Anthony, Piers - Firefly

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Firefly by Piers AnthonyPiers Anthony

Firefly

- 1 -

SKIN AND BONES, literally. The skin was like parchment, crinkled and

collapsed,

draped over the skull, limbs, rib cage, backbone, and pelvis within the

clothing. It was as if a giant snake had swallowed a man, digested him but not

his clothing, and shed its skin, leaving only the bones within it.

Geode shook his head as he gazed at it. This was the same effect he had seen

with animals, but on a larger scale. This time the remains were human. The

figure lay supine, arms slightly spread, face turned to the side, as if

sleeping. The clothing seemed undisturbed, except that the fly of the trousers

was open, as if the man had been urinating when abruptly shriveled.

It was recent. The bones might have endured a long time, but the skin should

have rotted away soon enough. It overlay the brown bed of pine needles beneath

leaning tree, and a few green blades of grass. On the left wrist was a watch

whose time was current. Lying nearby was a modern sport rifle. A hunter,

illegal

on at least two grounds: this was posted property, and it was out of season.

He stooped to peer more closely at the face. It was grotesque. The skin was

almost colorless, hanging in wrinkles over the nasal cavity and the gaunt

jawbone and teeth. The eye sockets were glazed over, but no eyeballs remained,

just the glaze. It was as if some thin lacquer or fixative had been sprayed

over

the body just before the contents had been removed, leaving only the shell.

What

natural process could account for this?

Geode felt a reaction. He was getting an erection. Astonished, he froze in

place. Did this macabre sight somehow turn him on? He had heard of this in

some

men, but had never experienced it himself.

He stood upright and backed away. This body would have to be reported. The

unnatural death of a man was always a notable occurrence. But first he would

complete his rounds. Perhaps he would be able to spot where the man had come

from.

He returned to his bicycle and resumed his ride along the forest path. He was

near the northwest corner of the ranch, where a development was approaching.

Its

lightly tarred dirt roads extended outward like the strands of a spiderweb,

terminating abruptly at the fence that marked the boundary of the square mile

that was known as the Middle Kingdom, after its reclusive oriental owner.

Sometimes illegal hunters drove up to the blank dead-ends, parked, and climbed

through the fence to poach deer.

That was one reason Geode was here. His employer regarded the ranch as a

wildlife sanctuary, and wanted no intrusions. He was not, as Geode understood

it, a wildlife enthusiast; it was just a pretext to maintain privacy. The

Middle

Kingdom was registered and managed as a 600-acre tree farm, which Geode

understood cut its taxes to an eighth of what they might otherwise have been.

Since intruders could build fires or damage trees, Geode's job was to patrol

the

property and to report anything he deemed to be worth reporting. But since his

employer did not like to be bothered with trifles, Geode was supposed to do

his

best to resolve any problems by himself.

In short, he was to treat the ranch as if it were his own. These were his

trees

and his animals, and he watched constantly over them. This was in effect his

kingdom. He liked it that way.

He came to the fence. Sure enough, there was a parked pickup truck. It was

empty, and locked. The man had stopped here, squeezed between the strands of

the

barbed wire, gone on in to poach—and died mysteriously.

Geode had no sympathy for the hunter. His affinity was with the wildlife. But

the death was both strange and gruesome, and it made him queasy in the

stomach.

Coupled with the similar corpse of the rabbit he had seen the week before, it

bothered him. He had not reported the rabbit, but this he would have to put on

record. He might value a rabbit more than a poacher, but others did not.

He returned to the bike and pedaled on south. In due course he intersected the

entry driveway and shifted to top gear on the asphalt, picking up speed. A

gopher turtle at the edge of the road gazed at him, pondered, and pulled in

its

head as he passed. "Hello, friend," he called reassuringly, but he was beyond

before the turtle could answer. He felt guilty about that, but there was no

help

for it, this time. Midday in the heat was the time for turtles, just as dawn

and

dusk were the times for rabbits. All of them were relatively tame, for they

were

not molested here. The drive was fenced on either side, but the animals could

handle the fences, and claimed to like the open corridor.

He followed the road half a mile down, past young slash pines, old live oaks,

mixed magnolias, and reclining palmettos, until it curved up a slight hill to

the house. He parked the bike at the lesser entry to the side, and used his

key

to open the door. As he did so, the steady sound of the security alarm came

on.

He walked to the keypad set inside the main door and punched in the defuse

code:

1206. It was the year that Jenghiz Khan was proclaimed supreme leader of all

the

Mongols. An awareness of Asian history was helpful here in the Middle Kingdom.

Then he called 800-555-1369 (the accession of Tamerlane) to report to his

employer. How many numbers Middleberry had he didn't know, but this one was

reserved for calls from this address only.

