Troubled Waters

by C. J. Cherryh

  Justice glanced around as he sipped his tea from a cup so thin he could see shadows through it. Oil stoves sat evenly spaced along the walls, stoves so disguised by facades they looked more like cupboards. For the first time in days, Justice sat in a room that held no trace of chill.

  Damn! He thought he had seen riches before. He should have known when Krishna had said Sonja was a Borg what he was getting into.

  The room was floored in burled wood—a pale, golden parquetry, inlaid with a soft red along the edges of the room. Electrics burned everywhere, the bright, white light hard to become accustomed to after oil lamps. The furniture, the rugs . . . the sale of only one of those items would have kept Justice in room rent for— He gave up trying to calculate it, and took another sip of tea.

  As to why he and Father Rhajmurti had come calling, Justice had no real idea. He had questioned the priest about it, but Rhajmurti had told him no more than it was part of his plan to combat Krishna's blackmail . . . if the plan worked. After years of studying with Rhajmurti, Justice knew better than to question his patron when the priest seemed unwilling to talk.

  And so he waited, trying to put the pieces of an unknown puzzle together. Why Borg? More precisely, why Sonja Keisel?

  "M'sera Keisel."

  The servant's voice brought Justice out of his musing. He looked up, saw her standing in the doorway, and rose. Bowing deeply, he wished he knew what to do . . . what to say.

  "Justice," Rhajmurti said softly, from the depths of his bow. "Let me have a few moments alone with Sonja."

  Justice swallowed and nodded. As he straightened, the priest stepped forward to meet Sonja in the center of the large room. Feeling definitely out of place and overly conspicuous, Justice backed up a few steps, hoping to blend in with the walls. Small chance that, dressed as he was in black.

  The low murmur of conversation came from the center of the room where Rhajmurti and Sonja stood: the priest's deep voice blended with Sonja's lighter one, but Justice could not guess at the subject matter. He grimaced, seeing himself as she must see him: tall, slender, dark-haired, green-eyed, clad in serviceable but shabby clothes. Reeking poor. Or, if not poor, then far from even well off. With one of the jewels in her collar, he could—

  "Justice."

  He jumped at the sound of Father Rhajmurti's voice. The priest was beckoning him forward, a small smile softening his face. Sonja stood silent, her face much harder to read. Justice cursed his nervousness, then relented. Dammit, no! He had every reason to be nervous. His career was at stake.

  Straightening his shoulders, he walked to their sides.

  "I'm sorry to have been so rude," Rhajmurti said, "but I had reasons for wanting to talk in privacy. Now, those reasons aren't valid. We—" he gestured toward Sonja, "—have come up with a possible escape for you."

  Justice could feel his eyebrows lifting.

  "Don't look so surprised." Rhajmurti smiled a little, his dark eyes dancing. "Remember one of the laws of karma: what goes around, comes around, but not necessarily in the same coin."

  Sonja laughed quietly.

  "I've taken the liberty of explaining your problem to Sonja," Rhajmurti said. "Hearing me out, she agreed to help."

  "Let me explain, Justus," she said, stepping closer, the light glittering on the jewels she wore. "When I was growing up, I had many friends my own age. We were all tutored privately in our houses, but we did see each other frequently at parties. Some of my peers I liked, some I put up with, and others—well, to be honest, those others I could have dumped in the canals and not missed a moment's sleep afterward."

  Justice listened to her, trying to figure out where she was going with this line of talk. Whatever she and Rhajmurti had agreed upon, it had amused her: her dark eyes sparkled in the light, and a faint flush colored her cheeks.

  "Of those whom I could have cheerfully consigned to the canals, you may be assured Krishna Malenkov was one."

  Refusing a poleboat ride home since Kass lay so close, Justice had left Rhajmurti and Sonja, exited onto the upper level of Borg, hurried down the stairs and out onto the second level walkway. Now, crossing Borg Bridge, he headed straight into the northern wind. Shivering, he gathered his coat closer with one chilled hand, burying the other deep in his pocket. If the weather got much colder, he would have to dig his gloves out from the bottom of his closet. He wanted to avoid this until the last possible moment, preferring to tough it out as long as possible. Gloves were not cheap; he had purchased his only two years ago, and they had nary a hole between them.

