Being a Green Mother

Chapter 8 & 9

Chapter 8 - Jonah
  Luna was in touch with sundry professionals, and set the new group up with a bookkeeper who would stay in touch and handle their bookings and records. She was Mrs. Glotch, a grandmotherly woman of unquestioned competence and integrity. She refused to travel, but would be on constant call, and would update them whenever they called in. If an emergency arose, she would search them out; Luna gave Orb a stone that would serve as a beacon, so that Mrs. Glotch could always locate her geographically.
  But how would they travel? The boys had blithely assumed that they would rent a bus and fit it out with beds and a kitchen, so they could live on the road. "No way I get in that bus!" Lou-Mae declared. "I'm a good girl!"
  Orb was less concerned about her morals or safety, because of her amulet, but shared the girl's disinclination for this type of travel. "Why not use commercial transport and hotels?" she asked.
  "You know what they cost!" the drummer demanded. "And I won't trust my organ to shipping," the organist added, "It'd arrive broken, in the wrong city."
  "It sure would!" the guitarist exclaimed, and he and the drummer broke into crude laughter, while the organist looked nettled.
  Orb exchanged a glance with Lou-Mae. Had they missed something? Then Orb realized that there was more than one meaning of the word "organ," and caught the point.
  They did seem to have a case. Money should be no problem, with the bookings they could now get, but the problems of shipping were notorious. They needed their own transportation.
  They considered renting a railway car, but the ones they were shown were ancient and bug-ridden, and the tracks did not go to many cities, and schedules were erratic. They considered a private airplane, but the cost was horrendous, and the chambers crowded; in addition, the guitarist was afraid to fly. They considered a mobile home, but Lou-Mae declared that to be little more than a mobile bedroom and would have no part of it.
  Luna hated to admit it, but the boys' original notion of a revamped bus seemed to be the only feasible mode. But Lou-Mae remained adamant; she had a thing against buses, somehow believing that she would be confined to the rear if not actually molested. "But I'll see that no one bothers you," the drummer assured her. "You're the one I'm afraid of, Danny-Boy!" she retorted. Then she kissed him.
  The others nodded. Lou-Mae had liked the drummer ever since that first song together and had dubbed him Danny-Boy after their success with Londonderry Air. But she regarded it a sin to be intimate with a man outside of marriage, and a lesser sin to have the opportunity for such intimacy, even if it was scrupulously avoided. She was, perhaps, afraid of herself. She represented an ideal standard, and the boys respected that without quite understanding it. The bus was out. But what else offered?
  "There is magic," Luna said. "A big carpet—"
  "Not on your life!" the guitarist exclaimed. "We'd be blown off!" His fear of flying seemed worse with the prospect of an open carpet.
  "Or a dragon-drawn wagon—"
  "Can't trust a dragon," the organist asserted. "Those reptiles are only waiting their chance to turn and toast you. Half of 'em hid out in Hell when magic was banned, and the evil never did get out of 'em. Sure, the drivers use safety spells, but spells can glitch."
  "Perhaps unicorns, then."
  "They can't be controlled," the drummer said. " 'Cept by a—" He paused, his eye turning on Lou-Mae. "Then again—"
  "I always adored unicorns," the black girl confessed. "Yeah, but if she—if something happened to—where'd we be then?" the organist demanded, looking sternly at the drummer. "Way out nowhere with a pair of enraged unicorns!"
  "What do you mean, if something happened" Lou-Mae exclaimed angrily. "I tell you, nothing could—" But then she looked at the drummer, who was trying to stifle a blush. "I mean, nothing would—well, not likely, anyway." Now she seemed to be attempting her own blush, though her dark skin protected her. "Maybe we'd better pass on the unicorns."
  "Maybe I'd better consult with the local Gypsies," Orb said. "They surely know how to travel with baggage."
  "You're a Gypsy?" the guitarist inquired. "I always thought it would be nice to live in wagons and rip off the... I mean—"
  Orb smiled. "Gypsies do what they have to, to survive. They aren't bad people, but they don't like to be tied down."
  "I know the feelin'," he said.
  "Come with me, if you want, and we'll see what they have to say."
  "Well, sure, okay!" he agreed, pleased.
  Orb's carpet would hold two in a pinch, but there was no way the guitarist would get on it, so they took a taxi to the next township, where a band of Gypsies was passing. They decided to take their instruments along, because Gypsies always responded to music.
  It was a disappointment. These Gypsies wore ragged but conventional clothes and drove battered cars. On top of that, they were surly and suspicious of strangers. "Get away from here, woman," one snapped. "We've got trouble enough."
  "But I have lived among you, in Europe!" she said. "I speak the language!"
  "Yeah? Speak the language."
  "I am looking for good transportation," she said in Calo.
  They looked blankly at her. Then one old woman nodded. "It's the old tongue," she said. "But we've almost forgotten it, here, and the young ones never teamed it."
  "Oh." Orb tried to mask her disappointment. "But perhaps you can help me anyway. All I want is information on—"
  "You can't use a car or carpet?"
  "We have a group of five, with instruments. One won't ride a bus, and one won't fly. We'd prefer to travel together, if we can agree on how to do it."
  "You know Gypsy ways?"
  "As I said, in Europe—"
  "Can you dance?"
  Oh. "I know the tanana," Orb said guardedly. "But—"
  The woman laughed. "But you can't dance it! You'd die of shame. Because you're not a Gypsy, just an observer."
  "That's right. But I do respect the Gypsy ways, though they are not mine. Can you help me?"
  "Maybe, girl, maybe. You know of Jonah?" 'Who?"
  "The fish that swallowed Jonah."
  "Oh, you mean the whale? In the Bible?"
  "The fish. He was damned for that, but not in Hell. Damned to swim the air and earth, but never the water, until the Llano sets him free of his guilt."
  "The Llano! You know of it?"
  "Of it. Not much more. You seek it?"
  "Yes!"
  "Then you're in luck. Jonah may help you. He's sleeping in Clover Mountain. Call him out, do the dance, and if he likes you he'll swim for you. Most of the time."
  "Afishfldoa't—"
  "He's what you want, if you can win him over. We tried to get him, but we're not pure Gypsies anymore, and—"
  "Move!" a man called. "They're comin'!"
  Instantly the gypsies, men, women, and children, piled into their cars, and the cars cranked up, sputtered, and got moving. As this occurred, three trucks roared in, filled with men. They had shotguns, and looked angry.
  "Get outta here, girl!" the old gypsy woman screamed at Orb as her car squealed away.
  Two of the trucks careened after the fleeing Gypsies, the shotguns firing. The third skewed toward Orb and the guitarist.
  "Run!" Orb cried, realizing the danger they were in.
  They ran. They cut across a ragged field, but the truck pursued, bumping across ruts and churning up turf. "There's two!" a man yelled.
  "Kill 'em!"
  "Naw! One's a slut! Lay 'er first!"
  They crossed a gully, then a ridge, and half-slid down the other side. The truck screamed to a halt, balked by the terrain. "Catch 'em afoot!" a man yelled. "They can't cross th' rapids!"
  The rapids? Now Orb heard the sound of spuming water. Already her breath was rasping, and her side was developing a stitch. She stumbled, and the guitarist caught her and helped her along. "How'd we get into this?" he gasped.
  "They must," she gasped, "have stolen a horse or a girl. Now they're scattering. But we—"
  "Behind the eight-ball!" he finished. "But we're not Gypsies!"
  "I think one of us will get raped and the other killed before they find out," she puffed. She was not at all certain that her amulet would protect her from this; it had never been tested against more than one person at a time.
  He heaved out a laugh. "Wonder which'll get which?"
  Then they came up against the rapids. The water charged past like an express train, throwing out spray. The bank dropped steeply to it, beset by rocks and boulders. There was no safe way across.
  "The carpet!" Orb cried, wriggling out of her knapsack and dumping it on the ground. The little carpet unrolled immediately. "Get on!"
  "I can't get on that!" he protested. "I can't fly!"
  Now the pursuing men crested the hill. "There they are!"
  The guitarist stood frozen, petrified by both alternatives. The men charged down the slope.
  Orb grabbed her companion by the shoulders and shoved him onto the carpet. "Sit down!" she cried in his ear.
  Numbed, he obeyed, holding his cased guitar in his arms before him. She jumped on behind him, spreading her legs to circle his body, putting her arms around him. She willed the carpet aloft.
  It lifted as the first man arrived. "Hey!" the man cried as the carpet with its burden almost banged into him. Then he grabbed for it.
  Orb swung out with her left arm, cracking him on the neck. She did it without thinking and was appalled at herself even as the shock ran up her arm. Then she willed the carpet out toward the river, gaining effective elevation in a hurry as the land dropped away.
  The guitarist stared down. "Geez!" he exclaimed, and tried to scramble off the carpet.
  "Stop it!" Orb hissed into the back of his head. "You'll overbalance it!" Indeed, the carpet, overloaded, was already tilting scarily.
  The guitarist tried to shrink into himself. "Worse'n a bad trip!" He shuddered.
  "Just shut your eyes and keep still!" Now they were over the turbulent water, sinking slowly. The carpet was doing its best, but double weight was too much for it.
  "Don't let 'em get away!" a man cried.
  Orb didn't dare look back. She urged the carpet on across. It obeyed unsteadily.
  There was a bang. They were shooting! Orb did what she had to do—she guided the carpet slightly down and forward, so that it could gain velocity in the descent.
  "Aaaahh!" the guitarist cried as the bottom seemed to drop out. "Geez Keerist!"
  Orb clapped her hands over his eyes, as if shielding a baby from a bright light. "Relax, it's all right, relax," she said. She felt moisture on her fingers: he was crying. Then she hugged him.
  It worked. He relaxed slightly, feeling somewhat secure in her embrace.
  Another shot sounded. Then the carpet cut through the spume at the water's verge, seemed virtually to skip the surface, and plowed into the far bank. They tumbled off, brought up short by the slope.
  A third shot sounded, and there was the thud of something striking the bank nearby. At least they weren't good marksmen!
  "Go there!" Orb cried, hauling on the man, shoving him in the right direction. He scrambled as directed, and they dived behind a great spray of water from a boulder in the river, finding cover from the party on the other side. They were safe for the moment.
  The guitarist stared at the river. "You should have left me," he husked. "I almost got you killed."
  "I couldn't do that!" Orb exclaimed indignantly.
  "You know I'm worthless, hooked on H. Wouldn't have been much loss."
  "Now stop that!" she snapped. "You—" But there wasn't much encouragement she could make, because he really did not have much to recommend him. "You're a fine musician."
  "I'm a zilch musician! Only time I play well is when you're spreading your magic. That's you, not me." He pondered a moment. "But I'll make it up to you somehow, I swear! What little I am, I owe to you, and my life, too."
  "I'll be satisfied if you just get off the H."
  He rolled over and put his face in the ground. "God! If only I could!"
  "You can't just stop?"
  "You don't know what it's like!"
  "You're right, I don't. If I wanted to stop a thing, I would simply stop it, I think."
  He lifted his face to stare at her. Dirt crusted it; he looked almost like a zombie. Then, with a convulsive movement, he reached into a pocket and brought out a packet. "Then take it! It's all I've got! Don't let me have it!"
  Orb took the packet with a certain revulsion. "Your life is ruined for this?"
  "You got it, sister."
