The Wolf Age (24 page)

The audience was impressed. Not as impressed as an audience would have been in Narkunden or Ontil: werewolves did not fear fire any more than the children of Ambrose. But then, werewolves in their night shape do not have fingers and do not juggle. The audience speculated that Morlock was a werewolf who did not change fully to human: he might have wolvish paws, immune to fire. On request, Morlock showed them his hairless palms.

"He probably shaves them," shouted a heckler.

"Like you?" someone else retorted, to much abusive laughter.

Coins started appearing in Morlock's bowl. He threw hooks and doublehooks; he threw double-sidehooks where his hands moved so fast it looked as if he was throwing infinity rings. He kept juggling the coals until the fire was gone. By then the bowl was nearly full of red coins, shining copper and rusting iron.

He took a single copper coin and handed it to the sausage seller.

"Keep it," said the seller, who had sold his entire stock to the crowd that had gathered to watch Morlock's juggling.

"This was our deal," said Morlock, and pressed the coin on him.

"I'm out of sausages and I'm going back to my shop in Apetown," the seller said. "Will you be here this afternoon?"

"I don't know."

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Probably not."

"Look, I'll pay you to be here. We're a team, Chiefl"

"I'm not your chief," said Morlock. He picked up his bowl and turned to the portrait maker, who was telling two uninterested passersby that he was Luyukioronu Longthumbs and they were missing the chance of a lifetime to have their portrait inked by him.

"How much for a drawing in ink?" Morlock asked Luyukioronu, after the passersby had passed by.

"Two pads of copper," said Luyukioronu eagerly. He hadn't done as well with the crowd as the sausage seller.

"I'll give you three pads for the paper, the ink, and the loan of a brush."

"What?" said the would-be artist suspiciously.

Morlock repeated himself.

"I'll do the drawing. Just give me the money," Luyukioronu insisted.

"You want the money, you give me what I asked for."

The crowd, which had shown signs of dispersing, began to thicken again.

Reluctantly, Luyukioronu surrendered the materials.

Morlock made a few trial strokes with the brush and the ink on the boards of the market floor. Then he spun the brush in his hands and thought for a moment. He dipped the brush in the ink and applied the brush to the page in swift decisive strokes. Soon it was a picture of a volcano with a moon-clock in its side, with mists hovering about that half obscured the symbols.

"That's Mount Dhaarnaiarnon," whispered a member of the crowd.

"Is it?" Morlock said. "Would anyone like this drawing? I will give it to them for free."

This sounded too good to be true. But the drawing was a marvel in black-and-white. Slowly, suspiciously, a middle-aged citizen edged forward and silently held out his hand. Morlock gave him the drawing and handed the ink and brush back to the artist.

He waited.

"Ink my portrait," someone said tentatively.

"Paint my mate's portrait," said another.

"Paint Ullywuino!" shouted someone else. "She's my favorite whore!"

"There's too much paint on her already," someone else said.

Morlock held up his hands. "I have nothing to paint with, citizens. Unless you buy materials from this reliable craftsman."

"Hey!" shouted Luyukioronu. "I'm not your stationer! Buy your own stuffl"

Morlock shrugged. "I'm here to make money. I can draw better than you. The crowd won't want your work after they've seen mine."

The artist-werewolf's face worked angrily. He glanced at the drawing, still being held up with wonder by the crowd. He threw down the brush and the bowl of ink and stood up.

"Fine," Luyukioronu shouted. "Take the stuff. I hope the ink poisons you. But you won't get my teeth." He clutched at the few honor-teeth he had at his throat. Morlock saw with interest that his thumbs were indeed long: the tips stretched farther than his index fingers. "You'll have to fight me for those," Luyukioronu continued, "you gray-bagged, flat-faced, ape-fingered son of a never-wolf!"

"Wait!" said Morlock. "Stop!"

Luyukioronu walked stiff-legged away.

The crowd applauded.

Morlock looked around in bemusement. Hrutnefdhu was there in the crowd, and he took pity on his never-wolf friend. "You showed you had more bite as an artist than he did. The stuff is yours now."

"Eh." Morlock grabbed the bowl of coins. "How much is this stuff worth? Less than this?"

