Part 6 (1/2)

I went with him. The street theater scene over, the crowd went on with business as usual. I hoped they'd bring some of it to Clem's. Before I could make an announcement to that effect, Terrin hauled me into an herbalist, and bang went what was left of my tips.

”You sure you need this stuff?” I asked, paying out. As ever, it was a painful experience. ”I know you have a stash in your pack.”

”That's my own personal recreational weed;this has to do with my magic. It's always better to use local organics for spell work. The energy connection to the ley lines is stronger than if I bring in something alien.” ”Oh.” Tech stuff again. Boring. ”I gotta get back to Clem's. It'll be time for the lunch crowd soon.”

”Great, take this with you.” He foisted his candle and bag of herbs onto me.

”Where will you be?”

He shrugged. ”Walking around. I need to feel out the lines, see where the power points are . . .”

”Get laid.” I wondered how he spelled the ”ley” in ley lines.

”That, too. I saw a place where-”

”Thanks, spare me the details.” Terrin could spot a s.e.x business through solid walls, and in all our travels I'd never once seen him pay for services rendered. Girls just seemed towant to give it to him. He never used magic, either. Some guys are born lucky. I didn't begrudge him, though. If he didn't get laid fairly often he tended to implode. I hated that.

”An' there was something about the big drunk, too,” he added.

”What kind of something?”

”When I did the whammy number on him, it took a lot more energy than it should.”

”Maybe he was just resistant 'cause of the booze.”

”I don't think so. There must be some heavy-duty vibes going on here, only I'm not feeling them, and I should.”

”And that's a bad thing?”

”It could be. I've never run up against anything like it before, so I don't know what it means. A deserted astral plane, that fog river, and me being this kind of tired from doing a simple restraining whammy.”

”Maybe it's jet-lag.”

He snorted, more to himself than toward me. ”I'll see ya later. I gotta go get some energy.”

s.e.x tended to charge him up again. It did the same for me, but in a different way, since I wasn't into the magical side of stuff. Terrin said he fed on all levels, whatever that meant. I never asked for an explanation, filing it in my Too Much Information cabinet. He went off in one direction and I another, heading back to the inn.

Greta gave me a wave h.e.l.lo, reminding me it was time to get started. The place was a little spa.r.s.e for lunch customers yet, just two soldier-type guys in a corner. One was pa.s.sed out on the table, and the other seemed fast asleep with his eyes wide open. He wore a really awful purple-and-green uniform that clashed badly with his blond hair.

I stopped upstairs long enough to drop off Terrin's stuff and get ready for the lunch show. Over my white pirate-style s.h.i.+rt I pulled on a dapper vest to dress things up. Then I stood just outside the front door and did my warm-up act. Like I said, my face is my fortune. It was enough to gather a street crowd just to stare at me, but the key is to make them see past my face to the talent beneath. Having been blessed with a decent singing voice, this wasn't a tough job, and I rounded it all out with the jokes, muggings, and double-takes whenever a pretty girl came in view. They ate it up. I duly invited everyone for second helpings over their noontime meal.

I brought in enough takers to draw a smile from Clem, who was helping behind the bar while Greta and their various kids dished out the food. My stomach growled expectantly, but it would just have to wait until the show was over. I never ate beforehand; it's too embarra.s.sing to interrupt a perfectly good song with a badly timed burp.

This did happen, though. I was about to launch into ”The Lion Sleeps Tonight”-my signature piece, it never fails to please a crowd-when the guy in the purple and green cut loose with a monumental belch.

I'm talking the kind that shakes the rafters and it happened just as I opened my mouth. Well, there's no following that sort of thing until the audience settles down. They were laughing too hard. In an attempt to win them back I announced a belching contest. It seemed the perfect thing for this group.

”What's the prize?” someone demanded.

”Prize? You expect aprize ?” I didn't have to pretend shock.

”Aye, 's only right. You 'ave a contest, y' should 'ave a prize!”

d.a.m.n. I was faced with a situation I'd not thought all the way through. Thankfully, Clem saved me from having to volunteer my tips.

”The prize is a free flagon of beer,” he called out.

I shot him a grateful thumbs-up for the rescue. He grinned back and proceeded to sell beer to a dozen eager contestants. He'd more than make back the money for the freebie.

Playing emcee to the full, I got things going. The contest grew louder by the minute, and smellier. I figured out quick which end of the room was upwind from the belchers and stood there for the duration.

By the time it had devolved down to the last two, the soldier guys in the corner seemed to have woken up fully and were giving me what I'd always thought of as ”the hairy eyeball.” I wondered if there was some kind of permit required for what I was doing. Clem hadn't mentioned anything about it.

”Okay, last and final round,” I bellowed. ”Rick the Roaring Bear against Werdel the Wondergut!”

Rick and Werdel drained off their flagons of fuel and after a moment to let the fizz build in their expanding bellies, each had a turn cutting loose. The rafters not only shook, but a quant.i.ty of dust sifted down. They both sounded the same to me, but I'd left the judging to the audience. The cheers were loudest for Werdel. He accepted his free flagon with good grace, took a swig, then generously pa.s.sed the rest of it to Rick.

”Gotta see a man about a dog,” he announced, looking all tense as he sprinted for the back door.

I offered a few choice lines wis.h.i.+ng him additional success, then finished out the act by pa.s.sing a hat and singing ”Show Me the Way to Go Home,” after first reminding the audience that the song was for me, not them. I'd put in a good hour and a half and needed a break. Clem was well pleased. ”That's triple the business I usually get for beer this time of day. We'll do the same tomorrow if my stocks hold out.”

”Glad to have been of service.” Maybe I should have felt guilty contributing to the area's population of alcoholics, but didn't. I had a nice chunk of change left over after Clem took his cut. Not enough to buy gems, but maybe I'd at least go check on their prices. The sooner I left the sooner the locals could get back to normal drinking habits, right?

Just as I slipped the coins into my pocket, the purple-and-green-cloaked soldier guy came up. His blue eyes were somewhat red-rimmed and dull. ”My friend here wants a word with you.”

His friend wasn't here, but still at their table. ”Is something wrong?” I'd traveled enough to develop a certain respect for people in uniforms. It's great when they're your chums. Not so great otherwise.

”He jus' wan's a word with you.”

There'd be no information forthcoming from this one. Maybe he wanted me for their version of a USO show. Feeling safe enough, I went along to the table. The guy there was stocky and balding; what remained of his dark hair was combed straight back. He wore what I'd come to recognize as civilian clothes, but he was definitely some kind of military. With practice, you can just tell.

”Captain Shankey of House Darmo,” he said about himself, like I would know the name. I thought I did, too.

”Hi, I'm Myhr.”

”Hah?”

”Myhr-rhymes with 'purr.' A nice play on the cat angle, don't you think?” I flared my lip whiskers in a way I hoped would be taken as a friendly expression.

He squinted. ”That's not a mask, is it?”

”Just my own wonderful face.” I spoke slow so he'd catch everything. His breath was very beery. ”Was there something I can help you with?”

”You're not from around here, are you?”

”Just got in yesterday. Is there a problem?”