At his usual time, Dante parked the bike in the dusty back yard of the pub. He swung off it and crossed the yard. Jamie, taking out the garbage, called out, "Hi, Dan," as he passed but Dante, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched and his head down, walked right by him. Undaunted, Jamie put down the pail and followed his friend into the kitchen.
"Dan. Hi," said Jamie, rushing to keep up with him.
Kate reached out and grabbed the boy's arm. "Let him be," she whispered. "He shouldn't even be here. His wife and baby are dead, honey."
Jamie's eyes widened. "The little baby in the picture?"
"Yes. You finish up your job. I'll see to him. O.K?"
"K." Jamie wandered back to his pail, his forehead creased with worry.
Kate followed Dante out into the restaurant and stood beside her husband serving at the bar. They watched as their player walked up and sat down at the piano. John Sweet entered the pub, sat down at the bar and sent the couple a significant glance. Dante lifted the cover. His hands pounded down onto the keys. The Phantom of the Opera thundered out into the room.
"Maybe it's better he's here. Easier to keep an eye on him, than having someone watching his cottage. Don't let him leave on that bike. We don't need his Royal Highness dead," said Sweet. "Rash is discretely running a few checks through the computers. If it looks bad, we'll move him to a safe house in the morning." He shook his head. "I find this hard to believe."
"Could be Francis's fancy on top of a runaway transpo's lies. He's always hoping for the bodhisattva," Mike's face twisted into a sarcastic grin. "Tell you one thing. Dan or Dante or whoever he is, isn't fit to entertain tonight. Poor bastard."
"He sure isn't," said Kate. She rounded the bar, went over to the piano and placed a hand on Dante's shoulder, saying. "Stop now. I want to talk to you and I can't hear myself think." He stopped and stared down at his silent fingers on the keys. "There. That's better. Now, when did you last eat, Dan Weaver?"
He heaved a sigh. "A cup of tea at lunch."
"With a wee drop, no doubt," said Kate "Anyone ever tell you not to drink on an empty stomach?" Dante shook his head. "Come on, sit down at the table in the corner and let me fix you something."
"I'm not hungry. Just a drink of Special Lemon," Dante paused for a moment. "With a shot of vodka."
"Only if you have it with my stew and biscuits,"said Kate.
"O.K." He rose from the piano, shuffled over to the table and sat down. He examined the table cloth, his head in his hands. Kate brought the stew and Special Lemon.
"Food first," she ordered.
Dante picked up his spoon, stirred it through the stew then left it sitting in the bowl. He glanced at the drink. Kate cleared her throat. He broke off a piece of biscuit and slowly chewed it. Kate watched as hunger overtook him and he began to spoon up the stew. She left, satisfied she'd done her best.
Jamie sidled his way over, setting the tables around Dante and stealing glances at Mike Deciding his boss had become busy with customers at the bar, the boy stood beside his friend and laid out a knife, fork and napkin.
"Sorry your wife and baby's dead," he said. He threw his arms around Dante and hugged. Dante looked up with a half smile, his eyes tearing. He patted Jamie's arm. "Thanks kid."
"Welcome." Jamie nipped back to his cart and his work, worried in case Kate saw him. She had told him to stay away from Dan.
Constable Rashmanon hurried into the pub and up to the bar. John and Mike sent a glance towards the table by the fire. Dante hunched over his Special Lemon, oblivious to anyone or anything. Sue drew Rash a beer. He took a sip before reporting.
"The Botany news reported a massacre. Out in the territories past Mary Delight," he said. "Local clinic burnt to the ground. The owner, Elizabeth the Healer, Matriarch of the House of Endor, dead. Two overnight patients and a baby, her slaves, all murdered. Damn, I hate that they don't list the names of the slaves.
" Now this is important. The fire fighters reported seeing a man fleeing over the fields as they came up the driveway. The son claims that a few months ago, his mother sold a retarded male slave, a transpo, who had begun bothering the women. They think the slave escaped from the mines and returned for revenge." A note of sarcasm crept into Rash's voice. "Mad dog transpo, the usual fear mongering stuff. Neighbours are living in terror as the authorities comb the nearby woods."
