Firefly. Part 39

"Enid didn't know what to do with him, but she couldn't set him loose again on the street. 'Do you live near here?' she asked, but he just kept crying. So she carried him to a store and bought him a cookie with some of the money she had for her own groceries, and he chewed on that and stopped crying. But still he didn't tell his name or where he lived.

"Then some idle teenagers spied her. They were white, and that was likely to mean trouble, because the white folk tended to think that brown folk weren't really people, and had no rights. They were boys, and that meant more trouble, because boys were always out for thrills, and sometimes thought it was a thrill to rape a black girl.

" 'Whatcha doing, baby?' one of the boys called, and she couldn't tell whether he was addressing her or the little boy or both. She carried the child quickly away from there.

"But the boys followed, taunting her. She couldn't get away from them on the busy street, and no one else seemed to care. But if she went into an alley, not only would that be taking the child away from the place she had found him, so that his mother would not know where he was when she came looking for him, she would be exposing herself to whatever the white boys might choose to do to her when unrestrained by public view. That was no good.

"So she crossed the street, in an effort to avoid them, the child in her arms. But she didn't see a car coming at her. Suddenly there was the blaring of a horn and the squealing of tires. She threw herself to the side and managed to avoid the vehicle, but in the process fell into the gutter. She only had time to clasp the child tightly and hunch her body, so that she took the brunt of the fall instead of him. Her shoulder hit the curb and she heard something snap; then the pain started.

"She sat in the filthy water, her dress ruined, holding the little boy as well as she could. He was crying again, his face burrowing into her other shoulder. She was crying too, now, hurt and humiliated. How had she ever gotten into this?

"The gang of white boys closed in for the kill, hooting and jeering. 'Brown b.i.t.c.h's where she likes it!' Taking a bath!' 'Polluting the water!' One of them bent to scoop a splash of water at her face. 'Hey, b.i.t.c.h, wanna drink?'

"Then a pair of feet stopped at the curb, beside her. Enid cowered, fearing a blow. 'What's this?' a gruff masculine voice growled.

"Enid clasped the child more tightly, turning away from the man, so that the kick would score on her rather than on the little boy. But it was a great brown hand that came down instead, touching the boy. 'No!' Enid cried. 'Don't hurt him! Please don't hurt him! Hurt me instead!'

"The white boys, seeing the involvement of the newcomer, abruptly scattered. Enid, glancing fearfully up, saw a ma.s.sive, muscular, brute-faced hulk of a man scowling down at her. This was even worse! The white boys had meant cruel mischief; they would have let her be after humiliating her enough. This man was all business, a virtual ogre.

" 'You don't even know this kid!' the man said. 'What's he to you?'

" 'He was lost!' she cried. 'Please, he's just a little child, let him go! I'll do anything you want!'

" 'Okay,' the man said. 'Hand him up to me.'

"Enid stared at him. 'You'll let him go?'

" 'No way,' the man said, reaching with both hands to take the boy from her grasp. She tried to cling to the child, but pain racked her right shoulder and she could not. She had been betrayed even in this. She bowed her head and wept into the flowing gutter water.

" 'Daddy!'

"Then hands were coming down to touch her. 'You're hurt,' the man said. 'Come on, gal, let me heave you up.'

"Enid was beyond all resistance. His hands slid around her body and his mighty arms heaved. She came up like a feather, dripping. Then the man was carrying her to his car, the little boy running along beside.

"At last it penetrated. 'He called you "Daddy"!' she said.

"He set her in the car, and pulled the seat belt across. 'Now you hold tight while I get you to a doctor.' He lifted the little boy and strapped him in the back. 'You married?'

"Enid had to laugh through her pain. 'Me? Of course not!' She did not need to point out that plain girls like her did not get snapped up quickly; that was obvious.

"He got into the driver's seat. 'See, it's hard to know the b.i.t.c.hes from the real women when you're going for the light-heavy championship. I never had much judgment. I thought my woman was real, but she hardly had my baby out of her before she split with half my money. I swore I'd never be fooled by a gold-digger again, but I don't know how to find the other kind. The s.l.u.ts, they can look good for one-night stands, but I wouldn't want any of them near my boy. I love my boy! But with training, I don't have much time anyway, and what I know about taking care of a kid isn't much. I turn around and he's gone, and pretty soon he'll get killed if I don't do something. I need a woman bad-and I think I just found one.'

