Chicks - The Chick Is In The Mail Part 20

"She said, 'Unless circ.u.mstances change, the beast belongs to Tulius.' I'm so sorry, Andi."

Andi knelt beside Irene's bed and carefully folded Irene's cold fingers around a cup of mulled wine. "It's not your fault, Mistress." The younger woman stayed kneeling by the bed, one hard, thin arm curved loosely around Irene's waist.

Irene forced herself to drink the hot sweet wine, feeling its heat begin to melt her cramped muscles. "I feel my life's work slipping away from me," she said. "I thought I'd made a sanctuary, a place where animals could be cared for and studied. Now a fabulous, unknown beast is going to be torn to piecesto please a Vandal! " She lifted a hand to her eyes. "If Tulius gets the Mews, it will be as if I'd never lived."

"Don't say that!" Andi snapped. "Even if the worst happens, if Goldie dies and some Varangian knifes you in your bed and Tulius takes over here, you'vestill saved scores of animals from the arena, advanced our knowledge tenfold! And you've taught me, much more than healing. I swear to you, Irene-Tulius isn't going to win." For the first time, Andi put her arms around Irene and hugged her.

Irene hugged back, drawing a fierce comfort from the press of Andi's body, warm and hard even through the quilted tunic. "Thank you," she whispered.

Andi drew back, gestured at the cup. "I'll make you more wine. I'll go to the menagerie, check on the animals and change the bandages, while you stay here and rest."

"No," Irene shook her head. "No, Tulius may have won this battle-but I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll let him see me surrender the war." She straightened her shoulders, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and sniffed. She grinned a little. "You're fragrant. What were you doing while I groveled?"

"Oiling Goldie. For bug repellent, this stuff isn't too bad. You aren't going to make me change, are you?" "No. I rather like rosemary and cedar with base notes of griffin." Irene rose and went to ready their horses while Andi checked their supplies.

To Irene's relief, Tulius was about other business, and they were able to make their rounds without disturbance. The lioness with the shallow wound was moving easily, and willingly accepted a treat of drugged meat. Andi's special patient, recipient of the "Varangian goo," was awake and alert, though she had yet to take solid food. Sedating her, they found her wound much better, the swelling and fever reduced. Encouraged by the success, they went to see the Black Beast.

The antechamber door was open, the key to the Black Beast's cell hanging from the inside handle of the door. Irene felt a twinge of anger, knowing this easy access was Tulius's taunt, daring her to defy Theodora.

The Black Beast lifted its head at their entrance, making a soft, curious honk. It rose to its feet and came to the bars, surveying them with large dark eyes. "It's much calmer today," Irene said.

"Tulius isn't here," Andi said. "It remembers us." She knelt by the bars, crooning. "Don't you remember me, Beastie?"

The Black Beast took a step backward, yanking back its head and squeezing its nostrils shut. Irene laughed. "It remembers you all right." Realization touched her, leaving grief where wonder should have been. "Andi, it's intelligent. On some level, it understands what's happening to it." She reached out, gently touching the bars of the cage. "Oh, Beastie, I'm sorry."

The Black Beast looked at Irene, then at Andi. Andi held her hands up, flat, to show that they were empty. The beast came closer, almost mincing, and flared its nostrils wide. It snuffled all around Andi through the bars, even extending a leathery grey tongue to taste her hands. It made a soft croaking noise andpuffed , all its scales standing out from its body so that it looked like a quadruped pinecone. Irene, standing to one side, noticed something else. "Andi, you have an admirer."

Andi leaned over and peeked between the Black Beast's legs, then shook her head at the beast. "Trust me, boy, I'm not your type." She did take advantage of the beast's interest by giving him a drugged treat.

The beast gave her an accusing look just before his double eyelids slowly shuttered closed. "I'll change his bandages," Andi offered. Irene just nodded, deep in thought. There was something about the Black Beast, about the way it had responded to Andi, that was teasing at her mind, something terribly important, but the harder she tried to grasp it, the more elusive it became. Andi had to tap her on the shoulder to tell her it was time to leave.

Outside the torchlit gloom of the menagerie, a purple dusk was falling, nightjars st.i.tching the sky with their cries. All the way home, Irene's thoughts went in circles like puppies chasing their tails.

