Descending Road - WINJILLES THRINGE by Dana W. Paxson

WINJILLES THRINGE

1560 4D

I glanced around. The audience, humming its wave of applause, seemed indifferent to me, as if words like these were a regular part of the act. I moved to the left wall and followed it around to a small dark doorway at the corner of the stage. The doorway took me to a tight passage.

“Here.” A male voice. A hand beckoned sinuously, then disappeared. I came to a cramped chamber stuffed to its stone ceiling with instruments, plants, and costumes.

The white-eyed singer, as naked as she’d been onstage, straddled the lap of a burly arpist. Her back against his chest, she reached up with one hand to tickle his ear.

A man and woman, the syntrell players, stood, each with a leg twined around the other, and sucked on a large, dripping orange fruit they held between them with their mouths, laughing away bits of pulp. They all stared at me.

“I’m Thringe,” the singer said. Low voice, husky, scratchy, undulating.

My eyes widened. Winjilles Thringe was the best-known performer in the barholes and cloaxes like Joovlies. I’d never seen her, only heard her words thumped out everywhere in the streets. I’d made some of my verses her way: morph-beats, strict count, stark.

Her stripes had faded to a near-uniform olive-brown; tiny pupils gleamed black in her white orbs. “You’re Lejina, the bird told me. Not who I wanted, but you’ll be fine. You need coin, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“My father–“

“You lost his meds, didn’t you?”

“How did you–“

“Never mind.” Thringe hurled herself off the man’s lap and at me so fast, andro-fast, that I found myself lying on the floor looking up at a face, and a knife. General laughter. I lay in utter confusion for a second.

In one fluid movement Thringe leaped to her feet and drew me up after her. “Try again.”

This time I was angry and faster. Her hand struck me, I clutched it and spun, fell onto my shoulder; Thringe, caught with her arm wrapped around me, ended up on the floor with me on top. I rolled off and stood up, hot, bruised, and angry.

Thringe stood and faced me, smiling. “You pass.”

“Is this what you want me to do for your fucking money?” I spat.

Thringe laughed, rolling her white eyes, and so did the others, who had sat watching. “That’s much better. No, baby, but it’s a start. Not bad at all for Baby.”

“I’m not going to do anything for you.” I turned to leave.

“Wait,” said Thringe. “Let me tell you what we’re going to do, and how much you’ll get. Then you can decide whether to leave or stay. Okay?”

I backed a step away, toward the entrance, my heart pounding. “I’m listening.”

“All you have to do is pretend you’re me for a little while. That’ll get you two thousand four hundred coin.”

“You? But I can’t do that music and that…" I waved a hand at Thringe‘s faded skin-pattern. Two thousand four –! I’d be able to do so much…

“Oh, we just finished. It’s a night off tonight, so you won’t perform. I just need to be seen in a certain place, but I need to be in a different place, sovvit? No details.”

I sovved, yes. “Will it be dangerous?” As if life wasn’t.

“No, Baby, not if you do what you’re told, and stay on your feet. Oh, and here’s the first installment, whether you say yes or not.” Thringe held up a small jar. My arma virida.

“You took it?” I reached for the jar, and Thringe handed it to me.

“No! I have little friends who bring me what they find. The streets are mine.” Thringe turned away, snatched up a loose black fullsuit, pulled it on, massaged her buttocks, then looked over her shoulder at me, eyes wide. “Well?”

Her body fascinated me. I pushed the jar deep in my pouch. “Yes. And thank you for the medicine. I need to take it to my father now. When do you need me?”

“Right now.”

I froze. “But he needs this, very soon, tonight.”

“Too bad. He’ll keep for a while, won’t he? You’ll bring him a lot more if he’ll wait. You live close by?”

“Well… We’re up on Brownhollow Score.” I tried to imagine anything more dangerous than Teshill Slope on my way home.

“Come on, you won’t be far from home. An hour or two.”

“All right.” I shoved away my father’s racking coughs, his wounded looks. Thringe was right. If I brought home money I couldn’t earn in a year, his coughing would stop. But…

“So this is my band. Come on, coes, meet Baby.”

The big arpy player stood up and extended a broad slablike hand. He was naked, except for a hard codpiece decorated with an orange flame motif that shimmered as it moved. His skin, striped as Thringe‘s was, showed alternating brown and deep blue; he was heavily-muscled, with a bit of a belly. “Drasstar,” he said, grinning big bluish teeth at me.

