Troubled Waters

by C. J. Cherryh

  "Megarys ain't never bothered us before!" That was Mergeser, no friend of hers. "If 't wasn't f yer hightowner they wouldn't o' bothered us now!"

  " 'E ain't hightowner.'" Sid Haney yelled. "Mondragon pulled wi' th' Trade t' fish us up when damn-'im Kalugin rode m' boat under! Jones' man's Trade, hear it?"

  "Yey!" cried Tish Weller, and: "Yey," the murmur went around; and nobody, not even Mergeser, wanted to get aslant of parents whose kids and whose boat and whose karma was at issue.

  "Thank 'e," Jones said, biting her lip. "Ye hear me, ne? Hear me out. I tell ye ever'thing. I don't leave nothin' out. An' ye gimme yey or not, whether I got Justification. But f me, they laid hands on th' Trade. They got t' pay f that. If ye think I was t' blame, ye pay me, an' ye tell 'em. But if ye think they was out o' line, what they did, then ye gimme leave, an' I’ll put th' fear in 'em. 'S all I'm askin'. I don't ask the Trade t' do nothin' yet. Just cut me loose.

  "We was at Moghi's. ..."

  CHAPTER XVI

  BY A WOMAN'S HAND

  by Nancy Asire

  The early part of the afternoon sped by faster than Justice would have believed. His head spinning with numbers, rules, shortcuts, and the more esoteric twists and turns of accounting, he walked back toward Hilda's, the chill wind at his back, hardly noticing the cold. So, he had no aptitude for math. He had never been ashamed of admitting that fact until today. But with Sonja . . .

  He shook his head. Warning bells rang in his mind, forbidding his thoughts from the direction they were going. He laughed shortly, mocking himself and his dreams. Sonja Keisel was far above the likes and dislikes of someone like him.

  Damn! I'm a fool, thinking such things. How in the world could she even look at me with any other emotion than as someone who might be a—friend? Another laugh, equally bitter. Keep your eyes on your path, Justice, or you'll trip yourself looking at the stars.

  He pushed the door open and stepped into Hilda's common room. It was nearing the ninth hour, a time when the tavern sat near empty, giving Hilda and her staff breathing room to prepare for the dinner-time crowds. Justice left the door, unbuttoning his coat, and headed toward the table he claimed as his.

  Sunny, as usual, lay curled up in a chair ... the same chair he had fallen asleep in during lunch. When Justice drew close, the gold cat opened one eye, yawned widely, stretched and fell instantly to sleep again. Justice smiled. Some things never changed. He set his book down, tossed his coat over the chairback next to Sunny, and sat down. He knew he should review what he and Sonja had gone over last, but her words seemed to be indelibly inscribed on his brain. For the first time in his life, he had no real fear of taking a test dealing with math.

  Someone called his name. He glanced up and saw Jason standing behind the bar with a lifted mug in his hand. An early afternoon beer, especially after drinking the wine? Ah, why not. Justice nodded, settled back in the chair, fished three libby pieces out of his sweater in time to hand them to Jason, who set the full mug on the table. Justice took a long swallow, leaned back farther into the chair and contented himself with thinking about nothing.

  It was useless. Every time his thoughts went one way or the other, they came to rest on Sonja.

  I'm acting like some idiot thirteen year old! Lord! Just because she's one of the prettiest women I've seen in years, and just because she's hightowner and untouchable. . . . Damn! I can't spend my life wishing after what I can't have.

  Justice sat up staighter, opened his book, determined to do something righteous. A soft thud sounded on the opposite side of the table; instants later Sunny had jumped up in Justice's lap, to stand kneading his front paws on Justice's leg. idly scratching the cat, Justice turned a page, took another swallow of beer, and settled in for a long review while Sunny settled down for a nap.

  "Justus."

  He closed his eyes. Krishna—the one person he did not want to deal with right now. But ignoring Krishna never made him go away. Sighing softly, Justice looked up from his book.

  "Mind if I join you?"

  Justice lifted one eyebrow. Lately, Krishna had not been so polite. Another type of warning bell went off in Justice's head.

  "No. Have a chair." Justice watched his hightowner neighbor settle in the chair opposite him. "Are you through with your exams?"

