Resort Debauch

by Roxanne Smolen

  Anneliese lifted her chin. She grit her teeth. Harmadeur's eyes glowed in the shadows. He removed his robe, laid his scabbard carefully upon the floor.

  "I trust you have not been waiting long.” He chuckled deep in his throat.

  Anneliese looked at the knife, then forced her eyes away. She turned slightly, hiding the stone teioid in her hand.

  "When next I see your husband, I will regale him with our story.” Harmadeur laughed loudly, hands on his hips.

  Suddenly, he lunged.

  Anneliese swung the pendant, striking him above the brow. A spray of blood spattered against her. The large man staggered backward, and she swung the stone again.

  Harmadeur caught her arm, throwing her. She slammed against the side of the cage. The curtain ripped, admitting a shaft of light.

  Anneliese backed away, holding her ribs. The pendant dangled from her hand. Harmadeur turned slowly, his face moving in and out of the light. Blood streamed from the bridge of his nose. He stepped forward and she struck him again, reveling in the sound of stone against skull. Harmadeur reared back, holding his eye.

  "Kill you,” Anneliese whispered.

  With a feral snarl, Harmadeur leapt for her, missed and crashed into the bars. Anneliese dove for the knife, skidding upon the robe. A blow to the back of her head flattened her.

  Harmadeur tore at her swaddling cloths, exposing her buttocks. He chuckled insanely. Anneliese struggled, reaching. At last, her fingers closed about the hilt of the blade. With a burst of strength, she twisted about, plunging the knife into his belly.

  A strangled sound escaped his throat. Anneliese's heart raced. She forced the knife further, using it to push him off her.

  The shaft of light fell across Harmadeur's face. His eyes were open. His bottom lip sucked in and out with his breath. Anneliese skittered away, pressed her back against the bars. She raised her hands to her mouth then realized they were covered with blood.

  She imagined she could hear his heartbeat, imagined the pulse slowing as his life puddled darkly beneath him. Then his expression went slack and she thought he must be dead.

  A moment of relief passed through her. Her eyes widened. She had killed a man.

  Anneliese stared at Harmadeur's body. She had to get away, had to find Cade. Still she sat there, rigid with terror, watching for movement.

  At last, she struggled to her feet. Reaching through the bars, she examined the door. The chip was in the lock! She pressed the key and the door clicked open.

  Anneliese sagged forward, suddenly weak. A montage of prayer ran through her head—half remembered rhymes recited from her childhood.

  She dressed in Harmadeur's robe, folds encompassing her small form, dragging behind her. The fabric was heavy and rough. Suddenly she realized the robe had no hood.

  A moment of panic gripped her. Without a hood to hide her face, she would never pass for a local. Her eyes darted then rested upon the knife in Harmadeur's stomach.

  She had to get that knife, had to touch his bloodied body—but what if he wasn't dead?

  Creeping forward, Anneliese reached for the hilt, plucking at it with her fingertips. A dark trail of blood oozed from the corner of the wound. The blade would not come free.

  She backed away, breathing noisily through her teeth. Suddenly, she grasped the hilt with both hands. The blade loosened with a wet sucking sound. Blood gushed as if she were removing a plug.

  Her legs crumpled beneath her. “Don't faint,” she whispered.

  Holding the knife toward the light, she examined the edge. Blood streaked the surface like tar. She wiped the blade on Harmadeur's boot. Then, taking a handful of hair, she sawed at her silver locks.

  Her hair, her beautiful hair! Tears rolled down her cheeks. Silvery strands fluttered about her shoulders.

  Mane of moonlight.

  She buried her fingers into the cropped tresses. She needed to darken her hair, needed to pass for a local—at least at a distance.

  Picking up the bowl of tea, Anneliese scrubbed a lock of fallen hair with the moss. Her hair did not pick up the color, but as she rubbed, Anneliese noticed her fingers turning darker. She held her hands into the light; her skin glowed deep amber, similar to that of the native-born.

  A grim smile tightened her lips. Anneliese rubbed the moss over her face, drawing the fibers over her neck and across her chest. She colored her hands and arms, then used the remains to stain her feet.