He got an answering machine. No identity was given; there was only a beep.

That

was standard. "I found a dead man," Geode said. "Strange circumstance. I need

instructions soon." That was all; he was not supposed to waste words. Indeed,

never called unless there was something significant to report. He left routine

reports on the local answering machine for Middleberry to pick up at his

convenience.

He had no notion where Middleberry was; it could be anywhere in the world, the

call transferred to his phone by satellite. It might be a day before he

received

the callback, or it might be minutes. He would remain at the house until it

came; that was part of the deal, when he made such a report. His time was

worth

nothing, compared to that of his employer.

The phone rang thirty seconds after he had hung up. It was Mid, of course;

this

line had no other connection. He lifted the receiver. "Geode."

"Detail," the slightly thin voice said.

"Northwest sector, near the development. I conjecture that a hunter parked at

the fence, went inside, and suffered some kind of malady while taking a piss.

fell on his back, and something dehydrated him. The body is undisturbed, but

nothing remains except clothing, rifle, watch, skin, and the skeleton. It

happened within the past day, maybe at night. No evidence of violence, no

tracks

other than his own. I have not touched the body, and have reported it only to

you."

"I will investigate. Hide the body safely. Take the car to an isolated

waterfront and throw the key in the water. Do not be observed."

Geode hesitated. If this was not an illegal procedure, it was bordering on it.

Yet if he refused, he would be fired. Mid did not fool with employees.

"You have a problem, George?" Now the vague oriental accent was more

pronounced,

signifying the man's irritation. There was also a warning: Mid used his given

name only when what Mid said was to be ignored or denied. Geode would do the

same, addressing him as Middleberry only if someone were with him, overhearing

the conversation, in that way warning his employer to say nothing private.

But in this case he had to skirt the warning. "Yes, Mid. The authorities may

think I killed him. With my record—"

"I will protect you, Geode."

That decided him. He owed everything to his employer, including blind loyalty;

that had been clear from the outset. "I will do it. Do you want a subsequent

report?"

"Only in the event of a new development. Is there anything you need?"

That was Mid's way of offering a reward, which was in turn his indication of

pleasure in Geode's performance. "No, Mid." What Geode truly desired, not even

Mid could provide.

The connection broke. Mid did not waste time with amenities.

Geode got right on it. He put on a knapsack, donned heavy work gloves, put in

folding shovel, and went out. He had cooled off in the intermission in the air

conditioning; now he felt the rising heat of the Florida day. He rode the bike

rapidly up the drive and off it at the turn, shifting to a lower gear and

crunching over sand and twigs as fast as he could. The bicycle had fifteen

speeds and wide tires; it was made for this. Mid would have provided him with

motorcycle or a helicopter if he had wanted them, but Geode preferred the

quiet

and efficient bicycle. It let him be closer to nature, so that he could talk

with the animals without alarming them, and it didn't require trips into town

for gasoline.

He stopped at the body. He found the pocket containing the keys, and carefully

worked them out without disturbing the rest. Again he experienced an erection,

and he wondered about the skeleton's open fly. Had it been urination? Then he

looped around to the truck, picking trails that would not show his tires. He

hoped no one else had spied the vehicle.

He was in luck; there was no sign of activity. He used the key to unlock the

door, then checked the back. There was a canvas bag, such as might be used to

haul the stripped carcass of a deer. He took it out, wadded it into his

knapsack, and took that over the fence, hiding it in the concealed crotch of a

twisting live oak tree.

A squirrel was watching him alertly. "Don't tell it's here," Geode said, and

winked. The squirrel nodded and moved on up the branch.

He returned to the truck, put his light bike carefully in the back, got in,

fastened the seat belt, and turned the key in the ignition. He wasn't much for

powered vehicles, but he did know the rules of their operation. The motor

caught

immediately; it was a good machine. Better than its owner, he thought with

cynical bemusement. It had four-wheel drive and automatic shift. He was used

gearshift, but was able to figure out the principle: R for reverse and D for

drive.

He backed it cautiously onto the road and turned. By the time he had

maneuvered

it to face the other way, he had a reasonable feel for its mechanism. He drove

it slowly down the road, marveling at its clutchless shifts.

He took it down-country toward Inverness, then east on Turner Camp Road until

dead-ended at the river. His luck held; there were no other cars there. He

pulled the truck off the turning circle, parked it close to the water, got

out,

locked it, and lifted the bike out of the back. He walked it beside the river,

then hurled the key into the murky water. Then he got on and pedaled away.

* * *

He was thoroughly sweaty by the time he returned to the ranch, for the day was

typically hot and he had expended a lot of energy riding rapidly along back

roads. He had taken a circuitous route so that anyone who saw him would not

realize where he had come from or where he was going. Cyclists were not

uncommon

here, and they did prefer the back roads so as not to be endangered by

traffic.