  "Yesterday. By Rama! I'm glad that's over!"

  "How do you think you did?"

  Krishna shrugged. "Well enough, I guess, to keep Papa off my back." He shifted in his chair. "So how do you know Sonja Keisel?"

  Ah-h-h. Here it is. The real reason Krishna wants to talk to me. Justice reached for his beer. "Through Father Rhajmurti. I'd never met her before today. I've got an accounting test coming up, and she's a whizz at numbers. Rhajmurti thought it'd be helpful if she tutored me."

  There. He had gotten through the entire speech without once losing control of his expression. Maybe he was adult enough to know he had no choice but to keep his mind off Sonja in any form other than as an acquaintance . . . maybe a friend.

  "Oh." Krishna's gaze wandered over to the bar, but he shook his head when Jason gave the sign for a beer. "Just curious. You know she's a Borg."

  Justice's heart did a curious little hop. "A Borg?"

  "Her father's a Borg. Married her mother. She's a love child. She has two older half-brothers by contract marriages . . . one's a Borg and the other, a diNero. She lives over on Borg, you know."

  Damn! Justice had known Sonja lived close to the College, but he had never guessed. ... He knew m'sera Keisel operated the only legal source of beef and leather in town, and that she had married at last for love. He knew this, but had never questioned himself as to whom she was married to.

  He had made it a practice never to pry into the doings of hightowners—he let them tell him what he was curious about. Though it kept him ignorant of many things he wished he knew, it also stood him in a beneficial light. When dealing with hightown Family, one's cause was best served if one seemed the total opposite of pushy.

  And speaking of pushy . . . What the hell had possessed Krishna to sit down and unload Sonja's history? Justice rubbed his chin, grimaced at the roughness of sprouting stubble, and glanced over at Krishna.

  "Oh, well. Whatever she is, she's damned good at math!"

  That obviously was not the reaction Krishna had been waiting for. He frowned slightly, then leaned forward in his chair.

  "How are your finances, Justus?"

  "How are—" Justice bunked in surprise. "Why are you interested?"

  "You know that medicine you gave ... I mean, sold me? If you take enough of it, you'll get higher than the Angel."

  Justice's chest tightened. He had been afraid of this happening after Raj had told him of the side effects. And leave it to Krishna to—

  "If you can get your hands on more of this stuff, I've got someone real interested in buying it." Krishna's eyes glittered. "For a damned good price, too."

  "Well. ..." Justice stalled for time, trying to think of a brush-off he could give Krishna.

  "You ever tried getting high on that stuff?"

  "No." Justice met Krishna's gaze. "I take it only for the Crud."

  "Oh, aren't we the goody-goody one?" Krishna put an exaggerated lisp in his speech, and waved a languid hand. "Campaigning for sainthood?"

  "Hardly. I've got enough troubles coping without being high, that's all."

  "I gathered. Well, I can think of better things to do with your medicine than give it out for the sniffles." Krishna's jaw set. "And, if you don't give me what you've got, you'll not like the outcome."

  Justice stared. "I can't believe you're saying this to me, Krishna. Use your head, man! Selling drugs is damned dangerous. The town's in an uproar over the lights in the harbor, and every blackleg out there is just waiting for someone like you to pull a dumb stunt—to give them an excuse . . . any excuse!"

  "I'm only going to say this once more, Justus. If you give me the medicine your friend leaves with you, I'll share the profit wit
h you. If not ..."

  "What the hell do you think you can do? Steal it? You're crazier than I think you are!"

  Krishna's dark eyes went darker. "Crazy, am I? Well, I suggest you check your supply of medicine when you get back to your room. You might find you have quite a bit less of it than when you left for the College this morning."

  Justice shook his head, his mind trying to accept what Krishna told him. Stealing? In Hilda's boarding house? He opened his mouth to call out to her, then shut it. What would he say? How could he prove Krishna had done it? Besides, where could Justice say he had gotten hold of the medicine? He would have needed money to buy it, money he obviously did not have. It was all too tangled, too firmly fixed in the gray areas of life that could not easily be explained away.

  "You see," Krishna said, a cold smile touching his lips, "even you can't think of a way out of this."

  "And if I refuse?" Justice asked, again stalling for time, damning his brain for its slowness.