  Despite the cold, folk were abroad on the bridge, coming home from work, or going off to market to buy the makings of supper. The people he met, however, went about their tasks without pausing to chat with a neighbor, or look in the doors of the shops still open. Even those talking about the lights over the harbor seemed to prefer doing that indoors. It was too damned chilly to dawdle.

  Justice walked along, his head bent forward, wishing he had worn his cap. But when he had left Hilda's for the College, he had been in such a state of mind that remembering to put his coat on seemed (in retrospect) a major accomplishment.

  And now, if things went right, he would not have to worry about Krishna for a while. He smiled slightly, envisioning what would happen, caught himself daydreaming, and focused on his path. The situation was serious, very serious, and the last thing he needed was to forget that.

  He glanced up as he walked off Borg Bridge and into the twilight of the walkway that led around the back side of Kass. If things did not go as planned . . .

  Damn! I've got to keep my mind in the present, or I'll give something away. Krishna's not stupid. He'll read right through me.

  Hilda's sign, hung perpendicular to the tavern front, loomed up not all that far ahead. With his destination so near, Justice suddenly realized how cold he felt. He broke into a trot, weaving in and out of the foot traffic, aimed toward Hilda's door, and the warmth and comfort that lay on its other side.

  The tavern grew noisier with each new arriving diner, but to Justice the noise was welcome. He sat at his table, Sunny curled up in his lap, and sipped at his beer. Now, though he knew he should be doing his last-minute studying, he sat with what he hoped looked like relaxed contentment, waiting for his dinner to be served.

  Relaxed? Ha! He was anything but! For Father Rhajmurti's plan to work, everyone involved would have to be on time. There were few places to lurk inside the tavern, and fewer on the walkway outside.

  Idly scratching Sunny's head, Justice looked around the tavern, again keeping his surveillance casual. No sign of Krishna. Lord! If Krishna decided to spend the evening out bar-hopping . . .

  Jason came out of the kitchen and headed toward Justice's table. With a small sigh, Justice set out the money he owed for the meal, waited until Jason had started off again, and sat up straighter. Sunny lifted his head, sniffed at the smell of baked fish, and yawned. Obviously, Hilda had fed him and the other half-wild cats she watched over before the dinner hour.

  With a quick look around the tavern (still no Krishna), Justice started his meal. He had brought his book with him, so he ate and read slowly, going over what Sonja had pointed out as being his weakest areas. He snorted a quiet laugh. Weakest areas? He had so few strong ones, everything seemed weak.

  After the test tomorrow, if things went as they were supposed to tonight, Justice would have several days off to relax and do nothing. He had looked forward to this time as a vacation of sorts. Now, it might turn out to be time spent in a mad scramble to shore up the foundations of a career in the making.

  He turned a page in his book, speared a bite of fish with his fork, and then paused, fish halfway to his mouth. Krishna stood a few paces away, arms crossed on his chest, watching.

  Justice somehow kept the fish on its way without losing composure. Chewing slowly, he forced himself to meet Krishna's eyes, to keep expressionless. He must have been successful, for a brief look of anger crossed Krishna's face.

  "Well, J
ustus," Krishna said, hooking a chair out from the table with his toe and sitting down.

  Damn! I wish he'd at least vary his opening! "Well, Krishna," Justice replied, his heart pounding as he tried to match the hightowner's drawl. "Off for the evening, or are you having dinner first?"

  Krishna did not reply, but sat staring at Justice as if he had expected some different greeting. This time, warned by Father Rhajmurti, Justice assessed the hightowner's physical appearance: still mildly high, though nowhere near to the state he had been in earlier.

  "Oh, I think I'll hang around here for a while," Krishna said, leaning back in his chair. "In fact, I think I'll have my supper."

