Storeys from the old hotel - Hardcover

Wolfe, Gene; Lion, Pete

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 094889329X ISBN 13: 9780948893292

Publisher: Kerosina, 1988

Synopsis

Hailed as "one of the literary giants of science fiction" by The Denver Post, Gene Wolfe is universally acknowledged as one of the most brilliant writers the field has ever produced. Winner of the World Fantasy Award for best fiction collection, Storeys from the Old Hotel contains thirty-one remarkable gems of Wolfe's short fiction from the past two decades, most unavailable in any other form.

Storeys from the Old Hotel includes many of Gene Wolfe's most appealing and engaging works, from short-shorts that can be read in single setting to whimsical fantasy and even Sherlock Holmes pastiches. It is a literary feast for anyone interested in the best science fiction has to offer.

About this title

About the Author

Gene Wolfe has been called "the finest writer the science fiction world has yet produced" by The Washington Post. A former engineer, he has written numerous books and won a variety of awards for his SF writing.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Storeys from the Old Hotel
The Green Rabbit from S'Rian CAPTAIN TEV NOEN TOOK OFF HIS GILDED DRESS HELMET and scratched his shaven head--not because he was puzzled by the sight of two of his best hands nailing up a placard at the mouth of Rat's Alley, but because it had occurred to him that the placards might be ineffective, and he had not yet decided what to do if they were. He had composed them himself that afternoon, and Ler Oeuni, his first mate, had lettered them with sweeping strokes of the brush.  
JOIN THE LEVAR'S NAVY! THE GALLEASS WINDSONG IS NOW ACCEPTING RECRUITS! THREE COPPERS A DAY PROMPTLY PAID AT EVERY PORT! AMPLE FOOD, DRINK, AND CLOTHING, AND GOOD TREATMENT! SIGN TONIGHT AT THE BIG TREE! FIVE COPPERS WHEN YOU SIGN!! PRIZE MONEY COULD MAKE YOU RICH!!!  
It was a simple appeal to self-interest, and Noen wondered whether sounding the trumpets of Liavek and Her Magnificence, as most captains did, would not have been better. He thought not. In his experience, recruits did not care about such things. The hands drove home their final nails with resoundingwhacks and turned to face their captain, touching their foreheads with all fingers. Automatically, Noen replaced his helmet and returned their salutes. "Good work. Now we'll rejoin Lieutenant Dinnile and see if these have brought anyone yet." Recklessly he added, "I'll buy you each a tankard, if there's a good hand already." The sailors grinned and took their positions like proper bodyguards, the woman ahead of him and the man behind him. Noen tried to recall their names; they pulled the first (that was, the rearmost) starboard oar--Syb and Su, of course. Each wore a sharply curved cutlass in a canvas sheath now, although the hammers they carried would be nearly as effective. He himself was far better armed, with his sword and double-barreled pistol. Not that swords or "villainous saltpetre" should be needed for the drunken sailors of Rat Alley, or its cutthroats either--Naval officers were notoriously savage fighters and just as notoriously broke. If they were attacked, it might even be possible to carry the fellow--undamaged, Noen hoped--aboard Windsong. There he would sign on or chase a sack of ballast to the bottom. "Why, if we were attacked by fifty or so ..." "Sir?" Su looked over her shoulder at him. "Talking to myself," Noen told her brusquely. "Stupid habit." There were always the judges. A judge could pardon an offender willing to enlist. And judges did pardon such offenders--for well-connected captains, and for captains who could offer rich gifts in return. Not for Tev Noen, to be sure. A rat scampered across Noen's boots, and he kicked it. It sailed past Su's head, and in the darkness of Rat's Alley someone swore and spat. "Good 'un, sir," Syb whispered diplomatically. Noen had recognized the voice. "Is that you, Dinnile?" "Yes, sir, Some filthy devil just flung a rat at me, sir." Inwardly, Noen damned his luck. The story would be all over the ship by morning, and such stories were bad fordiscipline. Aloud he said, "Officers who leave their posts have to expect such luck, Lieutenant." Or perhaps they were good for discipline after all, or could be made to be. Syb and Su would be the cynosures of the main deck, and he himself shouldn't come off too badly. "I didn't leave my post, sir." Dinnile's brass breastplate gleamed now in the faint light. He spat again and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I got 'em." "Got what?" "Fifty-two rowers, sir. You said not to take no more, remember? No use payin' more than's authorized." Noen squinted at the dim column that trailed after Dinnile in the dark. "You got fifty-two in a couple of watches?" "Yes, sir! They come together, sir. They're nomads from the Great Waste." Dinnile halted before his captain and touched his forehead. "There's been a drought there, they say, so it's worse than usual--cattle dyin', and all that. They come to Liavek to keep from starvin', and somebody that saw one of Oeuni's placards sent 'em to us." Noen nodded. It seemed best to nod in the face of Dinnile's enthusiasm. "That's a piece of luck." "For us and them--that's what I told 'em. We'll sail tomorrow with full complement, sir." Noen nodded again. "They're strong enough to pull an oar, you think?" Dinnile was