by Jill Braden
She paused on the stairs as she saw movement high in shadowy peak of the ceiling. A lock of hair that had escaped her perfect curls rose as if lifted by invisible fingers. She knew it was a waft of air from the overhead fans, but enjoyed a brief fantasy that the house was deserted and haunted. She smiled as she walked the rest of the flight of stairs. How could any place this sunny and cheerful be haunted?
At the top landing, the hallway branched right and left. One direction presumably led to her rooms, the other to Kyam’s. There was nothing to do but open doors and hope it was obvious where she was meant to live.
The heavy farwriter case banged against her leg with each step down the lushly carpeted hallway, as if it were grandfather tapping her with his cane to hurry up. She pictured him pacing angrily between the rows of hundreds of farwriters in his ballroom as he awaited her message. He probably already knew the Golden Barracuda had arrived in port.
The short hallway to the left led to double doors with a high, peaked arch. The moment she opened them she knew the rooms were Kyam’s. Every door to the veranda was wide open, but the room still smelled of oil paint and thinner.
Someone had told her he painted flowers. She’d pictured tasteful bouquets. These flowers however were bold and bright, and vaguely obscene, although she couldn’t say why they made her feel that way. One looked like a bratty child sticking its tongue out at her.
Curious, Nashruu flipped through a sketchbook on the corner of a paint-spattered table. She liked the charcoal drawings on those pages much more than his paintings. Some were sketches of women balancing large, flat baskets on their heads. Others were groups of Ponongese squatting under a tree like that gigantic one on the edge of the town square. He’d drawn several of an ancient cat-man smoking a kur.
Nashruu drew in a breath as she flipped the next page. At some point, he’d sketched QuiTai. The sharpness of her features was exaggerated to make her look cruel. Page after page, her glare challenged anyone who dared gaze at her. Nashruu flipped back toward the front of the book and stopped when another picture caught her eye. Kyam had drawn QuiTai again, but this time she sat on steps with her arms wrapped around her knees, looking as if she were about to laugh. She appeared younger, more carefree than she had on the wharf. The sketch was lovingly rendered. Intimate.
At some point, QuiTai and Kyam had shared this moment; he’d wanted to capture it. It meant something to him.
It felt as if she’d peered into something too personal. Grandfather would want to know about this. He’d badger her for details. Maybe when she was a seasoned agent, such things would come easily to her, but for now, she saw a line she would not cross.
She closed the sketchpad and hurried out of the room.
~ ~ ~
Nashruu found her suite across the landing from Kyam’s room. Filtered light cast the sitting room before her in a soothing glow. A little yellow and white striped settee and two delicate chairs were arranged before an ornamental fireplace. Unlike the dark carpet covering Kyam’s floor, the one in her room was cream with pastel yellow and pink flowers. No one could have matched her taste so exactly without going to great effort.
She would write Kyam a nice little note of thanks. And she might even say it to him over dinner. The idea delighted her. They’d have something to talk about.
She set up her farwriter on a petite dressing table in her bedroom. Even though she knew she was alone, she cast a glance over her shoulder and at the veranda before pressing her fingertips against the biolock. She pried her frequency book out of the tight, hidden compartment in the copper-bound leather case. She’d randomly selected frequencies from the master list and diligently recorded them in two books – one for her, the other to sit beside the farwriter assigned to her in Grandfather’s ballroom.
She hugged the book to her chest and tapped her toes in a quick little dance of joy. Then she opened it to page one and hummed a jaunty tune as she set the frequency on her farwriter to the numbers on line one of page one.
Now singing, she wound her field battery. It took about a hundred churns of the handle above the copper wire coil to charge the battery, but rather than count the spins, she wondered who consulted the books and adjusted the frequencies on all Grandfather’s farwriters now. Surely not he himself. But whom could he trust? Not his servants. Perhaps her mother-in-law was Grandfather’s new assistant. The thought of Liragme Zul rising before noon made her laugh. Only Grandfather would dare make the Grande Dame of Surrayyan society do such a thing.
The moment she secured the battery to her machine, the incoming bell rang, and paper coiled out almost faster than she could read. The gist was that Grandfather wanted her to report immediately, and where was she, damn it? The message repeated. Only Grandfather’s scolding varied.
Feeling bold, she spoke to the machine. “I’ve just arrived. The voyage was pleasant enough, thank you very much. Cousin Hadre sends his… not love, but his greetings.” She’d never type a message like that, but it felt good to say to out loud. Now that she was almost free, she wanted to try all those things she’d never dared do before – like talking back to Grandfather.
She let the paper scroll to the floor as she prepared to send her reply. She scooted her chair over a bit, then a bit more. She cleared her throat. Her fingers curved over the keys as if she were about to play a concerto for a salon filled with the cream of Thampurian society.
Have arrived at the family compound. NaZ
I have been kept waiting. TtZ
The machine couldn’t sense emotion, so it wasn’t possible for it to pour out messages faster when Grandfather’s face grew red and he jabbed his fingers at the keyboard, but it felt as if it did. She tore off the long ribbon of paper and searched around the room for somewhere to burn it. There was no fireplace in her room and nothing with a flame. She placed it beside the machine as she reached for the incoming message.
