Spacebread Read online

  Presently she moved into view of a platform with cushions and pillows strewn about before it and a tall curtain behind. There was a humanoid barker haranguing a sparse crowd seated on the cushions. She relaxed on a fluffy brown pillow, deciding to rest at this, the only uncrowded exhibit around. She needed breathing room.

  “Yes, ladies and gents,” the barker continued, “we have over a dozen, yes, over twelve different sorts of beings at this auction. You will find them to be supremely serviceable, exotic; they will be the talk of your household …”

  She was in a slave market. She grunted in disgust and was about to leave when six gaily decorated Ralphians trotted up carrying a massive gilt sedan chair. Two slinky-looking bodyguards with fire rifles stood beside it and glanced coldly into the passing crowd.

  “Ah, we have a royal visitor, ladies and gentlemen,” the barker intoned. “Welcome, Lord Dezorn of Blik-Twell, welcome!”

  Lord Dezorn turned out to be a fat yellow gnorlff, a creature originally from Algenib in the constellation Pegasus. It wore a bright plumed helmet and matching robes and seated itself a few cushions to the side of Spacebread with icy hauteur. Spacebread curled her lip in silence. She detested the beasts. She had never met a gnorlff that was pleasant or honest, and she could not imagine how one had slithered its way into the royal family of Ralph. It had a nearly spherical, neckless head and three beady eyes in wrinkled sockets. A slash of mouth cut halfway around its middle.

  Spacebread, noticing the impenetrable crowd outside the market, lounged back and decided to rest awhile longer. This Lord Dezorn of this very curious Ralphian royalty intrigued her.

  Apparently the slave trader had been waiting for Dezorn to arrive, for the auction commenced as soon as the beast had settled its sallow bulk onto a cushion. There was a great green humanoid from Sellanus up first; it sold for an insignificant sum. Ralph was not used to slave auctions. A couple from Betelgeuse was sold to a rich plantation owner. A pair of dancing bird-people from some unknown Scatter-ling world went to an ambassador from the other side of Ralph who was in town for the coronation.

  Spacebread disliked the slave business and was rising to take advantage of a space in the crowd when she saw the gnorlff quiver and lean upon one folded pod.

  “That’s right, folks, right here on Ralph, we have one of the famed Sanguakkoid figlets, straight from the palaces of Dacquar.” The barker looked down nervously at a slip of paper. “It’s a beautiful specimen from the Barmootha clan.”

  An assistant brought out a clear tank. Inside was an ovoid green figlet wearing a spherical space helmet. It trembled and clung fearfully in a corner of its prison. The gnorlff licked its thin lips with a purple tongue and leaned forward.

  Spacebread immediately knew the game. Gnorlffs were a notoriously gluttonous folk, bragging of refined palates and a taste for rare delicacies. And the rarest of rare tidbits to a gnorlff was a figlet. They would commit the foulest of crimes to come into possession of one of the little creatures. Figlets, brave fighters, were rarely caught alive, and alive was the only way a gnorlff would eat one. Live, bound, and floating in a honey sauce.

  Lord Dezorn interrupted the auctioneer’s spiel with a preemptory gesture.

  “Fifteen sovereigns,” it croaked.

  Before the auctioneer could acknowledge the bid, Spacebread leaned forward with a half-smile and said, “Twenty sovereigns.” It would give her pleasure to foil this bloated piece of pomposity. Besides, a young figlet should bring at least two hundred, and Dezorn had just proved itself a miser as well as a glutton.

  Lord Dezorn shot an evil half-glance in Spacebread’s direction. She nodded politely.

  “A hundred sovereigns,” it gurgled.

  “A hundred sovereigns from Lord Dezorn of Blik-Twell,” the auctioneer beamed. “Are there any other-”

  “Two hundred sovereigns,” Spacebread announced.

  The auctioneer rocked back on his heels. Almost reluctantly he acknowledged the bid. Spacebread noticed the figlet creep out of his corner to peek at the new bidder.

