Decker #15

It was night when Decker awakened. His mouth was a pot of metal-flavored library paste. He was face-down on the stone sea-walk. When he moved his head, his entire body cried out in agony. He let his head roll back to its resting place and attempted to gather the strength and fortitude necessary to roll onto his side.
It seemed an eternity before he was on his feet, leaning against the the stone rail of the quay. In the light of a half moon, he saw Degren staggering toward him with one of the water jugs from the boat. Ah, good Degren, wise Degren, he thought! Water....
They shared the jug, back and forth, until Decker felt it sloshing nauseously inside him. He could see the aching, searing, stabbing pains he felt mirrored on Degren's face. Cautiously, tenderly, he reached out to hold his friend. "Damn, man," he crackled, "I've gotten you in a shitload of trouble, haven't I?"
Degren carefully put his arms around Decker. Wrapped in this comforting embrace, they stood silently for long moments.
Degren finally broke the silence. "You mustn't blame yourself, Decker."
"I have to blame myself for what I'm feeling now," Decker nearly sobbed, ""Your friend, your, er, mate, is off who knows where, probably lonely and confused, and missing you, Degren! And here I am, starting to think it wouldn't be so bad to just stay here, it would be so much easier to just give up and accept...who I am now. It's not right!"
Degren sighed. "I must tell you, Decker, that I have had similar thoughts. It is not easy to seek to strive after something that seems to be right next to you. Often of late I have wondered what would be wrong with...why we just can't....but you are not Furge."
Decker stiffened, slowly released his hold. "Yeah, you're right. So we have to keep trying. But we can't go diving while we have these goddam bleeding wounds. Who knows what might come swimming up? And I'm nowhere near strong enough right now, anyway. What the hell are we going to do, Degren?"
They stood side by side, looking down at Cletus, until the sun rose. Their exhausted, despondent reverie was broken by the sound of hooves on stone. The satyrs had obviously gone to acquire tools to repair their carriage, and now they had it in working order. They pulled up alongside the two men, and a look of concern crossed their faces. The lead satyr on their side, who Decker somehow recognized as Tharlo, seemed to commune silently with the group, then said, "We will take you to a safe place where you can heal."
"Um, what about our friend?" Decker pointed to the tattered, bloody remains. "We need to bury him."
"You are in no condition to do that. We will take care of him. You will be consulted on the means of his disposal." Three of the centaurs dropped their traces and retrieved a large sheet of canvas from the cargo area of the carriage, and set to wrapping the body.
"B-but how will we pay you?" Decker asked. "What money we had was scattered to the winds during the storm!"
One of the satyrs picked up a pouch that lay next to where Cletus had fallen, shaking it; it was his pouch of coins that Lady Gudren had given him. Tharlo angled his head to point a horn at the pouch. "By the sound of it, you have plenty of money. However, due to the circumstances of your present condition, and the responsibility we must take for failing to bring you safely to your destination, our code requires us to assist you until you are able to continue as though our failure never happened. Your wounds from the Kazenrey," he pointed to the fallen carrion birds, "you will have to compensate the doctors to dress."
"What will we do about the boat?" Decker pointed to the vessel they'd been using.
"Does it belong to you?" The satyr raised an eyebrow.
"Um, no...."
"We will secure it at the quay. Perhaps its owner will find it there."
Decker nodded reluctantly, then followed Degren into the carriage. Decker was handed Cletus' money pouch. They were secured inside, given extra pillows and blankets to cushion them against the rough roads, and left to rest. Decker felt the carriage begin moving, wondered at the good fortune of the satyrs' return, and slowly lapsed into an aching, troubled sleep.
The sun was almost directly overhead when they pulled up to a store front on the lone, narrow cobbled street of a town at the foot of a single, large mountain. There was a white mortar and pestle painted on the door; the universal symbol of the apothecary trade, it seemed. They were led inside, where two middle-aged women in knee-length white togas sat behind a dark wood counter. All around the little shop, in every narrow aisle, in baskets hanging from ceiling hooks and neatly arrayed on shelves, were paper packets, ceramic and glass jars, books, scrolls, artifacts of bone, glass, and many other materials, carved images, and assorted other oddments
Upon seeing them, the two women sprang immediately and silently into action, one gathering medicaments while the other led Decker and Degren to a back room that held four neatly made single beds. Once both men were properly arranged on the beds, the two women looked them over, removing the makeshift bandages, eliciting grunts and groans by their prodding, nodding to each other and sending hand signals back and forth. Decker cast a questioning eye at Tharlo, who had accompanied them into the little clinic.
"Falgra and Fiona are deaf and mute," he answered the implicit question. "They have been so since birth. In dedicating their lives to finding a cure for their condition, they learned a great deal of the physician's and the apothecary's arts. Sadly for them and fortunately for you, they have as yet not discovered that which they most fervently seek."
"Oh." Decker wondered how they could know their patients' complaints. "Um, what will you do now?"
"We will go back to our duties. Our commitment to you is nearly complete. I will return each week until you have recovered sufficiently to travel, and then we will take you to whatever destination you ask, within reason. Then you will most likely see us no more."
He bid the satyr goodbye and thanks.
The ministrations of the women were painful but soothing. When they saw the pain in each man's eyes, their hands went into a flurry of symbols, then they each nodded. Fiona ducked out of the room, returning swiftly with a small vial and two glasses of water. Into each glass she dripped seven drops from the vial, then handed one glass to each man. Both drank thirstily, noting a pleasant herbal savor. When the water was gone, Decker found the herbal taste growing in hos mouth, becoming aromatic, wafting into his sinuses and his brain. The pain was receding from his body and a warm sense of peace and well-being flooded through him. He felt no need to maintain watchfulness, no sense of threat seemed present. He lay back on the bed and let the soft, pastel-color drift of an herb garden flow across all his senses, let it paint muted rainbows and beautiful blurry birds on the insides of his eyelids. Dreamy, content, he laid back and settled in to watch the show.
He awakened to the dull ache and itching of his wounds. One of the women sat in a chair at the center of the room, glancing back and forth at Degren and himself. When she saw his eyes open, she was quick to offer another glass of water, which Decker eyed suspiciously. Her face lit up in a mirthful grin, and a sound somewhat resembling laughter fell from her lips. She shook her head, showing him the vial that contained the pleasant medicine he'd taken before, then setting it aside. She offered him the glass again.
"It's just water this time," Degren's voice issued from behind her. He was propped against a pile of pillows. "It might have a little lemon in it, but that's all. I had a glass not long ago."
"Well, I am parched," Decker said, taking the glass and draining it. He handed it back to the woman and asked, "So now how do we tell which one of them is Fiona and which is Falgra?"
She studied his lips as he spoke, then pointed to her chest and uttered, "Thee-orh-nhah." She seemed embarrasses by the clumsiness of her speech, almost immediately rising and backing toward the door. Unsure why he did so, Decker said, "I'm sorry."
The next few weeks went by like a soft May breeze, punctuated only by Cletus' passing ceremony, a simple rite offering his body to the sky and setting it ablaze on a wooden bier. As the days passed, they spent less time in the clinic and more wandering the gentle foothills around the town, which greatly resembled the terrain he'd seen in travel brochures for Italy, but without the artifacts of man. Falgra and Fiona spent most of their time now attending other patients and minding the store, though they seemed to have grown attached to the two gray-furred men. After the second week they offered them their homemade wine each evening, sharing it with them and trying to show them some of the elementary aspects of their sign language. Degren picked it up fairly rapidly, but Decker could only grasp the simplest of action words.
At the end of three weeks, Tharlo returned for the third time. "I see that you have recovered greatly. Are you ready to go?"