"What did you find out about Dan?" asked John Sweet.
"That was a little tougher," replied the constable. "He used his name at the border and, of course, here. The records saying he was from Botany. No mention he was a freed slave. Beyond that, he doesn't exist, as far as I can trace.
"A few years ago a Madam Elizabeth the Healer was recorded as buying a male slave, mental defective, age approximately fifteen years, from the market at Mary Delight. The trader was the usual small time scum bag. No record the boy was a transpo. The trader listed a batch lot with the market that included several adolescent males. He could have been one of them." Rash's eyes brightened with the joy of successful sleuthing. "You'll love this. Year ago Yule, Madam Elizabeth listed a male slave, age approximately 18, as deceased in a farm accident. According to her holdings list, couldn't be anyone other than the ‘male slave, mental defective.' No record of her selling any slaves, at all."
"Hmm. Interesting," said Sweet. "What did you discover about His Royal Highness, Dante, Weaver of Words?"
"About five years ago, the prince died in a fire that started from a candle left burning after one of his drunken orgies," replied Rash. They glanced at tee-totaling Dan finishing his vodka and lemon. "There was an inquest, the House of Yaga claiming mischief. This perked people's interest, no one knowing much about the Mage's bastard. There was speculation at the time, that Dante had been one of the bottle baby experiments Laius and Prince Dedalus worked on. Before the Queen ordered the abominations destroyed. That the egg used to create him was stolen from the imprisoned daughter of Lord Yaga."
"Baba Yaga,"murmured Mike with surprise.
"The same," said Rash. "The illness, political decline, then death of old Lord Yaga gave the Mage his opening to be rid of a potential rival to his legitimate sons. Not to mention how Dante had made himself into a nuisance embarrassment."
"But how would the prince have become a transpo?" asked John. "Even the vilest criminal noble can't be corrected, that's only for slaves and common criminals. Exile here, yes, but no transportation. And a royal prince with magic... Bastard or not, the scandal could overturn everything."
"But did he become a transpo? That's the part that doesn't fit," smiled Rash. "Maybe our Dan's an imposter."
"But he's been so out in the open, so unlike an escaped slave, and he never mentioned being royal before," puzzled Mike. "Only now."
"Yes. Only now. Maybe things went wrong up by Mary Delight and our boy didn't get what he wanted. Mass murderers and psychopaths are often described as -- such a quiet, nice fellow, we were so surprised," pointed out Rash. "His owner a bleeding heart lax on keeping up the training, he could have reverted to his criminal origins. How long have we known Dan? People are transported for a reason."
"Not always," muttered Sweet.
"In my experience..." said the constable. He paused and smirked at John Sweet's thunder face. "But we never agree on this issue anyhow, freedom runner."
"I for one am going to give my condolences," snapped John as he heaved himself off his bar stool. Mike grabbed a cloth and scoured the spotless counter. Sweet plodded over to Dante's table and sat down.
"Sorry to hear about your troubles," he said.
"Thanks."
Dante pushed his bowl to one side and downed the last drop of lemon and vodka. He twisted his empty glass back and forth over the cloth. An awkward silence grew.
"Anything you need, you just ask," said John. He rose.
"Ask Sue to bring me another drink," murmured Dante.
Sweet wandered back to the bar and announced, "He wants another drink."
"Put him in a room upstairs," suggested Constable Rash. "I don't want to arrest him for drunk driving when he tries to leave. And that way we can keep an eye on him."
"Good idea,"said Mike. "He's depressing the whole place. Sue, look after him. And check on him when you're between clients tonight. Just a peek. In case he decides to hurt himself. If you know what I mean."
"I'll take good care of him," said Sue pouring vodka into another Special Lemon. "Don't I take good care of everybody?"
"You make me happy," leered Rash. He reached a hand towards her breast as she walked by. Sue carefully moved out of range.
"Later lover boy,"she said with a sarcastic grin.
Sue placed the Special Lemon in front of Dante then sat down beside him. She watched him take a long drink. He sighed.
"How're you doing?" she asked.
"O.K."
"Doesn't look that way to me."
"Not so good, I guess," he whispered.
"I'd like you to come upstairs with me."