  Orb tucked the packet away. "Then I will hold it for you. I will be pleased if you never ask for it back."
  He did not reply. He simply set his face back in the dirt.
  After a time the pursuers gave up, as they were unable to cross the river. Orb heard their truck departing. However, she had not spent time with the gypsies without learning a trick or two. "I think we had better not cross back," she said. "Someone could be lurking."
  "Right," the guitarist said, relieved. He did not want to be airborne again. He recovered his instrument and shouldered the strap.
  Orb considered. "I think I might climb this bank, but I would prefer to use my carpet. If you prefer to climb—"
  "Gotcha," he said, and began to scramble up.
  Orb settled on the carpet with her harp and his guitar and willed herself aloft. Now the carpet responded alertly, having recovered from its prior overload. Soon she was at the top, watching the guitarist catch up.
  "Now I am not sure just where we are," she said. "But it would be foolhardy to try to return to our taxi, even if it weren't for the river, and I rather suspect that the nearby town would not be safe for us either. I think we would do best to go in an unexpected direction."
  "Like what?"
  "Like Clover Mountain. It must be near here. To find the fish."
  "I'm game," he said.
  "Why don't I continue carrying your guitar on the carpet, leaving you free to walk?" she suggested.
  He was glad to agree; he did not want to get on the carpet again. He dusted himself off, and she floated up to about head height. "The mountain, slowly," she said to the carpet, speaking aloud for the guitarist's benefit.
  The carpet quivered, reorienting. Then it set off roughly north. Orb was relieved that this was not toward the river.
  "It knows?" the guitarist asked. "Just like that?"
  "It can follow simple directives, yes," she said. "I don't know where the Clover Mountain is, but it can zero in on any identified location. It's very handy that way."
  "Magic is nice," he agreed.
  She floated at a walking pace, and he walked. The terrain was uneven but not rugged, now that they were away from the river. They made decent progress and in an hour reached the foot of the mountain. It was now late afternoon; there would be time to verify whether the fish was here. Orb really did not know what to expect.
  "I suppose I should just call him," she said. "Then, if he appears, I'll have to, er, dance."
  "What's so bad about dancing?"
  "It is a rather special sort of dance." She nerved herself, then put her hands to her mouth and called "Jonah!"
  There was a vibration in the mountain. For a moment Orb was afraid that a tremor or earthquake was starting. Then something brownish and monstrous swam out of the slope and into the air.
  The two of them stared. It was a giant fish—swimming through rock and air as if both were water. The Gypsy woman had spoken truly!
  The fish slowly circled in the air, then came to hover before Orb. It waited.
  Orb was suddenly abashed. "I never really thought—what can I do now?"
  "Dance," the guitarist said, his voice rough.
  She looked at him—and was surprised. He looked haggard. "What happened to you? If I had realized the walk was so hard on you—"
  " 'Snot that. I'm outta condition, but—" he shrugged.
  She caught on. "The H! You're suffering withdrawal!"
  "You got it, sister."
  "You look awful!"
  "I feel awful. But there's no way to do it but to do it. You better get dancing before that fish gets mad."
  "Oh. Yes. But—"
  "You need music," he said. "And you can't play your harp, 'cause you're dancing. That's where I come in." He was taking out his guitar.
  He started to play, but his hands were trembling so badly that the notes were horrors of discordance. He concentrated, but still could not do it. His face was ashen.
  "How can you be so far gone, so quickly?" Orb asked, appalled.
  "S-spelled H is fast," he said, his teeth chattering.
  It sounded like a stutter, and that did something to Orb. She had loved a stutterer! "Take it!" she cried, flinging the packet at him. Her endurance had been less than his, and she hadn't even been the one experiencing it!
  He pounced on it. "Geez, I tried, I tried!" he muttered. "But H just don't let go!" He took a pinch of the powder in the packet and brought it to his nose and sniffed.
  The effect was remarkable. In a few seconds his countenance cleared, and his breathing subsided. He took up the guitar and strummed, and the chord was perfect. "What song?"
  "Any song," Orb said. "What I'm about to do is almost as hard for me as staying off the H was for you."
  "Yeh." He played, and the sound was good, though not with the magic Orb had.
  Yet she needed magic! She knew that she had to do a dance that would convince the big fish she was a Gypsy, and her natural resistance to the appalling suggestiveness of the dance would destroy the effect, for true Gypsies were uninhibited about sexual matters. Magic could enable her to do it.
  "Magic!" she said urgently to the guitarist.
  He shook his head. "I told you, I'm nothing by myself. When you're singing and playing, it comes, but—"
  "Let it come!" she hissed, taking hold of his shoulder and shaking it.
  Suddenly there was magic in his playing. Her touch had done it. The notes of the guitar made the very ground resonate, and the grass of the slope and the leaves of the nearby trees swayed to the beat. The monstrous body of the fish quivered, responding to it.
  She removed her hand. There seemed almost to be a band of electricity connecting them, and the magic continued. Only one guitar was playing, physically, but it seemed like a thousand. "Geez," the guitarist murmured under his breath.
  The fish still hovered, watching. Orb arranged her clothing, hitching up her skirt and tightening her blouse, making her body more salacious than she cared to. But this was the way of the tanana, and she had to do it.
  Then she went into the dance, treating the fish as a partner, imagining it to be a dark Gypsy man who matched her moves with his own. She expected to be stiff, for she was tired and this was a dance she had never expected to do before any audience whatever, but the rhythm of it caught her up, and she found herself performing. She was a Gypsy lass, dancing to provoke a man to passion!
  She thrust out her hip, turned, and shot a sidelong glance at him, inhaled, whirled, and moved her hips again. Body and glance, leap and pose, breast and buttock and whirling hair—the tanana was taking her where it would, inciting the erotic response. She had never before felt so completely wanton, not even when in the act of love itself; the suggestion was more potent than the reality. She became shameless, inviting, lascivious, assuming poses that would have completely alienated her if performed by another. It was the tanana! At last, exhausted and exhilarated, she finished. She had done her best and her worst; let the fish make of it what it might. The guitarist let the last note fade, his eyes locked on Orb, his jaw slack; he seemed mesmerized.
  "And we want to find the Llano," she gasped as she stopped.
  The fish considered. Then it descended slowly to the level of the ground, and slightly below it, so that its mouth was flush with the earth. Its body overlapped without seeming resistance; there seemed to be no reality of soil for it, just the psychic water in which it swam.
  It opened its mouth. Its throat was a vast long cave, dry and bright.
  "We're supposed—to go in?" Orb asked, amazed. "To be swallowed by the fish?"
  Jonah merely waited. "Better do it," the guitarist said. "The thing could snap us up quickly enough any time it wanted to." He seemed much less affected by this than by the spectacle of the dance.
  They entered the monstrous mouth, carrying their instruments and the carpet. They walked down the cave.
  Deep within, it opened into a lighted chamber. There were projections that resembled chairs and tables and even couches.
  The guitarist plumped down in one. "Home, James!" he said.
  The fish moved. Orb hastily took a seat by the wall. The scales here were translucent; she could see out.
  The landscape outside was moving. Rather, Jonah was moving, swimming through air, smoothly traversing the route.
  "We're flying," Orb said. "Doesn't that bother you?"
  "We're swimming," the guitarist said. "That doesn't bother me. I feel safe, here."
  Surprisingly quickly, they arrived at the city. Orb peered out, looking at the people, but the people seemed to be unaware of the huge fish. As with Mortis the horse, it was in effect invisible to ordinary folk.
  Jonah nudged up to Luna's estate and stopped. The two griffins flew up, squawking alarm. The fish ignored them; to it they were like flies, beneath notice.
  Orb walked up the hallway that was the throat. The mouth opened, and she stood looking down on the grounds. "It's all right!" she called.
  The griffins recognized her, doing twin double-takes, then settled down.
  The guitarist approached, took one look out the mouth, and backed away. "Maybe you can have it go down," he said.
  "Oh. Yes," Orb agreed. She had been so intrigued by the situation that she hadn't thought of the obvious. "Down, Jonah, if you please."
  The fish slowly sank, coming to rest in alignment with the lawn. They stopped out as Luna appeared.
  "Well," Luna said. "You seem to have found your transportation."
  "We seem to," Orb agreed. "Jonah, this is Luna; Luna, meet Jonah."
  "So pleased to make your acquaintance," Luna said formally. The fish made the slightest wiggle of a fin; perhaps that was acknowledgement.
  "The Gypsies told us about him," Orb explained. "He is looking for the Llano, too."
  "Yes. I did some spot research when I realized how you were approaching. But you know this fish is not completely reliable."
  "But not dangerous?"
  "Not to you or those you accept. It's just that this is not a servant, but rather an ally, and sometimes your interests may not coincide. I wasn't able to ascertain more than that."
  "Sometimes I wish our futures weren't clouded," Orb muttered. "Then we could read them for ourselves and avoid a lot of mischief."
  "It is a necessary protection, I'm sure," Luna said. "My father seldom made errors in judgment about magical matters." She contemplated the huge fish a moment more. "Well, let's get your things moved in."
  "Just like that?" Orb inquired, raising an eyebrow.
  "Mrs. Glotch has bookings piling up; I told her to start scheduling them, because you have solved the problem of transportation."
  "You have confidence in us, Moth!" Orb said, smiling.
  "Of course I do, Eyeball!" Luna agreed. Then they exchanged a sisterly hug.
  They moved Orb's things in. The big fish turned out to have a number of compartments separated by bony walls that served nicely as private rooms, and there was a lavatory region in the tail that had running water and a facility for the disposal of wastes. It seemed that somewhere along the way, someone had gone to some trouble to outfit Jonah for human comfort.
  "But how does he eat?" Orb asked.
  "It seems he doesn't need to eat. He is magically suspended, until he obtains his release and can die."
  "Does that mean we had better not be inside him when we find the Llano?"
  Luna laughed. "Perhaps so! But first find your song."
  The boys moved in that evening, the fish moored beside their apartment complex. No outsiders seemed to notice the oddity of the procedure. They simply carried their bags and equipment into the mouth and returned for more, as if loading a moving van. They left it to Mrs. Glotch to settle their accounts with the renter; they were checking out.
  Orb, fatigued, slept early. Her bed consisted of a section of her chamber floor that was marvelously soft and comfortable and tended to shape itself somewhat to her contours without being obsequious about it. There were some definite advantages to traveling in a living creature!
  She woke in the night, hearing voices. Still dazed, she lay still and listened. The voices seemed to be close, yet there was no one in her room. Soon she realized that the bony structure of the fish was transmitting them, so that she could clearly hear what was said elsewhere. Yet that had not been the case before; the noise of the boys and Lou-Mae setting up their rooms had been blessedly muted.
  "You flew!" the organist's voice demanded incredulously. "On her carpet?"
  "I was scared stiff," the guitarist responded. "But like I said, those townsmen were after us, thinking we were the Gypsies, and the river—"
  "But that carpet only holds one!"
  "She sort of put me in front, and she got on behind, and put her arms around me, and her legs around me—"
  "Man!" the drummer exclaimed. "You were between her legs?"
  "I guess. I was so scared, I never noticed. That river—"
  "Let's get this straight," the drummer said. "You were hunched up like this, and she was behind you like this, on that li'l carpet? Her boobs pressed up against your back, and her thighs—"
  "Damn it, don't make it like that! She saved my stupid life! I was so far out of it, all I saw was that damn river, till she put her hands on my eyes and sort of calmed me down."