Chances were that no one would remember his passage, if they noted it at all.

He came to the spot where the truck had been parked. There was still no sign

attention; as far as he knew, it was a clean job. He lifted the bike over the

barbed wire, climbed through himself, fetched the knapsack, and rode back

toward

the body.

It remained undisturbed. He laid the bag on the ground and lifted the boots,

putting them in. The body was both light and cohesive, no trouble at all to

move. He had to fold it, which was awkward in the bag; he had to haul it out,

push it into a crude fetal position, and work that into the opening. Again he

found himself getting an erection, and again was repulsed. He was no

necrophiliac and no homosexual, and this disgusted him.

Once the body was in, he set the bag aside and rearranged the pine needles,

covering the traces. No casual passer would realize that this site had ever

been

disturbed, and after the next rain it would be just about impossible to tell.

He tied the closed bag to the top of his knapsack and donned the whole. It

required some adjustment, but in this manner he was able to carry the bag on

his

back while riding the bike. All he needed was muscle and endurance, and he had

those.

He headed east, winding toward the old limerock mine pit. This was the best

place to hide something, for even if a person strayed onto the posted

property,

he was unlikely to go in there. Geode had explored the pits as a matter of

policy and curiosity, wanting to know everything about the land for which he

was

caretaker. He knew their recesses. Now that knowledge was handy.

He came into the young section of the tree farm. Here there were two-year-old

longleaf pine seedlings, still looking much like grass. Longleaf was different

from other pines; it did not form a main stem until it was ready to grow

rapidly. It gathered mass below the ground, and then shot up quickly. This

seemed to help protect it from the ravages of wildfires.

Near the pit was a copse of larger slash pine. Once the full tract had been

slash, but the soil and moisture were wrong in this section, and it hadn't

done

well. Mid had had it taken down and replaced with longleaf, which was expected

to do better. He had left some of the slash at the fringe of the mine, where

seemed to have better fortune.

Geode stopped at the brink and dismounted. He leaned the bike against a slash

pine and started down. There was a fifty-foot drop-off, but this was readily

bypassed where an old mining ramp descended. Everything was overgrown with

bushes and small trees now, but it was passable to a man on foot. The tops of

grown trees were visible beyond the thickets at the verge; it had been several

decades since the mine had been worked.

He wound down to the bottom, then around to a cul-de-sac sheltered by a truly

formidable thicket; only a really determined intruder would come in here. He

laid the bag within this. There was no need to cover it, as it would not be

visible from above, and there was no strong odor; even animals would probably

leave it alone, as there was nothing for them to eat. He had brought the

shovel,

but didn't need it, which was just as well. The job was done.

He withdrew from the thicket, and his erection finally subsided. He climbed

back

to the surface, making sure he had left no obvious traces.

He rode the bicycle around the mine, taking a different route back.

There was no sign of any other human activity.

* * *

The chime sounded: eight notes. That meant that someone was at the main gate,

three quarters of a mile distant.

Geode pressed the admittance button, then went out into the afternoon heat to

see who arrived. He could have ignored it, pretending that he wasn't here, but

that wasn't his way; he needed to know whatever went on at or near the ranch

that he could guard against trouble.

Soon a vehicle came into view and rolled up the slight hill to the house.

Geode's stomach tightened when he saw that it was a sheriff's car. Had they

traced the dead man to this property after all?

The driver parked and got out. He was a solid man of about forty, sweaty in

his

uniform. He was not the one Geode knew. That might or might not be bad news.

"Hi!" the man said, approaching and shoving out his hand. "I'm Frank Tishner,

deputy sheriff." He was pale of hair and eye, but evidently no one to fool

with;

Geode could read the little signals of toughness despite the superficially

breezy manner. This was someone who didn't let go readily when crossed.

Geode took the hand; there wasn't much way to avoid it. "George Demerit,

caretaker for the Middle Kingdom."

"So I've heard. Look, I won't keep you long. There's been something going on,

and we're trying to run it down. Have you seen anything unusual recently?"

He knew! But that was fear rather than certainty; how could he know? "Like

what?"

"Well, there've been some bones turning up, animals. Maybe a voodoo cult, we

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摘要：

FireflybyPiersAnthonyPiersAnthonyFirefly-1-SKINANDBONES,literally.Theskinwaslikeparchment,crinkledandcollapsed,drapedovertheskull,limbs,ribcage,backbone,andpelviswithintheclothing.Itwasasifagiantsnakehadswallowedaman,digestedhimbutnothisclothing,andsheditsskin,leavingonlytheboneswithinit.Geodeshookh...

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Anthony, Piers - Firefly

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