Dragonback 03 Dragon and Slave (12 page)

Finally, he judged it was time to end the show. If Crampatch and
his daughter weren't hooked by now, they never would be. "And that,
ladies and gentlemen and honored Jantri guests, completes the
afternoon's entertainment," he said, bowing deeply three times. "I hope
you enjoyed the show; and I
really
hope someone knows where my
laundry is. Thank you again."

The audience exploded into a wild racket of applause, cries,
hoots, grunts, whistles, and squawks. Jack bowed again and again, all
the time keeping an eye on the two Brummgas. The daughter seemed very
insistent about something . . .

Eventually, he stopped bowing, and the audience broke up. Sort of
broke up, anyway. While most of the slaves headed back to their other
activities, several of them came up to thank Jack personally for the
show.

Naturally, Greb, Grib, and Noy were right there in front. The
Jantri twins were in the middle of their third round of thank-yous when
Fleck bulled his way through the crowd. "Come on," he said, wiggling a
finger at Jack. "Crampatch wants you."

"What about?" Jack asked, squeezing Greb and Grib's shoulders one
last time as he stepped to Fleck's side.

"Interesting show," the big man said as he led Jack through the
milling slaves toward Crampatch and his daughter. "You're not like
anyone else we've ever had here. What else can you do?"

"You'd be surprised," Jack assured him. "What does Crampatch want?"

Fleck snorted under his breath. "His daughter wants a new toy," he
said sourly. "You're it."

"I'm honored," Jack said.

"Don't be," Fleck warned. "You think they treat us badly here,
just wait until they get you to the house."

Jack rubbed his face where the Brummga's slapstick had hit him. "I
can hardly wait," he murmured.

"Yeah," Fleck grunted. "Just watch yourself."

They took him through the gap in the hedge and back across the
beautifully textured and cared-for Chookoock family grounds. In the
daylight, Jack saw, the landscape was even more impressive than it had
been at night. He also spotted several clumps of bushes that could
easily be concealing guard posts.

At a small side door to the house, Crampatch turned him over to a
tall, wiry Wistawk wearing a garish outfit in multiple shades of green
and purple. Across his chest he wore the same red sash as Fleck. "Get
it ready," Crampatch ordered, jerking a thumb at Jack. "And don't
forget to hose it down. It stinks."

"Understood, Your Chanterling," the Wistawk said, bowing low.
"Your Thumbleness," he added, bowing to the daughter.

The two Brummgas left. "This way, human," the Wistawk said,
gesturing Jack in through the door.

A short corridor led them into the back of a large kitchen. A
very
large kitchen, in fact, far bigger than Jack would have expected even
for a mansion this size. It was well equipped, too, with at least four
cooking surfaces, six fire ovens, and four microwave ovens nestled in
among the various work spaces and countertops. Off in one corner was an
even bigger extravagance: a huge radiation oven nearly as big as the
hotbox back in the slave colony. Probably for cooking whole animals.

In a pinch, it might also make a good emergency hiding place.
Provided, of course, that he remembered to get out before they started
cooking something.

Twenty or so slaves were already at work there, no doubt preparing
the Chookoock family dinner. Most were hurrying around carrying pots
and pans, or were at various work areas mixing or measuring or molding
food into odd shapes. Another group was off at the three huge sinks
cleaning up pans from previous cooking efforts.

Standing at a small recipe-storage desk, looking rather like the
eye in the middle of a hurricane, was another Wistawk wearing a red
sash. He was holding up a delicate-looking pastry and speaking into a
portable recorder attached to a corner of the desk. Probably preparing
the daily report, Jack decided, or possibly adding a new recipe to the
collection.

"I am Heetoorieef," his guide identified himself as they exited
the far side of the kitchen into a well-stocked pantry. "I am in charge
of the household slaves. What are you?"

"I'm Noy," Jack told him. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yes," Heetoorieef murmured, pulling an electronic notepad from
behind his sash and scribbling something on it. "Your room is with the
rest of the slave quarters downstairs. I warn you it smells of
paint—the Dolom who was in there last had been painted quite thoroughly
by Her Thumbleness."

