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Fate's Disguise
POOR CRUMPLED GALLEN couldn't look at him again; and one look was enough - I agree, I agree.
'Siggy?' I said.
'Right you are, Graff! But I know, you didn't recognize me?'
'Not right away, without the duckjacket,' I said, although I meant: Without any hair! How could I recognize you when you don't have any hair?
'And the new shave, Graff?' he said. 'That was the trick!'
'But your whole head, Siggy?'
'Eyebrows too, Graff. Did you notice?'
'You look awful,' I said.
'A walking dome, Graff! A solid pate from chin to uppermost cranial lump. Did you ever know there were such dents in a skull?'
'In your skull,' I said. 'Mine doesn't look like that.' But maybe it did - little grooves and knots all over, like a bleached peach pit.
He said, 'I walked through town, across the bridge. No one knew me, Graff. I saw the mayor, and he passed me by as if I were a war relic.'
A barber's relic, his head was icy to the touch; I jumped. His relic was spattered with mosquitoes, and with larger, more smearing flyers who'd run into his hurtling dome; there was a wing-mash above one ear that might have been a crow. Of course, he'd ridden here helmetless, letting the wind cool the barber's mistakes.
I said, 'Siggy, you're hideous to behold.'
'Of course, Graff. Of course,' he said, 'and I'm parked in hiding across the town. Get your stuff.'
'Well, Siggy.'
'Get it packed and we'll wait for dark,' he said. 'It's all set, Graff. It's just perfect.'
And my crumpled Gallen huddled on the floor, a fetus dropped madly into this world and shrouded in a servant's clothes.
'Gallen?' I said.
'It looks like you got her,' said Siggy.
'Don't,' I said.
'Pack,' he said. 'I've found the spot.'
'What spot?'
'To stash the guard!'
'Siggy.'
'I was there all night, Graff. It's all planned.'
'I knew it would be,' I said.
'I didn't know you had such faith, Graff.'
'Faith!' said Gallen.
'Is she going to scream?' said Siggy.