They were on their way back to their quarters from the stable when the dovecote boy caught up to them, his face pale by the light of his lantern. "Mistress Irene. A pigeon came while you were gone. One of the big red ones."

"One of Kerides'," Irene said, hope in her voice. "Do you have the message capsule, Thomas?"

The boy looked down. "I'm sorry, Mistress." He reached out and pressed something into Irene's hand.

"This is all there was." The bit of black ribbon lay in Irene's palm like a snippet of night. "Windwing and Kerides are dead,"

Irene said, and turned her face to the darkness.

She clawed her way out of sleep, pushing and hitting at the hands that gripped her shoulders. The hands retreated and Irene sat up, aching and sick and dizzy, a flood of lantern light blinding her eyes. She threw her arm up to shield her face.

"Get that d.a.m.ned light off me," she snapped. The light withdrew. Irene squinted, saw the creased face of Anna, one of the gate guards, looking anxiously down at her.

"Mistress Irene, I'm sorry," the woman said. "Your quarters were empty, and the Master of the Menagerie has sent for you in all urgency." She frowned. "He said you would know why."

Irene staggered to her feet. She was in the antechamber of Goldie's aerie, one of Goldie's winter blankets and an empty wine jug tumbled at her feet. Memory came flooding back, and with it a heartache far worse than the ache in her head and body. Windwing and Kerides were dead. She looked over at the hulk of her griffin, was surprised to see her awake, the great eyes reflecting green in the faint rays of lantern light.

"You did well to find me at all, Anna," Irene told the guard, grateful she hadn't gotten drunk enough to try to sleep with Goldie.

Irene went to the water cistern and dunked her head. The cold water revived her. "I have a guess what Tulius wants," she said, mopping her face with the tail of her purple scarf. "Andi wasn't in our quarters?"

Anna, mute with shock, shook her head.

"I'll find Andi," Irene said. "You have horses readied, for yourself and a companion as well. I want an escort."

Irene ran into the courtyard. The night told its hour on her skin. In perhaps two hours the birds would begin their pre-dawn chorus. Except for the guards, the Imperial compound slept.

Irene had a good idea where to find her painfully modest apprentice.

A single lantern glowed in an interior room of the baths. Irene swept in like a thunder squall. "Andi! Out and dressed! Now!"

Andi had been soaking, half asleep in the warm water. The apprentice gasped, floundered wildly for a towel and missed.

"Come on, girl," Irene said sharply. "You haven't got anything I haven't seen in the mirror." She stepped forward, grabbing up the towel. Andi rose from the bath and faced her.

Irene stared. "I take that back."

"Here," she said. She snapped the towel at Andi's offending anatomy. Andi gasped and made a frantic grab and Irene tossed him the rest of the towel. "We'll discussthat later," she said. "Get dressed. We're needed at the menagerie." Andi scrambled into his tunic-high-necked to cover the Adam's apple in his throat, extra padding to suggest small b.r.e.a.s.t.s where none existed. As Andi yanked the garment into place, Irene grasped him by the arm. "What did you do to the Black Beast?"

Andi met her eyes. "I poisoned him."

The Black Beast lay on his side, panting, tongue rolling swollen and grey from the gaping beak. The glossy scales were dulled, and rustled like a fall of dry leaves with the creature's labored breathing. His injured hind leg was swollen and hot, the bandage crusted yellow.

"What did you do to my Beast?" Tulius raged, following them into the cell. Irene spun on her heel. Her calloused palm struck out, with all her considerable strength behind it. Tulius staggered back, wheezing as he tried to pull air back into his diaphragm. "Shut up!" Irene shouted, stalking after him, stiffened fingers jabbing repeatedly at his chest. "The Empress said the Black Beast was yours-unless the circ.u.mstances changed. Well, for now, theyhave changed. The Black Beast is sick, and sick animals aremine ." She snapped her head towards Anna and Catullus, waiting just outside the door. "Get a transport wagon. This animal is too ill to remain here. We're moving it to the Imperial Mews. And while you're at it," she added, indicating Tulius with a thrust of her chin, "get that . . . person . . . out of here so we can work."

Tulius, still wheezing, turned an even darker red, but was not prepared to argue with the two armed and determined palace guards. Catullus hustled Tulius away, and Anna pulled the cedar door closed, leaving Irene and Andi alone with the Beast.

