An Epitaph in Rust by Tim Powers

Author:Tim Powers [Powers, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy
ISBN: 9780575117754
Google: RGpP0A5CopcC
Amazon: B005OK5HXQ
Publisher: Gateway
Published: 2011-09-28T11:00:00+00:00

By the time the moon was high in the heavens most of Gladhand’s troupe was on the roof, sitting in deck chairs, propped against chimney-pots, or simply sprawled full-length on the tarpaper. Lanterns and wine had been brought up from below, and Spencer was striking chords on a guitar.

Thomas noticed approvingly that Negri had downed his sixth glass of wine, and was now getting to his feet to make a quick trip downstairs.

“I’ll be back in a flash, Sugar-Pie,” he told Pat, and lurched away toward the stairs. Thomas casually strode over and sat down where Negri had been.

“Hello, Rufus,” Pat said, a little wearily.

“Hi, Pat.” A kind of hopeless depression descended on him. I’ve got nothing to say, he realized. Why are Negri and I bothering this girl, anyway? Oh, come on, he protested to himself; all I’ve done is sit next to her. It isn’t me calling her Sugar-Pie.

“Let’s go see if the fire really did go out,” Pat suggested, getting up.

“Good idea,” Thomas said. They walked out of the uneven ring of lantern light to the rough, time-rounded stones of the coping. The city lay spread out before them, as clear as a toy held at arm’s length. The glow of the fire was gone completely. Distantly came the echoes of three quick gunshots.

“A wild, unholy night,” Thomas observed. Pat said nothing. “Where are you from, Pat?” he went on.

She sighed. “Oh, I come from quite a distance, the same as you. I’m the youngest of a very large family, and the smartest, so my parents sent me to the city.”

“To make good,” Thomas said.

“Or whatever.”

“Where the hell … ?” came an angry shout from behind them. Thomas turned to see Negri striding furiously toward him across the roof. “All right, Pennick,” he spat, “you’re a little slower than everyone else, so I guess you’ve got to be told what’s what. Listen, and save yourself some trouble. Pat is my girl. And no—”

“I’m not your girl,” Pat said.

“Shut up,” Negri snapped. “I’ll decide. So, Pennick, if—”

“You’ll decide?” Thomas repeated, angry and laughing at the same time. “You heard her, Negri. She isn’t interested. What do you plan to do, cut your monogram in her forehead?”

Negri cocked his fist back, and it was seized firmly from behind. “You two aren’t going to forget the no-fighting rule, are you?” smiled Spencer, releasing Negri’s arm.

“Uh, no,” Negri admitted. “But I’m challenging this toad to a duel, to decide once and for all whether Pat is my girl or not.”

“How can a duel decide that?” Thomas protested. “You mean automatically if I lose—”

“Go ahead, Rufus,” Pat interrupted.

After a tiny pause, Spencer shrugged. “Okay, a duel, then. Jeff, set up the table.”

The rest of the actors cleared a circle in the center of the roof, and set the lanterns so that the area was well-lit. Chairs for spectators were ranged around the perimeter, and Gladhand stumped over and lowered himself into a front-row seat. “This should be instructive,” he remarked.

Spencer walked into the circle and raised his hands for silence.

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