Vassa in the Night by Sarah Porter

Author:Sarah Porter
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780765386229
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

INTERLUDE IN SCALES

THE PREVIOUS FEBRUARY

Icy pockmarks hollowed the snow so it shattered under the scrabbling of conical claws and the thrash of a heavy tail; the alley was narrow and inconspicuous and no one had cleared away the drifts. The windows on both sides were sealed with cement blocks and gray icicles dripped from their frames. The corpse—an old man swaddled in rotten furs, his gaping mouth showing two ragged curves of bone in lieu of ordinary teeth—had been left tied to a streetlamp. His neck was badly bruised, his tongue swollen. The body drooped against its bonds and its feet had skidded apart on the icy ground: feet that were almost entirely concealed by extremely long, voluminous pants. Wads of filthy cloth hunched around its shoes, and Pangolin bent to look closer. It was an unnecessary gesture. He was already perfectly aware that those feet in their broken shoes pointed back toward the lamppost: that is, in the opposite direction from the face.

He straightened and peered at a curling note pinned to the old man’s mangy lapel. The red ink was snow-smeared but still faintly legible.

Pangolin glanced around for Picnic, who was hugging a corner of the nearest building and tenderly nuzzling the brick. “It appears that poor dear Candlewax has borne the brunt of some overly excitable humans’ displeasure. Regarding a certain nocturnal stubbornness, which Candlewax himself assuredly did nothing to instigate.” Picnic tipped his head back and regarded his partner with sleepy eyes, then gave the wall a slow, exploratory lick. “We will slaughter all you unnatural scum one by one until we get our daylight back, it says here. Regrettable ignorance, is it not, Picnic? The writer would benefit from instruction on the subject of nature. Both what it encompasses, and what it excludes.”

“A fish will balance best with both its feet planted,” Picnic observed gravely. He stood on tiptoe to nibble a soot-blackened icicle.

“Indeed,” Pangolin agreed. “And I fear that persons unknown—though manifestly they can only be persons of quality—have rather unbalanced the fish in question, distending the nights as they have. Dreadful selfishness, tinkering with the dim hours in this fashion. Most irresponsible. Well, we have our mandate: to ensure harmony between our community and what one might describe as, perhaps, the society of the not-up-to-snuff. And harmony has no better preservative than obliviousness. I fear the persistent nights are encouraging the lower orders to pay us rather too much attention. They certainly paid too much to poor Candlewax. An appalling bit of vigilantism, this! I expect that some human took note of his feet and saw fit to blame him unfairly. And now we must guard against further attacks on others of our society with, ahem, salient characteristics.” A ripple passed through the tip of his snout.

Picnic padded over, his checked suit flapping in the frigid wind, and examined the corpse for a moment. Then he reached out and gave it a gentle shake. Firefly glints began to creep over the snow, gathering from all directions.

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