Shadowplay sq-1

by Jo Clayton

  "Let them take the flit. Yes, let them," he said, his placidity as false as the Avatars. False. Yes. He was sure of that suddenly, they were not gods in disguise come to call him to account; his real trouble was that it had been too long since the last Praisesong, he needed the catharsis more than he'd realized. And it would give him the chance to milk some of the piss out of Puk. He smiled and stroked the silky head of the simi as his course of action came clear in his head. "They have done what we brought them for. Rumor will take care of the rest. Too bad though, I would have liked to see them burn. Puk, take the lander. As soon as they are over deep water, you can have your fun with them-as long as you remove all evidence of what happened to them. A little mystery will stir up the animals nicely; we can use the disappearance to indict the Wapaskwen Nistam and increase the intensity of the hatred and rage in the rebels and the lesser castes. Go now. You need to be ready when they move. We will let you know the moment the flit lifts off."

  Ginbiryol sat where he was for several minutes after Pukanunk Pousli left, then he grunted and straightened up. "Ajeri tiszt, get onto Makwahkik and let him know there might-stress might-be an attack on the Kasta late this night or sometime tomorrow night."

  Ajeri Kilavez frowned at him. "You think they're really going to get past Puk? He's hot for them, specially that girl. He's got a thing for her, you know that, Ginny. You know what he's like on a blood trail."

  "It might be enlightening, Ajeri tiszt, to rerun the recording of their progress across that swamp. There is a synergy about that grouping that I find… interesting. And it seems to be growing more powerful and more directed as the days pass. That is why I have altered my schema. You know how much I dislike altering my schemata, Ajeri tiszt."

  "Yeh, I know. Right. Anything else you want me to tell the Makh Hen, or just what you said."

  "Keep it simple, Ajeri tiszt. He is a subtle man in his way, a greedy man, he will try to milk all he can from you."

  "I hear. Simple it is."

  Chapter 15. Maneuverings

  The lamplight melted Kiskomaskin's hair to white-gold, played lover's tricks on his mobile minstrel's face. He was taller than Asteplikota, younger, leaner, but there was the blood likeness there, visible only at certain angles and in certain configurations, strongest when she least expected it. "How is he?" she said. "I was worried about him."

  "Well enough. He's tired, of course, but there's no infection and he's healing nicely." He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, it was warm and gentle and meant to establish a subtle dominance.

  She moved off a step and he didn't pursue that line any longer. His instincts worked subliminally but very efficiently. "I'm glad,'' she said. "Has he talked to you?"

  "Only a few words, mostly family matters." His eyes were fixed on her face, he was smiling slightly, going after her with hypnotic intensity. It seemed to her he needed adoration like other men needed air and he was very practiced at extracting it, especially from women. "Tried to kill you, Aste said. Kanaweh."

  "They did their best."

  During the first half hour of this cattletrot the yips imported and local had stared, then crowded about her and Rohant and Kikun (though they tended to shy away from the lacertine after their first gush of welcome), but the moment Kiscomaskin and his entourage came in, they backed off and left a polite space around him. He spent a few words on Kikun, then aimed himself at Shadith, his entourage following him though, like the others at the party, they kept their distance as they listened while he courted her, adding their bit to the pressure on her until she couldn't breathe without sucking him in. His questioning was much the same as that last night in the Hostel: Who are you, where'd you come from, what do you think of our world (aside from those bastards trying to kill you), will you help us, will you listen to me explain… the same thing but different, nothing of the women's spontaneity, no interest in her beyond what she could do for him, no laughter or warmth in the man, not below the surface glitter, not like Asteplikota, too much anger, too much drive. It was hammering at her, made her increasingly uncomfortable. She couldn't shut him out…

  She must have gone pale because he, touched her shoulder again, then strolled away to talk-to Rohant, undeterred by the big cats flanking the Qom, eyeing with lazy insolence anyone who came near.

