Sebastian of Mars (12 page)

“But – who are you?”

“I am Radion,” he replied, his voice booming
and deep, “and these are my people.” His accent was odd, made odder
still by his deep voice: a little of the north, a bit of the west,
an unrecognizable emphasis on consonants that I had never heard
before.

I studied him carefully as he straightened.
He was wide, with a wide, luxuriously furred face of orange and
white, with thick whiskers. He eyes were golden brown. He was
dressed in odd raiment’s, black boots and a brightly colored tunic,
belted at the waist, as well as a bright red feathered cap.

His companions, both men and women, were
dressed similarly, though with not quite as much girth.

“What clan are you?” I inquired.

Radion looked startled, and then he laughed.
In a moment the cavern was filled with laughter.

“Begging your pardon if I say that we are the
only clan that matters.”

My back stiffened, but before I could say
anything, Radion continued:

“We are the Romeny.”

“
Gypsies!
”

Again he bowed, though the others retained
their bemused looks.

Radion said, “Again, at your service. You
speak our name as if we do not exist. No?”

“But you
don’t
exist! You’re a
myth!”

Radion’s smile hardened, just a little. “A
myth that can bite, my friend. Let us just say that we have . . .
chosen to remain invisible.”

“But even Newton says you aren’t real!”

Radion’s smile was back. “We have dealt with
Newton, on occasion – though I doubt he knew who we were. It has
served us well to blend in, wherever we are. We can be any clan,
when the need suits us. We have dealt with everyone on this planet,
topsider or downsider, at one time or another.” His smile widened.
“And we pay no tithe, and no taxes, by being” – he shrugged, and
turned to bring his people into the joke – “a
myth
.”

I was flabbergasted. “Gypsies . . .”

The laughter had died down. “And,” Radion
said, we have a job to do. A trade we made with One, for your
safety, to deliver you to a certain place. We will leave as soon as
we have eaten.”

It was then that I remembered Quiff. “Where
is the fellow who brought me here?”

“Quiff?” Radion shrugged again. “He has gone
home, after delivering most of what was agreed. The fellow stank of
fish, so it was good to be rid of him.”

I was a little disappointed, and sad, that my
erstwhile companion had left without even saying goodbye.

But I had little time to think of these
things, because Radion was looming over me.

“And you stink of fish, too!” He made a
motion, and two of his compatriots took hold of me and, without
ceremony, drew me to the edge of the water. Radion followed, making
a great show of holding his nose.

“Would you like to bathe with your clothes
on, or not?” he asked.

Before I could answer, the fellows holding me
had hoisted me up and thrown me, fully clothed, into the lake.

“Question answered!” Radion roared. “And
anyway, your clothes stank of fish, too! Bathe well, and then eat
with us! And no fish!”

At that he turned away, and almost in signal,
cooking fires roared up around the camp. As I bobbed in the water,
succulent smells came to me – more poultry, perhaps dog, a few
other delicacies I had eaten, it seemed, a lifetime ago.

Resigned to my position, I drew off my
clothes, washed them well, and then myself. I was a bit unnerved by
the interest one of the species of fish that Quiff had lately
cooked took in me, drawing near and rubbing against me once or
twice, then turning its face up toward me and opening its
many-toothed mouth.

As I climbed out of the water Radion studied
the creature. “We do not eat these things ourselves, unless
necessary. But I can tell you that if you had stayed much longer,
he would have eaten
you
!”

I looked back, and felt suddenly faint. The
fish had been joined by a dozen others. “Man eaters?” I
croaked.

Radion nodded vigorously. “I’m surprised
Quiff didn’t tell you. They could strip your bones of flesh in five
minutes or less!”

Radion unexpectedly slapped me on the back.
“You are a brave man to bathe in such waters.” I couldn’t tell if
he was joking or not. “Dress yourself, and come have a feast fit
for a king!”

Now he turned his massive head toward me, and
winked.

I dressed quickly, with the smell of roasting
meats gaining me strength by the moment.