In fact, the two men had begun planning for their departure almost a week before. Afternoons together, out on the pastel hillsides amongst clusters of olive trees, they had hesitantly found some solace in each others arms. They both realized that the time to decide was upon them; continue their quest for Furge or make their lives anew. Decker knew he had fallen for Degren; knew he could spend the rest of his life with him. Degren accepted this as well, though there was a deep sadness in his eyes when he spoke of it.
Decker had made the final decision. "I think we should take this out to its bitter end," he said one evening as they lay together watching the sun set. "It wouldn't be fair to Furge if we stopped before all possibilities had been explored."
Degren's face vacillated between reluctance and relief at Decker's statement. "I agree."
So they told Tharlo they'd be ready to go back to the deserted hotel the following morning. Falgra and Fiona seemed disappointed that they would leave so soon, but accepted half the contents of Cletus' money pouch in payment for their services. They brought out several bottles of their wine that evening; much dustier than the ones they'd previously shared. Fiona held the bottles to her chest as though they were babies, but poured generously and jovially once they were opened. There was much laughter and hand signing that evening, in fact, when the sun peeked up over the mountains and the carriage stood awaiting them, the four were just finishing another bottle of Fiona's and Falgra's excellent wine.

Furge

He dreamed he was falling slowly through prism-cracked swirls of clouds; swirls, tails, clots of iridescent vapor danced around him in soft, chaotic beauty. His own axis seemed as random as his surroundings; it was impossible to tell if he was turning, spinning, looping, or if it was all happening around him and he remained static. There was no self, no memory, only this moment of serene whimsy. Here and there he'd see little vignettes of activity, of discrete forms in pantomime; walruses at tea in noble 18th century finery, a space-suited figure with its arms around a half-moon, goat-headed faeries circle-dancing on daisy petals, a ball of rose-tinged blue worms with angel wings turning barrel rolls and trailing a corkscrew of lavender smoke behind, and other such whimsical oddities.
His panchromatic visions slowly congealed into a smoky mirror. His image lay before him, bloody and bandaged with shreds of odd fabric. In his dream, his heartbeat became heavy and reverberant; a swooshing rush, a thunderous climax, then Doppler-ed echoes fading into the next rush. He reached out to touch himself, to caress his own bloodied, matted fur, but the arm he extended was covered in bare, pinkish-tan skin. As he raised the hand, a stranger's hand, to examine it, the mirror image changed and he was gazing on the form of the stranger; naked, repulsive, weak-looking. As he moved the ugly hand, he saw his motion duplicated in the smoky surface. He was the stranger!
His eyes hazed yellowy-orange; his breath came in gasps. The dream went dark and he found himself laying on a strangely soft surface, tangled in thin fabric. On either side of him lay a female of the same repulsive type he now seemed to be. There were strange lights flashing through the glass window of the small room they occupied; an oddly-shaped outline of a glass with glowing words scrolled underneath; words which were in a language that he shouldn't have been able to decipher, but he could; "Food and drink".
He pulled back the sheet and looked down at himself, noting that there was a trickle of seminal fluid leaking out. Memories of the previous evening came rushing back. He'd gotten quite used to inhabiting this body, it seemed; the three of them had stayed for last call, then come back to his companions' motel room and romped gleefully until they'd passed out. Disgusted, despondent, but resigned, Furge let his thoughts again swirl down into unconsciousness.

Decker #14

Decker was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he wandered toward where he guessed the carriage would be. He'd awakened to the bright glare of morning, stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard foyer tiles, and felt he needed to move Degren and Cletus were still asleep. The eight satyrs were nowhere to be seen. Maybe he'd be able to retrieve the diving gear.
He wandered through storm-tossed debris; there was seaweed, dead fish, torn vegetation and splintered wood, occasional human artifacts such as clothing, boards, soggy paper, and, finally, the wreckage of the carriage. The cabin was largely in splinters, but the cargo area underneath was pretty much intact, held together by the sturdy undercarriage. Their parcels were barely damp. He tucked them under his arms and headed back to the hotel.
Degren was awake, but Cletus hadn't stirred. Decker plopped the luggage down on the foyer bench and knelt over the pale, shallowly breathing miner. "Cletus," he said softly, squeezing the man's skinny bicep, then louder, "Cletus, wake up."
His eyes fluttered open, foggy and unfocused. "Wher'm'I," he croaked, "Owwww...muh head..." The eyelids dropped like loose feathers.
"Cletus, you've got to wake up now. You took a mean spill out there, and we don't want you slipping into a coma."
Cletus' brow knit in a petulant frown. "Tired....don't 'member nuthin....jest dang tired and hung over, must be...."
"Degren, help me get him up," Decker said. "He can't go back to sleep now. I think he's hurt pretty bad. We've got to keep him awake. Shit and shit! Skinny bastard can be heavy when he wants to...here, take him under the left arm, I've got the right..."
"Whut the blue Jesus're ya doin', yuh shrimp boat dung beetle peckerwoods?" Cletus made a weak attempt to pull himself free, but they got him to his feet. He tried to lift his feet so they'd have to carry him or drop him, but the best he could do was to drag the metal-trimmed heels of his boots on the tile. He switched to a nasal, wheedling tone."Aww, c'mon, fellers, let a hombre catch a few winks, huh?"
"Cletus," Decker said, "We've got to take you for a little walk, help you clear your head. Degren, once we get him out into the sun and moving around, we'll need some fresh water. We'll have to get it from the pool, I guess, unless you can find a place where the rain collected. I saw some cups behind the counter in the reception area."
"Now ya ain't gonna try tuh make me drink some ding-dang water, are yuh? I'c'n tell yuh where tuh find some more of thet fine rotgut...."
"You'll be drinking water."
"Hunh. Whut's thet you like to say....um, 'shit and shit'?"
Decker steered them down the stone sea-walk to a set of stairs that met the beach. "I'll hang on to him here, Degren. Could you get some water, and then bring the diving gear? Cletus, we don't expect you to swim, but you have to take beach watch, make sure nothing comes for us while we're in the water, okay? Can you do that?"
"Ayup, okay. Where's muh rotgut? Gotta get fortified fer this here duty. Muh head's 'bout ready to blow up like a powder keg."
"Degren will be back with a beverage for you in a minute. Can you stand by yourself?"
"Unh...ayup. But ah want muh rotgut."
"After we get out of the water."
"We ain't in the water."
Degren had found a large carafe and two cups, and had managed to carry those and the three parcels down. They made Cletus drink two whole glasses of water, then they donned the swim fins, masks, and snorkels. They both eschewed the trunks. "Guess we'll start right here," Decker said. "I can see where the coral starts, not much more than a couple stone's throws out. Keep an eye on us, Cletus. We'll keep checking from time to time, so if something happens, keep waving until we see you."
The beach was a tangle of driftwood, seaweed, flotsam, and carcasses of sea life, some familiar and some downright bizarre, some hideous and frightening. The first thirty or forty feet of water was a slowly undulating olio of stuff similar to what lay on the beach. There were small eel-like fish; there were creatures that resembled jellyfish but with a leathery golden shell; there were dozens of what looked like bright yellow pickles with a flower-like cluster of red antennae at each end. Decker noted one species dominating; a blue, Frisbee-sized fish with rusty orange fins and tail; there were hundreds, maybe thousands of these floating milky-eyed or dredged in sand on the shore. There was one very scary carcass of another species, vaguely resembling a giant octopus some forty feet long, which had instead of a bulbous head a mirroring set of tentacles that terminated in vicious-looking mouths arrayed with rows of small, shark-like teeth. Decker strongly hoped they wouldn't meet anything like that in the water!
As he was showing Degren how to put on the swim fins, mask, and snorkel, Decker noticed Cletus gazing fixedly down the beach. He turned his eyes to follow the bleary miner's gaze. About a hundred yards down the shore, listing slightly as it rocked in the gentle waves, was a boat! He pointed it out to Degren. "Look! Holy shit, man, wouldn't that make things easier! Let's go check it out!"
