The Embrace of the Four-Armed Houri

by Danielle L. Parker

part 2 of 4

Jim Blunt reached out. His hand, groping blindly for the warm shape it expected, felt nothing. The blankets were cold and empty.

He opened his eyes with a grunt of surprise. A coal or two winked in a smothering blanket of ash. The room was dim with an illumination only slightly greater than night. Perhaps true daylight never came on this stormy, volcano-tormented world.

He sat up. The clothing and the chronograph so precipitously discarded last night — had it only been last night? — lay near his head. He groped for the green glow and held his chronograph up to unbelieving eyes. Already it was past the noon hour of a new day.

She was gone, and something in the room inexplicably chilled him. The silence echoed. It had the echo of abandonment, of loss, the flavor of last kisses already taken.

Shadows passed slowly by the window. Blunt heard a muffled, rhythmic padding, as of many feet marching in unison, the sound that had woken him out of his dead-to-the-world, satiated repose. He got to his feet and stole to the window.

Under the gray of a dim noonday, figures in enveloping sulfur-yellow robes passed. High peaked hoods with ovals cut for eyes swaddled their heads. They passed, four abreast, twenty or more, in dread and secretive hush. A few tolled, in ponderous slow pendulum, heavy iron bells.

Dirge-like rang the diminishing peals; the soft sound of many feet faded, leaving Blunt in bafflement. A wedding? Surely not!

Inexplicably, urgency pressed him. He dressed swiftly and washed his face and hands with cold water in the basin and pitcher. He donned his belt and shoved the weapon never far from his hand into its well-worn holster.

At the door, he hesitated; but the room was so cold, so lone, so empty, when last night it had been, for just those few hours, home... He turned back, blew on the dying coals, added sticks to it, and watched it glow again to life.

Then he let himself out. The air outside smelled of brimstone.

The prosperous settlement he had not seen in last night’s storm was squeezed as tight as some medieval walled village. Sturdy huts of permacrate, jammed cheek-to-cheek, soon gave way to more elaborate but no less densely packed edifices of cut lava rock. The street beneath his boots was cobbled with chips of the same gleaming black. Painted shutters stood permanently closed against inclement weather. Even the glassy lava rock showed the pitted ravages of the acidic rains.

It was quiet and still, so still the captain could hear, drawing farther and farther away, the faint clang of those still lamenting bells.

The Argos was not hard to find. The inn was the only place with any stir of life. But not much: only the host and his wife — a dour, silent couple of indeterminate origin — and, at a table, surrounded by a few bored attendants, a portly man enjoying an impressive repast of meats, cheeses, fruits, and sugary treats.

Blunt cast a covetous eye upon the feast and spoke to the host, who approached, wiping his hands upon his clean white apron.

“I’d like breakfast.”

A table was procured, and the host brought, with commendable promptitude, a steaming carafe of hot spicy beverage in a heavy stone mug.

Blunt lifted his mug in ironic salute to his fellow diner, for surely the portly man in the rich red robes had not once taken his eyes off him.

“Ah! Forgive me for staring, sir. We receive few visitors here on our poor planet. I was expecting another face; in fact you will forgive me if I ask what became of old Detmos?”

“I’m fulfilling his routes.”

“Well,” the fat man said after an inquiring pause, his eyes twinkling amidst the creases of his plump face, “I hope he is alive and well — alive and well. We can only hope, in this uncertain life. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Masel Venge, the humble mayor of this humble village, which is the only village on our most humble world. Will you join me? We may do business together; yes, indeed we may.”

Blunt rose. A bright-eyed young boy pilfering fruit off the table pulled out a chair for him.

“I’m Blunt.”

“Ah! Plain indeed. I adopt the same frankness, captain. No trading captain likes to leave without something tucked in for the outbound voyage, does he? Hmm? Are you interested in taking on cargo?”

The host brought a generously filled platter of bread and meats and fruits. Blunt, nodding his approval, picked up his knife and fork.

“Yes,” he said. “Gems. That’ll do nicely.”

The mayor laughed until his belly shook, and his eyes disappeared in the creases of his fat.

