Contrarywise Page 7

  «It's all right, Mabinhil,» Doogat whispered softly. «Rimble isn't interested in a hundred percent of nothing.» «Wh—what?» she mumbled. «All that Trickster wants from you right now, Mab,» said Doogat brushing a strand of brown hair out of the young girl's face, «is that you try again, hmm?» Mab refused to look at Doogat, her shoulders sagging. Po interrupted at this point. «You sure treat her nice, Doogs. Me? You just punch me out whenever you fucking feel like it!» Doogat ignored Po's comment arid looked over at the professor who had been watching the entire scene with astonishment. «And that's the answer to your question, Rowen. Multiple. Trickster takes the form indicated by the circumstances presented. Thus, I treat Po one way. And Mab quite another,» he added, ushering the little Piedmerri over to an empty spot on the couch. Mab sat down numbly, her expression troubled. «You were just using me?» she asked. «You didn't mean what you said?» «On the contrary,» replied Doogat. «I meant exactly what I said.» «But what was the question?» asked Timmer. Barlimo, who'd been eating her dinner in silence throughout the whole «lesson,» now looked up. «Simple,» she said, meeting Doogat's dark eyes briefly. «Rowen must've asked, 'What is the nature of Trickster?'» Doogat smiled. «Very good.» «Yes,» said Rowenaster, nodding. «As a matter of fact, Barl, that's exactly what I asked. But what I really wanted to know was what the ethics—» «Ethics!» cried Po. «There aren't any!» «You should talk,» snapped Timmer, glaring at the little thief. Doogat turned his attention back to Mab. Touching her cheek gently, he smiled at the trembling young woman and said, «On the contrary. The ethics are there. If you know what to look for. Rimble-Rimble.» This was not exactly comforting. To anyone. Chapter Eight While the tempers of the five house members inside the Kaleidicopia flared and subsided, Master Janusin and his protege, Cobeth, regarded each other with contempt. The two Jinnjirri sculptors stood in the artist's studio behind the Kaleidicopia, their lean, muscular arms crossed over their chests, their shifting Jinnjirri hair crimson with anger. Cobeth was the first to break the lull in the argument. He turned away from the forty-year-old man who had been his friend, lover, and mentor for the past five years and continued packing his sculptor's tools. Cobeth, a person nine years Janusin's junior, was a particularly skinny fellow. Appearing perennially undernourished, Cobeth's waifish, boyish body brought out the maternal instincts in women and men alike. It helped that Cobeth had large eyes. At once innocent and seductive, such eyes masked his driving need for power. Other people's power. Such eyes spoke of a terrible soul ache; they were a sad, bottomless well that only you—and you alone—could fill. Janusin watched Cobeth put a chisel into a leather carrying bag and rubbed his neck tiredly. He felt exhausted. Drained. He cleared his throat and said, «It's not surprising that you're leaving me now, Cobeth.» «Oh? Why's that?» asked Cobeth, his movements jerky, furious. «You've run me dry.» When Cobeth refused to answer him, Janusin added, «There is one good thing about you, however.» Cobeth met Janusin's gaze cooly. «I'm surprised you can remember a good thing about me, Jan. How gracious of you.» Janusin chuckled. «You don't kill your host.» «Oh, I'm a parasite now?» «But I think I know why that is,» continued Janusin conversationally. Cobeth put his hands on his hips, waiting for Janusin to finish. The master sculptor nodded his head. «You see, you're a very smart fellow, Cobeth.» «Glad to hear it.» «You're an excellent judge of people—you know exactly what they have to give you. And exactly where their breaking point is. Sheer genius.» Cobeth's hair turned a deepening shade of rage. Janusin smiled. «You're a hustler, Cobeth. Always looking out for yourself first. So you figure—hey, I might need old Master Janusin at some later

