We got a big murmur which had to do. While he had been speaking his bully-boys had manhandled a sizable padded chair up onto the platform; it creaked when he dropped into it.
“Play,” he ordered and sat back to enjoy the music.
“Okay, gang, ready to go!” I blew into my lapel microphone and my amplified breath gusted across the audience. “Well, hello there music lovers. By popular appeal-and the fact that we were busted by the narcs – we have come to your sunny planet to bring you the music known right around the galaxy. It is our very great pleasure now to dedicate this next song to the concert master himself, Svinjar-” He nodded acceptance and I rolled a drumroll out across the surrounding fields.
“A song that you will all know, and hopefully love, something that we can all feel, share, enjoy together, laugh together and cry together. I bring you our own and original version of that classic of modern musicality-‘The Itchy Foot Itch’!”
There were shouts of joy, screams of pain, wild enthusiasm. As we launched into this overamplified and very catchy-if not itchy-number.
I get up at dawn and look at the river
The mist rising there it gives me a shiver.
Leaves on the trees they’re wet with dew
Looking at them I think of you
Far far away from me today
I don’t like it-but all I can say
Is the galaxy’s wide and I like to stray
To the stars and beyond ’cause that’s my way
I got the
Itchy foot, itchy foot, itchy foot itch!
Gotta keep going, never get rich!
Itchy foot, itchy foot, itchy foot itch!
Keeping me going, ain’t that a bitch!
Itchy foot, itchy foot, itchy foot itch!
Keeping me going from place to place
Gotta keep going, what can I do?
Keep going forever-and I’ll never see you.
Keep on going round the galaxy-no place is home
For the likes of mee-ee-e-e!
There was a vast amount of itchy foot stomping, let me tell you. And plenty of cheers and cries of joy when we had finished. Buoyed up by enthusiasm we played two more numbers before I called a break.
“Thanks folks, thanks much-you’re a great audience. Now if you will give us a few minutes we’ll be right back . . .”
“Very well done, well done indeed,” Svinjar said, waddling over and plucking the microphone from my lapel. “I know that we all have heard these musicians before-on the box-so their delightful entertainment comes as no surprise to us all. Yet still, there is something fine about having them here in person. I am grateful-I know that everyone out there is grateful.” He turned and smiled broadly at me. A smile that, I could see quite clearly, held no warmth or humor at all. He turned back and spread his arms wide.
“I am so grateful that I have prepared a little surprise for all of you out there-do you want to know what it is?”
Absolute silence now-and a sideways shuffling by the audience. They apparently did not like any of Svinjar’s little surprises.
They were right.
“Go!” he shouted into the microphone, so loudly that his amplified voice rolled and echoed like thunder. “Go-go-GO!”
I staggered and almost fell as the platform shook and vibrated. There was a roar of masculine voices as out from under our feet, brushing aside the disguising leafy boughs, burst a mass of armed men. More and more appeared, waving cudgels, howling as they ran, bearing down on the fleeing audience.
We looked on dumbfounded as men and women were clubbed to the ground, chained, tied. The attack was brief and vicious and quickly over with. The fields were empty, the last visitor gone. Those that remained were bound and silent, or groaning with pain. Over their moans of agony Svinjar’s laughter sounded clearly. He was rocking in his chair, possessed by sadistic humor, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“But where-” Madonette said. “Where did they all come from? There was no one under here when we started the concert.”
I jumped to the ground, kicked some branches aside, saw the gaping mouth of the tunnel. The opening had been concealed by a dirt-covered lid, now thrown aside. There was a heavy thud and Svinjar landed beside me.