  Holding the knife before her, she again approached Harmadeur's body, searching his tunic for pockets. She removed the goggles hanging from his neck. Blood congealed on the stone about him.

  Blood like ink.

  Anneliese gnawed her lip. Her pulse quickened and her breath hissed. With a trembling hand, she touched the dark puddle.

  The blood was still warm—thick and sticky. It flowed in strings through her fingers. Holding her breath, she raised her hand to her head, slicking back her hair.

  Waves of nausea swept over her. Gagging, Anneliese scooped up more of the clotted fluid, coating her silver hair. Liquid dripped down the back of her neck. At last, she got to her feet.

  Anneliese pulled the goggles over her eyes. Concealing the knife within a voluminous sleeve, she left the cage.

  CHAPTER 10

  Windblown dust pelted the back of the robe. Anneliese glanced to either side. Her heart hammered and her breath caught in her throat. She had to get away before the gaoler discovered what she had done.

  Hoisting the robe, she walked along the row of cages. Drapes flapped and thrummed against the bars. The goggles slid down her nose. Through the haze, she saw people in the street, their bodies bent with the wind, robes flying.

  Keeping her head down, Anneliese stepped into the open, hunching forward, matching the gait of those ahead. Her ears rang, and her body felt numb with fear. After a distance, she ducked behind a building.

  Free! She'd escaped! She leaned against the wall. Her hands shook and she wrung them together. She had to get to the Resort, had to find her husband. Something terrible must have happened to him.

  Peering about the corner, Anneliese noticed an older couple in bright clothing. The man wrapped his arm about the woman as they bucked the wind. Guests of the hotel, Anneliese thought. If she followed them, they would lead her to the Resort. She stepped away from the wall.

  A hand fell upon her shoulder. Anneliese spun about. A local man squinted at her, jabbering and tugging. Did he recognize the robe? Anneliese shuffled sideways, and the man stepped to block her escape.

  Anneliese bared her teeth. With unaccustomed strength, she pushed the man down, crouching over him, waving Harmadeur's knife. The man's head bounced against the ground. He stared, spreading his hands.

  Anneliese heard the growl in her throat. She thought that she had split in two, her rational side watching, clucking its tongue. It was the tea, she realized; the moss was a drug, numbing her wounds and stimulating her body. She remembered Harmadeur's story about an army out of control.

  Turning her back, Anneliese ran. Stones bit the bottoms of her feet. She dodged the few people left to the streets—a woman wrapped in a shawl, a man leaning into his step. Panting heavily, she pulled between the buildings, her heart twisting in her chest, thoughts twisting in her mind.

  The tea was a drug! And Cade had not warned her!

  Would she have harmed that man?

  A sound turned her head: a young child sat in a window. Anneliese glanced at the knife in her hand and, suddenly embarrassed, tucked the blade into her sleeve. She offered a smile, but the youngster was gone.

  Anneliese continued along the street. In an alley, she glimpsed the couple she planned to follow and trotted after them. The woman's bright caftan was a beacon in the dust.

  The buildings sheltered her from the brunt of the wind. Pebbles rained from the rooftops. Above, the sky took on a pink cast. Sunset, she thought. Soon it would be dark. She glanced about uneasily.

  The couple paused at a stand of baskets. Lowering
her head, Anneliese pulled around them and then stepped behind a bundle of reeds, pretending to brush a stone from her foot.

  A ruckus caught her attention. Anneliese looked up. A dozen security guards marched toward her up the street. Their dark boots thudded against the gravel pavement. Pedestrians hurried out of their way.

  Anneliese froze. They must have found Harmadeur's body, she thought. She imagined squadrons of guards fanning out through the city, searching for her.

  The guards passed, marching in pairs, their goggles gray with dust. Onlookers pointed and stared. Then the two tourists moved on, and Anneliese followed the bright caftan.

  The narrow streets wound through the waning light. The houses were surprisingly distinctive—some with baskets or stacked wheel hubs at their doors, others with designs etched into the stone.

  Anneliese dodged a passerby, wincing. Her feet hurt. A gust of wind swirled between the buildings, bits of rock stinging her face. Where were these people leading? She seemed to be edging deeper into the city.

