Cord appeared, and soon both of them were bound to small stakes pounded into the sloping ground, arms and legs apart. Because they were mounted at an angle, they could see their campsite and the goblins and each other. The goblin men clustered around Gale, touching her breasts and crotch. The goblin women surrounded Havoc, admiring his muscles and member. Goblin children looked at both, wide-eyed; it seemed they had never seen such creatures before. But overwhelming the curiosity was an emotional ambiance of hatred.
Ugly customers, Swale thought. Stall them a while. She moved on to Gale.
"First we rape you,” the leader announced. “Then we impale you. Then we torture you to death.” He waited, but they did not react. “What have you to say before we start?"
Havoc spoke. “You look human, but distorted. Why is that?"
"Why do you hate us?” Gale asked, ignoring the poking fingers.
"It's just the way we are,” the leader said. “We hate you because you're handsome."
"This has the look of poisoning,” Havoc said. “Your extremities are normal sized, but your bodies are dwarfed."
"So are the trees and shrubs,” Gale said. “They are suffering too."
"What do you care?” the chief demanded.
"There must be something in the air or water or soil here,” Havoc said. “Something that hurts whatever it touches. You need to identify it and eliminate it."
"Or move away from it,” Gale said. “Then maybe your children will grow up normal."
"This is our home,” the chief said. “We won't move."
"We might be able to identify it,” Havoc said. “So as to get rid of it. Then you could live here in health."
"Enough!” the chief cried. “You have said your say. Now we destroy you."
"Please don't do this,” Gale pleaded. “Hurting us won't improve your lot."
But already the goblins were swarming over them, intent on their mischief. Havoc saw a male setting himself at Gale's midsection, about to rape her, and a woman was straddling him similarly. They were serious about rape, and surely serious about the rest of it. They would not listen to reason.
Had the two of them been able to stall long enough?
Then Havoc felt something touching his body, ticklishly light. He saw spiders—hundred, thousands, swarming over him. Gale was similarly covered.
Just in time. He relaxed and let nature take its course.
The spiders did not bite or sting him; they merely ran over his body. In a moment they reached the body of the goblin woman who was grabbing his member. They disappeared into her ragged clothing.
She screamed. She leaped off him, clawing at her clothing. Immediately after, the goblin man on Gale shouted and scrambled similarly. The others stared, not knowing what was going on. But in another moment, they too began screaming and dancing, tearing off their clothing. They fled the ledge, trying to escape the spiders. Soon all of them were gone.
Something was working at Havoc's wrists. He looked, and saw spiders covering the cords that bound him. They were chewing through them. Soon the bonds gave way at wrists and ankles, and he was free. He sat up, set his feet carefully on the ground, and waited for the little spiders to clear. Gale performed similarly.
"Appreciation,” he murmured as the spiders disappeared. Then the two of them resumed their camping as if nothing had happened. They were fairly sure the goblins would not return.
"I might have been frightened,” Gale murmured as he embraced her under the lean-to. “But I knew Silver would not let us down."
"Your friend yellow is part of him now.” The body of Yellow might be dead, for spiders did not live as long as human beings did, but if the awareness of individuals could be merged with that of the Spider Glamor, that was a kind of immortality.
"Agreement. I'm so glad; I never dared inquire after Yellow, for fear he was gone."
"And Mentor. He was not young when we knew him, and he had suffered injury. But now he is eternal."
"And we still have his seeds."
"They never buzzed when we tangled with the merfolk,” he said, realizing.
"Because we were not in real danger. We knew what was coming, and were prepared for it.” She smiled. “You taught me that hair and knife trick. It worked so well!"
He caught hold of her hair and pulled gently. “Yield, helpless maiden, or I'll do this!” He kissed her breast and tongued the nipple.
She struggled in such manner as to shove the breast harder against his face. “Terrified acquiescence."
"Satisfaction.” He kissed her mouth, letting love and passion overflow. “Oh, Nonesuch!"
"Mutual, Hayseed."
They proceeded to their scheduled act of love, savoring every aspect of it. The edge was off, thanks to their recent exploits with the merfolk, but the slower passion was more fulfilling. All the other women Havoc had known were but fractional aspects of Gale, his one true love.
"Joy,” she breathed.
"If only we could marry."
And there was the expletive of it, again. “Irony!"
She laughed. “You got that backwards. You should have thought irony and said ‘Expletive!’”
"Just hold me, beloved."
She did. No more was necessary.
They slept embraced until morning, getting as thorough rest as they could, because they knew they might have a difficult time ahead. Then they set off along the further trail.
It wound along the mountain, making a spiral around the narrowing peak. The vegetation got worse, and finally gave up, leaving the slope bare. The air here had a fetor; Havoc did not like breathing it, but had no choice. “Maybe it's better above,” he said.
"Hope."
They came to cracks in the bare rock, from which flowed trickles of malodorous fluid. It spread out as it descended, coating the ground, then thinning and fading into a foul vapor that continued the descent. “This must be it,” Havoc said. “Like volcanic vents."
"But this is not a volcano."
"Agreement. Analogy only. Something ugly is beneath, and this leakage poisons the life downslope."
