others. 'Like this?'
'No!' they screamed again.
'Well, gee, then.' Jack caught the two lowest potatoes as they came down, one in each hand, and sent them back into the air. 'In that case—' he caught the third, tossed it up through the center of the pattern '—I don't know—' the two potatoes came down again, and he sent them back up '—what else to do.'
He waited until the smattering of applause had faded, then switched to a more standard three-ball rotation. 'My uncle taught me that one,' he said, shifting this time to a circle pattern. 'I had another uncle who was cross- eyed. Let me show you how he juggled.'
He went through his juggling routine, then switched to some sleight-of-hand tricks. The last time he'd done this, back when he and Draycos had stumbled into a Wistawki bonding ceremony on the Vagran Colony, he'd had the dragon there to help with the performance.
Now, of course, Draycos had to stay out of sight across his back. And much as it hurt to admit it, the act wasn't nearly as good without him.
But the audience didn't care. So starved for entertainment were these people that practically anything he did would have been greeted with the same excitement. He could have spent a whole hour doing cross-eyed juggler jokes, and gotten just as much applause. Even Fleck was watching from the back of the crowd, an odd look on his face.
He went through the card tricks, and the coin tricks, and the pea-under-the-cups tricks that Uncle Virge had taught him all those years ago. The slaves were loving it; but to Jack's increasingly worried annoyance, the audience he'd really hoped for was nowhere in sight. If they didn't show soon, all this would have been for nothing.
Mostly for nothing, anyway. Greb and Grib, at least, would probably never forget it.
He kept the show going for over an hour before privately giving up, and was on his last few lines of patter when he felt the warning touch of dragon claws on the back of his arm. Turning casually back to the table, he spotted what Draycos's sharp K'da ears had already picked up: an approaching car.
And in it were Crampatch and his spoiled daughter. Here to pick up a new toy.
'But as my cousin Fred on my Aunt Louise's side would say, when you need a cross-eyed juggler, there's never one around,' he said, revving back up to full speed again. Scooping up the potatoes, he launched into an extra- complex juggling routine he'd saved just for this moment. After that came two more card tricks, one more rope trick, and finally another short juggling routine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the two Brummgas watching, as fascinated as everyone else.
Finally, he judged it was time to end the show. If Crampatch and his daughter weren't hooked by now, they never would be. 'And that, ladies and gentlemen and honored Jantri guests, completes the afternoon's entertainment,' he said, bowing deeply three times. 'I hope you enjoyed the show; and I really hope someone knows where my laundry is. Thank you again.'
The audience exploded into a wild racket of applause, cries, hoots, grunts, whistles, and squawks. Jack bowed again and again, all the time keeping an eye on the two Brummgas. The daughter seemed very insistent about something...
Eventually, he stopped bowing, and the audience broke up. Sort of broke up, anyway. While most of the slaves headed back to their other activities, several of them came up to thank Jack personally for the show.
Naturally, Greb, Grib, and Noy were right there in front. The Jantri twins were in the middle of their third round of thank-yous when Fleck bulled his way through the crowd. 'Come on,' he said, wiggling a finger at Jack. 'Crampatch wants you.'
'What about?' Jack asked, squeezing Greb and Grib's shoulders one last time as he stepped to Fleck's side.
'Interesting show,' the big man said as he led Jack through the milling slaves toward Crampatch and his daughter. 'You're not like anyone else we've ever had here. What else can you do?'
'You'd be surprised,' Jack assured him. 'What does Crampatch want?'
Fleck snorted under his breath. 'His daughter wants a new toy,' he said sourly.
'You're it.'
'I'm honored,' Jack said.
'Don't be,' Fleck warned. 'You think they treat us badly here, just wait until they get you to the house.'
Jack rubbed his face where the Brummga's slapstick had hit him. 'I can hardly wait,' he murmured.
'Yeah,' Fleck grunted. 'Just watch yourself.'
CHAPTER 13
They took him through the gap in the hedge and back across the beautifully textured and cared-for Chookoock family grounds. In the daylight, Jack saw, the landscape was even more impressive than it had been at night. He also spotted several clumps of bushes that could easily be concealing guard posts.
At a small side door to the house, Crampatch turned him over to a tall, wiry Wistawk wearing a garish outfit in multiple shades of green and purple.
Across his chest he wore the same red sash as Fleck. 'Get it ready,' Crampatch ordered, jerking a thumb at Jack. 'And don't forget to hose it down. It stinks.'
'Understood, Your Chanterling,' the Wistawk said, bowing low. 'Your Thumbleness,' he added, bowing to the daughter. The two Brummgas left. 'This way, human,' the Wistawk said, gesturing Jack in through the door.
A short corridor led them into the back of a large kitchen. A very large kitchen, in fact, far bigger than Jack would have expected even for a mansion this size. It was well equipped, too, with at least four cooking surfaces, six fire ovens, and four microwave ovens nestled in among the various work spaces and countertops. Off in one corner was an even bigger extravagance: a huge radiation oven nearly as big as the hotbox back in the slave colony. Probably for cooking whole animals.
In a pinch, it might also make a good emergency hiding place. Provided, of course, that he remembered to get out before they started cooking something.
Twenty or so slaves were already at work there, no doubt preparing the Chookoock family dinner. Most were hurrying around carrying pots and pans, or were at various work areas mixing or measuring or molding food into odd shapes.
Another group was off at the three huge sinks cleaning up pans from previous cooking efforts.
Standing at a small recipe-storage desk, looking rather like the eye in the middle of a hurricane, was another Wistawk wearing a red sash. He was holding up a delicate-looking pastry and speaking into a portable recorder attached to a corner of the desk. Probably preparing the daily report, Jack decided, or possibly adding a new recipe to the collection.
'I am Heetoorieef,' his guide identified himself as they exited the far side of the kitchen into a well-stocked pantry. 'I am in charge of the household slaves.
What are you?'
'I'm Noy,' Jack told him. 'It's nice to meet you.'
'Yes,' Heetoorieef murmured, pulling an electronic notepad from behind his sash and scribbling something on it. 'Your room is with the rest of the slave quarters downstairs. I warn you it smells of paint—the Dolom who was in there last had been painted quite thoroughly by Her Thumbleness.'
' 'Her Thumbleness?' '
'That is how you will address her,' Heetoorieef said, a bit tartly. 'You will not be here long at any rate; but addressing any of the Brummgas wrongly will make that stay extremely unpleasant.'
He half turned and looked Jack up and down. 'I don't believe she's ever chosen a
human before. What exactly are you good for?'
'I was doing a magic show when she spotted me,' Jack told him, deciding not to take offense at the question. Heetoorieef was trying to be civil, he knew. He just didn't do it very well. Probably all that time spent with Brummgas. 'I can juggle some, too.'
'I see,' Heetoorieef said. His tone was still polite, but Jack could tell he really didn't much care one way or the other.
