The flesh in the furnace

the wine.
        As Alvon Rudi accepted a glass of the black drink, he said, looking at Sebastian, "He would seem to be a strange assistant."
        "The government classifies him as an idiot," Pertos said. "But he has moments of insight, flashes rather brilliant. He may be what they say, but he is sometimes more."
        "Often?"
        "Rarely."
        "Then why?" Rudi asked.
        "He is also cheap," Pertos said. "And as I am saving for the damn departure fees, I scrimp."
        Rudi drank his wine, watching Godelhausser over the brim of the glass.
        Pertos looked back. He seemed uneasy, as if he had an important engagement he must soon make, though all the night contained for him now was a late meal, a session with the Holistian Pearl and sleep.
        "I have a proposition for you," Alvon Rudi said, putting his glass down on a polished, yellow enamel end table. Pertos nodded.
        "Do you rent the puppets out? For other shows beyond your schedule?" He spoke, Sebastian thought, as if there were a secret that only he and the puppet master knew. Sebastian tried to imagine what the secret was, but he couldn't think very dearly. It took very little wine to affect him, and already he had drunk half the glass.
        "We perform for private parties," Godelhausser said. "The price would depend upon the distance of travel, for the Furnace must be transported wherever the puppets go. It would also, of course, depend on the number of the little simulacrums you would want, what the play you would like would demand."
        "One," Alvon Rudi said.
        "I have no play for a single puppet"
        "I would write it," Rudi said.
        "I imagine you have chosen the puppet," Godelhausser said, very sad now, very quiet, his voice almost inaudible.
        "Bitty Belina," the merchant said.
        Sebastian grew more interested now. His wine was gone, and he wanted more, so he went over and poured himself some. He felt good that he had not slopped any. Pertos got angry when he spilled.
        "I imagine your curtain time will be odd."
        "All night, of course," Rudi Said.
        "And you would pay a high ticket."
        "Ten thousand postals."
        "Twenty thousand," Godelhausser Said.
        "Very well. It should be a unique experience, well worth the extra money, even though I will not actually know her, eh?"
        "I'm sorry," Godelhausser said. It was obvious that he required an effort to say no to the merchant.
        "You won't rent?"
        "I won't "
        "Twenty-five thousand, then."
        "I'm very sorry. For both of us."
        Rudi rose, twisted his shoulders so his cape was flung back, the wrinkles flowing out of it like ripples disappearing across the surface of a pond after a stone has been tossed. "You'll never make departure fees otherwise, you know."
        "Perhaps,"
        Rudi shrugged. He was not angry. Impatient, perhaps, restless with the certainty that he would get what he wanted sooner or later, disturbed that time and effort must be wasted to achieve what he wished. "I'll try again tomorrow evening. Perhaps circumstances will have changed."
        "No," Godelhausser said. His voice was now so slight, so wavery that it seemed not to be a voice at all, but the stirring of a breeze across a series of open pipes.
        "I'll return just the same," Alvon Rudi said. He nodded curtly and left them. Sebastian finished his drink. "What he want?" he asked Godelhausser.
        The old man had fumbled his Holistian Pearl from his pocket and was beginning to rub it between his fingers. He had not even eaten yet.
        "What he want?" Sebastian insisted.
        "My soul," Pertos said. "But I wouldn't give it to him" Then the Pearl sent dreams to him as it reached energy storage capacity, and he seemed to enter a trance. Sebastian left the room because it scared him when the puppet master was holding the Pearl, his hands rolling it automatically while his eyes were closed and his thoughts were lightyears away. He went down the hall and stopped before the closed door of the puppets' room. He could hear their laughter, husky little voices, the clink of their small glasses that Pertos supplied them. Wissa squealed in delight, and he wondered what game they were playing. When he tried the door, it was locked.
        He went to his own room, staggering a little. He laid his identification cards in his single suitcase, a nightly