Chicks - Did You Say Chicks Part 26

"Nebulous clouds of crepuscular twilight gleamed green in the thunderous sky as Gort the Barbarian wended his way down from the northern mountains," Mihlhauser began.

The girl beside me shuddered. "Does it all go on like that?"

"Nope," I said. "It gets worse."

Mihlhauser raised his voice a little. "In the decadent metropolis of Thunfungoria, the lasciviously apathetic minions of corruption's own queen, Agagaba the Diabolically Decadent, hustled and bustled in the marketplace with odious greed. I hope you all appreciate that poetic alliteration," he addded, "hustledand bustled? Pretty good, huh? I've got a real way with words." "Yeah, and Torquemada had a real way with suspected heretics," the girl beside me murmured. "He doesn't even know the difference between alliteration and rhyme!"

" 'Terminate your nefarious transactions,' Gort bellowed baldly, 'for Gort the Grand and Ill.u.s.trious has shown up out of the north to requite the misdoings perpetrated upon your inculpable prey!' He spurred his stallion over the prostrate bodies of the apprehensive priest-traders and with the tip of his sword sliced the shackles from an undraped slave girl whose bosom quiverered with ecstasy at the scrutiny of this puissant hero. Both her bosoms, actually."

The girl beside me sighed. "Somebody has to stop this. Out of respect for the English language, if nothing else. Mr. Mihlhauser!" she called out.

Mihlhauser stopped in the middle of a leering description of the slave-girl's navel. "Do I have to warn you again? Want to see me play baby-toss with this kid and the costume lady's prop sword?"

Sasulau gave an ominous hum as he reached for her, and I shuddered. She was angry; she wanted blood. And she might take the baby as her sacrifice. I was never entirely sure about Sasulau's ethics.

"Mr. Mihlhauser," the girl went on calmly, "I'm an editor with Arbor SingledayChimera, and what I've heard of your work so far has made a very strong impression on me."

Mihlhauser absentmindedly rested the baby on his shoulder. Miles gurgled happily and drooled down the writer's s.h.i.+rt collar. "It has?"

"An unforgettable impression," she said with a barely concealed wince. "I might go so far as to say I've never before heard prose with the rhythms and cadences you bring to it."

Mihlhauser squinted down at her name tag. "Hey. You're s.h.i.+tting me. Chimera already turned this book down."

"That," the girl said, "was before Singleday bought Chimera and Arbor bought Singleday and they broughtmein. If you'll send your ma.n.u.script back to us, Mr. Mihlhauser, marked Attn.: Dacia McConnell, I can promise you that your work will get the attention it deserves."

"Nauzu's Blood!You'reD. McConnell?" I exclaimed. "Why weren't you here half an hour earlier?"

"My plane was late. Don't distract me. If that jerk hurts Miles, one of my best writers will be too upset to produce for months. We can't afford to lose Lee Justin." She turned back to the front of the room.

"How about it, Mr. Mihlhauser? Or-" She snapped her fingers. "Say! I've got an even better idea! Why don't I just take that copy of your book now? I can read it tonight and we can talk contract terms tomorrow. I happen to know there's an opening on our spring list."

Mihlhauser teetered back and forth from the b.a.l.l.s of his toes to his heels in an agonized semi-dance of decision. Miles seemed to enjoy the movement; he grabbed the collar he'd been dribbling on and began gumming it like a puppy going after a large soup bone.

"Naah," Mihlhauser decided finally. "Why tie myself down to one house? You can listen to the reading like everybody else, then you can join the bidding. Hey, Skull, you tell those geeks outside I want this room's mikes patched into the sound system for the whole hotel. Let's give everybody a fair chance!" While Skull negotiated through the locked doors, Mihlhauser hefted the baby up higher on his shoulder, reopened the yellow paperback and resumed his reading. Dacia McConnell slumped down in her chair and sighed in frustration. On my other side, Norah alternated between rubbing her aching head, craning her neck to see if Lee had sat up yet, and staring hungrily at the baby in Mihlhauser's arms.

We were well into the first dumb fight scene, where Gort skewers a couple of city guards through the heart, when a glimmering of an idea came to me. "Mr. Mihlhauser, that's not such a great technique. You know, the heart is an awfully small target. Also you've got to get through the rib cage. Me, I prefer to take them in the abdomen. It's a nice big soft target, and any fighter knows how much a gut wound hurts, so even if you don't get them the first time they're running scared and they'll probably forget to protect their throats. Slash the throat and you've got them. Or if your employer wants them brought back alive, go after the legs and try to cripple them." That point was engraved on my memory; I'd once had avery embarra.s.sing discussion with Duke Zolkir after a call Trans-Forwarded from the PTA had distracted me in the middle of a swordfight so that I forgot to keep any of the thieves I was after alive long enough to stand trial.

Mihlhauser gave me a cold, reptilian glance. "Gort," he said, "is the worlds greatest swordsman. For him to pierce an opponent through the heart is child's play."