They picked their way along the beach, then waded through the flotsam to inspect it. It was probably 16 feet long and 4 feet wide, high-prow-ed with about 4 feet of deck at the front and a narrow, shallow transom at the back. The deck was flared to spill waves over the gunwales. There was almost a foot of water sloshing around inside; they used the carafe to bail it. There was a bulkhead with an inset door under the deck; most likely dry storage, Decker surmised. There was a painter, or leader rope attached to the bow, dangling in the water. Its oars were lashed in under the gunwales. Decker worked the lashings loose and set the oars in their locks. "Let's get this beauty out past the garbage and row down to the low end of the quay so we can get Cletus on board," Decker urged. "Oh man, this is kinda like the boat at my Grandpa's lake place. Memories!"
They tugged it out until the water was too deep, then fought their way into it and basically poled through the detritus until they were clear enough to row. From there it was an easy trip back to the quay; the little craft was sound and sleek, and handled like a dream. They guided the dizzy Cletus into the boat and he promptly retched over the side
"'M not much of a seafarer," he choked out between nausea spasms. ""Ah, erk, dunno if'n, erk, ah kin do this. Mebbe yuh better leave me on shore."
Seeing Cletus' distress, Decker and Degren were inclined to agree. Decker worried about Cletus' condition; he was paler and weaker, and his eyes looked strange. "We'll leave him here on the pier," he said to Degren, "but let's make him comfortable. I saw some chaise lounges folded up in the storage room behind the hotel counter. I'll run back and grab one."
With Cletus situated comfortably, they got back in the boat and made for the first bank of coral. Decker showed Degren how to maneuver the boat, then he indulged his curiosity regarding the dry storage at the bow. The door opened easily, revealing neatly stowed flotation devices, fishing gear, a rope and anchor, containers of fresh water, rubberized canvas bags of dried food, the odd navigation devices, and a sealed cylinder containing nautical charts that were easily recognizable as depicting the shoreline they were on. He couldn't believe their good fortune; there were even some wrecks charted!
Noting that there was a concentration of wrecks just down the coast and about a quarter mile from shore, they took turns rowing toward that area. When he felt like they were close, Decker dropped anchor and got into his gear. As he was helping Degren get his mask on and showing him how to use the snorkel, he heard odd noises overhead. They both looked up; far above, wheeling and calling, were a dozen or so huge birds. They reminded Decker of the buzzards that he'd occasionally see circling over dead animals in the dry Arizona waste. He was surprised that there weren't any such birds on the shore; it would be a veritable smorgasbord for them there!
The water was between ten and fifty feet deep where they were. Initially, Decker stayed in twenty feet of water or less, but as he got used to the depth he found that his new body did remarkably well there. He reveled in a new-found ability to hold his breath for four or five minutes, and how his dense pelt seemed almost waterproof, leaving the skin underneath comfortable and warm even in the cooler water of the depths.
They searched seven or eight of the more accessible wrecks, finding nothing of real interest. Decker wondered why there would be so many ships clustered in this one area. It didn't seem as though a sea battle had taken place; though there were a few ships that carried armaments, most appeared to be merchant or pleasure craft. Most of the vessels here were decayed enough so that it was difficult to guess what had sunk them.
He was no expert on maritime vessels, but one thing struck him as odd; very few of the ships seemed to be constructed in similar styles. It was a real hodgepodge of shapes, and if his guess was correct, it spanned a broader range of eras than could be accounted for within the time that tide and natural decay would allow.
Another thing that surprised him was the complete lack of any marine fauna. There was a lot of fractured and fragmented coral. a lot of shreds of vegetation, and copious evidence that all sorts of sea plants flourished here, though the storm had wreaked havoc on it, but there was not a single fish to be seen swimming among the wrecks. The storm couldn't have killed everything, could it?
By the time they'd combed a dozen broken hulls, they were both ready for a break. They made their way back to the boat and climbed in. Decker glanced toward the quay where Cletus had been resting. "Strange," he said. "Looks like Cletus has company. Maybe the satyrs came back." He squinted at the scene, trying to make out detail in the distance, but there was a haze in the air; the figures surrounding Cletus appeared to be cloaked, but it was hard to tell.
"Perhaps we'd better go check up on him," Degren offered.
Decker tried to remember if he'd seen a spyglass in the fore of the little boat; he pulled open the door and rummaged around. "Yes!" He raised it triumphantly, then put it to his eye.
He was shocked by a scene of horrible carnage. It was definitely not the satyrs that surrounded their rustic companion; even through the haze, he could make out the great, bloody beaks and the dark, cloak-like, partly-folded wings of half a dozen huge birds. They were tearing, rending, fighting over Cletus' remains; he was definitely dead; Decker could see white ribs amid the blur of gore that had been his chest.
Heart thudding heavily in his own chest, Decker handed the glass to Degren and began hauling furiously on the anchor rope. "Shit shit SHIT!", he grated between his teeth, nearly dropping the anchor on his foot in his haste to get it on board. He leaped to the oars as Degren gaped, and started rowing with all his might.
It seemed like forever before the bow bumped the quay wall. Decker's breath came in ragged gasps; his upper body was fiery with fatigue. Still, he yanked an oar from its lock and leaped to the quay wall, racing at the cluster of carrion birds that surrounded his friend. Degren grabbed the other oar and followed.
"Get the fuck off him, you rotten bastards!" Decker's voice was a cracking screech/roar; the birds all turned to face him as he brandished the oar. Their faces looked oddly human, aside from the ugly, curved beaks. They stood at least as tall as he did, and seemed less than frightened by his threatening approach. The six of them looked at each other for a split second, as though communing on how to handle the situation, then each turned malevolent, intelligent eyes on one of the two approaching adversaries. Four remained on the ground, holding their huge wings half-open, ready to pump themselves into the air but just as ready to thrust a wide-open, razor-sharp beak at them. The other two lumbered upward with slow, clumsy flapping until they had gotten aloft, then rose more gracefully as the two men closed with the rest of their group.
Decker swung his oar in a sweeping, overhand arc at the first bird he encountered. It turned and flapped a wing at him, the feathers grazing his face and the bony elbow of the wing deflecting his hasty blow. He nearly lost the oar as the great bird screeched in pain and thrust its beak at his thigh. The oar was clumsy and heavy; he barely got it into the path of the bird's strike.
The four birds had split into two groups, each duo attacking one of the men. Decker's second bird waddled around to accost him from behind. He couldn't afford to take the time to see what the two airborne birds were up to. The one whose strike he'd blocked was shaking off the effects of blundering into the blade of his oar. As quickly as he could, he wheeled the oar in a short arc and struck at the menacing head.
His blow struck home with a satisfying crunch; the bird wobbled stunned, but didn't go down. He spun just in time to catch a glancing snap at his calf by the other bird; a split-second later, and he was sure there would have been little meat left on his lower leg. As it was, there was a nasty gash in his calf, oozing blood faster than he was comfortable with.
He ignored the pain and stabbed at the bird's chest with the blade of the oar, causing it to flap its wings or overbalance. He drew back the oar for a strike at the neck, but the bird was wary; it hopped backward in time to elude the blow. The bird's retreat served another purpose as well; he felt talons grip his shoulders and a disorienting roil of turbulence as one of the airborne creatures swooped on him.
He lifted his oar and jabbed at the bird's crotch, trying to keep one eye forward for any lunges by the grounded bird. He managed to wedge the blade of the oar between the bird's thigh and body, and decided to wrench at the oar while trying to drop and roll. He felt the claws release from his shoulders and he pulled the oar up in front of himself just in time to deflect a flapping wing bone from his temple. The other bird on him made an ill-advised thrust of its beak, catching in the feathers at the base of its partner's neck. Decker seized his opportunity; he rolled to his feet and caught the diving bird with a roundhouse in the side of the neck. It squawked and fell, wobbling its head from side to side. Decker hoped its neck was broken.
