by Glenda Larke
The youth was back, there, in his pleading. She thought of Kaneth. Of his son. She turned away from her memory of love and kissed the man who held her now.
"Teach me how to please you," he said a moment later. "Show me how."
Forgive me, she thought, and it was to Kaneth she spoke, the grief savage inside her as she made her choice. She pushed it away, yet still heard the echo in her pain: Forgive myself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Scarpen Quarter Scarcleft City and Pediment On the night Jasper met Viviandra, he also had a long conversation with Madam Opal. That conversation led him to visit several other snuggeries on other levels in the days that followed. Taquar would have been surprised-and worried-about just how chaste his visits were, but Jasper took care he never found out. He tried to emerge from the inner rooms looking thoroughly satisfied and always indulged in a little crude banter with his guards on the way back to Level Two.
The information he elicited from the contacts that started with Opal eventually took him to the Silvermesh Snuggery on the tenth level. He was, as usual, accompanied by heavily armed guards and enforcers, none of whom objected to the duty. The stormlord was a pleasant young man, they all agreed. Easy to talk to, never demanding, yet not standing any nonsense, either. You knew where you were with him. Treat him with respect, and he respected you. True, the Scarcleft seneschal, Tallyman, had made it quite clear they were not to lie with any of the girls while they were on duty, but lounging around downstairs in the common rooms while the stormlord enjoyed himself in one of the upstairs rooms was not onerous and it did have certain advantages. As one of the guards remarked to another, the scenery was well worth ogling, and getting to know it more intimately was not such a remote possibility once you knew the terrain.
When they entered the Silvermesh, the madam, Tourmaline, came waddling up like a pregnant pede, proud that her establishment had been chosen by the stormlord. None of the guards were at all surprised when she whisked him away from the common rooms and into her private parlor, though they would have been astonished if they had heard what happened behind that closed door.
"The Madam of the Marcasite on Level Twenty-eight sent me," Jasper said, once he had bestowed the obligatory greetings. "She said you might be able to help me because many of the caravanners visit your establishment."
"Madam Verissal. Yes, she sent me a message. Said the stormlord was interested in sending messages through caravans to the Gibber. And that he was willing to pay for discretion as well as the service."
"That's right. Actually I want messages to go to the White Quarter as well, which is why I visited her. I was told the caravanners for the White Quarter went to the Marcasite Snuggery for their relaxation."
"Well, they used to. But there's been no caravan to the White Quarter from anywhere in the Scarpen for the past cycle or so. Far too dangerous. And 'Baster caravans don't come here no more; nor do the Reduner ones." She sighed, her large breasts heaving. "We snuggeries suffer from the lack of custom, dear. Did no one tell you that?"
"Yes. Madam Verissal. She also said, though, that Scarpen caravans continue to run to the Gibber, and Gibber towns maintain contact with Samphire in the White Quarter."
"Yes. However, most of our custom came from 'Basters and Reduners. Men away from home have more use of our services than men who live here. Business is withering bad, I can tell you, dear. Folk don't have water tokens for us no more." She tossed her head in irritation and the hanging folds of fat at her neck rearranged themselves like door curtains in a breeze. "But tell me, why did you come here to me instead of going direct to the caravanners themselves? This way, m'lord has to pay me a cut, too."
"A wise woman once told me snuggery madams know more about men and women than anyone on earth, and if ever I wanted discretion, a snuggery was the place to buy it. So I thought if I went direct to a caravanner, it might be the very one who would report me to Seneschal Tallyman. A snuggery madam, on the other hand, would be able to tell me who to approach, or better still would take my message and pass it onto a reliable caravanner."
She laughed. "I know who told m'lord that-Opal down on Level Thirty-two. But a snuggery operates only because Seneschal Tallyman allows it to operate. No snuggery madam in Scarcleft wants to butt heads with Harkel Tallyman. He reports direct to the highlord. Upset those two, that's maybe treason. And they have a real nasty solution for that."