  time. After all, he's got a lot of clout in the city—especially with the rich art patrons. So, we'll cut him. Not badly. But enough to get ourselves free of his influence. Free of his opinions—» «You have a lot of opinions, Janusin,» snapped Cobeth. «Yes, and I'm paid to have them. It's my job, you know. That's why I'm called Master Janusin. Entitles me to teach. Gives you the benefit of my long years of experience. All that good stuff.» «What's your point, damn it!» Janusin shrugged. «That you've wasted my time. And my time, dear protege, was not yours to waste.» «I spent five years in this stinking—» «Our contract was for seven,» interrupted Janusin, his voice becoming more forceful. «It was a verbal contract of honor.» He paused, his hair streaking with frosted blue hurt. He kept his voice steady and added, «But why should I be surprised at this point? You made a worse abuse of the trust I gave you in bed.» Janusin laughed sardonically. «What did you call all those little affairs?» «Desserts,» replied Cobeth, his posture defiant. Janusin eyed Cobeth's scrawny body with amused disgust. «Desserts. You don't need desserts, Cobeth. You need real food. Real nourishment.» Cobeth narrowed his eyes. «Too bad you couldn't—or wouldn't provide it,» he said silkily, inclining his head toward the cot in the back corner of the studio. «But then yours is a rather bland diet.» Janusin's frosted hair streaked with dark red now. He stuffed his slender hands inside the pockets of his long dress. Covered with delicate needlework and tiny mirrors, the dress glimmered in the candlelight. Jinnjirri men wearing dresses was a common event in Mnemlith. Hair was not the only thing changeable about this people; they also shifted gender. At a moment's notice, a Jinnjirri could switch from being one sex (and preference) to another. Jinnjirri took gender shifting as a matter of course. The other landraces of Mnemlith did not. As a result, the Jinnjirri usually stayed with their own kind. It seemed remarkably easier that way. Even so, some Jinnjirri were strictly heterosexual or strictly homosexual and expected their lovers to follow their lead and change to the appropriate sex. Janusin was one of these latter; he preferred the homosexual—of either sex—to the heterosexual. Cobeth, on the other hand, preferred the free-wheeling versatility of all forms of sexual experience. During the last year, he had tried to interest Janusin in a little beating and bondage, but the master sculptor had been quietly horrified at the invitation. Cobeth laughed harshly. «And you're working on a statue of Greatkin Rimble? You're not even capable of understanding the first thing about real deviance. Real deviance,» he added smugly, «is cruel. That's what makes it so exciting, Janusin. So dangerous. But you? You like your sex safe.» Janusin's breathing became shallow. «I like my sex loving, Cobeth.» «Whatever you want to call it,» replied Cobeth, picking up a mallet and stuffing it roughly in the leather bag at his feet. «You go too slow. In bed and out of it,» he added making reference to Janusin's meticulous teaching methods. «Certain things are worth learning slowly, Cobeth. It's a shame I couldn't convince you of that. But you always did like your shortcuts.» Cobeth tied the leather bag shut and stood up. «There's a whole world out there. And I intend to have it.» «For dessert?» asked Janusin sarcastically. «Yes.»

