Zenn Scarlett (6 page)

By the time they’d come to a halt and hopped out of the Yakk, Hamish had landed in front of the whalehound. The tranquilizer had already taken effect, and the animal was stretched out flat on the ground, its sides heaving like a giant blacksmith’s bellows, a foot or two of pink tongue protruding over the top of a picket-fence-sized row of teeth.

“Excellent bow-shooting accuracy, novice Zenn,” Hamish said, raising one arm to point at the hound’s back end. “The mammal-hound is sleeping, safe and ship-shape.” The tranq dart hung from the center of the hound’s haunch. To Zenn’s amazement, she’d hit the muscle more or less where she’d intended.

“Here,” Otha said, handing her a plastic squeeze-tube from his duffle. “Get some of this into his eyes, keep them lubricated.”

No praise from Otha. Standard behavior. Zenn went to the hound’s head and, reaching up as high as she could, applied the solution to one eye, then went to the hound’s other side and did that eye.

“Good job distracting him when you did, Hamish,” Otha said. “We’re almost into town. If he’d got up out of this gully, we could’ve had a real disaster on our hands.”

“You got
that
right.” The voice came from behind them.

They all turned to see Ren Jakstra, Arsia Valley constable, standing on a slight rise in the riverbank. On the road behind him squatted his tan-and-black half-track truck.

“Ren,” Otha said, shading his eyes to look up at him. “You got here quick.”

“In the area. Saw the dust.” He whipped the broad-brimmed hat from his head, whacked it against his leg to clean it off. The constable was short, compactly built, with close-cropped brown hair and a thick bird’s-nest of a mustache that he had a habit of sucking on. He didn’t wear a uniform; the town didn’t see the point of that kind of luxury. An antique, bullet-firing revolver hung in a tooled leather holster from his hip. This, Zenn had heard him say, was all the uniform he needed.

“So, Scarlett,” he said, glaring at Otha and gesturing at the hound. “You wanna tell me what the
Nine Hells
this thing is doing here?”

“Just taking our whalehound for a little stroll, Ren,” Otha said, attempting some dry humor to diffuse what Zenn knew was not a humorous situation.

“Yeah, that’s funny,” Ren said, smiling a mock smile. “Might not be so funny if people got hurt though, huh? Might be more along the lines of serious trouble, wouldn’t it?”

“Ren, I understand your concern,” Otha said. “But this is the first time this sort of thing has happened. Nobody got hurt. And it won’t happen again.” Otha gave Zenn a quick, baleful glance.

“Damn straight it won’t,” Ren said. “You know how things are in town.” He paused to make sure Otha knew what he was getting at. “People are feeling the pinch. They’re looking for someone to take it out on. Well, this,” he jutted his chin at the hound. “This could set the whole council against you. You don’t want that right now.”

“Like I said, Ren, won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, but it happened
this
time.” Ren stuck his hands in his pockets and came down off the bank. “People in Arsia are getting by on potatoes and porridge. Maybe a little goat stew now and then. It’s makin’ em prickly. And they’re already less than cheerful about living next to you and your creatures. They talk about the crops you dump into feeding that bunch of things you keep out there and, truth be told, it’s starting to make folks a little… resentful.”

“They’re not things, Ren. They’re animals that need our care,” Otha spoke as if he’d already had this conversation with the constable, which he had. “And we’ve always been more than willing to trade what we have with people in town, you know that.”

“Right, you trade whatever’s left over. But with the way things are these days, people think feeding your animals is a waste of resources. Valuable resources.” The constable regarded Otha, sucked on his mustache. “So, you give any more thought to selling? Might just be the best thing for all concerned. What with your mortgage issue.”

“No, Ren. I’ve already said. Selling isn’t an option.”

“Hm.” Ren wiped one hand across his damp mustache and put his hat on. “Maybe not right now. But the bank in New Zubrin only has so much patience when it comes to gettin’ their money. They told me that in no uncertain terms, if you know what I mean.” He hiked back up the bank then turned to look down on them. “Don’t hang around out here. Won’t be safe come dark. Ran into Graad Dokes in Arsia. He claims he spotted campfire smoke coming from the far end of Cerberus Gorge, thought it might be scabs.”

“Graad saw scab-landers? That close to Arsia?” Otha scoffed. “Not exactly a reliable source.”