  One of the men in the entourage looked up as he passed her, met her eyes. A small man, dark, with a bony sardonic face. A familiar face and so it should be, Aleytys spent a year in and out of his bed when she was still looking for her mother and Shadith was still trapped in the diadem, a concatenation of forcelines improbably alive. Arel the Smuggler at it again. He won't be selling the kind of arms those types want, not him, everything else though, whatever the hopeful rebel needs. Hmm! Free to go, in and out, ferret down a hole, nose about, scat when he's finished. I wonder… No! I go near him, any of us try it.. no! I imagine he still counts on his talent for sliding to stay loose, there'll be nothing on his ship hot enough' to light a match. It's fast, but Ginny's got the high ground, and the firepower. Gods, yes, and the fire power. Tsoukbaraim! it'd be so good to pile in and run for it. I didn't run before when I had a chance, maybe not much of a chance, but something… it was probably a mistake, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…

  Joran followed a pace behind as always, pointed ears twitching, quietly lethal, not liking this crowd much, but he never did like crowds. Joran. Fascinating to be a fly on the wall if he ever went after Puk the Lute. I'd bet the house on that old killer. Puk wouldn't know what hit him.

  She'd come across Arel and loran again when she was in her own body, the time on Avosing while she was there hunting for Grey. They were nose to nose for a few minutes at the Smuggler's Market in Keama Dusta, Arel, Joran and her, but neither of the men should have reason to remember her… she rubbed at the hawk outline burned into her cheek… out there for everyone to see… and remember… a lot of people have odd marks on them, she was just another customer passing by… Unless he got hold of some rumors about what happened later… plenty of talk about, me and Linfyar and the dreamsongs. And Aleytys…

  Sar! the man did recognize her, he was going to stop.

  Hastily she gave him a warn-off, a flutter of the fingers as she slid a zipper open an inch and drew it shut again. Did he get it? Riiight, way to go, little man. And so he should, seeing it's him who taught these signs to Lee and me-though he sure didn't know about me those days, I wasn't very visible on the scene… gods, not like now, not when I need a little invisibility. He wouldn't break his schedule for her, but he was REALLY hooked on Aleytys. Aren't they all, the men littering her backtrail. Grey, Swar… Come on, Shadow, no time for that. If I play this right… screw Ginnyl I foxed that creep guard, ru fox him, too. Right. He's signing now. What? Ah. What trouble? Gotcha, A.R.E.L. Yeh, I know your name. Trouble (big). Mean. Me (a) focus. Keep off. Danger. EYE watching) everything. Stomp (you) like a roach.

  Despite the wine glass she was still holding, her fingers moved with growing fluency in the abbreviated signs that seemed little more than the ordinary twitches and fiddles of someone bored or nervous. Slippery little man that he was, Arel stood chatting casually with Joran, eyes flicking at her and away, fingers acknowledging her signals, spelling back to her what she spelled for him. A.L.E.Y.T.Y.S. (to her) Get word. S.H.A.D.O.W. Here. Need help. Hurry. Watch (out) for G.LN.N.Y. S.E.Y.LR.S.H.I. Got (the word)? Good. You help(?) No no no. Stay clear(!!!) Get out fast. Quiet. Fast(!) Quiet(!)

  He ambled off, Joran falling into his usual half-pace behind, the two men merging without fuss into the crowd gathered about Kiscomaskin and the Ciocan.

  She gulped down the last of the wine in her glass and glanced around. No one was interested in her at the moment; some of the locals were clumped in small groups or moving into new ones, involved in the politics of sex or power, the others were gathered about Rohant and Kiscomaskin, sucking in the exchange between the two men. She listened a moment, smiled. From the sound of his growl, Rohant was growing impatient,
liking the pressure Kiscomaskin was putting on him about as little as she had. And he was getting more of it. The leader of the band. Rah! Adult male, more or less like the locals, not some freak like Kikun or a child like me. Where is Kikun? Hope he hasn't run into trouble out there. Tsoukbaraim! More touchyfeelies coming _at me. We got to get out of here before I lose it and say some things I'd be better keeping to myself.

