Lallia

VII

Joy was at carnival.

Streamers of colored smoke hung in the air, luminous in the dying light, and from all sides rose the sound of music and gaiety. Tents, booths, collapsible shops, the open rings of combat and the closed enclaves of sensory titivation, jug shy;glers, tumblers, contortionists, men who promised eternal hap shy;piness, and harpies who roved, hard-eyed and falsely charm shy;ing, offering pleasure to those who had come to join in the fun.

"We could do well here," said Lallia as she stood beside Dumarest at the head of the ramp. "When it gets really dark I could get to work. Drunken fools won't object to a

woman's caress and they'll be too bemused to guard their pockets. With you to take care of any trouble we could clean up."

"No," said Dumarest.

"Why not?" Her tone was mocking. "Morals, lover?"

"Sense. The risk is too great for the reward."

"We need money," she insisted. "Your share is hardly enough to buy me some new clothes. Can you think of a better way to get it, Earl?"

He ignored the question, looking instead at the ships lit shy;tering the field. Mostly they were old, battered, traders like the Moray, but a few were new and one was big. A vessel strange to the Web and one which could be heading Out shy;side. The woman at his side he walked towards it, climbing the ramp to the open port. Shadows moved within the dim interior and a man, neat in his uniform, eyes and face hard, stepped before him.

"You want something?"

"A berth if it's going."

"You from the Moray?"

"Yes," said Dumarest.

"Then forget it," said the man. "There's no berth going especially to anyone from that hulk." He glanced at Lallia. "Your woman?"

"His wife," said Lallia. "What have you got against the Moray?"

"Personally, nothing," admitted the man. "But her reputa shy;tion stinks. If you'll take my advice you'll forget to mention her. Say you're from the Argos or the Deltara-both of those left just before the carnival."

"I'll remember that," said Dumarest. "If you haven't got a berth then how about traveling Low?"

"That might be possible." The man hesitated. "Look, I can't give you a definite answer until the captain tells me what space we'll have available. You'd better come back later-we're not due out for a couple of days yet but as far as I know if you can pay you'll get passage. Fair enough?"

"Thanks," said Dumarest. "I'll be seeing you."

He was thoughtful as he walked towards the edge of the field. The other ships would be similar, with only a single man in charge or locked while their crews went about their business or pleasure. Lallia touched his arm.

"Did you mean that, Earl? About leaving, I mean?"

"Yes."

"And me?"

She was worried, he could tell it by the way she clung to his arm, the expression in her eyes. "You'll come with me," he promised. "The Web is no place for a woman to be stranded."

Her smile was his reward. "Thank you, lover. Now let's go and get ourselves some fun."

They passed from the field into a welter of noise, con shy;fusion, and frantic activity punctuated by shouts, shrieks, and bellowing laughter. A procession weaved down the street, monstrous heads bobbing in fabricated distortion, voices echoing from the diminutive bodies.

A troupe of zingart dancers spun and stamped, froth bubbling their lips, naked bodies scarred with symbolic designs. Their hair was fuzzed into gigantic balls, nose and ears pierced with skewers, bells around wrists, neck, and ankles. Two dwarfs scuttled beside them, collecting boxes rattling as they thrust them before the watchers.

The zingart dancers were followed by a dozen flagellants, chanting as they each lashed the other with spiked whips. The flagellants passed and a host of women rotated bellies and breasts as they clustered around a tall, bearded an shy;chorite. After them came a cluster of masked and decorated figures, some with whips hanging from their wrists, others with tufts of spiked fur.

Something exploded high above and the darkening sky shone brilliant with a gush of luminous stars.

Dumarest followed Lallia as she pushed her way through the crowd. The lustrous mane of her hair reflected the color shy;ful embers above, their dying light illuminating her long legs as they flashed beneath the hem of her iridescent dress. A masked reveler, one of a group of the local nobility, caught her arm as she passed.

