to a man of about her own size, in appearance somewhat older, and with a rim of straight gray hair framing a bald head. Marcia took one more look at Suzy, now a dozen feet away, then stepped into the room.
The impression was that the man was wearing a mask, like some tribal dancer with a body supporting an outsize head.
“See, Mother?” he said, swinging his head in the direction of a woman who looked like his twin, and who was huddled on the floor by an open trapdoor.
Marcia thought she heard faint chittering noises. As she watched, a miniature version of the big heads poked from the opening in the floor. The woman clubbed it with her forearm before looking up.
“My, won’t the children be pleased?” she crowed. She scrambled to her feet with an awkward agility that didn’t fit her appearance. “Where are the hammers?”
Marcia felt uncomfortable. The woman had hardly glanced at her. She began to introduce herself, but was interrupted by the man.
“Right next to you, of course. Where would they be?” His tone was rough. Marcia felt more uncomfortable yet. All she wanted was a glass of water. They could argue later. Hammers?
The man was smiling in her direction. Again Marcia began to say something. The woman put her huge head almost into the hole and shrieked. The sound seemed to continue as she bent to pick up a pair of heavy, short-handled mallets. With a final look at the hole, she joined the man, handing him one of the tools.
For the first time, the woman gave her attention to Marcia. Her look was uncomfortably personal in a very impersonal way. She stepped sideways until she was several feet from the man. They both faced Marcia with alert smiles and wide-eyed stares.
Marcia stepped back to the wall. The man was closer to the door than she was. The woman took another careful step to the side.
As though he had read her mind, the man nodded toward the hammer he held. “Makes it easier for the children,” he said.
The woman nodded and spoke directly to Marcia. “The bones, you know,” she said conversationally.
Marcia smiled politely. She felt grateful to the woman for acknowledging her. Baby food. When the woman took a step in her direction, she raised her ring hand.
“Don’t come near me!” It had worked last night with the dreen.
“What’s thisss?” hissed the man.
“I am stronger than you. Move away from the door.” The dizziness Marcia began to feel seemed to be originating in her feet. The crude lamp hanging on the wall appeared to tip slightly. From the region of the trapdoor, the chittering sound rose again.
The woman bounded to the corner and shrieked again, then leapt back while the painful echoes were still in Marcia’s ears. She moved with impossible speed, like some springing insect.
“Well, in that case …,” said the man. For a moment he was silent. The woman had her eyes fixed on him. Her lips were parted in a manic grin. In a blur of motion he cocked his bony arm and launched his hammer at Marcia.
It didn’t rotate in the air like a knife, Marcia noted. She didn’t know if that was because of the way he had thrown it, or because he was standing less then twenty feet from her. Whatever the reason, when the mallet left his grip, it came headfirst, unwavering as an arrow, straight at the middle of her face. It was, she thought, an extremely accurate throw.
She had a moment to think of the mugger in the alley last summer who had tried to hit her with his fist. Then, as now, time had seemed to slow down, to give her a chance to react.
She leaned to one side, shifting her feet beneath her, and watched the hammer punish the wall a few inches from her head. She let the weapon fall to the floor, then snatched it up, and rose to face her attackers.
The woman was jumping up and down in such a way that she only moved below the waist. Her upper body and huge head remained in one position like a hovering bird of prey. Her face was contorted with rage.
“Ours! The hammers are ours! We have the hammers! Us! Us! Give it back!” She darted toward Marcia, coming about halfway, then retreated and continued her furious dance.
The man was staring at Marcia. “She’s as fast as you, Mother. Faster.”
“We’ll see,” said the woman, settling down and sidling in the direction of the trapdoor.
“Be careful,” said the man. He didn’t take his eyes from his guest.
“They can help,” muttered the woman.
The man contorted his mouth and called to the woman in a half-whisper. Marcia saw big blocky teeth set close together.
“Just two or three,” he said.
“I know.”
Marcia waited, bracing herself against the wall. As soon as the dizziness passed she was going to leave here. The woman was bent over the opening making a murmur of soft noises punctuated with short, angry cries.
When Suzy opened the door and walked in, she seemed to bring a blaze of color to the room. Although the dreen was her enemy, Marcia couldn’t help feeling that the situation had improved.
The man jumped, drew in his breath noisily, and scrambled across the room to the woman’s side. He pulled her roughly from the opening and screamed into it. They both turned to face the new arrival.
Suzy sent one glance in Marcia’s direction, then began slowly advancing on the couple in the corner. Again the urgent noises were rising from the opening.
