GeneStorm: City in the Sky Page 12

  “Yes, yes – oh – I can see the mechanism. Very well done indeed.”

  “So here’s a gun belt. There’s twelve rounds in the loops.” Snapper tied the belt about her friend’s rather narrow hips. “I’ll get us some more ammo soon. It’s in short supply.”

  “Oh?” The mantis peered down at her gun belt. It had a pleasant scent of newly dyed leather. “Is there a crisis at hand?”

  “They’ll fix it soon. We need more acid from wherever-the-hell that stuff comes from down south.” Snapper set three spare, loaded cylinders into her pistol belt. “But we’ll be alright for now. When you’re mounted, remember – swords for in close and carbines for skirmishing. Pistols once they scatter.”

  A cupcake stall run by allies of the lemonade salesmen provided shark and mantis with much-needed snacks. They sat on a tree stump drinking ice cold lemonade, while Onan clowned about with an old wooden bucket. It was lovely just to sit in the shade.

  A distant sound slowly built upon the air – a slow, swelling onrush, like the build up of a storm. Snapper cocked one tall ear fin and frowned, then slowly turned around.

  A fight was about to break out. The oncoming sound was the shouts and snarls of an angry mob – a small to moderately sized mob, but one with a great deal of energy.

  They were coming right down the street.

  Inevitably, Beau appeared upon a rooftop. He had his pants and belt in one hand, and was fleeing across the shingle roof at a great turn of speed. A rain of bottles, rocks and firewood were hurtled at him from behind and below. Two big burly ranchers came thundering across the roof behind him, each man carrying an axe handle. Beau looked back and put on the most amazing spurt, speeding from roof to roof. He leapt clean across a lane, literally flying through the air with arms and tail spread. He lost his pants somewhere in the equation, but kept the belts hung about his neck. He tried to veer towards the river, but a sudden surge of new pursuers came clawing up onto the roof. The fox-pheasant ran like hell, leaping from roof to roof and even swinging from a tree at one point.

  Kitterpokkie watched the man run. She cocked her head in honest admiration.

  “My, how swiftly he runs!”

  “Oh for crying out loud…” Snapper saw Beau come to a screaming halt as he reached a precipice above main street. She put fingers into her mouth and whistled. “Hey – imbecile!”

  Beau saw Snapper and sped in her direction, leaping nimbly into a tree. He slithered down into an alleyway. Behind him, angry ranchers came racing down the street, pointing in his direction and coming hot on his trail. The fox-bird gave a squawk of panic and plunged into a tinsmith’s workshop, upsetting a cacophony of kettles, pots and pans. His pursuers cannoned into a tall pile of saucepans and fell to the ground. Beau leapt over the men and dashed into a side alley – then made an about turn and ran like mad as more men came charging down his chosen escape route. He leapt over the fallen men in the tin smith’s shop again, using them as stepping stones and narrowly avoiding snatching hands. One man’s head became a step to launch himself out of the window and off into the street.

  A very large, angry woman reached out through a window trying to seize him by the neck. Beau jammed a cage full of boks down on the woman’s head. He fled down the lane, overleaping another gaggle of boks, then stood blinking in the light next to the photo booth with no idea where to run next.

  Snapper pointed to a spot beside the lemonade stand.

  “Lie there! Go!”

  Beau flung himself down onto the ground. Snapper picked up the pails that held the lemonade stand’s used fruit rinds and poured them over the man, burying him out of sight. All that remained was the great extravagant tail feathers jutting from the back of the pile. Snapper grabbed a fistful of them, only to hear a pleading screech from beneath the rinds.

  “Not the tail!”

  She kicked dirt over the tail feathers in an effort to bury them out of sight, and threw the lemonade stand kids a pair of red chips.

  “Hey kids! Two lemonades! And keep the change!”

  The place still looked like a possible refuge. Snapper seized a trestle table and plonked it down to bridge the gap between Kitterpokkie’s booth and the lemonade stand. She seized the astonished mantis and flopped her face down on the table, pulling off Kitterpokkie’s top. The mantis squawked and covered her breasts, then found herself being sprinkled with oil down her back. The shark massaged Kitterpokkie’s back with big strong fingers and the mantis groaned – astonished, surprised and weirdly gratified. She slumped face down and made a whimper, legs twitching in ecstasy.