"Come, my sweeting," he purred. "Such tender flesh should not pass uncaressed." He dropped both hands to her shoulders, forcing the material from her rounded breasts, his head dipping as he pressed his lips against her body.

Dumarest paused, watching, his muscles tense. Lallia did not seem to object to the rough treatment. She laughed and pressed herself closer to the gaudy finery the man wore. And then suddenly he cried out and thrust her away.

"Bitch! You she-devil! I'll teach you to hurt your betters!"

His hand bent, caught the whip dangling from his wrist, raised it high to slash across her face. He cried out again as Dumarest caught the raised hand, his fingers closing hard against yielding bone.

"You are excited, my lord," said Dumarest coldly. "I think it best that you take a little rest."

Abruptly he pushed, catching the man off-balance, thrust shy;ing him to sprawl in the road among the feet of dancing monstrosities. He rolled, trying to avoid the kicks of en shy;larged feet, soiling his finery with dirt and liquid filth.

Dumarest caught Lallia by the arm and urged her from the scene of the incident.

Laughing she held up a purse. "You see, lover, how easy it is? That fool was too intent on what he wanted to miss this. When I had it I hit him where it hurts. Shall we do it again?"

"No."

"But, lover, we need the stake. Why miss the chance?" "He wasn't alone," said Dumarest. "And you are rather unmistakable. When he misses his money he will come look shy;ing and his friends with him. I don't think they will be very gentle if they find you."

Lallia shrugged. "So?"

"So we find you something else to wear." Dumarest looked at the purse in her hand. "And you can pay for it.

The merchant was an old man with a stoop so pronounced that it gave him the appearance of a tall, thin bird of prey; an impression heightened by his hooked nose and balding head. He fingered Lallia's dress and sucked in his cheeks. "It is good," he admitted. "Fine and unusual material, but the customers for such are few. I am far from the field and must depend on local trade. It could lie for months and then, perhaps, I would have to sell it at a fraction of its worth."

"That's all I'm asking," said Lallia. She had taken charge of the transaction as soon as she had entered the shop. "One of your gowns, a coat, some other things. You should make a fat profit."

"My dear, you are a shrewd woman but you know little of local conditions. At carnival everyone goes mad, but normally a woman would be stoned for wearing a thing like this. However …"

Dumarest turned away as the haggling progressed. Out shy;side, in the narrow street beyond the shop, the throb and hum of carnival was very faint. The sky had darkened rapid shy;ly and a few stars shone in competition with the uprushing pyrotechnics. Two men wearing the unmistakable uniform of guards entered the street and loped past the shop. They seemed to be looking for someone and Dumarest could guess who it was.

"Hurry," he said turning to where the pair stood over a heap of clothing. "Take a gown, Lallia, something to cover your legs. And something else to cover your hair. Fancy dress will do."

The merchant looked up, his eyes shrewd. "And the dress she is wearing?"

"I'll continue to wear it," said Lallia firmly. She probed into the stolen purse for coins. "How much do I owe?"

"For the carnival costume, fifteen coryms." The man held out his hand as Lallia frowned at the coins. "Those seven-sided pieces are of five coryms each. Three will settle the bill." He nodded as she dropped the coins into his palm. "You may change at the rear, my dear. There will be no extra charge."

She returned wearing a long robe which touched the ground, sleeves falling past the tips of her fingers and a high headdress which completely covered her hair and gave an oval look to her face. The merchant handed her a mask.

"With this on your face, my dear, no one will recognize you."

"Should I worry if they do?" Lallia caught his hand and stared into the palm. "I read hands," she said quietly. "For five coryms I will read yours."

The merchant tugged at his hand. "Please, I have no time for such nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Lallia shook her head. "You be the judge. In your hand I see daughters of whom you are ashamed and sons who have caused you much grief, a third-" She frowned. "The third is the source of much heartbreak."

"Arnobalm," the merchant said quietly. "He has been ill since his youth. A virus disease for which there is no known cure. At least it is not known in the Web. Unless it is checked he will die within a season."