"Natural?"
"Doubtful. The life on this mountain would have adapted to it if it were natural, as life does to the magic of the Chroma."
"I heard a weird story once, of something called pollution, back on ancient Earth. This seems like it."
"Affirmation. When it rains, the water must carry it on down, stunting the brush and trees, and the creatures that feed on them."
"Thus goblins. We were right: there is a source for the poison."
They moved on above the vents, and at last the air cleared. They climbed faster, recovering strength. There were even a few shrubs here, and some grass, showing that the pollution did not rise to this level.
At the very top was a series of metallic pipes rising from the rock, each expanding above head height into a cone or cup open to the sky. “This is not natural,” Gale said.
Havoc nodded. “I want to see into one of these."
"Heft me up; I'll look."
He took her by knee and thigh under her skirt and lifted her until her head was well above his. There was a slight breeze, so he focused to maintain their balance. “They are screened,” she reported. “Very fine mesh forming a shallow depression, obviously porous. They would let water pass."
"So they are water collectors.” He lowered her, setting her gently on the ground.
She straightened herself out. “Did you forget, Hayseed?"
"Question?"
"You didn't even Peek,” she reproved him. “There I was, helplessly exposed, skirt no protection."
"Mortification. I did forget. Let me lift you up again."
"Too late. One chance is all, this hour."
"Cruel mistress."
"Cruel fiancée."
"Maybe half a Peek down your shirt?"
She made as if to close her shirt tight. “Some lessons must be learned the hard way.” Then she got serious. “What does it mean?"
&
nbsp; "That there are people down there who don't mind polluting the mountain but want fresh air and water for themselves."
"Someone should speak to them about selfishness."
"That must be up to us."
"Curiosity: how?"
"First we must get their attention.” They surely already had the complex personnel attention, but they needed to force it to become obvious.
"Ditto the above."
"Private notion.” He walked away from the pipes, starting back down the slope. Just above the pollution vents he removed his water skin, and reached for hers. Both were half empty. He poured one into the other and gave the full one to her. Then he took the other to the vent that was flowing most thickly, and held its aperture to the flow.
"Observation: yuck!"
"Then stand clear; one of us might as well smell nice.” He continued to hold the water skin in place, though the stench was surrounding him and making breathing uncomfortable.
"You will have to wash off your stinking eyes before you get a Peek."
"I suffer already.” Indeed, he realized that he would not be able to continue this long, because he was choking. The fumes were not mere smell; there was something sickening here. But he needed to collect a fair amount of the flow.
A hand was shaking his shoulder. “Hayseed! Get upslope and breathe."
He got unsteadily to his feet and stumbled upward, finding fresher air. Gale squatted by the vent, holding the water skin in place. “But you'll stink too,” he protested weakly.
"All the better to keep you company."
He gulped in air, his head clearing. Then he returned to take another turn, letting Gale breathe upslope. She did not look at all well, but it was the only way to fill the water skin.
When it was half full, he decided they had enough. He dragged it up the slope to the pipes as they both recovered their breath. When they reached the top he said “Now I will get my promised Peek. Lift this up and pour."
Her eyes lighted as her mouth formed an O of appreciation. She held the skin in her arms, averting her face, and he hefted her again by knee and thigh. He looked up and did catch a wondrous Peek of her bottom under the skirt. Her thighs had filled out marvelously since their childhood days when they last seriously played Tickle & Peek; somehow he hadn't thought to notice in this particular manner. But his purpose was to make sure she was close enough to pour the noxious elixir into the pipe. She was, and the stuff seemed to be flowing. A slow cloud of fumes overflowed the rim and settled down on him.
"Save some for the next,” he said.
She managed to twitch her skirt. “The next Peek?"
"Next air vent."
"Awww. Affirmation."
He let her down, and they backed away from the pipe. If that air led directly into the complex, there would soon be a reaction below.
They went to another pipe and repeated the process, pouring more noxious goo in. Then they went to a third.
"Down,” Havoc said tersely, lowering her as she quickly closed the waterskin. He had been keeping an eye out, and saw the men emerging from trapdoors in the slope. “Go unconscious when you feel the stun."
She nodded, facing the oncoming men. Then there was a pulse in Havoc's head, all that remained of the changeling stun switch they had had nullified. He collapsed, and Gale sank gracefully beside him, nominally unconscious. Both of them buried their aware thoughts, leaving their open thoughts confused or blank.
"Changelings, all right,” a man said gruffly. “Take them down. Separate their weapons."
Men efficiently frisked Havoc, taking his folding staff, short sword, three knives, and wooden knuckles. “Loaded for bear, with quality tools."
"She's got a pretty little blade in her hair. These are professionals."
"Pretending to be tourists. And dumping toxic sludge down our air pipes. What an obscenity of a ploy."
"But one damned clever way to get our attention."
"Not quite clever enough."
They put Havoc on a mat and hauled it across to a trapdoor, while others hauled Gale similarly, and still others carried off the half-spent waterskin.
"What a mess to clean up,” a man complained.
"Fiendish ingenuity,” another said. “These ones need to be destroyed."
