Diana Dueyn - The Big Meow
“I wonder if we’re about to have one here.”
He looked thoughtful. “That could be. Are you suggesting we should try to prevent it?”
Rhiow sneezed again – once without trying, and then once on purpose to try to clear her nose of the warring scents. “I don’t know if we could. Even if we could, I don’t know if it would be wise. But I think we should make sure one of us is keeping an eye on this site, because if we can investigate the quake while it’s active, we might be able to run a trace back to the cause.”
Hwaith’s tail waved slowly from side to side as he thought. “It’s worth a try,” he said. “I’ll take a moment to jump back over to where Aufwi’s watching the gate…see how he’s doing, and ask him to add a tracer to the diagnostic that’s looking at this attempted root.”
“If you would,” Rhiow said.
With barely a breath of displaced air and only the softest pop, Hwaith vanished. Rhiow blinked – the departure had been unusually slick – and got up to walk out of the circle of trees, over to where the plantings parted to allow the southward vista to open up. Below, past the nearer, barren hills, the city view was beginning to glitter through the dusk — that softer, yellower, fainter light that had so struck Helen the first time she saw it. “Quite a view…” she said.
“It is,” Hwaith said from right behind her.
Rhiow jumped – not exactly off the ground, but she started violently enough that all her fur stood up in response. She came around to face Hwaith, still bristling. “How do you do that?”
His eyes were wide with shock. “What?”
“You transited in and I didn’t even hear you come back!”
“I didn’t want to disturb you!” “Well, would you please do it louder after this, because I am disturbed!”
Then Rhiow took a long breath. “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry. I’m on edge, it’s wrong of me to take it out on you. But sweet Iau up a tree, Hwaith, I’ve never heard anyone self-gate that quietly!”
He ducked himself down and twisted his head to her, and Rhiow’s annoyance dissolved instantly into amused embarrassment, for it was the kind of gesture a young Person, half-apologetic, half-playful, would have used with a playmate. “Sorry,” Hwaith said, giving her so upside-down a look from those brassy eyes that for a second or so he was practically standing on his head. Then he righted himself. “I don’t think about it often. I told you, I have the Ear sometimes – the ulterior-hearing gift. A lot of the time I can hear the air about to move, or what direction it’s going to move in, and nudge it out of moving explosively.”
“Selective matter displacement,” Rhiow said, less upset now and much more impressed.
“More like diffusion,” Hwaith said. “I spread the kinetic energy of the air’s motion around, that’s all. It’s a gimmick.”
“A useful one, I bet,” Rhiow said, and sat down to recover herself a little.
Hwaith sat beside her, looking down the hill at the glitter of the city. “Not usually,” he said. “Mostly my gate doesn’t care whether I sneak up on it or not: it misbehaves anyway.”
They sat quietly for a few moments while Rhiow finished calming herself down. “As I was saying before you sneaked up on me…it really is a fine view. You can see all the way to the ocean from here.”
“True enough,” Hwaith said, and glanced over his shoulder at the huge dark old house behind them, its windows blank and empty. “Not often anyone here to see it, though, since the murder.”
She stared at him. “Wait. Since the murder? What murder?”
“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know.” He got up, shook himself. “Come on. It’s back here it happened.”
They walked back through the garden maze to the house. “The young tom-ehhif who lived here with his queen,” Hwaith said, “had a personal assistant who worked closely with him. Something went wrong with this other young tom-ehhif – no one’s sure what. One story was that he was jealous of the relationship between the tom and queen – though which of them he might have desired, no one’s sure. Another was that he’d become ill in his mind, and couldn’t tell friend from enemy any longer.”
They came to a halt in front of a set of floor-to-ceiling glass doors set in behind a little terrace. “Right there,” Hwaith said, “something more than twenty years ago now, the tom-ehhif who lived here was shot by his assistant: and soon after, when someone came to the house, the assistant shot himself as well. At first there were few questions about it. Afterwards the questions just wouldn’t stop. Why didn’t the queen-ehhif hear the first shot? Did she perhaps fire it herself? What was the assistant doing there that night, when he’d been told not to come? And there were a hundred other issues about it that couldn’t be settled to anyone’s satisfaction…” Hwaith waved his tail. “Finally the young tom’s father sold the house to someone else: another pair of wealthy ehhif. They own it still. But they’re not here much. I think the place troubles them.”
He let out a breath: they both sat for a few seconds in the quiet. Off in the trees down the hill, a California jay produced its rusty call from a throat that sounded like it really needed to be greased. “You must be thinking that ehhif here don’t do anything but kill each other,” Hwaith said.