As he enveloped my hand in his, I said my name. “Hana,” I added, acknowledging his hook with Thringe.

The musicians roared laughs. “Hana!” Thringe said, poking Drasstar in the side, “You won’t hear that often, Dash. You must look like you’re being nice to me.”

He chuckled, let my hand go, and sat down again, still smiling. His hand came up from the side of his cod, holding a long golden knife with a cryssteel edge. He went to work paring a thick thumbnail.

The syntrell players finished their third fruit, untwined their legs, wiped their hands on their skinsuits, and came to me. Ignoring my hand, the man pressed against my left side, the woman my right, and the two of them enveloped me in a warm, tangling hug. “Han,” they said together, in an almost-mocking tone.

I stood still, uncertain how to react, feeling warming inside me. “Hana,” I blurted, tensing for another raucous outburst. None came.

“Want some shree?” the woman said, letting go and holding up another of the orange globes. “It’s what gets us going.” She giggled. “I’m Rashua, and he’s Naudi.” The two of them released me, sat down and, started to peel the rind from the fruit in one long spiral.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Leave that,” Thringe said to the fruit-eating pair. “You’re horny enough. We’ve got work to do. Get her into costume. Where’s Grioskin?”

Drasstar rumbled, “He’s got a drumming date for the next hour and a half. Tanmar Fest, up near Aswar Tyrae. Outside Nexi‘s.”

“Ah, yah, I forgot. At least that’s close to where you’re all going. He knows. I told him what to do if…" Thringe stopped and beckoned Rashua.

Rashua approached me. “Take that off,” she said, plucking at my coverall. “Looks like it’s been in a rockmuncher.”

I fumbled at the releases as I kicked off my old shoes.

“That’ll take all night. Here.” Rashua‘s hands flew, and the coverall split free to fall in a heap around my feet. “Now step out,” Rashua said. I now had only a veil-thin undersuit clinging to me.

“That too,” Thringe ordered.

I reluctantly obeyed. Thringe grabbed several canisters from a high shelf and began spraying the contents on my body in long swashing vertical strokes. I shivered, my skin going cold, then too hot. Colors, gold– and silver-tinged, emerged on my body, organizing themselves into whorls and streaks of dark brown, rich green and ochre, with clearly-defined borders.

I rebelled. “I thought you said--“

“Shut the mouth, or you’ll get spray in it. Eyes too.”

Next came a spare set of Thringe‘s headgear: a shiny helm with dazzling displays of song lyrics and political chants roiling across its surface.

“Hate to mess with that hair of yours, but it’s fine and easy to hide. Tuck it up, yeah.” The helm fitted completely over my hair, and settled tightly into place. “Now, the eyes.”

“What?”

Rashua held up two fingers in a V; on each fingertip a limp corneal covering dangled. “Come here. Eyes wide, no blinking.”

The thin lenses bonded gently to my eyeballs. I blinked: no pain, and I could still see perfectly. “Do I have to do or say anything?” I caught a look at myself in a long makeup mirror, and gasped. The image of Thringe herself looked back at me with machine fascination. “My face! What did you do to me?”

“Easy, Baby, it’s just the smartgel spray and those super-sess eyes of mine. You can wash the spray off when you’re done.”

“Well, what do I do?”

Naudi handed me a pair of hard-soled slippers. Thringe made some adjustments to the helm, and touched up the spray. “You’ll put my cape on and go with the others up to Caladrina‘s at Tyrae. You’re all going to sit there. They’ll play a little, if it suits them. All you have to do is sit with them and look pissed off. I get like that sometimes.

“If anybody comes over and starts talking to you, just nod at Drasstar, and he’ll come over and growl at them, and they will go away. Drasstar?”

Drasstar made a noise in his throat like a snarl below the bass register, and raised his knife.

Thringe nodded. “Yeah, like that. People know me, so you won’t have to say a word. Naudi will be looking for a signal, and when he gets it, you all come back down here. Grioskin won’t be far away, and they’ll get him fast if he’s needed. Got all this?”

I repeated it all back, with only one impatient correction.

“Good. And don’t do anything on your own. Just sit. Okay?”

“Okay.” I looked at my own image in the mirror again, and my heart beat faster. My body wasn’t bad — not as lean and muscular as Thringe‘s but attractive — and for a second I wanted to stay hanging in this throb of the music and the moment.

I dragged my attention back to Thringe, who said, “Yeah, you do look pretty good. Now, if anything goes wrong, and you have to leave, go any way you can, but be back here before midnight. Got it?”