  "Damn, if it'd been me—"
  "Yeah?" the guitarist asked challengingly. "And what of your black chick?"
  "Listen, man, don't call her no—"
  "Well, don't make like there's any dirt between me and Orb!" the guitarist retorted. "She don't give a shit for me, she just wanted to save my worthless life and maybe get me off the H. And you know, I was off it maybe three hours, 'cause I was just starting to feel the pang when I gave her the stuff, and it was a good hour after that. But I couldn't do it; I couldn't get the shakes outta my hands, and I had to play. 'Cause she had to dance, and..."
  "She danced?"
  "And how! I never saw the like! Seems she had to prove she was a Gypsy, for the fish, and this Gypsy dance—whew! I never saw a porno tape better'n that! The way she threw that stuff around, I like to've busted a string!"
  "Her?" the drummer said derisively. "She'd spook if she even knew how her skirt hikes up when she's on the harp, showing her gams. She thinks sex appeal's a crime!"
  "Just don't forget," the organist said, "we need her. Without her, we're nothing. Forget her skirt!"
  "You forget her skirt!" the drummer retorted. "I sit right opposite her when we practice. She's got the best damn legs—"
  "She's got the best damn everything," the organist said. "Think I'm blind? I'm half behind her, and sometimes I see down her blouse, and you think I don't drool? But it's ten times all the luck we ever deserved that she joined us, and we don't none of us want to do anything at all to sour her. Keep your hot eyes on your music."
  "Yeh," the drummer agreed. "But my point is, we know she'd never do that kind of dance. She's got the body for it, no doubt at all, but not the mind."
  "But she did it," the guitarist insisted. "I tell you, I was on a new sniff, so maybe you think I saw more'n there was, but—"
  "On a sniff? H don't pack much punch that way!"
  "You think I was going to shoot up in front of her? It got the edge off, anyway, so I could feel my strings and play. I tell you, she may be dowdy with us, but when she lets go with it, hang on to the moon! I've seen some real hot dances, but that one she did—if they could bottle that stuff, man of a hundred and ten could have the potency of—"
  "So our beautiful prude ain't so prudish somewhere else," the drummer said thoughtfully. "I wonder why she wants the Llano? I mean, we need it to get off the H, but she's already got everythin' any man or woman'd want. What's she need it for?"
  "Just be glad she does want it," the organist said. "She's one good woman, and we're sludge. Just let her be."
  "One good woman," the guitarist echoed. "I'd be dead now if she weren't."
  "So are we going to get this room shaped up, or not?" the drummer demanded.
  The last comment was fading, and thereafter there was nothing. Orb could hear the bustle of their labors when she concentrated, but their voices no longer come through to her.
  She lay awake, wondering about that. What a coincidence that the reception had been so good, just when they were talking about her! The sound of their voices had awakened her; perhaps they had been talking for some time before she listened. Yet it had faded when their subject changed.
  Coincidence? She wished she had the little snake ring again, to squeeze yes or no to that question. She was in another magical creature, and maybe... There was a quiet knock at her portal. "You up, Orb?"
  "Awake, anyway," Orb said. "Come in, Lou-Mae."
  "I hate to bother you," the girl said. "But something fanny happened, and—"
  "You heard voices?"
  "How'd you know? I was lying there, drifting off, and then clear as day I heard the words 'black chick.' I knew it was me, and them talking about me. But all they said was—"
  "Not to call you that," Orb finished.
  "You heard, too? After that I listened, but I couldn't hear anything. But it—I mean, if I wasn't dreaming—"
  "I think we have just learned another property of the big fish," Orb said. "When anybody talks about anybody, the other person hears. They mentioned you in the course of a conversation about me. So I heard somewhat more than you did."
  "Then I'm not crazy!" Lou-Mae said, relieved.
  "And neither am L But it occurs to me that we had best be quite careful what we say about others, while we are here."
  Lou-Mae smiled knowingly. "Meanwhile, we sure can listen!"
  Orb returned the smile. She liked Lou-Mae. "But tell me—is it true that my skirt shows too much leg when I play the harp?"
  The girl considered. "I never thought about it, but you know, when you set cross-legged, I guess it could. You mean they were peeking?"
  "Just noticing. I'd better change to slacks."
  "Then they'd know you had caught on."
  "Um. But if I don't—"
  Lou-Mae brightened. "I'll give you a pair of slacks! Then you'll have to wear them, so's not to hurt my feelings, at least for practice."
  "I would certainly not want to hurt your feelings, Lou-Mae," Orb said gravely.
  "I wonder how long it'll be before they catch on?"
  "That may depend on us," Orb said. Then they were silent, lest even that reference reach the appropriate ears and give it away.
  Lou-Mae returned to her chamber. Orb lay awake for a time, pondering this and that. She had mixed feelings about the boys' assessment of her. Any woman, she realized, liked being considered beautiful, but not crudely. They saw "boobs" and "gams" while she would have preferred some more esthetic and less specific image. Still...
  Meanwhile, she had learned something new about Jonah. She liked the big fish very well and was liking him better as she got to know his qualities.
  In the morning the girls were up first, while the boys slept late. "You know, if we don't watch it, we're liable to wind up as cooks and housekeepers," Lou-Mae remarked. "Who's going to do the cooking?"
  "Oopsy!" Orb exclaimed. "That never crossed my mind. We'd better hire a maid."
  "We can do that the same time we go shopping."
  "Shopping?"
  "For slacks."
  Orb laughed, remembering. That overheard dialogue did embarrass her; the notion that her thighs were being ogled while she played—she knew she should shrug it off, but she found she couldn't. She wanted to embarrass the boys the way they had embarrassed her, uncharitable as that attitude might be. But of course she couldn't.
  Actually, they had no supplies for breakfast, so had to leave Jonah for it. The fish remained moored by Luna's estate. He descended at their behest, and they disembarked. Then Jonah slowly ascended to rooftop height again.
  "But why don't people stare?" Lou-Mae asked.
  "They can't see him, dear," Luna said. "He allows only selected people to see him. You are invisible inside him."
  The girl shook her head. "That's hard to believe."
  "Jonah," Luna called. "Would you show them how it works?"
  The fish slowly faded from view. Then there was nothing but sky.
  "That's easier to believe," Lou-Mae said.
  Luna served them breakfast. Then Lou-Mae went shopping, and Orb went to the employment agency. Luna's connections helped her here, too; the man had a list of prospects waiting when she arrived.
  "But you don't even know what I want!" she protested.
  "A female cook and housekeeper, competent, discreet, and unattractive."
  Orb paused, taken aback. That was what she had in mind, her pique at the boys making her want to bring in someone whose legs they would not ogle. She was abruptly ashamed of herself, but not enough to change the specifications. "I will talk to them."
  "There is only one present at the moment," he said. "Interest fell off when the applicants were advised that an indefinite period of travel with young musicians was entailed."
  "I can't think of why," Orb muttered with irony. "Well, let me see that one."
  The woman was about fifty years old and looked worn. Her hair was straggly and her enthusiasm minimal. "Can you cook?" Orb asked.
  "Fantastically."
  "Keep house?"
  "Perfectly."
  "What kind of salary are you looking for?"
  "Nominal."
  "You know that we are traveling with three young musicians?"
  "So?"
  "And don't know our precise route, or when we will return here?"
  "Yes."
  All the answers were right, but Orb felt somewhat out of sorts. Why was this woman so obliging?
  "You know that we will fire you if your representations prove to be untrue?"
  "Yes."
  "Why do you want this job?"
  "I don't."
  "What?"
  "I don't."
  "Then why did you apply?"
  "It's better than nothing."
  Such enthusiasm! Orb decided to try to jolt the woman into some more revealing statement. "We're looking for the Llano."
  "Yes."
  "You knew that?"
  "Jonah wouldn't take you otherwise."
  "How do you know of Jonah?"
  The woman sighed. "If you ask me, I have to answer. But you won't like it."
  "All the same, I think I'd better know." The complexion of this interview had changed entirely.
  "I am of demon breed. I seek the Llano. When Jonah moved, I came. I can't find it myself, but maybe someone else could. I doubt you find it, but I have to look."
  "Demon breed!" Orb exclaimed. "You are from Hell?"
  "No. Some demons are earthbound. Cursed. The Llano can abate my curse."
  "What is your curse?"
  "You will not like my answer."
  "Do you intend to harm me, or any of us?"
  "No. I can not harm any mortal person."
  "Then I can handle the answer."
  "I must have relations with a man every hour of the night. Every hour adds an hour to my age."
  "Relations?" Orb was amazed. "You mean—?"
  "I am a succubus. I have no choice."
  A fifty-year-old succubus! "You don't want to do it?"
  "I hate it."
  "Then why don't you stop?"
  "The curse compels me."
  Orb remembered the guitarist's attempt to stop taking H. For those afflicted, there was no way to stop. "Frankly, I'm not certain you would make a suitable employee."
  "I do not sleep. I do exactly what I say. I am a perfect employee by day. By night my curse manifests. In the morning I am ten or twelve hours older. In another century I will be a hundred years old and still immortal, unless I find the Llano."
  Orb experienced a stirring of sympathy. "How long have you been at this?"
  "One century. By day I seem to age at half the mortal rate, because of the penalty of the night—but I can not die. You mortals can not know what a blessing death is."
  Orb found that she believed this. "You are fifty years old, in your body, but still you must seduce a man every hour of the night?"
  "I revert to my original form during those hours. All my aging is then—but it shows only by day."
  Orb found her feelings mixed. She felt genuine sympathy for this creature, but was appalled by her nature. What would the three boys do, if—"
  Delicious malice took over. "You're hired," she said. "What is your name?"
  "Jezebel."
  The boys were up and hungry by the time Orb returned with Jezebel. For some reason they had not disembarked to go to a fast-food station. "I can take care of that," Jezebel said. She snapped her fingers and a junk-food container appeared in her crooked arm. She handed it to the drummer. "Gorge," she said.
  The three opened the package. Inside were hamburgers and bottles of cola: the ideal breakfast by their definition.
  The drummer glanced at Orb. "How'd she know?"
  "Jezebel understands musicians," Orb said. "She is to be our cook and housekeeper for the tour."
  "She housekeeps, too?"
  "I suspect you have not experienced her manner of keeping house," Orb said with a straight face.
  The boys departed with their breakfast. Orb showed Jezebel to her chamber. "Or do you need one?"
  "Certainly." Jezebel gestured, and a shelf of books appeared. "My library. I do a lot of reading in the off hours. I admit it's escapism, but it certainly beats the dull routine of my curse."
  Orb glanced at the titles. They ran the gamut from the classics to the latest junk romance. A succubus read romance for escape? Well, why not? A succubus was a creature of sex, not romance. Like any woman, she was apt to find the former more readily than the latter, and less satisfying.
  Lou-Mae returned with a package—slacks for Orb, her gift. "Why thank you, Lou-Mae!" Orb said, as if surprised. "I shall be sure to wear them!"
  Mrs. Glotch showed up with an itinerary; she had set up a tour that circled the entire nation with reasonable dispatch. Every three to five days they had an engagement in a new location.
