Broach the candleman. It was the Black Glamor's thought, coming directly to Throe, freighted with the desired details of modification.
He turned to Ennui. “I have to—"
"I got word too,” she said.
They made their way off the dancing floor and to the stout lattice surrounding it. They climbed to the upper level where the spotlight operators were. They found the ones orienting on Jamais and Bijou. Throe went to the first, Ennui to the second.
"I am a supporter of the reversed couple,” Throe told the candleman. “He wishes to have some modifications for his light."
The man was carefully aiming the reflector so as to keep it on the dancer. He had a small collection of translucent filters, and several replacement candles. It was clear that he knew what he was doing. “Sure. What's he want?"
Throe explained. The man nodded appreciatively and got on it. He was an artist of the spotlight, and liked the challenge.
Throe rejoined Ennui as they climbed back down to the floor. Then they resumed watching.
All three couples were impressive. All had clearly come prepared for this dance, and had tailored costumes for it. One of the other women had long black hair, and her tight black outfit showed an excellent figure that was bound to attract more than just her partner. But the other couple was a challenge for another reason: the two of them were changelings. Throe had become attuned to the nuances, and recognized them. That meant that both were physically handsome, and well coordinated, and went together in that indefinable way that changelings had.
Jamais and Bijou were something else. Her figure was good, of course; that had been a requirement of her selection. She could dance well, and knew this dance, though the role of Vivid was new to her. But her costume made the real difference. Each time she swung close to Void she detached and flung a handkerchief, and the supportive netting was left blank in that spot, so that more of her body showed. The spotlight followed the flying handkerchief, so that as it twisted in air it seemed to flicker until it was caught by Void. At that point Void flared, the spotlight obeying the instruction Throe had relayed: the light lifted and brightened for a moment, the filter changing to provide special effect. It really did seem as if pieces of Vivid were being drawn into Void, echoing the long-term horror of the System.
Void, too, was special. Jamais had removed his veil to reveal his invisible face, which meant that the black hood of the cape seemed empty. That was another eerie reminder of the dark star: it was empty. What fell into it had no return. As the dancer turned and gazed out at the audience, people averted their eyes, as if afraid of being sucked into that blank. Every nuance of his pose augmented that deadly impression. People did not know that this was the Black Glamor himself, rather than an Air Chroma visitor in costume, but they felt the aura of his talent.
Meanwhile the storm battered the city, shaking it and at times making the floor tilt. Throe could not remember a worse storm, and it should have terrified most people, but so entranced were they by the dance that they hardly noticed. The storm seemed to be contributing to the effect of the dance, rocking the city with the awful flares of Void. But Throe was concerned for the structural integrity of Triumph; how much battering could it take?
Slowly all three Vivids spiraled in toward their Voids: two doomed men and one doomed woman. The bright men tried vainly to escape, but the dark women made drawing-in gestures that recaptured them. Yet good as the other couples were, they were hard put to it to compete with Bijou's increasingly exposed body and the spotlight-enhanced flaring of the Black Glamor. Throe suspected that the Glamor was using his own magic to amplify the flares, with the spotlight merely a pretext, but he wasn't sure. The natural flickering of the candle accounted for much. The throngs around the three couples were shifting, with the Glamor summoning folk from the others in much the manner Void drew from Vivid. This would be the winner.
At last they came together, Vivid orbiting Void just beyond arm's reach, increasingly quickly, Bijou's costume down to only three handkerchiefs. Her flesh quivered marvelously as she moved, breasts and buttocks exposed. Her face was set in an expression of hopeless rapture, as if desiring her doom, and that expression was reflected on the faces of many of the spectators. Two handkerchiefs, then one, covering only her crotch. Then that one too went to Void, with a momentary flash, and she was net-naked and coming within his reach.
They two faced each other, locked like Charm and Counter-Charm, turning together as their bodies closed, perfectly synchronized. Throe realized that they were in mental contact too; the Black Glamor had patterned her steps throughout, so that their unity never faltered. Then at last she fell into him. His black cloak flared out to encompass her, and she disappeared into his embrace with a final bright flare. He rotated alone. And the spotlights were doused. Void had swallowed Vivid.
There was no question of the winner; two thirds of the audience circled Bijou and Jamais. The announcer brought the victory wreath as Jamais reversed his cloak and became bright again. Bijou, clasping her partner, retained her rapt look, and it was unfeigned; Throe realized that this dance had been a remarkable experience for her. Perhaps she had always dreamed of winning it one day, and this was the day. But that was only part of it; she had come into the embrace of a Glamor and was half stunned. Despite the manner her vanishing costume attracted eyes, it had really been the Black Glamor responsible; he was probably the finest dancer the city had seen. Perhaps some watchers would have been suspicious, had it not been for the diversion of his partner's strip-tease.
The king reappeared. “Emergency,” he said tersely as all people turned to face him. “The city has been damaged and repairs must be started immediately. Report to your work stations for assignment. Do not panic, but do not delay. Parting.” And he was regally gone.
"Expletive!” the man next to Throe swore. “My crew's on leave out of the city. I can't do my job!"
