Tim Powers - Dinner At Deviant's Palace

«I w—» Rivas began. «I used to work here.»

«Sorry. Big mess inside.»

«Oh hell,» said Rivas, stepping forward and putting his hands on the board. Someone inside was sweeping with slow strokes. «Mojo! Hey, Mojo, it's Greg. Tell this guy to let us in.»

The sweeping stopped, and in a few moments Mojo appeared in the doorway. «Hi, Greg. Sure, Tony, they can come in. What do you think of this, eh, Greg?»

Rivas and Barbara ducked under the board and peered around the dim room. Chairs were overturned and broken, glass shards crunched underfoot, and on the floor by the stage there was a tangle of strings and wood strips that Rivas eventually recognized as having once been a pelican.

«What the hell happened ?» he asked.

«Some ladies objected to the music,» said Mojo.

Rivas and Barbara exchanged a frightened look. «What do you mean?» Rivas asked quickly.

«Well, they were—but wait, you used to live in Venice, Greg, maybe you've seen 'em. A guy said they've had 'em in Venice for years. They just arrived here this morning, and by bad luck musta just made it inside before the gates were closed to general traffic. They're all crazy and dirty and wild-eyed, marching like they got God's own orders to carry out, and they purely kick the living crap out of whoever they please. That new pelicanist lost some teeth.»

«Pocalocas,» said Rivas.

«Yeah!» exclaimed Mojo. «That's what this guy said they were called. He said they hate music.»

«They sure do. How did they look? The trip from Venice seem to have worn them down at all?» Suddenly Rivas looked much frailer.

«Oh sure, they were all dusty, hair like greasy old yarn, but God, they got energy! One of them was real thin-faced and sick-looking, but she busted Jeff's pelican with her bare hands, smiling all the while like a big mean cat.»

Rivas touched his leaden pendant. «Which way did they go from here?»

«North. Matter of fact, Greg, they were headed your way. How'd you come here?»

«Straight down Flower and then west on Woolshirt.»

«Oh, well, you must have passed 'em, two blocks west of 'em. They went up Grand. Man, I hope never to see nothing like that again. But say, you don't think they're here now, do you, like them big ants that just appeared half a dozen summers ago and now can't be got rid of?»

Rivas looked out through the broken window at the street. A dog was asleep under an awning across the way, and a couple of children clattered past on low wooden tricycles, raising a cloud of dust that hung nearly motionless in the air.

«No,» Rivas grated wearily, almost in a whisper. «No . . . I imagine they'll be . . . moving on.» He looked around the room, as if to fix it in his memory. «How late can first-class citizens leave the city, Mojo?»

«Well . . . you know, Greg. Until the bells. Until they see the enemy. And after that, nobody can leave.»

«I've got time for one more beer.»

«Always, Greg,» said Mojo, glancing at him in mild surprise. «Hey, and this afternoon it's on the house. I mean, it's gonna go flat otherwise, right?»

The swish and rattle of Mojo's broom in the debris started up again, and then there was also the echoing click click, click click of Rivas working the beer pump; and the next sound was booted footsteps approaching from the office.

Steve Spink's grin relaxed when he saw Rivas sitting cross-legged on the bar. He walked over, nodded curtly to Barbara, and then said, «Howdy, Greg.»

«Hullo, Steve,» said Rivas, lowering his glass and wiping foam from his moustache. «Sorry your place got busted up.»

«We'll live. Two weeks ago we lost our Venetian pelicanist, but at least now we got genuine Venetian madwomen.» He looked from Rivas's pelican case to his leaned and bearded face. «I found out who that old guy was, who was in here a week ago, remember? The guy that told me you were latently birdy. And now I hear he's got his daughter back from that gang.»

Rivas nodded over the rim of his glass.

«Well—assuming the Berdoos don't take us—any time you want your job back, just say.» He turned and walked back toward the office.

«Thanks, Steve!» Rivas called.

Spink waved over his shoulder without looking around.

Rivas finished his beer and lowered himself down from the bar. «You know why I'd better get moving,» he told Barbara. «Luckily the spirit bank is south of here. Reckon I'll get a bank draft and then see how far respect for Ellay money extends. A horse, food, liquor, a weapon—I should be out of the city in under an hour. Come to the bank with me and I'll loan you some money to get settled with, and then when you do, leave your address with, say, Mojo over there, and when I can—»

«You're sure leaving is the only way?» Barbara asked, stretching her long legs to keep up with him as he strode across the littered floor. «It is just a gang of crazy women.»

«Led by Sister Sue, of fond memory.» He ducked under the board across the doorway, and she followed. «No, Barbara, I can't spend the siege locked up in the same city with them; I'd rather run than have to slingshot every birdy-eyed lady I see . . . and of course if one of them got me and was to swallow this,» he touched the crumpled gray pendant, «Jaybush would be back. And, hell, this is just the gang that followed us most closely. If I hang around, they'll all drift here, and even after the Berdoos go home nobody'll dare open the gates.»

«Are you sure you can't destroy the crystal?»

They were moving energetically south on Grand, Rivas forcing himself to maintain a brisk pace. «I'm pretty sure. Remember when you laid it on the pavement and took a hammer to it? The pavement broke. And I happen to know that, short of shooting it into the heart of the sun, heat's no problem to it. If I could find a really deep, really cold well, I might risk dropping it in and then devoting the rest of my life to filling the well with the heaviest rocks I could find . . . but even then I'd worry. He obviously wasn't ready to become . . . discorporated . . . when he did—he weakened himself drastically ten years ago, and way too much of what energy he had was externally invested, like a millionaire who's a pauper if you time the audit just right, and so he can't do his fly away into outer space trick—but I think with years to work he could move a pile of stones.» They rounded a corner, and the white pillars of the spirit bank wavered in the sunlight ahead. «No, I think I have to just carry it, and try to keep it cold, and if I should ever have any children, pass the duty on to them.»

Barbara grabbed him by the arm and stopped him. «You want company?»

He squinted at her. «Company. Do you mean you'd—»

«Like to come with you. Yes.»

He put his hand on her shoulder. «No,» he said gently. «Thank you, I appreciate it, but no, Barbara. Get yourself a nice place and a good job, and keep some extra blankets and liquor for when I pass through, okay? Dammit, girl, you've had your stroll through hell.»

«You haven't? Anyway, what's so safe about staying here?»

«It's better than what I'll be doing. Until the last pocaloca dies, I'll be hiding, running, hunting, going hungry—making only furtive, hurried visits to civilization—and even after they all die, I'll still have him .» He touched the pendant.

«To pass on to your children,» said Barbara sarcastically. «Where are you going to find them? I guess you'll just have to dally with one of the pocalocas, huh?»

Rivas blinked. His chest was hollow, and though the light didn't change, he felt as if he'd just stepped out of a dark stuffy room into breezy sunshine. He opened his mouth to speak. . . .