Graad Dokes was Vic LeClerc’s shambling oaf of a ranch foreman. Zenn had once seen him kick a small goat halfway across a corral when it made the mistake of tripping him. And from that day on, the man had never done anything to make her change her very low opinion of him.

“Yeah, well, why take chances?” Ren said. “Strange days, ya know. Strange days…” He walked off toward his truck, calling back over his shoulder, “Now, get that thing outta here. Before somebody sees it and I spend the rest of my day calming people down.”

“What did Ren mean?” Zenn asked as they watched him go. “About the town council?”

“There’s a vote coming up. About the cloister’s lease.” Otha sounded suddenly weary. He went to place one hand on the hound’s heaving flank, and then moved up to the neck to check the pulse rate.

“We have a lease?” She’d never heard of this before.

“Yes. The lease comes up for renewal every five years. Allows us to use the cloister grounds as a business, as a money-making operation. It’s just a technicality. Nothing for you to worry about.”

She wasn’t so sure about that.

“But what would happen if the council turned against us, like Ren said?”

“That’s never happened,” Otha said.

“But if it did?”

Otha looked off toward town, then back at her. “Well, if they voted not to renew the lease, then we wouldn’t be able to run the clinic.”

“Not run the clinic? But what would happen then? To the animals?”

“Zenn, I told you. You don’t have to worry about that. The council has renewed us every time.” His tone said the subject was closed. But she was angry with him. A lease? A lease that could be cancelled, just like that? And then the cloister would be gone? The animals, gone? A small spark of panic ignited inside of her, blotted out any other thoughts for a few nauseating seconds. Otha should’ve told her. This was information she should’ve had. Information that affected her as well as him.

Otha patted the hound’s broad muzzle. “Now then, come on Zenn, let’s get this fella back home.”

Otha walked to the Yakk and unbuckled the canvas carrying case strapped to the side of the cargo deck. He slid his battered, old twelve-gauge pump shotgun out of the case and held it up.

“Hamish,” he said. “You can stand guard over the hound. Can you handle one of these?”

Hamish recoiled slightly from the sight of the weapon.

“No, director-abbot,” he said quickly. “I have never put such a thing in my… hands. It appears hazardous.”

“Yes, that’s the idea,” Otha said, frowning. “Well, I can’t leave you alone out here unprotected…”

“I can stay,” Zenn said, stepping up. “With Hamish.”

Otha’s frown remained in place.

“I’ve shot your gun, Otha,” she said. “You’ve seen me hit tin cans with it. And in case you didn’t notice, I just hit a whalehound’s haunch dead-center with the tranq-bow.”

He considered her statement, looking from her to the gun he held.

“Otha, I’ll be fine. And Hamish will be with me.”

“Well… alright,” he said after a few seconds. “I won’t be long.” He held the shotgun out to her and she took it, a slight thrill of apprehension flickering through her. The gun was cold in her hands, and heavier than she remembered. “I’m sure you won’t even need it. But better to be on the safe side.” He dug in the pocket of the gun’s carrying case and handed Zenn four shells. She racked them into the gun’s chamber and double-checked to see that the safety was on. “And we won’t mention this to the Sister,” he said, giving Hamish a look. “Is that understood, Sexton? No need to get Hild all… needlessly concerned.”

He straddled the Yakk and started the engine.

“I’ll get the truck and bring a couple hay wagons and the winch.” He turned a stern gaze to Zenn. “Then we’ll discuss how the Leukkan Kire royal family’s very expensive whalehound got loose. And why he will not be getting loose again.”

After Otha had driven off, she and Hamish had just settled on a nearby boulder when the sound of falling rock came from behind them. Startled, Zenn jumped to her feet and spun around, her heart pounding, the gun suddenly even heavier in her grasp.

FOUR

“Ha!” the high-pitched laugh came from a small boy standing at the top of the bluff above them. He spoke to someone unseen. “I told ya I heard voices. Whoa! Lookit that…” The boy was dark haired, twelve or thirteen years old, with a dirt-smeared face and a brown, quilted jacket several sizes too large for him.

The boy pointed down at the whalehound, and now a second figure appeared. Another boy, this one blonde, stout and wearing stained coveralls and a tattered red stocking hat.

“Holy crim-in-oly!” Red Hat exclaimed. “What is that thing?”

“It’s a whalehound,” Zenn called up to them. “Nothing to be afraid of.” This wasn’t good. If the boys got scared and ran back to town, she’d have a mob on her hands. “It’s alright. He’s asleep.”

