Wine, Women, and Song

by Themis56

Originally started out as backstory, this is an entire chronicle of Setzer Gabbiani's life. Now completed, despite an ending that circles the drain. R for language, violence, sexual situations.

11. Gambler or Gentleman

CHAPTER ELEVEN: GAMBLER OR GENTLEMAN

Setzer remember little, if any, of the funeral. Benedick led a small search-and-rescue group to the tomb's entrance to find his master huddled up against the door, who was gently led back to the town, a good mouthful of the Divine Mixture administered. The ceremonies continued: borne by four hearty male mourners on a litter, Daryl's shrouded body entered the stone walls, the attendees and clergy going after. In the very heart of the edifice all stopped to observe as the four bearers laid Daryl into a marble sarcophagus draped with roses and scarlet silk. The priest began his eulogy; it probably was just as well that Setzer was held in thrall by picking at the loose threads on his coat, for the speech talked of the fleeting vanity of life, and how people had to watch out for moral degeneration, or else the world would come tumbling down into godless chaos. Not once did the priest speak of how Daryl had gone without new clothes for five years so that her brother could attend a vocational school, nor did he mention about her jubilant lust for life that vitalized every cell in her body with love. Next flowers and trinkets, her toolbox, stuffed toys, and letters were strewn on the sarcophagus; finally the procession exited the tomb and the priest gave the final blessing before the door was sealed forever.

The priest addressed Setzer in a kind voice: "Mr. Gabbiani, do you have any closing remarks?"

Setzer blinked stupidly. Benedick had given him a little too much of the Divine Mixture, and he was not experiencing lucidity, only drowsiness. He came forward anyway, for some deep internal compunction told him that it was the proper thing to do.

"Friends and relatives," he spoke in a strong voice with a weak undercurrent (none of his family was attending), "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming. Some of you knew Daryl, but most of you don't know about her background. Her father was a well-known hobo; her mother is the first woman ever to mix mosquito larvae with calamine lotion, thus both causing and curing skin rashes at the same time.

"Daryl wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world, but she didn't care about that. She had a great spirit, even greater than her waist. She blew every skinny woman I ever knew out of the water. Daryl had a lust for life--she didn't waste what little time she had, which is more I can say for most of you here. Plus, she was dynamite in the sack. Mrs. Spielen, if that's your real name, I can honestly say that I've known quite a few ladies in my day, but your daughter was the absolute best.

"What else can I say? I'm not a fancy or eloquent man, no matter how hard I fancy myself otherwise. It's all over. Some couples who absolutely hate each other's guts but're too lazy to get a divorce stay married for fifty, sixty years, and I only got three and half-ish. How is that fair? Think about it, won't you?"

The audience was literally stunned--what sort of grief had the power to produce such boorish rudeness? The women glanced at the grumbling men in scandalization; Daryl's mother began to sob; and Setzer slowly performed something of a wobbly saunter away to the village tavern. He was thirsty and wanted a drink.

*************

Home at Vector once more, Setzer returned to his room and regular routine, the only deviation which was he started to take a tad more of the Divine Mixture than prescribed; the periods of calm and well-being had grown shorter and more medicine was needed to buy the same length of time.

Presently Benedick and a maid went upstairs to deliver their master his breakfast, as had become customary. They found him sitting in his chair, and he glanced up at them.

"Where is Daryl? She hasn't overslept, has she?" he asked. Benedick and the maid exchanged uneasy glances.

"Ladybird is dead, Master."

"Dead! Really. Oh, I remember now. Her engines died on her. I warned her. 'Use normal engines,' I told her. She didn't listen, did she?"

"Such was not her forte, Master," Benedick whispered.

"Lovely woman, but never listened. Why, the first day I met her she nearly killed me by climbing up the scaffolding around the Blackjack. Scared the hell out of me, but as she was doing it I thought she would have made an expert rock climber or pole-dancer. Ha, ha, ha!"

Setzer laid his head down in his hash browns, soon beginning to snore. Benedick quietly excused himself, directed the maid to assist the head of the household to bed, and rode Chocy into Vector to the main factory. He hunted down Ratchet and demanded that Setzer should take no more of the Divine Mixture.

"It has oozed up into his brain," the old Doman said. "In the short time he is even awake, no sense can I make of his words. He cannot work. No more, I say!" He reached down to his scabbard, grabbing his katana by the hilt.

"Calm down, old man," Ratchet sighed. "Waving a sword at me won't help anything. The Divine Mixture clouds up the mind, dulls pain and prevents people from going hysteric. We used it often when I was a surgeon. It does have the effect of making people sleepy and spout jargon; that's natural."

"'Tis an unnatural way to come to grips with grief. I ask ye again to take him off."

"If that's the way you feel about it, go right on ahead. I'm not his keeper. I don't mind taking charge of the business affairs, but I wouldn't mind if he came back. Hard work lies all about."

Benedick did the ungraceful thing, as expected. The old man's battle plan basically consisted of locking Setzer up in his bedroom without the blue bottle and waiting until he started thinking coherently again. It was an extremely unpleasant affair for all concerned, but Setzer felt he had gone to Hell. He could not sleep, his skin prickled with goosebumps, and memories, horrible memories flooded his mind, the glass shards eating away at his face, Daryl's expression as the Falcon crashed down, her parched, cankered face--terrible thing! He screamed and beat at the door until his hands grew raw. He tried to jump out a window, but Benedick trussed his legs and hands up with rope. Defeated, Setzer went to his bed and wept like a baby. Then he grew silent and lay perfectly still for three whole days, not moving or speaking; Benedick had to spoon-feed him. On the third day, Setzer rose from his bed, took a bath, changed clothes, and went down to breakfast, emaciated, pale, and eyes dull hazel but his mind was his own, glory be.

Even liberated, Setzer found himself confined to his bed and armchair for at least another week, for both Ratchet and Benedick adamantly refused to let him return to work in his current physical state. He was fed hearty beef broths, potatoes, leafy greens, only allowed one walk under heavy supervision around the gardens each day. In his spare time he read and talked with Benedick. Setzer was glad to have the old man around, for the sturdy presence was fortifying, and it turned out that Benedick had a surprising amount of stories stored in his white head.. He told of Doma Castle, of its battlements that had holes over the entryways to pour boiling oil on enemy soldiers, of the thin slits in the walls through which arrows could be shot, of its elite Samurai and their mannerisms.