  Shadith moved about the Hall, talking, nodding, smiling until her face hurt, drinking too much of the local amtapishka wine which was delicate in flavor but deceptive in potency, eating fingerfoods until she was stuffed and sticky. And in a rage at having to satisfy the curiosity of idiots while her need to get away grew more and more urgent. Jauza xenophobes, boot the stinking bigot assholes into orbit, what do I care, let Ginny screw them all. You're drunk, Shadow. Damn right, I'm drunk and I'm bored and I hate this place and never was a vip worth the powder to blow the arrogant jauz to hell. Maybe even Lee when she's being bitch-one. Sometimes I can't stand her, much as I love her. Weeping mama, delicate plant, wringing her dainty hands over what she won't stay and help fix, tchah! Every vip in the Islands has to be here, looking us over, I suppose, seeing if we're what we claim to be. Never mind we didn't want to come here in the first place. Working our butts off to get the hell away before some jauzo dickhead gets us killed. Sar! I wouldn't be surprised if they'd like us to be so bent we can eat dinner off the soles of our feet. Gets iffy playing with gods. Anything to do the dirty on the Main. Play kissyface with a Wetlands slither if he'd shit on the Nistam's foot. Even the priests, look at him, holy Gospah and his handy torturers in their neat little masks. About as holy as a pigturd… huh! I should apologize to pigs. Look at him, laying down the law to poor old Rohant. Old lion showing his fangs. Bite the bastard, why don't you! And we're only second billing at this party. Our spellcasting rebel, he's the one that's really IT, ohhh yehhh. Golden man playing the prince. I like your brother, you can go to hell, clown. Na, not clown, that's insulting little lizard over there. At least he's REAL. Not you, pretty boy. Hollow man, full of hollow sounds, all of them echoing ME ME ME. Gods, I think I'm going to be sick, where's that what did they call it? Convenience. Better find it before I decorate the floor with some used hordoves.

  She came back still shaky but feeling more alive. The body she'd claimed was better than most and it was young enough to recover quickly when abused-which she'd been doing a good job of just now. Kikun was waiting for her, leaning against the wall looking tired and unhappy, the harpcase by his feet. She stood beside him a moment. The Hall stank of aging perfumes and sweaty bodies, lampoil and woodsmoke, alcohol and spicy food that had been sitting around too long; it boomed and twittered with the sound of voices, the idle tootling and tunking from the flute-and-drum band up in the gallery. "Let's do it," she said.

  Kikun straightened, slid the strap over his shoulder. "Wait for you outside."

  "Right." Pasting a smile on her face, she plunged into the fug.

  Rohant stood by the door surrounded (not too close-the big cats were on their feet, tails switching, snarling whenever they felt crowded) by a herd of flirty matrons, his ears drawn back flat against his head under the assault from cascades of silvery giggles. Most of the Judges and the other male yips were at the other end of the Hall, gathered about Kiscomaskin, preening while he courted them as assiduously as he had Shadith. She elbowed her way to Rohant's side, tapped Magimeez on the nose, touched the Ciocan's arm. "Ciocan Rohant," she said firmly, "I NEED some fresh air. Come walk with me." She turned her plastic smile on the women. "You will excuse us a few minutes, I'm sure."

  ***

  The cool saltcrisp night was like ointment on a burn; she stopped on the steps and sucked in a long breath-which was a mistake because the alcohol hit her hard. She swayed and giggled, forgot about Ginny listening and tried to tell them about Arel and the message, but her tongue got so twisted between competing langues all she got out was nonsense.

  Rohant snorted with disgust, scooped her up, and went trotting off after Kikun, Magimeez and Nagafog frisking beside him, happy to be out of that oppressive crowd. Sassa came swooping down from a perch high on the facade, screeched a greeting to his tie-Rohant and went sweeping away in wide loops, gaining height with each turn.

  The terrace was filled with soft sounds that merged into a pillowy quiet lying heavily over the crouched beetle-forms of the flits and the smaller groundcars. Several somethings with wings flew by overhead, driven into panic by the presence of the raptor; a small rodent with large round ears scuttled from under a groundcar as they moved past it. Shadith started giggling again. Rohant growled, clamped a hand over her mouth and walked faster. "Eh, Kikun. Drivers? Guards?"

  "In there." He jabbed his thumb at the building behind them. "There's a room set aside for them. Easy goes round here." He started off, heading toward a large flit at the edge of the terrace. "I loaded the gear in that one over there, the black and silver job."

  Rohant grunted, stopped walking and glared at the sky.

  Kikun looked back. "What?"

  Rohant shifted his, grip on Shadith; her breathing had slowed, steadied, she wasn't quite asleep, but not far from it. "I'm thinking him up there, he wants us to get out, he could've stomped on this an hour ago."

