The New Weird - Ann VanderMeer [178]
The dogs were on him, snarling, slavering. He writhed, sought to protect his neck, stomach, groin all at once ―
"Make him quiet!" one dog ordered.
Another dog gripped a blunt heavy stick in its mouth. The mutt swung, and the stick connected with the terrorist's head.
Hrangit climbed down off the portable stage as the crowd dispersed. "Break this down," he ordered. "We have to be set up in Sringla's Yards by eight tonight!"
His troupe swung into efficient action as he watched with approval, stroking his mustache. All was going well in this early period of their
long engagement during the Festival of Chuzdt. Riarnanth was always a rewarding venue.
So why then did he feel so uneasy, as if some vague doom loomed just around the corner? He had been happy and cheerful until a few moments ago. Some indefinable aura from the most recent crowd, a malign presence?
Hrangit resolved to pay a visit to the shrine of his sept's god, Yeshe. Surely he would get answers from her. . . .
Doumani hoisted his vina aloft like a baton. His lads looked so splendid, he could hardly decide which to bed tonight.
"Now, boys, 'The Potter's Lament'! And don't let it lag! Practice is the key! We have to sound good if we're playing at the Factors' Dance tonight!"
Goza left the yogurt vendor behind, and headed straight for the nearest constabulary headquarters, at the corner of Preem and Lall. The farther he got from his usual haunts, the more his appearance changed. His burly limbs seemed to unkink, his manner became less deferential. On the steps of the official building he began peeling fake scars and sores from his body, throwing the rubber prosthetics into the street.
By the time he approached the front desk where a fat uniformed constable sat reading a cheap pulpish magazine, Goza the beggar showed forth as a virile fellow, all self-assurance and wit.
"Chalch! Listen up! It may be nothing, but I just encountered the most unlikely pilgrim. He swore at me using a Dardarbji epithet. What would one of his kind be doing here for Festival?"
Valvay sipped at a fresh cup of tea, his tenth that day, and fingered a sample garial hide from the latest lot. Exquisite, supple, beautifully patterned. This would make some rich woman a fine pair of shoes or handbag or belt. And enrich Valvay considerably in the process.
All was right with the world.
The door to Valvay's office opened, and Safiya looked in. Her short
black hair framed an intelligent face the shade of Valvay's tea.
"Any last task, sir? I'll be going shortly."
Valvay waved his assistant on her way. "No, no, I wouldn't keep you on the first night of the Festival. Go, and have a good time."
The familiar whistle sounded just then, signaling the end of the shift.
Safiya said, "Thank you, sir. You enjoy yourself as well. I understand the Factors' Dance will be extra-special tonight."
"Yes, Septon Anjai Mace is the sponsor this year. He beat out Septon Majin Panaranja in the Trials of a Thousand Delicacies. I understand there were some hard feelings, but I anticipate nothing but jollity."
"I am happy for you and the other Factors."
As she turned to leave, Valvay said, "Do you have that protection I gave you? You persist in living in that horrible neighborhood, even though I've offered to find you better lodgings."
"I can't leave my parents, sir, and they absolutely refuse to move."
"Oh, all right. But the offer stands!"
Safiya closed the door.
Valvay sighed, and wondered if he'd ever manage to seduce the girl.
Safiya walked down Poonma Way, at ease with her thoughts. Valvay was so transparent. He was only after one thing. Maybe she should give in. But he was married, and so much older -
Ah, well, she needn't decide now!
She considered how she'd spend her evening. She had to shop for supper first, for her parents, Ratna and Karst, and herself. Cook and serve it, of course. Chat with her folks. Then there were a few accounts she hadn't finished, and which she had taken home. She patted her big garial shoulder bag ―