Changer (Athanor) (79 page)

He is in time to see a satyr get his face resoundingly slapped by a pretty red-haired woman, but, although he watches and listens, he does not think that this woman is Sven.

Again over the grounds.  Bronson and Rebecca Trapper, in the company of two humans that the Changer does not know, are walking from the Indian Arts Building.  Bronson carries a package under one arm.

Remembering that Sven was supposed to be escorting this group, the Changer examines the humans carefully, lest one of them be Sven in another form.  Looking at the open, laughing faces, he finds no trace of mockery.  Sven is not here, either.  The Changer must fly on.

In the animal barns, one of the
pooka
has been awarded a blue ribbon.  The other has shifted human once more and is proudly parading his fellow out of the ring.  There will be certain confusion when the authorities realize that these did not have proper entry forms.

And the Changer soars on.  He is not despairing—he is far too old for this small delay to bring him to despair, but he is growing tired.  Little birds need a great deal of food and the owl cannot scavenge as a raven can.  He compromises by shifting into a slightly anomalous raven and eating his fill and more from a trash can behind a line of food-vendor stalls.  

An old Navajo woman touches her bag of gall medicine when she sees him.  He answers her gesture by cawing loudly, then launching into the dark skies.  Let her believe she has chased the witch away.  She will be comforted.

He shifts back into an owl and flies over to the “Indian Village.”  In a central space, six Pueblo men in elaborate beaded and befeathered costumes dance the formal, ritualized steps of some dance accompanied by music played on drums and flute.  In the shadows, two fauns who have discarded their boots join hands and dance in company.

None of those who wander about the perimeter of the dance area, eating fry bread smeared with honey or browsing the displays of jewelry and pottery, notice the fauns except to smile at their joyful romp.

Next the Changer soars into the “Mexican Village,” and there he finds his prey.  Sven Trout sits in a folding chair before a bandstand watching, with evident interest, a performance by a mariachi band.  Over to one side of the bandstand, the Head and Louhi are inspecting a display of garish Mexican sombreros and sequined shawls.

None of them look as if they are planning to depart anytime soon.  In any case, the avenues away from this section of the fairgrounds are limited.  The Changer marks the place, then flies off to find Anson and the others.

He finds them at the intersection of the fairgrounds’ two main avenues with Bronson, Rebecca, and their two humans.  Duppy Jonah is no longer with them.  Presumably, he has found Amphitrite and joined her party.

By the simple expedient of dropping a small rock on his head, the Changer gets Anson to look up.  The he lures the Spider to a place where he can shift and they can talk.

“Sven’s in the Mexican Village,” the Changer says, as soon as he has shifted.

“Put on your pants!” Anson says, handing them to him.  “Now, have you thought about how you will catch him?”

“I thought I would simply walk up to him and say I wished to have a word with him.”

“It might work.”  Anson hands the Changer his shirt.  “I have a more complicated plan in mind.”

“Why bother?”

“What if he wishes to flee?”

“I will hold him.”

“And if he calls for help?”

“Will he?”

“Can you say he will not?”

“No.”

“I believe if he thought that he could use the Accord against you, then he would not involve ordinary humans.”

“I see…”

“Rebecca Trapper has friends who can help us.  What I have in mind is…”

Sven Trout sincerely likes mariachi music and Mexican food, but both are better for their location away from the midway.

In Sven’s restless state of mind, long waits in line for a minute or so of artificially created terror hold no appeal.  Realizing that Snowbird and his family will be engaged by the rides for some time and that Demetrios is fully capable of keeping track of the satyrs, Sven had used the excuse of checking up on Bronson and Rebecca to make his escape.

No one seemed terribly sorry to see him go.  He was certain that everyone was relieved when the Head and Louhi left with him.

“Hello, Sven,” says a voice at his right shoulder.  

He finds Anson A. Kridd and Eddie sliding into seats behind him.  They wear matching red-satin jackets emblazoned with the logo of the Albuquerque Dukes and floppy, striped hats.  Anson’s is red and orange, Eddie’s blue and purple.

“Having fun?” Anson asks, popping an éclair into his mouth.

“I am,” Sven says.  “I love mariachi music.”

Eddie grins.  “I won the jackets in one of the basketball-shooting arcades.  You should have seen the look on the proprietor’s face.  I’m sure the hoops are rigged, but after just one shot I got a feel for the spin.”

He mimes shooting baskets.

“Did you win the hats, too?” Sven asks, sincerely interested.  Something for nothing has always interested him.

“Nope.”  Eddie gently punches his buddy on the shoulder.  “Anson got them for us.”

“Where’re the lady and the Head?” Anson asks, digging through his pockets and discovering only an empty bag where he clearly had hoped to find another snack.

“I think they’re in one of the stalls.”

“We should go pay our respects,” Anson says, “and I want another éclair.  That one was too small.”

Eddie chuckles.  “I wish I had your metabolism, Spider.  I bet that Arthur would like it even more.”

“Sorry, I’m not giving it up.”