"Too bad. They're really nice specimens."
They shoved Havoc's rug into the aperture. It slid along a chute, spiraling down until it fetched up in a chamber where a number of men and women were working. He heard Gale's mat landing a moment later.
"Bind them naked to racks,” another voice said. “We don't want them waking and making trouble when Mneme's questioning them.” He pronounced it NEE-mee, but Havoc picked up the spelling from the thought.
It was time to act. Havoc rolled off the mat and to his feet, opening his eyes to take in the scene.
For a moment the tableau seemed frozen. The complex denizens were staring in surprise at Havoc's sudden animation. This seemed to be a storage chamber, with bundles of things scattered across the floor. There were doors in four directions. He had no way of knowing which one was best for escape.
Gale was sitting up. She stood, and came to join Havoc. “I think we'll have to go random,” she said.
"Agreement.” He moved toward the closest door, and she moved with him. He watched to one side, she the other.
"Capture!” a man cried. “Subdue without killing."
That helped to know. Three men charged them, cutting off their progress to the door. They were relatively soft workers, not trained fighters; he could tell by their stances.
Havoc went into combat mode. He swept up a length of scrap leather and wrapped it around his hand, a substitute for his wood knuckles. He clubbed one man on the head, just so, sending him down, and shoved the second into the third. Meanwhile Gale quietly picked up an awl, which could become a nasty little weapon in her hands. Then he and Gale ran for the doorway, and through it.
This turned out to be a transport ramp, similar to those in Triumph City. They ran down it. The room below was a kitchen. The workers looked up, startled to see them.
"Try another,” Havoc said, swiping a carving knife from the nearest butcher counter.
They ran further down the ramp, to what seemed to be a residential floor. There were lines of bunks, some empty, some with men or women sleeping on them.
"Main gate must be at the bottom,” Gale said, taking a pillow. This too could become a weapon when properly applied.
"Go for it,” Havoc said, taking a bar from a broken bed. They were both now well armed.
They ran for another door, looking for a ramp down, but the door they came to was no more than an entrance to a closet. Another had stairs leading up. Meanwhile, men were gathering—and now a pack of dogs appeared.
"Mischief,” Gale said.
"I'll handle the dogs. You find an exit—and take it. I'll follow."
Gale ran away from him, seeking another door. Meanwhile the six-legged dogs came at Havoc. He wielded his bar with deadly effect, striking accurately at noses, beating them back. He could handle dogs.
He saw Gale find an exit. She waved to him, then disappeared. He knocked back the last dog, then clubbed the first man and ran after her. But the door had closed behind her, and it would not open for him. He knocked at it with the butt of his club, but it was too solid.
More men were converging. He had to move, lest he be trapped here. He ran to another doorway and through it. It slammed behind him.
Then he discovered that he was in a small storage chamber with only one exit—the door. And that door would not open. It was too solid to cut through or break down. He had foolishly trapped himself. And left Gale without defense. “Expletive!"
"Havoc."
He whirled, looking for the source of the voice. It was the opening of a small talking tube. A woman was speaking from the main chamber. She was not Gale. And she knew his identity.
He reached with his mind, and verified a suspicion. “Mneme,” he s
aid, naming the one the workers had said would question him. She would be one in authority who had information the ordinary workers lacked.
"Give me your oath of truce, and you will be treated fairly."
"Negation."
"Two things: We have Gale, and we can poison the air in your chamber."
"Bluff."
There was a pause. Then Gale's voice came. “They do have me Havoc. Do what you must do. Love."
"I do not threaten her at this time,” Mneme's voice came. “I merely demonstrate the other threat."
Then there was a different sound. Gas was hissing through the sound tube. Havoc tried to plug it, but had nothing the right shape or size. He coughed as the gas spread into the chamber. It was similar to that of the pollution on the mountain. He could gain nothing by delaying; they would wait until he was unconscious, then open the door and make his body captive.
"Truce!” he called.
The hissing stopped. After a moment, Mneme's voice came again. “Your oath."
He was at a disadvantage, but not addlebrained. This was like dealing with the guirl. “Yours first."
"Oath of Truce."
"Oath of Truce,” he agreed.
The door opened. A handsome woman of about forty years stood there. “Greeting."
"Acknowledged.” He let a man take his strap, knife, and bar; he would not need them during truce.
"Introduction: I am Mneme, mistress of the changeling complex."
"King Havoc.” She knew it anyway.
"I need your silence about this complex."
"I made a truce, not an agreement."
"I will, if you wish, show you the nature of the complex. Then you may make the agreement."
"If not?"
"The truce will end. We will destroy you and your fiancée and precipitate the choosing of a new king."
"That would expose your nature."
"Negation. We will convey your message to the mock king to continue indefinitely. In due course he will be dispatched, setting up the selection process. Ordinary folk will not know."
"The Glamors will not allow that to happen."
"The Glamors are changelings. We have ways of dealing with them."
Perhaps that was true. The complex had been able to bar the Glamors from its premises. But why had it felt the need to? He tried to read her mind, but discovered she had the same kind of privacy guard he did. She had let him read her mind only to the extent convenient for her. “You're a changeling too."