"You wish to go back," Setzer said.

"Sometime, yes."

"Well, I don't see what's keeping you from packing off. I certainly can't stop you. I've treated you shabbily, never let you on vacation, and yet here you are."

"I do admit only the honor of my word kept me with ye in the first," Benedick conceded, "and ye are a right nuisance at times. Yet Doma has men enough and needs not me, unlike someone I do know." He reached out and filliped Setzer's nose. "I am a foolish old man, but I know where my loyalties lie."

Setzer's pale face smiled mirthlessly. "Seems to me you could have spared yourself the trouble."

"Ye sell thyself short, I am afeared. I shall stay here, dear Master, as a man of my word. Yet mark ye one day when Benedick will no longer be here to keep ye company. Do not keep alone, dear boy."

Setzer smiled and drooped off into a light slumber. He awoke not long afterwards to faint scufflings at the door. Benedick entered, declaring, "A visitor wishes to come into thy presence, Master. He is a stranger to me, but he claims old friendship. What is thy wish?"

"Let him in. Alone, please."

Bowing low, Benedick disappeared, talked to someone in out in the hall, and a new form limped into the room: a tall, shaggy-haired, rather heavy-boned man, his forehead sloping and thick like an ape's. Placid brown eyes gazed twinkling down at Setzer from under the beetling brow.

"Hullo, Setzer! What's this? Why aren't you going mad with joy?" the man said, smiling genially. He did have a familiar look about him, but Setzer could not recognize him.

"I'm sorry, I don't recall..."

"Oh, forgive me. I forgot you've been having a rough time of it. And it has been twelve years. Here, how about this," His voice was quite deep, but every word had been articulated, smooth; he now made it drawl thickly. "Ain't this a glumptious state of affairs, Gabby?"

"J.J!!!"

Such embraces.

J.J. gave a whoop of joy and enfolded Setzer, who had clambered out of bed, in a great bear hug, nearly crushing the convalescent's poor ribs. Setzer didn't mind the pain or the dirt that J.J.'s muddy boots had tracked onto the clean carpet; he squeezed in return and gave the wide face a kiss on each cheek. They pounded shoulders and jumped up and down, rattling the chandeliers above and below.

"Sit, sit!" Setzer cried, gesturing to the chairs around the coffee table. "Damn, J.J., it's great to see you."

"Likewise, likewise," J.J. laughed, waving a hand. He walked over to the proffered seat, and there was a considerable limp in his gait as, Setzer noted, his right foot was swaddled in bandages from the toes up to past the ankle.

"What happened to you?"

"That? A souvenir from my jail days, I hate to say. It's lucky I got out without anything worse, so I quickly learned to deal with it."

"How did they do it?" Setzer asked soberly.

"Do you know of the Boot? It's an instrument that looks vaguely like a vice. They put your foot in it and turn a screw--I'm not familiar with how it works really, but each time they turn the screw a bone snaps. Certainly felt that way."

"Dear gods," Setzer said in a soft voice; merely thinking about what shapeless mass lay under those bands of cloth horrified him. "The police did that to you? It's monstrous!"

J.J. shrugged and responded brightly, "I told you, I got off easy. Probably because I was so young and a first-time offender."

"What--what was it like?"

"The prison or the torture?"

"Both. I mean, if you don't mind talking about it. No, wait, not the torture. Nix that." It was better to leave certain matters alone.

Wrinkling his nose up and stretching out in his chair luxuriously, J.J. answered, "It was a long time ago, and, to tell the truth, it was boring. Maddeningly so. I was interrogated once, and they did this to me, but other than that I was left alone. All I did was lie around. Sometimes I got a book to read. There's not much to say." He glanced around the bedroom, taking in the velvet drapes, fine oil paintings, the elegant furniture. "I heard that you've been doing all right for yourself. Nobody was kidding."

"Yeah, I'm a lucky SOB."

"Strange that a lucky SOB like yourself stays up in his room alone for as long as you have," J.J. intimated. His eyes stared unblinking at his host's scarred, pallid face, piercing as if to probe into soul and thought.

"I--A terrible accident happened not too long ago. Her name was Daryl, a dear friend of mine. She died."

"Yes, I know."

Well, he thought irascibly to himself, why did you bring up the damned subject in the first place? Out loud: "How is everyone?"

"Fine. I haven't been to Jidoor in quite a long time, but I've been keeping in touch. Mandy and Benny both found jobs at the Opera House."

Setzer burst out laughing. "Mandy and Benny! I thought they were banned from there forever! How did they get the jobs? I suppose belch-throwing midgets are in big demand these days?"

"I'm thinking that Mandy's parents used a bit of their theatrical influence," J.J. chortled. "Mandy has a surprisingly good voice. And he's so cute, you know, the ladies eat him up. Benny's dying of jealousy."

"And Lorenzo?"

J.J.'s face flinched. "Lorenzo is dead."

"Oh, no--"

"I'm sorry. I thought you might heave heard."

Raising his hand to brush away a stray lock drooping in his face, Setzer shook his head. He had not seen Lorenzo in twelve years, so his feelings were more muted than he thought decent, but he could remember the flash of the blue eyes under the flaming hair, the way Lorenzo blushed when Dulcina smiled at him, the piques of temper. "I've been in my room for quite some time. I don't know what's been going on. Mandy and Benny didn't write to me. Do they know?"

"Yes. "

A great sigh escaped Setzer's lips. "It's insane, J.J. I had a friend named Livius; he killed himself. Then Daryl died. And now you say Lorenzo's gone, too."

"The underworld's just going to the L's, isn't it?" laughed the other man softly, Setzer echoing.

"Hell, J.J., I think you actually got some wit from your experiences!"

"Something had to come out of them. I'm just happy I'm not a psychopath."

But Setzer's mind and tongue had returned to the former subject. "I always thought that Lorenzo would do something stupid and get himself killed," Setzer said. "What did he do? Did he go on some stupid hunger-strike and starve himself to death? It's always a dreadful shame when principles override common sense."

"Don't talk about him that way! You don't know anything about it, so just shut the hell up, Setzer." The soft brown eyes shimmered with fire; Setzer's spirit quelled.

