Read Sky Coyote for Free Online Page A

java. He couldn’t stop himself from adding four lumps of sugar, though, I noticed. But my attention was yanked back to the sacred vessels as Miss Mayan Universe poured me a cup of something smooth and rich and dark as any sin I’d heardconfessed in three hundred years of faithful service to the Church. She held it out to me balanced on both her palms, and her smile of invitation was as tender and reverent as though I were her god, just her special god, the one she dreamed about.
    Our mortal masters designed us to be pretty much resistant to intoxicants, you see; at least, the ones they knew about. Alcohol is pleasant but provides no more than a mild buzz, and the big nasties like cocaine and opium do nothing for us at all. How surprised (and horrified) they’d been to discover that
Theobroma cacao
interacts with an immortal’s nervous system in a totally unique manner.
    I accepted the cup from the girl and breathed in deeply. “Holy smoke” was all I could say. But the first sip unlocked my tongue and all my senses, and I won’t even attempt to describe what it was like, because you’d just moan and toss on your pillow all night from unbearable envy. No kidding. You really would.
    Our masters were envious enough; the stuff will be illegal anyway in the twenty-fourth century, on the grounds that it’s fattening and contains refined sugar, but it never has that effect on
them
. There was talk about forbidding us its use, at the very beginning; wiser heads prevailed, though.
    “Houbert, you are one swell host,” I gasped. He quaffed from his exquisite jade cup and beamed upon me. How could I have thought he looked like Wimpy? Charles Laughton in
Rembrandt
, that’s it, he was a dead ringer for the guy.
    “You won’t find this little specialty at the commissary, I think.” He raised his cup to the Mayans. “My kitchen does have its own secrets. Notice the bouquet! How many complex alkaloids, how many extracts of certain rare orchids can one perceive? You’ll find the range of perception varies, but in this morning’s brew I believe there are—” He took another sip and inhaled judiciously. “Let me see, I detect five distinct perfumes. Wouldyou say? But perhaps it takes a rather longer acquaintance with the God in the Jar to become proficient in judging such matters.”
    How was he managing to express himself so elegantly when he’d had a snootful of this stuff? I was lost in admiration for him. Latif sipped his coffee and watched us critically. I turned to look at him and felt like crying out of sympathy. Imagine not being able to drink this yet! I wanted to tell him something to console him. Any minute now I would, too. As soon as I remembered what the other thing was I’d been going to say.
    Only, how could I talk and interrupt such beautiful music? How the hell was Houbert doing that with his voice, perfectly counterpointing the Gounod in the background? What was he saying, anyway? Whatever it was, it was sheer poetry. It brought tears to my eyes. Had I thought he looked like Charles Laughton? Was I blind? Ronald Colman in
Lost Horizon
, with the voice to match. The enchantment just kept coming, too, because Latif’s voice rose like a little temple flute:
    “Well, I’m certainly learning important things this morning. Not one, but two millennial creatures of infinite experience and knowledge reduced to drooling idiots before my eyes. I simply can’t wait until I grow up.”
    “You’re just jealous,” retorted Houbert, but I thought it was so funny, I started giggling and couldn’t stop. I had become a flooded house, and about a hundred little Josephs were running around in my bloodstream frantically trying to bail me out. Damn. The buzz was wearing off. There it went. My internal chemistry revolted and dumped a few toxins to teach me a lesson. Suddenly I needed sugar.
    “Where are those petits fours?” I wanted to know, and a Mayan with a cake plate was at my elbow like a devil after a soul. I