“Gems! I was thinking fresh produce. Our volcanic soils produce the most wonderful fruits and vegetables you can imagine. Yes, it’s true, we use greenhouses because of the gases in the air, and artificial lighting because of the lack of sun. But you seem to find our food tasty enough. I have several wagons of fresh mirlitons and sugar apples for immediate shipment. You should have no trouble finding a market for such dainties, and I can offer fair terms, sir, fair terms—”

Blunt shook his head. “I don’t do fresh produce,” he said. “I made that mistake just once. Not unless the market’s already sewn up. Too much risk of spoilage. I’m interested in gems.”

Mayor Venge laughed louder than before and stuffed a sugar apple into his widespread mouth.

“I wish you had been here to do business with sooner!” he gasped when he could speak again. “Alas, Captain Ital will be here in two weeks to take our annual supply of lumens. I’m told he gets quite a fair price for them at the gem market in Cameltown.”

“He pays you twelve Earth Monetary Units per kilo. I can offer you thirteen.”

“Thirteen!” The mayor smiled. “That hardly seems worth breaching faith with our old associate. There’s something to be said for old acquaintance, after all!”

Blunt considered. “Fourteen. That should give you increased revenue of at least nine thousand EMUs. I’ll take your gems directly to dealers on Astral instead of Cameltown. I’ll get a better price for them. But it’s twice the distance to market. I can’t go higher than that.”

“Nine thousand EMUs!” Mayor Venge’s black eyes glittered. But an elderly attendant leaned down and whispered in his ear, and Venge’s brow creased.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered. “If there’s any chance He might not approve of it — of course not — but it all depends on the exact wording of our agreement with Captain Ital, doesn’t it? Show me the contract, Embin!”

His subordinate presented an electronic pad from a pocket of his long robe. Mayor Venge perused the tiny words passing across its glowing surface.

“Yes... yes,” he murmured. “We agreed to sell Captain Ital lumens... yes, yes... But there is no exclusivity clause in here. And it does not say what quantity of lumen we have to sell him. That can be little, or much. Embin!”

“Yes, Mr. Mayor?”

“Reserve two — exactly two — kilos of lumens for Captain Ital. Sell the rest to Captain Blunt.” He flourished the pad at Blunt. “And if you will imprint your DNA, sir, on this contract, in accordance with standard custom, and present a draft for the appropriate amount from a reputable and certified bank — see, sir, here is the number of kilos we can sell you — then, sir, I believe we can indeed do satisfactory business!”

Blunt laid down his fork and examined the contract presented to him. At last he tapped in his information, applied his thumb and extracted DNA to the appropriate spot, and drew a sheaf of paper from his breast pocket.

“Seems in order. Here’s a certified draft drawn on The First Commercial Bank of Astral. Take a look at it. You see it’s good for up to twenty thousand EMUs. Deliver the shipment to my shuttle in an hour. I’ll examine it there and fill out the final amount at the same time. If there are inferior stones in the shipment, I’ll have to adjust.”

“We follow the letter of our contracts, sir,” Venge assured him, studying the draft with an expert eye before he returned it across the table. “The stones are first quality. We are never dishonest, though a man may make a better deal honestly, of course. If we were to cheat, the consequences...” He shuddered. “He has been known to punish transgressors severely. A word of warning, Captain! Strict honesty is strongly advised! Not even outlanders have escaped His correction. Surely you met the unfortunate Mr. Blair? He’ll know never to trade spoiled goods again!”

“Who are you talking about?” Blunt queried. “I thought you were the top dog here.”

Venge’s eyes bulged like two round olives. He leaned across the table, his attendants fluttering like ruffled starlings around him.

“Today is the worst of all possible days to ask me that question,” he hissed. “Today He is more awake than usual, and He listens. For your own safety, captain, do not ask too many questions. Take your stones, and go!”

“The worst day?”

“Yes.” Slowly, the fat man rose to his feet. He pointed an unsteady finger at the window, now so dark with cloud or smoke that nothing outside could be distinguished.

“Look!” he proclaimed, with a politician’s innate showmanship. “The mountain is on fire. He’s awake again! He waits all year for this, the one day of the year we especially honor Him with a precious gift. Didn’t you see the procession this morning?”

“The procession?”

“His wedding,” the fat man said. “It’s His wedding day. He has one every year, I’m sorry to say. It really depletes the availability of our young women. Take your stones and go, Captain Blunt. The vulcan who lives in that mountain is not to be trifled with!”

Proceed to part 3...