Haydn of Mars (6 page)

“I gathered as much.
 
Either that or a wine steward gone to extraordinary lengths to guard his wares.
 
And where there is import there is money no doubt.”

“I would be handsomely ransomed.”

He nodded.
 
“I have no doubt of that, too.
 
And you shall be ransomed, and handsomely, at the falling of the year.”

That was months away.
 
“If you are to ransom me, it cannot wait till winter!”

He grunted a laugh.
 
“We follow no calendar but our own.
 
Come, you may eat with me.
 
Food is prepared.”

Without waiting for my reply, he strode off, nudging the nearest of the three minions aside with a growl.

Seeing no alternative, I followed.

The camp was not a large one.
 
I counted three tents, one larger than the others.
 
As I passed the opening I saw two women within, overdressed in silks and jewels.
 
They stared at me with baleful eyes.

“Come!
 
Eat!” the Mighty said from his fire nearby.

He waited for me to sit on a pillow, and then sat opposite me.
 
He was handsomer in firelight, not as old as I assumed.
 
His features were almost aquiline.
 
The nose was broad and his whiskers thick.

He dipped a paw into a pot which straddled the fire, drew something to his mouth, then barked a command and one of the minions appeared and carried the pot to me.

“I prefer utensils,” I said.

He laughed, and slapped his knee with a paw.
 
“And I prefer to be king of the universe!
 
Alas!
 
Neither of us attains what we prefer!”

My hunger overcoming my reticence, I scooped some of the glop within the pot up with one paw, and managed to spill half of it bringing it to my mouth.

“No!” the Mighty laughed.
 
“Like this!”

The minion scurried back to him with the pot and he proceeded to instruct me how to properly eat with my paws, scooping it gently into the hollow of his palm then bringing it almost elegantly to his lips.

I had to admit that the stew, if that's what it was, was very good.

“You like F'rar stew, then?” the Mighty asked after I had eaten my fill.
 
He began to laugh as my eyes widened in horror.

I began to retch and stood up.

“No!
 
No!” He continued to laugh, urging me to sit back down.
 
He waved his paws.
 
“It is only poultry!”

He waited until I had regained my seat to announce, “We will have F'rar for dessert!”

Again he laughed, and then added quickly, “We are nomads, but not savages.
 
Please do not think of us as so.”

“I...had my doubts,” I said.

His grin widened.
 
“I am sure you did!
 
And now I will tell you about the battle today.”

My interest heightened.
 
“Please.”

With his paw, he drew a line in the air, and then, higher, another, and then another.
 
Then he laid his paw flat above the third line.

“This is where your people stood on the high bluff,” he said.
 
“We have excellent spy glasses, and saw it all.”
 
He moved his paw down to where he had drawn the second line.
 
“And your people had their outer defenses here, to the rim of the crater.”
 
He traced the original, lower line, again.
 
“And here were the F'rar, beyond that line.”
 
He took both paws and bent the line upward and around.

“A flanking maneuver,” I said.

He nodded vigorously.
 
“Yes!
 
And a good one.
 
There were many more F'rar than your people.
 
The F'rar, being stupid, waited for dawn to break.
 
Your defenses then went to work, and did well for a time.
 
But after a while they were overwhelmed.”

He hunched himself closer to the fire.
 
“Then the main attack began.
 
It went on for a long time, almost two meal's worth.
 
Your people had picked the bluff well, and they defended it with vigor.
 
The airship attacks, I think, eventually made the difference.
 
That and the fact that the F'rar had fifty times the ground attackers as your defenders.
 
And then, of course, there were betrayals.”

I must have looked surprised, because he laughed.

“Yes!
 
There are always betrayals!
 
With my own eyes I watched through a spyglass as two of your defenders on the crater rim took money to abandon their posts.
 
They were later killed by the F'rar.
 
I'm sure there were others.”

“Tell me more!”

“So eager!”
 
He laughed again.
 
“Eventually, the F'rar got into the south defenses of the bluff.
 
But before that happened, I saw a curious thing, what looked like a wine cart being ridden off to the East.
 
A band of F'rar chased it, and eventually they overtook it.
 
And I said to myself, ‘I must have that cart!'”

I must have looked pensive, because he leaned closer to the fire and said, “What are you thinking, Ransom?
 
That will be my name for you, I believe, since you refuse to give me your own.”

I nodded absently, thinking of general Xarr...

“And now,” the Mighty announced, “we will have that dessert!
 
My women are excellent cooks!”

“Your...harem?”

“Of course!
 
Every Yern of import must have one.
 
And the women fight to be part of it!”

“Don't the women ever...object?”

His smile faded.
 
“What is this silliness?
 
Are we going to discuss Yern savagery again?
 