  The gnorlf leaned toward Spacebread and whispered, “Come now, madam. Of what possible use can an insignificant Sanguakkoid figlet be to you? Allow me to purchase it, and I will pay half-price on the slave of your choice.” A droplet of pale red sweat crawled down its royal brow, and Spacebread noticed its podlets drumming nervously on the jeweled butt of a dagger.

  “The figlet’s mine.” She smiled. “You may have any other slave on Ralph.” She knew full well that the gnorlff needed that figlet fiercely, and nothing else would do.

  “Five hundred sovereigns,” the gnorlff snapped.

  The auctioneer paled. “F-five hundred! Yes, your lordship!”

  “Six hundred,” Spacebread said calmly.

  The auctioneer could not even utter such expensive syllables, contenting himself with nodding sheepishly.

  “Cease this nonsense!” Dezorn nearly shouted. Then, whispering more demurely, “Do you realize the danger of your situation? Look behind me and bow out!” Its eyes snaked around in their sockets toward the two guards, who were grimly eyeing her and thumbing their rifle straps.

  Spacebread nearly laughed. “No, your lordship,” she said, “why don’t you tell me how dangerous my situation is while we discuss the beautiful workmanship on this …”

  Her Thorian sword lay on the cushion in front of her, its polished filigree blade winking in the sunlight. She brushed back her purple cape to expose her pistol.

  The gnorlff’s jowls shook with rage. “A thousand! A thousand sovereigns for the little beast!” The three bugging eyes glared at her, not at the auctioneer.

  She stood slowly, sheathing her sword. “I think I can settle this business. Auctioneer! I bid eight of these …” She tossed a granthite crystal through the air, and the auctioneer, despite being perilously close to fainting, snatched it from its arc.

  “G-granthite! She has granthite crystals … Serialized.” The Ralphian looked up at her as if she were a goddess; then turned, no longer expectantly, to the gnorlff.

  Spacebread had never seen a gnorlff turn green with rage and frustration. Nor hop up and down, either, but that was what Lord Dezorn was doing. It danced toward her, poked a fisted pod at her face and wheezed, “You have not seen the last of me … cat!”

  Spacebread bowed curtly. “As you wish. I shall eagerly await our reunion.”

  Lord Dezorn uttered some gnorlffish oath and spun away, its rich robes fluttering in a high curve. The guards opened the sedan chair in time for it to trip on the flowing robes and stumble inside. Its bearers sprang up, and the entire entourage sped off with the guards kicking a way through the throng and an enraged silence exuding from the sedan.

  Spacebread, inwardly grinning, turned to face the auctioneer’s assistant, who had raced down with the figlet’s tank, his palm extended. The auctioneer sat on the ground staring at his crystal. She counted out seven more crystals from her pouch.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And be sure to call for me at the Cosmos Inn behind the warehouses if Its Lordship tries to purchase any other figlets.”

  Feeling pleased with herself, Spacebread shook back her cape and strode off in what she assumed to be the direction of the inn. She was pleased with herself. She had thumbed her nose at a colossal boor and regained some of the composure she had lost at the Spinrim lnn …

  Suddenly her body became aware of someone following her, despite the constant swirl of people. She spun, her gun hand loose at her side.

  The figlet stopped and blinked at her. He was floating about a meter above the ground, somewhat disconcertingly. Dimly she remembered that figlets had special electrical forces in their seeds that allowed them to fly. All figlets could hover as soon as they ripened and fell off the vine.

  “Oh, I had forgotten,” Spacebread said. “Why are you following me, master figlet?”

  The small creature jumped each time a jostling body bumped into him. “You bought me. I’m your slave,” he said in a squ
eaky voice. He held out a bill of sale and other papers from his satchel.

  Spacebread laughed. “Then I hereby free you. You may do as you please, go where you please. It is impossible for one creature to own another, and I will not pretend to.”

  Spacebread turned to continue her journey, but the figlet just hovered in the same place, looking about him uncertainly.