He had time to glance over at Degren. He, too, had done in one of his attackers, but he was still struggling with the two that remained; one on the ground and one wheeling overhead. He was bleeding from a deep gash in his bicep and another across his chest.
The one undamaged bird on Decker got a slashing beak inside his defenses, ripping a great gab of flesh off his ribcage. The pain was blinding; for a second he saw nothing but a red-yellow haze. He nearly doubled over, but managed to wrench his oar up and deliver a glancing, ineffective blow tot the bird's chest.
Now the vulture creatures became more wary. The one he'd struck in the neck was injured, but not out of it; it circled around to Decker's rear while the other feinted and retreated before his oar. Decker was getting tired, and the birds could sense it. His arms felt like two tubes of sand. His ravaged calf was threatening to stop supporting him. He knew he would have to end this quickly, or he would soon look like Cletus.
The thought of Cletus stabbed him, bringing a last rush of adrenaline to his veins. The haze in his eyes was starkly red now, and he clenched his jaw spasmodically. Uttering a great bellow, he brought the oar down in a mighty stroke on the bird that faced him just as the other one dug its beak into his shoulder. As the one crumpled, he switched his grip on the oar to center and jabbed the handle end into the breast of the one behind him. So violent was the thrust that it slid in at the base of the bird's throat, crushing its windpipe; it released its grip on his shoulder and fell, gasping ineffectually.
He had the energy for one last charge. The bird that harried Degren's backside didn't notice his presence; he was able to drop it in its tracks with a swing that might have split an elm log. Degren, bloodied as badly as Decker was, also found just enough reserve to bring a blow around that, though it was partially blocked by an upraised wing, struck home at the last bird's temple. Exhausted, the men administered killing blows to the surviving creatures and sunk to the ground.
As soon as he could see through the red haze, Decker gathered shreds of Cletus' clothing and started wrapping his wounds. Degren followed his lead. They were both weak from blood loss, but it seemed they would survive.
Bandaged, reeling, they stood over the remains of Cletus. "Guess we should bury him," Decker said.
"Normally I'd disagree," Degren replied, "but I don't want his remains to be eaten by such filth as these."
"Can't do it now, anyway," Decker said as his knees gave way, "Gotta rest." He fell to the flotsam-strewn stone and watched the pretty stars and nebulae swirl into darkness.

Decker #13

Decker awoke in a mist of sweat. The carriage had become suffocatingly hot in the mid-afternoon sun. He mopped at his forehead with the back of a furred hand, suddenly realizing what a ridiculous gesture that was. He laughed, causing his two companions to stir. Cletus mumbled a string of rustic curses; Degren merely frowned and looked out the window.
They were rumbling along a seaside bluff in rutted tracks. The satyrs' hooves made a dull, thudding rhythm in the dusty sand. They, too, were sweating profusely, and they sang a sort of deep-throated dirge as they trotted. The air was dense, oppressive; to Decker it felt like the still before a southern Minnesota thunderstorm.
The sea was an unsettling blue-green hue, flat and still. The sky was pasty blue webbed with stringy gray clouds. At the horizon, across the water, was a leaden mass of darkness; one could almost mistake those clouds for looming mountains. Decker put his head to the window to better see ahead; the hotel was a small silhouette wavering in down a long slope the distance, barely visible through heat ripples and a soft brown haze.
"We're almost back to the hotel, boys," Decker said, "but it sure feels like we're in for some weather!"
Degren scratched his neck, still staring out the window. "If that cloud bank is anything like the ones that come across the Wolf Head Mountains at home, we're in for a real drenching."
"Ayuh, and me in muh bran' new duds, too," Cletus complained. "Hope those hairy-butt cayuses kin git us tuh th' hotel right pronto, or we'll git a'blowed right across this here country!"
The first distant peals of thunder vibrated in their guts. The satyrs' gait nearly doubled almost immediately; they felt the massive, malevolent energy of the oncoming front, too.
"It's a'movin' in fast, boys!" Cletus seemed as exhilarated as he was terrified, like a child on his first roller-coaster ride. "Oh, she's a big'un, sure as blazes!" He yanked open the carriage door just as a great gust of wind smacked into the carriage, lifting the seaside wheels a few inches off the ground and rending the door from its hinges, sending it flopping and bounding across the sparse grass. He stuck his head out and shouted, "Hey you horse-assed galoots! Better git us tuh th' hotel lickety split!" His words were barely audible to his companions in the carriage; the satyrs would not even know he'd called.
The cloud front seemed so close now, Decker thought he might be able to reach out the door-less gap and touch it. The entire front was a bright bramble of electricity; the cracks and rumbles of thunder were deafening. The carriage pitched and yawed in the hurricane gusts; the darkness descended over the bluff and the rain and hail crashed down with slashing fury. A fist-hard gust crashed in through the open carriage. blowing the other door out and lifting all four wheels out of their now-submerged tracks. For a moment, Decker thought the eight lightning-illuminated satyrs would be able to hold on as the great kite of the carriage body yanked at their traces; a still greater gust pulled them from their feet and tumbled the whole assembly inland across the flooded grass.
Decker took his opportunity to leap from the door just before the carriage crashed down. He added the thrust of his legs to the drag of the wind, then crabbed and tumbled off at an angle toward what he hoped was the hotel, hoping to avoid being struck by the careening vehicle. He was thankful for the strong, agile body he now occupied; if he had been in his old body, he had no doubt that he would have been crushed. As he saw the carriage tumble away, he grabbed at tufts of grass, dragged his feet, his knees, did his best to slow his battered body's wind-thrust progress. Disoriented, bruised, he finally managed to find purchase in a tangle of dense, thorny shrubs.
Visibility was nil until the lightning flashed; he'd lift his head and stare in a direction until a strobe of blue-white gave him a picture. He caught glimpses of satyrs, some still tied together by traces, moving generally toward him. Once he thought he saw Degren crawling across the ground; he kept his eyes locked in that direction until another flash lit his field of view, but the image was gone.
One flash showed him a low stone wall just a few feet from where he was; he was almost to the hotel! Hand over had through the tearing brambles, he fought to the wall and climbed over it. Here the wind curled around the stone, but in the lee of the wall, its force was lessened considerably. Half-drowned, pelted by grape-sized hailstones, he peered into the darkness, awaiting the next flash.
Like a great, ghostly beacon, the marble dome of the hotel flashed directly in front of him! A surge of adrenaline flooded him, as though he'd been struck by a bolt of that wild lightning. It seemed like it was now or never; he could hear a sound like a thousand train whistles coming from the landing storm. He struggled to all fours and then to a crouch, then sprinted for the hotel.
The lightning was flashing constantly; it was as though a full moon strobed insanely, lighting the deluge into a scene of silver pearl hail and rain, revealing the steps to the great double doors. The steps were slick as ice; he stumbled once, banging his forehead on the steps, rising quickly and forging ahead. A door blew open just as he approached, and he fell into the darkness.
The small windows of the hotel foyer allowed barely enough light for Decker to make out its interior. He could hear those larger windows of the broad reception area that hadn't been broken before the storm explode inward occasionally as a particularly severe gust struck; the storm offered no signs that it would lessen soon.
He wondered about his friends; he wondered about the satyrs. He reached for the handle of one of the large double doors. Dare he open it? His concern, especially for Degren, got the better of him. He pulled it open and faced the toothy, howling maw of the storm.
It was a fear-inspiring scene. Great cataracts of lightning spilled from the sky, splintering trees and sending stones flying from walls and structures. The hailstones were even larger now, perhaps the size of small eggs, irregularly formed as though several smaller stones adhered together. The rain seemed to spill in flapping sheets from the sky; the flagstones of the courtyard were rivers of ice and water, the steps a coursing rapids. Beyond that he could see little but vague shapes drowning in an atmosphere that was half-sea.