She read the paper with increasing panic. No wonder Grandfather was so wild to reach her.
Why did Kyam arrest Lady QuiTai? TtZ
Go to the fortress and make sure those fools don’t hang her. Talk to Colonel Hurust, head of the colonial militia. Use your discretion, but evoke our royal cousin if you must. TtZ
Nashruu wasn’t sure how he expected her to convince Colonel Hurust without evoking the power of the King, in fact.
“Excuse me, Colonel, but my husband the governor arrested Lady QuiTai an hour ago. And even though you don’t know me or understand why I think I should be able to override my husband’s decisions, why don’t you let her go?” Yes, she imagined that would be an effective tactic.
Why would Kyam deliberately deliver Lady QuiTai to the one place we can’t protect her? TtZ
She’d never suspected the old man of musing in his communications, although she’d often seen his fingers hover over a keyboard before as if he were deep in thought.
“Maybe, Grandfather, he did it because he hates you.”
She had to stop saying such things out loud. Her servants would report it to him. But it felt so good to blurt out the bitter words she’d been forced to swallow for so long.
Enough of that. Time to work.
Why had Kyam arrested QuiTai? According to their information, the two had been close at one time. Kyam’s sketch of QuiTai confirmed it. Grandfather suspected Kyam and QuiTai were carrying on an affair, but his agents swore that if they were, they were so discreet that it was impossible to catch them together. Or perhaps they hadn’t been caught together because Lady QuiTai’s lover was Captain Voorus, not Kyam.
Nashruu shook her head so hard the fall of curls down her shoulder bounced. Voorus would never touch a Ponongese woman. In the Zul clan, Grandfather urged respect for the Ponongese; but Voorus, like most Thampurians, had openly made derogatory comments about the colony’s natives years ago. Grandfather’s agents said his stance hadn’t changed much in the years he’d been exiled to the island. But their reports also said he had never taken a lover, and she’d seen how closely he
stood to that woman.
Now is not the time for petty jealousies, she scolded herself.
She realized Grandfather must be waiting for a reply. Her graceful fingers struck the keys in quick succession.
I will see what I can do. NaZ
Why are you still sitting there? Go! And you better do more than try! Keep me informed. TtZ
Nashruu emptied her purse onto the bed and shoved the farwriter paper into it. On the way out, she’d stop by the kitchen and put the papers in the cooking fire. Hands on her hips, she took a deep breath. This was it. This was what she’d been trained to do for years.
She was going to have an adventure.
Chapter 5: To the Fortress
Kyam looked for an empty car when he and QuiTai boarded the funicular, but there wasn’t one. They handed their tickets back to the operator, even though he’d been the one to sell the tickets to them. Only in Levapur, Kyam thought.
The operator slammed the door shut and locked it.
QuiTai faced the window with her hands clasped loosely at her waist. With the first jolt as the funicular began its long trip down to the harbor, she laced her fingers into the grill under the window. No matter what she did, her pose was graceful.
His arms felt awkward when he held onto the grill. Flashes of pity for her made him feel as if he was doing something terribly wrong. But she’d agreed to the deal. She’d proposed it!
Why did he feel so guilty?
Would she keep her word? The only promise he’d known her to break was when he’d asked for her help escaping the island before the rice riot. Okay, it wasn’t a promise, exactly. She’d offered to find him berth on a smuggler’s boat. He’d taken too long to say yes. Whose fault was that?
Hers.
He winced. She was right. He was sulking. Angry with her for being right, he stared at the dusty spider web in the corner of the window the rest of the trip.
At the harbor, the other passengers rushed the door as soon as the lower station operator unlocked it. Kyam and QuiTai followed them at a slower pace.
As they passed the Harbor Master’s office, Kyam whistled sharply to get the attention of two soldiers slumped in the shade and motioned for them to follow him.
“They’ll row us out to the fortress.” He didn’t know why he was telling her what she already knew. His nerves were showing.
QuiTai sauntered across the small beach at the bottom of the cliff. He helped her over a tangle of kelp in the sand. Small crabs scuttled over the slick leaves and avoided the sandy jellyfish nearby.
“Did you ever finish that portrait of me?” she asked.
He’d been thinking of that afternoon too. “No.”
“Hmm. The Devil paid you handsomely for it, in advance.”
He was sure she was teasing him, maybe to help calm his nerves. “Tell him I’ll gladly return the coins.”
“You can tell him yourself if you decide you want his name.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’d give up articles of transport, even for the name of the Devil.”
“Thank goodness you’re being sensible, for once,” she said.
He cast a dubious glance at her.
“Let me explain. You can’t have your articles of transport if you don’t get me out of the fortress. So I hope you want them so badly your skin itches for them. And I want you to know that the only way you’ll ever relieve that itch is to hold up your end of our bargain.”
They reached the militia’s private dock, jutting from the beach near where the fishermen hung their nets to dry. The drying poles were mostly empty this time of day, and it would be several hours before they returned to the small docks in the shallowest part of the harbor.