Sven waves casually as they wander off.  The band is starting a new piece.  He leans comfortably back in his chair.  About halfway through the song, he hears a deep, gravelly voice at his right shoulder.

“Hello, Sven.”

Sven feels his bowels tighten.  He fights down the urge to flee wildly.

“Hello, Changer.”

“I heard you were in town and thought that it was time for us to chat.”

Sven turns slightly in his seat.  The Changer is directly behind him but he can see that the ancient studies him out of only one eye.

“Why?”

“I don’t approve of what you did to me, and now that you’re outside of Arthur’s protection…”  The Changer lets his words trail off.

“We made a deal!”

“I didn’t deal.  You offered terms I had no choice but to accept if I wanted my daughter to live.”

The gravelly voice speaking directly into Sven’s ear seems louder than the mariachi music, but that music is making their conversation quite private.  The people nearest to Sven have moved away, perhaps made nervous by his one-eyed visitor.

Sven looks around anxiously.  Neither Louhi nor the Head is in sight—he doesn’t dare guess in which direction they have gone.  Then, at the fringes of the Mexican Village, nearly hidden by the darkness, he sees two red jackets, two silly hats, a tall black man and a shorter white man.

They’re sharing a huge cotton candy between them.

Hadn’t Eddie and Anson said they were going to look for Louhi and the Head?  And even if his cronies aren’t nearby, he can always claim the protection of the Accord…

“We can’t talk here,” he says.  “Let’s walk.”

The Changer grunts agreement.  Sven ambles as if picking a direction randomly, but really walking toward Eddie and Anson.

“Now, Changer,” he says bossily (must keep him from noticing where they are headed), “what do you want from me?”

“Restitution,” the Changer says, “and your binding word that you will not act against me or Shahrazad again.”

“And why do you think you can get away with this?”

They have almost reached Eddie and Anson.

“I am who I am,” the Changer says simply.

“And if I don’t agree?” Sven says cockily.

“Then reluctantly,” the Changer says, raising his hand and grabbing Sven by the throat, “I will break your neck.”

They are in the shadows now, away from the shops, away from the loud mariachi music.  Sven knows that the Changer can do as he threatens, but still he is filled with surging triumph.

“I call,” he says loudly, “on the protection of the Accord!”

Eddie and Anson turn slowly and face him full on for the first time.  Sven feels a prickling of adrenaline, for now he is close enough to get a clear look at the two men.

They wear the hats, the jackets.  The white man even has a brushing of something dark across his jawline to simulate Eddie’s five-o’clock shadow, but neither is Eddie nor Anson.

They nod politely to the Changer and start walking away.

“Wait!” Sven shrills.  “Help me!  He’s going to kill me!”

“I don’t think so,” the white man says.

“And even if he was,” the black man adds, looking pointedly at the Changer’s missing eye, “he might have a really good reason for doing so.”

They walk away and Sven realizes that he is alone with a creature out of nightmare.  The grip on his neck is firm, and he knows that even if he shapeshifts, the other will keep his hold.

“So,” the Changer says almost conversationally, “do you agree by our blood to foreswear the protection of Arthur’s house and of the Accord in the matters associated with your kidnapping Shahrazad and the price you extracted for her return or…”

He gives Sven a shake that pops the vertebrae in his neck.

“Or do I break your neck here and now?”

“You’re going to break it eventually,” Sven sulks.

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Think for yourself, Fiery One.  Would I stop to talk if all I wanted was you dead?  I want restitution and an opportunity to remind you what happens when you use your elders as toys in your games.”

“That’s all?”

“When I am finished with you, it will be enough.”

“Then I guess I can do what you want.”

The Changer does not release his hold, and their proximity is such that Sven feels his dry chuckle as much as hears it.

“Sven, I must have you swear.  So that none will misunderstand my desire to bring you harm, I want my complaint against you to be a public one.”

“Public?”

“I think that, if you swear as I have asked, we can use the athanor forum that is already gathered beneath Arthur’s roof.  However”—the dry chuckle again—“I am not such a fool as to let you go there without your promise to foreswear—in this instance—the protection you have already claimed.”

“I never thought you were a fool, Changer.”

“But you have misjudged me, Sven.  You would never have drawn me here if you believed I would move against you.”

Sven sighs.  “You’re right, but I wasn’t certain if you would attend the Review this time.  Louhi had made promises.”

“Your explanations will not sway me, Sven.  Now, are you going to swear, or am I going to break your neck?”

“I swear by our shared blood,” Sven says stiffly, “that in matters related to the kidnapping of Shahrazad and the ransom extracted from you for her safety, I do not and shall not, claim the protection of Arthur’s house.”

“Very prettily said,” the Changer says, “and our blood stands witness.”

Sven cranes his neck in an effort to face the Changer. “Let me remind you that this is an oath under duress.”

“That seems only right,” the Changer says, moving his hold to Sven’s arm, “for what you have taken from me was taken under very similar circumstances.  Come along.  Eddie and Anson are waiting for us, and our night at the Fair is coming to a close.”