"Well, it seems like you know. Tell me what happened. How did he screw up?"

"I would have told you anyway without your morbid insistence. I was in a jail, right here in Vector, for three years, all alone with a crippled foot in the dark except for the rats."--J.J. brushed back his hair; his ears were scalloped and gnawed at the edges, and one lobe missing-- " They were going to let me rot there. Lorenzo came into my cell, Setzer. He'd been snooping around, trying to find out where I was, and when he did he begged and bribed and threatened the guards until they let him in. He hugged me when he saw me and gave me some food. I cried, I was so glad to see him. Then he said to me, 'I'm getting you out. I've been living out on the streets for nearly three years, hiding in barns and outhouses and stealing, and I didn't do all of that just to see you die here. They won't let you out, you know.' It was then I saw he had a huge knife, a hunting knife, and a gun in his pockets. I didn't want to go, but he made me stand and follow him out. We came to the first set of guards; he cut their throats clean as a whistle, without a sound. All went well until we got out into the courtyard. This was one of those old decaying prisons, not modern at all, thank the gods for that! reserved for juveniles, so there weren't that many guards inside the place, not enough room. But outside they were everywhere up on the watchtowers. We got to the front gate and he shot off the lock. Then we were found out. Gunshots were all over, and guards were rushing at us. Lorenzo pushed me through the gate. 'Go on!" he shouted at me, 'go on, you moron!' Next he whispered, 'Get out of here. Go to the Sabil mountains, and if you see anyone, tell them Lorenzo sent you.' I dodged through the hedges--a bullet nicked my shoulder--and I ran, even with my bad foot."

"They killed him, didn't they?" Setzer murmured.

"Yes. I looked back and one of the guards was running him through, gaffed him like a fish. I wanted to retrieve him, help him, but I knew I couldn't. So I kept on."

"I bet they destroyed the body. Bastards."

Heavy brow furrowing, J.J continued: "It's strange, but they didn't. It was downright decent of them. They buried him out at the back of the courtyard, in a proper coffin. To tell you the truth, I think that General Leo had something to do with it. He was stationed for a short time not too far away from the prison. Later I went back with some friends and we dug out the coffin and took it to Jidoor. It's there now. It's lucky they didn't do a background check on him, or else they'd left his carcass for the kites in a blink of an eye."

"Why's that?" Setzer leaned forward, hands clenched on his knees, gazing at J.J, who squirmed and stared back with artificial and wild equanimity.

"Have you ever heard of the Returners?"

"Yes."

"Lorenzo helped found them, young as he was, along with the current leader, Bannon."

"And you," Setzer surmised, pointing a finger, "are one of them. Trust Lorenzo to do something like that. You people kill children."

"Yes, I am a Returner," J.J. said, voice dire. "They took me in, they were kind to me, Lorenzo's people. And we've got right on our side, dammit--"

"Right? What gives you the right to be right? The Empire's no worse than any government I know of. You kill children. You're a bunch of deluded, lily-livered cowards."

"Is that what you think we do?" J.J. roared, nearly upsetting his chair. "We do not attack civilians! Typical Imperial propaganda. Our struggle lies with the government alone. We have to fight in the hills, valleys, from behind rocks, but we do fight. It's a vicious little war."

"You don't seem to mind much," Setzer noted.

J.J.'s cheeks flushed, and his large hands, hands that could easily smash a skull like a cantaloupe, choked the air. "I can't think about it. What I and my comrades go through--we set our eyes on greater goals. We want the downfall of the Empire."

"J.J., why in hell would you want that?"

"Don't you have any idea of what's going on?" J.J. demanded. Setzer shook his head. "No, you wouldn't. You always had a penchant for overlooking things that displease you. The Empire isn't square, Setzer, it's foul and rotten. The strange thing is, you're one of the most successful men in Vector, and you don't know that."

"I hate politics. They're boring. My concern is business. I'm not that important; it's an idiot who equates wealth with importance," Setzer snapped archly.

"Ah--" J.J. hunched his shoulders, "but I've been in the monster's bowels, Setzer, and I know what's been going on. I'm at the core, so to speak, and it's full of worms. The Empire wants land and money and all the things power thinks it's entitled to. If nobody stops it soon, it will strangle the whole world in its coils."

Setzer opened his mouth to say what he really thought of the whole outrageous crock, but J.J. held up a finger. "Already the Empire has conquered the whole southern continent. They've been at it for years, now it's all theirs. Maranda, the last stronghold, burns, torched into submission by General Chere--and with machines and weapons made from your factories, I believe."

Rage bridled within him; Setzer wanted to throttle the man before him, and it was only with all of his patience and will that he refrained from doing so. "What is that to me?"

"Does it not matter to you," J.J. suddenly looked very sad, "that many of Benny's family lived in Maranda?"

"Benny?"

"Yes, you idiot. Ben-ny. Benoit Gaetan. Remember now?"

Setzer did remember, the nasty shock singeing his former rage into a crisp. "I thought that his parents lived in Jidoor."

"They do. His immediate family is fine. But don't you remember his uncles, aunts, cousins? They lived there. Some of them died along with the royal family. Because they resisted tyranny, Setzer."

Over the years, Setzer had garnered a healthy distaste for preachiness, or what he deemed preachiness; it annoyed him to no end, whether it was political propaganda or a religious missionary. The last sentence of J.J.'s reply struck a very sour chord. "They deserved it, all of them, and you, too! When people play such dangerous games they must take the consequences."

J.J. couldn't even speak--he had that stunned, stupid, glassy expression of a cow as it was being slaughtered, and Setzer seized the further opportunity.

"Why did you even come here, anyway? Certainly not to tell me these things, surely."

"I didn't plan it to be like this," J.J. said in a wounded whisper. "I've forgotten that you've changed. If you must know: I wanted to ask for your help. For the Returners."

Setzer threw back his head and howled with shrill, strained laughter. "I? I, a Returner! Ha! I don't care about either of you, Empire or Returners. Both of you can just destroy each other for all I care." He conjured in his mind a vision of ragged, dirty men meeting in rickety abandoned warehouses, and at the front of them all Lorenzo, a book of liberal manifestos raised high, bellowed and fulminated and waved his hands, cursing the Empire and ennobling the folk that scrabbled the street-cobbles and mucked the stalls, lighting hope for something better...