"A dozen coppers, perhaps. He probably stole it, you know."

"Maybe he did, but I won't. Go after him. Give him twenty copper coins. Take the rest to Rokhlenu and meet me back here."

The pale werewolf smiled strangely at him, took the bowl, and left.

"Citizens," Morlock said, sitting down by the easel. "What will you?"

He painted. He drew images in ink for four copper coins each. There were some sticks of charcoal tucked away in the artist's kit, and he sold pictures in charcoal for two copper coins each. There was some odd pigment in soft sticks, like chalk mixed with colors and oil. He found this fascinating to work with, but he didn't forget he was there to make money. He charged six copper coins for work in these.

He did it for the money, because he and his friends needed money. But it wasn't only the money. He was a maker who had made virtually nothing for more than a year. He ached to reshape matter with his hands and his dreams-now that he could dream again. Each image was important to him for itself, not just for the money.

And money wasn't all he earned by it. Customers often handed him an honor-tooth along with their coins. He thought it was a mistake at first, but they seemed angry if he asked them about it, so he stopped asking.

Most of the pictures were portraits. The customers wanted keepsakes of themselves, their mates, their sweethearts, their cubs. But one citizen said, "Make me a tree. I like trees." So Morlock drew in inks a maijarra tree he had seen in his now-distant youth on the western edge of the world. The next customer wanted a more warlike scene, so Morlock sketched in charcoal and smoky pastels the chaotic central chamber of the Vargulleion prison on that memorable New Year's Night. This was very popular, and customers wanted more like it, so Morlock drew scene after scene of the battle, as much as his hazy memory permitted. He drew images of Rokhlenu on the dragon he had killed in the mountain pass of Kirach Kund, images of Rokhlenu fighting the Spiderfolk. The crowd was intrigued by the images of the werewolf, and even more interested when they found that the werewolf was the intended spouse of the outliers' First Wolf.

Finally, Morlock took the last roll of paper that he had and used most of the rest of the ink and pigment on a vast panorama of the city of Wuruyaaria as he had first seen it, rising in savage civil splendor up the mesas of the mountainside, facing the threatening mass of Mount Dhaarnaiarnon, glaring over the scene with its single intricate mechanical eye. The overall tone was greenish, but Morlock stippled the surface with yellow pigment and smeared it with his thumb until the image shone with a green-and-gold misty luster he had never seen in the world, but somehow seemed exactly right.

"Who's that for?" asked someone in the crowd.

"Whoever pays the most for it," Morlock replied.

The impromptu auction netted Morlock several more fistfuls of copper coins, and a string of honor-teeth. The image went to the madam of one of the day-lairs (i.e., whorehouses) nearby. She said it would be perfect to decorate her waiting room.

"No doubt," Morlock said, with the sinking feeling a maker often has when relinquishing his work.

He bought a woman's headcloth to roll up his newfound wealth in. The crowd began to thin out reluctantly, the show obviously being over.

Two shadows fell across Morlock as he was rolling up the cloth. He looked up to see the long leering face of Luyukioronu, the werewolf artist. Next to him was a many-scarred thug with clawed fingers and a pronounced and toothy overbite.

"You took my stuff," Luyukioronu said. "So now we'll take your stuff. Stand back, never-wolf."

"Didn't my friend find you?" Morlock asked. "I sent him with payment for your materials. And you can have back whatever's left."

"He gave me your money. But that just told me you're afraid. So I used it to hire Snekknafenglu here, and we'll take the rest of your money nowand those honor-teeth you've got; you probably stole those, too."

"No man or wolf calls me thief," said Morlock as he stood.

"You!" shouted Luyukioronu. "Who ever heard of you to call you anything, you rat-tailed tailless bald-faced never-wolf-"

The crowd stood back, but did not leave. The show was clearly not yet entirely over. They had enjoyed watching Morlock work, but they would not intervene: a citizen should only carry what he or his can fight to keep. That was their law.