  Mrs. Glotch had not before encountered the fish. Only with difficulty was she persuaded to visit Jonah even briefly. She glanced about the interior with vague disapproval and hastened back to her office in the normal world.
  They commenced their tour. Orb bid farewell to Luna, saddened in much the manner she had been when they parted in Ireland, and entered Jonah. The great fish lifted high, oriented, and swam vigorously through the air toward the first city on the list. Orb was about to go to her room for a rest when the guitarist intercepted her. "Yes?" she inquired.
  "I just wanted to say, uh, well maybe it's not..." he faltered.
  "Is something the matter?"
  "You know about the H."
  "Of course. You know how I feel about that."
  "Well, I'm trying to get off it, but—you know."
  "I know." What was he trying to say?
  "I haven't taken any since I got on the fish," he blurted.
  That brought her up short. "I thought you had to take it every few hours. It has been a full day. Isn't that unusual?"
  "Yeh. And the others haven't touched it either. We don't take it unless we have to, and..." He shrugged.
  "Jonah!" she exclaimed. "Could it be—?"
  "That's what I was thinking. Big magic fish, maybe he don't go for that sh—that stuff in him, you know?"
  "If so, Jonah is an unmitigated blessing!" Orb exclaimed.
  "That's why we didn't go out this morning. 'Cause if it's true, when we go out—"
  "The craving will return," Orb finished. "I don't blame you. Fortunately we can remain within Jonah until—"
  "Until we gotta perform," he said. "That scares me."
  "Still, to be free of your addiction for all the rest of the time—I am very happy for you!"
  He nodded. "And—I just wanted to say—to thank you for saving my life. I guess I owe you. I guess that's a bad debt, 'cause there's nothing I have or can do that you need, but—" He shrugged.
  "I appreciate your thanks," Orb said, touched. "I am sure you will prove worthy. Give it time."
  "Well, if we find the Llano—"
  "Complete freedom," she agreed.
  He left. Then she suffered a wave of doubt and regret. She had knowingly hired the succubus. When night came, what would become of the Sludge? At first they might take it as a blessing, but after a few hours...
  But what could she do, now? She had hired; she did not feel free to fire. She should never have allowed her private pique over a remark about her legs to influence her this way!
  Jezebel produced an excellent afternoon meal, wholesome and balanced. She set it up on the table-bone of the area they had designated as the dining room, requiring everyone to clean up and eat together formally. The boys had to go to the bathroom to comb their hair and clean their fingernails and change to better clothing.
  Orb refrained from smiling; it seemed that the housekeeper had old-fashioned values, and they were not out of place here.
  The boys stared at the food disapprovingly. "Potatoes?" the drummer inquired distastefully. "Milk?"
  "And a fresh salad," Jezebel said. "Rule of the house while I'm here—one meal a day is going to be done right. The others you can have as you please."
  Lou-Mae took the drummer's arm. She was fetching in a bright green knitted dress. "You can handle it, Danny."
  He brightened. "You want it, baby, you got it. In fact, if you want to housekeep for me—"
  "First you get off the H," she said firmly.
  "I'm off the H!"
  "Off the fish, off the H."
  "Yeh," he said, looking crestfallen.
  News spread quickly! Already Lou-Mae knew the effect Jonah had on addiction and was not deceived by it. The drummer had in his fashion just proposed to her, and she had responded with her condition—kick the habit first.
  The guitarist's willingness to take to the air in Jonah that could also be the magic of the big fish! No more phobia.
  They proceeded to their repast. Indeed, it was an excellent meal. They were becoming a family, thanks to what Orb would have deemed to be the most unlikely agency.
  But when night came...
  Before night came evening—and a storm loomed ahead. Suddenly Jonah lurched, changing course. "What's the matter?" Orb cried, as spent dishes slid to the floor. But then she remembered what Luna had told her: the fish was cursed to swim through every element but his own. Jonah could not handle water.
  The storm was expanding, and new cells were forming to the sides and behind. Jonah would soon be trapped in rain. But the great fish had an answer: he dived. He threshed powerfully down through the air, entering the ground without pause, and darkness closed outside.
  Darkness! Luna looked at Jezebel, who was washing glasses. But the woman was unchanged. Evidently it was night, not darkness, that did it. Which made sense; otherwise the simple expedient of keeping the lights on would eliminate the threat of the succubus.
  But night was nevertheless approaching. Orb was increasingly uncomfortable. She knew she had done wrong and felt guilty. Still, she saw no way out.
  The boys had a television set. They set it up in the main chamber and tuned in on their favorite programs, which to Orb seemed to consist of unremitting violence and eroticism with a smidgeon of humor thrown in. Well, maybe they were about to get what they deserved, after all.
  Except that Lou-Mae was with them. If she were present when...
  Orb looked at Jezebel—and her worst concern was verified. One moment the woman had been dowdy and fifty; the next, as the sun officially set at this spot of the globe, she was a sultry creature of twenty, in a provocative gown. The succubus had manifested.
  But Jezebel continued washing glasses. Then she started in on the dishes. Her appearance had changed, but not her activity.
  Orb joined her, drying the dishes and putting them away on the herringbone shelving that was part of Jonah's architecture. "Ah, Jezebel—" she began.
  "Yes?"
  Orb lost her nerve. She was liable to get her answer all too soon. "Where did all the food and dishes come from? Did you just conjure them?"
  "I conjured the dishes from my collection," Jezebel said. "You're welcome to use them. The food has to be new, though, so that comes from local establishments."
  "But—but then are we stealing from—?"
  "No, Mrs. Glotch gets billed for it. I leave a receipt in place of the food, and they know where to get the money. Modern electronics is wonderful!"
  They continued talking while they finished up the job. Then Jezebel paused, glancing down at herself. "Oops—I've changed! Night's here. I never noticed."
  "You changed about half an hour ago," Orb said.
  "Oh, I couldn't have! The curse—" She looked at her watch. "But it is! How can that be?"
  "You mean you don't have to—?"
  "No compulsion at all," Jezebel said wonderingly. "That never happened before."
  "Jonah!" Orb exclaimed. "He nulls the H addiction! He must null other curses, too!"
  "You mean I can actually relax at night? No added hours? No grimy men?"
  "So it seems."
  "I knew the big fish was a rare one, but I never knew that! What a—" She cut off abruptly, choking.
  "What's the matter?" Orb asked, alarmed.
  "Just certain words I can't say. I get associating with mortal folk, sometimes I forget. I tried to say, you know, that word you use for something good from a certain party."
  "A blessing?"
  "That's it. I guess the fish can null the involuntary stuff, but not the voluntary. I mean, I can choose what to say, so I don't have to say that word, so I still can't. Still, that's a little thing. The big thing is wonderful!"
  Orb felt similarly relieved, albeit for different reason. She liked Jonah better yet.
  Lou-Mae came out for a glass of water. She paused as she spied Jezebel. "Who are you?"
  "This is Jezebel," Orb said. "Her appearance changes at night."
  The girl's eyes narrowed. Evidently Jezebel reminded her of something other than a cook.
  "I am a succubus," Jezebel said. "Recently retired. I have no interest in your man."
  Lou-Mae's gaze flicked back toward the room where the boys were. She didn't trust this. "What's a creature like you want here?"
  "I want the Llano. It will free me forever."
  "I thought you said you were retired."
  "By courtesy of Jonah. Outside I fear that is not the case. As with your man's problem."
  The girl assessed that. "Then when we perform, you stay here."
  "Gladly."
  Lou-Mae thawed somewhat. "Why don't you come and watch the TV?"
  "Is it worth watching?"
  "Hardly."
  "Good. That's the kind I like."
  They went to the other room. Orb hesitated, then shrugged and joined them.
  The drummer turned to look at Lou-Mae and spied Jezebel. His mouth fell open. The other two turned and stared.
  "This is Jezebel," Lou-Mae said. "What are you staring at? Never seen a cook before?"
  The drummer put his face back together and returned to the television. The organist and guitarist hesitated, then did the same. Jezebel paid them no attention at all; she was definitely not interested.
  The night was quiet. In the morning Jezebel was back at age fifty, and breakfast was cooking.
  "Say, Ms. Kaftan—" the succubus began.
  "Orb."
  "Very well. Have you noticed—"
  "About the sounds here?" Orb finished. "I gather the boys were talking about you when they were alone."
  "For an hour, it seemed! I was reading War and Peace since I don't sleep anyway; first time in my life I had the night to myself, and it was strange. Then these voices—those kids have some big ideas!"
  "Are you sorry that your situation changed?"
  "Never! All kids have big ideas, but none keep them long with me, and they aren't very original anyway. It was just that I couldn't understand why they said them in my hearing."
  "Jonah lets the subject hear," Orb explained. "The boys didn't know you could hear."
  "Nobody told them about this effect?"
  "Now who would want to do a thing like that?"
  Jezebel smiled. "All I wanted was the Llano. But this tour is beginning to be fun."
  "Just don't talk about anybody," Orb said. "We're lucky they sleep soundly in the morning, or they would have heard this dialogue."
  The succubus nodded, touching her finger to her lips.
  The storm had passed, and Jonah was swimming in the sky again. He seemed to be doing about fifty kilometers per hour, which would get them to their first booking in plenty of time.
  In midmorning they staged a rehearsal. Jezebel listened raptly from the rear of the room, obviously impressed. The group really got into it, running through their entire repertoire before pausing to consider new additions. They now had songs of every type, making it a variety show, with a number of them acted out in the manner of "Danny Boy." It seemed to Orb that the magic was getting stronger, though she cautioned herself that she might be imagining that.
  Then Lou-Mae glanced out a window-scale. "It's dark!" she exclaimed.
  Orb looked. "We're back underground!"
  It took some time to verify it, but it seemed that Jonah had been listening, too, and had simply tuned out the outer world and sank blissfully down until they were horrendously deep under the earth. Yet there was no harm done; when they stopped their performance, the big fish forged back to the surface and resumed his travel toward their destination city.
  "I suppose a person or creature has to be able to appreciate music in order to have any interest in the Llano," Orb said. That seemed to sum it up.
Chapter 9 - Llano
  They arrived at the site of their first regular booking. The hall had a fair audience, but was not filled. It seemed that the news of their talent had not filtered all the way down to the larger paying public. Still, it was the largest audience they had faced, and Orb was sure they had drawn a better crowd than ordinarily attended.
  Many of the people seemed bored or cynical, as if refusing to believe that this out-of-town group could be worthwhile. Perhaps some were critics expecting to give indifferent ratings.
  Orb smiled privately. She expected that to change.
  The performance started—and indeed it changed. The numbers ranged across the musical horizon, but all were imbued with the magic, and the magic held the audience rapt. The truth was that even poor music would have sufficed with the magic, and good music would not have without it. But the music was good and getting better as they refined it.
  They gave a second performance the following evening. This one was a sell-out.
  So it went, as they settled into the routine of the tour. Half a dozen cities into it, the Livin' Sludge had become the hottest group on the circuit. Mrs. Glotch reported that at the rate they were going, every member of the group would be wealthy by the time the tour concluded.
  Recording companies approached them for albums. They discussed it and decided not to record, because they weren't sure the magic would come through. Indeed, that seemed to be the case, because an illicit recording was made of one of their performances, and later reports were that it was deemed a fake because it lacked the impact of the live act.
  They traveled the eastern part of the nation, then the southern, and then the southwestern. They had little need of maps, because Jonah simply swam to each city requested. Nevertheless, Jezebel liked to know where she was, so she obtained a map.