not the most brilliant officer in the fleet, but as a judge of what could be extorted with a rope end, he had no peer. "Give 'em a little food and they'll do fine, sir. They spent their five coppers on ale and apples and such at the Big Tree, sir. And I promised 'em, too, a good feed when we get to the ship." "Right," Noen told him. Anything to keep them from deserting on the way. "We'll go with you." Away from the beetling structures of Rat Alley, there was more light, and Noen counted the recruits as they filed past. Forty-nine, fifty ... he held his breath ... fifty-one, fifty-two. Then the pair of crewmen he had assigned to help Dinnile. Allpresent and accounted for. It was beyond belief, too good to be true. For a dizzy moment he wondered if it were his birthday--could he have forgotten? No. Dinnile's perhaps. No. Or--of course--one of the nomads'. What better luck could the poor devil have than seeing himself and all his friends fed and safe aboard the Windsong? Or what worse? Noen asked one of Dinnile's sailors if there had been fifty-two exactly. "Oh, no, sir. More like to a hundred, sir. The Lieutenant picked out the best, and let them sign." Let them sign! It was a night to remember.  
Ler Oeuni touched her forehead as he came aboard. Noen touched his own and said, "We'll put off for Minnow Island as soon as Dinnile has the new hands at the oars." "There's a bit of night breeze, sir." "Under oar, Lieutenant, not under sail." Oeuni was sailing officer (and gunnery officer); Dinnile rowing officer. Ordinarily it would be best to spare the rowers as much as possible, but the new hands had to be taught their job, and the sooner the teaching began, the better--tomorrow they might have to ram a pirate. Noen mounted to Windsong's long, lightly built quarterdeck and watched Dinnile shoving the new hands to their places, most to forward oars from which they would be able to watch the trained rowers at the aft oars and would be caught up in the rowing rhythm that was almost like a spell. "See that there's at least one experienced hand at each oar, Dinnile." "Aye, aye, sir." The tone of Dinnile's response managed to imply that the instruction had been unnecessary. "Do they speak Liavekan?" Noen cursed himself for not having found out sooner. "Some do, sir. Some don't." "Then talk to them. They've got to learn, and quickly." "Aye, aye, sir." "Foreigners?" Oeuni ventured to ask. "Nomads from the Great Waste," Noen told her. She would have to deal with them, after all, as they all would. Eventually, she would have to train them to reef and steer. "They're subjects of the Empire, then." Noen shook his head. "They're not Tichenese, if that's what you mean. And whatever they were, they became subjects of Her Magnificence when they signed with us." Dinnile had pushed the last of the nomads into place. Noen cleared his throat. "Listen to me, you new hands! I'm Tev Noen, your captain. Call me Captain Noen. This is Ler Oeuni, our first mate. Call her Lieutenant Oeuni. Lieutenant Beddil Dinnile signed you--you should know him already, and the petty officers you'll learn soon enough. You'll be treated firmly on this ship, but you'll be treated fairly. Do your best, and you'll have no cause to worry. "You've been promised a good dinner tonight, and you're going to get it. There are navy kitchens at the base on Minnow Island, and they'll have hot food for you." It was probably better not to tell them they would not be permitted to leave the ship, that the food would be carried on board. "When I give the order 'out oars,' watch the trained hands and do as they do." Noen glanced at Oeuni. "You may cast off, Lieutenant." "Stand by to cast off!" she shouted at the sailors stationed fore and aft. They leaped onto the wharf. "Cast off!" A few moments more and Windsong was under way, her oars rising and falling awkwardly, but more or less together, in a beat as slow as the timesman at the kettledrums could make it. A fresh wind touched Noen's cheek as the dark wharves and warehouses of the waterfront vanished in the night. Little cat's-tongue waves, the hesitant ambassadors of the lions in the Sea of Luck, rocked Windsong as a mother rocks her child. "Not so bad," Oeuni said. Noen answered with a guarded nod. How hard were a nomad's hands? Not as hard as a sailor's, certainly. These men would have blisters tomorrow, if the wind failed, and-- On the main deck, Dinnile's rope end rose and fell. There was a shout that sounded like a curse, and the flash of steel. Dinnile's big fist sent someone reeling over the next oar. Something--a knife, surely--clattered to the deck. Noen called, "Tivlo! Bring that to me." Tivlo was the petty officer in charge of the mainmast. "Dinnile! If he's conscious, put him back to work." Attacking an officer was punishable by death, but Noen had no intention of losing a hand this early. Tivlo handed up the knife, hilt first. Its blade was curved and wickedly double-edged. "We'll have a shakedown as soon as we tie up," Oeuni said. Noen nodded. The cresset burning atop the highest tower of Fin Castle was already in plain view. The nomads would need their knives to cut rope and do a thousand other tasks. But they would need nothing more, and there was no telling...

Edition details

• Publisher: Kerosina
• Publication date: 1988
• ISBN 10: 094889329X
• ISBN 13: 9780948893292
• Binding: Hardcover
• Language: English
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 331