"Enid rode beside him, hardly believing that her life had so quickly and radically changed. But it had."

Geode had stopped protesting as the story proceeded. Increasingly it had become apparent that this was the kind of story none told. He could not imagine such stories for himself; his fouled-up dream had shown him that.

How could the firefly tell such a story if none were not there? Yet how could he be sure her mind had survived, when he doubted his own sanity? If he guessed wrong, he could kill all that remained of his love-or be fooled into letting the monster escape. Neither was tolerable.

"What are you?" he asked.

"I am what you call the firefly. I feed on living flesh, and dissolve it without killing it, so that it becomes my substance. When I have enough, I form a sac and fill it with the excess. I bury that, and my egg slowly a.s.similates it and becomes a new firefly. This is the life cycle of my kind."

"Where did you come from?"

"I hatched beside water. My kind may have lived in water, but I came out on land and survived. That is all I know."

It seemed to make sense. This wasn't really a monster, just a different kind of animal. "Are you intelligent?"

"I do not know the meaning of the term. I a.s.sume the characteristics of those I feed on, and pa.s.s those characteristics on to the egg I lay, for they are inherent in the living substance. In this manner I adapt to new conditions. If intelligence is a characteristic of the one I have imbibed, then I have it, until I give it to the egg."

"If you are not intelligent by yourself, how can you talk to me like this?"

"I do only what the new substance enables me to do while it is with me. I can talk to you, I can tell you stories, I can love you. I know you will do me harm if you do not realize this, so I am telling you."

Again Geode was in doubt. He loved none; he didn't want her dead. That could cause him to invent ways to see her as alive, even though he had seen her bones. He could not afford a mistake. But how could he be sure?

"How can I be sure of you?" he asked.

"You can never be sure of me, nor I of you. But I could tell you a tale you have heard before, so that you know there is no other source for it. The story of none, for example."

"My memory is another source for it."

"Then I can tell you a story you have not heard."

"You just did. Someone else could have made that up."

"Then I can tell you a tale derived from elements you request, in the way only none could do."

That seemed possible to him. none had been able to do that, and still surprise him with the outcome. If the firefly had picked up only what was in none's memory, it would not be able to integrate his input with her storytelling ability. "Tell me a tale of telepathy and childhood." For it had seemed to him that his own situation might have been explained by that: if he could read the minds of animals, he could communicate with them, and it might seem as if they were talking with him. Instead of being crazy, then and now, he might be telepathic. Animals, monsters-it would not matter whether their mouths could form human words, they would still be able to speak in this manner.

"There was a child, a little girl named Sela, who was telepathic," the firefly said. none always had a female viewpoint unless he requested otherwise, and she oriented a great deal on children. "She picked up the thoughts of all who were near her, and their feelings. When someone in the house was happy, Sela was happy, and when someone was angry, she was angry, even as a baby. When someone was ill, she felt the discomfort, and when the person nearest her slept, Sela was apt to sleep too.

"The other members of the family were not telepathic. Sela could read their minds, but they could not read hers. Thus they thought her strange. Even as a baby, she reacted oddly. Once her parents made love in the next room, and Sela felt the s.e.xual thrills of both and writhed in her crib and moaned with desire. When her father climaxed, Sela cried out with fulfillment. Then her mother, who had not climaxed, came to the crib, and Sela scowled with unfulfillment.

"Sela's behavior could not be explained by others, and indeed, the feelings constantly coming in to her mind overrode the normal feelings of a baby. As a result, Sela was not able to learn the way normal babies did, and-"

"No!" Geode exclaimed. He knew where this was leading: the girl would be thought crazy, and would be inst.i.tutionalized, and perhaps find secret love with an aide at the sanitarium, who would then be fired for his abuse of his position. He didn't want to hear it.

"If the story is wrong, it can be changed," the firefly said.

"No, I want a different story, not like that. No telepathy, no young child. Male viewpoint-older male. Make it a king." That was as far away from telepathy and insanity as he could think of at the moment.

The firefly paused. "This is difficult," it said.

Which was exactly what none would have said. She had little affinity with older men, unless they related to young girls, especially s.e.xually.

The firefly began to speak.

Once there was a King of a small distant kingdom. He was a good and honest man, and a capable ruler, but his kingdom was not prosperous, and his palace was really no more than an adapted castle. His Queen was a frivolous woman, and his son the Prince was all right but somewhat irresponsible. The King was trying to impress on his son the supreme importance of honor; if he could do that, he believed, the rest would fall into place and the Prince would in time become a good King after him.