  "Say!" she exclaimed. "Here's Llano!"
  Orb almost dropped her harp. "What?"
  "Right here," the woman said, showing the map.
  Suddenly everyone was there. They found a region, and a river, and even a town by that name. "Do you think that's where—?" Jezebel asked.
  "I wonder," Orb said. "It never occurred to me that it would be on a map! I suppose it could be coincidence."
  "Not much coincidence in this world," Jezebel said. "Not when you fathom how things operate."
  "We've got a gig near there," the drummer said eagerly. "Geez, if we could find that song, and if it works..." He looked at Lou-Mae.
  The others nodded. They all knew that that romance had become more serious with every performance of "Danny Boy," and that only the black girl's adamancy about H prevented it from going further. She would not commit herself to a drug addict; that was absolute. This only increased the drummer's desire to get off it, but he could not.
  They had their performance in the nearby city, then directed Jonah to swim to the Llano. He set forth, and they slept.
  In the morning they found the fish hovering over a broad, flat, treeless plain.
  "Did he get lost?" the drummer asked. "Not a town or river in sight!"
  "Cursed immortal creatures don't get lost," Jezebel said. "I know."
  The drummer shrugged. By this time everyone knew Jezebel's nature, and that she was as totally uninterested in obliging any of their big notions as was Orb. The boys regarded it as a phenomenal loss, though it didn't seem to bother them by day. By night, however, their frustrated conversations were a source of continuing amusement to all three women. It seemed to be the consensus that never in history had three such attractive and virile young men been so intimately housed with three such beautiful women with so little significant action. What a ghastly loss! Lou-Mae was shocked by some of their notions, Orb was disgusted, and Jezebel bored. But not one of them ever hinted to the boys about this aspect of Jonah's nature; it was too much fun to listen. In fact, they discovered that they could talk freely to each other, from their individual chambers, simply by doing it; it seemed that by Jonah's definition, talking to a person was the same as talking about a person. It was convenient.
  They rechecked the map, and found that Jonah had brought them to the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain, instead of to the county, town, or river.
  "But maybe he's right," the guitarist said. "Maybe this is the real place."
  "I don't know," Lou-Mae said, teasing him. "See how all the little counties are real squares, here, straight up and down. But down next to the County of Llano they're all jumbled, as if God just took them and shoved them over to make room for Llano."
  He contemplated the map. "Maybe you're right."
  "I'm not sure that human boundaries have any meaning for this," Orb said, though she, too, was struck by the manner that a large section of the counties had been skewed, as if riding a tectonic plate that had rotated forty-five degrees. Could that relate?
  They decided to accept Jonah's verdict: that the plain was the correct Llano. The fish descended, and they disembarked.
  Orb walked out on the plain, seeking the song. She did not know what she was looking for, but she hoped that if she made herself receptive it would come to her. If this truly was the place for it. She had been disappointed in India; the source of the Gypsies had not been the source of the Llano.
  The Gypsies. It made no obvious sense, but maybe She looked around. The others were far removed, looking in their own fashions. No one would see.
  She began to dance the tanana, hoping that it would somehow attract the song to it. She moved her body in the ways that were calculated to inflame men's minds, and assumed the poses that no decent girl should know. She was dancing for neither man nor fish, but for the song. Would it work?
  She got into it, the spirit of the dance hauling her body and mind into it, making her wanton. Then it seemed that a melody began to come, very faint but evocative. Its theme was lovely, prettier than any mortal tune, but underneath was a richness and power that was to any ordinary song what the ocean was to a lake. The essence of it reached into the very heart of her, reshaping that heart to its own likeness, changing her being in an ineffable manner. Ah, the song, the song... !
  Then it faded, and she found herself exhausted, standing alone. Had she tuned in on the Llano? Had she imagined it? She could not be sure of its source, but there was something; she felt it within her, like the onset of a pregnancy.
  A pregnancy. What had happened to her baby, Orlene? Would she ever know?
  Disheartened, she walked back to the floating fish. She was not sure whether she had accomplished anything.
  The tour continued. They played to larger and larger halls, always filled to capacity. It seemed that the whole world now knew of the Livin' Sludge; news items manufactured from nothing appeared daily in the media. But they were bound to their quest, telling no one else about it. The Llano—where was it?
  Orb's power of music was growing; there was no longer any doubt. She could tell this not so much by the way the Sludge performances mesmerized ever-larger audiences, but by the way the other members of the group performed. She no longer had to sing or play; she merely had to be there. That had not been the case at the outset of the tour. Now Lou-Mae could sing alone, and the magic reached out; the drummer could play a solo, and the magic was there. But the others informed her that when they practiced while she was out of the fish, it didn't work. They could play well enough, but there was no magic; they all felt the difference.
  "When you're with us, it's in three-dee color," the drummer explained. "Otherwise, two-dee black/white. Without you, we're just another nobody group."
  "Well, we are a group," she responded, trying not to feel flattered, knowing that her talent was from no virtue of hers; she owed it to heredity. "We will always perform together."
  But she spoke prematurely. They were looping north, now, and it was winter; storms and snow interrupted communications and transportation. A few days before Christmas the weather was so threatening at the city of their engagement that they decided to set up at the hall early. Jonah nudged up to the building, and they unloaded the instruments. They no longer needed the mikes and amplifiers and speakers, because the magic reached the members of the audience more effectively. That was another evidence of Orb's increased power. The drummer and Lou-Mae and the organist remained there to warm up, while Orb and Jezebel elected to fit in some Christmas shopping. The guitarist hesitated, then decided to return to the fish with them. Orb knew why; away from Jonah, he was subject to the call of the H and he preferred to avoid that.
  They boarded the fish, and Jonah swam up over the city. They went downtown, where Orb and Jezebel got off. The wind cut cruelly along the streets, driving them quickly into the stores. That was all right; shopping was what they had come for. Orb intended to get token gifts for all the members of the group, and Jezebel was interested in new books for her library.
  They forgot the time and were late finishing. Dusk was closing when they stood on the street with their arms full of packages, and Orb mentally called Jonah.
  Normally the fish arrived promptly, but this time he didn't. They waited somewhat impatiently, the wind seeming to become more cutting. Orb's cloak automatically thickened, keeping her warm, and Jezebel was immune to temperature, but they didn't like getting their hair mussed. Finally they backed into an alcove for shelter—and found themselves in the company of several shivering musicians of another kind. They were of the Salvation Army, and it was evident that their effort to raise funds had been practically blotted out by the weather.
  Orb set down her armful and reached into her purse—only to discover that she had spent all her available cash. She looked at Jezebel, who shook her head in negation. "They wouldn't care for demon-offering," she muttered.
  "Oh, I don't know," Orb said. "Isn't it the spirit that counts?"
  Jezebel shrugged and brought out a golden coin. She tossed it in the kettle—and the moment it touched, it burst into flame, taking with it whatever paper money had already been there. "Damned money!" the succubus exclaimed, meaning it literally. "Now look what I've done!"
  Appalled, Orb looked at the musicians. How could she apologize for this? She knew that Jezebel had not intended evil, but the evil attached to her without her choice.
  "I—I'll try to make it up to you," Orb said. She borrowed a book from the hands of the nearest musician, and opened it, and began to sing:
  "Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war, With the Cross of Jesus going on before."
  She did not have her harp with her, knowing that it was quite safe in Jonah. But the magic was present, and the melody rang out across the street. Jezebel shrank away, but the others joined in. The magic spread out to touch them, too, the effect amplifying.
  People hurrying by paused to listen. Others emerged from the stores. By the time the song was finished, there was a crowd—and offerings were pouring into the kettle, far more than enough to make up for what had been lost.
  Then Orb saw Jonah nudging in. She hurried to pick up her packages. "Bless you, soldiers!" she cried. "Come on, Jez!"
  Jonah opened his mouth and they stepped in. No one seemed to notice. The crowd was beginning to dissipate, but money was still coming into the kettle. The musicians seemed bewildered, but pleased.
  They had boarded just in time, for now the sun was setting, and Jezebel became her nocturnal self. "I was afraid I'd get caught out there too late!" she said. "But you know, Orb, if you don't have the Llano, you surely have something like it. What you did was what the Llano does."
  Orb paused, surprised. "I never saw it that way," she said. "But I suppose—"
  "We got to get moving!" the guitarist said, hurrying up the throat. "It's almost time for the show!"
  "I know!" Orb exclaimed, sweeping on toward her chamber. "We forgot the time, then Jonah delayed. Where were you going, so far away?"
  "Nowhere," he protested. "Jonah was just sitting there waiting; it only took him a minute, once he started moving. You mean you called him before?"
  "Certainly I called him!" Orb snapped as she picked up her harp. "A good ten minutes before he came!"
  "Maybe he didn't hear you."
  "He must have, because he did come—eventually."
  Jonah was swimming down again. Orb and the guitarist stood just inside the piscine lips, ready to jump out the moment the mouth opened. "I'll have cocoa waiting for you," Jezebel said, standing behind them. They had discovered by experimentation that no drug, alcohol included, had any effect within the fish, so the boys had gravitated to the more wholesome snacks that the girls preferred. Even the caffeine in coffee was nulled. Clean living was the order of the day and night, in Jonah.
  The mouth opened. The tongue flipped, and abruptly they were out.
  "Hey!" Jezebel exclaimed.
  Orb looked at her, startled. "But I thought you were staying in!"
  "That's what I thought!" the succubus replied.
  "Jonah spat us all out," the guitarist said.
  Orb turned to face the fish. "Jonah, she wasn't supposed to—" But she broke off, for Jonah was gone.
  "Where are we?" the guitarist asked.
  "Why, at the auditorium for—" Orb broke off again. For that was not where they were. Instead they stood before the city hospital.
  "Jonah got the wrong address!" the guitarist cried. "He never did that before!"
  "Did he?" Jezebel asked. "Then why did he spit me out? You have to watch these demonic types; I know. I think he wanted to clear us all out of him."
  "I can't believe that!" Orb said, flustered. "All he had to do was make known his wish, and we would have left."
  "Listen, we can't worry 'bout that right now," the guitarist said. "We got a show to make!"
  "But the hospital is all the way across the city from the engagement hall!" Orb said, upset. "The program is set to begin now; we can't possibly get there on time."
  "What about me?" Jezebel asked. "You know what's going to happen within my hour?"
  Orb put her hands to her head. "I don't know what to do"
  "Call the hall, call a taxi," the guitarist said. "I'll do it."
  But there was no phone on the street, and no taxis in sight, and the blustering wind was buffeting them. "Inside, there must be a phone," Orb said.
  They piled into the hospital. But they had entered by a side door, and there was no desk and no phone. They moved down an endlessly long series of halls.
  A white-gowned doctor emerged from a side hall, almost colliding with the guitarist. "Ah, there you are!" the doctor said. "Not a moment too soon! We ran out an hour ago, and our replacement can't get through till tomorrow."
  "This is a misunderstanding," Orb said quickly. "We don't belong here; we're just looking for a phone."
  "You don't have the medication?" the doctor asked, appalled. "The message said an entertainment group was bringing it. We have terminal patients in pain; we don't know how we're going to tide them through the night! Listen."