Dante looked at her with bewilderment. "You want me to come with you? Don't men have to ask and show their money?"
Sue reached out and brushed his cheek. "Such an innocent. Not always. We don't think you should be driving your bike in your condition. And the cottage's all lonely isn't it?" She tempted. "You can take a bottle up with you and not have to worry." She grinned. "Hell, I'll have a drink or two with you. It's not good to drink alone."
"You don't love me, do you Sue?" worried Dante. "I like you. I like to play for you when you sing. But sometimes you're pretty bitchy. I'm never sure if you like me or not. So you don't love me, right? Cause you know, people who love me end up dead and I don't want that to happen to you."
"It's strictly business, hon. O.K?" said Sue with a sudden shiver.
"Yeah. O.K." Dante reached out and ran a hand down her bare arm. "Your skin's so smooth.The women here don't wear much."
Sue took his hand and squeezed it, as she looked right into his eyes. "Come on. I'll make you feel better."
"We'll share a few drinks, right?" asked Dante. "I've got lots of money to pay you, you don't have to worry about that. I used to pay people to be my friend all the time." He emptied his glass and sighed. "Or I owned them. That wasn't right."
"I like you, Dan. You treat me as if my dreams matter," said Sue, telling the truth. She laughed. "Not enough to give you a freebie, no man gets that, but I do like you."
"But not love."
"I don't love any man, sweetie. Let's go."
Dante held Sue's hand as they crossed to the stairs. "My drink," he reminded. As she picked up a mickey of vodka and a large Special Lemon from behind the bar, he examined the stairs, unable to glance over at the men he had often sat with and listened to during his breaks; the men to whom he had detailed the cottage renovations, asking for help on various sticky building problems. Dante took Sue's hand again when she returned and they climbed up to the rooms above. The room was small, plain but pleasant, with a cotton quilt thrown over the double bed. Sue drew the brown curtains across the window and placed the bottles on the dresser. She retrieved two glasses from the bathroom. Dante stood by the closed door, watching as she mixed two drinks. She handed him one then sat down on the bed and patted it. Dante walked over to the bureau and poured another shot into his glass. He raised it in a salute and took a few gulps.
"Come on, have a seat," she grinned at him. "You're doing me a favour, getting me off my feet an hour earlier than usual. On the days I don't have many johns, Gaia, my feet ache by the end of the night."
"Your feet hurt?" asked Dante as he sat down beside her. He stared down at her flats.
"Oh, yes," said Sue flipping them off. Her toes curled under, making her feet seem tiny. She took a swallow of her drink then placed her feet on Dante's lap. Scars ridged her soles. "It's how whores and fancy slaves are corrected. Keeps the body nice and the steps dainty."
"That's criminal," said Dante. He kneaded her feet with his free hand.
"That feels good," said Sue. "You a foot man?" Dante flushed.
"I look after Martha's feet." His face clouded. "I looked after them."
"So you got any scars from your slavery?" asked Sue. Dante gave her a sloppy grin.
"You ain't seen nothing," he replied.
He pulled off his shirt and showed his back. Sue gasped and ran her hand over the deep branches.
"You are a transpo. No wonder you never take your shirt off. They really did a job on you, some not too long ago either,"she said. Her hands massaged his neck and shoulders. Her feet found their way to his crotch. "Your back ever give you pain?"
"If I lift too many barrels, it gives a twinge down the spine. And I'm sore the next day." Dante glanced over his shoulder with drunken mischief. "I'm not only a transpo, you know. Watch." He took another sip then waved his hand casually in the air over her lap. "Coins."A handful of gold guineas materialized and rained onto a surprised Sue's lap. "There you're paid." Dante chuckled to himself. "And nothing's up my sleeve." Dante finished his drink. "Refill," he remarked. Sue stared as the glass floated through the air, both bottles filled it then it returned to his hand. He turned to face her, giving her ankles an affectionate pat.
"But I see you don't believe me. Here. This is something new I just learned," he said. "Behind it, there's a lot of philosophy. Um, about how objects relate...chain of being... suchness ou...ous... Shit. I forget. Oh, Hell. Like I care."
