you don’t have to sneak up on anyone while we’re here, unless he’s upwind of you.”
“You’re not exactly a flower garden yourself, non cher. Dead animals stink, too.”
Briefly they filled each other in on what had happened to them since Jules’s departure
yesterday morning. Jules’s recounting of Bagheddes’s murder and the reactions to it left
Vonnie strangely silent for a long time. It was clear that she, too, was wondering what
sort of hellhole they had gotten themselves into.
By contrast to his, her own experiences had been rather tame. Other than turning down
propositions from every man she encountered, her job was quite routine. She was a
common laborer, carrying piles of skins to and from the chemical vats. She had not yet
drawn her first salary payment, and was dismayed to hear Jules’s tale of the “taxes.” “It
doesn’t look like we’ll get ahead very quickly here just being ordinary hardworking
citizens, does it?” she said.
“I think we’d better find some way to get ourselves into the mayor’s organization quickly,”
Jules agreed, “before we find ourselves so buried in debts that we can’t move
effectively.”
While Vonnie’s two days had been unexciting, she had managed to learn a great deal,
and had done wonders toward making their little but into a more civilized place to live.
She had “liberated” a couple of candles from the tannery to provide them with some light
at night, and had bought a few small kitchen implements to help make their meals more
than a mere spontaneous satisfaction of animal appetites. They had a pot of hard-baked
clay, while most of their utensils were of carved bone. Gastonia, for all the harshness of
its interactions, was a society that let nothing go to waste. Of the animals killed by
hunters, for instance, the meat was eaten; the furs were worn; leather was made into
boots, belts, pouches and thongs; fats were rendered down into tallow for candles; and
bones were carved into tools such as spoons, forks, knives and needles. There was
even one animal whose bones were so hard that pieces of them could be used as nails in
carpentry, allowing the people of the village to build more elaborate structures than the
simple huts SOTE provided.
While Vonnie went to work the next day, Jules strolled around the village, familiarizing
himself with its layout. There was one section of the town which was roped off apart
from the rest, and guarded at intervals by men wielding wicked-looking bone machetes.
Jules was turned away when he casually tried to explore inside; he surmised that this
was the area where the mayor and his cohorts lived. He would make a more serious
attempt to get inside there when he knew more of what he was looking for.
There were plenty of the one-room prefab huts; they were the predominant architectural
feature in the village. There were also larger buildings: barracks to house those people
who wanted to live more cheaply, who didn’t mind sacrificing privacy, and who may even
have preferred the close companionship and warmth of their fellow exiles. Other large
structures were the manufacturing areas, where mass production of hides and tallow
was performed. Pottery, stone working and bonecarving, Jules assumed, were cottage
industries best done in the security of one’s own home.
The only buildings that had any real color to them were the bars. Jules had expected to
find such places, and was not disappointed. No matter where they were, human beings
devoted a large portion of their invention and energy to distilling alcoholic spirits-and the
more depressing the living conditions, the more important alcohol seemed to be.
Gastonia was a natural haven for bars, and there were plenty of them. The villagers had
learned, over the years, to make an astonishing array of beverages from local varieties
of grains and fruits.
Jules had not expected to find the bars open during the day but, to his surprise, they
were. Hunters between assignments, such as himself, could not be expected to stay
home all day, and there was a minimum of other entertainment available in the village.
People who were “self-employed”-potters, wood and bone-carvers, and others who
worked in the necessary crafts-would often take a little time off to drop around the local
bar to see what was happening. And the mayor’s lieutenants, who seemed to have little
to do all day but swagger around and lord over the less fortunate, made a habit of
hanging around the bars, gambling, drinking and making life miserable for everyone else.
Jules scouted the various places out. One of them in particular seemed to be a favorite
haunt of the mayor’s gang, although the action in there during the afternoon was a bit
slow. Jules made himself a note to return there later with Vonnie, then returned home to
fix dinner for his wife.
When Yvonne came home from work they had a quick meal and then went out. Vonnie
was eager to see what they could stir up in the bar. “When all you do is haul hides
around all day,” she said, “anything is a welcome change. I hope we get a break in this
case soon-I know our job is dangerous, but hazardous duty should not include being
bored to death.”
Once inside the bar-a dimly lit establishment known simply as “Sasha’s”-they ordered a
couple of mild drinks and went over to a pair of stools in one quiet corner to observe
events. They had long since learned the knack of nursing a single drink all evening; like all
DesPlainians, they were allergic to alcohol and found the taste utterly disgusting. They
forced themselves to drink, though, as just one more of the sacrifices they made in the
service of their Emperor.
As they watched people’s interactions and eavesdropped on random conversations, they
slowly gained more of a feel for the social life in the village. As was true in all human
society, status levels had formed based on such factors as occupation, income and
personal character. People in the routine, menial jobs-such as Vonnie-were considered
on the lowest rung of the ladder, while hunters ranked fairly high. A top-notch hunter, in
fact, could become a minor celebrity. The top spots in the village were occupied by the
mayor and his minions, plus a few of the classier ladies who had chosen to be
courtesans.
As the d’Alemberts watched, it became clear that there was one loudmouthed braggart
named Voorhes who was much taken with his own self-importance at being the number
three man in the mayor’s administration. After a whispered consultation between them,
the two SOTE agents got up from their seats and approached the man. “Gospodin
Voorhes?” Jules asked with what he hoped was the proper degree of reverence.
Voorhes looked them both over. The only clothing the d’Alemberts had was the outfits
they’d been given just before leaving the walled garrison-much too well-made to pass as
native wear. It marked them instantly as warmies to the local populace. They would buy
new clothes as soon as they could spare the money, but until then they could expect little
but scorn from the more established people.
“What do you want?” Voorhes asked brusquely, wanting as little to do with these
newcomers as possible.
“We were hoping you could help us get a job with the mayor. We’ve been hearing you
say how important you are to him, and we were wondering…”
“How long have you warmies been in the village?” “Four days now, sir.”
Voorhes gave them a sneer. “Four whole days, and you’d like to work for the mayor. I’ve
been here ten years, and I had to work hard to make it. Get out of my sight before I take
it into my head to beat some respect into you.”
He started to turn away, had a second thought and turned to face Vonnie. “You. You’re
not bad-looking. The mayor might just be willing to give you a very special job. Of course,
I’d have to try you out first, just to make sure you’re good enough.”
“Oh, I’m good enough,” Vonnie said, her voice as cold as the weather outside. “In fact,
I’m more than good enough. I’m entirely too good for either you or your boss.”
“Sassy little jamtart, aren’t you?” Voorhes said with a lazy grin. “We’ll have to teach you
a lesson in Gastonian manners.” He reached out one meaty hand to grab Vonnie’s arm
and pull her toward him.
But Vonnie was no longer there. As the man reached for her she sidestepped adroitly,
grabbed his extended arm, and flipped him through the air in a single motion that looked
positively effortless-and it was effortless, for someone with the strength of a DesPlainian
in perfect physical condition. The bar’s other patrons cleared hastily out of the way, and
Voorhes landed with a solid thud on the hard stone floor.
The man shook his head and rose slowly to his feet, still not completely convinced that a