"How can you be so self-centered?" J.J. hissed. "Even as we speak, Doma--ah, you're right, you don't care. I will tell you this, Setzer, and then I'll leave you to your bed and precious airships and plutocrat buddies: your lover--friend, ha!--Daryl did not die by accident."

"You lie." Setzer retorted instantly, his lips growing into a thin line.

"No. Your precious Empire killed her off, Setzer, just as sure as they killed off Maranda and Lorenzo."

Pain shot down into Setzer's heart, past the boundaries he had set around it, making it bleed inside of him. J.J. was earnest, but Setzer knew that earnestness is not the same as truth. He felt compelled to delve deeper into the matter. "But why Daryl? I want to know why. She never hurt them."

"In madness there is no why."

"Madness?"

"Daryl did not take well to your contracts with the government, did she not?"

"No. But she had no problems with the Empire, she just wanted--"

"Whatever the motives, she was opposed to the whole thing, correct? She had much influence over you. That influence should have been the Empire's, and the first one to notice that was General Kefka Palazzo. From the very moment the Emperor heard her name, she was marked down for death."

"She once mouthed off to the Emperor when he sent soldiers to my factories," Setzer remarked weakly; J.J. nodded assertively.

"That only sped up her death. How did they do it? It's clever, very clever. None of the Empire's upper echelons had to do a thing. Kefka is the main instrument.

"When the Empire is very displeased with someone, Setzer, Kefka sends out informers and spies out into the streets. 'Find out anyone who knows of So-And-So,' he tells them, 'and if they've got enough information, get me dirt on them.' And there is always something, whether it's incest with a sibling or larceny or something silly that nobody wants anyone else to know. Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption, as they say.

"Well, the spies tell Kefka the names of the people he wants, and one by one he summons them before him, perhaps after he has them cool their heels in jail first. He then tells them of the shameful thing they've done, and he says the punishment will be tremendous. He bullies and torments them. By the end, they're willing to do anything, anything to escape. And lo and behold, there is something they can do! That something is bringing about the death of the person who is a threat. They always agree. Then Kefka leans over and spits his poison in their ears, gives them suggestions on how to off the condemned people. Your Daryl's name came up. I don't know who, but I'm almost positive it was one of your workers, because her airship's engines were tampered with."

Setzer panted, sweat beading his brow; he craved his little blue bottle, but he didn't have it. His weary, sorrow-pressed brain throbbed. "I don't believe you."

"Dammit, Setzer! Why would I cook up something like that? With the Returners I learned how to speak properly and well, true, but I'm still a horrible liar."

"I don't believe you!" Setzer repeated. "I know! You want me to buy into it, to hate the Empire, just so I can join you and your stupid little resistance group. Yes. Well, you'll never have me! The whole lot of you can rot in Hell. I thought you were my friend, but now here you are, preaching to me, using Daryl's name to further your own ends--" He hurled himself at J.J., flying over the table; he hit at the big shoulders and head, trying to scratch at the eyes. J.J. managed to grasp Setzer's wrists. Then Setzer, finding he couldn't punch anymore, stopped trying and began to sob.

"Listen," J.J. said, "I am your friend. I love you dearly. I would never do such a thing. Think, Setzer! Daryl and Lorenzo are dead. Help others avoid the same fate. You are intelligent and good hearted. Men must be free, or their lives are cheap as livestock. Do the right thing."

Setzer glared up and trembled. "I am a gambler," he said, "every true Gabbiani is a gambler. J.J., I know I'm not the best man in the world, but I've tried to be generous with people, tried to give them a fair deal. I was wrong. My father was loving and good, and he's a failure. I was generous with Livius, and he killed himself. I gave Daryl all the love I had, gave her everything, and she died. A good gambler is essentially selfish. I denied that for years. By doing so, I fell into great error. I am going to redeem that error. Now there is no-one else. I'm going to do everything to please me. Me! All I do now is for my better good, and all else will give way. A person cannot be a gentleman and a gambler at the same time, and I am no gentleman. Obligation makes people slaves. I won't be that. Now get out, or I'll call Benedick."

"You are sick, Setzer, deathly sick," J.J. said slowly as he backed away.

"You're just upset because I won't join in on your little crusade."

"No. I'm not like Lorenzo, getting furious and then falling flat when there's nothing to be angry about. I'll leave now. I want to tell you a story before I go. Once there was a young man who had the potential to be a great hero because he had killed a great beast that was ravaging his homelands. As he contemplated his future, two women came up to him. 'Choose my path,' said one woman, who was dolled up in silks and paints, "and you'll have everything you desire. You won't need to lift a hand. Money, food, women, fame, all will be yours at the touch of your fingers.' The other woman, clad only in a simple robe, said, 'Choose me. My life for you is harsh and filled with care and pain, but it will be glorious, your end meaningful. That woman there knows nothing that is good; she suffers for nothing, and nothing is sweet. You will have done nothing to earn the love and esteem of man. Follow me to get these things. Your name will never be forgotten, and it will be spoken with gratitude and love. Choose me.' That's the difference between you and me, Setzer. You choose the first woman. I choose the second."

"Self-serving declarations under the disguise of piety!" Setzer cried. "I'll say one thing for me, at least I'm honest about how I gain my goals. What other people will think of me after I die is irrelevant. Get out. "

"True," said J.J., "a man's honor comes from how he values himself at his death. When I am gone, as I may be any day now, I will go with the knowledge that I followed my conscience in all things, whereas you, on the way you're going, will finish as a decrepit wreck of a man, fat and wealthy and people smiling to your face and slandering you once your turn away--"

"Get out!" Setzer roared, shoving J.J. out the door. "Go proselytize to the people in Hell!"

J.J. spread out his hands, blocking the entrance with his big body, and gave Setzer a soft look from his brown eyes. "I didn't tell you all what Lorenzo said to me before he died. He said, 'If you ever see that son of a bitch Setzer, tell him he's a good man, and that I was a jerk for never telling him that.' Of course, that was a long time ago. Good-bye, Setzer."

The sound of halting, irregular footsteps receded. Setzer thrashed his body around, threw open the curtains to a sun-window, and sat back down again, turning his chair to face the streams of sunlight. He leaned back and gazed out the glass for a very long time.