"Oh, yeah? You just don't know how hard it is. I bet you've never tried."

"I've done my research!" he snapped.

"And I'velivedmine."

Dacia McConnel grabbed my leather wrist-guard. "Are you crazy? Don't make him mad. He might hurt the baby."

"Trust me," I whispered, "I know what I'm doing."

Mihlhauser had resumed reading, but I knew I'd get another chance to badger him in a minute.Dacia seemed smart and cool; she could help me here. "Look," I said, barely moving my lips, "this is what I'm trying to get him to do. And then this is what'll happen next..."

"How do you know?"

"Because," I said smugly, "those who can, do... and Ican. Then whenthishappens, you'll be in a perfect place to..."

I barely had time to outline the plan to her before Mihlhauser had reached the next stupid fight scene.

"Uh, Mr. Mihlhauser? Excuse me, but it's not that easy to pierce chain mail. Sure, you can bruise your opponent pretty badly, especially if you keep hacking away at the same spot, but actually getting a blade through is another matter."

"Lady, will youstop interrupting? I've studied the matter in great detail, and..."

"Let's have a demonstration, then." I stood up, wriggling slightly so as to get maximum jingle from my chain-mail corselet and divided skirt. "I'm willing to come up on stage and let you try and skewer me."

"Well..." "You can even use that big heavy sword," I suggested, pointing at the specially weighted prop sword, "just like the one Gort would have had." I took two steps up to the dais on which the tables sat while I was talking. "And all I ask for to defend myself is this skinny little thing." As soon as my hand touched Sasulau, her joyous hum transmitted itself through my body. She knew, now, that she'd drink blood. And she was thirsty; it had been too long since she'd been drawn for anything but practice bouts.

"Or are you scared to fight a girrrl?" I added with a teasing pout and another strategic wriggle.

"What's in it for me?" Mihlhauser demanded. "You're not an editor; what can you do for me after I win?"

"If youwin," I said, winking, "you can name your own reward, sweetie."

That decided him. He thrust baby Miles down from the dais for his buddy Skull to hold and a.s.sumed a fighting pose, holding up the weighted prop sword in both hands. Even that way, his muscles quivered with the strain. "Here I am, baby," he called, "come and get me!"

I sidled around him, trying to look scared. "No, that's not the way it works. Aren't you supposed to try and poke me?"

Skull guffawed. "Oh, he'll do that later, little lady!"

Mihlhauser raised the sword over his head, preparing for a downward swipe. I'd counted on that; there wasn't much else you could do with something that heavy. If this had been a real fight, I'd have had Sasulau in and out of his skinny gut before he knew what happened to him. But I really didn't want to disembowel somebody in the middle of SalamanderCon. It might make a bad impression on my editor. I sliced into one of his thighs instead.

It wasn't that much of a cut; the best I'd been hoping for was that blood loss would slow him down so that I'd be able to take him out without doing too much more damage. But he yowled, dropped the sword and clapped one hand to his bleeding leg.

"Tell your buddy to give the baby back," I said, "and we're even."

"Thathurt!" Mihlhauser complained.

I guess he hadn't done all that much research.

"Well? It'll hurt more if I have to do it again, I promise you." I waggled Sasulau close enough for him to hear her thirsty song.

Mihlhauser's left eyelid developed a fast nervous tic. "Put that d.a.m.n thing down and we've got a deal."

I laid Sasulau back on the table-I wasn't going to sheathe her again until I'd cleaned her-and reached out as if to shake hands on our "deal."

"Look out, Riva!" Norah cried as his hand came up again from his hip, holding something small and black. "He's cheating!"

My half-opened hand met his and opened a slash of red across the wrist where my secondary blade, razor-sharp and small enough to fit in the palm of one hand, just touched him. The black thing fell to thefloor and exploded in a burst of sound that temporarily deafened me. I could see Norah's lips moving again; then something solid and heavy fell on my back.

Perfect.

A glance to my right showed me Dacia McConnell with Miles in her arms, backing slowly down the aisle away from the fight. Good girl.

I twisted slightly to one side, grabbed a ma.s.sive wrist and used Skull's own weight and momentum to flip him around and over. A crunching sound as he hit the floor suggested that the move might have dislocated his shoulder. Certainly he didn't appear to be in any hurry to get up again. As for Mihlhauser, he was crouched under the shattered table, moaning and nursing his two superficial cuts and crying for someone to get the medics.

I wiped Sasulau's blade on the tablecloth and sheathed her just asDacia reached and opened the double doors at the far end of the room.

We had a bit of confusion there, what with cops, EMT's, and con organizers all pouring in at once. With a couple of competent women directing things, though, it didn't take long to get priorities straight. A groggy Lee was reunited with Miles, the cops decided to accompany Mihlhauser and Skull to Seton Emergency, and the captive audience departed in all directions to unload the story of their ordeal on the nearest willing ear. It seemed the panelDacia was to've appeared on had been postponed "due to unavailability of meeting room," which I thought was an excellent example of the Paper-Pushers' art of telling the truth in a totally misleading way. So after Norah hugged me and dashed off to look after Lee andMiles,Dacia McConnell and I were left grinning at each other in a messy but momentarily empty room.