  "You want to go back in?"

  "Na." He looked down at Shadith. "She said it, slam ahead hard and see if the momentum will carry us. Get the door open, let's hit the road."

  WATCHER 6

  CELL 1

  The flit lifted without fuss. In the cabin Shadith was stretched out on a padded bench, snoring a little. She lay belly down, her face turned to one side, flushed and puffy. One arm had flopped down, the back of her hand pressed into the harsh pile of the khaki carpet covering the floor. Kikun sat on the floor, watching her.

  Rohant turned the flit directly west, increased speed to maximum and clicked on the otto:P. He started rummaging through the abdits around the pilot's chair, grunted with satisfaction as he came up with a book of maps. "Kikun…" He looked around. "Let her sleep it off, she'll be all right."

  Kikun jerked his right hand in an impatient gesture. "She is very troubled. There are things I don't understand about her."

  "Dio! Kikun, there's an encyclopedia I don't understand about either of you. Come round here. I want you to do some dowsing for me."

  Vaguely uneasy, disturbed as much by his uncertainty as by what he was seeing, Ginbiryol Seyirshi watched the flit lift off. He turned to Ajeri Kilavez. "Do you have an answer from Makwahkik yet?"

  She wrinkled her nose, waggled a finger at one of the cells. "Look there, you can see he's still down with the go-between, trying to wring more information out of him. Stupid. They got all the yobba has hours ago. I could try going through that Na-priest Puk's running, if you don't mind uncovering an asset."

  For something as unlikely as that flit getting away from Puk is what you mean, Ginbiryol thought. You are getting uppity also, Ajeri my sweet. I shall have to do something about that. Though perhaps you are right this time. No. That girl changed in the middle somewhere and it was not the wine that did it. Something happened. Something unobtrusive that I missed but she did not. Clever child. Too clever to trust. I had better run that recording again, tight focus on her face. Take care of this business first. Decide and forget. For the moment. "We will let it rest for the moment. Makwahkik is not a stupid man. He should soon realize the futility of questioning that fool for data he has not got. As soon as he returns to his quarters, make sure he receives the warning. You have alerted Puk?"

  "Yeh, soon's the flit was off the ground. I'll feed in course data once they've settled on their line, shouldn't be long now."

  "Yes. You sent an EYE with Puk?"

  "Certainly, sir. I was sure you'd want to see the attack and the outcome. Its send is coming into 2; long as the Avatars are together, we can spare one channel."

  "Yes. Good. I will be at the workstation for some time, I do not know precisely how long. When the att
ack seems imminent, Ajeri tiszt, call me."

  "Certainly, sir."

  The simi chattered in annoyance as Ginbiryol set him aside, but settled to a mutter-filled brooding as his master ignored him and moved with ponderous dignity across the Bridge.

  Ginbiryol scanned the recordings of the party. Overview first, marking the movements of the Three, hunting for anyone who seemed to be paying peculiar attention to the Avatars. Nothing. Much gush and maneuver to get near the girl or the Dyslaeror, but nothing worth a second thought. He reran the record, focusing on the girl, paying special attention to her moments with Kiscomaskin. She didn't like him. Might even call her hostile. That surprised Ginbiryol-and disturbed him. He was seldom so wrong about people's reactions. This mistake might be dangerous, might mean there was a flaw in his plans. A flaw that should be corrected when Puk was finished with the Avatars, but-not necessarily.

  He ran the section with Kiscomaskin again but found nothing to justify his unease; he fast forwarded past the section where she was standing by herself, followed her on her ramble around the room…

  "Ginny." Ajeri's voice broke through his concentration, acerbic, impatient. "Puk has the flit in view."

  He frowned at Shadith's small drab figure as she started to sway, the wine taking hold, turned the frown on Ajeri. He disliked being interrupted and he objected to the tone of her voice, but he touched off the replay without comment and returned to the Captain's Chair.

  CELL 1

  The flit was speeding along a few meters above the water. Inside, Shadith was still asleep, turned on her side now, her knees drawn up, one hand tucked under her cheek; she was flushed and rosy and lociked about ten. Kikun was kneeling beside her, frowning at her, stroking her delicately with his fingertips, inspecting them as If they could provide some answers to what confused him about the girl.