Tim Powers - Dinner At Deviant's Palace

Barrows slowly walked the rest of the way to the donut wagon. He was frowning thoughtfully as he stared up at Rivas's face, which, under its bandage, was lit in craggy chiaroscuro by the wagon's lantern. «You've suffered, sir,» he said.

«Redemptions are never easy,» said Rivas.

«He . . . killed Norton Jaybush,» McAn told Barrows, awe putting a slight quaver in his voice.

«You did?» asked Barrows, startled.

«More or less.»

Barbara was standing behind Rivas now, and she put her hands on his shoulders. «He cut Jaybush's throat,» she said.

Barrows hesitated; then, «Perhaps neither of us is quite the same person he was two weeks ago,» he said. His uncertain gaze slid away from Rivas to the big old house and the grounds, and Rivas belatedly realized that Barrows and his people were in the process of leaving to take refuge inside the city walls, and that soon this house and these vineyards might very well be sacked by the San Berdoo army. «Thank you for my child,» Barrows said. «Now please

go.»

Rivas lifted his head and looked past Barrows. «I think Mister Montecruz has something to say to me.»

Montecruz looked up, blinking as he changed his focus, then released Urania and walked toward the wagon. His walk was uncertain, as though he were dutifully taking part in a ritual that had been improperly prepared. Finally he stopped and stared impassively at Rivas. «You insulted me,» he said flatly.

Rivas, huddled in his blanket, smiled. «You're right. I did.»

«I . . . must demand satisfaction.»

«And I'll give it,» said Rivas. «I apologize. I was wrong to say what I said. The speech you made, which goaded me into insult, was the truth, which of course is why it stung me so deeply.» Rivas spread his hands. «You were right. I was wrong. I mean that.»

Again McAn was staring incredulously at Rivas.

Montecruz was at a loss. «You're a coward,» he said, loudly but without conviction.

«No, he's not,» said McAn. Night insects sang in the darkness.

«No,» echoed Irwin Barrows tiredly, «he's not.» To Rivas he added, «Please go.»

» Adios ,» said Rivas. «Goodbye, Uri.»

There was no reply. McAn urged the horses forward and around, awkwardly because of the other wagon. Lamps were lit in the house but the curtains were gone, and Rivas looked in at the dining hall as they inched past the front window. All the furniture was gone, and nothing looked familiar.

At last McAn had the old wagon facing downhill, and, leaning on the brake, began to guide it down the sloping driveway.

«See those bushes there, to the right?» Rivas remarked to him quietly. «Before the night's out, have me tell you what I once did behind them.»

at noon the next day, Rivas was sitting on the roof of his apartment, gripping the neck of his new pelican and skating the bow across the strings to produce various chords.

It was sounding better. At first he'd produced only squawks that had raised protesting howls from the dogs in the street below, but now he was getting his maimed hand to hold the bow properly . . . though he still didn't have the heart to try any strumming.

Gripping the instrument with his chin to free his right hand, he reached down, snagged his jug of beer, raised it– and then paused, baffled.

«What shall I take?» asked Barbara drily.

«Uh . . . the pelican.»

She stood up from the shaded wicker chair, reached out and took the instrument by the neck.

«Thanks,» he said. Free now to tip his head back, he took a long sip of the beer, which had stayed fairly cool in the shadow of his chair. He put the jug down and took the pelican back.

He took a deep breath and then sawed out the opening of Peter and the Wolf. Doesn't sound half bad, he thought.

«That's what you whistled, isn't it?» Barbara asked. «That night.»

«Sure is,» said Rivas. He could feel the sun-heated weight of the leaden pendant resting on his chest, and he remembered yesterday's dawn when, once Urania was safely tied up in the wagon's bunk, he'd made Barbara go out and pry the lead balancing weights off the wheel rims of a dozen of the ubiquitous old car shells; when she'd returned with a handful he had helped her heat them and watched critically as she had hammered them into a sheet to wrap the crystal in.

«Uri was quieter after we wrapped the crystal up,» said Barbara now. «Did the lead stop his . . . influence?»

Rivas shrugged. «Maybe. I mainly wanted to block out any radiation that might strengthen him.» He squinted at the sun. «Even warmth is something. I'll have to dunk him in cold water later.»

Barbara shuddered. «I wish you could ditch him.»

«You don't wish it any more than I do.» He supposed that whatever was left of the hemogoblin was in there too.

Barbara shifted in her chair. «You said the quality of food inside the city is going to be dropping pretty quickly,» she reminded him. «What time is it?»

Rivas grinned and lowered the instrument. «Not till we're actually besieged,» he told her. «In fact they're stripping the fields now and crowding cattle into the whole South Gate area, so for a couple of days, at least until the perishables perish, we'll be eating better than usual. But you're right, it is lunchtime.» He stood up—almost lithely!—and shut the pelican up in its case, slipped the bow under the strap he'd had made for it, and picked up the case by the handle.

«What, are you bringing that along?»

He started to put it down, then straightened again. He could feel his face reddening. «Well,» he said awkwardly, «you never know. They might ask me to play.»

After a moment she grinned, and if her eyes were a little brighter than usual, at least no tears brimmed over. «Oh, I suppose,» she said derisively. «And you'll have had so many beers by then that you won't be able to get a single note right.»

«And then I'll fall off the stage,» he agreed, «confirming everything they say about me.»

«Maybe we should sell tickets.»

They went down the stairs—Rivas vowing to himself that within a week he'd take the steps two at a time, and that tomorrow he'd stop this hobbling, both feet on one step before going on to the next routine—and then started walking toward Spink's.

She glanced at him. «You going to keep the beard?»

Rivas felt his furred chin. «As long as the siege lasts, I guess. Hot water and sharp blades won't be wasted on whiskers for a while.»

«No hardship for old Joe Montecruz,» observed Barbara.

Rivas laughed. «That's right. For a while the baldy-sports will be the only really aristocratic-looking citizens. I'm sure that'll be a consolation to Uri.»

«How long do you think the siege will last?»

«I don't know. The San Berdoo guys have to be banking on a quick victory, 'cause they sure couldn't have set up any useful supply lines in that roundabout route they took. Frankly, I think they're crazy.»

After several blocks they rounded the corner onto Woolshirt, and Spink's was visible ahead. Rivas peered at the place through the wavering mirages. «They've got a window broken,» he said. «No, two windows! Christ,» he said, trying to walk faster. «They can't be outside the walls already, can they? With a catapult?»

«I don't know,» said Barbara tensely, obviously restraining herself from running on ahead of him. «Can they?»

«No, no,» Rivas said, more calmly, «we'd have heard the bells. When the San Berdoo army is sighted, every bell in the city is going to be rung like crazy. No, there must just have been a fight.»

When they got to the restaurant they saw that a long board had been nailed across the doorway. A man Rivas had never seen before leaned against the wall and shook his head at them. «Sorry, folks,» he said. «Closed for repairs.»