  "Ah? If you refuse?" Krishna spread his hands. "It's all very simple, Justus. I'll go to every one of my friends and tell them all kinds of things about you. Some of them may even be true. And when I'm done, there won't be an uptown House in Merovingen that will have anything to do with a down and out aspiring artist named Justus Lee." He shoved his chair back and stood. "Think about it, Justus. Think about it. I'll give you until tomorrow morning to have your answer."

  Justice sat with his mouth open, remembered to close it at last. Krishna reached into his sweater, withdrew something small, and let it drop to the floor with an audible "clink." Leering at Justice, he turned away and stalked off across the common room toward the door that led outside. Justice shook his head, reached down with one hand, and stroked Sunny's side. The hand shook appreciably.

  Now what did he do? Krishna had him over the proverbial barrel. And how the hell had Krishna gotten into his room? His heart sank. The extra key. He remembered it now ... he had left it sitting on the table. And when Krishna had followed him to pick up another packet of medicine . . .

  He picked up a flaccid Sunny, set him in a chair, and looked under the table. There, glinting dully in the afternoon light and the glow of the lamps, lay his key.

  Justice closed his eyes, and fought against a mounting headache. He knelt, snatched up his key, then heaved himself back into his chair. No wonder Krishna had gone through his packet of medicine so quickly. He had not dropped it ... he had taken most of it to see if he could get high. Finding that he could—and wonderfully so—he had then approached Justice for another packet, this one to sell.

  "Damn!" Justice looked down at Sunny, who had started his afternoon bath. He had no one to turn to, no one to give him advice.

  Except Father Rhajmurti. And considering the subject matter, that was a long shot at best.

  Leaving the poleboat behind, Justice shrugged his coat collar up around his ears and quickly mounted the steps to the College. The afternoon seemed darker than it was, here on the east side of the Id building . . . darker and colder. Justice shivered, headed toward the doorway, and glanced once behind.

  No one followed. He yanked the door open and stepped into the wide entry hall, a massive two-story affair, its walls covered with portraits of great founders of the College. He stopped for a moment, wary of slipping, his damp booted feet firmly planted on the white and black marble floor, and looked around.

  Damn! Whatever had possessed Krishna to pull a stunt like this one? Justice had lived in the same rooming house as the hightowner for two years now, yet he had never seen Krishna do anything quite this stupid before. Did Krishna think himself above any kind of retribution? Or, that Justice had no recourse other than to bow to the demands of blackmail?

  He grimaced, set off across the entry hall to the staircase. Several students he knew came walking down the stairs, books in hand, but obviously done with tests for now. Justice nodded to the students as he passed them on the stairs, and headed up to the second level where the classrooms and studios lay. He hoped at this hour to find Rhajmurti in one of them.

  Constructed as an equilateral triangle, the College held most of its administrative offices on the lower level where access to shipping was easiest. The functionaries, the offices of the maintenance people, and the kitchens could be found here. The second level was given over to classrooms, each of the five major disciplines occupying its own space: Accounting/ Management, Law, Medicine, the Fine Arts, and Religion.

  Once dealing solely with the study of Revenantism, the College had branched out into other areas, for the priests were guardians of vast storehouses of knowledge. Somewhere, on the third level, where the priests lived and where few students ever went, lay the great Library; no one was quite sure what the Library held, but it was rumored among the students that books rested there that none but fully initiated priests could read.

  At the top of the stairs, Justice turned to his right, and headed down the wide hallway toward the Fine Arts section of the College. He would more than likely find Rhajmurti there, unless the priest had returned to his room.

  Justice saw only a few students in the rooms he passed, most of them musicians who practiced singly or together. The art studios lay on the north side of the College, where the light was best at all times of the year.

  "Hey, Justus!"

  He turned and saw one of his friends, Mikhail Rudenov.

  "Hey, Mik! Finished with your exams?"

  The fellow grinned, waved his flute above his head. "And glad of it! You?"

  "One left. Accounting. You seen Father Rhajmurti?"

  "Not lately, but I think he's down in the last studio."

  "Thanks. I'll see you later."

  "Luck to you!" Mikhail called out as Justice headed off in that direction.