"But you have hope?" Lallia twisted the aged palm. "I read that you have much hope."

"It is all that is left. The expense is high but what is money when compared to life? And his faith is strong. Per shy;haps, on Shrine, he will be above to recover from the thing which saps at his life." The merchant pulled free his hand. "You have seen the ship, perhaps? With it rides the prayers and hopes of a hundred parents, a thousand relatives." He saw their expressions. "You do not know of Shrine?"

Dumarest shook his head.

"But you are of space, that I can tell by your uniform. Is it possible that the miracle planet is a stranger to you?"

"I come from Outside," said Dumarest. "The woman also. Traders."

"And traders are not interested in miracles, only in profits." The merchant sighed. "I understand. You are long on Joy?"

"A few hours."

"And you will leave with the carnival," said the merchant. "You space traders! Always on the move, never stopping, never putting down roots. But you have chosen a good time. There is much to see on Joy when the carnival is here. Ex shy;hibitions, a zoo, places of instruction." A shadow crossed his face. "And other things. . but I will not spoil your pleasure." He bowed and ushered them towards the door.

Outside Lallia drew a deep breath. "He robbed us," she said. "You know that, I suppose. Why didn't you let me try to get some of it back?"

"By telling him lies?"

"What I read in his palm was true."

"And something he already knew." Dumarest took her arm. "Now empty that purse and get rid of it somewhere. And don't worry about the old man having robbed you. You bought more than a costume, you paid for his silence, he could have called the guards."

"And lost his profit." Lallia shrugged. "All right, Earl, you're the boss. Now for God's sake, let's get a drink."

They found a tavern, bright with tinsel, glowing with luminous paint and throbbing with interior noise and laugh shy;ter. Claude came lurching through the door as they ap shy;proached. The engineer's face was blotched, his eyes glazed, the front of his uniform stained with wine. He swayed and recovered his balance with a visible effort. Wine gur shy;gled from the bottle he held in his hand, drenching his chin and adding to the wetness on his chest.

"Earl!" He gestured with the bottle. "My old friend! Have a drink."

Dumarest took the bottle and held it to his closed lips. "Thanks."

"And you?" The engineer almost fell again as he leaned to stare at Lallia. "Who are you?"

She raised her mask and reached for the bottle. "Who do you think, you drunken idiot? Do you imagine I'd let Earl loose with another woman?"

"Not you!" He roared with laughter as she drank and re shy;turned the bottle. Waving it he turned and yelled at the tavern. "Make way for the most beautiful woman in space! A real woman! And you know what? She belongs to the Moray!"

Lin came through the door as the engineer staggered away. The steward was anxious as he stared after his mentor.

"He's gone crazy, Earl. You'd think he hadn't touched a drink for years the way he's going on. What can I do?"

"Nothing," said Dumarest. "Forget him."

Lin was firm. "I can't do that, Earl. He's my friend."

"And a man should be loyal to his friends," agreed Duma-rest. "But he should pick his friends. Claude's a drunk and there's nothing you can do about it. At any moment he could go kill-crazy and you could be on the receiving end. A man like that is dangerous. Why don't you forget him and enjoy yourself?"

"I couldn't," said the steward simply. "Not if I know he needs me. Tell me what to do, Earl?"

"Follow him. Pick him up if he falls down. Try to see that he doesn't get robbed and, when he passes out, get help to carry him back to the ship."

A friend, thought Dumarest as Lin moved away. Some shy;one the engineer didn't deserve and didn't appreciate. And Claude? A father image to the boy, a surrogate parent who taught and held a tarnished glory. Only Lin wouldn't believe that it was tarnished. He would put his trust in his hero and maybe it would break his heart when realization final shy;ly came.

"A nice boy." Lallia's voice was low. "It would be won shy;derful to have a son like that, Earl."

"Yes," said Dumarest.

"Perhaps, one day, we shall." Her hand tightened on his arm. "When we settle down, Earl. When we find a place we can call home." Her grip tightened even more. "And soon, Earl. Soon."

