“Wanna stay and watch the fights?” Garfield muttered with a smirk.
“Better not,” Will interjected. “Hugh commented that Quinlans are inclined to mob. A simple fight between two people can escalate quickly for no good reason.”
“More so than humans?” Garfield asked.
“Maybe. How about that? Humanity dethroned is most likely to be stupid in large groups.”
I grinned, but didn't bother to respond. Will had ended up with a particularly negative view of the human species, after his adventures in getting the last of them off the dying Earth. Other than our relatives, whom he continued to dote on, he had very little time for the general run of humanity.
“Heads up,” Bridget interjected. “Cops.”
We all prairie dogged.
“Brilliant move, way to play it cool, guys.”
As a heavyset Quinlan sporting an ornate sash swaggered up to us, I struggled to keep my face and ears impassive a waddling swagger was a truly impressive sight. He took a moment to look us over, his gaze lingering on Bridget. She stared back at him impassively, neither challenging nor acquiescing. I had to admit, it was a nice balancing act. But if he talked down to her, we might be leaving town in a hurry. Or on a rail.
“You folks just passing through?”
I stepped forward. By prior agreement, I would be the spokes-critter for the group. “We are, good sir. We are on a sabbatical, making our way slowly downriver.”
“Where from?”
“Handavar,” I replied. “I doubt you've heard of it, our last few stops hadn't.”
“I was taking a chance, but maybe not a large one. Quinlans were far more mobile than Anglo-Saxon peasants, for instance, but mass transportation was still unknown, as far as we could tell. And the high-speed transport built into Heaven’s River was inaccessible to the residents in every segment we'd investigated.
“More sabbatarians.” The cop screwed up his face and apparent distaste. “If you plan on staying for more than a couple of days, you’ll have to register with the magistrate. Otherwise, stick to the transient hotels and eateries along the docks. And don't cause trouble, or you’ll be leaving earlier than planned.”
He gave us a final once over, nodded again, and swaggered away.
“Did you notice the weapon?” Bridget asked.
We muttered acknowledgments.
“Couldn't tell exactly what particular style of sword,” I said, “but the scabbard had a certain short sword look to it.”
“That means they do some metalwork, which means they have metal. Other than the money, I mean.”
Garfield cocked his head quizzically. “Uh, maybe I should have read the prelims more thoroughly. This is a surprise, why?”
“What are they gonna do, mine it?” I glared at him. It's like Ring World, right? No mineral wealth, no oil deposits, unless they actually scavenge from the structure, they’re limited to recycling what they already have, and there's very little actual metal in the structure, even if they were that stupid. Which means metal is going to be very valuable.”
“The megastructure administration could be supplying metal in small quantities,” Will said. “Maybe pushing out nuggets at stream heads for instance. Although that would produce messy industries engaged in harvesting it.”
Bridget nodded. “In any case, dedicating all that metal to a sword tells me that the sword is really really necessary, either as a symbol, or a threat, or a weapon.”
We’d been walking through the village as we talked looking for a motel or local equivalent. Without warning, a Quinlan quartet spilled out of what might've been a bar. The ball-o-Quinlans was rolling around like a bunch of angry cats, kicking and biting and scratching. And swearing. Quinlan cursing was both inventive and energetic. The Quinlan language allowed some forms of declension that went well with cursing, including a noun form that indicated it was the subject of an action.
One of the Quinlans was ejected from the mass, mostly by accident, and leapt to his feet. He glared around teeth bared, and spotted Bridget who had the bad luck to be within arm’s reach. He snarled at her and cocked his arm for a full claw rake.
Without so much as a lead up, Bridget popped him straight in the snout. He went over backward with a shriek of dismay, and the other Quinlans stopped in mid action.
Bridget showed her teeth to the group. “Anyone else?”
The group untangled and helped their fourth, who was holding his snout to his feet.
“What was that?” one of them said.
“My business card,” Bridget replied. “I have more than enough for everyone.”
She paused, and when no response was forthcoming, she stalked off without waiting for us. We made to follow, and I shrugged to one of the combatants as I walked past.
He muttered to me, “When mating season comes, friend, choose carefully.”
I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, so I didn't respond. Garfield, meanwhile, had moved ahead, and turned into an establishment with a carving of a bed over the door. By the time I caught up, he was engaged in earnest conversation with what must be the proprietor. We waited, and moments later he rejoined us.
“We’re in luck. This establishment has private rooms large enough for our group. Highly sought-after, according to our host, which is why he wanted a ruinously high nightly rate. We compromised on an only mildly scandalous weekly rate.”
He held up a key. “Only one key though so… I am the key master.”
Bill chuckled and Bridget, as usual, rolled her eyes.
I had to wonder what life was like for her, with Howard. Even for a Bob clone, he had an unusually high dose of reference-it is. I hoped the eye rolls were pro forma.
On the other hand, she was getting the references.
The room was… cozy. That being the generally accepted euphemism for ‘smaller than a closet’. It consisted of a door at one end, a window at the other, and four bunk beds, two on each wall between the door and window.
