The Wizard of Karres

jokes!'

'And that's another thing—you've got clowns in this play of yours, but they aren't wearing—'

'They're only called 'clowns,' Himbo,' Cravan said, wearily. Pausert got the feeling this was something that Himbo Petey had been told many times before. 'I've explained this to you in the past. They are not circus clowns. They do not wear paint, or clown-suits, or red noses, or big shoes. It is a term that means —'

'Well, if it means dunces and fools, then why don't you call them that?' Petey asked resentfully. 'Oh, never mind. I still think you should rewrite the ending of that Julioff and Rominette thing. People aren't going to like it, I tell you, and not even all those sword fights are going to appease them!'

After Himbo Petey bounced off, indignation in every step, Cravan put his head in his hands. 'One of the greatest classical tragedies of all time, and he wants me to rewrite the ending! Bad enough that I've changed the language to something less archaic, to satisfy him, now he wants me to rewrite a masterpiece!'

Pausert felt he understood why Himbo Petey was so upset. It was clear enough the Showmaster really didn't understand any plays, much less these. Petey couldn't grasp why people would be willing to sit for hours and watch live actors on a stage, with limited effects and scenery, when they could see the same story on holo, replete with special effects—and with no human actors who might forget their lines.

In truth, Pausert wasn't sure he understood it either, no matter how many times Dame Ethulassia tried to explain it to him. Petey was certain that displaying something that was going to make people cry instead of laugh was a bad idea; and while Pausert didn't agree with him entirely, he wondered just how many people would be willing to watch something so primitive, and so full of archaic language.

He reminded himself that, fortunately, the Petey B didn't often set down on sophisticated worlds where there were holo-theaters and threedee parlors, and a vidscreen for every room in your house. So maybe the audiences wouldn't have any objections.

Certainly the staged sword fights were exciting things. Richard Cravan plotted every single one of the moves and had all of the participants learn them to background music, so that it was all like a complicated dance, with the music telling you what to do. And if something happened and you missed a move, you didn't have to think about what was coming next; all you had to do was pick it up at the next beat.

When he wasn't worrying, Pausert was enjoying that part, far more than he'd expected to, but he was certain that his other act, the escapist act, wasn't going to come up to Himbo Petey's standards. He hadn't relled vatch in days, and while he thought he'd probably be able to replicate what the vatch had done, with Goth's help, he was afraid by this time that not relling vatch meant that the wretched little creature would turn up at the worst possible moment.

He was worried about a lot of other things, too. The ISS, for one. This new Nanite plague that Hantis had told them about, for another. The pirates. Why Karres had disappeared again. If he was ever going to get the Venture back.

Meanwhile, Hulik was also enjoying the situation—far more, in his personal opinion, than she should be. She had thrown herself into her four roles with astonishing enthusiasm, but it was the role of Juliet that she was really reveling in. She seemed to have forgotten all about their plight, the poor old Venture, and the urgent need to get to the Empress with whatever information that Hantis had.

As for Hantis herself, well, Pausert never had been able to tell what the Sprite was thinking anyway. He hoped she was as worried as he was, because everyone else, even Goth and the Leewit, was acting as if they really were children who had run away to join the circus.

Even Vezzarn! He didn't have an act at all, and as a consequence, didn't have much choice but to muck out animal cages to earn his way. But when Pausert asked him, in the middle of shoveling out several tons of fanderbag manure, if he wasn't nearly dying with eagerness to get the Venture fueled and fixed and get gone, he looked up with astonishment.

'What, Captain? And give up show business?'

Pausert could only throw up his hands and walk away.

* * *

Their first planetfall after Vaudevillia was a little agro-world called Hanson's Reach. Pausert was a little astonished by the backwardness of the place. Once you got a few miles from the port, people actually used animals for transportation.

Not farming, though. That was business, and animals couldn't do the work that an all-purpose combine could do. But the precious and expensive fuel was saved for farm machines. No one wasted it on the unimportant matter of getting people from here to there.

The Petey B set down just outside the port, landing as slowly as she'd taken off from Vaudevillia. Her descent was announced by a shower of bright-colored leaflets as they drifted over the landscape—or to be more precise, while the landscape drifted by underneath the Petey B. Using the lattice ship's inertial drives meant that Hanson's Reach rotated under them and they slowly matched up to the planetary rotation.

The leaflet were vivid bits of butterfly-bright paper that were cut and shaped to fly like little wings in all directions, They spread the word that the Petey B, home of Petey, Byrum and Keep, the Greatest Show In The Galaxy, was beginning a limited engagement on Hanson's Reach, setting down by special arrangement just outside the main center of population and commerce.

'Limited?' Pausert asked, since he'd heard of no set departure date.

Mannicholo shrugged. 'Limited to as long as their money holds out.'

The Petey B certainly provided a spectacle that was as good as a parade as they set down. And, once they were down, the set-up was a show in and of itself.

If Pausert hadn't been busy helping, he'd have wanted to watch. It looked as if every man, woman, and especially child that could possibly get to the showboat was standing out there, gawking. Stages were deployed, the stays and struts that held up the synthasilk of the tents popped open, tents were hauled up, canopies unfolded, bleachers and benches arrayed, rigging rigged and ropes winched tight, bunting and flags strung out to flap and snap in the breeze, and lastly, the huge banners depicting all the delights to be found within were dropped down to hang from every vertical surface—and all of it was done to a chant of 'Push 'em back! Haul 'em back! Take 'em back! Ho!'

What that was supposed to mean, nobody seemed to know. But it was effective, because it wasn't all autowinches and robot-pulleys that did the work, it was muscle and sweat of people and beasts. The huge fanderbags were hitched in teams to pull up the biggest tent-poles; grumbling and complaining, the humpities did the same for the smaller poles. And every hand that might be useful was put on a rope for the several hours it took to get the showboat up and running.

And when they were all finished, the Petey B looked very like the showboat of Pausert's memories: all bright-colored flags and banners and synthasilk veiling the workaday exterior of the lattice ship, so that it hardly looked like a thing that could go to space at all. And for the first time since they'd hitched up with the Petey B, Pausert began to feel a tingling sensation of dread and fear and excitement that had nothing whatsoever to do with all of the predicaments that had brought them here.

 

 

CHAPTER 13

The free Sedmon, still in the portside alleys of Gerota Town, had to pause and lean against the wall to cope with the nausea and the pain.

'What's up, chum?' said one of a pair of crop-haired spacers who had just turned the corner. 'Too much of the local rotgut?'

The Sedmons were now very wary of even the most innocuous seeming encounter. The free Sedmon watched these two with some caution. 'Just stomach cramps. I ate some dodgy local food.'

The other spacer grinned. 'Stick to the grog next time. At least you've got a decent excuse for being sick. You