Soon, before it was too late-if it was not too late already.

Inside the tavern was filled with men and laughing girls; the men, mostly spacers, somber in their uniforms against the carnival dress worn by residents and visitors. Girls swung between the crowded benches carrying great jugs of wine and beer, trays of cakes and pastries, fried meats wrapped in crisp batter, fish which had been gilded in gold and silver and glowing red. Dumarest bought a bottle of wine, a hand shy;ful of cakes, and two of the fish, carrying them to a table surrounded by a medley of uniforms.

"Those you can keep," said Lallia, pushing aside the fish. "I've had enough seafood to last the rest of my life." She bit into one of the cakes as Dumarest poured the wine, swallowing as she picked up the glass. "Here's health!"

They drank. The wine was dark, full-bodied, easy to throat and stomach. Dumarest savored it as he picked up one of the fish. The flesh was white and delicately sweet. Around them talk hummed like a swarm of bees.

"— told him the load would go bad without. . fifteen, I said, and not one less. . the Giesha didn't show at rendezvous so we took. . tried to sell us some stuff which any fool would have known. . that drunken idiot from the Moray?"

Dumarest looked up as he sipped his wine, his attention caught by the name of the trader. A broad back was talking to a high forehead.

"I saw him," said the high forehead. "Rolling all over the place. No man can drink like that and remain sharp. He's only got to let the generators get point oh, oh five out of phase and you know what happens then."

"Curtains," said the broad back. "Disorientation and, in the Web, that's bad."

"That's final!" The high forehead was emphatic. "Say, did you hear about the Quand? I met a man on. ."

Lallia smiled at Dumarest as he turned, lowering his glass. "We don't have to worry, Earl. We won't be on the Moray when Claude finally sends her to destruction."

"No," he said, thinking of Lin, the burning desire of the boy to learn, to emulate his friend. Suddenly the wine tasted sour. "Let's go and look at the town."

The main street led to an area thronged with sideshows. A man called as they passed. "This way, lord and lady, sense the thrills of the condemned. Full sensory tapes of those who have met death by burning, hanging, poisoning, and dismemberment. Not to be bettered in the entire Web!"

Another, "Two more wanted for the love-raffle! Come and share in erotic delights!"

Another, "Trained symbiotes from Phadar! Exotic thrills for an ounce of blood!

A painted crone tittered as they passed her booth gaudy with mystic signs. "Read your future, dearie? Find out if the fine young man means what he says."

"He means it, mother," said Lallia hanging to Dumarest's arm. "I'll see to that."

A fire-eater blew long streamers of brilliance. A girl writhed to the monotonous pounding of a drum. A squat, amorphous creature snarled and rattled heavy chains. From before a billowing tent a woman called in a voice of trained allurement:

"You there, master! Care to fight for your lady? Ten-inch blades and first blood the winner. A prize for all contestants and, if you win, fifty coryms and the choice of five willing wantons."

Lallia was curt. "Go to hell, you painted bitch!"

The woman, a blonde, curvaceous of body, smiled with a lifting of her full, red lips. "What's the matter, honey? Can't stand the competition? Or are you afraid good-looking will get himself hurt?"

"Make it five hundred and he'll fight to the death!"

The woman blinked. "Say, do you mean that? If you do a match can be arranged. How about coming up here to discuss the deal?"

"Forget it," snapped Dumarest.

"Why, Earl?" Lallia looked up into his face as he pulled her away from the tent. "I've seen you fight, remember? The pugs they've got in there wouldn't stand a chance against your speed. And we could use five hundred coryms."

"I'll fight if I have to," he said curtly. "But I don't do it for fun. And it wouldn't be a fair combat. The opponent would be helped all along the line. Lights fixed to dazzle, attention-catchers, even a gimmicked blade. I've even known them to use a gas-spray to slow a man down."

"You've worked in the circuits," she said slowly. "You didn't tell me that, Earl."