A rich man, he thought to himself, any man, he supposed, felt that he was entitled to a few certain things in life. Happiness, scores of friends, obedience, comfort, dreams, honor, love. But now these things had swayed and curved away from his outstretched fingers, just as he was about to seize the prize. Had he looked to have these good things all those years ago?

He looked at the crack of sunlight creeping across the floor. He was twenty-seven years, an age once he felt to be quite old, past prime. His best years were over. Even now he felt his youth fading all around him with every passing hour, minute, second; it was dying, dying, dying, and he had not yet lived. Daryl was gone, and he had no pictures--she couldn't smile naturally in them and never posed for one--, no Falcon, not even children by her to remember her...

Something moved underneath him. Setzer looked down to see his legs shift and stand and propel him towards his dresser. He hauled over a small trunk and began to throw clothing into it.

"Benedick" he shouted, "Benedick!"

Speedily the old man entered the room, puffing out his whiskers, a bit red in the face. "Go to your room and pack your bags," Setzer ordered. "Give notice to the staff that I am going to be gone for quite a long time. I'll have their pay dispensed as usual."

"Master, what sort of frenzy is this!" Benedick exclaimed. "Ye have lost thy senses!"

"No. I've never understood anything so clearly in my entire life. I can't bear to stay here. Pack your bags. We're going to board the Blackjack. Take the usual crew--the man in charge of storage, the man who runs the casino store, everyone. Even Ratchet."

"Ratchet!"

"Yes, Ratchet."

"In such a state ye'll crash!"

"I told you, I'm totally in control of myself. I can fly."

"But what of the business? Countless workers depend on ye. Will they be abandoned? With Ratchet gone--Ye have duties--"

"Screw them!" Setzer snarled savagely, shutting close the trunk. "Ratchet doesn't run the business. Fine. Stay here if you want then. But I'm blowing this place."

"Where shall we go?" Benedick's voice was timorous and small.

"Jidoor. We're going home."

*************

Jidoor was still the same spit-shined jewelry town. Its population and boundaries had grown, more shops and cafes lined the streets, and Owzer, so said a petite, black-haired woman whom Setzer recognized on the sidewalk as one of Mandy's sisters after winking at her, had grown so fat that he couldn't even move out of his favorite beanbag chair without the assistance of several strong men. Other than that, still the same spit-shined jewelry town.

Celebrity is an alien thing when it follows you into your birthplace, the place where you spent your childhood chasing cats up trees and wallowing in the mud in diapers. Setzer had the impression he was wearing a suit three sizes too large. People he didn't even know and did know, old classmates and teachers, stopped as he walked past, goggle-eyed, and he heard the whispers of "That's Setzer Gabbiani! He owns the airship, and is one of the richest men in the world." He pretended not to hear them. But he let them look; they weren't hurting him. If they wanted to ogle, let them do it to their heart's content until their eyes fell out of their heads. He liked attention and adulation, but in his hometown, it seemed strange. He expected to get used to it.

His parents still lived in the two-story home next to the Auction House. His mother had retired and they both subsisted comfortably on pensions, keeping to themselves much of the time. Setzer and Benedick stepped up onto the front porch.

"'Tis a pity that the son of a noble lord should have fallen to this," Benedick sighed. Setzer arched an eyebrow knowingly, raising his hand to knock.

A face, his mother's face, older but still stubbornly clinging to its old beauty, appeared at the open door. She saw the scars on his face, leaped back a few inches, her hands shaking, and she ventured: "Setzer?"

"Hullo, Mama!"

She burst out weeping and threw her arms around him; she squeezed hard, kissing him on the cheek over and over. "My dear boy," she murmured, oblivious to Benedick's presence, "how handsome you've become. I mean, you were always handsome, but--what I mean to say--Oh, thank all the gods in heaven you're home!"

Dulcina smiled radiantly up at him, wiping the tears from her face, and pulled Setzer along by his waistcoat. "Come in, come in!" Benedick barely made it through the door before she slammed it shut.

"Ponzo, Ponzo, he's home, Setzer's home," she proclaimed. A whoop sounded from the living room and Ponzo jogged to meet them, more sallow than Setzer recalled, but spirited enough. He reached out, taking his son's face in to kiss once on each side. "Welcome home, son! Why didn't you write more often, eh? Too busy for old geezers like ourselves?" Ponzo laughed, shaking Setzer's hand. "Wait, not here. To the couch!"

Setzer was hauled off into the living room and firmly ensconced on the said couch, his mother and father flanking him, each one holding a hand. Poor neglected Benedick took a seat as well, but they didn't mark him.

What ensued next was a veritable barrage of questions, most of them silly products of parental concern. Was he eating enough? Did he clean his teeth? Did he keep his home in order? They also were not satisfied until he had given a very detailed account of his dealings in Vector; when he told about a rash, unwise decision, his father muttered, "Yes, yes, that was a mistake, and when he recounted a clever method of marketing Ponzo cried, "A chip off the old block! Genius, capital!" Dulcina was overjoyed, squirming like a schoolgirl, but his father seemed even more ecstatic. Setzer asked why he was so happy. That was a mistake. Ponzo grinned impishly and answered, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but...I'm not the only man in the house who has gray hair anymore!"

"Papaaaaaa..." Setzer groaned. Dulcina reached over and gave her husband a small slap on the cheek. "Don't mind him," she consoled. "I think it makes you look dashing. No wonder you're so handsome. The men I love most have gray hair."

"We are irresistible to the opposite sex, you and I," Ponzo guffawed, rubbing at the red blotch on his face; he winked at Setzer. "Don't tell me that you haven't any special woman in your life. Not with those dashing scars, chic clothes, and great hair. Come on, out with it."

"She's dead, Papa." His voice broke in mid-sentence and he buried his head in his hands. He shook with the effort of suppressing his sobs. Benedick rose quickly from his chair, but Dulcina and Ponzo still didn't acknowledge his existence; they were both leaning over their son, whispering to each other over his head.

"Oh, Setzer, we are sorry," Dulcina said softly. She stroked the silvery hair from his eyes and ran her hand down his back. "I didn't mean to upset you, son. I didn't know. I was only making a joke," Ponzo apologized.