  “But you bought me. It says so right here on my papers: sold to the unidentified white cat for eight serialized granthite crystals. Besides, what if the gnorlff comes back for me, or sends spies to steal me …”

  Spacebread smiled, her white starburst ruff spreading. “My name is Spacebread. As far as I am concerned you are free.” She continued as a panicked expression flowed over the figlet’s wee features, “But that freedom allows you to make your own decisions; forces you to do so, I might say. You may call yourself my slave if you like. If you choose to come with me, I will call you friend and offer you what protection I can. But I also must warn you that I am not a common person and my path is often the path of danger. Come if you will, and come under any label you wish.”

  The figlet blushed a brighter green and scooted clumsily out of the way of a wobbling Ralphian cart. “I-I will come, my lady. I am your slave.”

  Still bemused, Spacebread turned and continued elbowing her way through the crowd. She could feel the figlet’s presence behind her as she walked.

  They had gone only a few paces when she suddenly caught a too-familiar glimpse from the corner of her eye and froze. The figlet bumped into her and barely missed tangling in her cape. She dashed to a bright yellow booth and lunged across its counter, catching the proprietor by his collar.

  “You—where did you get that?” Her paw pointed at a buckleless belt draped on a hook like a bunch of banana skins.

  The fellow, from his ruffled and tilted vantage point, rolled his eyes, recognized the item and coughed out, “A soldier sold it to me this morning! A palace guard … Thracko by name …”

  “How much do you want for it?” she snapped, her yellow eyes burning.

  The proprietor peeled her claws from his collar and sank back from tiptoe. “Ah … fifty talents. It’s a remarkable specimen …”

  She flashed a murderous glance at him, which choked off his sales pitch. “I’ll give you ten for your trouble.” She bounced a coin across the counter, and he caught it. “Thracko, eh? Is that all you know of him?”

  “Yes, that’s all,” he said, fetching the belt with one hand while he checked the coin’s authenticity with his teeth.

  She examined it quickly. The buckle was gone and the pouches were empty, of course, but now she had a lead!

  “In the future,” she warned, “I hope you will look into the legitimacy of your wares and will accept no more stolen items.”

  The figlet stared up at her in bewilderment as she turned around and strode off. He caught up with her and asked in a voice colored by supposed presumption, “If it would not be too bold to ask, mistress—”

  “Do you have a name, figlet?” she interrupted.

  “Klimmit. Klimmit BarKloof, milady.”

  “Well, Klimmit, this belt is the reason I am on this squalid planet, the cause of a good friend’s death, and the instrument of the providence that saved you from a gnorlff’s banquet.” Her eyes blazed straight ahead as she spoke, and she increased her speed so that he had to hurry to catch up.

  [3]

  A Royal Visit

  A PALE AND LONELY WALTZ, as though played by ghosts, sounded from somewhere down in the labyrinthian entrails of the palace. Footsteps, like the scrabbling of a porcelain crab’s claws, grew louder as they neared, then echoed off again as they passed.

  Spacebread drummed her fingers impatiently on a bannister. They had already been waiting an hour. She hated to wait. The figlet sat beside her without moving. His poor mind was in such a state of turmoil that the best he could do was sit still.

  They had continued to the inn after Spacebread’s discovery of the belt. She had then left him alone in her room to rest and gone off somewhere for several hours. When he had awakened she was sitting beside the bed examining the mountings of the belt buckle she had bought. She said that she had bribed two palace guards, and told them an untrue story besides, and had also bribed a Protocol Officer, once she had gotten to see him. As a result they were going to meet the new regent tonight.

  And now it was tonight, and they sat in the shadows on a flight of stairs waiting for the royal party to finish dining. The Protocol Officer had promised to get Spacebread a brief audience with the regent when the dining party retired from the banquet hall to the gaming room. He was supposed to run ahead of the party and warn Spacebread, who would come down and be introduced as a friend of the officer. The figlet was in awe. He had been saved from a gnorlff’s jaws in the morning and was waiting to see a king in the evening.

  Spacebread waited, expecting to confront the regent with the story of the stolen buckle and Gramlin’s murder, have the guard named Thracko produced, procure a confession, and have an end to the matter. She felt relieved. Newly sworn kings were usually eager to be just.