Dante's face reflected misery for a moment then he brightened and picked up one of the guineas. He stared down at it and said, "Let warm flowers bloom instead of cold gold." Petals appeared on the coin then grew and mutated into a yellow rose. He handed Sue a flower made of gold so fine it created soft, delicate petals that at first glance seemed real.
"This is for me?" she wondered, fingering the flower. "To keep?"
"Yes. And it won't end up faded and withered like the dead picked bloom,"sighed Dante. He stared through Sue and blinked back tears.
Sue placed the rose, the guineas and her glass on the floor, then pulled Dante's drink from his hand and put it beside them. She lifted her shift over her head, paused for a moment then tossed it away. Her feet, still in his lap, kneaded his arousal. Sue flung her arms around Dante's neck and pulled his face into her breasts. He moaned. They fell back onto the bed. She finished her work before the liquor managed to dampen his ardour but leave the desire. Dante rolled off her with a groan. He stared up at the ceiling, his head whirling. Thoughts of Martha came unbidden and he choked back a sob. Sue tucked a pillow under his head and covered him with the quilt.
"Good night sweet prince," she said. "That's from one of my favorite videos. May flights of angels wing you to your rest."
"Thank you," murmured Dante.
Sue gathered up the guineas, dressed, turned out the light and closed the door. A cold wind rattled rain against the window pane.
Sue slithered away from her client, grabbed the money he had placed on the dresser and pulled on her shift. The old bachelor farmer shuffled into his overall.
"Night honey," he said.
"Night Floyd. See you next week," said Sue.
"If there's extra chicks," he said.
"Aren't I your extra chick?" grinned Sue. She pecked his withered cheek, knowing he would be back, extra money or no.
"That you are," he cackled, hugging her before leaving.
Sue checked the clock. Three in the morning. A check on Dan, then off to her own bed at last. The wonder of a handful of guineas hidden under the floorboards of her room warmed her heart. Perhaps she could at last visit the capital.
She entered Dan's room. Light from the street lamp sifted through the curtains.The covers lay tossed to one side of the empty bed. A soft gasping sound punctuated by long pauses, drifted from the bathroom. Sue opened the door. A smell of fresh vomit assaulted her, though the room seemed clean. Dante huddled naked on the floor, his arms clutched round his folded legs, his face hidden in his knees. He shook with grief, every few seconds gasping with a sob. Sue shook her head, walked to the bed and pulled off the quilt. She draped it round his shoulders. Dante pulled it close around him.
"Thank you. Please go away," he muttered into his knees.
"All part of the service," said Sue. "Get yourself up and back to bed."
Dante stood up and she put an arm around his waist. He stumbled back to the bed and sat down on the side with his head in his hands.
"She looked after me. I was so sick and she took care of me. Cleaned up my mess, cleaned me up. Only caring, no anger at all," he whispered. "I couldn't speak, couldn't even gesture, not even a small look of thanks. But she cared for me anyway." A sob engulfed him. "I couldn't save her. There was so much smoke and flame. The house went up, flames shot right up into the sky. The sirens came and I ran away. Oh Gaia. I left her and she looked after me."
"Come on, lay down again," said Sue. "She would have been dead from the smoke. She wouldn't have wanted you dead too. Here wipe your nose."
She handed him a small cotton towel from the bathroom. Dante blew his nose and stretched out. Sue tucked him back in. He glanced up at her.
"Thanks, Sue. I'll recommend you," he said with a glimmer of a smile.
"Make sure they're rich and know how to take a bath," she quipped.
"I will." Dante closed his eyes, turned over and promptly fell asleep.
"No doubt," said Sue.
Her bladder twinged. A touch of infection, a constant problem in her profession. Sue entered the bathroom, closed the door and sat down on the toilet. The sound of heavy running feet pounded up the stairs and down the hall. They paused. The room door slammed open with a bang. Sue froze.
Dante turned over with a start. Two interplanetary police tackled him, chaining him in iron before he could move. A tall man in a black wizard's robe rushed a hand to the top of Dante's head and pressed down. Dante stiffened and his eyes rolled up. All his magic bubbled then stilled. The wizard removed his hand.He stroked his gray flecked black beard as he watched Dante's eyes return to normal. The necromancer glanced with disdain at the spilled liquor glass rolling on the floor by the bed.