These are the ways of my people, how it ever was!”

My own ire was building.
 
“And if the women were to object?”

“They would be beaten!
 
And rightly so!”

“This is just?”

He threw his paws up.
 
“I should have known better than to discuss things of import with one like you.
 
You are not Yern!
 
You do not understand!”

“I don't suppose you consider me part of your harem now, do you?” I said defiantly.

“Who are you, that you speak to the Mighty like this!”
 
He stood, angry.
 
“You are a guest, and one with kith!
 
Of course you are not part of my harem!
 
But tonight you will sleep with them!”

He stalked off, and in a moment one of the women I had seen in the large tent appeared out of the shadows.

“You must come with me.”
 
She had a sly smile on her face.

When I started to protest, she said, “Now.
 
He is very angry.”

I followed her into the tent, where the other woman was making up a bed of pillows in one corner.

“You will sleep here,” she said in the direct tones of a head servant brooking no discussion.
 
When she turned to regard me she had the same cunning smile on her face.

“Very well,” I said.

The two of them retreated behind a curtain deeper into the tent.

“He will be angry, but it will be worth it,” one of them said to the other, and then the two of them tittered.

I lay down on the bed they had made me, and immediately noticed an odd smell, which only grew in intensity.
 
I began to gag.

Almost immediately the Mighty appeared, and when he saw me his face flushed in anger.

“What is the meaning of this?
 
Who told you to sleep with the dogs?”

I got up, disgusted.
 
“And your dogs are not trained to relieve themselves outside?”

“They do what they wish.
 
As do I.”
 

He threw open the back curtain to reveal the two cowering women behind it.
 
In a moment the curtain dropped, and I heard the sounds of paw striking flesh and pitiful mewling.

I was about to push open the curtain and intercede when he reappeared, flushed with his exertions.
 
But his ire had subsided.

“They will wait on you hand and foot from now on,” he said, in an apologetic tone.
 
“I should have known something like this would happen.
 
The ways of women...”

He must not have liked the look on my face, because he stormed toward me, his anger rising again.
 
“For your information, Ransom,” he said, “my mother headed this tribe before me.
 
She had her own harem – of men.”

He stalked out.
 

In another moment the two chastened women appeared from behind the curtain.
 
The older one approached me, eyes downcast, but I caught the sullen look of smoldering hatred on the other's face as she held the curtain open.

“Please,” the older one said, indicating that I should enter the rear chamber.

They followed me in, and the younger one bent to arrange the pillows, now luxuriously heaped in one corner, of what had undoubtedly been their own beds.

As they left the young one lingered before letting the curtain fall behind her, and fixed me with her murderous stare.
 
I saw that the older one was already rearranging the dog's bed into two separate sleep areas.

I slept that night with one eye open.

The next morning I awoke eye to eye with a dog.

He was not a large one, which surprised me.
 
He was obviously used to being kicked because he jumped back, giving a single hoarse bark, when I opened my eyes.
 
There was no reason to like dogs, and this one would obviously not change my mind – it was dirty and fearful and, I could already tell, spoiled and needy.
 
My father had briefly owned one, which promptly ran away the first time it was unleashed.
 
As pets, dogs were, as far as I could tell, burdensome; as companions, unpredictable; and as protectors, useless.
 
In short, I didn't like them.

The creature, making a piteous sound in the back of its throat, sat on its haunches and then tried to advance on me again.
 
I brushed it away.

“Go,” I said.

“It is his house, much more than yours!” the booming voice of the Mighty sounded from behind the curtain.
 
He sounded in a good mood.
 
“May I enter, Ransom?”

I arranged myself and sat up.
 
“Of course.”

“It is a beautiful morning,” he said, throwing the curtain aside, “and we must soon be away.
 
You will breakfast with me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He smiled broadly.
 
“You have every choice at your disposal.
 
You may dine with me, or not dine at all.
 
You may fly, if you have wings.
 
Or you may make a friend of a dog.”

Through all of this his pet had sat crying and barking hoarsely, waiting for his master's attention.
 
When it came, and the Mighty looked on it and held down a paw, the beast jumped up joyously and licked at it, running its tongue over the outstretched fingers.

“His name is Little One.
 
Do you not find their needs to be curious?” the Mighty said.
 
He looked down at the dog with unabashed affection.
 
“It is said that they are content to be subservient, unlike our own species.”

He looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded.
 
“I have heard that.
 
I have also heard that they are stupid.”
 
I cringed, as the creature had left off debasing itself in front of its master and now advanced on me, tongue lolling.

“He likes you.
 
And that is significant, because he likes almost no one.”

As if on cue, the younger of the Mighty's harem stuck her head into the tent.
 
The dog immediately turned, growling angrily in the back of its throat.