"It happened a while ago," Setzer assured them as he mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He inhaled deeply. "I loved her. She was the bravest thing. We raced our airships a lot, and she had an accident. I went to pieces, and I came here."

"We see. You know you're welcome to stay with us as long as you like," Dulcina told him.

"I'll probably leave after a few days. I think I might buy myself a house on the north edge of town, and Papa and Mama, you'll come and live with me. I'm rich as a troll. I've got my salaries all stowed away safely where nobody but I can get them, and I'm rolling in bonds and stocks ready to be cashed, and I'll always get revenues from my casinos--I can stay here forever and not move a finger." Setzer iterated.

Ponzo frowned thoughtfully. He reached out and placed a cool hand on the son's cheek. "Don't think of those things right now. You must only think of resting and catching up with us. You've been through lots of stress. Making important decisions when you're stressed is bad business, you know."

The subject of money reminded Setzer of the parcels in his satchel. He bent down and grasped the cloth bag sitting between his feet, placing it on his knees, opened it, and rummaged around in it.

"I stopped by some stores on my way here," he said, "and I got gifts. For Mama," He pulled out a bolt of dark green cloth sprigged with bright red strawberries. "I don't know your measurements, so I had to make do with getting you the raw material. You can take it to the tailor's and have him make a dress. And Papa, in your last letter you said you needed a new cloak--" A thick, warm red woolen cloak come out of the satchel, clasped with a gold pin, along with a hat, an Aquila's feather perched proudly in the brim. Both parents were very impressed and pleased.

While they admired their presents, Ponzo and Dulcina finally realized that an aged gentleman sat rigidly in the corner. Dulcina reached for the nearest lamp, and it only with a quick explanation of who Benedick was that Setzer saved the Doman from a certain clobbering. They apologized sincerely to Benedick. Dulcina, embarrassed for not noticing him, scuttled off to the kitchen to make amends by baking a cake. The afternoon sun grew ruddy gold and low in the sky, so she started on supper for four as well.

Huge buttery, fluffy biscuits of golden brown, drenched in gravy, were served, followed by fresh bread and apples and cheese, after which came a thick leek soup with dumplings and mutton, all liberally chased down with wine, and all topped off with the cake. Dulcina and Ponzo joked and gossiped, talked a bit of harmless politics, and advised their son on bettering himself, his household, and his personal hygiene. It was very good to hear these things, so Setzer took them in jocund stride. Benedick was given the royal third-degree as well, and he answered with such politeness that the parents warmed instantly to him.

Setzer smiled much the evening, but he rarely laughed. Melancholy things dwelled in his heart, yet he was disposed to be warmly content. He wanted to come to a place where he could be unhappy; unfortunately one cannot be unhappy with a loving family one has not seen in years. He needed peace to be unhappy, but peace was in Jidoor, nowhere else--a fine muddle.

Night settled into the windows, and the world outside began to droop and drowse. Setzer gave a mighty yawn. Sounds were thin and sibilant in his ears. He excused himself for the night and crept up the stairs to his old room. "I kept it clean for you," his mother said earlier, "a little thing I did to keep myself occupied while you were away." He undressed, curled up under the sheets, and lay down his head against the pillow, scented with lilac.

The door opened softly, his mother entering in her nightshift. He stayed still and watched her pull a chair up to the bed from the slits of his eyes. She was arranging her shawl when he coughed loudly.

"You wouldn't mind if I--sat here and watched you, would you?" she asked. "I'll be quiet."

"Go ahead, Mama. And if you feel like talking, do so. I'll try to stay awake."

"It has been so long since I last saw you sleeping in here," Dulcina explained. "Now that I see you, I feel young again." She was quiet for a while, and then her voice spoke again. "Why did you never bring her to meet us? We would have been delighted to have her."

"I don't think you would have approved of her, Mama. She didn't wear dresses."

"Scandalous, to be sure. I did not raise my child to love bad women, and you always had excellent taste. It must have been horrible, my dear, to send you back to us. You are welcome to stay as long as needed, but it won't suit your dignity to live with your poor silly parents forever. You don't have to decide now, but consider a course of action. What will you do?"

"I'm going to live, Mama."

"The motto of every Gabbiani, I fear," his mother sighed.

"I won't see twenty-five again, Mama, time is running out for me," Setzer said. "I am truly going to live, on my own terms, beholden to nobody. It's the way for a gambler."

"Speaking as one of the wretched, here's my advice: you listened too much to your father."

"I wouldn't have bought into it if I didn't feel the same."

"He is very proud of you."

"Papa would be proud of me no matter what I did. I could have spent my time learning how to play the kazoo with my nose, and he'd pat me on the head and say, 'Capital tone and precision, my dear boy, couldn't have done better myself'." Setzer grinned saucily. "I'll follow the old ways just for his sake."

"If that's so, then you'll be leaving soon enough. You said at supper that you wanted to visit your old friends. Will you set out tomorrow?"

He reached out, groping for her hand in the dark, and patted her hand. "I'll take you for a ride on the airship before I go."

"Your father and I believe firmly that human beings, meant to stay on the ground, should not attempt blasphemy."

"Far be it from me to lead you into sin, Mama. I can stay for a little while longer, perhaps."

She gave a small sound and leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.

*************

The chandeliers were sparkling and new, the carpet refurbished, and the paintings hung on the walls different; aside from these changes, the Opera House, like Jidoor, was the same as Setzer had remembered it.

"Excuse me," he asked the man at the front desk, "where is Mandy's dressing room?"

"Who, sir?"

"His full name is Vardaman, doesn't have a last one. He's short, dark skin, black curly hair."

The man's eyes registered recognition. He pointed up a flight of marble stairs to the far side of the atrium. "Up there, last room on the left. He should be in there, sir, he's through with rehearsal for the evening. "

Dressing rooms at the Opera House were designed so that the women's quarters were on the right, men's on the left. Chorus members had one large room to themselves; main and supporting actors earned the blessing of their very own rooms or having to share with only one other person. At the end of the dressing room hall were two doors, separated by a fairly wide berth, winking their shiny veneers. Setzer directed himself towards the left.

