Gibson moved quickly toward him, but, before he reached where Slide was standing, Yop Boy stepped out of the shadows. "Leave him be, Gibson."
"What's wrong with him?"
"He's just contemplating his fate, his mortality."
"But I thought that everything was settled. I agreed to go through the Portal."
"That may not be enough to save him. Remember that he was the leader of the escape. He may not be forgiven for that, whatever you do."
The terrible cry came again. "Eli ameri-ia amru-usanaku! Imdkula salalu musha urra!"
"Is there anything we can do for him?"
Yop Boy shook his head. "Just leave him alone. Go back inside and leave him alone,"
"But…"
"Just go back inside."
Gibson took a last look at Yancey Slide and then did as he was told.
Back inside the Rearing Eagle, the party was still in full swing, and no one else seemed to be suffering the same soul torture as Slide. The booth where Gibson had been sitting had been taken over by other revelers, so he made his way to the bar, where he was greeted like a long-lost friend even though he had only been gone for a couple of minutes. Once again he was congratulated for his courage in deciding to brave the Portal, more drinks were pressed on him, and women smiled into his face. Borne along by a company who, at least for that night, seemed to be determined to adore him, he found that it was all too easy to turn his back on Yancey Slide's angst and bask in his own moment of glory. Over in the corner, the woman with the guitarlike instrument had struck up a lively dance tune and was singing in a husky voice.
Slide was speared by a pang of guilt. The words of the song sounded very close to the same language in which Slide had been screaming, the same hissing sibilants and guttural vowel sounds.
He couldn't, however, make Slide his problem. Slide had Yop Boy to look after him, and Gibson was essentially on his own.
As it turned out, though, he wasn't alone for very long. A woman moved along the bar and stood next to him. She was dressed tough, in stained leather jeans and a loose white, Greek-cut shirt with embroidery on the collar and cuffs. A belt of silver chain was slung around her hips, and a dagger hung from it in an ornamental scabbard. A brooch in the shape of a small green lizard, decorated with rubies, was pinned to the shoulder of her shirt, or that's what Gibson thought until the brooch turned its head and looked at him, at which point he realized that it was an extraordinarily tame ornamental pet. The woman's skin was deathly pale, and her tawny Nordic hair hung dead straight, clear to her waist. Even though there were some demon beauties in the tavern, this one was something special, a cool blond warrior maiden who probably gave no quarter.
"I'm Thief Lanier."
"I'm Joe Gibson."
"I know that."
Gibson, well aware that the idimmu tended to take a superior attitude around humans, ignored her somewhat snotty tone and continued to play it pleasant. "Thief is a strange name."
"It's what I do."
"Oh, yeah? And what do you steal?"
She suddenly laughed. "Practically anything that isn't nailed down. Do you know I saw you perform once?"
"I hope you liked it."
" You were okay." Her tone seemed to indicate that she considered she was doing him a favor by even attending one of his shows.
Gibson didn't have much to say after that shutdown so he went for the obvious. "Would you like a drink?"
Thief Lanier nodded. "Yes, but none of that god-awful corn that you're swilling," She gestured to Tom Enni-Ya. "Hey, Tom. Get out one of my private bottles, will you?"
The private bottle carried no label and was thick with dust. Thief Lanier blew the worst of the dust from it and removed the cork herself. When she poured her first drink, Gibson saw that it was a pale-golden liquid that actually seemed to shimmer and move in the glass.
"What is that stuff?"
Thief Lanier swallowed the first glass in one gulp and closed her eyes for a moment as though in ecstasy. "Very rare."
"Could I try some?"
Thief Lanier shook her head. "Not now. Maybe later, though. You wouldn't feel it after all that rotgut corn you've been pouring down your throat."
"What happens later?"
Thief Lanier smiled. "I figured that I'd take you off somewhere. There's something about a man who knows he's only got a few hours."
Gibson blinked. "What?"
"I said that there's something about a man who's only got a few hours."
Gibson was alarmed. "Who said I only had a few hours?"
"You're going to the Portal as soon as the celebrating stops. Even if you come back this way, you're going to be changed by the experience. It's your last hours as you are now."
"I'm not sure I like the idea of changing."
"You're so perfect as you are?"
"No, but I've grown accustomed to myself."
"Well, there ain't a damned thing you can do about it, but why worry? You humans change all the time, so you ought to be used to it. It's because you're so short-lived. You have a lot to get in."
Gibson was more concerned with the idea of his last few hours. "I also didn't realize that I was going to the Portal so soon."
"Nobody here wants to wait around."
"I wouldn't mind."
"Having second thoughts?"
"Of course."
"It's too late now."
"I'm well aware of that."
"So, are you coming with me?"
Gibson, aware of his new celebrity status, decided to play it a little hard to get. "Coming where?"
"To where I live."
Gibson looked around the Rearing Eagle. The party had reached that stage where it had taken on a life of its own, and it could get on very well without him. Gibson smiled nicely at Thief Lanier. "I'd be very happy to come to where you live."
As it turned out, Thief Lanier lived in the phallic pink glass tower with the circular Lucite balconies that stood right beside the Rearing Eagle. To be precise, she lived, or at least entertained, on the third level of the phallic pink glass tower. They entered the building by a circular door that faced the street and operated like the iris diaphragm of a camera, and then climbed a transparent spiral staircase. The third level was one large round room with a diffused rose-colored light coming from the walls. A huge circular bed with a red satin cover was positioned in the exact center of the room, and the ceiling overhead was one huge mirror. Thief Lanier obviously took her entertaining very seriously.
The space was surprisingly bare. Gibson had half expected that an idimmu's home, if indeed the idimmu had homes as he knew them, would be filled with the booty of countless lifetimes. Not so in the case of Thief Lanier. A suit of armor in black-and-red lacquer that must have come from sixteenth-century Japan stood against the wall like a mute guardian, and a small white bird of prey, maybe an albino falcon, sat quietly on its perch secured by a thin silver chain and with a leather hood over its eyes. A silver pitcher and two matching chalices stood on a small Moorish table that was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Thief Lanier placed a hand on the pitcher.
"I think you're ready to try my private stock?"
Gibson nodded. "Why not?"
She poured golden liquid into each of the chalices and handed one to Gibson. He looked into the glass. The liquid actually seemed to be shimmering, squirming almost.
"What is this and why does it move like that?"
"It's the wine of a very weird dimension."