  Lord and my Ancestors! Please! Let him be there! If Rhajmurti had returned to his room, Justice would have to backtrack, go to the stairway that led to the third floor, and wait while one of the stairguards took a message to the priest that he had company.

  He glanced into the studios as he walked past them: they sat empty, easels and painting supplies neatly arranged against the walls. He unbuttoned his coat, warm now that he was inside, away from the chill.

  Father Rhajmurti sat by the window in the studio at the far end of the hall, wrapped in a light house cloak, for the room was large and had enough windows to make it chilly even though someone had lit the oil stove.

  Not wanting to startle Rhajmurti, Justice knocked softly on the door jamb.

  "Justice." The priest looked away from the window. "What are you doing here?"

  "Can we talk privately?" Justice asked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the hallway lay empty.

  Rhajmurti lifted one eyebrow, gathered his cloak, and stood. "Of course. You've got a problem?"

  "Understatement." Justice leaned back against the wall. "Where can we go that I can make sure we're not overheard?"

  "That bad, eh?" Rhajmurti's dark eyes glinted in the fading light. "Come."

  The priest led the way down the hall to a smaller studio, ushered Justice into the room, and shut the door.

  "All right," Rhajmurti asked, sitting down on the edge of a counter and gesturing Justice to one of chairs drawn up close by. "What's wrong?"

  Justice had heard those words "what's wrong" so many times from Rhajmurti he had lost count. "It's Krishna, again, Father."

  "What's he done now?"

  Justice drew a deep breath and launched into his story; as he spoke, he included all the details he could remember, down to the expressions on Krishna's face, and the nuances of the hightowner's voice. When he had finished, he sat watching Rhajmurti, and let the silence spin out.

  And out.

  "Vishnu!" The unexpected oath sounded strange coming from the priest who always seemed to be in such firm control. "He's really done it this time. Did he act odd when he was talking to you?"

  "No odder than usual." Justice chewed on his lower lip. "No. I take that back. He was . . .
well, wound up would be a good word for it."

  "Wound up. Do you think he was high?"

  Justice hesitated. "I suppose he could have been." "Huhn."

  Again the silence stretched out. "Father—" Justice began.

  "I remember you speaking to me about this Raj. Where does he get his medicine?"

  "I'm not sure. All I know is that it works."

  Rhajmurti rubbed his chin. "And, if taken in large enough doses, is a strong hallucinogen. No doubt there would be plenty of markets for him to sell it to." The priest began to pace up and down in front of Justice.

  "What am I going to do, Father?" Justice tried to calm down, hearing his voice shake slightly. "He could ruin me with the Families before I even get started!"

  "Hush." Rhajmurti raised a hand and kept pacing.

  Justice shifted in the chair. He had no doubt that the priest fully understood exactly what Krishna had done. His greatest fear was that Krishna's position was so unassailable that even Rhajmurti could not think of a way out.

  "He gave you until tomorrow morning to have an answer for him?" "Yes."

  "Hmmm." Rhajmurti stopped pacing and stood looking down at Justice. "I think I might have a solution. It all depends on exact timing, and on how sensitive you are to being seen in hightown company."

  Justice blinked. "I suppose if I have to save my career before I have one, I'll do all kinds of strange things. What are you suggesting?"

  "I'm suggesting that you and I take a short poleboat ride." The priest's face softened in a smile. "Over to Borg, I think."

  Justice had visited a number of the homes of his hightowner friends, but nothing had prepared him for the luxury of the Keisel home on Borg. He, along with hundreds of others, crossed and recrossed the Borg Esplanade, that wide walkway which cut through the center of Borg to White; but what lay behind those small shops, and on the upper level would have boggled the minds of those who used the walkway.

  Standing behind Rhajmurti, Justice tried not to gawk, or to look impressed. It was hard work. The Keisel home was split between the second and upper levels of Borg; its reception room (and consequently its address) was upper level. When Rhajmurti had rung the bell, a servant dressed in expensive livery had answered the door, and told them to be seated, that m'sera Keisel would be with them presently. No sooner had that fellow left, and Justice had joined Rhajmurti on a soft, comfortable couch, than another servant entered, offering them each a cup of hot tea to take the chill of travel from their bones.