" 'Her Thumbleness?' "

"That is how you will address her," Heetoorieef said, a bit
tartly. "You will not be here long at any rate; but addressing any of
the Brummgas wrongly will make that stay extremely unpleasant."

He half turned and looked Jack up and down. "I don't believe she's
ever chosen a human before. What exactly are you good for?"

"I was doing a magic show when she spotted me," Jack told him,
deciding not to take offense at the question. Heetoorieef
was
trying to be civil, he knew. He just didn't do it very well. Probably
all that time spent with Brummgas. "I can juggle some, too."

"I see," Heetoorieef said. His tone was still polite, but Jack
could tell he really didn't much care one way or the other.

Which wasn't surprising. Heetoorieef's job was to keep the
household running smoothly, to make sure the slaves didn't make some
mistake that would get them—and him—in trouble with the slavemasters.
Having to take time out to teach Her Thumbleness's latest toy how to
behave was just one more headache for him to deal with.

"You'll need to take a bath," Heetoorieef went on. "Unless you
really would prefer being hosed down?"

Jack grinned. "A bath will do fine," he assured the other. "Can
you find me a change of clothes, too?"

"That was next on the list," Heetoorieef said stiffly, as if
offended that Jack would think a proper slave overseer would need to be
reminded about that. "A magic performer and juggler. Yes, I believe I
have just the outfit. I will bring it to your room while you bathe."

"Thank you," Jack said. "What do I do then?"

"When you are dressed report to me in my office," Heetoorieef
said. "It is a small room beside the kitchen. You will entertain Her
Thumbleness while she eats her dinner."

Jack's room was Nui Trach—Number Eight in the Brummgan numbering
system—in the second basement down from the kitchen floor. It contained
a wide bed, a two-drawer dresser, a wooden chair, a clock-intercom, and
a single overhead light.

The bed's mattress was stiff, the chair was hard, and there was
barely enough room for him to turn around without bumping into
something else. But after a week and a half in the slave colony
sleeping hut, the place felt like the luxury corridor on the
Star
of Wonder
.

The slaves' bathroom was at the end of the hall. It was smaller
than the wash area back in the slave colony, and not a lot fancier. But
it was clean, it had a real bathtub, and it had lots of hot water.

He soaked in the tub as long as he dared—about five minutes—then
washed himself thoroughly and returned to his room. Heetoorieef had
been there in his absence, and had left him the most ridiculous outfit
he'd ever seen. It consisted of a loose tunic, tights, and a floppy hat
with bells on it. Everything was done up in the same pattern of huge
purple-and-green diamonds.

"An interesting design," Draycos commented as Jack shook out the
tunic and held it up. "Is that what is called a harlequin outfit?"

"You got me," Jack said, sitting down on the bed and starting to
pull on the tights. They felt prickly and itchy, he noticed. Maybe they
would feel better once they were all the way on. "I've never even heard
the word before."

"A harlequin was a clown or buffoon in an Old Earth French theater
style," Draycos explained. "He typically wore a mask and
diamond-patterned clothing."

"Um," Jack grunted, standing up and smoothing out the tights along
his legs. Nope; they didn't feel any better this way. He would just
have to hope he would get used to the prickling. "Been reading through
the
Essenay
's dictionary, have we?"

"At your suggestion," Draycos said. "That shirt appears too large
for you."

"Sure does," Jack agreed, slipping the tunic over his head. Too
large, nothing—he could swim a couple laps of backstroke in here. He
wondered what sort of alien the outfit had been designed for. "Maybe I
can tuck it in somehow."

"If you like, I can help hold it," the dragon offered. "Like this."

Jack felt some weight at the small of his back as Draycos lifted
his forepaws out into three-dimensional mode. There was a twitch as the
dragon's claws caught the material and pulled it close in against
Jack's back.

"Not bad," Jack said, twisting his torso and waving his arms
experimentally. "Feels pretty good. On second thought, though, we'd
better not. We don't want someone checking out the outfit later and
wondering how I was holding it together."

"I understand." Draycos released his claws, and the tunic material
billowed out again like a ship's sail looking for a nice westerly
breeze. "You expect them to study you more closely, then?"