One of the satyrs staggered toward the doors, carrying Cletus in his burly arms. He staggered up the steps, wild-eyed. Decker pulled the door further open and the satyr came inside. Decker glanced around the courtyard once more, then pushed the door shut and shouted over the storm, "Did you see the other passenger?"
The satyr laid Cletus down on the tile, seeming to ignore Decker's query. Decker grabbed his muscular shoulder, attempting to spin him around; even with his new-found strength, he couldn't budge the huge man-creature. He shrugged Decker's hand free, turning slowly, and flashes of lightning revealed frenzied emotion in his eyes; fear, rage, and excitement commingled to shape a writhing mask of unpredictability on the satyr's face. Fists clenching and unclenching, hooves ringing a slow, jittery dance on the tiles, he gazed into Decker's eyes.
"I-I'm sorry, I...I shouldn't have, um, but my friend...." Decker backed away one step from the agitated satyr. "I'm um, really sorry, but did you see, ah, another one like me?"
The satyr stared at Decker's lips. He seemed confused, unable to decipher the words Decker was saying. Anger gave way to anxiety; the satyr moaned, then roared, pulling at his ears. He slurred the words, "I can't hear! I am deafened!" He banged his fists against the sides of his head, backed up until he bumped a wall, and slid down into a sitting position. He must have been too near one of those great lightning bolts, Decker thought. The thunderclap must have struck him deaf.
Decker knelt over the Cletus' inert form. The miner had tied his new hat strings tightly; it still clung to his head, though it was a limp, bedraggled shade of its original shape. He fumbled with the knots, finally loosening them and removing the hat.
He was breathing, though his skin glowed an ashy white in the flickering lightning. The light wasn't sufficient to do an adequate inspection. Decker glanced around, hoping to find a torch or a lantern, then realizing he'd have no way to light it. He had two choices now: Either sit tight and wait out the seemingly endless storm or go looking for a way to make light.
He glanced over at the satyr. The great, hulking brute had his face in his hands; he was shuddering and sobbing violently. Decker decided to leave him to it; there seemed no point in disturbing him, and every possibility of personal injury should he do so. Cletus was out cold, possibly injured badly. His decision was made; he'd scour the hotel for anything that could help them.
His drenched clothing clung to him, constricting his movements, pulling at his fur. He stripped off everything but his briefs, paused, then stripped those off too. A delicious sense of freedom washed over him, along with the urge to shake like a wet dog. In the midst of all the terror and anxiety, Decker imagined laying on the tile and licking himself clean, bringing a bubble of hysterical laughter to the back of his throat; he fought it back and strode to the reception counter.
He leaped over the long, pillared counter and rifled the cubbyholes and drawers underneath. There were ink bottles, quills, and a lot of odd paper there, some dampened by blowing rain but some crisp and dry. He tucked a large bundle of dry paper into a dry cubby and continued his search. There were lamp sconces on the walls, but no lamps. Most likely they'd all been taken by thrill seekers. At the back of the reception office there were more cabinets, most of them hanging open and already looking well-rifled. He dug around in the drawers and chanced to find a couple candle stubs and one nearly whole candle. He reflexively thrust them toward a shirt pocket, then laughed.
Now Decker had to figure out a way to get the candles lit. He wondered if Cletus might have anything. Cletus was a miner; he probably would have a way to make fire. Clutching the candles in one hand, he leaped back over the reception counter and raced to the foyer.
The satyr seemed to have regained his equilibrium; he was at the door, peering out through the narrow gap he maintained by firm pressure on the handle. Cletus had curled himself into a ball, making an investigation of his pockets difficult. Decker pried at the wet miner's knees in an attempt to straighten him out, but he kept jerking them back up with shivering convulsions.
Decker looked up at the satyr. Did he dare disturb him? He took a deep breath; he had to. "Um, excuse me. Hello?" He got up and took a couple steps toward the large fellow. "Mister, ah, Satyr? I need your help." There was still no response, so he took one more step and reached to touch a broad, sinewy shoulder. "Excuse me," he repeated, more forcefully this time.
The satyr glanced back at him, then returned his gaze to the storm. His hearing was obviously starting to come back. "My brethren," he asserted, "I must watch for my brethren."
"Um, could you take just a moment to help me search my, er, brother's pockets for a way to make light?"
The satyr seemed torn, but finally turned from the door. "What do you want me to do?"
"Help me straighten him out, then hold him while I go through his pockets."
"My name's Decker, and this is Cletus," Decker said as he searched Cletus' pockets.
"You can call me Tharlo," the satyr replied.
"Did you see anyone out there?"
"Only shadows of shadows. Perhaps tricks of a hopeful eye."
Cletus had a wide assortment of odd junk on his person. The pile Decker made of his findings grew until it hardly seemed possible that the skinny miner would be able to haul such a collection, much less fit it all into his pockets. Satisfied that he'd extricated everything, Decker shuffled around in the pile, finding nothing that might help.
Tharlo pointed out a nondescript chunk of stone, roughly the size of a large man's thumb, and what Decker could only surmise might be a simplified iron version of brass knuckles, a sort of oblong metal hoop that would fit around four clenched fingers. "There are your fire-making tools." He gave Decker a quizzical look, as though he wondered why they'd gone unnoticed.
The light bulb went off in Decker's brain; flint and steel! "Okay, good. Thanks, Tharlo. I'm going to go get some paper. You can go back to your watch, but yell for me if you see someone that looks like me out there."
He brought back some paper and a couple of wooden drawers, one of which he flung to the floor with enough force to splinter. He used a couple sheets of the paper to rub the flint and steel dry, then made a few clumsy attempts to produce sparks before he hit on an effective method. Before long he had a cheerful little blaze going on the foyer tile, and one of the candle stubs stood on the end of a drawer to offer light as he made an inspection of Cletus' injuries.
The worst of it seemed to be a half-baseball-sized knot on the back of Cletus' head. He dragged Cletus' now-limp form over to a built-in stone bench, propping his shoulders against it, holding him in a sitting position as he tried to wake him up. "Cletus! CLETUS!" He didn't think he dared to shake him, so he chafed at his hands and prodded his chest as he shouted. Finally, the ashy miner's eyes fluttered open with a look of foggy confusion. "Cletus, you have to stay awake. You took a nasty fall, and you might be concussed."
"Con-cuss it all anyway," Cletus mumbled, giving an owly glare to a spot some eight inches left of Decker's face, "Lemme sleep, wudja? s'dreamin' 'bout Fiela..."
"Cletus, you're gonna DIE if you don't stay awake! Don't make me slap you!"
"Awright, awright, whut's yer pants all bundled fer? Oh, ya got no pants. Izzat yer problem? Yeah, yeah, I'm awake. Now gimme some of thet good hotel likker tuh mellow this con-cuss-ed hangover!"
"Here's the deal, buddy: you're going to tell us a story. A long story. I don't care what it's about, you just don't get to stop talking until I say, no matter if we seem to be listening or not. Degren's still out there, and so are the other seven satyrs." He pointed to the hulking fellow in the doorway. "That's Tharlo, by the way. I'm going to go find out if he's seen anyone."
Tharlo grunted a negative, but then Decker saw his shoulders tighten. "Wait....there! Someone's out there!" He yanked the door inward, extinguishing the candle and nearly spraying the little fire out in his haste to get out. Decker pushed the door shut behind him, nursed the fire back to life with some paper and a few more drawer splinters, then took up the satyr's post. "Keep talking!" he shouted to Cletus as he watched Tharlo's big back disappear into the pounding rain.