Bijou turned to him. “My partner and I volunteer to serve with your crew,” she said.
The man stared at her, evidently dazzled by her effective nudity. “But this is trained men's work!” he protested.
"Please,” she said, stepping toward him. “I want so much to do my duty by the city. My friends will help too."
That was Throe's cue, buttressed by a signal from the Glamor. “My partner and I volunteer also,” he said, putting an arm around Ennui. “We are untrained, but can learn readily for this emergency."
"But the work is dangerous! One mistake and there could be deaths."
"Please,” Bijou repeated, taking his hands and drawing him into her. “I would be most appreciative.” Her gaze flicked down to her well formed breasts, the implication unmistakable. “No fault, of course."
For the moment the man was dazzled by her exposed body and attendant suggestion. “I—"
"Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, pressing into him for a pneumatic kiss.
Then, as the man stood half stunned, Throe addressed him. “Introduction: I am Throe, and this is Ennui. We will try not to let you down."
"And I am Bijou, and this is Jamais Vu, visiting from the Air Chroma."
"Patches,” the man said numbly. “Foreman of a hull repair crew."
"Now we had better get to your work station, so you can train us for this vital task,” Bijou said, taking him by the hand.
Jamais removed his cloak and handed it to her, and she put it on, the bright side out. Now she was no longer effectively naked.
In this seemingly random manner they became the crew for a difficult and dangerous repair mission. Throe knew that the Black Glamor had steered them to it, using the dance to bring Patches close enough to be captured, as it were. Who could have resisted bare Bijou in that moment?
But what did this have to do with the quest for the loom? Why arrange such an elaborate charade just to get on a work crew? Surely there were more direct ways to do it.
Privacy, Ennui thought to him. It needed to seem coincidental.
Oh. It had certainl
y seemed that. So the identity of the Black Glamor was protected while they nabbed the man they needed. But it still seemed like a rather complicated way to accomplish a purpose.
The Black Glamor turned his head and glanced at Throe. He felt a jolt of certainty. That sufficed; obviously this was the best way.
They made their way down to the lowest level of the pyramid. There a worried worker rushed up to Patches. “Storage number thirteen's been holed!” he cried. “We closed the bulkhead, but it's leaking. Got to fix it right away!"
"Thank you,” Patches said calmly. “We're on it soon."
"What a relief!” The man dashed away.
Only when he was out of sight did Patches allow the grimness to spread across his face. “Obscenity,” he murmured. “And me with a novice crew."
"We are quick learners,” Throe said.
"Quick learning can't master a year's training in an hour. I know you folk mean well, but I'm going to have to borrow from other crews to get experienced men for this. That hold will burst asunder in hours; the bulkhead's not made for such pressure."
"Negative,” Jamais said. “We will do it."
"And you aren't even native!” Patches rapped. “What the mischief are you trained in?"
"Irrelevant. Review the procedure. We will understand."
"Pain! This is rare naiveté."
Jamais’ veil looked him in the eye. “Review."
Throe felt the jolt of mental command. The Black Glamor had just spoken. Patches blinked, not understanding what had happened, but there was no gainsaying the imperative. “Got it."
Then the foreman spoke, summarizing the procedure in some detail. The three of them read his mind, absorbing the larger ramifications. He was right: this was skilled, dangerous work, not fit for novices. But with the mind connection they could learn a lot in a hurry. Throe also felt the Black Glamor making a copy of the instructions so that he would not need to ask again; the others could get it from him when they needed it. It would not be fun or easy, but they could do the job.
Patches finished. “So now you understand why you can't do this job. It is simply too much."
"We are ready,” Jamais said.
"Ready? Idiocy!"
"We two women lack physical strength,” Bijou said. “Therefore we will be the guides and aligners."
"We two men have strength,” Throe said, picking up his cue. “We will be the movers and pumpers."
"How can you guide what you don't understand? Move what you don't know where? This isn't child's play!"
"Give the orders,” Jamais said evenly.
Patches shook his head. “Mark three."
Bijou and Ennui got moving. They went to a storage stall and fetched marking chalk. They brought it to the leaky bulkhead of storage compartment #13. They got down on hands and knees to locate the three corners of the triangular chamber below. They marked them with chalk. Then Ennui fetched a small wooden mallet. “Ready for alignment,” Bijou announced as she walked toward another storage compartment.
Patches pulled his mouth closed. “Amazement! But that's only the first step."
"She is donning the suit for the second step,” Ennui said. “Hadn't you men better get your equipment ready too?"
"Affirmation,” Throe agreed. “Is crawler #4 available?"
"You don't think you're actually going out there!” Patches exclaimed. “The breathing alone is treacherous!"
"You have instructed us well,” Throe said. “We can handle it. But we need an operative crawler, and since #3 is not operative we must consider #4."
"I never told you that! What the obscenity is going on here?"