Morlock saw Snekknafenglu edging forward while Luyukioronu raved. Morlock lashed out with the edge of an ink-stained hand at what seemed to be the weakest part of Snekknafenglu's protruding upper jaw. The mercenary staggered back, eyes crossing in pain. Morlock turned to Luyukioronu and kicked him savagely in one knee. As the artist was reeling, Morlock kicked him in the other knee and he went down on the boards. Morlock turned back to Snekknafenglu standing at bay between Hrutnefdhu and Olleiulu. Olleiulu, Morlock was relieved to see, was carrying Tyrfing.

"What do you want us to do with him?" Olleiulu asked.

"Yes, what should we do with him-Khretvarrgliu?" Hrutnefdhu added slyly, glancing at Snekknafenglu.

The effect of the name on the thug was immediate and, Morlock had to admit, somewhat gratifying. Snekknafenglu gasped, looked anxiously at Morlock, anxiously at the sword, and turned to flee.

"Let him go," Morlock said, so his friends did. The thug-for-hire ran off, and a few members of the crowd tapered off after him, perhaps hoping to win a few honor-teeth from Snekknafenglu while he was feeling whipped.

Morlock turned to the artist, who was struggling to get back afoot. He snatched the artist's honor-teeth and ripped them from the hairy neck. Then he tossed them into the swamp water, where they sank out of sight.

"I am not a thief," said Morlock. "But you are a liar. Earn your bite back by telling the truth, or I'll take your teeth again."

The crowd hooted and applauded ironically as Luyukioronu scrambled away to nurse his losses.

"Well, you've had a busy morning," said Hrutnefdhu, eyeing Morlock's money-roll.

Morlock glanced at the sky in surprise. It was not yet noon.

"How about lunch?"

Morlock was ravenously hungry but said, "No thanks. You can take this money to Rokhlenu. Sorry it's so heavy-can we change it for silver, somewhere?"

"Silver," said Hrutnefdhu faintly. "Are you still crazy?"

"Oh." Morlock reflected for a moment. Silver would not pass for currency among werewolves. "No. Never mind. Tell Rokhlenu I'll send more when I can." Hrutnefdhu shrugged, took the money-roll, and departed.

Morlock accepted the sword from Olleiulu with sincere thanks.

"We found it in a stash one of our fellow escapees had set up," Olleiulu said. "A second-floor hero. He waited until the guards were dead or fled and he then looted bodies. He showed up here the next day and stole your sword the following night. Well, now we have one fewer mouth to feed, and a few more of us have some gear."

"Eh."

"You should put those honor-teeth on," Olleiulu said, pointing at the string Morlock had left on the boards of the market floor.

"Eh."

"I don't know what that means, and I don't mean any kind of disrespect. If you won't, you won't. But people see you without honor-teeth, they try to take whatever you got away from you. I know you can brush them off, but why should you have to?"

Morlock saw his point. He grabbed up the honor-teeth and roped them around his neck.

Olleiulu looked relieved. Morlock wondered if it was bad for a werewolf's reputation to be seen with someone who wore no honor-teeth; he guessed it might. Neither Hrutnefdhu nor Liudhleeo wore them, Morlock reflected.

"Well, what's next if it's not lunch? Rokhlenu said that me or Hrutnefdhu had to stay with you until you-until you-"

"Until I wasn't obviously crazy."

"Which I know you're not, no matter what that plepnup says. But you can't know your way around the boards yet."

"The plepnup is my friend, Olleiulu."

"Uh-huh, Chief. I didn't mean anything bad."

"Can you take me where he lives? Where he and Liudhleeo live?"

Olleiulu nodded sagely. "You're not hungry; you're tired. You want to rest."

"Not exactly." Morlock was both hungry and tired, but now that he had Tyrfing back there were many other things he could and should do.

Through the thinning crowd, Morlock saw the other side of the market square. Sitting with somber concentration, his head in his hands, was the big red werewolf, Hlupnafenglu.

"I forgot about him," Morlock admitted.

"Lucky you," Olleiulu snorted.

They went over, and Morlock told Hlupnafenglu that he could get up. He had to say it several times before the red werewolf could hear it or would believe it, but eventually he sighed with relief and got to his feet. He beamed with vacant happiness on Morlock and the scornful Olleiulu.

"East we go," said Olleiulu, and they went east.