“One has made an odd
request, this time,” Radion said, as we both sat sated in front of
a smoldering fire. He was the only gypsy who commanded such
respect, since the other cook fires were crowded with jostling men
and women who continued to eat, drink wine from dog skin flasks,
and, occasionally, break out into song:

The gypsy life!

Not for us the world of cats

In fancy pants

And fancy hats –

The gypsy life!

The road is ours

Everywhere

On planet Mars –

The gypsy life!

And so on, with verse after verse.

My belly was full, my strength returned. I
had asked many questions, some of them stupid, which Radion,
absorbed in his own reverie, swatted aside unanswered like flies.
Others which interested him he fielded deftly, and, when I went
over his answers later in my head, I realized he had told me nearly
nothing about his people, their ways, where they slept, how they
made their living, who they knew and who they didn’t know. The one
thing I did learn is that they seemed to know everyone – the
pirates, the F’rar – and my mother.

“She was a great woman, from what I hear,”
Radion said. He paused to belch, which, when he did it, seemed a
sign of thoughtful respect. “I did not meet her but I know felines
who did. She sacrificed much for some foolish ideas.”

“Foolish!” I said, outraged. “Do you call an
attempt to unify all the people of Mars in a representative and
fair government foolish?”

“Has it worked?” Radion answered immediately.
“Has it ever worked? Before Queen Haydn there were kings, and wars.
For a time there was a first republic, and war. After her there was
a second republic – and war.” He shrugged, a grand, shaggy gesture.
“This is why the Romeny remain to themselves.”

“You would never be part of a true republic?”
I asked. “Where your people could vote with every other clan, in
equality?”

He belched, and this time it was not out of
respect. “We have no need for anyone else. We never have. It is our
code, and our way.”

“Do you think Frane would respect your way,
if she knew of you?”

In alarm, I watched his eyes fill with
anger.

“It is because of Frane that we help you,” he
said, nearly growling. I noticed that the singing had stopped, and
there was near silence in the camp save for the snap of meat fat
over spitting fires.

“What did she do to you?”

His eyes had hardened, and his booming voice
filled the cavern with an almost supernatural wrath. “Hear me!” He
stood up, unsteadily, for he had been drinking wine throughout the
meal and after. “And hear me well! Romeny bend to no feline! Romeny
will always be free!”

There was dead silence, until Radion,
breathing heavily with anger, sat down again.

Eventually, as Radion
sat staring into our dying fire, the comradery around us slowly
returned, and I heard the far off tinkling of a musical instrument,
and the tentative beginnings of a new song:

The gypsies are free

And always they will be,

But the hurts strike deep

And gypsies, though they weep

They never forget

And yet –

Gypsies remain
free!

It was a sad, defiant song, and as it was
sung, gaining momentum, Radion eventually came out of his anger and
introspection, and looked at me with a steady gaze.

“It is simple, my young friend. Frane has
tried to enslave us, as she has every other people on Mars.” He
smiled, an unpleasant sight. “She will not succeed.”

I opened my mouth to speak but he held a
thick paw out for silence. His voice was subdued, but the bass tone
of it still carried weight and authority. He seemed to be studying
me the way he had studied that man-eating fish.

“They told me you were weak,” he said, his
gaze never wavering from me. “But felines have been wrong before.
Your bones are scrawny, and I’ll bet your grip is ladylike, but you
have a sinewy character to you. You are physically unstrong, yes,
but that might change. We will do what we can for it. It is your
head and heart I wonder about, and we shall see that, too. But I
have a feeling about you, Sebastian of Argyre, and I am never wrong
about men.”

“So you do know who I am,” I said.

“Hm?” He waved his paw in dismissal. “Bah! Of
course! Do you think the Romeny would walk with anyone without
knowing him? And I’m sure you will make a fine king – even if you
don’t know who you rule. After all, the Romeny are a myth,
right?”

Some of his humor returned when I nodded.

“Good! Then let’s see
about your brain.” He roared, “Bring the Jakra cards! Let’s see if
this whelp can take a beating!”