"They will if we give them enough time," Jack said. "That's why I
gave Heetoorieef Noy's name instead of mine."

"You think Gazen will see the list of which slaves are currently
in the house."

"I would if
I
were in charge of slaves around here," Jack
said, trying to tuck the tunic into the back of the tights. Without a
mirror he couldn't see what it looked like, but it felt like it looked
stupid. "I figure if he sees my name on Heetoorieef's list, I'll be
back on the wrong side of the hedge in nothing flat."

"He may be at dinner tonight."

"In which case, we're probably in trouble," Jack said, giving up
and pulling the back of the tunic free again. "Let's hope the Chookoock
family doesn't let non-Brummgas eat with them. If we can get through
this one meal, we should be in."

"You plan to hit the computers tonight?"

"I'm sure going to give it a try," Jack said. No special shoes had
come with the outfit; slipping on his own, he secured them and looked
himself up and down. "At least I'm not going out in public in this
thing," he said with a sigh. "Let's go entertain Her Thumbleness."

"Yes," Draycos said. "Is 'break a leg' the proper response?"

"That's the one," Jack confirmed.

"Thank you," Draycos said. "Break a leg."

From the information Uncle Virge had pulled up, Jack had known the
Chookoocks were a big family, spanning at least six generations and
including over a hundred Brummgas.

What he hadn't expected was to find the whole ugly crowd of them
dropping in for dinner on this same night.

Maybe they
weren't
all there, gathered around the long
tables beneath the hanging flags in the huge banquet hall. Jack never
had a chance to actually count them. But if they were missing any of
them, they weren't missing very many.

The scene rather reminded Jack of one of those old Medieval
costume dramas, the kind Uncle Virgil had always loved. The sort of
drama where Robin Hood or someone charged in just before dessert and
dropped a deer on the table in front of the king.

Here, of course, the tables were made of long slabs of dark green
stone instead of rough-cut wood, and the light came from modern glow
domes instead of flaming torches. And given the number of armed guards
stationed at the various doors, no one was likely to be showing up with
a deer unless it was properly cooked. But aside from that, the effect
was much the same.

One of the serving slaves led Jack over to a table off to one
side, where a couple dozen Brummgan children were already seated. Their
table, unlike the others, was covered with a brightly colored patchwork
tablecloth that hung all the way to the floor. Some of the children
were coloring or drawing on it, while others were busy carving slits
into it with their table knives.

It wasn't until Jack came closer that a familiar section of the
cloth caught his eye: one of the battle flags of the Whinyard's Edge
mercenaries.

And then he understood. The tablecloth was composed of mercenary
banners and military flags, all sewn together and given to the children
to amuse themselves.

And of course, what the children wanted to do most was scribble on
or otherwise insult them. Typical Brummgan behavior.

Crampatch's daughter was seated in the hostess's position at the
middle of the table. She was wearing a large curly-edged hat, and was
beating cheerfully on the kid next to her with a long serving spoon.
Stepping in front of her, Jack bowed low. "Your Thumbleness," he said.

She stopped hitting her neighbor and pointed at him with her
spoon. "
Brolach-ah mischt heeh
," she said.

Jack felt his heart catch in his throat. "I'm sorry, Your
Thumbleness?" he asked carefully.

"
Brolach-ah mischt heeh
," she repeated, more insistently
this time. "
Brolach-ah mischt heeh simt
."

Jack could feel sweat gathering beneath his collar. He'd spent the
journey to Brum-a-dum studying the Brummgan script, but he hadn't
counted on having to know their spoken language, too. "I'm sorry, Your
Thumbleness—"

The apology didn't make it any further. Without warning someone
grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He had just enough time to
see that he was looking into a large Brummgan face when a hand closed
around his throat and lifted him straight up off the ground.

"Do you deaf, human?" the Brummga snarled. His voice was thickly
accented and barely understandable. His hot breath, blasting into
Jack's face, smelled like barbecued pork mixed with dead seaweed. In
his free hand he held a large cup half full of a thick, greasy-looking
liquid. Drunk, right up to his eyelids. "Do you deaf?" he repeated. "Or
do you stupid?"