"Well your habits haven't changed," he sneered. "Bad genes. But my haven't you grown. And you won't have to prove your membership in the House of Yaga. A dead ringer for the old Lord in his youth. I love Father's little nasty revenges on Mother. No House of Strega in you."
"Yevgeny?" asked Dante. Rage roared up in him. "You murdered my wife and child."
Yevgeny raised a mocking eyebrow. Dante threw himself at his brother. The wizard stepped aside. Dante fell over his chains to the floor. He gathered himself to rise.
"Assume the position," shouted a voice.
Dante glanced up. His trainer, from the ship, the one the transpos called Rotten, smirked down at him, tapping the end of a correction rod in his palm. The same decayed teeth leered. Dante's training snapped back. He automatically kowtowed, unable to stop himself. The trainer swung out the rod and pushed the tip into Dante's upper arm. Needle sharp, a slave chip implanted itself deep in his flesh. Rotten pulled out the tip.
The rod ran down his spine to the tailbone and Dante heard the familiar click. Buzzing agony shot up his back and through his body, every vertebra crackling. He heard himself scream through the boiling in his brain. His will leaked away.
"This is interesting," remarked Yevgeny to the trainer."Very interesting. Mother and Father want him destroyed, he's the last specimen of a bad experiment." The tiny shred of hope Dante held that his father had grieved for him, fluttered away. "He's technically my bastard half-brother, father's vain with his science. In reality he's a genetic freak that political pressure kept alive. That means mage grade magic at least. And he was brought up a spoiled brat. You sure he'll obey like the transpos at the palace?"
"He's your slave. As long as you keep a correction rod, he'll do anything you want," answered Rotten with a sarcastic grin. Nobles seemed to think they differed from the mass of humanity.
"He'll do anything?"
"Kneel you. Hold out your hands," ordered the trainer. Dante pushed himself up into a kneel, his head bowed, his face blank. He presented his hands. Rotten examined Dante's left palm, running his finger down a faded white scar on one side. "You remember this, don't you?" Dante remained silent. His manacled hands dropped back down in front of him. The trainer pulled a lighter from his pocket. This demonstration always impressed the buyers. The flame flared.
"Order him to put his hand over the flame,"said Rotten. "He won't pull away until you say."
"Really?" Yevgeny grinned. "Put your hand in the flame."
Dante lifted his hands and placed the side of the left one in the flame. He memorized the floor, trying to dissociate from the excruciating pain, determined not to cry out. Yevgeny watched in fascination as the flesh began to smolder.
"You'll lose his value if he's seriously injured," pointed out Rotten after a few long seconds.
"Stop," said Yevgeny. Dante's hands fell back down, his left balled in agony. The Undermage reached forward, placed a palm on Dante's head and released a bit of his magic. "Now do a little trick for me. I think, raining fishes."
"Fish come," said Dante in a mechanical voice. Dozens of tiny splake splattered and writhed onto the floor. Yevgeny stepped back with a startled laugh, then pressed down again to stop up the power.
"I have my very own genie," he chuckled with delight. "Though I think I'll still use this. My suppressing power doesn't last long enough." He jiggled the black mechanical net in front of Dante's face. "That slave girl, so talkative. This little device has Dedalus written all over it. I wonder why he helped kidnap you? Never mind. I win again. I can blackmail him into making me my very own golem. Only really alive when you use your powers for me, your master. You won't find it a bad life, freak. Lots of useful, meaningful work creating magic to help me become the Mage. Course you'll have to be neutered." Yevgeny made a cutting noise as he ran a finger across his neck. Rotten cackled. "Can't have lots of little baby bodhisattvas calling up seraphim, exciting the population, and bouncing my dear stupid, sainted -- but oh so fertile -- daughter from her rightful place, now can we?" Yvegeny motioned at the two police. "Time's a wasting. It's a long way back to Botany. Let's get Dante, Weaver of Words -- can you believe the pretentiousness of that moniker? So obvious a slave named him -- loaded into the van."
"Up you," snapped the trainer.