Covering up the nameplate on the door was a piece of parchment, on which were scrawled the words in a bold hand:

DWELLING OF RODOLFO,

THE SINGING WONDER MIDGET

"Gods, Mandy, you wacky SOB," Setzer chuckled softly; it was very comforting to know that some things never changed an inch. He rapped his knuckles on the door

"NO, Impresario!" thundered a silky voice, "I'm through with rehearsing! You better not have gone back on your word!"

"I am not the Impresario, Rodolfo the Singing Wonder Midget," Setzer answered, lowering his voice; he did not expect Mandy to recognize him, but it didn't hurt to guard the surprise.

"Thank heaven for small mercies. Sorry about that. Come in, come in," the voice cried.

Setzer found himself in an expansive room in the shape of an L; a person just entering came into the middle of the horizontal section. Clothes and costumes littered the floor so that most of the carpet was hidden from sight; trunks and closets, their doors flung open to reveal more costumes, dotted the walls along with pictures of women, landscapes, and dark-skinned people--Mandy's family. Small tables laden with half-eaten meals and goblets were pushed against a small bed at one end of the horizontal section; at the other end was a large mahogany table with countless drawers and a huge silver mirror surrounded with gas lamps. The flickering light glinted off a mass of gently waving jet hair. Mandy seemed preoccupied with a drawer that refused to shut.

"Mandy versus a table drawer: the eternal struggle," Setzer sighed appreciatively.

Mandy turned his head to answer and saw who was in his room.

"SETZER!!" he shouted, the word immediately proceeded by a wordless cry of delight. He launched himself from the chair at Setzer, who had not anticipated the reaction and nearly toppled over with the impact. Mandy had grown over the years, but he was still very small, barely reaching three-quarters up Setzer's chest, and he had slammed his childhood friend full in the stomach.

"Man this is unbelievable! This is great, this is great," Mandy spoke rapidly, melding his words together as he wrung his hands in delight. "I was getting to think you totally forgot about us, but here you are, and isn't it great? Benny said that you'd come around--Oh, sweet mother of Siren! Benny! He'll want to see you." He released Setzer, who nearly toppled over again, and rushed over to one of the doors on the vertical section of the room.

"BENNY!" Mandy shouted, "Setzer's back! Put that sandbag down and march over here posthaste!"

The floor began to vibrate like mad under the approach of tramping, soaring feet. Benny burst in, half leaping and half running. Barrel-chested and strong as ever he was, yet some of his good looks had fled him, and Setzer could detect the traces of fat around his waist, delicately called 'love-handles' by Mandy on the pain of having his head smashed through a wall.

"Swanky, Swanky," Benny chortled, grappling Setzer in a headlock. "Just when I thought you couldn't get even more preppy, here you come in a silk shirt and the fanciest-ass coat I ever saw."

"You're looking good, too," Setzer grinned, disengaging himself before he was asphyxiated. The three of them sat down at a small table stocked with bottles of wine and beer; Benny cleared room for their elbows and hands by sweeping the drinks off onto the floor.

"Don't hold out on me," Setzer urged, regarding the room and its occupants, "how do you miscreants fare? I'm not asking how you got here, of all places, because I know it's a sordid story."

"We do well," Mandy said, "and it is a good life. Did you know that after our little prank, the moment the season was over, nearly all of the big-name actors quit?"

"You're kidding."

"No! It would have made you so proud. Since his talent was deserting him right and left, the Impresario practically begged people to come and work for the Opera. And here we are. He couldn't have refused us."

"I hear you're an actor, pretty high up in the pecking order from the looks of this." Setzer swept his hand out, taking in the L-shaped dressing room.

"That I am. We're set in characters, you know; we have a prima donna who always gets the main lady role, a guy who gets the hero role. I am the comic villain. I don't do threatening stuff, I make people laugh. We have an evil-type villain, too. I share this dressing room with him. He's gone home already."

Benny's face was almost bursting with pent-up glee, and he couldn't restrain himself any longer. "We're going to do performances of the Dragon and the Star pretty soon, we're rehearsing now, and guess what? You're looking at the newest Prince Ralse!"

"You?" Setzer choked out. "Our Mandy, Prince Limp Noodle? How dreadful! Are you willing to stoop so low? Is this what you want?"

"YES!!!" shouted Mandy, eyes and arms opened wide.

"This is too rich. You're so short, how can people even see you?"

"There are certain tricks of the trade," came the response, replete with wounded dignity. "And I had the costume altered. No poofy shirts for me, thank you very much." Mandy went over to a closet and held up a pair of shoes with three-inch thick soles. "Platform shoes, my man, every short person's godsend. And I always stand at a position on the stage where I'm a little above the other actors. My costumes are streamlined. And those are only a few things. In the theater, anything is possible."

"I can see that now. And you, Benny? What are you?"

"I'm the stage manager's assistant. I do lots of things, but my main job lies with the curtains and lowering the backgrounds. Handling the sandbags keeps my strength up."

"He likes dropping them on people he doesn't like," Mandy interjected with a giggle. "You should see what he's written on their bottoms."

"What would that be?" Setzer queried. He and Benny shared a moment of conspiratorial glee.

"Death From Above," Benny answered, spreading his hands out like the words were written on a marquee. The trio had a hearty laugh at that.

"But enough about us. How have the years treated you? Pretty well, it seems. Well, maybe not that well. You look kind of peckish to me. My sister told me you were back in Jidoor. Come here for a visit?"

"I'm taking a vacation," Setzer said tersely. "A man needs to get away now and then, and Vector is a madhouse." He paused. Should he tell? He loved Mandy and Benny, but they had become more inclined to mirth than matter over the years. "Also, a good friend of mine had a terrible accident."

"Yes," Benny nodded with unexpected sympathy, "we know."

"Benny--" Mandy whined in between his teeth.

"How would you know?" Setzer demanded in a slow and terrible voice; consternation welled inside his stomach.

"J.J. told us."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up..."

Setzer cast a shrewd and weary eye on them. "Have the Returners expanded as far west as this?"

Mandy puffed out a hopeless, angry breath, glowering at the table; Setzer reckoned that Benny received a swift kick in the leg.

"No," the thespian said, "as long as trade routes aren't blocked, Jidoor doesn't care about the Empire or resistance, like Narshe. We're a minority here."

"And J.J. talked you into it?"