  A bicyclist shouted and she leapt to the side, stumbling against a wall. Cooking aromas wafted through the air, and her stomach growled. She thought of the gaoler's nameless gruel.

  The streets filled as the sunlight failed. Anneliese hunkered down within the robe. Eyes darting behind the goggles, she watched the people around her. She saw a child weaving cloth on a handloom, a woman dragging a cart filled with straw. Anneliese gave them wide berth, and then walked backward, staring.

  Fingers snagged her robe. Anneliese spun about, bumping into a woman sitting upon a rock. The woman's eyes were dull and rheumy, and her front teeth were as black as her cigarette. She tugged at Anneliese.

  "Let go!” Anneliese cried.

  The woman twisted on her perch, reaching for Anneliese's face, her movement revealing a missing leg. “Babesh,” she said.

  Anneliese snatched her robe away and ran. Turning a corner, she saw the two tourists board a bicyclist's cart.

  "No!” she cried, bursting into the open. She would never keep up with them now. She gnawed her lip as the cart pulled away.

  Then, through the gathering dusk, Anneliese saw the Resort Debauch. It rose above the city like a fortress, lights winking in the haze. Anneliese sucked in her breath.

  She was going to make it!

  The street was wider than most, the stone scarred by trafficking bicycles. Huge braziers stood along its length, flames leaping and roaring. Anneliese circled the light, keeping to the shadows. Gravel cut her feet. Fatigue sapped her spirit—the waning affect of the tea. She wondered if she would be able to scrub the stain from her skin. The first thing she would do when she got back to her room would be to take a long bath.

  Wind swirled down the street, strafing the buildings with small stones. Anneliese hunched forward, protecting her face. The Resort was farther than she'd thought. A dull ache inched across her side. Panting, she turned down a narrow alley, head buzzing with the sudden absence of wind. She sat heavily, sliding down the pitted wall, drawing her knees to her chest.

  Her feet were bleeding. No matter, she thought. Soon enough, all her wounds would be dressed. She imagined herself stretched out upon fragrant, silken sheets.

  Two men entered the darkened alleyway, voices raised in argument. Anneliese fingered the knife in her sleeve. Go away, she pleaded silently.

  But the men took no notice of her. One shoved the other, who in turn swung a fist. They scuffled, slamming against the buildings, the sound of their breath loud in the enclosed space. The flash of a blade appeared between them.

  Anneliese covered her mouth with her hands. She saw the knife slash down, saw the stricken man fall. A scream crawled up her throat. Struggling with her robe, she ran into the street, colliding with a jinrikisha.

  A flash of pain lit the night. Dazedly, she brushed at her hands. The cabber leaned over her, shouting and shaking his fist. Behind him, a man's shadow stood in the alley.

  Anneliese ran. Darkness hindered her vision, but she dared not remove the goggles, dared not reveal her face.

  A group of tourists laughed, calling, “Run, thief! They're right behind you!"

  But no one was in pursuit. After a while, she slowed, favoring her left leg, her skin clammy and tingling with exertion. Above, the wind growled, the sky lowering with night.

  Then the Resort was before her. Anneliese gazed at the imposing door. Reaching tentatively, she ran her hands over the day-warmed metal.

  A sudden realization shot through her—she had no docking pass. How would she get inside?

  "Ahkee noij’ glecknal!” A man rushed out of the darkness, swatting at her.

  A guard! Anneliese retreated to the shadows. She held her arms tightly to stop them from shaking.

  The man stepped from the entrance, sitting in the street beside a bicycle. Just a cabber hoping for a fare, she realized.

  Carefully, Anneliese crept closer. She would wait for someone to leave the Resort, and then push past before the door closed. If she moved quickly, they'd be unable to stop her.

  But even as the plan formed, her husband's words came back to her—the corridor was under constant surveillance. If a local should get inside, they'd turn the lights up to roast.

  Anneliese pulled at her ruined hair. She couldn't think, couldn't imagine what to do. Lifting her goggles, she wiped her eyes. She needed to rest.

  Suddenly, she thought of the man in the alley, imagined him finding her, slitting her throat while she slept.