  Janusin pursed his lips. «And if I tell you that I think you'll starve yourself?» «Then I'll tell you that your head's up your ass.» He glared at his mentor. «If you're trying to undermine my confidence, Jan, you're doing a piss-poor job of it.» Janusin's shoulders sagged unexpectedly. He turned away from Cobeth, staring out of the studio window at the candlelit Kaleidicopia. There was an awkward silence, then Janusin said softly, «I'm trying to save your life, my love. Not undermine your confidence.» «Save my life!» cried Cobeth indignantly. «Who says it needs saving? And who says you're the one to do it?» Janusin whipped around. «As your teacher, it's my job to see that you learn the art of sculpting—» «Get this, Janusin! My life isn't sculpting. Yours is. Mine isn't.» Then he added with disinterest, «Never was. It was just something to try.» Janusin's hair darkened to a burnt blood-red. «Just something to try?» he asked, practically choking on the words. «You wasted five years of my life on a whim?» «Yeah, Jan,» he replied with an insolent toss of his head. «What of it? Jinnjirri are natural dilettantes. Shit, man—you've been living in this stuffy city too long. You're beginning to sound like a fucking Saambolin!» «Because I asked you to make a commitment?» shouted Janusin. «Where do you get these expectations? From that Mayanabi asshol
e, Doogat?» A familiar voice interrupted their argument. «Not that I'm aware of,» replied the Irreverent Old Doogat of Suf. He was standing on the threshold of the studio. Janusin wondered how long he had been listening. Then, his face turning color from embarrassment, the master sculptor turned away from both the Mayanabi and his protege. His hair betrayed him, of course; it shifted to a bright, hot pink. Doogat noted it but said nothing to Janusin. He turned to Cobeth. «Gentlemen—or women—» he added, glancing at Janusin's dress, «are either of you planning to attend the house meeting? If so, we're ready to start.» There was a stony silence. Janusin ran his fingers through his spiky pink hair. «I forgot about it, Doogat.» He turned around to face them, his expression weary. Cobeth picked up his bag of sculpting tools. «Well, I didn't. And as far as I'm concerned, everyone at the house can go fuck themselves. I hope I never see the place again.» Doogat took out his Trickster pipe and lit it. Looking at Janusin, he shrugged and said, «Cobeth's such a sentimental sort. Warms the heart to be in his presence.» Janusin said nothing, feeling too sad to speak. Doogat had never born any love for Cobeth. But he, Janusin, had. And no matter what a little stinker Cobeth had been—or might yet be—Janusin would always love a portion of the man. He knew it was stupid. He knew it made no sense. And he was absolutely stuck with the feeling. For a Jinnjirri, Janusin had an odd core of loyalty in his personality. It had always baffled Cobeth; Jinnjirri never remained long with anything. Or anyone. Jinnjirri shifted relationships as easily as they shifted hair color or gender. It was a natural response to their landdraw. But Janusin had never fit that norm. Janusin had expected commitment in his class—and out of it. In fact, by Jinnjirri standards, Janusin had expected the preposterous: monogamy. Catching sight of Rimble on Doogat's meerschaum, the master sculptor turned to Cobeth and said, «What about the Trickster's Hallows at the house? Are you still planning to attend it? A third of the guests invited are from your list.» Cobeth laughed spitefully. «The Kaleidicopia's idea of a Rimble's Revel is a fucking joke. Nobody in the house would know what to do at a real hallows.» «Would you?» asked Doogat unexpectedly, his voice like ice. Cobeth shrugged off the Mayanabi's disconcerting, dark gaze, and muttered, «There's a lot you don't know about me, old man.» Doogat blew a smoke ring. «Likewise, my friend.» There was a peculiar silence. Janusin cleared his throat uncomfortably. «Well—uh—we can continue this later, Cobeth.» «There's nothing to continue,» replied Cobeth indifferently. «I'm gone when I leave here tonight. If I come to the hallows, I'll come with a new lover. Count on it,» he added. Then Cobeth opened the door to the studio and walked rapidly away into the peculiarly warm autumn night. Janusin's hair turned a despondent blue. He covered his face with his hands, trying to hide his tears since he couldn't hide his hair from Doogat's inquiring glance. «Master Janusin,» said Doogat firmly, shutting the door to the studio once more, «I want to talk to you.» A fine layer of marble dust swirled into the air from the draft of the closing door and settled around the