His hopes rose momentarily as he saw Tharlo struggling up the steps, an inert form over his shoulder. When he opened the door for the them, he saw it was another satyr he carried. He felt the Furge personality surge up, all desperation and grief; threatening to take over, threatening to do something crazy like race out into the storm in search of his lost mate. Decker nearly succumbed. It was then that he realized how near the time was when he'd no longer be able to maintain his own persona at the fore. There was a sense of desperation in his own heart at this revelation, but something of relief as well; one way or the other, this struggle would soon be over. He had, after all, come to enjoy being in this new, stronger, more agile form.
The new satyr had obviously been knocked unconscious somehow; in the light of the fire, Decker noted that there were abrasions on the still chin, and when his eyes drifted to Tharlo's hand, he could see blood welling from the knuckles.
Tharlo's eyes met his, and Decker could see the agony there. "He was...I had to...the storm, we-"
"You did what you had to to get him to safety. I saw your distress when you first came in. You, um.." He couldn't find words with the right delicacy. "It's a wicked, scary storm."
The guilt-stricken satyr's shoulders slumped in relief. "We..our kind...don't do well with storms."
"You got him back safe."
They gathered more wooden doors and drawers, and they moved the fire far enough into the reception area so it wouldn't be effected by more comings and goings. Decker checked Cletus over more thoroughly, to the groggy miner's protests. Tharlo let his "brother" sleep, declaring his fervent hope that he'd awaken in less of a panic. They kept a small fire going, taking turns watching through the door, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, as their wood ran out, the storm broke as though cracked open by a knife of sunlight. spreading a blue sky that chased half a double rainbow to either side.
They got Cletus to his feet, supporting him on either side, so he could witness the end of the storm. He was too weak to stand for long, and they brought him back to the bench. Decker worried that the miner had been grievously injured. He hoped he'd be alright, but it didn't look good.
The other satyr awakened, not much the worse for his evening's panic and the blow to the chin that had ended it. Tharlo introduced him as Kugh.
Though he dreaded leaving Cletus alone, he felt he must go in search of Degren. Both the satyrs were already on their way out to seek their brethren. "Cletus, I have to go try to find Degren. You stay awake in here, okay? I'll be back soon."
"Yup, um, kettle bark cave noodle," Cletus mumbled, worrying Decker further. Still, he had to go.
"I'll be back soon."
"Turtle snort."
He found Degren in the cabana by the pool, huddled under the bar, clinging to the foot rail, exhausted but unharmed. The satyrs returned with all six of their brethren; as much as the storm had disconcerted them, it seemed insufficient to actually harm such hardy stock. They all returned to the hotel, where they found that Cletus had nodded off. Decker decided not to wake him until Degren had gotten some sleep; Decker, as well, was feeling the end of his adrenaline. Perhaps everyone could do with a little rest before the next decision had to be made.

Decker #12

Decker awakened as the first light of dawn made his window glow a soft purple-blue. There was a fresh suit of clothes laid out for him, and his own road-worn attire was bundled neatly along with a swim suit and skin-diving gear. There was a note on top suggesting he test each of the items for proper fit, and offering suitable replacements should anything be unsatisfactory. He was pleased to note that everything seemed perfectly tailored.
Slipping quietly out his door, he scanned the spiderweb of halls and stairs that jutted and angled up, down, and out from where he stood. He remembered the controlled chaos of the house's exterior and applied that to where he was; there was no sense to be made of it. All he could do was pick a direction. He thought he'd come up to bed, so....down it was.
He met Rolfu at the first intersection. "Sir, please let me take your things. Is everything quite satisfactory?" He waited for Decker's assent, then continued, "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to where you may break your fast. The others are not yet awake, though I thought I heard Degren stirring as I passed his room."
It was a simple affair of bread, cheese, fruit and fruit spreads laid out as a small buffet on a sideboard. There was an oval table some eight feet long and four feet wide at the center of the room. One wall of the room was mostly windows, the upper glass of which was partially shaded by an exuberant growth of some ivy-like vine.
"This is the servants' breakfast, but please take no umbrage, sir," Rolfu requested, "The Lady dines here with us regularly. The rest of us will be down shortly, though the Lady will remain with the Young Miss, as the young miss seems to have had a rather, er, difficult night."
Decker took a cup of an interesting hot beverage; a sort of tea with an aroma of cranberries and ginger, slightly sweet and having just enough bite to wake up his mouth. By the time he'd loaded a plate, the rest of the staff had joined him. Degren followed a few minutes later. There was small talk and curiosity about their journey. The servants shared information about the area, along with nervous legends surrounding the sea life they might face while they dove.
"Some say that's why the hotel is deserted," Shand said. "People were disappearing off that beach, which is strange because there are no treacherous currents, and no one has ever seen any creatures capable of taking a person in those waters."
""Some say they've seen 'em," Pueri said. "My grandmother's best friend's uncle met a surfer who said he'd been thrown off his board and knocked around pretty good by a giant eel with the head of a woman and the arms of seven blacksmiths."
Decker wondered if the surfer had been drinking river water. the stories went on, describing various phantasmagoria or speculating on moving dimension doors, until Cletus stomped in in a tizzy.
"Dad-gum ding-dang weasel breedin' pecker pirates has swiped my duds!" He was dressed similarly to Degren and Decker now, in clothes provided by the house. "Muh hat, muh deerskins, muh ding-dang shit-kickers!"
Rolfu rushed to ameliorate the situation. "Sir, we're terribly sorry, but your, er, 'duds' were infected with a type of vermin for which we have no method of removal. I took it upon myself to, um, incinerate them immediately, so as to prevent the infestation from spreading to the good Lady's abode.' He shuddered slightly. " I do hope I was in time. And, er, I apologize most humbly. We have no garb of similar, er.. quality.. to replace them with. However, I trust you have inspected the garb we did replace your...duds...with."
"Ah ain't wearin' no ding-dang duck fins, yuh cotton-pickin' white-collared coolie! and y'll never catch me in short pants, nuther! Ah.m a growed man, y'see?"
"Er, no, not the diving gear, sir," Rolfu said, "the bundle beneath that one. Once again I apologize for my actions. I had only the interest of the Lady's house at heart, and I was neglectful of your situation. However, if it pleases you, I shall adjourn henceforth to your room and retrieve the replacement clothing so that you might examine it."
"Nuthin's gonna replace my duds! They was sewed fer me by hand by an injun woman thet stayed with me fer a time. Shallow Water, she was called. Good woman. Now I got nuthin' to 'member her by!" He seemed close to tears.
Rolfu strode out of the room as quickly as decorum permitted, and had soon returned with a bundle significantly larger than either Decker or Degren had been given. "Good sir, please do us the service of scrutinizing this humble offering, our small attempt to redress the wrong that has been done you." He began to unwrap the bundle, but Cletus grabbed it from him.
"Ah'll open the ding-dang package!" He started tearing at it like a kid at Christmas. Inside, he found a mid-length coat that reminded Decker of a medium brown Australian drover's coat, a hat of similar style, heavy blue denim pants with leather at the knees and rump, a soft denim shirt with leather elbow pads, a silk union suit, and a pair of Wellington-style boots made from some sort of reptile skin.
"Well, ah'll be...." Cletus was dumbfounded. "You, ah, how...ding-dilly, how'd you know...." his speech tailed off as he held the various garments up to himself. Finally, he added,"Where kin I try 'em on?"
Rolfu showed him to the nearest empty room. The rest of the party laughed and finished breakfast while they awaited his return. After what seemed a pretty long time, he paraded in in his new "duds".
"Fix yer eyes on this, Decker!" He opened the coat to reveal several flaps, loops, and pockets that held his various weaponry as though they were designed for the purpose. "This here's jest like whut ah see'd in the Grover Cliff gen'l store one time! Ah awluz wanted me some get-up like this. An' it fits like it'uz made fer me, right down tuh the shit kickers!" He turned to Rolfu, beaming. "Ah guess ah fergive yuh, Rolfie."
