Wizard (15 page)

She went to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t believe we did all that and you can’t remember any of it. Sort of hurts my professional pride.” For a moment he thought she was going to cry and could not imagine what was wrong.

“There’s a girl going with you on your trip,” she said.

“Robin?”

“That’s the one. You tell her I said ‘hi,’ and to be careful. And good luck. Wish her good luck for me. Will you do that?”

“If you’ll tell me your name again.”

“Trini. Tell her to watch out for the Plauget woman. She’s dangerous. When she gets back, she’s always welcome here.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Titantown was sheltered by a massive tree that had formed when many smaller trees united into one colony organism. Though Titanides never indulged in town planning, their own preferences imposed a certain structure on the settlement. They liked to live within 500 meters of the light, so their dwellings tended to form a ring under the tree’s outer periphery. Some of the homes were set sensibly on the ground. Others perched on the gigantic limbs that spread horizontally and were supported by subsidiary trunks themselves as large as sequoias.

Scattered through the residential ring but predominately inward were the workshops, forges, and refineries. Farther out, toward the sunlight and sometimes in the open air, were bazaars, shops, and markets. Throughout the city were public buildings and facilities: the fire brigades, libraries, storehouses, and cisterns. The public water supply was from wells and collected rainfall, but the well water was milky and bitter.

Robin had recently spent a lot of time in the outer ring, using the medallion Cirocco had given her to purchase supplies for the trip. She had found the Titanide artisans polite and helpful. They invariably steered her to the highest-quality merchandise when something less elaborate would have done as well. Thus, she now owned a copper canteen with elaborate filigree chasings which would have made it seem right at home on the Czar’s banquet table. The hilt of her knife was shaped to fit her hand. It sported a ruby like a great glass eye. They had tailored her sleeping bag from material so lushly embroidered that
she hated to let it touch the ground.

Hornpipe, the Titanide she had met in Cirocco’s tent, had been her guide, singing translations to merchants who did not speak English.

“Don’t worry about it,” he had said. “You’ll notice no one else is paying money either. We don’t use it.”

“What’s your system, then?”

“Gaby calls it noncoercive communism. She says it wouldn’t work with humans. They’re too greedy and self-centered. Pardon me, but that’s what she says.”

“That’s okay. She’s probably right.”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s true we don’t have the problems associated with dominance that humans seem to have. We don’t have leaders, and we don’t fight one another. Our economy works through chords and earned entitlements. Everyone works, both at a trade and on community projects. One accumulates standing—or maybe you would call it wealth or credit—by accomplishment, and by aging, or by need. No one lacks the necessities; most have at least some luxuries.”

“I wouldn’t call it wealth,” Robin pointed out. “We don’t use money, either, in the Coven.”

“Oh? What is your system, then?”

Robin thought it over as dispassionately as she could, recalling the assigned community work backed up by a schedule of punishments, up to and including death.

“Call it coercive communism. With a lot of barter on the side.”

* * *

La Gata Encantada was near the trunk of the great tree. Robin had been there once, but the darkness was perpetual in Titantown, and there were no road maps. There were no roads. One needed a lantern and a lot of luck to find anything.

Robin thought of the core of the city as the entertainment district. The description would serve,
though as everywhere else in Titantown there were shops and even homes scattered among the dance halls, theaters, and pubs. There was an area between the outer ring and the trunk which held few structures. It was the gloomiest part of Titantown, given over to small garden plots that thrived in the warm, damp darkness. Most of the town was lit with big paper lamps; here there were few of them.

It was the closest thing she had seen to what she thought of as a park. Her mother had warned her about parks. Men hid in them to spring out and rape women. Of course, few humans came this far into Titantown, but there was nothing to prevent them from coming. She had thought she was over her worries about rape, but she couldn’t help it. There were places where the only useful light was that cast by her own lantern.