"He did not," Benny muttered. "He asked us to join several times before we agreed, and we didn't do it for him. We did it out of respect for Lorenzo, gods keep him. We really didn't put much heart into it until...not so long ago."

"Very sentimental and kind of you, I'm sure," Setzer said.

"Sentimentality has nothing to do with it," Benny shouted. "That Imperial slut burned Maranda!" He put his head down into his arms and began to shake.

Mandy's face was very somber. "The Empire didn't do much kindness to Maranda," he said, whispering so Benny could not hear. "General Chere came and lay siege to it, and it was the straw that broke the town's back. She gathered up the resistance leaders and royal family and lined a third of them up against the wall of a very big barn, very wide. Soldiers put iron rings in the barn, one at each side of every person's head. And then she had a huge length of rope brought. The rope was passed through the rings, and at her word she made the soldiers yank on it--hard. The whole lot of them were strung up like herring, their feet jerking and eyes bulging. Three times she made herring. After that she burned the town."

"My uncles! my cousins!" Benny sobbed, "they're all dead! If I only had five minutes alone with that heartless bitch, just five minutes--"

"She'd gut you faster than you could blink," Mandy cut in sharply. "I've seen her in action. You wouldn't think she had it in her, she's so gorgeous, but all the better to trick people. So you can see, Setzer, we're quite bitter here. I would have thought you'd see it our way. You and that Daryl lady--"

"It was an accident," Setzer said.

"Well, don't let me try to change your mind," Mandy snapped.

"I tell you, it was an accident."
"I heard you the first time."

"Oh, shut the hell up, the both of you.," Benny interrupted. He blew his nose loudly and scowled.

"Come on, fellows," Mandy entreated, "we're friends. The Returners and Empire have no place within these walls. You won't inform on us, Setzer?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"See? That's better. Listen, I've got a stupendous idea. Nothing political at all--you know, anything socially relevant--will pass between any of our lips on pain of death. Just because we're the noble, righteous defenders of liberty and love and you're a godless Imperial, Setzer, that doesn't mean we have to fight about it. The world's screwed enough. Pax, everyone?"

"I find it depressing you equate living in Vector with being an Imperial, and I hope you get the gout because of your monstrous prejudice," Setzer said sourly, but he raised a glass. "To forbidden friendships."

"To J.J." Mandy smiled. "I hate to break the mood, but you were kinda hard on him. He told us about his visit with you."

"I shouldn't have said some things. I'll apologize to him--if I ever see him again."

"Oh, you will," Mandy chirped. "Come on, Benny, make a toast!"

"To Lorenzo," Benny offered, downing a bottle of a dubious-looking golden brown liquid.

"That chirked you right up," Mandy said kindly to Benny. "Better?"

"Much," Benny announced with an easy, lopped smile. He glanced up at the wall clock. "Well, I've gotta leave and work on filling those sandbags, or I'll get sacked. You gonna stay for rehearsal, Setzer? For old time's sake?"

"I don't see why not," Setzer acquiesced.

"Come," Mandy urged, scooting from the table and beckoning, "and we'll watch it together."

"Do you know," the young actor asked as he escorted the gambler up flights of gold-veined marble steps, "that we have a new actress who plays Maria? Her name's Maria, too. Maria plays Maria."

"You don't say," Setzer commented, raising his eyebrows in pique. "Is she as good-looking as the last one?'

"Even better. She's tall, pale, blonde, and very beautiful. In fact, she reminds me quite a lot of the infamous General Chere." He added with relish: "Benny loves to torment her. I think because he knows he can't get at the real thing, he has to make with do with abusing the doppleganger. Maybe he'll give us a good show."

The prospect of a poor, helpless young lady, trying so hard to do keep her head high while on the stage yet being jeered at without mercy seemed a shameful thing to Setzer, and he told Mandy so, who answered, "Don't feel sorry for her. She needs to be cut down to size now and then. Oh, hark!" He jumped up and suddenly went very still, cupping a hand to his ear. The soft notes of a harp drifted to their ears. "What luck! They're doing the Aria de Mezzo! Let's hurry!"

They took their seats in a balcony box just as Maria made her entrance. She was very lovely, as Mandy had said; of all the long, leggy blondes Setzer had seen, she was the longest and leggiest. Her bright hair shimmered in the glare of the stage lights, her chest gleamed milky white, accented by a diamond necklace, her waist was small and slender, her feet graceful under the dress. And when she began to sing, voice soft and mellow as a lark's, Setzer stared in thrall. She was Starlet and Siren come to earth.

"Hey, Maria!" The rafters above the stage themselves spoke in a voice of their own. "Bombs away, baby!"

One of the famous sandbags came plummeting down onto the set, nearly catching Maria on the back of her neck, and breaking her song. Even from his high seat, Setzer saw her comely eyes blaze.

"Impresario!" she thundered. "You promised me he wouldn't be working the backgrounds while I was on stage!"

"Benoit, get down from there and leave the woman alone!" the Impresario warned, also glaring up at the ceiling. He took Maria's hand and knelt before her. "Oh, dear lady, I'm sorry, but he has a mind of his own, and when he wants to do a mischief, he does it."

She jerked her hand away, daintily hitched up her skirt, and moved off. "Indeed! Well, let him and his contrary mind go somewhere else! I am taking a break, and I shan't come back until you can control him!"

"I would think," Mandy said to Setzer, "that the mark of truly great actress would be the ability to hold up better under such circumstances. I mean, here she has this wonderful opportunity to bring happiness and laughter to the world, and she falls right to pieces!"

"I know Daryl would have milked it for all it was worth, Setzer sighed, spreading his fingers up in his lap. "Perhaps the song means something to her."

"Metaphor overkill has meaning and significance?"

"Don't you appreciate the grandness of love, Mandy?"

"I wouldn't know," Mandy snapped. "I'm married."

Setzer found this statement surprisingly hilarious--perhaps it was the tone in which it was uttered--and he laughed long and hard.

For the rest of the evening, the two men shouted mockery from the box down at the actors, even when Maria reluctantly returned, heckled the orchestra, and applauded when Benny pulled up the castle backdrop and the actors found themselves in the middle of a war-torn mine field ("KABLAMMO!" said Mandy). But no-one told them to shut up, for Mandy was an important actor and Setzer was a rich gentleman, and getting yelled at was half the fun.