  They listened. Now they heard a low groaning that seemed to come from several rooms, punctuated by a sudden scream. "They are beyond ordinary drugs," the doctor said. "The pain reaches through and it doesn't stop."
  The guitarist swallowed. "Could you use spelled H?"
  The doctor looked at him with renewed hope. "You are the courier!"
  The guitarist brought out his packet. "Guess so."
  The doctor took it eagerly, weighing it by heft. "This is potent?"
  "Strongest H on the market."
  "Excellent! This amount should tide us through the night. What's the charge?"
  The guitarist gulped again. "No charge. It's—you know, gray market." The doctor nodded. "We certainly appreciate this! A dozen patients will bless you, sir!" He hurried off.
  "You gave away your H?" Orb asked, still hardly believing it.
  "Well, it's, you know, good for killing pain, when the legal stuff don't work."
  "But how will you get through?"
  "It was them or me, and what am I worth?"
  "About what I am," Jezebel said glumly. "Damn, I hate what I'm going to do!"
  Orb made as if to tear her hair. "Why did Jonah do this to us? Everything we have had is going to fall apart tonight!"
  Jezebel looked at her. "You know, when you sing, your magic touches everyone near. I wonder—if Jonah can do it—"
  "Yeah!" the guitarist agreed as if grasping at a straw.
  "You make us more than we are! Maybe if you sing now—" Suddenly Orb remembered her experience in the Llano Estacado. That feeling of wholeness, of power. Was it possible?
  "Take my hands," she said.
  They took her hands, standing there in the hospital hall. Orb sang the song that came to her, heedless whether it was relevant.
  "You must walk that lonesome valley. You have to walk it by yourself..."
  The magic came, spreading through her body slowly, as if encountering resistance. She fixed the image of the plain in her mind, seeing it as the valley of the fate of those with desperate compulsions. She walked that valley, not by herself, but with and for those who could not otherwise get through it.
  "Oh, nobody else can walk it for you..."
  But somebody else could walk it with them, and that was what she was doing. They walked for themselves, but buttressed by her song, that was spreading slowly to their bodies. It was not the Llano, but it suggested it, as the magic suggested that of Jonah, stabilizing them. She became a conduit for a hint of the enormous power she sought, the power to put a hold on a curse. The walk of life itself, through lonesome territory, but not alone. Sustained by the strength of friendship and commitment.
  Orb became aware that the song was over when they disengaged their hands. "It's backing off!" the guitarist said. "I think I can fight it, now!"
  "Yes," Jezebel agreed. "Not as far off as it is in Jonah, but distanced just enough."
  Orb wasn't sure what she had accomplished, or whether they had merely convinced themselves that she had helped. She decided not to question it. Certainly something had passed through her.
  They resumed their walk down the hall. Now they came to a desk. "Ah, you must be the entertainers," a nurse said. "That ward's about to burst at the seams! We promised them their kind of music, but with this weather we were afraid you wouldn't get through. Right this way."
  "Their kind of music?" Orb asked. "What is that?"
  "They call it 'rusty iron'," the nurse said. "It's horrible." She paused, glancing back at them. "Uh, no offense, of course. To each his own peculiar taste."
  "You know that kind?" Orb asked the guitarist.
  "Some," he admitted. "But listen, that stuff is bad! We used to try it once in a while, before we got with you, but, well, that's part of what got our other singer out other head. You have to be insane to go for it."
  "Here we are," the nurse said. "The psycho ward. Go right in."
  "Suddenly it makes sense!" Jezebel said.
  "Wait!" Orb protested. "We can't do this! We—"
  "You have to," the nurse said, looking harried. "They'll riot if we renege now! We had to promise—"
  "You don't understand," Orb said. "I'm the only one here with an instrument, and I have no knowledge of—"
  "You don't understand," the nurse said. "The season and the storm have brought the inmates to the point where any trifling thing can set them off. We're shorthanded for the same reason. Once things get out of control, there will be absolute mayhem!" She unlocked the door and drew it open.
  The sound hit them like the roar of ocean breakers. It was bedlam. Patients were running around, some in dishabille, some screaming unintelligibly, some banging against the furniture. Harried aides were trying to attend to the needs of individuals, but it was evident that they were so tired that they were hardly better off than the patients. This might once have been an orderly ward; now it was at the verge of chaos.
  "They're here!" the nurse screamed. "Find your places!"
  The effect was magical. "Rusty iron!" a patient cried jubilantly, and suddenly every person was scrambling for his chair. This was evidently intended to be a social setting, with comfortable chairs and television and assorted board games, cards, and books; the cards and books were scattered across the floor, and the television screen was filled with an interference signal, appropriately. Live entertainment was what was required.
  "We've got to do it, somehow," the guitarist said. "But you know I can't sing a note, and without my strings—"
  "I'm not part of this at all," Jezebel reminded them. "Cooking's the only mundane skill I ever tackled."
  "But I couldn't possibly do this—this rusty iron," Orb said. "The best I can do is support someone else who performs it. All I can do alone is my kind of song."
  "Do what you have to do!" an aide cried urgently. "Maybe they'll buy it!"
  "A skit!" the guitarist said. "Like Danny-Boy and Lou-Mae! We could act the parts, and you sing."
  "Let's get it going!" a patient exclaimed, banging his fist against the wall beside him. There was a clamor of agreement.
  "Anything!" the nurse hissed.
  "I'm no actress," Jezebel protested. "At night I only do one thing well and I'm damned if I'll do that here."
  "Come on," the guitarist said, taking the succubus by the arm. "You can do this much. Just stand here and look at me, and I'll look at you, and Orb will sing, and we'll just follow when we hear. With her magic it can work!"
  "Get it on!" the patient cried. He began to stamp his feet on the floor. This was quickly echoed by the others.
  "Shut up, you freaks!" the guitarist yelled. "How can we do anything with all this noise, and no amp system? Get it quiet; then we'll perform!"
  The stamping subsided. Quiet came to the ward. "Okay, Orb," the guitarist said. "Make it come to life."
  Orb had her harp in place, her fingers poised. She was ready—except that her mind had suddenly gone blank. "I can't think of any song!" she whispered, horrified.
  "Any of the ones we do!" he whispered back. "Maybe they'll buy it!"
  But Orb's mind remained blank; she could not remember any of their regular numbers. She seemed to have been struck by a kind of stage fright that depleted her entire store of music. Too much had happened; Jonah had undermined her security by stranding them like this, and her effort of song and will to stabilize her two companions had seemed to have used up her magic. She was powerless.
  "Believe me, if all these—" the nurse said, her gaze scanning the assembled patients nervously. Already the feet were preparing to resume their stomping. From there it would surely lead to worse things, for these were not sane people.
  Believe me, if all these—Orb thought, as if reading the words on a sheet of music.
  Then her fingers moved on the strings of the harp, and she began to sing.
  "Believe me if all these endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly today, Were to fade by tomorrow and fleet in my arms Like fairy gifts fading away..."
  Orb heard herself with new horror. She was launching into one of the oldest and staidest of the mundane favorites, totally alien to the craving of this audience! Yet it was all she had, suggested by the chance words of the nurse. All she could do was throw herself into it and hope that the magic helped.
  But the patients weren't stamping; they were listening, perhaps in amazement at the irrelevance of this effort. The guitarist was gazing at the succubus as if she were the most innocent of lovely young maidens, and she was gazing back at him as if it were true. How long could this hold?
  She continued singing, aware of the audience as if apart from herself. Their astonishment was turning to something else as the song progressed; every pair of eyes were fixed on the two standing figures, who continued to look only at each other. They seemed impossibly young, untried, unsure, yet loving.
  "No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her God when he sets, The same face which she turned when he rose."
  It ended, but no one moved. The audience seemed locked in stasis, looking at the pair on stage, who continued to gaze at each other. It was as it had been the first time they acted out "Danny Boy," but more general; every face was a sunflower. The guitarist looked devoted and handsome, animated by his loyalty to his love; Jezebel looked radiant, as if she had never before received such a look, and was animated by it.
  Jezebel turned. Now Orb saw her eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Then, silently, she collapsed.
  Startled, the guitarist grabbed, catching her before she struck the floor.
  Then the monstrous nose of Jonah came through the wall. The mouth opened. The guitarist picked Jezebel up in his arms and stepped in. Orb scrambled up with her harp and followed. The audience remained frozen.
  Jonah closed his mouth and swam strongly on through the hospital, passing rooms and people as if they were illusions, and emerging from the upper level. The fish was on his way—somewhere.
  The guitarist carried Jezebel on down the throat and to her chamber, where he set her carefully on her bed-region. "Is she all right?" he asked worriedly.
  Orb knelt down and checked the woman as well as she could. "I think so. She's not mortal, you know; I don't think she can be killed. She must have fainted. But I can't think why."
  "Look at her face," he said. "She was crying..."
  "I didn't think that demons could cry," Orb said.
  "She just looked at me when you sang, and the tears started." He shook his head. "God, she's beautiful! I guess I love her."
  "But she's a succubus!" Orb protested. "She's a century old!"
  "I'm going to kiss her."
  Somewhat dazed. Orb backed away. The guitarist knelt down beside the unconscious woman, leaned over, and kissed her on the lips.
  Jezebel stirred. Her arms came up to embrace the young man, then stiffened. "No!" she said. "I have no right!"
  "No right?" the guitarist asked.
  "To play such a role. I am not, was never, never can be... oh!" She turned her face to the side, the tears flowing again.
  The guitarist looked at Orb, baffled. "What does she mean?"
  Now Orb understood. "The song—took her. But she's a demoness, sullied by a century of her nature. She believes she has no right to pretend to be what you saw in her."
  "I know what she is!" he said. "Look at what I am! God, when you sang—"
  "I think demons can weep—when they experience true emotion," Orb said, working it out. "She may never have experienced it before, and it overwhelmed her."
  "Then she—?"
  "Loves you," Orb finished. "To whatever extent such a creature can. But she feels unworthy."
  "She'd have to be a hell of a lot lower than that to be unworthy of me!" he exclaimed.
  Then the fish nudged down. They were at the hall where the engagement was supposed to be. In fact they were in the hall; Jonah was delivering them right to the stage. Orb could see the others there, gazing up.
  "We have to go," Orb said.
  "Yeh." The guitarist got up. But he pointed a finger at Jezebel. "This isn't over," he said.
  She just looked sadly at him.
  Orb and the guitarist hurried on out, stepping from the mouth directly onto the stage. They took their normal places, and the show went on.
  In a few days there was an item in the local newspaper describing the mysterious manner in which a contingent from the Livin' Sludge had pacified the psychotic ward with a single song. The patients had shown much improvement, and many had taken to painting pictures of sunflowers.
  Similarly the scheduled concert had started off uncertainly, but developed into a rousing success when the absent members reappeared. Only two of the early numbers had the magic, but all of the later ones did. The reviewers were uncertain why, but Orb and the others worked it out when they compared notes.
  Orb had sung twice in that period: once to stave off the awful hungers of her companions, and once for the psycho ward. At the times she had done that, the remaining Sludge had come alive. The magic had reached out to them, too, enabling them to thrill the audience.
  She also had private conversations with Jezebel and the guitarist. Nothing had been said to the others about that aspect of recent developments.
  "This is ridiculous," the succubus said. "Demons can't love!"
  "And you do?"
  "Even if I were mortal, I'd be four or five times his age!"