QuiTai tapped her sandals against the dock to knock the white sand from them. The breeze sent a lock of her hair fluttering against her cheek. Her fingers curled around it and slowly pulled it behind her ear.
If he had been facing his last hours, he would have looked to the sea. She turned her back to it. Her gaze climbed past Levapur to the high, mist-shrouded mountains. She seemed to drink in the rich green. Then she closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun.
“The soldiers are here,” he said quietly. He hated to disturb her meditation.
“It will be all right. I will survive.”
At least that’s what he thought she said, but then the soldiers stomped across the creaking dock and complained to him about rowing across the harbor while the sun was high. While they argued, she climbed into the boat, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.
As the boat made its way across the harbor to the fortress, she turned from her beloved island to face the stone walls. Distress etched deep lines around her eyes as she gazed at the bodies hanging from the ramparts. By sunset, unless he got her out, she might be one of them.
He liked this deal less with each moment that passed. It looked too easy because it was. He didn’t have to charge her with anything to arrest her, and the militia didn’t need an excuse to hang her once she was in their clutches. Thankfully, they tended to wait until sunset to execute prisoners, but that wasn’t guaranteed.
The rowboat collided with the short dock outside the fortress gate. He climbed out first and extended a hand to her. She seemed calm, but her hand trembled in his.
Despite the months of silence between them, he felt as if he should comfort her. Again it seemed to be his fault she ended up here. He stood beside her as the towering gate of the fortress swung open and revealed the dark maw of the tunnel behind.
“You could have asked me for almost anything else, and I would have done everything in my power to give it to you,” he whispered. His heart pleaded with him to ask, So why did you ask for this?, but he refused to listen to it.
She pushed his hand away and stepped forward. “I know.”
“You want to be here?”
“Want isn’t the right word. It’s my duty.”
~ ~ ~
The interior doors shut behind Kyam and QuiTai. She put her hands to her ears as the clanging echoed down the arched tunnel. She’d done the same thing a year ago when Voorus had brought them here. He should have asked her what had happened between her and Voorus. When had they become friends? What had he missed during the past months?
Flecks of mica in the stone reflected the green glow of jellylanterns along the tunnel. He squinted at the bright sunlight at the end of the tunnel, where lush grass and the brilliant blue sky made the prison section look almost cheerful. The sun overpowered the white light jellylantern inside the barred admittance window carved into the wall.
A bored soldier lifted his pen over his form as they stepped closer to it. “Name?”
“Lady QuiTai,” Kyam said.
The pen didn’t move, but the soldier’s eyes rose. He slowly smiled. “We’ve been waiting for you for a long time, snake.”
She turned to Kyam. “I do hope you’ll escort me to my cell. One would hate for there to be an accident.”
He knew what she meant, but he said, “An accident?” because he knew instinctively that was his line. Moments like this were when he missed working with her the most.
Tiny smile lines formed around her eyes. She tilted her head and gave the soldier a coy side glance. “The proper term should be an on-purpose, because there wouldn’t be anything accidental about it at all.”
“I assure you, nothing will happen to you here. Correct?” He glared at the soldier but received no assurances.
QuiTai’s hands clasped at her chest. This time she looked like a hapless ingénue pleading with the villain. Her transformation caught him off guard. She so rarely acted for his benefit.
Unless she always did.
He didn’t know.
She turned wide eyes on him that brimmed with tears. “You have my word that I have no intention of attempting to escape, and my fangs will remain firmly against the roof of my mouth.”
The soldier grunted as if he found that funny. Kyam didn’t. She was in real danger here.
No matter what insurance she thought she had, it wasn’t enough.
He grabbed her arm. “I’ll take charge of my prisoner. I may have questions later, and I want her alive to answer them.”
“Do what you want, Governor. It won’t change her fate,” the soldier said.
He pulled her back even though he knew the soldier couldn’t reach through the bars. Fear set an icy finger on his soul and made its mark. “This is a mistake. You’re coming with me,” he whispered.
He grabbed her forearm to pull her out of the fortress. Her sleeve pulled up and he saw another cuff at her wrist, as if she were wearing another blouse under this one. That explained her rumpled appearance. Had she thought to keep herself warm in her cell?
She leaned into his hold and twisted her wrist out of his grip, pulling away in a smooth motion. The double layer of cloth made her impossible to hold. “We have a deal, Governor. You’re not getting out of it so easily.”
The soldier from the admitting window came out of his office and hailed another soldier out on the parade grounds. Both men raised their hands to the biolocks that activated the gate.
The gate opened. She walked to the middle of the grassy parade ground and stopped. Was she remembering how the werewolves shifted and then slipped through the bars of their cells? He still had nightmares about that insane leap she’d made into the harbor, barely missing the rocks below. Was she plotting yet another fantastic escape? She wouldn’t need to if she would come away with him right now.
A soldier led them toward one of the cells built into the fortress wall under the ramparts. They were open to the elements, but she’d be able to see the sky and the mountains of her beloved island over the fortress walls.