  A lynch mob of angry ranchers came rampaging into the street, glaring wildly up and down. They were led by an older man – a big fellow, part cat and part colossus. Somewhere in the rear tiers of the mob, the man’s daughter – clad mostly in a bed sheet – was pleading and trying to defuse the situation. The old rancher came storming over to Snapper, and pounded a fist upon the massage table.

  “Have you people seen a fox-bird thing go by? A damned womaniser with his pants down?”

  Snapper worked away on Kitterpokkie’s four shoulders, needling at muscle knots: the girl was a mess! “A fox-bird, you say? Hmm… Weaselly little guy? Narrow, kind of stupid eyes? Morally bankrupt?” Snapper nudged at the fruit rind pile with a foot as it began to jerk in protest. “That sort of thing?”

  “That’s the one!” The big man pounded a fist into his open hand. “That’s the man who interfered with my daughter’s chastity!”

  “Oh he did, did he?” Snapper kicked Beau in the ribs. “Interesting!”

  “And my sister, too!” another man surged forward. “And Mrs Baker!”

  “Mayor Baker?” Beth Baker was tall, curvaceous, and could have snapped Beau like a twig. Snapper shook her head. “The man’s got some energy!”

  “Yeah.” The huge old ranger flexed his fists. The knuckles popped. “Well if he’s got energy enough to play patty cake with my Angela, then he’s got energy enough to marry her!”

  “Really?” Snapper managed to seem unconvinced. “You sure you want that? I hear those guys have really small genitalia!”

  “We want him!”

  “He went that way, mate.” Snapper pointed towards the river. “Looked like he was planning to swim.”

  The lynch mob surged off in the general direction of the river, with the rancher’s daughter still following behind. The entire procession vanished in a cloud of dust, and peace slowly settled on the street once more.

  A minute passed. Beneath Snapper’s feet, the fruit rind pile gave a quiver, and Beau’s muffled voice drifted up from beneath the table.

  “Can I come out?”

  “Nope. There’s one of them buying himself a lemonade.” The lemonade booth was making a brisk business serving panting, exhausted members of the lynch mob. “Head down – they’re coming back!”

  The mob returned from the river, grumbling and growling. Their quarry had gone – apparently off over the river and into the scrub beyond. And now there were two girls dissuading, defusing and making their excuses. The entire chase had lost its zest. Most of the men headed towards the pub, determined to drink and find other entertainment. But the huge old rancher who had led the charge came over to the massage table, and sat down heavily upon the nearby tree stump.

  He dusted off his hat, tired and weary, and looked to Snapper as she went to work upon Kitterpokkie’s lower back.

  “Hey, are you doing back massage?”

  “Ah… yes!” Snapper popped something back into place just above Kitt’s hips. “One red for half an hour.”

  The old rancher sighed and drank lemonade. He rested his boots atop the pile of old fruit rinds. “Well I’ll go next. And my brothers there, too.” The man gestured to five men who had gathered in the Dancing Dugite’s yard. “It’s been a day, I’ll tell you.”

  “It sure sounds like it.”

  There was nothing for it – and six red chips wasn’t too bad. Snapper finally finished Kitterpokkie’s
massage, then worked her way slowly through the ranchers one by one. By the end of a long afternoon, her hands were tired and she was sheathed in oil from head to toe – wattle seed oil she had been hoping to use to waterproof her leathers. As the sun grew low, the last of the ranchers thanked Snapper for her work and headed back towards the pub. A horn was blown, signalling that a town meeting was called for after full dark, and that therefore all fights were off, all arguments stalled, all feuds officially over. People headed off to eat, relax and drink before the deliberations of the meeting.

  Snapper packed up her table and wiped down her hands while Kitterpokkie closed up her booth and loaded equipment into a wheelbarrow. With the streets emptying at last, the pile of fruit rinds quivered, and Beau’s face finally appeared. He took a cautious look up and down the street, then rose up and shook fruit pulp out of his feathers and fur.