“Before midnight, back here.”

“That’s right.”

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	WINJILLES THRINGE 1560 4D I glanced around. The audience, humming its wave of applause, seemed indifferent to me, as if words like these were a regular part of the act. I moved to the left wall and followed it around to a small dark doorway at the corner of the stage. The doorway took me to a tight passage. “Here.” A male voice. A hand beckoned sinuously, then disappeared. I came to a cramped chamber stuffed to its stone ceiling with instruments, plants, and costumes. The white-eyed singer, as naked as she’d been onstage, straddled the lap of a burly arpist. Her back against his chest, she reached up with one hand to tickle his ear. A man and woman, the syntrell players, stood, each with a leg twined around the other, and sucked on a large, dripping orange fruit they held between them with their mouths, laughing away bits of pulp. They all stared at me. “I’m Thringe,” the singer said. Low voice, husky, scratchy, undulating. My eyes widened. Winjilles Thringe was the best-known performer in the barholes and cloaxes like Joovlies. I’d never seen her, only heard her words thumped out everywhere in the streets. I’d made some of my verses her way: morph-beats, strict count, stark. Her stripes had faded to a near-uniform olive-brown; tiny pupils gleamed black in her white orbs. “You’re Lejina, the bird told me. Not who I wanted, but you’ll be fine. You need coin, or you wouldn’t be here.” “My father–“ “You lost his meds, didn’t you?” “How did you–“ “Never mind.” Thringe hurled herself off the man’s lap and at me so fast, andro-fast, that I found myself lying on the floor looking up at a face, and a knife. General laughter. I lay in utter confusion for a second. In one fluid movement Thringe leaped to her feet and drew me up after her. “Try again.” This time I was angry and faster. Her hand struck me, I clutched it and spun, fell onto my shoulder; Thringe, caught with her arm wrapped around me, ended up on the floor with me on top. I rolled off and stood up, hot, bruised, and angry. Thringe stood and faced me, smiling. “You pass.” “Is this what you want me to do for your fucking money?” I spat. Thringe laughed, rolling her white eyes, and so did the others, who had sat watching. “That’s much better. No, baby, but it’s a start. Not bad at all for Baby.” “I’m not going to do anything for you.” I turned to leave. “Wait,” said Thringe. “Let me tell you what we’re going to do, and how much you’ll get. Then you can decide whether to leave or stay. Okay?” I backed a step away, toward the entrance, my heart pounding. “I’m listening.” “All you have to do is pretend you’re me for a little while. That’ll get you two thousand four hundred coin.” “You? But I can’t do that music and that…" I waved a hand at Thringe‘s faded skin-pattern. Two thousand four –! I’d be able to do so much… “Oh, we just finished. It’s a night off tonight, so you won’t perform. I just need to be seen in a certain place, but I need to be in a different place, sovvit? No details.” I sovved, yes. “Will it be dangerous?” As if life wasn’t. “No, Baby, not if you do what you’re told, and stay on your feet. Oh, and here’s the first installment, whether you say yes or not.” Thringe held up a small jar. My arma virida. “You took it?” I reached for the jar, and Thringe handed it to me. “No! I have little friends who bring me what they find. The streets are mine.” Thringe turned away, snatched up a loose black fullsuit, pulled it on, massaged her buttocks, then looked over her shoulder at me, eyes wide. “Well?” Her body fascinated me. I pushed the jar deep in my pouch. “Yes. And thank you for the medicine. I need to take it to my father now. When do you need me?” “Right now.” I froze. “But he needs this, very soon, tonight.” “Too bad. He’ll keep for a while, won’t he? You’ll bring him a lot more if he’ll wait. You live close by?” “Well… We’re up on Brownhollow Score.” I tried to imagine anything more dangerous than Teshill Slope on my way home. “Come on, you won’t be far from home. An hour or two.” “All right.” I shoved away my father’s racking coughs, his wounded looks. Thringe was right. If I brought home money I couldn’t earn in a year, his coughing would stop. But… “So this is my band. Come on, coes, meet Baby.” The big arpy player stood up and extended a broad slablike hand. He was naked, except for a hard codpiece decorated with an orange flame motif that shimmered as it moved. His skin, striped as Thringe‘s was, showed alternating brown and deep blue; he was heavily-muscled, with a bit of a belly. “Drasstar,” he said, grinning big bluish teeth at me. As he enveloped my hand in his, I said my name. “Hana,” I