One day the Prince, riding on a hunt alone (for the kingdom was too poor to support a royal retinue), chanced to fall from his horse. The horse bolted, and he was stranded in the countryside. He limped to the nearest house and identified himself. "I need a horse to carry me back to the palace," he said. "Have you one I may borrow?"

"I need my horse for plowing," the farmer said. "If it is taken to the castle, it may be days before I get it back, and it will be tired, and my plowing will suffer, and my crop will be late."

"I can pay you for the animal," the Prince said impatiently. But he discovered that his purse had been lost with his horse, and he was for the moment penniless. "Will you take an IOU?"

"With all due respect, sir, I will not," the farmer said. "From the King I would, for he is a man of honor and will always make good on his debts, but you are unproven. I can not risk my horse, which represents much of my livelihood, so cavalierly."

The Prince, annoyed, nevertheless had to bargain, for this was an enlightened kingdom and farmers had rights. "If I cannot pay you immediately in money, is there some other way I may satisfy you, so that you will agree to take this risk?"

The farmer considered. "Actually, there is a way, but it might not appeal to you."

"At this point, anything that will get me a good horse appeals to me!"

"My daughter is a homely girl," the farmer said. "She might have been beautiful, for her form is good, but she was scalded on the face in a childhood accident, and now no man will sleep with her, let alone marry her."

"Now just a minute!" the Prince protested. "A Prince does not marry a commoner; that's fairy-tale stuff! A beautiful one he might take for a concubine, but that's about the limit."

"Just so. If my daughter bore the child of a Prince, she would have honor, and thereafter be able to attract a husband. It is known that your father the King has a policy of recognizing royal b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and often they receive a stipend. That can be a big help to a common family."

The Prince nodded, now that he got the farmer's drift. He had sown certain wild oats himself, and the babies had been duly stipended. This policy made it easier for him to have casual affairs with pretty commoners, and there was no swell of outrage in the populace. "Let me see your daughter."

The farmer brought out his daughter. He had described her accurately: she was a buxom la.s.s, but her face was a ma.s.s of scar tissue, making it most unattractive. The thought of kissing her turned the Prince's stomach, and the notion of making love to her did not have much appeal.

Still, he needed the horse. "Very well. Put a sack over her head and bring her to the royal guest cottage when she is in season, and I will join her that night and impregnate her and will recognize the offspring. She shall have a royal b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Thank you, Prince," the farmer said, gratified. He then saddled his horse and turned it over to the Prince.

The Prince mounted the horse and rode swiftly to the palace. Once there, he turned it over to the chief squire. "Feed this horse well, groom it, and return it to the farmer who owns it with my thanks," he said. "Ask him when he expects his daughter to be in season."

"I hear and obey, Prince," the loyal squire said.

The Prince then went inside and reported the matter to his father the King. The King nodded. "This was a sensible way out of your dilemma," he said. "The farmer shall have value for his service to the crown."

The Prince then forgot the matter. He had his abrasions from the fall salved, and he bathed, and took a luscious and perfect-faced maid to his bed for the evening. Soon it was as if the episode during the hunt had never occurred.

In due course the message came: the girl was in season, and would be at the cottage this night. It happened that the Prince had scheduled a night of gaming in a distant town; it was to be one great carouse.

Disgusted that the appointment with the ugly peasant girl should fall on this of all nights, he decided on a stratagem: he would send a subst.i.tute. The girl, in the dark with a sack over her head, would never know the difference, and the Prince would be relieved of a ch.o.r.e he hadn't much appreciated anyway. So he a.s.signed the task to the loyal chief squire, then headed off for the distant town.

Now it happened that the King noted the departure of the Prince and of the squire in opposite directions. He was no fool. He made inquiries, and quickly ascertained the nature of the deception. He was enraged: the Prince had given his Royal Word, and it had to be honored. But it was probably too late to catch the Prince and reverse his course; dusk was approaching, and by the time that could be straightened out, it would be too late. The King paced the palace halls, muttering. How was the royal honor to be salvaged? He sent hors.e.m.e.n out to apprehend both Prince and squire, but the chances of getting them exchanged in time were remote.