Throe glanced at Jamais and got a slight nod. He would reveal a secret. “We are not ordinary citizens. Through an accident of circumstance we were exposed to a mental disease, and became mind readers. Once we learned to control it, it became useful and not contagious. We read your mind for the larger context as you reviewed the procedure. Our understanding is far more comprehensive that it would otherwise have been, but of course that does not substitute for experience. We need your constant direction."
"Mind reading!” Patches looked somewhat wildly around. “Here in nonChroma?"
"It seems to be independent of Chroma. It may not be magic at all, but rather a lowering of the mental barriers to thoughts that naturally radiate from every mind."
"The women too?"
"The women too,” Ennui said. “Do not be concerned; we are not snooping on your private concerns. We wish merely to be effective workers, and not commit any stupid errors that could prove costly to our welfare and that of the city. You may think your orders to us if you wish."
Patches shook his head. “It still seems like magic to me. Assuming it is, how is this possible here in nonChroma?” he asked Throe.
The man needed more than one approach, to believe what his lifetime experience denied. Throe did his best to provide it. “I have wondered myself. I conjecture that there is some magic even in the nonChroma regions. It seems to work better in Chroma regions, and of course the crowding of minds here in Triumph City makes it impractical, like trying to listen to ten people talking at once. Normally we must be in close contact with others to read their minds, but sometimes we can do it at a small distance. So our coordination will be buttressed by this."
Patches nodded. Magic out of place was easier to believe than natural telepathy. After all, Glamors did magic in nonChroma zones. “Maybe you can do it after all. Lucky break for me that you were close by when the call came.” He paused. “Or was it?"
"We were aware that the city could be in danger, and wanted to help. So we were close to you, believing that we could make a good crew.” Throe gave him a direct look. “But we prefer to be anonymous about this; people are apt to misunderstand mind reading."
"You do the job, I'll keep my mouth shut!” He shook his head. “But the notion of that girl reading my thoughts when I looked at her bare—embarrassment!"
"Needless,” Throe said. “When there is a pause in the work, as there will be, she will oblige you, as she indicated. She has no aversion to your interest."
"But isn't she with you?” Patches asked, glancing at Jamais.
"For dancing,” Jamais said. “My romance is elsewhere. You would understand if you saw my fiancée."
The man glanced again at Bijou. “Better than her? Wonder.” Then he reoriented his focus. “Crawler #4 is free. You can operate it?"
"Review its operation in your mind,” Throe said.
The man did, and Throe had it. He went to the machine and sat in its seat. It had a cockpit cover that could be closed and sealed, so that it would operate safely under water. It had stout pedals connected to the outer track to make it go. It had probably been made in the White Chroma; their simpler machines could operate elsewhere. It was their mechanisms of power that required White magic, not their form.
"Remember, it'll be inverted, so use the harness,” Patches said. “And the air is limited. You have to be back inside in fifteen minutes, fill up with new air, then go back out again. If you overrun your time, you'll start hallucinating or losing consciousness. That's what makes it dangerous."
"My associate will warn me,” Throe said.
Bijou joined him in the cockpit. They pedaled to the nearest exit ramp, and into the lock. “Don't lose your way,” Patches called as they closed the odd-shaped canopy. “That's doom!” The picture in his mind augmented that emphatically. He had been correct about the danger for novices; any mistake could be lethal.
Patches swung the lock door closed behind them. After a moment, the portal ahead cranked slowly open. Water rushed in, surrounding the crawler. The chamber air seemed to exit through a tube in the ceiling; when the water reached that level, a valve closed. Meanwhile the front portal opened all the way, and the crawler crawled out.
There was a kind of track here, a pair of rails curving out and down. Throe steered into it so that the crawler's tracks engaged the rails. Now they were anchored
. They followed the rails around and down below the base of the city, the crawler's nose pointed straight down. Then they were on the base, upside down, and crossing it toward their repair site. They really did need the harness.
"That Black Glamor,” Bijou murmured when she was satisfied that they were out of mind reading range. “I wish I could take him to bed!"
"Instead of Patches?"
"I'll give Patches good service; there'll be no complaint. But Black is something else!"
"I understand that a normal person can't have sex with a Glamor and survive,” Throe said. “Not with intact mind. Something about overload of pleasure circuits."
"Surely true! Just embracing him made me float. But tempting anyway."
"You've had Havoc. I'd have thought that would be enough."
"Sure, if I could keep him. I'll always love him. But Gale—"
"Understanding. She is some woman."
"I wish I were a changeling."
"You're a lovely and talented girl."
"But not a changeling.” Then she glanced at him sidelong. “You had a changeling."
"And gave her up for a normal woman my own age."
"Did you have a choice?"
"I don't know. Symbol is beyond ordinary ken. But I don't want a changeling. I love Ennui."
"I can feel it,” she agreed. “It's nice. Maybe my turn will come."
There was a faint shimmer before them. Bijou put forth a hand. “Greeting, Swale. Have you scouted it?"
There was a pause. Then Bijou turned to Throe. “Something blocked her off the loom, but her impression is it isn't dangerous."
"This whole mission is dangerous!” Throe said.
"She's gone on to notify the others. It seems we'll just have to find out what's there ourselves."