added, acknowledging his hook with Thringe. The musicians roared laughs. “Hana!” Thringe said, poking Drasstar in the side, “You won’t hear that often, Dash. You must look like you’re being nice to me.” He chuckled, let my hand go, and sat down again, still smiling. His hand came up from the side of his cod, holding a long golden knife with a cryssteel edge. He went to work paring a thick thumbnail. The syntrell players finished their third fruit, untwined their legs, wiped their hands on their skinsuits, and came to me. Ignoring my hand, the man pressed against my left side, the woman my right, and the two of them enveloped me in a warm, tangling hug. “Han,” they said together, in an almost-mocking tone. I stood still, uncertain how to react, feeling warming inside me. “Hana,” I blurted, tensing for another raucous outburst. None came. “Want some shree?” the woman said, letting go and holding up another of the orange globes. “It’s what gets us going.” She giggled. “I’m Rashua, and he’s Naudi.” The two of them released me, sat down and, started to peel the rind from the fruit in one long spiral. “No, thanks,” I said. “Leave that,” Thringe said to the fruit-eating pair. “You’re horny enough. We’ve got work to do. Get her into costume. Where’s Grioskin?” Drasstar rumbled, “He’s got a drumming date for the next hour and a half. Tanmar Fest, up near Aswar Tyrae. Outside Nexi‘s.” “Ah, yah, I forgot. At least that’s close to where you’re all going. He knows. I told him what to do if…" Thringe stopped and beckoned Rashua. Rashua approached me. “Take that off,” she said, plucking at my coverall. “Looks like it’s been in a rockmuncher.” I fumbled at the releases as I kicked off my old shoes. “That’ll take all night. Here.” Rashua‘s hands flew, and the coverall split free to fall in a heap around my feet. “Now step out,” Rashua said. I now had only a veil-thin undersuit clinging to me. “That too,” Thringe ordered. I reluctantly obeyed. Thringe grabbed several canisters from a high shelf and began spraying the contents on my body in long swashing vertical strokes. I shivered, my skin going cold, then too hot. Colors, gold– and silver-tinged, emerged on my body, organizing themselves into whorls and streaks of dark brown, rich green and ochre, with clearly-defined borders. I rebelled. “I thought you said--“ “Shut the mouth, or you’ll get spray in it. Eyes too.” Next came a spare set of Thringe‘s headgear: a shiny helm with dazzling displays of song lyrics and political chants roiling across its surface. “Hate to mess with that hair of yours, but it’s fine and easy to hide. Tuck it up, yeah.” The helm fitted completely over my hair, and settled tightly into place. “Now, the eyes.” “What?” Rashua held up two fingers in a V; on each fingertip a limp corneal covering dangled. “Come here. Eyes wide, no blinking.” The thin lenses bonded gently to my eyeballs. I blinked: no pain, and I could still see perfectly. “Do I have to do or say anything?” I caught a look at myself in a long makeup mirror, and gasped. The image of Thringe herself looked back at me with machine fascination. “My face! What did you do to me?” “Easy, Baby, it’s just the smartgel spray and those super-sess eyes of mine. You can wash the spray off when you’re done.” “Well, what do I do?” Naudi handed me a pair of hard-soled slippers. Thringe made some adjustments to the helm, and touched up the spray. “You’ll put my cape on and go with the others up to Caladrina‘s at Tyrae. You’re all going to sit there. They’ll play a little, if it suits them. All you have to do is sit with them and look pissed off. I get like that sometimes. “If anybody comes over and starts talking to you, just nod at Drasstar, and he’ll come over and growl at them, and they will go away. Drasstar?” Drasstar made a noise in his throat like a snarl below the bass register, and raised his knife. Thringe nodded. “Yeah, like that. People know me, so you won’t have to say a word. Naudi will be looking for a signal, and when he gets it, you all come back down here. Grioskin won’t be far away, and they’ll get him fast if he’s needed. Got all this?” I repeated it all back, with only one impatient correction. “Good. And don’t do anything on your own. Just sit. Okay?” “Okay.” I looked at my own image in the mirror again, and my heart beat faster. My body wasn’t bad — not as lean and muscular as Thringe‘s but attractive — and for a second I wanted to stay hanging in this throb of the music and the moment. I dragged my attention back to Thringe, who said, “Yeah, you do look pretty good. Now, if anything goes wrong, and you have to leave, go any way you can, but be back here before midnight. Got it?” “Before midnight, back here.” “That’s right.”