He did cut quite a different figure in his new clothes. Fiela looked at him almost wistfully, which he missed entirely as he displayed for his friends. Finally, he set to his breakfast.
The rest of the staff went about their daily affairs, but Rolfu attended the three men. "Whatever Aida's plans may have been before," he told them, "she will be remaining here for a time. Her return home has unearthed some rather painful memories, it seems, and she is quite unable to travel, perhaps for some time."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Decker said, to which Degren and Cletus nodded in agreement. "Shes...well, she's been an interesting traveling companion. I wish her the best. Please tell her we said goodbye, and that we'll, um, miss her."
The lady Gudren met them in the front foyer. "Gentlemen, it has been our pleasure to accommodate you, and we offer our gratitude for your services in accompanying Aida on her trek home. We wish to extend you some small payment in this regard." She proffered three pouches, each the size of a medium-sized apple.
"Lady, I don't think..." Decker began to protest.
"I insist you accept."
Each man took one of the hefty little sacks. Cletus dangled his in two fingers, blatantly assessing the weight. Degren elbowed him and gave him a harsh glare to which he shrugged and slipped the pouch into one of the many pockets on his new coat.
They thanked her profusely over the clopping of sixteen hooves; the carriage had arrived, and it was drawn by eight burly satyrs. They grumbled and groaned, rolled their eyes and shrugged as they pulled. They complained back and forth to each other about the work hours, the miserable conditions, the health benefits, and the retirement plan as the three men stowed their gear and boarded. Each had a belt with many pouches, some of which were obviously loaded with snacks; they were constantly reaching in to one pouch or another and drawing out raisins, nuts, chocolate, and other delicacies and popping them into their broad, sensuous mouths as they conversed. Some of their other pouches clinked and jingled quite blatantly.
They were waved off enthusiastically by the Lady and most of her staff. Passing the broad arch of the estate's boulevard, they turned onto the main road and the satyrs broke into a full run. They were surprisingly fleet; the grass and rocks, roots and leaves that lined the road almost became a blur through the carriage window. Decker thought to ask the carriage driver how long the ride would be, but it occurred to him that there hadn't been a driver. Of course, he thought. the satyrs wouldn't need direction; they were sentient beings!
Cletus had opened his pouch and was playing with the contents; it was a selection of gold and silver coins of various sizes and shapes. He'd bitten each one, nodding in a satisfied way at each bite. Now he was practically mesmerized by the little pile that lay in a fold of his coat. He stirred at it with his finger, watching the little glints as the morning sun streamed through the carriage window onto his hoard.
Decker was feeling comfortable. He was on his way to get the next piece of his life's puzzle, and he was pretty sure he was going in the right direction. The Furge personality had been leaving him alone for the most part, though he could tell it was an uneasy truce at best. The occasional surges of feeling he had for Degren were becoming less discomfiting. And they were in a luxury carriage, being drawn by eight satyr bodybuilders! How dreamlike, and in a good way. The warmth of the morning sun, good friends, and the rumbling, rocking motion of the carriage soon lulled him off into a pleasant sleep.

Decker #11

The avenue of trees opened onto a broad plantation in a shallow valley, centered in which stood what could have been an old Italian villa. The two-track dirt road was replaced by a double row of rectangular granite slabs, each about one foot by four, laid crosswise and separated by two or three inches of turf.
The villa itself was a calculated disarray of stone and garden, fern recesses and fanning trees. It was set on a small hill that someone had had too much fun terraforming. There was a narrow stream that wound its way all around the hill, sometimes confined in masonry channels, sometimes tumbling over mossy rocks between banks of grass. There were several arched stone bridges crossing it, connecting the cluster of age-encrusted stone buildings that sat at odd angles to each other around the crest of the hill. Stone paths wended their serpentine way through the myriad gardens and sitting areas, low-walled courtyards and pools that filled every nook and cranny of the randomly stepped levels that made up the hill.
One pool, larger than the rest and surrounded by a variety of different-colored willow-like trees, seemed to be Aida's immediate destination. Waddling up the steps onto the stone surround, she flapped her wings, let out a joyous screech, and flopped into the water.
There was a bustle of activity from the largest building, a Dali-esque agglomeration of turrets, eaves, angles and stairs, stained glass and mullions. Several people in servant's garb rushed out of various doors, followed by an almost comically heavy-set older woman in fashion stretch jeans and a frilly purple blouse with ice-green trim. She waddled to the edge of the stone landing outside what may have been the front door of the house and clutched the iron railing, waving while the servants raced toward the pool, hailing Aida joyously.
At first she ignored them, rapt in diving and dabbling in the pool bottom, snacking on snails and duckweed with the relish of reliving old memories. Finally her head popped out of the water and she glanced up at a middle-aged fellow in butler's tails that stood expectantly at the edge of the pool. She quacked with exhilaration and paddled over to him, splashing mischievously with her wings. "Rolfu! Oh, you haven't changed a bit!"
He stepped back from the edge and let Aida flap her way out of the water. "Miss Aida, it is such a pleasure to see you after all these years. I feared you'd-" he was cut off as Aida practically tackled him, wrapping her neck around his and nuzzling his cheek. He allowed her a moment, then gently lifted her head away from his face with both hands. "Miss Aida, I'm certain the Lady would very much like to greet you as well. Feila, Shand, Pueri, Gling and Steve deserve your acknowledgment too! And we must tend to your companions. Go, go to your mother; do not torture her further, Young Miss!"
Aida shared brief adorations with the rest of the servants, then raced up the stairs and engulfed her mother in a fever of greeting. Decker, Degren, and Cletus stood halfway up the stairs to the big pool, wondering what they should do. Their dilemma was solved when Rolfu strolled sedately up to them and offered a slight bow. "Rolfu, at your service. Gentlemen, is there anything we can offer you while the Lady and the Young Miss, er catch up? I'm certain the Lady will wish to entertain you and thank you for accompanying her daughter on her journey home, but in the meantime...?"
Cletus stepped forward, sticking out his hand, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the steadfast butler. "Ah'm Cletus. Mighty tickled t'meet'cha. Ya got whiskey?"
"We'll see what we can do," Rolfu replied, both hands notably tight against his legs. "And you, good sirs?"
Decker wondered if beer was an option, but was afraid to appear as crass as their rustic companion. "Do you have iced tea?"
Degren wanted only water. Rolfu led them to a side door and into a sitting room that echoed the structured chaos of the grounds and bade them wait. "We'll have your refreshments forthwith, and some comestibles to tide you over until dinner. We assume you'll be staying for dinner...?"
Left to their own devices with a tray of various fruits, breads, and cheeses, along with decanters of the requested beverages, the three men discussed their situation.
"It'll be too late to start back for the old hotel tonight," Decker said. "We wouldn't even make it back to the roadhouse before dark."
"I don't mind walking in the dark," Degren offered.
"Out under the sky, ah don't feel comfortable moseyin' anywhere the sun ain't," Cletus said. Decker wondered whether Cletus now intended to make them his permanent traveling companions. Well, he'd been helpful once or twice, if a little coarse and annoying. Nothing he hadn't dealt with back in Arizona. Man, that seemed a long way away now.
Rolfu returned. "Gentlemen, the Lady asks if seven is a convenient time for you to dine."
"That'll be fine," Decker agreed. "What time is it now?"
Rolfu plucked a pocket watch by its fob, flicking it open. "It's a quarter of six. Would you care to er, freshen up in the meantime?" He seemed to be strongly suggesting this, and Decker and Degren were quick to assent, though Cletus was dubious.
"Ain't even been a week since my last ah-bloo-shuns, so I figger I'm plenty fresh."