  Anneliese got to her feet, edging between the buildings. Sounds surrounded her—the cries of an infant, a mother's answering song. Farther, she heard the laughter of Resort patrons. She followed the path to a winding street, limping upon the gravel, finally coming to a tent.

  The communal toilet.

  Anneliese held her breath with the wind. The sides of the tent moved in and out as if it were alive.

  Only a crazed person would spend the night in such a place, she thought. No one would search for her there. She ducked through the entrance, blinking in the dark.

  Oddly, the stench was less inside. Anneliese moved forward carefully. A straw-like material covered the ground, and it snapped and rustled beneath her feet.

  At the base of a support pole, she swept an area clean then sat upon her haunches. She wouldn't sleep, she told herself, only rest until she could work out a plan. She listened to the sound of the wind.

  * * * *

  Blazing sunlight awakened her. Anneliese jumped up then staggered backward. Two women stared at her, one holding a rake like a weapon, the other tittering behind her hand. The sides of the tent were up and the stone beyond was blinding.

  Anneliese ducked beneath the tent's skeleton, hurrying into the street. Pain seeped through her confusion. Damn! The stone was hot!

  She hobbled into a shadowed alcove, sitting quickly, inspecting her scorched feet. Her heels were ragged with crescent-shaped wounds. Filth caked her toes. She covered them with the robe.

  Looking out from her meager shelter, she watched the women in the tent. They bent over their rakes, attending their chore. The woman who had laughed still stared at Anneliese, and the other jostled her roughly to set her to work.

  Anneliese leaned against the warm wall. The wind had died and the air was stifling. She looked up at the cloudless sky, the glaring sun; then her gaze fell upon the Resort Debauch.

  She couldn't get inside.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she slid the goggles off. Covering her face with her hands, Anneliese wept. Her body ached and she was hungry. She wanted to go home.

  The sound of marching boots gave her pause. Anneliese kept her head down and the guards continued on, unnoticing.

  She had to get off the street, she thought. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she pulled the goggles roughly in place. Where could she go? She had no friends. Suddenly, she thought of Surah Rudnitsky.

  A smile eased her face. Of course! Cade once said he trusted Surah. Anneliese remembered th
e woman's kindness.

  But the lounge was on the other side of the city. Anneliese stared at the scorching street. Sliding the knife from her sleeve, she slashed her robe, ripping the cloth into long strips. She padded her feet with scraps of fabric then bound them securely.

  Anneliese stood, muscles protesting, and lurched forward. Vendors passed, dragging their wares to the market. Children chased in circles. Landmarks came easily. She remembered the patterned awning over one door, wind chimes in another window. How odd that she thought the buildings were alike when Cade first brought her to the city.

  Cade. His name felt like a weight. Would they ever have the life she envisioned? She remembered the day they'd met: she'd blundered unannounced into her father's study where Cade awaited an interview. He stood quickly, regaling her with his startling smile.

  "What's this? Yet another work of art? I can see why you were not included on the tour.” He cocked his head, his hair spilling over one brow. “Do you have a name, or is that a secret as well?"

  And Anneliese had stuttered and blushed, mispronouncing her name as if it were not her own. Cade stepped close, taking her hands, lifting them to his lips.

  "I know of a world where the people spin silver so fine it rivals moonlight. They would envy you your beautiful hair."

  Anneliese blinked from her reverie, tears stinging her eyes. She raised a hand to her hair, feeling crusted blood. Cade! Dear God! How could she live through this nightmare?

  She fell to her knees in the middle of the street, pounding her fists upon the gravel. Voices rose as the traffic parted. She covered her ears. Damn you all, her mind cried. Look what I've become. I hate this city. Hate this world. I want to go home.

  Gradually, she became aware of a clattering sound. Anneliese looked up. An old man walked toward her, shimmering like a mirage, balancing two stone ewers upon a pole. He looked at her for a moment, and then moved to the side of the street, lowering his load, sitting with a grunt across from Anneliese. Traffic funneled between them.

  The old man smiled. He pulled a wide-mouthed jug into his lap and, twisting the lid, lifted a dipper of water.