There was a hissing sound that made her jump. She stopped to discover the cause and found lines of low, fleshy plants emitting a fine spray. No one reared in the Coven, with its chugging lines of sprinklers crossing the curved agricultural floor, could have failed to see the purpose of the mist. She smiled and inhaled deeply. The smell of damp earth took her back to her childhood, to simpler days spent playing in fields of ripe strawberries.

The pub was a low wooden building with the customary wide door. A sign hung outside: two circles, the top one smaller and with two points on top, slanted eyes, and a toothy grin.

Why a cat? she wondered. And why Spanish? If Titanides learned a human tongue, it was invariably English, but there it was, painted above the doorway, “La Gata Encantada,” without even the customary Titanide runes. They were a strange race, Robin decided. They were so like humans in so many ways. Most of their skills were the same as human skills. The things they made were, for the most part, things humans made, too. Their arts were similar to human arts, with the exception of their transcendant music. Their odd system of reproduction was the only thing distinctly their own.

But not quite, she realized, as she walked into La Gata, past the water trough that was a fixture in every Titanide public building. The floor was sand with a layer of straw. All in all, the Titanides dealt with the problem of combining urbanization and incontinence better than, for instance, New York City
in the horse-and-buggy era. The city swarmed with small armadillolike creatures whose sole food was the ubiquitous piles of orange balls. In private homes the problem was dealt with as it occurred, with shovels and waste bins. But where many Titanides gathered it was impossible. They threw fastidiousness to the winds and simply did not worry about it. Hence the water troughs, to wash one’s feet before going home.

Other than that, La Gata Encantada looked very like a human tavern, but with more space between the tables. There was even a long wooden bar complete with brass rail. The place was full of Titanides who towered over her, but she had ceased to worry about crushed toes. She would have fared worse in a crowd of humans.

“Hey, human girl!” She looked up to see the bartender waving at her. He tossed her a pillow. “Your friends are in back. You want a root beer?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” She knew from her first visit that root beer was a dark, foamy alcoholic brew made from roots. It tasted like the beer she was used to, but stouter. She liked it.

The group had gathered at a big round table in a far corner: Cirocco, Gaby, Chris, Psaltery, Valiha, Hornpipe, and a fourth Titanide she didn’t know. Robin’s drink arrived before she did, in a monster five-liter mug. She sat on her pillow, putting the table at the level of her breasts.

“Are there cats in Gaea?” she asked.

Gaby looked at Cirocco, and they both shrugged.

“I never saw one,” Gaby said. “This place is named after a march. Titanides are march-happy. They think John Philip Sousa is the greatest composer who ever lived.”

“Not quite accurate,” Psaltery objected. “He is neck and neck with Johann Sebastian Bach.” He took a drink, then saw Robin and Chris were looking at him. He went on, by way of clarification.

“Without being condescending, both are basic and primitive. Bach with his geometry of repeated sound shapes, his calculus of inspired monotony; Sousa with his innocent flash and bravura. They approach music as one would lay the bricks of a ziggurat: Sousa in brass and Bach in wood. All humans
do that to some extent. Your written music even looks like brick walls.”

“We had never thought of that,” Valiha contributed. “Celebrating a song and then preserving it to be performed exactly the same the next time was a new idea. The music of Bach and Sousa is very pretty, with no needless complications, when written on paper. Their music is hyperhuman.”

Cirocco looked owlishly back and forth between the two Titanides, then shifted her gaze to Robin and Chris. She had trouble finding them.

“And now you know as much as you did before,” she said. “Never did like Sousa, myself. Bach I can take or leave.” She blinked, looking from one to the other as if waiting for them to dispute her. When they didn’t, she took a long drink from her glass of beer. A lot of it spilled over her chin.

Gaby put a hand on her shoulder. “They’re going to cut you off at the bar pretty soon, Captain,” she said lightly.

“Who says I’m drunk?”
Cirocco roared. A brown-gold sudsy wave washed over the table as her glass toppled. The room was quiet for a moment, then noisy again as all the Titanides took care not to notice the incident. Someone appeared with a towel to mop up the beer, and another glass was set in front of her.