  Justice breathed a sigh of relief, but forced an expression of momentary displeasure to his face. Good. Now if everyone could only be where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be there. . . .

  Jason appeared at the table and took Krishna's order. Silverbit. The same dinner that Justice had ordered. Huhn. That meant Krishna was still low on funds, or he had planned on a long night in the bars. Justice kept reading his book, watching the hightowner from the corner of one eye. Krishna, for his part, merely stared, still waiting for something.

  Justice thought he knew for what.

  "Your test is tomorrow?" Krishna asked at last.

  "Yes." Justice turned a page.

  "Do you feel more confident having studied with m'sera Keisel?"

  "Considerably." Justice kept his voice level and polite.

  "It's a wonder she found the time to help someone like you," Krishna said, one eyebrow lifted in what bordered on disdain. "If she's as good as you say she is, she was probably bored to tears."

  "More than likely," Justice replied equably. "However, she has manners, and was able to disguise her boredom."

  Krishna reacted to this veiled insult by drawing himself up in his chair and squaring his shoulders. Justice pretended not to notice.

  "Your meal, m'ser," Jason said, setting the plate and mug of beer before Krishna.

  "What are you waiting for?" Krishna asked, looking up at Jason who stood politely by the table.

  "Your money, m'ser," Jason replied.

  Krishna waved. "Put it on my tab."

  "I'm sorry, m'ser, but you've exceeded your allotment for this month. You father gave us express orders to . . ."

  "Damn him!" Krishna dug in his sweater, and came up with the requisite coins. "There," he said, tossing the money on the edge of the table. "That should cover it. With a small bit for you and your service.

  Jason's face never changed; he swept up the coins in a practiced hand, bowed his head slightly, and started back to the kitchen.

  "So." Krishna turned to his dinner as though nothing had happened, though his ears had gone red. "Have you thought any more about what I told you this afternoon?"

  Justice's stomach knotted. "Yes. I thought about it for a while, and decided I didn't like the idea.".

  "You didn't—?" Krishna's head jerked up. "Do you understand what you're doing to yourself? I can ruin you with a few words here and a few words there."

  "I understand all too well," Justice said, taking a bite of his greens, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. It's like a knife fight . . . you never know where the next move will come from. And you sure as hell better not let your opponent know what your plans are. "Do you know you could go before the Justiciar for what you've done?"

  Krishna's face went white, then red. "Prove it!" he snapped.

  "Or have you considered," Justice continued, "that your father would be upset, to put it mildly, if he found out what you're doing."

  "Prove that, too!" Krishna's head stuck forward, his jaw muscles clinched. "There's no way you can!"

  From the corner of his eye, Justice saw Rhajmurti enter the tavern along with two other priests. Jason motioned them to an empty table sitting behind Krishna's back. Justice took a long breath, felt his gut quivering, and reached for his beer. Rhajmurti had come to the tavern to be present only in case of complete disaster. If possible, he was not to be included in what happened.

  Ancestors! Let this end quickly! I don't know how much longer I can keep this up!

  "I'll ruin you, Justus," Krishna said. "You won't have a chance of ever becoming more than an itinerant walkway sketcher. I know the hightown Houses and those who live in them. I'll—"

  "And what will you tell them?" Justice asked, swirling the beer around in his mug. "How will you prove what you say?"

  Krishna stared and, despite his anxiety, Justice had the urge to laugh. Things were definitely not going the way Krishna had planned. Rhajmurti's presence at the next table served as an anchor; Justice would have been unable to stay so cool if he had not known he would have eventual assistance. Now, if only—

  "I won't have to prove anything," Krishna said. "I'm one of them. They'll believe me."

  Justice shrugged. He forked another bite of fish, and then his heart jumped. Dressed in evening richness, subdued but undeniably elegant, Sonja walked slowly across the tavern toward Justice's table.

  "Oh, Justus!" she said brightly, seating herself and turning her chair so that she sat partially blocking Krishna off from the conversation. "I'm so glad you're still here."

