Contrarywise Page 5

  residents of the city ran their affairs efficiently and fairly. At least, that's how the Saambolin saw it. The Jinnjirri born, however, disagreed. It was only «natural» that the Jinnjirri should feel this way about their conservative landdraw neighbors; the native Jinnjirri came from a country famous for passionate, erratic weather, and geographically shifting borders caused by unstable fault lines. They were Mnemlith's iconoclasts. In Jinnjirri opinion, the pursuit of permanence and rigid explanations of how the world worked were a waste of time. Not to mention psychologically killing—for them. The Jinnjirri believed that all structures would eventually collapse. Ideas must break ground or be tossed like outgrown hand-me-downs. This was a visionary people, and improvisation was their rule. Often the Jinnjirri were also dissident. Inveterate challengers and de-bunkers of tradition, this landrace created a naturally occurring counterculture wherever they settled. The Jinnjirri of Speakinghast were unusually vocal. Saambolin landdraw experts agreed that this unruly civilian population was probably reacting to the ordered, layered bedrock that sat under the city's paved streets and open canals. Their bohemian politics barely tolerated by the slow moving and somewhat reactionary Saambolin Guild, the Jinnjirri of Speakinghast regularly flouted what rules they could, practicing what they termed «intentional irritation"—for the good of the Guild's soul, of course. Taking their kind natured but merciless crusade for reform one step farther, the Jinnjirri of Speakinghast opened their doors to the city—offering an unconditional sanctuary to the eccentrics of all Mnemlith's six landraces. Much to the Guild's dismay, the city took the Jinnjirri offer seriously. In no time at all, the Jinnjirri Quarter attracted a farrago of Speakinghast's most seasoned intellectual and artistic renegades. Cafes regularly opened their doors after hours to the creative and transient. One establishment went even farther. It housed them. The Kaleidicopia Boarding House was a three-storey architectural hodgepodge of odd angles and asymmetrical additions. The improvised design was typical of this quadrant of the city and was considered brilliant by the Jinnjirri architects of the day. The Saambolin Housing Commission, however, logged the Kaleidicopia as «an architectural nightmare» in their books. Crowned by six spires, three domes, a nonagonal diamond-paned cupola, one gothic tower, four brownstone chimneys, and a tri-colored slate roof (green, hot pink, and lavender-blue), the Kaleidicopia caused all passersby to gape. Regardless of landdraw. Known as the «K» by the eight people who currently lived there, the house was the architectural wonderchild of one Barlimo of Whimsiian Sane. A creative genius of modest means, Barlimo was a Jinnjirri of extraordinary cross-cultural tolerance. She collected the rents when her tenants had the money, and she ran the «K» with a loving, but firm hand. Since it was her house—as far as anyone knew—Barlimo also presided over every house meeting. Even the emergency ones. Like tonight's, for example. The bells of the Great Library of Speakinghast tolled the hour: exactly ten bell-eve. At present, fifty-year-old Barlimo stood in the large kitchen of the Kaleidicopia. A wooden spoon in her left hand, she stirred the meat and vegetable stew in the cauldron that hung in the kitchen's fireplace. She had seasoned the stew heavily with imported Asilliwir curries. The scent had escaped the room and spread throughout the entire house—despite the closed swinging door that led into the Kaleidicopia's common room. Barlimo sniffed her late dinner happily. As she did so, the door behind her swung to and fro. She turned around to see who had joined her. It was Timmer, a blonde jazz musician from the land of Dunnsung. Her long hair hung in a thick braid down the middle of her slender back. Dressed in the aquas of the sea water that made a peninsula of her native land, she was a strikingly lovely young woman of twenty-three. «Here's the rent, Barl,» said Timmer, handing a roll of Speakinghast Guildtender to the Jinnjirri. Barlimo stuffed it in the oversize pockets of her raggle-taggle garb. Timmer sniffed the stew. «What is it?» she asked, clearly offended by the strength of Barlimo's choice of spices. Barlimo