“Oh, no,” Rhiow said. She looked down the length of the house. “But you say the ehhif who den here won’t stay… You think they feel the place is th’haimenh?” It was the Speech-cognate of the Ailurin word sseih’huuh, “haunted,” though the word in the Speech was more precise about the cause of the associated apparitions – more a kind of lingering, self-repeating spectral recording than any real local persistence of soul, for which there was another set of words.
“I don’t know,” Hwaith said. “I’m not clear about how ehhif think of such things. You live with them full time: maybe you know better than I would.”
Rhiow thought briefly about Iaehh, sitting some nights in the silence of the apartment that was only his now, his eyes still and sad, his head held in a way that suggested he was listening in mind to a voice he would never hear in life again.
“I’m not always sure, either,” she said, and got up. “Hwaith, let’s get back to the Silent Man’s. They’ll be thinking about getting ready to go. …And maybe,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and flirting her tail, “you’ll show me just how you diffuse that air.”
In utter silence, Hwaith vanished. Rhiow followed.
When the Silent Man’s car rolled up the broad, curving cypress-lined drive to the front door of Elwin Dagenham’s house in the hills, the pre-intervention conference in the back seat was still in full swing.
“My back fur looks terrible.”
“Sheba, it’s just fine.”
“No it’s not, it won’t lie down.”
“I could help you with that.”
Whack! “Ow!”
“I told you, I’m not interested! Come back in three months.”
“Will there be food? I’m starving.”
“I told you to eat before you left.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“There’s always plenty of food. Just make sure you get it before the houiff do.”
“Houiff? Nobody said anything about houiff!”
“I must have mentioned them at least once or twice. Oh, it won’t stay down!”
“All you need is for someone to lick it a little – “
Whack! “Oww!!”
“I told you, three months!”
“There must be something in the food here. Hwaith, do they put hormones in the cat food here? Normally he’d have heard her the first ten times she told him.”
“Could just be excitement. Or memory loss. I hear you can start to incur memory loss if you have really big – “
“And don’t worry, they’re usually only little houiff. Oh, you do get the occasional houff at one of these who’s a film star. That nice big German shepherd, now, he’s a creampuff. Oh, and there’s a collie now too. Actually, there are about nine of them. All idiots, just hit them in the head if they so much as look at you and they’ll run off crying.”
“Memory loss? Who says that?”
The car rolled slowly across gravel, stopped with a crunch of tires: the driver turned around, looked into the shadowy back seat. Awful quiet back there, he said to Helen. Are they all right? Anybody get carsick?
“They’re fine,” Helen said. “Cousins, somebody use the Speech and put our host’s mind at rest.”
“Pre-event arrangements,” Rhiow said, “nothing more. Everybody, it’s wise that the Silent Man should know we’re clear on what the plan is. We go in together as his entourage, and let the PR people have their joke and take their pictures. Afterwards, we scatter. Amuse the guests, try not to damage the dogs any more than necessary for good order and discipline, have the occasional hors d’oeuvre. Occasional,” she said, eyeing Urruah. “No getting up on the tables, no matter how the guests invite you to. Arrange for food to fall on the floor when necessary. Shouldn’t be hard, as from what Sheba says, this group is likely to be so awash in alcohol pretty soon that they wouldn’t recognize an, uh, intervention if it climbed up their clothes with all its claws out singing ‘Great Queen Iau Had A Cow.’ Otherwise… just keep your ears and noses open for any sign of the kind of thing that Helen noticed in Anya Harte today. If there are any other People there who’re kindly disposed, chat with them, hear what they might have to say, don’t bring up what we are or do unless you must. If they recognize you for what you are by the look of you, downplay your role, don’t get into long explanations: you’re just here with the Silent Man. Which is true enough. When it’s time to go, he’ll let Helen know and she’ll call us all silently. Any questions?”
“About the hors d’oeuvres…”
“Yes?”
“How many is ‘occasional?’”
Whack! “Oww!!”
“Thank you, Sheba. I owe you one.”
“My pleasure.”
The Silent Man chuckled inaudibly in his throat, reached back for Sheba: she climbed up to her usual place on his shoulder. We ready? he said.
“I believe so,” Helen said.
The Silent Man got out, opened the back door for the People, then went around to Helen’s door, opened it. But she didn’t move.
Problem?
“Not at all. You go ahead,” Helen said. “I need a moment to powder my nose.”
The Silent Man smiled, closed her door carefully, and headed for the big front door of the Dagenham place with Rhiow and her People in tow.