Irene checked the beast, sedated him to damp his pain. "You realize you could have killed this animal."

"It was going to die in the arena," Andi said, cutting away the bandage. "I thought I could keep him sick long enough for the barbarian prince to come and go. Then maybe the Empress would intervene."

Irene nodded begrudgingly. "All right. It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. But if you ever do anything like this again, I'll geld you myself."

Andi colored, but his hands continued to move, baring the wound, purging the poisoned flesh. "My father, my teachers-they all said, Irene is the best there is-perhaps the best that's ever been. Ihad to work with you, to be able to see, to study, creatures like Goldie. Iknew I was good enough. But everyone said that only women and eunuchs get positions at the palace." He glanced at her. "You know that's true."

"True enough," Irene admitted. She stroked the beast, its neck warm beneath her hand. The scales had a pattern of striations running out from a central vein, giving them a silky feel. In the oblique lantern light, they looked like feathers.

The puppy-thoughts in Irene's head suddenly caught their tails.Are his scales specialized feathers, or her feathers specialized scales?

The Black Beast had not reacted to Andi, but to Goldie's scent on Andi's flesh. His vocalizations had played upon her memory because they were echoes of Goldie's. In size, in the shape of body, beak and talons, the Black Beast was Goldie's mate, yet his lack of wings had deceived her-until now. "I didn't even want topretend to be a eunuch," Andi said. "So I pretended to be a woman." He smeared Beastie's wound with Varangian goo. "It wasn't that hard. Except I had to shave a lot."

"Don't worry," Irene whispered. She stroked the beast, shaking. "When this animal is healthy again, you'll be so indispensable that no one will care whether you're a whole man or a bearded lady." She laughed. "There's adequate precedence for both."

There was a soft knock. Anna eased the door open. "Mistress Irene, the wagon is ready."

Irene stood. "I want this animal taken directly to the griffin's aerie. We'll bed it in the antechamber."

"The aerie?" Andi asked, startled.

Irene felt the grin stretching her face. "Don't you see it, Andi? You aren't the only gentleman who's been traveling incognito. This Black Beast is a male griffin-and griffins are on the list."

"We think the s.e.xes are highly specialized," Irene explained to the Princess Helena. "The female hunts, but it is the male, with his scales and superior strength, who guards the nesting site. Lions have a similar arrangement."

"Certain fish, also," Andi put in. "And the sea horse, Your Highness. The male guards the eggs and young."

"Ah," Helena said, graciously inclining her head. "Androcles, is it not? Your Mistress tells me We have you to thank for the Dark Emperor's survival, and the Dark Emperor for the return of Goldie's health."

She smiled. "I am very grateful."

Andi bowed.

The Princess turned her eyes back to the aerie, where the two griffins lounged side by side in the warm sand, necks twined as human lovers twine arms. Andi, dismissed, went back to work.

"A whole man for an apprentice," the Princess mused, loud enough for Andi to overhear. "Very daring, Irene."

Irene startled. "How did you know . . . ?"

The Princess smirked. "How did I know he wasn't a eunuch? How does a mare know a stallion from a gelding? Honestly, Irene, if you have to ask that, you've been celibate too long." Helena cast an appraising eye on Andi, not bothering to be subtle about it. Irene felt a flush creeping up her neck.

"He has very good bones," Helena observed, "but he's awfully thin, and he works hard. I suppose he must be exhausted by the end of the day." She lifted a sympathetic brow. "Really, my dear, don't you want me to send you one of my Varangians?"

The Princess Helena completely misinterpreted Andi's laughter, but that, Irene thought, was probably just as well.

Chain of Command

Leslie What & Nina Kiriki Hoffman

"Mom," Kayla said in that tone teenagers use when they're practicing for the time they will put you in the nursing home. "You're not going to wear THAT, are you?"

I forced myself to smile, making sure I showed teeth. I'd had my canines lengthened and my incisors filed to subtle points. Remember, I told myself. I'm the mom. I'm Alpha. Wolf Woman. A CEO of Earth m.u.t.h.as, a militant woman-owned multinational. Only my teenage daughter was powerful enough to make me forget this.