Dante stood, his head still bowed. The officers moved to either side of him, the trainer behind. Yevgeny led the way out of the room. In the bathroom, Sue released her breath. She clasped her arms around her, leaned onto her thighs and closed her eyes with a shudder.
Mike, Kate, Jamie and Constable Rash stood and watched as the trainer shoved Dante down the stairs. Dante tripped over his leg irons and stumbled against the sharp edge of the newel post. He pulled himself up.The new welts had cracked open his scars, blood oozed as if from a whipping. His ruined left hand, ballooning shiny and red, clung close to his chest.
"He's naked," whispered Kate.
"He's in punishment. The more humiliation the better," returned her husband out the side of his mouth. "Shhh."
Kate glanced at the dog in the doorway, now a stone statue with a still snarl. She clamped her mouth shut. Yevgeny stopped his party in the middle of the room.
"Kneel, transpo," he shouted.
Dante fell to his knees. The trainer tapped the correction rod against his uniformed thigh, anxious to prove his power to these slave-loving yokels. Jamie shoved a fist in his mouth. He began to wail, rocking back and forth. Kate took him in her arms and he buried his head in her shoulder.
"Shut him up!" yelled Yevgeny. "He's retarded. Dan's his friend. He doesn't understand," said Kate, knowing Jamie understood too well. "Let me take him in the back."
"Fine." The Undermage kicked Dante's calf. "Here's why you people shouldn't be harboring runaway slaves. Good work calling us, by the way, Rashmanon. I'll give a mention to your superior." Rash looked as if he would have preferred to live without the honour. Yevgeny addressed his small audience. "This transpo has lied, stolen and murdered. No surprise. They soon revert if the owner doesn't follow correct practice. What did he tell you?" The wizard gave a dry chuckle. "That he was my dead brother, rest his soul? Too incredible." His foot poked at Dante's leg again. "Tell them what happened at your owner's farm and clinic, transpo.Who caused the deaths? Give us a confession."
"They died because of me," whispered Dante to the floor. His zombie face drained to the pallor of death.
"Louder," ordered the trainer.
"They died because of me, Master," Dante shouted out. "I am lower than the worms that eat the dead. I praise the Mage whose wisdom shows me my wickedness and guides me to service."
"My special boy. You know the words," smirked Rotten, hardly containing his glee. "Our little sessions in the correction room bore fruit after all."
The door to the pub slammed open. Cold rain roared in. A wraith stood at the threshold. It pulled back its hood and turned into Brother Francis. He took everything in at a glance and immediately bowed to the Undermage, his Cardinal.
"I'm honoured," he said.
"Who are you?" growled Yevgeny.
"A humble priest of Gaia,"smiled Francis. He oozed false delight "I'm overwhelmed."
Yevgeny sighed and extended his ring. Francis knelt and kissed it. The Priest King laid a hand on the monk's head.
"Gaia bless you, my son," said the Undermage in a bored tone and made the sign of Gaia.
"Thank you," breathed Francis. He rose and stared at Dante. His cantor shook in the night air, his naked skin dead white and clammy. He swayed, staring glassy-eyed at the stone tiles, close to collapse. "Ah, taking the wicked to learn usefulness. How concerned Your Holiness is of every little sparrow. But if you don't mind me saying, I'm sure you won't, this transpo seems to have gone into shock. You wouldn't want to lose him to Seth. Here. Let me cover him with my coat."
Francis removed the wraith's cloak and wrapped it around Dante then made a quick sign.
"Mother Gaia comfort you in your troubles," he whispered as he tied the top. Dante's good fingers snaked out, gathered the front edges of the cape and pulled it close around himself. His violent shaking quieted.
"Put on the helmet," said Yvegeny. "We don't want any nasty surprises when he's in the van."
An officer stepped forward with one of the hinged iron masks used to stop the magic of an arrested wizard. He placed it around Dante's head and snapped the back shut. "Open your mouth," he ordered. Dante opened it and the soldier shoved down a bit to hold his tongue still. Another section snapped around his lower face.The guard pulled the cowl of the cloak over the helmet.
"Rise," ordered the trainer.
The soldiers shoved Dante out the door to the waiting van.