  "And it makes no difference?"
  "I've always hated my nature! I did it because I had to. When I got free of that, here in Jonah, I knew I'd never do it again, as long as I had any choice!"
  "And now you want to?"
  "Not by day. But by night it's driving me crazy! Now that hasn't changed. But I just want to be with him, to please him, and if that pleases him..."
  Orb remembered how it had been with Mym. "Then why don't you go to him?"
  "And corrupt him? I'd rather die! Anyway, what future can there be in it? How could I face him by day, with the others knowing?"
  Orb shook her head. She didn't know.
  But when she talked with the guitarist, the answer came clearer. "I know she swore off that stuff the moment she could, but God, I wish I could be with her, you know, just, I mean I wouldn't have to touch her, I don't want to make her hate it, but if I could just be with her at night..."
  "What about the day?" Orb inquired.
  "Yeh. That's rough, too. I wish it could be like now. I mean, nobody knowing. She's just the cook. But at night you know, secret love. Nobody knowing that either."
  Orb took a deep breath. She felt responsible, because her song had triggered this. "Go to her at night. She will keep your secret."
  "But she doesn't want—I mean—"
  "Yes she does. She feels about you as you feel about her, the awkwardness and everything. Secret love—that seems best."
  "You mean it?" he asked incredulously.
  "You did a very nice thing, when you gave away your H. Perhaps this is your reward."
  "But—"
  "Go to her," Orb said firmly.
  He looked as if he had just received news of a phenomenal inheritance. "If you're sure—"
  "Just remember her nature. We won't be in Jonah forever, and then she will revert to her normal state. What I did was only temporary. Even if you stay with her then, you will have to share her, in her fashion."
  He nodded soberly. "Better a little time than none," he said. "I do know her nature."
  Orb was left to her own thoughts. Back in Ireland, she would never have thought she would send any man to a succubus, not even a drug addict. But she had learned something of the ways of life and love and had become less judgmental. Every person was caught in the web of circumstance, and right and wrong became matters of opinion. If a man who thought himself worthless had found someone who thought otherwise, and if a creature who had been a slave to sex now was discovering the positive side of it, where was the evil?
  Evil. That reminded her of the prophecy—she might marry Evil. Others had taken that to mean she would be the bride of Satan. Orb doubted that; as far as she knew, Satan had never married, and certainly she would never do such a thing. So the obvious interpretation had to be wrong, and some more devious one would eventually manifest.
  And what would that be? That she would marry an evil man? Why would she do that? She was getting over her loss of Mym; time had passed, after all, and she had another life now. But he set the standard for her; she could not get interested in a lesser man.
  Ah, but interest had not been specified. Suppose she married for some reason other than love? Yet what could that be? She would not do it for money, certainly!
  But perhaps she would do it for good. If she discovered that she could do a great deal of good in the world by making a token marriage with an evil man. She shook off the notion. The prophecy simply didn't make much sense, so the sensible thing to do was to dismiss it. What would be, would be, and surely the truth would turn out to be other than the implication.
  Already there were strange aspects, though. She was a musician, utilizing her natural talent of magic projection to amplify her trained talent of music. But now her magic was spreading to the whole group she was with, and sometimes even when she was not close by. This most recent series of events, where she had seemingly put a hold on both the succubus' nature and the drug addict's craving—that was more than music! She knew, in a way, what she had done; she had borrowed from Jonah, copying the manner he held those urges in abeyance. She didn't understand the mechanism, but somehow her magic had read it and brought it to them. Still, that was a power she either had not had before or had not known she had.
  Jonah—why had the big fish deserted them for that period? He had spit them out at the wrong place, then come for them later. Could that be coincidence?
  Hardly! That session had put Orb on the spot and forced her to extend herself, drawing on her magic. The fish's lateness in picking them up from their shopping trip had a similar effect; she had done some good for those who were trying to collect money for a good purpose. Jonah must have known!
  Was the big fish trying to guide her? Why?
  Then, perhaps, she understood—the Llano. They all wanted to find that magical song. There must be some way to do that, which Orb could use—if she first mastered the full powers of her own magic. If she found the Llano, so would Jonah.
  "Very well, Jonah," she murmured. "I will seek to explore and develop my full potential. You help me when you can."
  There was no response by the big fish, but Orb knew she had in him an ally and perhaps a friend. She needed that support, for though she was back in a group, with constant activity, she was lonely. If only Mym had been able to... Orb found herself crying, for no apparent reason.
  Some months later Orb happened to see a picture on a page of a newspaper. She froze. That was Mym!
  She read the caption. PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF INDIA VISIT, it said.
  Now she looked at the woman in the picture. She was indeed a princess, regal and stunningly beautiful.
  This was the marriage they had arranged for her beloved. Orb forced herself to read the article and learned that the Princess was his betrothed, called a complex Indian name that translated to "Rapture of Malachite," and indeed she wore malachite, costly green stones. The Prince had a speech affectation, so the Princess did most of the talking, eloquently expressing the sentiments that he unobtrusively signaled to her. They had come to negotiate a loan for their nations, and their prospects were very good, for the Prince was forceful and clever despite his affectation, and the Princess most persuasive. When she leaned forward to make one of the Prince's points, even the most cynical official paid close attention.
  Orb noted the woman's evident cleavage. Of course the official paid attention!
  But this was a showcase liaison, intended to appeal to westerners. Was there any genuine feeling involved?
  Orb stared at the picture and into the picture, feeling her magic reach through it and to the reality beyond. The picture was old; she felt that now; it was a dated newspaper. But still she felt the reality behind it. There was love there. Mym did love her, and she loved him.
  Orb felt something breaking in her. Of course she was happy for Mym, she told herself. She wanted him happy, whatever his situation. The woman was blameless and good; no fault in her. But oh, the hurt, even after all this time!
  She had to get away from here for a time, to be by herself. Far away!
  Her vision blurred. Her mind seemed to blur, too. Somewhere in the far distance she heard a melody, and she knew it was a fragment of the Llano. She tuned in on it and felt her whole body blurring.
  She seemed to expand, diffusing across the chamber, then across the giant body of the fish. She remained herself, but larger, and her substance thinned as her dimensions increased. She seemed to be no more than fog, now as large as Jonah, now larger.
  She continued to diffuse, becoming so large that Jonah was only an object intersecting her torso. There was no discomfort; she seemed to occupy a different plane, able to overlap without contact. There was wind, but it did not bother her either. There were clouds, and her substance phased through them without resistance. Simultaneously it extended down to the ground and beneath it, completing a phenomenal sphere. No, not a sphere—a shaped representation of herself. She grew and grew, and thinned and thinned, yet her identity remained. She was the most monstrous of invisible giants!
  Her center remained within the fish, but the fish was now a minnow, entirely contained within her body. Near her geographic center, which was—never mind! Still she expanded, her legs plunging down through the globe that was the world, her head reaching up beyond the sky. She was increasing at a greater rate, a geometric rate, doubling her size every second or so, as fast as she might want.
  She became so vast that the globe itself began to seem confining. Her feet poked out through the bottom of it, and she stood with it slowly turning around her legs and getting smaller, casting its shadow into space. She was larger than all the world!
  But she had been in quest of something—a sound, a melody. Where was it? She bent to peer down, cocked her ear, and tuned it in, faintly. It was from the surface of the great Pacific Ocean, a spot just within her right thigh. She put her finger on it. "Here," she said.
  Her word did not sound, for her head was beyond the effective atmosphere, but it had meaning, for it was backed by her will. She began to shrink, but not as she had grown. Her center of awareness was at her finger now, and she was coalescing about that. The world expanded much faster than it had shrunk, and she closed precipitously on the spot.
  Then, abruptly, she was there. She stood on a tiny isle in the sea, beside an inlet, and in the inlet was a single lovely sponge, growing just beneath the water's surface. It was from it that the evocative sound came.
  Orb squatted. A musical sponge?
  Then she came to her senses. What was she doing here, and how had she come? She was alone on a Pacific isle, with no other land in sight, no civilization. She might have imagined her diffusion and condensation, but this was real!
  She walked around the island, finding only sand and rocks. Wind blew back her hair. The sun shone down. She picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. It splashed. Reality.
  Well, she had wanted to be alone. The melody had come from an alone-place. She had sought it and found it. Now what was she to do?
  What had caused her to seek isolation? Oh, yes—the picture of Mym. But already that jolt was passing; he was happy with his new life, and she was no part of it, and that was the way it had to be. The little snake-ring had informed her truly; she had seen him again, but not as before. That aspect of her existence was done.
  It was amazing how quickly she found herself accepting that. She must have been ready for it, merely awaiting the signal. She was free of Mym, to the extent she needed to be; she could now seek other romance.
  With Satan? She kicked the sand with sudden anger. No! That prophecy could have no validity! She would seek her own, and to Hell with Satan!
  Well. So nice to have decided. Now how did she get back home to Jonah?
  She came again to the inlet. She peered into the calm water. There was the sponge, its faint music continuing.
  "That music brought me here," she said aloud. "It must be part of the Llano. Magic. But how do I return?"
  She tried to remember what she had done before, but could not. She had just, somehow, expanded—and contracted here. Thus she had in a few seconds traveled thousands of kilometers.
  Now she was stuck here, no longer wishing to be alone. The wind was picking up, stirring the waves. Clouds were shaping overhead, possibly considering a storm. She had no shelter, no umbrella, no mackintosh. No food, no company. Except for the sponge.
  She peered down at it. The water was becoming turbulent here as the wind whipped the waves across. "What are you going to do when your water starts frothing?" she asked it. The music of the sponge intensified. It began to grow. "You!" Orb exclaimed. "I emulated that technique from you!"
  The sponge continued to grow, fading as it did so. It became an expanding shadow of itself, projecting a gauzy portion above the water. Soon it enlarged itself out of sight; there was only thinning mist where it had been, and then nothing. "Wait for me!" Orb cried. She concentrated, tuning in on the music, joining it, becoming part of it.
  She expanded. This time the process was much faster than before. In a moment she was towering invisibly over the isle, shooting out in all directions. She grew to encompass the world. Where was Jonah? She reoriented and found him, cruising along over the continent. This time she did not need to put her finger on the target; she merely coalesced about that portion of her that included the big fish. She could solidify at any site within her expanded body; all it required was the melody and her attention.
  Soon she was back inside Jonah. Her targeting was imperfect, and she solidified within the wrong chamber.
  Jezebel and the guitarist were locked in a most passionate embrace. Embarrassed, Orb puffed into whale size, then recoalesced about her own chamber. She was glad that things had worked out so well for that couple, but she had never intended to snoop on them!
  Then, solid, she marveled at what she had done. Just like that, she had enlarged, then contracted, changing her location silently and efficiently.
  She had caught a part of the Llano and traveled across the world!
  But her exploration of the fragments of the Llano was far from complete. Perhaps her most significant progress occurred because of a deceptively irrelevant item.
  The drummer and Lou-Mae were, as they put it, an item; the guitarist had his secret love to sustain him, and that continued to be the way he wanted it. The organist had a girl friend with whom he communed via a tiny magic mirror he had bought for the purpose. She had been a Livin' Sludge fan and had sent her picture, nude to the waist. That had been enough for him; their correspondence had intensified. But she declined his frequent invitations to join the tour; her family needed her on the farm, she said.