"Decker looked askance at the dusty miner. "We're dining with a lady this evening, not a bunch of flatulent cowpokes. You're going to have another bath if you know what's good for you."
"If'n ah know whut's good fer me? You threatening me, fuzzy?"
"I'm certain," Rolfu interjected, "the Lady would tolerate you in your, er, unwashed condition, sir, but in the interest of decency and decorum, I'd highly advise at least some perfunctory attention to hygiene. Fiela would be pleased to assist you in your, er, ablutions, and our facilities are quite refined and comfortable..."
"Fiela?" Cletus' ears perked up. "Is Fiela a 'she'?"
"She is, sir."
"Well why din'cha say so? Where's the vacilities?" He gave Decker and Degren a waggle of eyebrows as they were led to private bathrooms.
Dinner was formal, and each man was provided with suitable attire. Aida and her mother entered the dining area after the three were seated. Decker and Degren made to rise as they came in, but the Lady waved them down. "Good sirs, let us share mutual respect by eating together. I need no further honor than that from my daughter's companions and protectors. I am Gudren, now of the House Thure. I am sad to tell you that the man of the House will not be present; he is deceased. No, it's all right. It's been a few years. Aida has told me her impressions of your journey. Perhaps you could fill me in on your own perspectives while we dine?"
Fiela was one of the attendants for dinner. Cletus kept trying to catch her eye, but she devoted all her attention to proper service, much to the amorous miner's dismay.
They told her of their trip, and how they had come to be there in the first place. They learned from her (to Aida's distress) how Aida's sister had lost her life in the sea by the deserted hotel. While Aida was off to the bathroom, she told them how her husband had carried the guilt from that day, until it overcame him and he took his own life. "Please don't mention it to Aida, though. I'm not sure she even accepts that her father is deceased."
She offered them a carriage ride back to the deserted hotel, as soon as they wished to leave. Later, they accepted her hospitality for the night and were shown to separate rooms.

Decker #10

The bed was pretty comfortable. The temptation to let it draw him down into the softness of sleep was strong, but the nervous excitement in his belly was stronger. Jade wasn't the most beautiful woman Decker had ever seen, but she was the most beautiful woman that had ever expressed such an interest in him. He hoped she wasn't just being flirtatious. He was definitely going to do a little moon-gazing.
Aida was still chattering away, but her words were muffled; her head was tucked under her wing. Degren had tossed and turned for what seemed an eternity, but now he was quiet, his breathing slow and regular. Cletus had fallen onto his bed and started snoring instantly; he'd obviously consumed a good deal of the liquor he'd "liberated". Decker hoped Aida was talking in her sleep; he wasn't going to wait any longer.
He eased off his bed, grimacing at every rustle and creak. He tiptoed to the door and turned the knob; it opened silently. He let his gaze slide over his sleeping comrades in the silvery moonlight. What a crazy ride, he thought. Like I fell down the rabbit hole.
He turned the knob again and pulled the door closed. It was weird how silently it pulled shut; not even the snick of a catch. Very well-maintained. Hmm.
But hopefully, the lovely Jade awaited him out under the stars. He ambled down the hall toward the stairs. The sound of carousing drifted up softly. At the bottom of the stairs he had a choice; go left and through the doors that led back to the room full of revelers, or right down the long, door-lined hall. At the end was another door.
He didn't want to brave the crowd in the saloon. Hoping the door at the end led outside, he strode to the right.
He was in luck. The knob turned, not a quietly as the one to their room, but it still opened the door. He slipped out onto a tree-lined patio. Five wrought-iron tables stood with chairs upturned on them. Obviously not a lot of nature lovers here, Decker thought.
He strolled the rim of the patio until he came to a break in the trees. There was a foot path worn in the dirt. Well, Jade wasn't on the patio. "Might as well investigate," he muttered. He poked his head out past the trees. The path veered left along the treeline, back toward the roadhouse.
The trees met the end of the building right at the corner. There were windows along the ground floor, and small balconies above each window. There was light coming out of some of the windows, but thankfully they were all curtained. Jade was leaning on the rail of the fourth balcony; as advertised, staring at the large blue-white moon. Decker padded softly along the footpath, but the crunch of gravel gave him away just as he approached her balcony.
She startled slightly, but almost immediately giggled, raised a wineglass to her lips and took a lazy swallow. "Well, if it isn't little fuzzy. Where's big fuzzy?"
"Ah, he's sleeping," Decker tried to keep the nervous quaver out of his voice. "I don't think he's much into, um, skin anyway."
"You say 'skin' like it's a bad thing, sweets. Don't you think little Jade has nice fur where it matters?"
"Oh, um, that's not me, you know, who doesn't like, er, skin. Especially skin as soft and pretty as yours." Decker was warming up slowly, but starting to get more comfortable.
Well why don't you come on up and have a glass of wine with me, cutey-pie? Maybe you'll find out if this skin is as soft as you think."
He didn't want to go all the way back around and up the stairs. There really wasn't anything to climb, though. He wondered if he could make the jump to the balcony. Might be embarrassing....but what the hell. He crouched, steeled himself, and sprang.
He easily reached the top of the railing and vaulted himself onto the balcony. Wow! These furry bodies were definitely a bit more agile than the one he was used to. He was glad he hadn't had to duke it out with Degren, back before the "change".
"My, we're springy!" Jade's eyes were wide, and she sized him up in a whole new light. Decker felt the warm glow of her admiration melting into him like Arizona sun. "Mmmmm...let me get you a glass, tiger!" She disappeared into the room, quickly returning with a second glass and her bottle. "Let's toast," she said, "to a strange and beautiful evening!"
Decker raised his glass, and she slid one leg between his, gently hooking her heel behind his calf. She tossed back the rest of her wine and pressed herself to him, tucking her nose in against his neck and unleashing a hot stream of breath as she slid her chin along his shoulder. He took a long pull from his glass, all the while looking for a place to set it down. He tentatively put his other hand in the small of her back; she took his wrist and pulled the hand down to her shapely rump. "So...is it as soft as you'd imagined?"
"Oh, even softer. Magnificently soft."
"I have even softer places for you to...explore." She pulled free and took his elbow. "Come inside, won't you? And be a dear; grab the wine."
Well, things had definitely taken a turn for the better, Decker thought. He snagged the bottle and followed. Her glass was nearly empty; he flourished the bottle and she nodded. He poured, finished his and poured it full.
She led him to the lone bed in the small room, motioned him to sit, then writhed up into his lap, her lips brushing his. She'd set her glass on a small table at the head of the bed; he followed suit and centered his face on hers, let his lips float fully onto hers. Her hands were inside his shirt, stroking the soft fur on his chest; her tongue played at the inside of his upper lip, then darted in to wrestle his tongue.
He let his hands wander over her; stroking, gently probing, occasionally eliciting a soft moan. It was a slow, patient dance they did together to shed each others' clothes, until, like a revelation, they were naked and in each others' arms. She was poised over him; she let herself slide slowly down...
Suddenly his heart thundered in his chest, and his lungs burned in panic. What was he doing? Oh, Degren, dear Degren, what would you think if you saw us here? He tried to shrink into the mattress, but it was too late; he was inside her, and she was moaning, moaning like some she-devil, thundering against him like some terrible earthquake, and he was frozen, there was nothing he could do as she thrust and writhed, Degren forgive me! Constellations of white-hot stars seared through his eyes, his brain, and he shook as his body took over, meeting her thunder with animal insistence until they collapsed together in a pool of sweat. He tried to ease her off gently, but she clung to him as though he were the broken mast of her wrecked ship. the air was thick in his lungs; he felt the gorge rising in his throat. He pushed at her harder, and in the moonlight she watched the question in her eyes turn to hurt and regret as she saw the look of horror on his face. "I'm sorry...." he whispered, over and over as she dressed, "I'm so sorry.... so sorry...."