“You mean my wife, Madonette . . .”
“Wife? How inconvenient. I am sure that something can be done about that, though not exactly at this moment. Your arrival is, to say the least, most timely. Fits in with what you might call a general plan of action I was considering. For the general good of the populace.”
“Indeed,” I said, controlling my enthusiasm for any plan of his that might be forthcoming.
“Yes, indeed. A concert for the public. Barbecues and free drinks. The public will see Svinjar as a benefactor of the first order. I gather that you are prepared to play a benefit performance?”
“That’s what we are here for.”
Among other things that we are here for, Svinjar old chubkin. But the longest journey begins with but a single step.
I’m not happy about the way this operation is going,” I said unhappily. Spooning up the almost tasteless gruel that appeared to be the staff of life in this place.
“Who’s arguing?” Steengo said, looking suspiciously into his own bowl of food. “This stuff not only looks like glue-it tastes like it.”
“It will stick to your ribs,” Floyd said and I gaped. Did he have a sense of humor after all? Probably not. Looking at his serious expression I doubted if he had explored all the meanings of what he had just said. I let it lie.
“I’m not only unhappy with this operation so far-but with the company we have been keeping. Svinjar and his loathsome lads. We’ve shot almost a day here already-for little purpose. If the artifact is with the Fundamentaloids we ought to be out there tracking them down.”
“But you promised a concert,” Madonette pointed out with a certain logic. “They are building a sort of bandstand and the word has gone out. You don’t want to let our fans down, do you?”
“Heaven forbid,” I muttered gruelly and put the bowl aside. I couldn’t tell them about the thirty-day poison or the fact that as of the moment over seventeen days had passed. Oh the hell with it. “Let’s get set up. Maybe a quick rehearsal to see if all the gear is working and, hopefully, we are still in good form.”
We put lunch aside with a great deal of pleasure and humped our packs to the concert site. There was a grove of trees here that were serving as supports for a singularly crude platform. Planks had been set up between them, with an occasional support stuck in below if the thing sagged too much. Our audience was reluctantly and suspiciously gathering in the surrounding field. Small family units with the men all armed with swords or cudgels, keeping close watch on the womenfolk. Well, this was a slaveholding society so such concern was easily understood.
“At least they are trying to make it look nice,” Madonette said, pointing. Pretty crude and crummy, I thought, but spoke not my thoughts aloud. Shuffling slaves had brought up leafy branches which they were arranging around the platform; there were even a few flowers stuck in among the leaves. Oh, things were really swinging on Liokukae tonight.
I was depressing myself sorely and did not want to pass it on to the others. “Here we go, gang!” I said swinging my pack up onto the platform and clambering behind it. “Our first live performance for this waiting world. If you don’t count that quick gig upon arrival. Let’s show them what a pack of real rats can do!”
With our appearance the assembling audience took heart and moved closer; latecomers hurried to their places. While we tuned up and played a riff or two, I rolled some thunder effects that had people looking at the sky. When we were ready to go, Svinjar himself came trundling through the crowd, a couple of armed heavies at his side. With their help he climbed onto the platform and raised his arms. The silence was total. Maybe it was respect, perhaps hatred and fear-or all of them rolled together. But it worked. He smiled around at the gathering, lifted his great gut so he could hook his thumbs into his belt. And spoke.
“Svinjar takes care of his people. Svinjar is your friend. Svinjar brings you The Stainless Steel Rats and their magic music. Now let us hear a big cheer for them!”