shrugged. «A little of this, a little of that.» Timmer leaned against the counter next to the sink. «Typical Jinnjirri response,» she commented matter-of-factly. She eyed the stew. «So how come you're eating late? I thought we were supposed to be having an emergency house meeting tonight. That's what the note said on the other side,» she added nodding in the direction of the swinging door. «We're having one,» replied Barlimo. «Soon as Doogat gets here.» «Doogat,» protested Timmer. «Doogat doesn't even live here, Barl. Why in the world does he need to attend one of our house meetings?» «Don't whine. It's most unbecoming,» said Barlimo, crossing the room and fetching more curry. She winked at Timmer, who was watching her with an appalled expression, and dumped the remaining third of the bottle in the bubbling stew. «You don't like Doogat very much, do you?» she asked, continuing to stir her dinner. Timmer sneezed. «Ugh—my allergies don't like your cooking, Barl.» The red-nosed blonde pulled out a crumpled handkerchief, adding, «What's to like about Doogat? He's Mayanabi. Same as Po. Ain't neither of them got class.» «Exactly,» said Po, coming into the kitchen on the tail end of the conversation. «Mayanabi ain't got no class, 'cause Mayanabi don't need it. Not like some people we know,» he added, referring to her love of fad and fashion. Timmer's brown eyes blazed. «Shut up, you!» Po glanced inquiringly at the Jinnjirri who was still calmly stirring her dinner. «Don't tell me, Barl—it's pick on Po night again.» Barlimo tasted her stew. Just about right, she decided, the hot spice terrorizing the front of her tongue. « 'Fraid so, Po. Seems you've climbed to the top of everyone's Terrible Person list.» She gave him a defeated smile. «Again,» she added. Po, who was a Northern Asilliwir and typically blunt of speech, muttered, «Goddamned asshole house.» He looked up. «What for this time? Rent?» «Dishes!» shouted Timmer, glaring at the short, five-feet-no-inch man. Po crossed his arms over his chest, giving the musician a bored smile. Po—Podiddley of Brindlsi by birth—was an infuriating little fellow even on his good days. A slob by inclination and a criminal by profession, thirty-eight-year-old Po had not been a welcome addition to the Kaleidicopia. The fact that he was also a Mayanabi Nomad had endeared him to some but horrified others—like Timmer. She detested fanatics. Especially religious ones. «And while we're at it,» continued the Dunnsung musician hotly, «where is your rent? Surely you make enough with your street thieving to pay poor Barlimo her due.» «That's my business, Timmertandi,» Barlimo interrupted cooly. «The financial arrangements I make with each member of this house are private. Understood?» Po gave Timmer a smug smile. Barlimo wagged a finger in Po's face. «Don't goad. Otherwise Doogat'll find occasion to box your ears again. And Doogat's arriving any minute.» Po frowned. «Doogat?» It was Timmer's turn to give Po a smug know-it-all-smile. «Yes, Po—Doogat's coming to the house meeting. In fact, according to Barl, we can't start it without him. Isn't that interesting? I find it interesting—» Podiddley ignored Timmer's jabs, and crossed the room to where Barlimo stood cooking. «Doogat's coming to the house meeting? Since when?» he demanded, his blue eyes anxious. Barlimo grunted, inclining her head at Timmer. «Since a few members of this house took it upon themselves to have you thrown out by the month's end. They had a little vote, you see. Behind closed doors.» Barlimo threw a fresh clove of cut garlic into the stew. «It was done quite without my knowledge.» «Or sanction?» said Timmer accusingly, her expression one of utter frustration and disbelief. Barlimo sighed. It was moments like this that caused Barlimo to privately curse Trickster's Emissary, for it was moments like this that made her wish she'd never agreed to build a house for Rimble's contraries. Much less collect rent from them, she thought tiredly. During the past three years, it had been Barlimo's unrewarded task to keep Trickster's Own functioning as an intentional family—without telling them that's what they were. All for the love of a deviant Greatkin, she mused. None save she knew the Kaleidicopia's real purpose. As a result, the rest of the house members wondered daily why honest, hard-working Barlimo didn't toss the little