Haydn of Mars by Al Sarrantonio

tidy little flame going that gave off very little smoke.
    â€œOne of my secrets,” he said, sprinkling a fine gray powder over the open flame which immediately reduced its smoke almost to nothing.  
    â€œSomething else you wouldn’t share with Myra?” I teased.
    â€œBah.   She was a charwoman at the stove.   I am an artist!”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    And I did, for what he cooked for me was delicious, even though I could swear he removed it dry from a pouch and then softened it in water.
    â€œWhat is this?” I asked, impressed and amazed.
    â€œI will tell you what I tell anyone who asked – it is food!”
    At the scowl on my face he added: “Food is a precious word, my dear.   Don’t ever forget that.   Without it what would we eat – dust?”
    He roared a laugh and sank his teeth into some of his own creation, bringing his bowl to his lips and using neither utensil nor paw.
    I used my paw in the fashion the Mighty had taught me.
    â€œTell me more about the north,” I asked.
    He lifted his fat jowls from his bowl and looked at me in surprise.   With one forearm he wiped his dripping lips.   “That is like asking me to tell you about the whole world!”
    â€œI am from the south, another world.”
    â€œAh, then you know nothing about my land?”
    â€œOnly what I’ve read in books.”
    â€œAs I said, then you know nothing.”
    He returned to his meal momentarily, and then wiped his lips again.   “It is a vast expanse of extremes,” he said, thoughtfully.   “The winters are longer and harsher than in the south.   The lakes often freeze, the, though never the Utopia Ocean, which is laden with salt.   A good sea salt, when I can get it.   It is colder at the cap than in the south, and there is more snow.   Then come the highlands, which are rugged and for the most part lush.   The city of Cassini is the grandest of cities in this part of the world.   It is where I trade much of my spice.   It is comparable to your southern city of Wells, only more... how do I say this, rugged .” He grinned, and once more ate.
    When he finished and dropped his bowl with a belch onto the ground, I asked, “What about the lesser cities?”
    He became thoughtful.   “There is Robinson, of course, but that is a strange place, full of outlaws.   Then there is Sagan and Shklovskii, the twin cities, which in some ways are even stranger. They are near the lowlands and deserts.    There are many outlaw scientists there, practicing strange arts.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    He waved a paw in dismissal.   “Blasphemous things.   Airships that will fly without balloons – as if the gods would not swat them down like flies!   Mechanical motors that don’t run on steam.   Then after the highlands come the lowlands, which quickly become dunes and desert.   The Baldies live there, of course.”
    His talk of flying ships intrigued me, but so did his mention of the Baldies.
    â€œTell me about the Baldies,” I replied.
    â€œWhat’s to tell?   You avoid them!   They are like wildcats with intelligence!   Which will not prevent them from eating your flesh!   But at least they will discuss it with you in guttural terms while they are cooking you!   We will avoid them, believe me.   I know ways through the deserts” – he pointed to his laden horse – “I have maps and charts that took me years to acquire which will get us through any part of the lowlands.   There are some interesting things there.”
    â€œSuch as?”   I told him of the place the Mighty had shown me, where I found my precious book.
    He nodded, without much interest.   “Like that, and more.   In fact, there is a place near the ruins of an ancient city that is exactly like that you describe, only much larger.   It is on one