"Ah, but think: I am the stormlord of all the Quartern. The only one. What could be the future reward of having me in your debt?"
"Nice, if I was still alive, dear."
Jasper smiled. The words might not have been encouraging, but he saw the glint in her eye that betrayed her interest.
A soft knock at the door presaged the entry of a handmaiden carrying a tray of drinks and titbits. She knelt at the low table in front of Jasper with her offerings. He took a goblet, not even bothering to see what it contained. It was much easier to gaze at the handmaiden. The deep tan of her skin proclaimed a touch of Gibber ancestry, but the long hair tumbling down her back was blond and her eyes violet. The exotic combination was alluring, as was the plunging V of her neckline.
"Silver," Tourmaline said, seeing his interest. "One of our more experienced handmaidens. Excellent teaching skills. Or, of course, there are other younger handmaidens more your age."
"I'm sure Silver would suit beautifully if I wanted-"
"Ah, of course. Business first. Wait upstairs," Tourmaline said with a nod to the handmaiden. Throughout this exchange Silver had kept her head ducked, a picture of demure obedience, but in the doorway she glanced back over her shoulder to give Jasper a broad wink and a mischievous smile.
He waited until the door had closed behind her before he pulled a handful of tokens from his pocket, gold glinting among them. "There is also the matter of immediate reward for your aid in this matter, of course," he said, indicating the tokens. "However, if you are not interested, I am sure I could find someone to oblige."
She grinned at him, her lips almost lost in the plump folds of her face. "And I am sure we can come to some agreement, m'lord."
Even after saying that, it took them another half run of the sandglass to agree on the details, but finally he had what he wanted: her promise to see that a reliable member of the next Scarpen caravan leaving Scarcleft would deliver an anonymous oral message to the reeves or headmen of as many settles or wash-towns as they visited. The price was higher than he liked, but he had little choice.
"Never mind," Tourmaline said, when he protested her charge, "I shall include tonight with Silver free of charge."
When he demurred, she laughed and refused to listen. She personally delivered him to the door of Silver's room, her bulk lending force to her invitation. In the end he acquiesced, deciding it was easier to let her have her way than to argue. And in truth, the idea of gazing at Silver again was an enticement.
The handmaiden's room was luxurious to say the least, and she gave every appearance of being delighted to see him. Her enthusiasm left him unmoved; he had learned far too much from Terelle to believe anything except that Silver's smiles and coquetry were part of her job.
As Tourmaline waddled away, he gently disengaged the hand clutching his arm. "You don't have to pretend," he said.
"Pretend what?" she asked.
He flushed. "That anything about me-other than my money-is at all fascinating. I wouldn't mind listening to some music, though," he said. "Do you play the lute?"
She did, and she had a sweet singing voice, so he spent a pleasant run of the sandglass listening. Between songs they ate the delicacies Tourmaline sent up from the kitchens and, when he asked a question or two betraying his lack of even elementary knowledge of music, she was happy to explain. At the end of that time, she laid her lute aside and moved to untie his tunic.
He grabbed her wrist. "No," he said. "I do not want to bed someone who is only constrained to do so for tokens."
She looked at him in astonishment.
"To
urmaline needn't know I didn't lie with you," he added. "I just hate the idea of sharing an… um… intimate moment with someone who has no real interest in doing so."
For a moment she looked at him blankly. Then she said, "But of course I want to! You are the stormlord, my lord!"
"Oh, so you don't want to bed me for money," he asked, amused, "but because I am the stormlord?"
Her mischievous smile was back. "And why not? After all, men want to bed me for my face and figure; why should I not want to bed a man because he is both personable and important? And it's nice that you are young, too!"
Jasper couldn't think how to reply. His heart raced. Salted damn, but she was beautiful. He grabbed at the wine and took another gulp, as if that would help him control his own body.