I was wearing mail and a leather thong and copper breastplate because I had a focus group to lead in half an hour and there wasn't time between now and then to change from civvies. I held the keys in my mouth for a second while I tightened my belt. All I had to do was drop off Kayla at her friend Tiffany's; from there they would walk to their cheerleader meeting at the high school. I could hide in the Jeep; no one need see me.

Kayla was five foot seven and growing fast enough that I expected her to surpa.s.s me during the coming year, when she would be a junior. Her hair was bronze from a bottle, though on her, it looked feminine.

She preferred a fruity-smelling department store perfume called Flower Power to my musky Marker, the flagship product for my company. Her scent made my eyes water, but I decided against saying anything.

"Choose your issues," our family counselor had warned.

I had chosen.

So had Kayla.

The issue was not about scent.

Kayla did not want to come with me to this weekend's Women Warriors retreat, starting tomorrow, where one hundred women would gather to trap trespa.s.sing trolls, celebrate our strength, hunt our own dinners and leave nature's scavengers to do dishes when they picked the carca.s.ses clean. Instead, my daughter wanted to stay in town with Tiffany and shop for makeup and high heels. Kayla was a pacifist. I was a warrior, an awkward situation for us both.

"You look good," I said, thinking that if her pleated skirt had been cut from leather instead of polyester and if her tank top had been chain mail instead of spandex, she could have pa.s.sed. Her arms and long legs were muscled and tan, not from fighting, but from cheering the football team. It stunned me that someone who existed on tofu and fruit could grow the body of an Amazon.

She made a face. "I can't believe you're going to wear that. This is SO embarra.s.sing."

"Are you all packed?" I asked. The counselor had recommended changing subjects to diffuse tense situations.

"Let's talk about packing later," she said, meaning she hadn't started. "We gotta go." I had prearranged for Bear Woman to get the focus group sharpening knives if I ran late, so I wasn't in any hurry. "Pack," I said, settling into a power pose on the floor. I crouched on my haunches as if ready to spring, fingers poised an inch above my boar-tusk knife handle. I had killed the boar myself while on safari in Peru.

"Mom!" Kayla screamed.

I forced myself not to smile. "Go upstairs and pack," I said. Alpha power surged through me in a premenopausal electrical storm. I unsheathed my knife and lazily carved my initials into the pecan floor.

Kayla stood by, defeated. "Oh, all right!" she said at last. She turned and ran to her room.

Only then did I notice I wasn't breathing. I gasped, both with surprise and the need for air. I had won the battle. The war wasn't scheduled to start until tomorrow.

Kayla's suitcase was big enough to hold a gray whale, which, incidentally, she tried periodically to save.

She had packed a month's worth of clothing, makeup, and reading material-nearly all relating to Ricky Martin, her latest pop star heartthrob. She was bringing her own cooler filled with Rainier cherries, mangos, and a chewy vegan concoction called tempeh that Kayla liked to chop and season with sunflower seeds and roll up in whole wheat tortillas.

My cooler held a case of chocolate truffles, a few bottles of my favorite white zinfandel, barbecue sauce, spices, and pork casings to make sausages, in case there were any leftovers from the kill. Okay, so we were militant, but I was born in the Midwest, and when you were from Iowa, you never threw away anything you could can, freeze, or over-winter in the cellar.

The retreat was near the Washington/Oregon border, a three-hour drive by highway, a little over two hours if you knew how to get there off-road, which I did. I ignored Kayla's whining and refused to take the Jeep out of four-wheel drive until we had crossed a shallow ravine called Starving Woman Creek.

The creek was empty year-round, except for an occasional flash flood. Tomorrow, if things went well, we planned to fill it with a river of animal blood when we hosted our full moon Earth m.u.t.h.a ceremony.

"Mom," Kayla said, "you're not really going to trap trolls, are you?"

"It doesn't hurt them," I said, for the umpteenth time. "We just trap them in cages to transport back to the Idaho wilds." I had no sympathy for the hairy beasts. They weren't even native to the area and had been brought to the Northwest by Idaho farmers looking for cheap help to harvest their potato crop.

"G.o.ddess, Mother!" she said, using that I-can't-wait-till-you're-in-the-nursing-home voice. "I suppose you think it was okay for the government to intern j.a.panese Americans during World War II."

"Not a good a.n.a.logy," I said. "This is way different. Trolls aren't even human. They behave like pigs.