Contrarywise

«So, professor. Where to?» She gestured in several directions. «Myself, I feel like something cheery.» «Cheery food. Well, that sounds like a request for Dunnsung cuisine to me. We're sure to be seranaded at this time of day— probably with a full complement of lotaris, drums, and flutes.» He paused. «In fact,» he said, turning east toward the Dunnsung Quarter, «isn't Timmertandi playing at that little place down on Ronpol Street? Might be fun to surprise her.» «I don't know, Rowen,» muttered Barlimo. «She sees enough of us as it is at the house. Maybe we should try somewhere else.» «You just don't like jazz and folk in one mix.» Barlimo scowled at him. «Oh, come on,» he said, taking her by the arm. «Who knows? It might be cheery. Just the thing to brighten your mood,» he added, nodding at a strand of escaped blue hair. Swearing, Barlimo tucked the telltale strand back under her lemon scarf. Today, Barlimo was dressed in several light layers of varying shades of yellow and aqua. As usual, she carried her multicolored wool shawl over her shoulder. Shrugging at a turning weathervane, she commented, «I want it to be fall.» Pulling out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiping his brow, Rowen pointed at his academic velvets and muttered, «Don't we all.» The Saambolin and the Jinnjirri walked slowly toward the large marble archway spanning the entrance to the Dunnsung Quarter of Speakinghast. As they approached it, the sound of street musicians singing a four-part harmony met their ears. Around the next corner, another Dunnsung ensemble played for coppers. Accompanied by a tin whistle and a gourd drum, two members of this six-person troupe stepped forward and began doing a lively folk dance. It involved swift hip shimmying and complicated hand movements reminiscent of the kind of «sacred signing» done at Dunnsung Remembrances. One of the dancers had bells attached to his ankles, and the other—a woman as blonde as Timmer—wore a wonderful set of green veils. They danced so wonderfully with each other that Barlimo and Rowenaster felt obliged to leave them a handful of silivrain— Saambolin silver tender worth five times a copper. As the two housemates walked away, Barlimo muttered, «I can tell this is going to be an expensive lunch.» «Nonsense,» said Rowenaster, bowing gallantly as they neared a small restaurant called The Piper's Inn. «I'm treating, Barl. And there'll be no discussion about it,» he added firmly as Barlimo started to protest. «Yes, professor,» muttered Barlimo drily. «Whatever you say, professor.» Rowenaster gave her a withering smile and propelled her toward the open door of the small eatery. A blond host met them in the open hallway. «Two?» he asked. When Barlimo nodded, the Dunnsung led them to a cozy corner table. It had a good view of the Lake Edu shoreline and of the brilliant orange foliage that graced it. «Lovely,» said Rowenaster, glancing at the teal-blue waves. «Couldn't have a nicer view,» he added to Barlimo «See? Cheery.» The host handed Rowen and Barlimo two beautifully scripted menus. Pointing to a chalkboard on a nearby pillar, he said, «That's the special of the day. We're featuring fresh laska fish sauteed in garlic, butter, and mild Piedmerri herbs. I recommend it,» he added with a smile. «I'll keep that in mind,» said Rowenaster, his stomach rumbling softly. The Dunnsung glanced toward center stage. «We'll also be offering you a musical treat shortly. One of the city's finest jazz and folk quintet ensembles will play for your listening pleasure. The group is called 'Core.' Please—feel free to sing along or dance. We Dunnsung think music and laughter help digest our food,» he added looking hard at the elegant Saambolin professor. Rowen patted Barlimo's hand. «Try not to be a stuffy Jinn today, dear.» Barlimo scowled. «Jinnjirri are never stuffy and you know it.» The host grinned. «Enjoy your lunch,» he said and left. Barlimo looked over at the professor. «One of the city's finest?» she asked, seeing Timmertandi's music in a different light. Her only encounter with Timmer's music to date had been several wee-hour rows with the Dunnsung musician over whether rent included practicing at odd hours in the studio. Barlimo—and the rest of the house— didn't think so. Timmer had accepted their verdict grudgingly. Barlimo hoped Timmer wouldn't be thrown off by seeing Rowenaster and herself here. Barlimo genuinely liked the Dunnsung; she just didn't like being kept awake by the endless repetition of Timmer's half-learned musical pieces. Furthermore, the lotari wasn't her favorite instrument in the world. It was stringed and made a reverberating drone. Still, Timmer had a strong, pure soprano. Barlimo settled into her chair, hoping for the best. After Rowenaster and Barlimo had made their food selections— Rowen choosing the special and Barlimo choosing a fresh water bouillabaisse—the two housemates began discussing the issue uppermost in Barlimo's mind: the Saambolin Housing Commission's continued harassment of the Jinnjirri residents of the city in general and of Barlimo in particular. Barlimo took a drink of water and asked, «Did you get a chance to speak to Master Curator Sirrefene this morning?» Rowenaster shook his head. «I had classes, and she had meetings. However, both she and her husband are attending The Merry Prickster play tonight. So I'll ply them with theater peanuts and see if I can't extract a promise out of Gadorian himself.» «What kind of promise?» «That he lay off the Jinnjirri. I'll point out to him that