bases of Janusin's current works in progress. The master sculptor winced. «I don't think—uh—I can talk just now.» «I know,» replied Doogat, not yielding, «but it's necessary.» Janusin nodded, shutting his eyes. Tears slipped down his face. «The—» he whispered hoarsely, «—the house meeting?» «It can wait.» Janusin nodded again, his hair turning a dark, painful blue. «What's the topic?» he continued in a whisper. «Proteges.» Chapter Nine Treesonovohn of Shroomz was the last straggling person to arrive in time for the Kaleidicopia's late night house meeting. Jinnjirri like Barlimo and Janusin, Tree added a certain artistic bufoonery to the «K.» He was not really a tree, but he did do his best to impersonate one. A makeup artist of consummate skill, Tree had perfected a greaseless foundation of dark mahogany red. When applied to his face, the color and feel resembled the grainy texture of bark. Neither rain nor soap could remove this staining makeup base. «And it's a good thing, too,» Tree muttered at the gray clouds scuttling across the night sky. The weather was unseasonably warm, he thought, and wondered why. Tree loved the seasons—all four of them. And he didn't see any reason for summer to linger this late in the fall. Temperatures like these played havoc with his wardrobe. He shrugged. «I mean, how am I supposed to dress?» he muttered at no one in particular. «I feel stupid walking about in my autumn regalia when it's hot enough to wear a summer tunic and sandals!» Tree wiped a raindrop off his cheek with a twiggy finger. The light drizzle glistened on his wild thicket of perennially green hair. Tree's robe rustled as he walked. Decidedly deciduous, his overtunic was a fantasy of rippling color. Composed of several layers of hand-dyed cloth leaves, Tree's autumn garb matched the red, orange, and brilliant gold foliage of the city arbors. Tree was a walking celebration. To complete the effect, he wore what he called his «Fab Fall» fragrance. This was a heady scent comprising the best of the season: crisp red apples, burning firewood, damp wool, and sweet mulled wine. Being a gifted chemist of sorts, Tree had managed to find a way to keep the scents separate. It seemed that the particular scent perceived depended on the mix of sweat from Tree's body. Thus the side of Tree's neck might smell of burning wood, while the backs of his knees might smell of sweet mulled wine. Tree's thoughts returned to his former place of employment. «That's recently former,» he said with disgust. «Like one lousy hour.» He kicked savagely at a pile of scarlet leaves on the street curb, swearing at actors in general and at Cobeth of Shift Shallows in particular. «Flaming, cowardly prig,» he added. «Where does he get off having me fired? The little shift,» he said, using the derogatory word for Jinnjirri. «And he didn't even have the nerve to fire me face-to-face. Leaving Rhu to do it.» Rhu was the stage manager for The Merry Pricksters. She was also a personal friend of Tree's. They had known each other in Upper School—the Mnemlith equivalent to grades eight through twelve—and had grown up in the same hometown. Like Tree, Rhu was barely twenty-one. She and Tree had also been lovers during the summer of their ninth-grade year. Jinnjirri children tended to mature early sexually, and as they had a perfect method of birth control—switching gender during ovulation—they usually acted on their maturity. Hearing the large brass bells of the Great Library ring eleven bell-eve, Tree increased the speed of his walk. He was exactly an hour late for the house meeting. Still, he thought. Barlimo had called it on a moment's notice. And with his schedule at the playhouse—that's previous schedule, he reminded himself sourly—they were lucky to be seeing him at all tonight. «Greatkin alive,» he swore. «And if Barl asks about rent?» This was such a glum thought that Tree's green hair turned frosted blue. Scowling, Tree waited for his mood to improve—and his hair to shift back to emerald green. He sighed. How was he ever going to pay for classes at the University of Speakinghast? He couldn't get a loan; being Jinnjirri born, Tree didn't qualify. Prejudice, he thought bitterly. Saambolin prejudice. «That stupid administration. I swear—if Rowenaster defends that pig, Gadorian, one more time!» he said hotly to a watering trough as he passed it. «Oooh—that Guild scum. And we were so close to rigging a Jinnjirri scholarship program too.» He spat into the gutter. «Next year,» he promised. It was Rowenaster's opinion that if Tree spent more time working on his homework and less time on reforming the University Financial Office, he would do