The man backed up until he reached the wall. The woman dropped to a compact crouch, holding her hammer next to her ankle and flexing her knobby fist on the short handle.
“Not the children,” she said grimly. “Not that.”
Suzy advanced at a nonchalant stroll. Marcia closed her eyes for a second, hoping the lightheadedness would leave her. At the woman’s screech she opened them to see what Suzy had done.
But it was the woman who was acting. As the sound of her screech died, she launched herself at Suzy, landing on her like an attacking beast and striking at her with her hammer. Marcia watched numbly as the blows landed on the flapper’s head, shoulders, her face. Even though Marcia knew that Suzy was not what she appeared, the effect was that of watching a defenseless girl being bludgeoned to death.
Marcia had taken three wobbly steps toward them before she realized that Suzy hadn’t stopped. As the woman tried to spring away from her, Suzy reached out with one hand and seized her by the upper arm. The woman cried out as though she had been scalded. The hammer fell to the floor. A moment later the two women disappeared into the opening. The man had not moved. He looked at Marcia with no readable expression on his splayed-out face.
The screams had already started when Suzy pulled herself from the opening. She brushed off her dress and then looked up at Marcia with a faint smile. Her face was unmarked. Marcia’s head had cleared. She took another step forward. Suzy’s dress wasn’t even torn.
When the dreen turned to face the man, he shrank away from her. His big, wide-set eyes were filled with tears. He looked at Marcia.
“Why did you come to usss?” His childish voice was higher now, the hiss more drawn out.
Marcia knew she had entertained more than her share of irrational thoughts and impulses lately. Still, the pity she felt for the creature who had tried to drive her face through the back of her head was perhaps the most eccentric.
Suzy was advancing on the man.
“Suzy!”
The flapper turned to Marcia. The screams from the trapdoor had subsided.
“What are you going to do?”
“Finish feeding the kids.”
“Leave him.”
Suzy didn’t look back at the man. “Sure,” she said. “Let’s go.” She walked to the door and stood with her hand on the latch.
Marcia almost started four or five questions, but couldn’t decide which one to ask. As she joined her, Suzy opened the door.
The man called after them. “They know I’m alone. They will come for me,” he said as they stepped into the night.
Suzy looked back. “Yeah, I know. Well, twenty-three skidoo,” she called, and flashed her prettiest smile at Marcia.
Outside, Suzy followed a route that led them between the huts. Marcia trailed behind her and concentrated on walking. For the moment, it didn’t matter where they were going. She was tired and dirty and her throat felt like she had swallowed glue. Her interests were limited to water, breakfast, and a hot shower.
After they had gone a short distance, Marcia heard a series of rapid screams faintly in the distance behind them. They rose in pitch and intensity, then were abruptly cut off. She stopped to listen, but heard nothing more.
They hadn’t gone much farther when they came to the border of the shacks at a wide avenue. Marcia was sure it was the one she had been on briefly last night.
“The castle is that way,” said Suzy, pointing to their left as they crossed the street. When they reached the other side, they turned to the right.
Marcia surmised that the castle was the place with the dance hall. She didn’t care enough to ask. Her throat hurt. The pedestrians they passed were hidden in a murky blur. She noted without interest that there were rat people among them. Everyone seemed to be giving them wide berth, as they would a lady walking a snarling pit bull. Marcia didn’t know, or care, whether it was she or Suzy they feared.
When her guide turned into an alley even darker than the avenue, Marcia followed without question. She had lost her capacity for fear, and suspicion was of no interest to her. If she was confronted with Ulda, or a dragon, or a semi-automatic rifle, she would fight if she could. She was confident that inside her was at least a small final reservoir of strength that she could call on in need.
When the dreen stopped, Marcia jerked as though she had been awakened from a deep sleep. She looked around in confusion. The alley was paved with broken stone. Thirty yards away, a light burned at the top of a pole. As she stared, Marcia saw a rat scuttle from one shadow to another.
They climbed a narrow flight of stairs. They were near the top when Marcia realized that Suzy was holding on to her arm. She opened a door and helped her through. They walked down a short hallway and passed through another door.
The lamplight hurt her eyes. The smells were strong and seemed to strike at her. A man was plucking at a musical instrument that twanged, and singing in a voice to match. Not another dance, a voice inside her pleaded. The room was small, and filled with tables where people—well, bipeds, Marcia thought, not bothering to look too closely—ate and drank.
They seated themselves beside a window with shutters that were partly open and Suzy called out, “Wine!” in a voice that carried.
“Water,” Marcia croaked. Suzy just laughed. You dirty, pardner?