  The organist had discussed the matter freely with his companions, Orb and Jezebel included. Was Betsy stringing him along? Was her picture faked up, so that her assets were not as represented? Did she just want a distant association with him for the purpose of notoriety? She seemed like a really nice girl—and that led to another question. What would a nice girl want with a creep like him?
  "Sometimes a nice girl can get to like a creep, if he has redeeming qualities," Lou-Mae said, looking at the drummer.
  "Gee, thanks," the drummer said, smiling. He was poring over fan mail, methodically working his way through a monstrous pile of it. "How about getting a nice girl to answer some of these for me?"
  "I've got my own pile to answer!" Lou-Mae protested. "They never told me that success would bring so many letters!"
  "We need a damned secretary," the guitarist said.
  "Don't look at me!" Jezebel said. "I've got all I can do to keep up with the housework!"
  "An undamned secretary," the guitarist amended himself, smiling.
  "I wonder," Orb mused. "Does Betsy do that sort of work?"
  The organist looked at her. "You mean—?"
  "Why don't you visit her," Jezebel said, "and take Orb along, and sing your girl a song? Then she'll come here."
  The organist nodded. He looked at Orb.
  "If she is as represented..." Orb agreed. "But I have one question: does she know about the H?"
  "What I thought," the organist said, abashed, "was if she came here to Jonah, there wouldn't be any problem about that. I know she wouldn't go for H, but maybe when we find the Llano that won't matter any more."
  "But if we don't find the Llano, you may have trouble trying to fit into her world."
  "We've got to find the Llano!" he said fervently.
  They happened to be within range of Betsy's farm, though there was an engagement scheduled for the following day. "We'll do it now," Orb said. "Jonah can drop us off, then take the rest of you to the city, where you can set up. Then Jonah can come back for us in plenty of time."
  "Uh, remember what happened last time," Jezebel reminded her. "Sometimes Jonah doesn't come on call."
  "He seems to have reason when he doesn't," Orb replied. "If he strands us this time, it will surely be for the best." But she hoped they would not be stranded; that had been an uncomfortable adventure, despite its net benefit.
  Jonah obligingly deposited the two of them at the farm. Orb had her knapsack with her harp and her carpet, just in case. When they were safely on the ground, the big fish swam away, quickly disappearing.
  The farm did not look healthy. Rows and rows of plants were wilting in the baking heat. There were channels for irrigation, but they were dry.
  They approached the house. A young woman in coveralls was cleaning manure out of stalls. The horses did not look well fed.
  "It's her!" the organist whispered, terrified.
  "Then let's introduce ourselves," Orb said, taking the initiative. She strode forward, and the organist had to follow.
  The girl paused as she spied them coming. She was grimy and sweaty, and her hair was matted against her head, but she had an excellent superstructure. It seemed that her picture had been an honest representation. "What can I do for you?" she inquired tiredly. "You come to buy a horse?"
  "Not exactly," Orb said. "I am Orb, a singer for the touring group called the Livin' Sludge, and this is—"
  "It's you!" Betsy exclaimed, recognizing the organist. "Oh, I'm a sight!"
  "You're beautiful!" he said.
  She paused as if straight-armed. "You think so now?"
  "Sure! I mean, I never knew a girl before who really worked."
  She flushed, flattered. "I'm not really working, I'm just filling in. I need to get out on my own. But—"
  "But not on some freak show," he said.
  "I didn't say that!" she protested.
  "I thought maybe you were some groupie, you know, or maybe just stringing me along. Why'd you send your picture like that?"
  She grimaced. "Well, I guess it was more or less of a joke. Farm life—it's like this. I wanted to seem different. And I really like your music. And when I got to know you—" she shrugged. "I didn't think you were serious. I mean you musicians have a girl in every city, don't you?"
  "No," Orb said. "You're the only one he's kept in contact with. He asked me to help convince you to join us on the tour."
  "But I can't sing or play!" she protested. "All I know is farm life, and not a lot of that."
  "We need a secretary," Orb explained. "It really isn't professional work. It's just that there is a lot of mail coming in, and we'd like to answer it, but with the rehearsals there just isn't time to do it properly. We need someone who can go through it on a full-time basis, and sort it out, and call our attention to the important letters, and—do you type?"
  "Oh, sure, I do that. But—"
  "We could pay you, of course. We have a housekeeper already. But you would have to travel with us."
  "Now wait!" Betsy said. "I sent that picture, sure, but I'm not that kind of—"
  "We can see that you aren't," Orb said. "This is a legitimate offer. It is true that this man would like to have you with him, but there would be no commitment apart from that of the job."
  Betsy looked at her. "You know, I don't think I'd believe him, even though I like him a lot. But you—you I believe."
  "Then you'll do it?" the organist asked, hardly daring to believe it.
  "I don't know. It would be like a dream come true, to travel with the Livin' Sludge and see the whole country. But with the farm drying up like this, I'd sure feel guilty about walking out."
  "I saw that you had irrigation ditches," Orb said. "But why aren't you running water in them?"
  "What water? They're taking it all for the poison gas plant, drying up our river. If we don't get rain soon, we're finished! Us and every other farm in this area!"
  "For what kind of plant?" Orb asked, appalled.
  "Well, they claim it's a chemical plant. But there was a leak—I mean a news leak, not the other kind, thank God! and we found out it's making poison gas for the next war. And it uses an awful lot of water—something about the refinement process. We got up a petition to close it down, but they went to court and they had the money, and now they've got first call on the water. In this drought—" She shrugged. "Nothing anyone can do. If only it would rain!"
  "A poison gas plant!" the organist exclaimed, horrified. "I wish we could get rid of that!"
  "Oh, enough rain would do it," Betsy said. "Enough to wash right down that channel of theirs and flood the thing out! That would do us some good, too."
  "Rain," Orb said, a farfetched idea coming to her.
  "Bring us a deluge, and I'll go anywhere with you!" Betsy said, laughing somewhat bitterly.
  The organist spread his hands. "I wish we could! But that's not the kind of magic we're into."
  But Orb was tuning in on what she believed to be another fragment of the Llano. She concentrated, seeking it out. It was similar to the melody for traveling, but different, too; it involved expansion, but not of her own body. Contraction, of something else. A summoning and intensification "Say, Ms. Orb, are you all right?" Betsy inquired.
  "Hey, wait!" the organist cautioned her. "I think she's caught a piece of the Llano."
  "The what?"
  "It's the magic song we're all looking for, to get us off the—I mean, it's like nothing you ever heard. It—she got some of it a few months back, and—" He faltered, not wanting to speak of either H or the succubus.
  "Is there something I ought to know about?" Betsy asked alertly. "Just what's going on, on your tour?"
  Orb was concentrating on the elusive melody of summoning, ferreting it out, strengthening it in her mind. But it wasn't enough. "Get—harp," she gasped, not looking at him.
  The organist scrambled to obey. In a moment Orb's harp was in her hands. Still she clung to the tail of the melody, resonating to its enormous power without quite being able to grasp it. "Set me up!" she snapped, unable to spare the attention to do this for herself.
  They took her by the arms and guided her to the ground. They drew up her legs—she felt the organist's hands on her knees, but knew he was not being familiar. The harp came back into her hands.
  "She epileptic?" Betsy asked, worried.
  "No. It's the song. It—"
  "Tell her the truth!" Orb said, as her fingers sought the proper strings. She couldn't start playing until she found the precise place, but she had to be ready.
  "We're into H," the organist said reluctantly. "We want the Llano to get us off it."
  "You're all drug addicts?" Betsy asked, shocked.
  "Not her. Just us, the original Sludge. Once she sang my friend free of it for a while. But she can do it only a little; she needs the Llano to do it all. Meanwhile, Jonah holds it down."
  "Who?"
  The organist went into his answer, but Orb tuned out. She had zeroed in on enough of the melody to amplify! Her fingers moved, playing chords on the harp, and its magic amplified the effect. It was strange music, unlike anything she had played before, but its power manifested increasingly as she grasped it, the feedback providing her more and more of it. It was the melody of the operating system of the Elements! With it she was moving the Element of Air, stirring it—but not enough. All she could generate was a light breeze; the leverage simply wasn't there.
  She needed something else. And she thought she found it, in a distant variation of the theme. The Element of Air related to what she had done when traveling: diffusion and concentration. This other related to heat. In fact, it was the Element of Fire. She pursued this melody, her fingers dancing over the strings of her harp. More quickly than before, she caught it; she was learning how.
  She tuned in on Fire, juxtaposing it with Air, at the site she watched with her mundane eyes. The air was now being heated. But it was already hot; she was doing only what the sun was doing—and doing no good for the parched crops. It was water she needed, not fire.
  She quested for the Element of Water, scenting its melody. More quickly yet, she traced it down, caught hold of it, tuned it in. Using it, she summoned water. She knew the humidity was rising.
  But that was not enough for rain. The air would simply drift onward, retaining its moisture. She needed to make it yield that water, to precipitate it. To do that, she had to cool it—but all she had was heat, not cold. She had the melody of intensification, but not of alleviation. Should she quest for the rest? She risked losing what she had, for her mind was already overflowing with these vast and potent new themes. How long could she retain them?
  No—she could do it with the tools she had acquired! Air-Fire-Water. She concentrated her attention, fixing it on a large region of air. Then she summoned water into it, raising the humidity. Then she summoned the heat, heating the moist air. This increased its capacity to support water. So she summoned more water.
  The process accelerated as she became conversant with the separate themes. She was, indeed, tuning in on the Llano: the great processes of nature, the wind and sun and moisture, that together shaped the weather. She continued the intensification, building up an enormous mass of hot, moist air above the parched fields. Something would soon have to give!
  It did. The heated air was less dense than the cooler air surrounding it, and began to rise. Air swept in from the great geographic torus, displacing the heated mass, squeezing under it. Orb continued to heat the region, so that the incoming air warmed and followed the prior air up.
  The process accelerated further. The outer air swept in with greater authority, and the warm mass rose faster. The original mass expanded as it achieved elevation, and cooled as it did so, bringing itself to the dew point. Precipitation occurred; the air now carried too much water to support, and the water emerged as tiny droplets. The circulation of the air carried positive and negative charges into the cloud, mostly positive above, mostly negative below, and so the droplets became charged in positive and negative layers. These charges built up, until intra-cloud lightning occurred to nullify the disparity. But the process was constant, so more lightning was needed, and more. The lightning, instead of causing the precipitation to ease off, increased it a thousand fold.
  Now Orb could relax. The storm had become self-sufficient, drawing in its own air and water and ionized particles. It would continue until it dropped some of its water on the parched ground.
  Betsy and the organist were staring at the thickening storm. What Orb had done at the start had been invisible to ordinary senses, but now there was no doubting the effect. A phenomenal deluge was in the making.
  Soon the rain came. Quickly Orb put away her harp. The three of them stood there, getting soaked.
  Betsy, her clothing plastered to her body, was nevertheless radiant. "I think our farm is saved," she said and turned to embrace the organist.
  So it was that the last of the Sludge got his woman. But Orb realized that she had stepped into a new dimension of potential. She had used her music and the power of a fragment of the Llano to influence the course of nature itself. She realized that this was just the beginning. If a poorly grasped fragment could do this, what could the fall melody do? Suddenly her reasons for pursuing this song seemed trivial; she might as well have gone naked into the jungle to pursue a tiger.