quite a bit better on his exams. Tree, however, found the doing of life more interesting than the studying of it. That was why the position at the playhouse had been such a Presence-send. With The Merry Pricksters, Tree could get hands-on experience in makeup and pyrotechnics. And Tree was certain that experience of this sort would impress a future employer far more than a series of straight A's. Tree sighed. He was going to miss working at the playhouse for another reason. The Merry Pricksters were an all-Jinnjirri troupe. As such, the Pricksters had provided Tree with a haven of like-minded individuals—indispensible in a city as hostile to Jinnjirri as Speakinghast was. Tree winced. Well, there was always the «K.» «Greatkin-bless, Barlimo,» he muttered. «She could fight the entire Saambolin Housing Commission and win,» he told a sleepy horse standing in its traces. «Barl
imo's got the luck of the Trickster. Well, except with Cobeth.» It didn't seem fair to Tree that Barlimo should have to take the brunt of Cobeth's celebrated callousness on two counts. First, Cobeth moved out without giving Barlimo even a week's notice. Second, Cobeth fired Tree from a job that paid Barlimo one of her rents. Tree grimaced. Barlimo was generous, but she was not a charity. And the last thing Tree wanted to do was arrive at Podiddley's status: rent scum-bum. Tree took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As he turned the corner of Wiscombe Street and crossed to Wise Whatsit Avenue, the chimneys and cupola of the Kaleidicopia came into view. Tree pursed his lips as he walked, thinking about Podiddley's precarious position in the house. That Mab, the newest member of the Kaleidicopia, had called a secret meeting to oust Po was amazing the Tree. It was an utter breach of precedent, and of pecking order etiquette. New members, or newbies—as they were informally called by the senior members of the «K"—were expected to mind their manners and observe the day-to-day workings of the house before involving themselves in its politics. The rules existing at the Kaleidicopia were there for good reason. After all, the house was Jinnjirri born—out of Barlimo—and Jinnjirri didn't create rules just to have them. Not like the bureaucracy-loving Saambolin. Tree ran his fingers through his thick hair. Mab really puzzled him. Where did someone as timid as Mab get the gumption to rattle the silent power structure of the house? She must have had a reason, he thought. Tree squinted at the dancing firelight in the windows of the «K» as he cut towards the front walk. Barlimo said she thought Mab had done it to get approval, not because she had a particular conviction about the rightness or wrongness of Po's residency. Tree winced. He hoped this was not true. If it was, he thought sadly, then he would have to reconsider his sexual attraction for the Piedmerri. He disliked wimps. «I may have to do that anyway,» he muttered as he avoided the fuschia colored front door to the house. He headed for the back porch of the kitchen, taking the stone stairs two at a time and adding, «Virgins are such a pain. Especially non-Jinnjirri ones.» Tree slipped in the back door of the Kaleidicopia and immediately wrinkled his nose. The scent of Barlimo's garlic curry still lingered in the kitchen. Tree dipped a wooden spoon into the still warm cauldron and tested the stew gingerly. He found it surprisingly tasty and so helped himself; Barlimo always cooked more than she needed, and Barlimo always offered it to those standing about in the kitchen. Tree listened to the strained voices on the other side of the swinging door. His eyes narrowed. Apparently, the house meeting hadn't started yet. «Good,» he whispered to himself. «Then, I'll eat.» Tree sat at the round kitchen table and continued with his dinner, enjoying the relative peace. It was short-lived; Po and Rowen walked in, both wanting seconds of stew. Entering the room first, Po took one look at Tree and snorted, «So I suppose you sided with Mab? Voted me out like Timmer, Cobeth, and Janusin?» «As a matter of fact, Po,» said Tree with his mouth full, «I didn't side with Mab at all.» «Why?» asked Po in surprise. «Not for love of you,» replied Tree drily. He wiped his lips with a napkin. «I just didn't like the precedent.» Po rolled his eyes. «Figures.» Tree shrugged. «I don't have to love everyone who moves in here.» «Only the Piedmerri ones,» replied Po smoothly. Tree's green hair streaked with red. This brought peals of laughter from Po. The little thief pointed rudely at Tree's hair color and turning to Rowenaster, said, «I love screwing him up like that. He's such an easy mark.»