She pushed her advantage, her expression thoughtful and her finger raised to her cheek as if she was assessing his looks. "My lord, if we were two people meeting accidentally in an inn taproom, I would be plotting how to entice you into my bed so I could revel in the idea I had lain with the land's only stormlord-who also happens to be a very innocent young man with a sweet earnestness about him and-" She made a vague all-encompassing gesture at his torso, but the look on her face flattered.
He laughed. "You," he said, "are very good at your job. But do you really like bedding strangers?"
She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "It's a job. But, yes, sometimes I do and this is one of those times. And you will disappoint me if you leave without seeing what I have to offer. You will disappoint me if you leave before I see what you have to offer me."
He wondered whether all of that was just the patter of a handmaiden. "Not much," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I have no experience."
"You're scoffing me."
He shook his head, his embarrassment darkening his color. "Er… no, I'm not, actually."
"Merciful heavens, we shall have to do something about that! If it worries you," she added lightly, "then take pity on me. If you were to leave now, all the handmaidens would tease me, saying I have lost my touch. That I am no longer able to entice a man to stay till dawn. And Madam Tourmaline will send some old wrinkled fellow who smells to my bed instead." She reached out and slid her hand up his arm and across his chest. "But if you stay, I shall have something to remember-that I, Silver of no particular importance, once bedded the most important man in the Quartern. And maybe even taught him something useful?"
He had to laugh, and she raised her face to be kissed.
It was her job, he knew that, but he also knew he was going to stay the night and enjoy it. On returning to Scarcleft Hall next morning, he had breakfast in his room, humming while he had his tea, and then went to the library where they did most of their stormbringing. By the time Taquar arrived, he had the day's water allocations planned.
They moved to the large window with a view in the direction of the sea, and together they assembled the cloud and saturated it with water to change cloud to storm.
This weakness of mine, Jasper thought as he gathered the moisture Taquar enticed from the ocean, it's the manacles imprisoning me more securely than any bars could do. Free of Taquar's bonds, yet snared by the need for storms. How ridiculous is that?
A servant entered the room twice to invert the sandglass, but still the two men worked on in silence. Once the restless clouds over the sea were heavy with impending rain, Taquar asked, as he always did in the same half-mocking tone, "Can you manage the rest?"
Jasper nodded. Taquar inclined his head in acknowledgment and left.
It took Jasper much of the day to do exactly what he wanted with the clouds, first over the Scarpen Quarter, then the Gibber and finally to push what was left to the Border Humps so rain fell in the White Quarter. Eventually the water would feed the tunnels serving the Alabaster mines and the city of Samphire. By late afternoon, he was exhausted. And satisfied. He had finally achieved success in something he had been trying to do ever since he had spoken to Viviandra.
"The guards tell me you've been here since I left you this morning."
Jasper jumped, turning to see the highlord standing inside the doorway. He tried to sound matter-of-fact. "I've finished now."
"Why so long?"
He shrugged, hoping Taquar would not notice his guilty flush. "It was a difficult stormbringing. White Quarter-that's as far as I have to send clouds. It takes time. Then I have to be very precise about where the rain falls. Difficult when it is so far away."
Taquar scowled at the idea of precious water going to the White Quarter. "Lord Gold will be complaining to me again tomorrow about you watering the heathens, I suppose. You want to watch yourself, Jasper. It doesn't pay to upset the priesthood, especially not when a man like Basalt is Lord Gold."
Jasper shrugged.
"I came to tell you-Davim has sent a message. He informs me he is withdrawing all his men from Breccia City. In fact, from all the Scarpen on this side of the Warthago. He intends to hold onto Qanatend, I suspect until it runs out of water. He assures me he now believes I really do have you in my custody, so he is prepared to return to the terms of our original bargain, only the line of division will be the Warthago Range."
"With the nation divided like a bab pie. Tell me, Taquar, how long will an alliance last when it is made between two men who know nothing of honor and trust each other even less?"
