Bust the Dead Part Eight: Minstrel in the Gallery

Myal began his task.

The others sat at the table around him, watching the musician work, but it was very late and they were all struggling not to fall asleep. "We can at least stay up with you," insisted Egon. Myal nodded, and to keep everyone (including himself) awake, he told stories of his adventures and also gave a more detailed account of his first meeting with Parl Dro. He didn't quite understand Peter's comment that there was probably a great disco in Ghyste Mortua called 'Studio 666', but he did generously return the other man's wallet, which he had stolen from him several hours before.

"Y'know," said Peter, putting his wallet back into his pocket, "I think Parl should get a new tailor. I mean, black all the time gets to be depressing after a while. We could take him back to Greenwich Village, and get him fixed up real nice."

"Yeah Peter, I'm sure he'd like that," snorted Janine.

"Why not?" he asked, grinning. "We could get him some jams and a Hawaiian shirt. Something to brighten things up."

"I think he looks fine the way he is," said Janine. "And he told me that I have lovely auburn hair."

Myal paled noticeably. "But he's my father," he sputtered.

"So?"

"So he's *dead*."

"Nobody's perfect," Janine said smugly.

"But really," continued Peter, "someone should introduce him to the joys of multichromatic clothing. Unless it's just that everyone who's dead likes to wear black. Like your old girlfriend, Ray."

"She wasn't my girlfriend," he protested weakly.

"Is there a story behind this?" asked Myal, who had just finished fitting the two soundboxes together.

"I thought we agreed-"

"But this time it really does pertain to the case, doesn't it Egon -- she registered as a Type 13 too," added Winston.

"True," Egon said. "But she wasn't exactly the same as Parl Dro."

"You bet she wasn't," said Peter, winking at Ray. "You see, Myal, one time Ray over there met this girl dressed all in black, just like your father. Admittedly it was a black miniskirt, but you get the picture." Myal nodded enthusiastically. "Same idea, right? They both like black. Anyway, she and Ray went out a few times, and he kept telling us about this wonderful girl that he'd met. One day he brought her back to meet us, this little girl in black with a big silver ankh pendant, and we just happened to have our PKE meters on. The readings went off the scale. She was a ghost, sort of, and she registered higher than anything we'd ever seen. Until now."

"Why did you say she was 'sort of' a ghost?" questioned Myal, fitting a peg into place.

"Because she wasn't really a ghost -- she wasn't a human who'd died. Whatever kind of entity she was, she had always been that way. She knew who we were, but she didn't realize she would register on our PKE meters."

"Was she completely solid, like Parl?"

"I wouldn't know. Was she completely solid, Ray?"

"Are you ever going to let up on me about that?" sighed the other man.

"Only teasing, Ray. How ya doin', Myal?"

"All I need now is the reed," he announced proudly. He took the nearly completed instrument in his hands and began to play, as he had longed to do since the original had been destroyed on the hill at the Ghyste.

The others sat very still and listened. "Myal, that was beautiful," whispered Janine, after he'd finished.

"It was indeed," said Parl Dro, appearing suddenly beside them. He held out something to his son. "Will this do?"

Myal examined it and smiled happily. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"You'd better hurry. The villagers are gathering on the outskirts of town, with lit torches."

"Lovely," said Peter. Myal winced and hurriedly prepared the reed, as Egon and Parl made their plans. Parl would perform an 'exorcism' out in the clearing, while Myal would hide nearby waiting for his cue to play. Peter had taught him the two lines of music earlier, and he was ready.

"There," said Myal wearily, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. "It's finished."

"And just in time, too," remarked Parl. "There's noise coming from outside. It's almost dawn; we should get to our positions."

"Problem," said Egon, aiming his PKE meter at the instrument and then at the exorcist. "The only protonic anomaly in this room is you."

"What?" yelped Peter. "We haven't come this far to be stopped now! If this thing doesn't have any energy in it, we won't be able to get home and then we're gonna be torched by those crazy.. hold on, I think I'm getting an idea," he said, a crafty look coming into his eyes. "Maybe we can use our equipment to channel some of Parl's psychokinetic energy into the instrument."

"It's certainly worth a shot," said Ray.

"Hurry, guys," urged Janine, looking nervously out the window. "Those people out there don't look very friendly."

"But the original energy in that thing when we found it read as Type 13," protested Winston. "That's what Parl is -- what'll the transfer do to him?"

"We don't need all his energy," said Egon. "But it would probably weaken him tremendously. I don't know if he would be strong enough afterwards to- "

"Use some of mine," Myal interjected, then saw the look the exorcist was giving him. "You've done it before."

"Myal, I will *not* feed off you again. The amount I would have to draw from you could kill you."

"Egon, would it kill me? Would he have to take that much?"

Egon shook his head. "There's no way to tell. Even so, you might not be able to play."

"Me, not be able to play?" he said indignantly. "Don't be absurd! And Parl, don't you argue with me. You can't do this on your own. I'm your son -- let me help you."

The older man seemed to realize then that any further protest would be ignored. "As you wish," he said mildly, and laid his hands on Myal's shoulders. The others watched in fascination as the lifeforce flowed from one man to the other. The exorcist caught Myal as he fell forward, and eased him down into a chair. "Rest."

"You don't have to tell me twice," he mumbled. "I've gotta play, though."

"Soon, Myal," he said, and turned to the others. "Egon, I'm ready."

"Just put your hands on this and relax; let the machine do the work."

It took several minutes to complete the transfer, and when it was over Parl Dro was visibly less solid than he had been. Myal, watching from his chair as his strength returned, marveled that he had never seen the other so insubstantial. Dro was too good at the impersonation of life to ever be seen as transparent.

Egon held the meter over the instrument. "It worked," he said, his usual restraint not quite in place. "Are you two ready?"

Myal nodded. Parl straightened up, narrowed his eyes, and suddenly appeared fully solid. "How do I look?" he asked, smiling.

"Wonderful," said Janine.

"Then let's party!" Peter cried.