  The man cocked a resentful eye at Snapper.

  “I’ll thank you to know that my genitals are perfectly acceptable in size.”

  Snapper clapped Beau upon the shoulder. “Yeah, because that’s the information we really wanted to take away from today’s experiences.” She retrieved Onan from his lair beneath a nearby tree. “Come on – home we go.”

  “Salty cracker?”

  “The moment we get there.”

  They walked home along the broad main street. The evening change of wall guard was taking place: the militia up on the walls and the pair at the main gate were relieved by friends and relatives. The day guards made their way directly towards the pub, keen to quench their thirst.

  Beau lacked pants, and yet still carried two new gun belts across his shoulders. Snapper cast an eye towards the guns and sucked a tooth.

  “Are those new guns? I mean, brand new guns?” The shark thought she might have seen them once in a gunsmith’s window. They were elegantly chased in silver. “Revolvers?”

  “A gift from an admirer!” Beau was wonderfully pleased. “The Mayor, bless her! She felt that I had extremely skilled hands.”

  “Again, too much information.” Snapper shook her head. “Way, waay too much.”

  Beau drew in a breath of clean night air.

  “All in all, it has been a successful day. I set out to help gather equipment needed for our expedition beyond the cliffs!” The fox-bird was well pleased. “I have managed a coup! A bargain! An excellent riding animal for myself, for free.” The man became rather candid. “I fear I have traded upon my reputation.”

  “Mmmm.” Snapper nodded. “Yeah.”

  They all walked on together, heading for the leafy arch that marked Snapper’s home. After a few quiet minutes, the shark finally flicked a considering glance at Beau.

  “So… Mrs Baker…?”

  “A wonderfully sympathetic woman.” Beau rubbed his hands together. “I must visit her again as soon as events allow.”

  “We have to get you out of town before you die of exhaustion.”

  They walked in under the arch, coming home at last. Beau looked about and stretched himself, giving a happy sigh.

  “Are you still doing back massages?”

  “Don’t push it, birdie boy.” Snapper propelled the man towards the bath. “Don’t push it.”

  As evening fell, the west slowly filled with bands of glorious colour. The moon hung broad and clear, clipped by a great slice of shadow. The sunset lingered violet, pink and orange amongst a drifting band of clouds.

  A town meeting in Spark Town was a serious affair. Every person, every family was consulted, and the whole community let its voice be heard. This was how the town had been settled, waterwheels built, ramparts raised and manned, generators installed and feral invasions fought back into the wilds. It was serious business indeed. Samuels wrapped himself with the long embroidered stole that denoted his office – an outfit complimented by a pair of ancient, heavy pistols and a rugged old shotgun. He polished his beak with bee-mouse wax while the rest of the household polished their boots, shook out their finery or rinsed their tentacles. Old Toby even went so far as to run a brush across his fur.

  The uninitiated may have been quite surprised to see citizens arriving for the meeting. No one came unarmed – in past times, town meetings had heralded an immediate call to arms. Those who had mounts generally rode them to the meeting, as a matter of pride. And so it was that Samuels and Toby finally stepped out of the house to find the others gathered on the porch, armed and resplendent – Snapper in her armour and pelisse, Kitt fitted out with plasma gun and wooden battery case, and Beau looking as though he spent far too much time polishing his feathers and claws. Throckmorton was already at the bar – meetings could be thirsty work. Snapper tossed Beau the plant’s crossbow and ammunition to carry to the Dugite.

  Kitterpokkie looked at the crossbow and frowned.

  “We must think about what equipment to gather for Throckmorton. I should not want him to feel left out – to feel that we are stinting!”

  Snapper brushed back the trailing crest at the back of her helm. “I don’t think he can carry all that much. He seems happy.”

  “Surely we can at least replace the crossbow!”

  “What with?” The shark adjusted and was finally happy with the set of Kitterpokkie’s buckles. “I don’t think he’s going to be dragging many cannon around up there.”