T
he fires were cold
and the rest of the camp, save for the sentries I saw strategically
and quietly placed, asleep when we finished our last game. We had
nearly worn the crude deck, pictured with the great Martian feline
composers, out with our shuffling and dealing. I had to call a halt
because I could not keep my eyes open and was nearly asleep myself.
He was a very good player, the best outside of Newton I had ever
played with.

“But we must play one more game!” Radion
protested. “We are even, and cannot remain so! You know the
rules!”

“Very well,” I nodded sleepily. I quickly
dealt and lost, letting him beat me for the sake of sleep.

“Bah!” he said disgustedly, throwing his
cards down. I had watched him drink two flasks of wine over the
last hours, with no loss of concentration or stamina. “You have let
me win! This will not do!”

My chin was on my chest. “It will have to do.
I cannot stay awake.”

He leaned over the dead embers, and said,
with, I thought, a measure of warmth on his sour breath, “Then I
will beat you all the more decisively the next time.”

I nodded, and then I felt myself being
lowered to the ground, a blanket placed on me.

I felt Radion’s sour hot breath at my
ear.

“Sleep well, King. For tomorrow the real test
begins.”

“A
different kind of
cards,” Radion said, spreading three rows of three cards from a
huge pictorial deck. I only caught a glimpse of the faces as he
shuffled them – dogs with cat heads, Phobos impossibly close in a
dark sky, the blazing sun circled by flapping birds – but I found
them fascinating.

“A real fortune teller’s deck?” I asked.

He gave a baleful eye. “That is a fool’s
term. We gypsies have used the deck for a thousand years plus a
thousand more. It was given to us by great powers before our
time.”

“Who?” I asked, letting just the right amount
of bemusement enter my voice. I had found in the last few days of
travel with Radion and his people that while he barked like a dog,
he often bit like a toothless grandmother. But this time I was
wrong, for his look threaten to boil over into one of real ire.

“You do not jest with the cards,” he said,
his bass voice a warning rumble.

I nodded, and composed myself at his
makeshift table – a flat, knee high rock on an underground plain
where we had camped for the night – with a look of rapt attention
on my features.

“I apologize,” I said.

“Good,” he said, and pointed to the three
rows in turn. “Past, present, future,” he said.

I was a bit surprised that we were still
underground. I expected that we would surface into hospitable
lands, where more gypsies and their allies would shelter us. But
this was not so. There was danger above, Radion had explained,
though he would say no more. And so we had passed through cavern
after tunnel after cavern. Sometimes a shaft of sunlight would
brighten our underground passage; at other times torchlight or the
glow of crystal caverns lit our way. We had passed ample water and
there was ample food – though, thankfully, no fish, which the
Romeny seemed to dislike. After my time with Quiff, who I found I
still missed, my fast from that foodstuff was most welcome.

Radion pointed again, and then again, to the
three rows. Then he pointed to the three ranks and repeated three
times, “Might be, will be, must be.”

‘What do you mean by that?” I asked,
interrupting him, overcome with curiosity.

He drew a line down the first rank. “The
things in these cards, past, present, future, may or may not be
true. In the next” – and he drew his short claw down the second
rank – “these things are true, though fate can interfere. And in
this last rank” – once again he pulled his finger along the last
three cards – “these things in past, present, and future
must
occur. Nothing can alter them, not the heavens
themselves.”

“Nothing?” I said, and again a slight touch
of bemusement crept into my voice.

His eyes, dark as coals, pinned me and made
me hold my breath.

“
Nothing
,” he rumbled.

“Very well,” I whispered.

Radion continued to stare at me, and then
opened his mouth to say something. But then I could tell he thought
better of it, and closed his lips again. His dark eyes moved from
me to the cards, and he flipped over the first card in the first
rank with a loud
snap!

His face lit up with a smile and he barked a
laugh. He tapped the face of the card with his blunt claw. It was a
picture of a kit with four arms and four legs and two heads, one
looking to one side, one looking in the opposite directions. Fur
stood up on its body as if it had been electrically shocked.