The wine came in a pitcher. The cups were of a soft hammered metal. Marcia was sure they weren’t clean.
As she raised her cup Suzy ordered her to drink slowly, then pulled her arm back to the table before she had managed more than two or three desperate swallows. The flapper’s grip was heavy and insistent. Marcia looked at her in the flickering light. A hammer had struck that face, landing with enough force to crush bone. You cannot stand before a dreen.
When a plate of meat pastries was brought to the table, Marcia looked at it suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, Lulu, it’s all stolen.”
“Huh?”
“It’s from the Middle Regions. It won’t hurt you.”
Marcia looked at the table. “Can’t we get some water?”
“Now, that would hurt you.”
For some reason, the wine seemed to have no effect on her other than quenching her thirst. The little meat pies were heavy and greasy, but Marcia consumed almost three of them before beginning to wonder what they might be made of. A strongly flavored, rather rubbery bacon seemed to be the chief ingredient. Napkins not being among the amenities provided, Marcia was reduced to wiping the wine and fat from her lips with her fingers, which she considered roughly the equivalent of spitting on the floor.
It was only after she had eaten her fill that she noticed the soothing, relaxing properties of the wine. She sat back in her chair and managed to ignore her more or less urgent need for a shower and a change of clothes, not to mention a toothbrush. She glanced around the room. Except for three squat little men with tiny ears, and one tall, impossibly thin man dressed like a frontier parson, the patrons did not look any more bizarre than many folks on the streets at home. The rat-people might inspire some double takes at a bus stop, she supposed. It would depend on the light.
“Well, Lulu, how do you feel?” Suzy still looked like a misplaced show girl in the drab surroundings. Everything about her—her clothing, her makeup, her complexion—was strangely colorful, with an unexpected quality of illumination, like a stained-glass window in a coal bin. She had eaten nothing, and only taken a few dainty sips of her wine. Her fire-engine lipstick remained irreproachably unsmeared.
How she felt was too complicated a question for Marcia to deal with. She leaned across the table toward Suzy and spoke softly. “What would have happened if I had given Ulda the ring?”
“Your troubles would be over.” The expression on Suzy’s face made her meaning clear. “It’s better,” she added quietly, “that you don’t use her name.” Suzy got to her feet. “It’s time for us to go on,” she said.
When they got outside. Suzy took her arm again on the steps.
Marcia said, “I thought you couldn’t touch me.” She looked at the bruises on her arms. “She couldn’t.”
“She was stupid,” Suzy said. “She should never have put her hand on you.”
“She said she was going to kill me.”
“As I said, she was stupid. She knew she couldn’t kill you. Not while you wore the ring. Her only hope was to bully you or trick you, but she has vast powers, and is unused to considering limits. By attacking you, she weakened herself, temporarily. That’s why I was able to escape her. That, and the fact that she was giving her attention to her new captive.”
“You mean me?”
“No. Another one, after you. Even though she knew you would end up gaining strength from her mistake, she hoped you would stay in that hut. She was stupid, and thought I was stupid, too. I was watching. If you hadn’t left on your own, I would have come for you.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Suzy looked at her with a level gaze. “It is you that are helping me. Without the power of your ring, and the energy she gave up to you, I could not hope to escape her web.”
Suzy led them into an alley across from the inn. It passed between broken masonry walls, tumbledown houses with dark windows, and barren little plots of ground that had the melancholy look of long-neglected gardens. They walked in silence, and all was silent around them. The alley brought them finally to a narrow covered passageway between two tall buildings. As Suzy entered ahead of her and was swallowed by the darkness, Marcia hesitated for a moment, then pushed her misgivings aside wearily, and followed.
The lane at the other end traced the contours of a hill. In one direction it rose steeply, in the other dropped quickly enough that Marcia could look down on the rooftops of buildings not far away. The lane itself was deserted, but there were lights at some windows up the hill; below the place they stood not a single candle shone.
Marcia whispered, “What else?” to herself when the dreen started down the hill. It was to be expected, she supposed, that they would seek out the most depressing route. She realized that she was already thinking of the dirty little cafe as an island of cheer.
“Where are we going?”
Suzy answered without taking her eyes from the ground in front of her. “To someone who can help us find the veil of the Middle Regions.”
“You mean we can cross from here?”
“You can. How else did you come here?”
Marcia caught herself, before she said Ulda’s name. “She brought me.”
Suzy said nothing until they came to a place where the lane turned. She stopped and shook her head. “She did not bring you. You wandered too near her. She was watching, and drew you to her.”
“But I can’t get away,” said Marcia. “I’ve already tried. Nothing happens.”