“No one said that, Rocky,” Gaby said quietly.

Cirocco seemed to have forgotten it.

“Robin, you haven’t met Hautbois, I believe. Hautbois (Sharped Mixolydian Trio) Bolero, meet Robin the Nine-fingered, of the Coven. Robin, this is Hautbois. She comes from a good chord and will keep you warm when the cold winds blow.”

The Titanide rose and executed a deep bow with her front legs.

“May the holy flow unite us,” Robin mumbled, bowing from the waist, while studying what she assumed was meant to be her companion on the trip. Hautbois had a plush carpet of hair seven or eight centimeters deep. Only the palms of her hands, small areas around her nipples, and parts of her face revealed bare skin, which was a rich olive green. Her pelt was also olive, but marbled with whorls of
brown like fingerprint patterns. Her head and tail hair was white as snow. She looked like a huge, fluffy stuffed animal with big brown button eyes.

“You met Hornpipe, didn’t you?” Cirocco went on. “Ol’ Horny here is the … well, call it the grandson of the first goddamn Titanide we ever met. His hindmother was the first Hornpipe’s Mix-oeey… .” She paused, having trouble with the word. “Mix-oh-eye-
oh
-nee-an. Mixoionian. She was the first Hornpipe’s Mixoionian get. Then she bred with her forefather. That doesn’t sound so hot from the human standpoint, but I assure you it’s great eugenics with Titanides. Hornpipe’s a Lydian Duet.” She belched and looked solemn. “As are we all.”

“What do you mean?” Chris asked.

“All humans are Lydian Duets,” Cirocco said. She produced a pen and began drawing on the table.

“Lookee here,” she said. “This is a Lydian Duet. Top line is female, bottom line male. The star is the semi-fertilized egg. The top arrow shows where the egg goes, and the bottom arrows show who fucks who, primary and secondary. The Lydian Duet: foremother and hindmother are female; forefather and hindfather are male. Just like humans. Only difference is Titanides have to do it twice.” She leered at Chris. “Double the pleasure, huh?”

“Rocky, hadn’t we better—”

“It’s the
only
mode where Titanides get together the same way humans do,” Cirocco said, hitting the table with her fist. “Out of twenty-nine possibilities this is the only one. There’s duets that are all female, three of ’em. Aeolian Duets. Lydian Duets all have a male, but often as not he’s the hindmother.” She frowned and counted on her fingers. “More often than not. Four out of seven. In the Hypolydian the female fertilizes herself frontally, and in the Locrilydian she does it to herself anterally.
An-
teer
-e-or-ly.”

“Rocky …”

“Does she really have intercourse with herself?” Chris asked. Gaby gave him a disgusted look, but it hardly mattered since Cirocco did not seem to have heard him. She was nodding over the table, peering at the diagram she had drawn.

“Not as you are thinking,” Hautbois volunteered. “That’s physically impossible. It’s done manually. Semen is collected and then implanted. Semen from a rear penis can fertilize a front vagina, but only on the same individual, not between—”

“Folks, folks, give me a break, please. How about it?” Gaby looked from one to the other, finally settling on Cirocco. She grimaced and stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen and Titanides, I had hoped to get this trip under way with a little more organization. I think Rocky had some things she wanted to say, but what the hell. That can wait.”

“C’n wait,” Cirocco muttered.

“Right. Anyway, the first part of the trip is dead easy. We’ll just float down the river without a care in the world. About all there really is to do is load everything onto the boats and shove off. So what do you say we get up and get going?”

“Get going!” Cirocco echoed. “A toast! To the road! May it lead to adventure and carry us safely back home.” She stood and raised her glass. Robin had to use both hands to lift her own, which she shoved out into the middle with the others in a great clinking and sloshing of beer. She drank deeply and heard a crash. The Wizard had fallen off her stool.