Who was leaning toward him, pinning him with those burning magenta eyes. «Yes, you think you might be happy among them, then?»
Gavagol nodded, trying to concentrate through the buzzing distraction of the celadon liquor. «Yes, perhaps. You. see no outcasts. among the merfolk»
The Flesh Tinker’s face was a shimmering blur, but Gavagol thought he saw a flash of sharp white teeth. Perhaps the old man smiled. His head sagged again, and this time it thumped to the table.
His head throbbed painfully. His eyes were crusted shut, and it took long minutes before he could open them.
«What.» He trailed off, unable to remember. Why was he lying under this dusty table? He tried to rise, and pain exploded. «Oh.» he groaned, clutching at his head as if to prevent it from splitting apart.
After a bit he started to remember, in bits and pieces. The celadon liquor. The alien starboat. The Flesh Tinker.
Despite the pain, Gavagol’s mouth curved in a smile. The Flesh Tinker had listened to him.
Then he frowned. Had the Flesh Tinker mentioned a departure date? Gavagol felt an urgency bordering on panic. Oh no, the Flesh Tinker must not be allowed to leave so soon. Must not, must not.
Gavagol staggered to his feet and lurched out of the Spanglewine into the bright day. The light hammered his eyes, and he moaned, but he saw the Flesh Tinker’s boat still moored to the quay.
Relief filled him. The Flesh Tinker was still here. Gavagol turned away, rubbing at his temples. He returned through the narrow ways of the Maremma to the Tower, thinking.
The annunciator rang insistently. Gavagol sat still for a moment, wondering if he had done the right thing. But then he straightened his back and made his face as stern as he could. He had a right to companionship, and if he did not get it, he would die. So he believed.
The Flesh Tinker’s face, purple with rage, bloomed in the intervid screen. Gavagol drew back. The Flesh Tinker’s eyes were crazy, almost smoking with intensity. «What have you done?» The Flesh Tinker roared, teeth bared. «Let me in, or I'll wring your puny neck.»
The Flesh Tinker was transformed, and Gavagol saw that his earlier outbursts had been no more than mild annoyance. Gavagol found his voice.
«You don’t understand. Please, listen to me. I meant no harm. I just wanted you to stay a little longer. Just a few days more, and then I’ll lift the cyclone shell from the basin, and you can go.»
The Flesh Tinker’s face rippled from the emotion it contained, like a face in a nightmare. His voice was a dry whisper, more terrible than the roar.
«Oh, you will, will you? You’ll do me that kindness, will you?»
Gavagol had expected anger, but nothing so deadly as this. «What’s a few days to you? It would mean so much to me. Listen, i f you’ll promise to hear me out, I’ll let you up. We can talk this over, surely.»
«Oh, yes, yes, let me up. I`ll hear you, my word on that.» The Flesh Tinker betrayed a horrible eagerness.
Gavagol blinked. He touched the stud that opened the Tower. Below, the blast doors groaned open, and at the same moment, a sudden certainty struck Gavagol, that he had committed a terribly foolish act.
Almost before he could turn away from the screen, he heard the Flesh Tinker behind him, and he had a flashing nightmare vision of the Flesh Tinker, like some swift feral beast, scrambling up the drop shaft. Gavagol shuddered.
The Flesh Tinker stepped lightly toward him, hands hooked into talons, teeth glittering in a smile o f anticipation, eyes fiery.
«Wait.» Gavagol gasped, terrified. «You said you would hear me.»
«And so I will, so I will. You’ll be a while dying, and I wouldn’t want you to pass away before you lift the shell.»
Before the Flesh Tinker could reach him, Gavagol held up his hand and said, in a voice small with terror, «Wait, deadman’s switch. Look.»
The Flesh Tinker drew back with a hiss of frustration.
Gavagol babbled. «I don’t want to do anything unfriendly, but if I let this go, your ship. the cyclone shell will invert and mash it flat. You understand?»
«I understand.» The cold voice had changed again; it held a great weariness. The Flesh Tinker was abruptly calm. He seated himself across the desk from Gavagol. «Pay no attention to my outbursts, Watcher. I’m an impulsive being.»
Gavagol was shaken. Some passing irritation — yes, he had expected that. But not that killing rage. It was fortunate he had taken precautions.
«So, Watcher. What exactly do you want from me? You know, none of this was necessary — I’d have fixed those piggy little eyes without this coercion. Didn’t I offer?»
Piggy little eyes? Gavagol lifted his chin. «As I said before, I’m satisfied with my face,» he said frostily. «I was only hoping you might spend a few more days here. I didn’t mean to make you angry. But I'm lonely, very, very lonely. I had to do something.»
The Flesh Tinker showed no sympathy. «Watcher, you’ve made an error. I f you tried to force me to remain here, I would run amok. My emotions are larger than I am — it’s one o f the drawbacks o f living to a great age. So, solve your problem in some other way.»
«But, your ship.»
«The ship is dear to me, my home for many centuries — still I would grow too angry.» The Flesh Tinker laughed. «I could eventually replace the starboat. Could you replace your life?»
Gavagol watched the Flesh Tinker. The old man sat quietly enough, but the magenta eyes were icy.
The Flesh Tinker spoke again. «Listen, I have an idea.»
The Flesh Tinker was persuasive. Gavagol found the idea irresistible, but he remembered the look on the Flesh Tinker’s face when he burst into the Tower.
He decided. «Yes» he said. «I’ll accept your offer, with thanks. But just so there’s no funny business, remember, the deadman’s switch is slaved to my cerebral carrier. Alter my mind, and. well, squash.»
The Flesh Tinker’s nostrils flared, and the hard mouth compressed into a straight line. «Don’t worry. I don’t like you well enough to fix your mind.»