there are many academics on the Hill who are partial to the creative thinking of the Jinnjirri. Such partiality could hurt his reelection.» «Really?» «I doubt it,» said Rowenaster drily, «but Guildmaster Gadorian doesn't need to know that.» Barlimo rubbed her eyes. «I'm surprised Gadorian even listens to you, Rowen. Considering where you live.» «But that's exactly my point,» said the professor. «And my advantage. I live in the Jinnjirri Quarter. Therefore—as far as the Guildmaster knows—I've my Saambolin ear to the ground. I hear things, he thinks, that no one else does.» Rowen grinned. «Of course, I do hear things no one else does, but that's because there's no place in all of Speakinghast quite like our beloved Kaleidicopia. Speaking of which, you missed a beauty of fight this morning on the second floor landing. Timmer and Tree.» Barlimo grunted. «No, I didn't. I had the misfortune to be grilling some toast over the coals in the kitchen hearth when Tree grumbled in, grabbed some fruit from the cold storage, and slammed the back door. He's really quite smitten with Mab, isn't he?» «That's what Timmer says, too.» «Personally,» said Barlimo breaking off a piece of bread from the dark, round loaf in the center of their wooden table, «I don't see what Tree sees in the child. And I mean child. Mab's nineteen going on twelve.» Rowenaster handed Barlimo the dish with a fresh slab of sweet butter in it, saying, «I think there may be good reason for that, Barl.» Barlimo took the dish, waiting for him to continue. Rowenaster steepled his fingers. «I think Mab may be a little emotionally—uh—backward. Frozen.» He paused. «It was something she said this morning about her home life in Jinnjirri. It may be that Mab never had the chance to grow past the age of twelve.» Rowenaster shrugged. «What Tree finds attractive in this—well, I can't imagine it, either.» Barlimo's eyes softened unexpectedly. «I see,» she said. «A wooden boy and a snowflake girl. One is stiff and the other frozen. Makes a wild kind of sense.» She paused. «I'll tell you something that doesn't though—Gadorian going to see Cobeth's play. It's all Jinnjirri.» Rowenaster raised his gray eyebrows. «Oh, is it Cobeth's play now?» «That's the word at the house. Even Tree says so.» Rowenaster muttered something under his breath. Then he said, «The Master Curator doesn't share her husband's dislike of Jinnjirri.» «I wonder why that is?» Rowenaster cleared his throat, looked around himself, and whispered, «Sirrey had an affair with one of your draw. They only made love once, but apparently Sirrefene has never forgotten it.» «That bad?» «That good.» Barlimo buttered her bread. «Oh. That could explain a lot of things.» «Yes, it could,» agreed Rowenaster. «Sirrey and Gad were newly engaged at the time.» There was a long silence. Barlimo sighed. «I hate it when street politics are decided by private bedroom entanglements.» Rowenaster shrugged. «You should see the dirty laundry on the Hill. It makes Sirrey's indiscretion look noble.» Their conversation was suddenly curtailed by a lot of fanfare and shuffling around taking place in the center of the restaurant. The serving lad reached Rowen and Barlimo's table with their salads just as the quintet began tuning up their instruments. Turning his chair around so he could have a better view of Timmer, Rowenaster smiled at Barlimo and said, «Now remember, Barl. If you don't like Timmer's music—lie at dinner tonight, all right? I don't want indigestion before the play.» Muttering to himself, he added, «Presence only knows what Cobeth's going to do to my stomach.» Timmer introduced herself and the other members of the quintet. Then, without further delay, she broke into a bawdy Asilliwir ditty that bufooned the Saambolin. The Dunnsung roared with laughter as did the Asilliwir. Barlimo's hair turned bright yellow with delight. Leaning toward the professor—who was looking decidedly disgruntled—Barlimo said, «Very cheery.» Timmer continued with a series of swiftly paced pieces then ended the first set with a moody melody from Tammirring. The drone of the lotari filled the room with a strange yearning, as if each note were reaching for the next but never quite touching—like lovers parted. As the wild applause died down, Timmer caught sight of Rowenaster and Barlimo. Surprised at first, her expression speedily changed to naughty. Whispering hurriedly to the fellow playing the horn, she returned to center stage and said, «Before we break, there's one more song I'd like to play for you. I just learned it last night.» Timmer winked at her two housemates. «It's called 'Dicky Dunkin'.» Rowenaster hid behind his napkin. Barlimo put her head in her hands, muttering, «Tree—you're finally famous.» Chapter Nineteen Tree sat in the special effects and makeup studio of The Merry Prickster's playhouse. He was taking a momentary break from packing up all his belongings. At present, he held a crumpled playbill in his hand, his spiky hair a mottled red-black. Tree had returned to the playhouse an hour ago to retrieve the last of his special effects paraphernalia—particularly his flash pots and powders. Hearing someone come clattering down the stairs to the playhouse laboratory, he looked up, glowering. Rhu of Nerjii burst into the room. She was the stage manager for tonight's production of Rimble's Remedy. Seeing Tree's expression and furious shade of hair, she took a step backward. She held up the playbill in her hand, her voice tentative. «Uh—you saw it?» Tree grunted. «It's what I didn't see, Rhu. So I'm fired