Meanwhile, suspicion of the Prince's perfidy had developed in the local population. It was generally known that the Prince had intended to attend the gaming extravaganza, and the word about the a.s.signation with the peasant girl had also spread. When her season turned out to be the very night of the bash, they wondered which event the Prince would choose to honor with his presence. Royalty-watching was a prime pursuit in the kingdom; it was the source of all the most worthwhile gossip. So they knew the moment the Prince's charger rode out in the wrong direction, and they guessed the mission of the squire. Actually, the squire didn't go directly to the cottage; he went to the local tavern for a drink or two, to brace himself for the ordeal he faced that night. He was loyal, and he would do what he had been told to do, but there was more than one aspect of it he didn't really like.

Now, the kingdom was enlightened for its day, but there were limits. The Royal Word was supposed to be sacrosanct, and its abridgment was cause for general unrest. Righteous folk saw an opportunity to embarra.s.s the crown in the name of defending it, which was of course much too good a thing to let pa.s.s. The fact was that when it came right down to it, peasants didn't really like being lowly, and valued the chance to bring royalty down to their level, however peripherally.

So they organized a posse of men, and went privately to the royal guest cottage. They laid quiet siege to it a couple of hours after dark. Their lookout a.s.sured them that the squire's horse had approached the cottage shortly after dusk, and had been turned loose to graze for the night; its rider had gone inside and not emerged.

"So he's had time to futter her," the posse leader said, and the others agreed. It was important that the act actually occur, because otherwise the Prince could claim that he had merely sent the squire to advise the girl that the Prince would be arriving late, and the trap would not be tight.

They sneaked up and peered in the window. Inside, by the sputtering glow of a stubby candle, lay two naked figures embraced. "Amazing!" the leader whispered. "He dehooded her as well as devirginating her. What a glutton for punishment." For though the light was wan, the girl's l.u.s.trous black hair was spread out on the pillow.

Now was the time. The men gathered by the door, then abruptly bashed it in. The sleeping figures within came awake and sat up, blinking. The girl screamed.

"So, miscreant!" the posse leader declaimed. "You sought to deceive this innocent maiden. You are no Prince!"

"Indeed I am not," the man said, standing. He fetched the candle and held it by his face.

The posse of men stared, appalled. For there before them was the visage of the King.

"The seed within this maiden is mine," the King said. "I had heard a tale that she was ugly, but she seems beautiful to me. Do any disagree?"

The men gazed at the scar-crusted face of the girl. No one disagreed. Indeed, in her fulfillment, she did seem to possess a quality of appeal not before fathomed. Scars were, after all, superficial things.

"Now I charge you, loyal henchmen, to fetch me my horse, and do not tell the Queen, who might not understand."

Chagrined, they fetched the horse and departed. No one spread the news to the Queen. But in due course the farmer's ugly daughter bore a fine son, who was stipended as a royal b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and she was able to attract a husband. The King's reputation for honor was unsullied, and his personal popularity increased, though often there was a sly wink when this was spoken of among peasants.

Geode shook his head. This was certainly the kind of story none would have told. It had all the elements she favored, and that he related to, because they were hers.

none was in the monster. He could not kill it.

He turned and cut across to the drive, then up it to the house. What was he to do?

But already he knew. He went to the security closet with a bag and packed the bones into it. He would bury these where they would not be found. No one would know that the firefly had come here. The secret would be kept, protecting the estate-and the firefly.

The house phone rang. He set down the bag and answered it; he didn't want anything to seem to be out of the ordinary.

It was Frank Tishner. "Listen, Demerit, h.e.l.l's about to break loose. They found the bones in the van."

Geode froze. How was he going to cover up the existence of the firefly now?

* 46 - FRANK SET DOWN the phone, disgusted. It had been so close! If the firefly had shown up last night, when they were ready for it, and they had killed it, then maybe they could have finessed the bones. But with it still loose, and probably more bones somewhere else, waiting to be discovered, things were falling apart.

What were the dangers, and how could they be avoided? He would be in trouble soon, for sure, because his department knew he had been investigating just such bones before. May, too, because she had driven that van up there, and her fingerprints were on the wheel. If only they had been able to return to it and clean everything up!

He had to call her and get their stories straight. He reached for the phone again, then hesitated. He was at home, for it was still early; he didn't want to call her from here.

"Go ahead and call her," Trudy said, making him jump.

He looked at her. He hadn't realized she was up yet. But of course the same call that had notified him of the bones in Ocala would have awakened her. How much did she know or suspect?

"You were out all night on that project," she said. "That was no deputy business."