Tim Powers - Dinner At Deviant's Palace

McAn frowned, as if trying to think of a civilized way to say something uncivilized, then obviously gave up and just said, «Irwin Barrows intends to have you killed as soon as you've brought his daughter back.»

Rivas laughed softly and took a long sip of the beer. «Does he indeed,» he said, letting the heavy glass clank back down onto the table. «Because he thinks we'll be wanting to run off together?»

«Right. So, uh, what I want to tell you is, if you do want to run off with her, just get what money you've got, and go, right away. Don't go near his place.»

Rivas stared at McAn, then looked around the bar. « I've been recognized,» he said, «and even though it's not crowded right now, it's a safe bet that you have too. He'd know you warned me.»

«As I said, I owe you one.»

«Thanks, Frake.» Rivas had another pull at the beer. At least he was making the glass easier to lift. «But as a matter of fact, I don't want to run off with her. I'd like to return her to him. How does he plan to do it, anyway?»

«He's pinning his main hopes on you being killed in a duel with her fiancй. I gather you called him out before you left, and he's going to insist on satisfaction.»

«Ah. Yeah, I called him sport. You've seen him?»

McAn nodded. «Not even eyebrows. Of course, in the shape you're in, you'd certainly be justified in asking for an extension on the date of the duel. I'm not sure what Barrows would think of that. I guess if you're not interested in his daughter anymore—and haven't messed with her during this redemption—»

«I haven't.»

«—Then he probably won't care what you do. Unless you insulted him, too . . . ?»

«Maybe I did. It all happened a long time ago.» He reached out, hoisted the heavy pitcher and topped up his glass, reflecting that all this weight-lifting ought to help him get back in shape.

«In any case, if you had wanted to marry her, and managed to kill Montecruz, I'm pretty sure Barrows would have fixed up a fatal accident for you to have. I'm just saying this to let you know what kind of scene is waiting for you up on that hill.»

Rivas shook his head wonderingly. «And he was appointed distiller of the treasury by the Sixth Ace! Incredible. I've always known he was tough, but . . .»

«You tapped the stressed part of his personality and it broke.»

«Can happen,» Rivas said. «Not always a bad thing, maybe.»

McAn shrugged. «Anyway—if you're staying, want me to be your second?»

«I'd appreciate it, Frake. Let's not rush this beer, though– the ladies will stay in the wagon, and even though I'm not a big fan of bug walk, I'd like to hear this pelicanist.» As he drank, his fingers absently toyed with the bulky lead-wrapped pendant he'd made the day before, which hung now on a wire around his neck.

After a tiring visit to the commander of the Ellay forces to warn him that the San Berdoo army would probably attack from the south, Rivas borrowed some money from McAn and bought some clothes to replace the ones Barbara had bought for him in Venice, and they managed to get enough food, despite the widespread pre-siege hoarding, to cook up some dinner in the wagon's kitchen. Urania ate sparingly and hardly spoke at all, though McAn tried to draw her out, and it was obvious to Rivas that he was looking for anxieties and weak spots that he'd be able to use against her in their upcoming breaking and restoration sessions. Finally there were no more excuses for delay, so two fresh horses were hired and Rivas, McAn, Barbara and Urania set out for the Hollywood Hills and the Barrows estate.

The air was chilly up in the hills, away from the street pavement that would hold the sun's warmth nearly until dawn, and as the horses pulled the battered old wagon around the last steep bend, Rivas shivered and pulled the blanket closer around himself. He had insisted on joining McAn on the driver's bench, and as McAn flicked the reins again, Rivas shook his head. «I think we passed the place,» he said, squinting around at the trees made visible by the wagon's swinging lantern.

McAn looked over at him. «No, it's still ahead of us.»

Urania was braced in the kitchen doorway behind Rivas, and he felt her shift her feet. Yeah, Uri, he thought—I'm a little surprised too that I forgot.

«Here we are,» McAn said, slanting the horses sharply left onto an ascending brick-paved driveway. An iron gate blocked the way ahead, bracketed by two lamps on short stone pillars.

«We could still go away together, Greg,» said Urania suddenly. «It's still a few yards short of being too late.»

McAn reined in the horses and put on the brake, then looked away, out into the darkness. Rivas heard the creak of the bunk in the wagon as Barbara stood up to listen.

«No, Uri,» he said.

After a pause the brake squeaked off, the reins flapped and the wagon got moving again.

A restored telephone booth stood beside the driveway ahead, and when the wagon halted in front of the gate an officious fat man hurried out of it toward them. «I'm sorry,» he was saying in tones of satisfaction, «I wasn't told to expect any donuts tonight. I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave.»

«We're Fracas McAn,» said McAn evenly, «and Gre-gorio Rivas, and Urania Barrows.»

«And a friend,» put in Rivas.

The guard, startled, peered more closely—then, albeit with ill grace, walked back to the gate and unlocked it. «You might have had the thoughtfulness,» he remarked stiffly, «to have brought the young lady home in a less shabby vehicle.»

Rivas laughed, with an edge of hysteria. «Hell, he's right. What were we thinking of? Something with, like, bells and ribbons and a pipe organ . . . .»

The gate was open, and McAn flicked the reins. «Cool off, Greg,» he muttered as they moved forward and the gate was drawn closed behind them.

The guard commenced clanging a bell, and the racket was kept up, raising a sympathetic chorus of bird cries in the surrounding shrubbery, until the driveway leveled out under the wagon's wheels and they were in the paved front yard, where a grander wagon was half loaded with furniture and crates. The front door of the big old house was open and several men were hurrying down the steps and toward the newly arrived wagon.

«Uri!» came Irwin Barrows's well-remembered voice. «Uri! Damn me, if that fool grabbed the wrong bell by mistake—»

«It says donuts, Mister Barrows,» pointed out another voice dubiously.

«Donuts! Damn me! I'll—»

«Urania is here, Mister Barrows,» called Rivas.

The tall, white-haired old man walked slowly forward, after having waved someone else back. «Mister Rivas,» he said. «You've come for your final five thousand fifths.»

McAn glanced at Rivas in surprise.

«No,» said Rivas.

«I see,» said Barrows, a weary harshness in his voice. «You think you'll go away with her, is that it? And you think that waiving the second half of your fee will make me more—»

«No,» Rivas interrupted. «Urania and I have no plans for getting married or going anywhere together. But I overcharged you eleven days ago, in the . . . heat of the moment. Here's your daughter. We're square.»

«Uri!» Barrows called, a new suspicion evidently having occurred to him. «She's hurt, badly hurt, is that it? Or no, a babbling idiot because of having repeatedly taken the sacrament, right? God damn you, you—»

«Maybe he just brought back her corpse, Mister Barrows,» helpfully suggested the other man, whom Rivas recognized now as the bald Joe Montecruz.

«No, dad, I'm okay,» said Uri in a loud but listless voice. She edged behind Rivas and dropped to the ground, then plodded across the paving stones to Montecruz, who took her into his arms with an ostentatious show of emotion.