"There's a lot I didn't tell you."

"But you could win," she insisted. "You know that."

He halted and looked into her eyes. "Listen, girl, there's no such thing as a certainty. Every time a man fights he gambles his life. So far I've won but that doesn't mean that I can't lose. It could be this time, in that tent, is that what you want?"

"You know it isn't, Earl."

"Then forget it." Gently he lifted his hands and dropped them on her shoulders, squeezing before turning away. "Let's look at the rest of the carnival."

A crowd thronged around a table on which a man manipu shy;lated cards. Dumarest won thirty coryms by finding the jester, spent half a corym on a mass of sticky sweetmeat for Lallia and paused before a booth. Young men were practic shy;ing their skill by throwing knives at a target. The leather-lunged operator saw the couple and called an invitation.

"A corym for six blades, my lord. A prize for getting them all in the center."

Dumarest paid his coin and hefted the knives. They were badly balanced, crudely fashioned, and showed marks of wear. But they had a point and that was enough. His arm rose, the hand moving forward, the knife a blur as it left his fingers. The thud as it hit the target was repeated five more times.

"You win, my lord!" The operator looked anxious. "A set of six entitles you to anything on display."

Lallia chose a doll, a pretty thing with long, silken hair and clothes of finely spun fabric.

"You wish to play again, my lord?" The operator smiled his relief as Dumarest shook his head. "It can be done," he bawled as the pair moved away. "You have seen it! Roll up and test your skill!"

"So you can throw knives, Earl," said Lallia as they walked past the glittering booths. "What else don't I know about you? Never mind," she said, not waiting for an answer. "I'll find out. I've a lifetime to do it in. Right, lover?"

He looked at her, tall, beautiful, the doll cradled in her arms, and felt a sudden wave of tenderness. It would be good to find somewhere to settle down, to build a home, and to find immortality in children. Good enough, perhaps, to eliminate his need to search for a forgotten world.

"Look!" Lallia pointed to where an arched opening stood before them. "Freaks and interstellar zoo," she read. "Can we go in, Earl?"

A man stepped forward as they passed into the area be shy;yond the arch. He was old with a sunken face and eyes which held a burning intensity.

"My lord and lady," he said. "I beg of your charity. For the love of all you hold sacred help the pilgrims to Shrine."

Lallia looked around. "Pilgrims?"

"Those within, my lady." The man gestured towards the opening of a tent. "The animals are beyond, but the others need no cage."

"The freaks?" Lallia frowned. "I thought you said they were pilgrims."

"They are both, my lady. The journey is long and costly so they display their infirmities in order to raise funds. It is not a pleasant thing to do but what is pride against neces shy;sity?"

The interior of the tent was dim with a pale green lighting which threw no shadows and yet was gentle to the eyes. A score or more of figures sat or sprawled against the walls on heaped piles of rags. Many appeared to be asleep. All were grotesquely deformed.

"Medical science cannot aid them." The man had accom shy;panied Lallia and Dumarest into the tent. "They are trans shy;plant immune, or they are so distorted that nothing can be done. There are others who suffer less visible infirmity, those with strange diseases and stranger internal growths, but these are not on display."

"And all are bound for Shrine?" asked Dumarest.

"That is so, my lord. There, if their faith is strong, they will be cured. The weak shall rise and walk, the crippled stand straight and tall, the deformed be relieved of their afflictions." He held out his collecting bowl. "Of your charity, my lord. I beg it in their name." He stared as Dumarest poured coins into the bowl. "My lord! Our thanks for your generosity. May good fortune attend you."

Outside Lallia said, "You're crazy, Earl. That or soft. Why did you give him so much?"

"You've been stranded," said Dumarest quietly. "You know what it's like. But you had your health and strength. Can you imagine what it must be like for those poor devils?"

"You're right, Earl, I'm sorry." She bit her lip and then, brightening, said, "Well, it's done and good luck to them. Let's go and look at the animals."