  Kitterpokkie nodded. “He refuses to accept a gun, because the recoil would quite spin him around and around…” The mantis had a sudden inspiration. “I wonder if some sort of rocket gun could be prepared? Electric ignition – or perhaps percussion caps?”

  “I don’t think Throcky’s very keen about fire, Kitt.”

  “I could certainly design a system that minimises the danger!”

  “Let’s just… leave him as is for now.” Snapper steered the girl towards the stables. “Come on – meeting time!”

  “I suppose…” Kitt swivelled her head one hundred and eighty degrees to look back at the workshop. “But I shall see about creating an electric winch for the crossbow. Surely we must drag him into the modern age.”

  “Yes yes. Later!”

  It would never do for Samuels to arrive at the meeting on foot. His own grumbling, black-armoured beetle-horse was saddled up and waiting, along with Toby’s violet budgerigar and Onan, who was already calculating the number of salty crackers he might extort in return for good behaviour. But beside them was a great fluffy burgundy-red creature that brought everyone to an alarmed halt.

  They could only stare. Beau, however, was filled with pride.

  “What do you think?”

  “You bought the moth…?” Snapper was appalled. The creature looked about as trustworthy as a cannibal in a nursery. “Did you look at this thing’s face before you took it?”

  “Of course! He‘s a splendid creature. Striking! Handsome in the extreme!” Beau seemed quite overjoyed with his new mount. He walked up and patted the creature, whose expression seemed to indicate its brain was stripping a few gears. “We’ll strike quite the figure, eh?”

  Snapper was utterly at a loss.

  “Beau… This thing is just… It’s just…”

  “I have decided to call him Pendleton!”

  Kitterpokkie inspected the moth creature from a careful distance.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a good name!” Beau seemed completely taken with the idea. “Rolls off the tongue! I think I saw it written on an old bottle in some ruins.”

  “Pendleton…” Snapper kept well away from the front end of the creature. “He looks like he’s been secretly plotting to steal some school kid’s lunch. Or possibly eat a school child for lunch.” The shark shook her head then mounted up on Onan. Each to their own. “Well, just be careful with it. Once you hitch the thing up at the pub, get it a basket of kittens to eat, or something…”

  Beau leapt aboard the moth, which put on a weird grin and seemed to accept the fox-bird’s presence. Beau tried to invite Kitterpokkie aboard, but the mantis backed away and politely waved her cla
ws.

  “No no – I shall walk. I have no need to balance teetering upon an animal.”

  The moth took the lead, swarming along on six powerful legs. Staying behind the beast, Toby rode close to Snapper, and leaned over to speak behind his hand.

  “Hey. If that fox-bird fella gets killed by that thing, try to get hold of a hand or something. Maybe that medallion will still light up if you hold it in his dead fingers.”

  Snapper flicked a glance at Kitt over her spectacles, then back to Toby.

  “Oh Godfish. They told you about the medallion.”

  “Your man Kenda did.” Toby looked pleased. “He was asking about the pass, but I didn’t tell him anything. Still, the boy seems to have money, and he survived them Screamers. So he might be an asset to the expedition. You think about it.”

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

  The group departed out through the leafy old arch, and down the lane beyond. Electric lights were starting to glimmer, lighting the streets and doors. Out on the main road, people were walking and riding up hill towards the Dancing Dugite. Wagons had been parked along the street – most still laden with boxes and bales. The town corral was filled with fluttering beetle-horses, and dozens of chattering, hungry budgerigars who ate their fill of konker nuts and seeds. Townsfolk called greetings to Samuels and Toby, falling in beside them as they moved along the road.

  At the town gates, a wagon was slowly plodding in from the fields. There were two militiamen on the gates, and another up on the wall above. The wall guard was dividing his attention between the dark scrublands beyond the gate and the gathering crowds about the pub. Snapper spurred forward and looked at a hulking, scaly figure sitting bored beside the gates. She called up to the militiaman on the wall.

  “Hey Anders! You got croc boy on duty here tonight?”

  “Yeah.” The militiaman pulled a straw from his mouth. “Got him on the gate. Least he can use his muscles pushing it open and closed.”