"That was a good idea after all,"Dacia allowed. "How did you know Skull would leap in to help his buddy?"

"They always do," I said.

"How did you know Mihlhauser was going to cheat?"

"Ididn't... butI always do. Fighting isn't a game; it's about winning. And sometimes," I added, thinking of a drooling baby, "it's really important to win."

"And you knew Skull would hand the baby to me?"

"I figured in the excitement of the moment, he'd naturally expect a woman to hold the baby, and you were the closest one. After all," I quoted from her letter, "most people think women are... how did it go... 'naturally nonviolent and nurturing.' "

Daciafrowned slightly, as though she knew she'd heard those words before and couldn't think where.

"Anyway," she said crisply, shaking off her momentary confusion, "I think we made a great team."

"I think so too," I agreed, "and I hope we can go on doing it."

"You want to go through something like thisagain?"

"No, I want to sell you a book. Remember the ma.n.u.script you rejected because you didn't believewomen knew anything about fighting?"

Dacia's eyes traveled to my name tag. "Riva Konneva... Uh-oh."

"I think uh-oh," I agreed, letting one hand rest on Sasulau's hilt. "Do you believe I know something about fighting now?"

Dacianodded slowly.

"And you did say you had an opening on your spring list."

"That was a bargaining point in a hostage situation," she protested.

"Well," I said, moving slightly so that I stood between her and the door, "I'd hate to think that a writer's best chance of being published is to take hostages rather than to negotiate in a civilized manner."

"I'm sure we can work something out,"Dacia said quickly.

The hotel staff showed up then to clean out the room for the banquet, so she was never in any danger, not really. But we did establish a mutually agreeable deal.

I had to use some stupid pen name because she thought "Riva Konneva" was too hard for most Americans to p.r.o.nounce, but they bought the book and published it. It's out in the stores right now, in fact.

Youaregoing to buy a copy, aren't you? I'd hate to have to argue with you about it. Surely we can work something out.

EPILOGUE.

Yes! We Did Say Chicks!

Adam-Troy Castro

On the fourth day of his Quest, beset by a raging storm, the brave Sir Rodney sought refuge in a humble barn.

He slept on a bed of straw, woke early the next morning, donned his battle armor, and resumed his treacherous journey.

But even before he climbed the next ridge, he began to fidget uncomfortably. He frowned. Twitched. Looked first startled and then embarra.s.sed.

Whereupon he returned to the barn, laboriously removed his armor, and coaxed out six recent hatchlings, who had fallen asleep in his tunic during the night.

This was not a very promising start to the day.

But he was not the first brave knight forced to contend with... Chicks in Chainmail.

About the Authors

Walter Vance Awsten is a retired high school teacher and sometime essayist who took up writing fantasy stories because in his opinion it beats the heck out of golf or soap operas as a way to pa.s.s the time. His work has previously appeared inAdventures into the Twilight Zone, and like everyone else, he's working on a novel; he took time off from it to collaborate with his former student Christina Briley. He lives in a decaying farmhouse in ruralNew Jersey , alone except for his three cats-Adolf, Hermann, and Josef.

Margaret Ball lives inAustin,Texas with her husband, two children, three cats, one dog, and a constantly changing a.s.sortment of ferrets, turtles, and other small animals. She has a B.A. in mathematics and a Ph.D. in linguistics from theUniversityofTexas . After graduation she taught at UCLA and then spent several years honing her science fiction and fantasy writing skills by designing computer software and making inflated promises about its capacities. When not writing she plays the flute, makes strange beaded and quilted objects, and feeds the pets.

Mark Bourne has sold fiction toAsimov's Science Fiction, Fantasy & Science Fiction, and anthologies such asFull Spectrum 5, Sherlock Holmes in Orbit, Alternate Tyrants, and of course the originalChicks in Chainmail. Novels are coming-honest. Wielding a barbarian pa.s.sion for astronomy, Mark has provided nonfiction articles for magazines and scripts for videos, TV, science museum exhibits, and planetarium shows nationwide. He's merrily married to artist Elizabeth Lawhead Bourne, who-like Xora-looks greatin leather. You can find him online athttp://www.sff.net/people/MBourne .

Christina Briley was born, raised, and still resides in the Greater Boston area. The third of four daughters, she grew up in a large, old house full of books and cats. After a brief, unfinished college stint as a clothing and textiles major, and a long, decidedly finished stint as a wife, she now lives, with her three children and two cats, in an even older, larger house where she makes wedding gowns for a living.New to the writing business, she tends to write what she knows, which, in addition to cats, wedding gowns, parenting, and old houses, includes dancing, vintage stuff, obnoxious husbands, and, at long last, really wonderful love affairs.