They were a poor collection, beasts from a dozen worlds, furred, clawed, tailed, and armored; most were offshoots of the animals men had taken with them, a few native to local planets. A scaled thing chittered and threshed its wings. A legged snake crawled, eyes like jewels, jaws agape to show a darting tongue. A thing of tendrils and wirelike hair swung in a tight ball from the top of its cage. The air was thick with a dozen odors.

A straggle of revelers hung around the cages, a small group standing before one containing a furred, manlike crea shy;ture, laughing as they tormented it with their whips and the thrusts of long canes. Dumarest looked towards them, past them, narrowing his eyes as he caught a flash of yellow. Yalung? The figure was the same but he had only caught a glimpse-and yellow and black were common colors during a festival.

Lallia shrugged when he mentioned it. "The dealer? No, I didn't see him, but if he's here what of it? I guess he has to relax sometime, like the rest of us."

She wandered off, intent on the animals, leaving Duma-rest behind. He stood, barely interested in the exhibition, waiting until the girl had slaked her curiosity. He watched as she moved towards the cage holding the tormented beast. A man laughed as she protested, and he deliberately thrust again with his cane. The beast stirred, smashing at the stick and tearing it from the man's grasp. Incensed he struck at it with his whip.

"Don't!" Lallia caught at his arm.

"Get away from me, you bitch!"

He pushed, sending the woman sprawling, lifting his whip to strike again. A tuft of fur and blood sprang from the point of impact. The beast roared and flung itself against the bars. Abruptly the entire front of the cage swung open with a grate of yielding metal.

"Lallia!" Dumarest was running as the animal sprang from the cage, one swipe of its paw sending its tormentor hurtling to one side with a crushed skull. "Lallia!"

She moved, crouching on the ground, eyes terrified as she looked at the beast advancing towards her. It was a mutated sport, five feet tall with the body of a gorilla and the fangs, teeth, and muzzle of a bear. As she rose it snarled and jumped towards her.

Dumarest met it in midair.

It was like hitting a wall, a compact mass of bone and sinew three times the weight of a man. He felt himself fall, the sour reek of the thing's breath harsh in his nostrils, and rolled desperately to avoid the raking claws. They rose to shy;gether, the beast lightning fast, and Dumarest knew that to run would be suicide. He sprang forward before the creature could wholly regain its balance, ramming the top of his skull under the lower jaw, wedging his boots be shy;tween the hind legs and locking his arms around the furred barrel of the chest.

He strained, muscles cracking as he tried to break the animal's spine. His body was an arched bow, head and feet pressing hard into throat and groin. The teeth couldn't hurt him, the claws on the hind legs couldn't reach him but he could do nothing about the vicious claws on the forepaws. He felt them rip at his shoulders and back, tearing the plastic of his uniform and ripping into the flesh beneath.

Again he heaved, the breath choking in his lungs, face turned to avoid the smothering mat of fur. It was as if he pulled against a mountain. He tensed, straightening so as to press the creature's head back so that it looked at the sky. It snarled and tore at his sides as he strained against the rigid back, knowing that his only chance was to break neck or spine.

He felt something yield and the beast whimpered, a small sound deep in its chest. Gritting his teeth, Dumarest sum shy;moned the last of his strength.

"Yalung!" He heard Lallia's shout above the roar of blood in his ears. "Good God's sake, hurry!"

The beast whimpered again, yielding even more and then, suddenly, convulsed with an explosion of energy which sent Dumarest staggering to one side, to fall and rise fighting for breath, shaking his head to clear the mist from his eyes.

He saw the animal lying dead, Yalung standing over it with a rod of iron in his hands, the end of the improvised spear thick with blood.

"Earl!" Lallia ran towards him, eyes enormous in the pal shy;lor of her face. "My God, Earl, your back!"

He straightened, feeling the burn of multiple lacerations, and looking down saw that his sides and legs were drenched with blood. More blood made a puddle on the ground. The claws of the beast had ripped wide and deep.

And, suddenly, there was pain.