The house was another of those structures that seemed to be having some kind of identity crisis as regarded its architecture. It had a broad curved front with columns right along the curve, but these sorted very strangely, to Rhiow’s eye, with the multiple peaked roofs behind the façade. “Italian revival,” Urruah said as they strolled up to it.
“Great,” Rhiow said. “Another building that’s going to need CPR.” Through the tall windows running under the colonnade, Rhiow could see rooms brilliantly lit, and in them crowds of ehhif, the queens almost all in bright colors, the toms all in somber shades. Even through the glass, a subdued hubbub of voices could be heard.
Outside the tall carved wooden front door, the Silent Man paused, looked down at the group around his feet. Rhiow looked up at him. “Unless something comes up,” she said, “I won’t be too far from you. If you need something done, just speak to me as you’ve been doing. I’ll answer in a way that no one will hear, either your people or mine.”
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Something done?’
Like the production of an excuse to leave early, Rhiow said privately.
He smiled — the expression more than usually edged, since he was its target. Does it show that much? And he reached up and pressed the button to ring the doorbell.
The door swung open, managed by a dark tom-ehhif in black with touches of white. The Silent Man stepped in, took off the overcoat he was wearing over his own black-and-white regalia, and handed the coat and his hat to the ehhif who’d opened the door.
The tom vanished. Rhiow glanced around, glad of the excuse to hold still for a moment, as the sudden assault on the senses took a few moments to manage. Besides the echoing noise of music, voices, laughter, clinking glassware – for the huge circular front hall was floored in a checkerboard of polished marble – the scents hit any incomer in a rush of outflowing warmer air, and had to be dealt with. Food, drink, perfume, ehhif sweat and ehhif pheromone, the traces of several different varieties of houiff and various People, most of them strangers to the house, at least one a resident.
“Whew,” Urruah said from behind Rhiow. “How many do you make it?”
“A hundred or so?” Rhiow said.
“Could be a lot more,” Arhu said, stalking up beside her. “This is a fairly big place.”
“Possibly more like two hundred,” Hwaith said, coming up from behind. “There are as many cars parked in the lot up here as there were out on the street.”
“Come on,” Rhiow said, for the Silent Man had started across the floor to the biggest of the doors on the far side of the circular hall. This was a double door, the doors again of carved wood, opening inwards. Beyond them was a room at least three times the size of the front hall, again circular, the windows and glass doors on the far side all swagged with golden fabric, the panels between ornamented with paintings. Tables and chairs were set out here and there, and more tables, laden with food and drink, stood near the walls: from an adjoining room came the sound of a swing band playing. In the middle of this room, standing and talking and laughing, was a great crowd of splendidly dressed ehhif. They made up a truly astonishing vista — ehhif of all shapes and sizes, dressed of dark suits, from the casual to the very formal, or in gowns of rich silks and satins, enough jewel-flashing bracelets and necklaces to blind the casual viewer, wild hats with jutting feathers, elaborately rolled and curled hairstyles. But what Rhiow watched were the faces, the eyes, of the people who turned as the Silent Man came into the doorway, and seeing him, started to go oddly quiet.
That quiet spread, making the band in the next room sound louder by the moment. The Silent Man didn’t move out of the doorway, but simply stood still and smiled at this effect… and Rhiow was sure all the other ehhif could see the slight grimness of his look. She was equally sure that the Silent Man saw quite clearly how most of the many glances in his direction were trying to look accidental. Looks changed, scents and postures changed: the air of the room became uncomfortably charged. Nervousness, hostility, scorn, pity, annoyance, a certain nasty pleasure – without a word spoken, they were all clear enough to Rhiow, who spent at least a little of every day in Grand Central, and who over the years had been exposed to just about every ehhif emotion-scent going.
“I heard a rumor that you were coming,” said a voice from one side, “but I wasn’t sure whether to believe it. You hear so many things in this town…”
Approaching the People and the Silent Man at some speed was a small tom-ehhif in a dinner jacket and dark slacks, with a blue-and black-striped necktie of truly astonishing breadth underneath it. His black hair was slicked straight back from his forehead, as if he was trying to make it go as far back on his head as he could; his small beady eyes and long sharp nose suddenly reminded Rhiow of the grackles sitting in the tree above them on Olvera Street, their expressions caught halfway between nervousness and a kind of myopic self-importance. “Mr. Runyon, it’s such a pleasure, I’m Elwin Dagenham, we’ve met at Goldwyn once or twice, no reason for you to remember, of course. Please make yourself right at home. Marcus, quick, go back to the kitchen and get a pot of coffee for Mr. Runyon. Mr. Runyon, you hardly need introductions, you know everybody here, of course…”