  "Good evening, m'sera," Krishna said loudly, leaning sideways so he could see her face.

  "Hello, Krishna," Sonja said in a distant voice, then, rushing on: "Justus . . . you could really help me out of a tough spot."

  "After your assistance today, Sonja," Justice said, using her name instead of her title, "I'm willing to do anything I can."

  Krishna, meanwhile, was doing an excellent fish imitation, his mouth opening and closing without a sound.

  "You know the Governor's Winter Ball is coming up, and I have . . ." She gestured briefly. "I'd like you to be my guest, if you'd come."

  Even though he knew Sonja would be saying those words, according to Rhajmurti's plan, Justice's throat tightened. The Governor's Ball! One of the greatest gala events of the year, and one to which only those of money and station received invitations. Someone like Justice could only aspire to attend it, and only if sometime in the future they might possibly have enough social status to be deemed interesting.

  To receive such an invitation now, and to appear at that Ball in the company of someone like Sonja Keisel, would all but assure Justice of future employment by the hightown Families.

  "Thank you, Sonja," Justice said, also thanking the Lord, along with every Revenantist god and saint he could think of, as well as his own luck. "I'd be more than happy to come with you."

  "But ... but ..." Krishna had found his voice now. "You can't invite—" He gestured at Justice. "—him!"

  Sonja turned her head as if she only now realized Krishna sat at the same table. "Oh?" she asked, her voice gone very formal. "And why not?"

  "He's . . . he's a nobody! A nothing!" Krishna's eyes had gone very wide. "If you want someone to go with," he said, "I'd be glad to take you."

  "Why, thank you for your concern, Krishna," Sonja smiled, all frost and false politeness, "but, as you can see, I already have someone to accompany me."

  "But..." Krishna shot a desperate look in Justice's direction. "You can't—"

  "I'm a Keisel," Sonja said in a voice that rang of steel and ice, "and I can damn well do anything I want to."

  Krishna's face had paled to near the shade of the white napkins. He glanced around the tavern as if seeking help, then shoved his chair back and stood.

  "I'm sorry, m'sera ... I must be going. Good evening."

  And with that, Krishna turned and hurriedly headed for the exit.

  Justice nearly fell out of his chair, he shook from relief so badly. He made a quick hand-sign to Rhajmurti, who had watched the entire incident, letting the priest know that his plan had worked. Sonja sat laughing quietly, her dark eyes sparkling in the lamp light. When Justice thought he had waited long enough for his voice to be steady, he spoke.

  "Thank you, Sonja. You've just saved
what small career I have."

  She smiled. "From what Father Rhajmurti says, I don't think that's true. You have a brilliant career in front of you."

  Justice felt his face go hot. "Anyway," he said, "thank you. And, if you want to withdraw the invitation, I'd—"

  "And why would I want to do that?" Sonja asked, shoving Krishna's plate and beer mug to one side. She turned to Jason who had appeared like magic at the table, and ordered herself a meal of baked silverbit and a glass of wine. "Your fish looks good."

  "It was . . . is," Justice said, moving the last few bites around with his fork. "It's cold now."

  "When the waiter returns, send it back to the kitchen to be warmed up."

  Justice grimaced. "I'm afraid my stomach's so knotted up that I wouldn't be able to enjoy it."

  "Still nervous?"

  "Look." Justice held out one hand: it shook noticeably. He grinned in spite of himself. "I'm not one to fall apart during anything . . . it's after I have to worry about."

  Sunny stretched in Justice's lap, having slept through the whole production. Looking around, he decided nothing was happening of greater importance than another nap, so he buried his head under one outflung paw, and was instantly asleep.

  "Seriously," Justice said, scratching Sunny's ears, his eyes meeting Sonja's, "if you want to go with someone else to the Ball, I won't—"

  "I'm going with you, Justus Lee," Sonja said, lifting her chin. "Remember. I'm a Keisel. And what we Keisels want, we usually get."

  CHAPTER XVII

  NESSUS' SHIRT

  by Roberta Rogow