  For the occasion Spacebread had dug out some formal clothing. She wore a broad silver cape with yellow trim and a matching ribbon across her breast. Bright yellow boots and gloves completed the costume. She wore the buckleless belt with a sword alone. She would not have been permitted close to the regent with a gun. She had even found some blue ribbon and decorated the figlet’s unimpressive form to meet the regent.

  VolVarnix. It was a strange name. And the regent seemed even stranger. Spacebread had accumulated a large body of facts about him. He was an offworlder but had been on the planet for close to five years and had won great honors by suppressing a rebellion in the northern continent as an officer for King Gallwort. This had resulted in close ties with the old king, and VolVarnix had cemented them by introducing beneficial trade with other planets. He was single-handedly bringing the planet Ralph out of cosmic seclusion. (Spacebread wondered vaguely what the Planetary Power thought of that.) Thus, when the king had had his last stroke and the legal heir was not of a legal age, the regency had been given to Lord VolVarnix. Now he was the ruler of Northwil and Southwil, called Bothwil, while the old king waited to die on the King’slsle. VolVarnix had done much in five years.

  It wasn’t exactly the most regal palace Spacebread had ever seen, though it had its charms. There were great stained glass windows everywhere and rough stone stairs winding and twisting about rectangular turrets. Rather stodgy and backwards, but not unattractive.

  Spacebread noticed the figlet fidgeting. “Have you eaten recently?” she asked.

  The figlet gave a tiny shrug. “Not since yesterday, but that’s all right. I get most of my food from the air and sunlight. Maybe once in a while I’ll soak in dirty water. It’s like a feast for me.”

  “I guess there are advantages to being a vegetable.”

  “Or a cat,” the figlet countered, and then flinched as if he expected to be struck.

  But Spacebread just smiled. “Sometimes it’s nicer than others. The only thing I can’t stand about it is being called ‘Pussycat.’ I’m of the opinion it’s racist, and I’ve had to defend that opinion occasionally.”

  “You’re very brave,” the figlet said.

  She shook her head. “No, no braver than you. How long have you been a slave?”

  The figlet’s small mouth grew grim. “A little over a year, I think.”

  “How did it happen?” Spacebread probed gently.

  “I was with my uncle searching for new fields to camp. We heard a twig snap and before we could flee two big creatures threw a net over us. Uncle Torsok later cut his way out and killed one of them, so the other one shot him. There were lots of other captives on their ship, but mostly young ones. I don’t know what happened to my parents. I wasn’t even ripe enough to be a Warrior. The village didn’t give up any of us without a struggle. Several of the creatures were wounded and
as they took off, the ship was hit a couple of times by anti-air fire. We were the costliest slaves they had.”

  “What sort of creatures?” Spacebread queried.

  “Oh, big birdlike animals with arms, and hair down their backs.”

  She nodded. “Scarvian Harpies. Ruthless and crass.”

  “Yes, they were, and it did me good to see them bind up the wounds of their casualties.”

  “How did you end up on Ralph?” she asked.

  “We were taken to a very big place first. I don’t know the name of it. It was a big rocky place with a dome and stars outside. It was divided into thousands of cages. We stayed there for a few months. Many died.” The figlet shuddered, holding his own narrow shoulders. “At night there were the sounds of hundreds of different beings howling and crying for home.”

  “A smuggler’s asteroid,” Spacebread decided. “A place to keep stolen goods until the heat dies down and they can be sold.”

  “From there I was sold to a merchant with pink skin and large teeth. A human, I think. It’s hard to keep so many different kinds of beings separate. Anyway, I was his slave for six months. I prepared his bath and was a playmate for his children. A ‘pet’ they called me. Do you know what that is, my lady?”

  “Yes, I know. It’s another word for slave. There are even worlds, Klimmit, where cats have been reduced to being pets.”

  “No,” the figlet gasped. “I cannot imagine such a thing happening. They must be smaller and weaker than you. I can’t imagine you ever being the slave of another being. You’re much too independent and resourceful.”