“Asleep? You sure?” Dark Hair said, eyes wide.

“It looks dead. How you know it ain’t dead?” Red Hat asked.

“I’m an exovet,” she lied. “I… We put him to sleep. So that we can take him back to the cloister. You know, the Ciscan cloister.” She pointed down the valley.

“Is it safe? To come down?” Dark Hair said.

“Yeah. Can we… touch it?”

“Yes. Sure,” Zenn told them. “Come on down.” The fact they didn’t appear terrified by the mere sight of the hound was an encouraging surprise. From prior experience, she knew that most of the younger children in Arsia had already had their minds made up for them as far as the cloister and its animals were concerned.

“Let me do the talking, alright?” she said quietly to Hamish.

“I should not speak?”

“It’s just that… this could be a problem. That’s all.”

When she was younger, she’d sometimes go into town with Otha. On one of those outings, when she’d gone by herself to window-shop at the co-op general store, a gaggle of towner kids gathered on the street nearby, whispering, laughing together, giving her furtive looks then talking louder, making sure she overheard what they said.

“Them Ciscan weirdoes,” a girl with blonde pigtails laughed. “Them and their slimy monsters.”

“Yeah,” an older boy hooted. “They’re monster-lovers. And they’ve got monster-slime all over them. Like snot.”

The others started chanting: “Snot monsters. Snot monsters.”

It was too much.

“Yeah. We’ve got monsters, alright.” Zenn said. That shut them up. The older boy made a face at her -– and held his nose. Anger boiled up insider her. She affected what she imagined to be a mad-scientist expression and went toward them, arms out, eyes wide. “Gigantic monsters. Flesh-eating monsters. Run away, the monsters are coming.”

The younger kids shrieked and bolted, while the one older boy did his best to look unimpressed, laughing a little too loudly before he turned and walked off. She knew she shouldn’t have done it, that it just gave them more to snigger about. People could be so narrow-minded and intolerant. Later, if Otha ever asked her to join him on a trip to town, she often found there was something else she’d rather do. She decided in her usual straightforward way it simply didn’t make sense to waste her energy worrying about this state of affairs.

Now, she leaned the shotgun against the boulder they’d been sitting on and watched the boys make their way down the bluff.

A minute later, the boys were standing, mouths agape, at the hound’s side. Dark Hair worked up the courage to reach out a hand.

“It’s… soft. The fur,” he said. He pulled his hand back and examined it closely.

Red Hat edged closer, touched the hound’s ribcage and kept his hand there.

“I can feel it… breathing,” he whispered, unmistakable awe in his voice. “And… it’s warm.”

“It’s a mammal,” Zenn said. “So it’s warm-blooded. Just like you are.”

“Yeah,” Dark Hair marveled, touching the great, leathery pads on the hound’s hind foot.

“Just like us.”

“What’s it eat?” Red Hat asked. “People. I’ll bet it eats people, don’t it?”

“No,” Zenn said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “Not at all. Whalehounds eat big reptiles that live in the oceans of Mu Arae. And the hounds are actually very beneficial creatures, because if they didn’t eat these animals, there would be too many of them. Then the reptiles would eat all the fish in the sea, and the humans living on Mu Arae wouldn’t have anything to eat themselves. See?”

“Yeah, right,” said Dark Hair, going to the front of the hound to stare at its teeth. “But they could eat people if they wanted to, huh?”

“You got more of these out there? At your cloister place?”

“No. He’s the only one,” Zenn said.

“But you’ve got lotsa others, huh? Man-eaters, huh?”

Zenn took a deep breath.

“We don’t have man-eaters,” she said. “We have alien animals that need our care. Just because they’re strange to you, or big, or from far away, it doesn’t mean they eat people.”

“That’s not what my dad says,” Dark Hair scoffed. “And he says that when the Authority takes over Mars, all those things will have to go.”

“Yeah,” Red Hat chimed in. “The Authority will make Mars just like Earth, with no aliens anywhere. My mom says it’ll be good to have Mars for humans only.”

At this, Hamish stepped forward, and seemed about to respond.

“He’s a Rho Cancri bug, ain’t he?” Dark Hair said, preventing any comment from Hamish. “He live with you and all those things?”

“He’s a coleopt,” Zenn corrected him. “His name is Hamish, and he’s our new sexton. That’s like an assistant. I’m Zenn. And you are…?”