Taquar smiled thinly. "Long enough. He is busy in the White Quarter, and I have already sent men, both bladesmen and administrators, into the Gibber. The largest of the Gibber wash-towns bow to my rule now." He chuckled. "All it takes is a handful of armsmen with ziggers in each town. Shall I tell you something amusing? I used the example of what happened to your settle as an illustration of the fate of people who don't have protection against Reduner attack. The kind of protection I can provide. What was the name of the place again?"
Jasper had to unclench his teeth to speak. "Wash Drybone Settle," he said. "One day I will have the freedom to tell Gibbermen just who arranged for my settle to be wiped from the face of Wash Drybone. What will happen to you then, I wonder?"
Taquar shrugged. "It doesn't matter what you say, or to whom. Who would fight men with ziggers and pedes when they have no rainlords or water sensitives? You just concentrate on your storms, boy, and leave the politics to me."
"Oh, I do, Taquar. I do." Taquar's look sharpened, so he added quickly, "But I wonder what the Scarpen forces will do when they realize the Reduners have retreated?"
"Scarpen forces?" Taquar snorted. "What Scarpen forces?"
"The ones the other cities are assembling."
Taquar looked amused. "Whatever makes you think that is happening?"
"No city was going to sit still and wait for the Reduners to come; not once they heard Breccia City had fallen to Sandmaster Davim. They will have been arming and training, and they will have learned a lesson from the fall of both Qanatend and Breccia. They will realize they must unite."
"I think you overestimate the good sense of the unwashed, Jasper. Even if you are right, it is to the Highlord of Scarcleft they will look for leadership. I am better armed, with better guards and more pedes. My guardsmen will take over Breccia City. My power will spread. How can it be otherwise? Besides, I have you. I am the only one who can threaten anyone with water shortages."
"You can threaten. But if ever they called your bluff, you'd be in trouble because there's no way I'd deny others water. In fact, I'd be more likely to reward them! And don't forget, many people know about your unholy pact with Davim. You don't have too many friends."
Taquar smiled. "I have Lord Gold. He controls the rainlord priests. And he doesn't like you one little bit. Don't underestimate me, Jasper. That would be unwise."
"And if I defy you, what then? Will you punish me? How? Kill me? Hardly, I think!"
Taquar did not answer.
Jasper pushed past the highlord as he left the room. The expression on Taquar's face was fleeting, but Jasper would not have missed the moment for all the wa
ter in the city. As he walked back to his room, though, his pleasure died. The taunting might be satisfying, but it was childish and probably dangerous. Taquar was right: if the man did have Basalt's support, and if the priests voted to uphold Basalt as the new Lord Gold, then Taquar could command a lot of power when it came to a vote to confirm or deny his position as Cloudmaster. Half the rainlords of the Scarpen were waterpriests.
And waterpriests were powerful among the devout.
Jasper had promised the dying Nealrith that Taquar would never rule the Quartern.
Spindevil take it, is that yet another promise I can't keep?
***
Pediment was one of the five escarpment cities trickling from the top to the bottom of the scarp like spilled bab molasses. For the past half-cycle or more, the main topics of conversation in the city, from the guards on the northern wall restlessly scanning the distance for tell-tale signs of dust in The Sweepings to the humble piss-collector on the city's lowest level, were the lack of water and storms, and the possibility of a Reduner invasion. Probably it was the same in the other four cities as well.
At the same time as Jasper and Taquar were sniping at each other, the Overman of the Guard on Pediment's northern wall was dashing away from his post with undignified speed to race into Pediment Hall on Level Two. Once admitted, he took the steps three at a time on his way to the hall's large reception room. At the top of the stairs, after a minimal knock on the door, he burst in on the highlord, who was meeting with his rainlords. As the group of startled men and women looked at him, the Overman flapped a hand at the open door to the balcony. "My lords; look! Look at the sky!"
When a staid officer of the guard behaved so erratically, it seemed a good idea to listen. The highlord rose to his feet and did as he was asked. The other rainlords crowded behind him as he stepped out onto the balcony, their faces turned skyward.
One of them wiped away the dribble of saliva escaping from the twisted corner of his mouth and said quietly, "I'll be salted."