back, little one,” Beauty spoke calmly to the timid creature. The face remained upturned at Josh.
“You can’t come with us,” said Josh. “We’re hunters.” The frequency of the hum rose as its tiny heart beat faster.
“She cannot keep up,” concluded Beauty. “Come.”
Josh and Beauty turned and trotted east upriver, looking for signs of their prey. The Flutterby’s face fell, but she lifted herself airward and floated calmly, high above her new friends.
*****************************************************
There was no trace of the Accident upstream, so the hunters returned west. They found evidence of the wounded creature’s exodus from the river around sundown, and followed the trail into the woods until those thinned out to clear, open fields.
It was near midnight when they saw the red light in the distance, the creature’s foul footprints leading directly toward it. They looked at each other and started walking in the same direction. It was the old brothel they were approaching, and the Accident was there.
In Which It Is Seen That Life Is A River of Pain
TORCHES filled the cave with grimy light. Close to ninety Humans cowered at one end, herded into the corner by a dozen Accidents, as the vile creatures exchanged harsh mutterings in their guttural language. At the other end of the cave a flock of vampires mingled. Many slept among a cluster of empty tumbrils. Some were talking, some made plans. Two were feeding off the white dying body of a man named Moorelli.
The smoke from the torches twisted, like so many wraiths, to the ceiling, where it hid in the recesses, breathlessly still. The Accidents chose a few of their group to stand guard, while the rest went to sleep in whatever stagnant pools they could find. Accidents loved to repose in the thin slime of moldy caverns. It was near midnight.
None of the Humans slept.
“What are they going to do with us?” Dicey asked Rose for the twentieth time. They huddled near the center of the confined area, surrounded by the terrified faces of their fellow prisoners. “Are we going to die?” she begged for reassurance.
Rose stroked her young friend tenderly. “They won’t kill us, child. If they were going to, they’d have done so by now.” She almost believed this herself. In any event, her words eased Dicey’s mind. Each time Rose spoke like this, the young girl’s face became visibly soothed. Ollie wasn’t so fortunate. He’d remained mute and transfixed ever since the ordeal at the cabin. He sat in Rose’s lap now like a too-real doll.
“If I only had something to write with,” Dicey went on whispering, “I know I could get us out of here.”
Rose nodded patiently. Though she could read somewhat, she didn’t belong to the religion of Scribery; she had no real faith in the magic of writing. Still, she would do nothing to quell Dicey’s hope.
Dicey went on. “If Josh were here he could write some powerful lines. He can turn Word into Sword. He could read them all to sleep and we could walk out of here.”
Rose smiled. “I don’t think Accidents care much about reading.”
“Why are they doing this to us?”
“Accidents hate Humans and that’s just the truth. Don’t know about these Vampires and the others. My mother used to talk about vampires back south. Hateful creatures. The Accidents look horrible, I know, but I just pity them.”
“How come Accidents hate us so much?” Dicey asked, passing her gaze over the loathsome beasts.
“Accidents used to be Humans, a long time ago, before there were Scribes, when Centaurs lived on their own land, and Vampires never flew north of the line. Used to be Human, but they drank a potion they thought would make them Gods, and that’s what they turned into. Now they hate the Humans who are left for not taking the potion.”
“That’s not what it said in the book.”
“Books don’t know everything, child.”
“Don’t call me child,” Dicey pouted. “And books do too know everything. And the book I read said there were no such things as Accidents, they were just figments of imagination that we invented to punish ourselves.”
“These Accidents are real. Their smell alone ought to be enough to gag you.” That was the trouble with Scribery, as far as Rose was concerned. Much of it was fairy tale; it didn’t distinguish between history and metaphor.
The young girl was silent. Two monstrous fiends near the wall squabbled over the remnants of an old man they were eating. Dicey looked like she might become hysterical. Rose turned her around by the shoulders.
“Let me read your eyes,” she told the girl, to keep her occupied. She stared into Dicey’s left eye. It was dark, opaque. Like an endless night.
“What do you see?” asked Dicey.
“Happiness and long life,” lied Rose. She could see nothing.
The moon was a yellow ripe fruit hanging low in the sky, ready to burst. In the near distance the serene Pacific could be heard sighing. The wind slept. Josh and Beauty advanced on the brothel slowly, savoring that mix of fear and cunning that is the hunter’s lust.
The brothel was a grand old wooden house, three stories high with gables, extra wings, and scattered cottages. A large cracked glass window faced out on the open field that fronted the building. In the window burned three fat candles in clear red plastic jars. Candles could be seen flickering everywhere in the front room, making wild and changing forms out of the shadowy figures who moved within.
Out back was an enormous barn and a windmill which generated some electricity for lights and refrigerators. But there was no storage battery, so the only electricity was when there was wind, and now the wind was resting. A quiet night.
Josh climbed the rickety stairs to the front door and knocked. Beauty waited behind, at the foot of the steps. The plan was to enter as patrons, do some sniffing around, and take the wounded Accident alive, if possible. It had to lead the hunters to its accomplices and to the orphan Humans.
There were footfalls inside; the door unlocked and opened. The old madam stood there in an evening gown, all four hundred pounds of her. Her face was painted in primary colors, and she wore a peacock-feather wig. Two big bouncers stood beside her and behind.
The old madam looked at Josh, glanced briefly at Beauty behind him, then fixed her stare on the young Human. “Come on in, Trouble, we been waitin’ for ya.” Then again, without looking at Beauty, “There’s stables out back for his kind.”
Beauty’s nostrils flared; he skittered back a few steps. Josh turned to him. “Forget it,” he said quietly. Then louder, “The stable might be just the place you want.” He looked back and winked broadly at the madam. The madam smiled. She didn’t like horses, but she didn’t want trouble.
Beauty didn’t take insults lightly, but he understood Joshua’s double meaning and knew he was right; the creature was as likely in the stable as anywhere else. Besides, it
