The old trader said, “What's to keep us from taking these and not returning?"
"I have more."
"How much more?” the blue-eyed man asked.
"My lava field is very large. I can accommodate your buyers,” she said.
The third trader made a disgusted sound. “How do you know this field of yours won't be found by someone else?"
Anneliese smiled, lifting her glass. “No one has yet.” She took a large gulp of milk then wiped her mouth with the side of her hand. She could feel the eyes of the third trader upon her, staring.
Perhaps she looked familiar to him, too, and he was trying to place her. Would it hurt or help, she wondered, if he knew she was Mortar Thielman's daughter?
"The quality is good,” Blue Eyes said. “Marketable."
The old trader laughed. “The market hasn't seen the like of this in fifty years. And you say you have more?"
"Don't tell me you're falling for this scam.” The third trader set the stone spinning across the table. “Two or three good pieces, and she has you fawning all over her. There's a good reason why this hasn't been seen in fifty years—there is no more malpais!"
"Maybe there is and maybe there isn't,” the elder man said. “Where credits are concerned, I keep an open mind."
"And when she doesn't deliver, then where are you going to be?” He threw his hands in the air. “Fools. Both of you. And you the biggest of all if you think I don't see through this little sham."
Anneliese couldn't respond. She hadn't anticipated hostility. The trader got to his feet, then leaned across the table, his face inches from hers.
"No sir, little beauty, you don't fool me."
Little beauty. Dear God! It was Prin, Cade's friend. The man who'd locked her in her room the night she'd been abducted. Anneliese felt the blood rush from her face. Her fingers tightened about the glass of milk.
He doesn't know me, she told herself. He probably calls every woman that. She stared as Prin headed toward the staircase.
The elder man got to his feet. “It's a risky venture, but I may have a lead or two. I'll leave word for you in a few days.” Pocketing one of the stones, he left the Inn.
He didn't believe her, either, Anneliese thought. Her plan had failed. Lifting her gaze, she faced the blue-eyed trader.
The man smiled. “As I was saying, the quality is good. As for the risks, life wouldn't be worth much without them."
She fought to keep her voice level. “Do you have buyers, Mister...?"
"Hunter. Steven Hunter. I believe we can do business. How much are you asking?"
"Enough to meet my needs,” she said.
He hefted the glowing rock. “If you can provide more of this, you will be rich beyond any need. You will own this planet."
With a wink, he stood and walked away. Anneliese slumped in her chair.
Wathe sat beside her. “I don't understand."
"It's business,” she said. “First, you gain their interest by flooding the market with your stone. Sell to whomever makes an offer. Then, when the eyes of the galaxy turn toward the Llaird, you stop the flow—until they meet your demands. And one of those demands will be a controlling interest in the Resort Debauch."
"We don't want to control them, we want them off our world."
"That is too big a step. The Resort is a powerful enemy—you need to cut them down at the knee.” A saying she'd heard her father use.
Her father. Anneliese covered her face, wishing she'd never left her father's stronghold, wishing she could lock herself in her room and never come out. What made her think she could pose as a trader? She picked up the remaining piece of malpais.
"Let's get out of here,” she said to Wathe.
Anneliese blinked at the strong sunlight as she pushed through the Wayfarer's outer drape. Forgotten heat seared her skin.
Wathe raised his goggles. “Do you trust that man?"
"No.” She tugged at her crumpled hat. “Trust is not part of the game. We will use him to get what we want."
"And he will use us. A dangerous game, even for a prophet."
Anneliese sighed. He was right—the plan had been doomed from the start. She looked toward the communications building. She could call her father, she thought, and wait for him to take her home. She could leave the Llaird to run the negotiations.
She shook her head. None of the Llaird grasped what she was doing. Not even Sayer. They were like babes, and she'd be throwing them to the wolves.
She thought of Sayer then, picturing him sitting in the mouth of the cave. Waiting. A warm rush of hope filled her. She pulled the hat over her eyes. Life wouldn't be worth much without risk, she told herself.
Turning her back, Anneliese walked away from the communications array. She retraced the remembered route out of the city. The streets were blinding white. Low slung huts rose to either side. She hung the sack over one shoulder, feeling the weight of the stone Prin had refused.
Then a man crossed her path, nearly knocking her down. Anneliese caught a glimpse of a white turban.
Wathe grabbed her arm, pulling her away. “Did he harm you?"
"Only startled me.” She smiled, looking at him quizzically.
He kept his grip upon her, glancing about. “I thought he was the white-haired man."
"What man?” asked Anneliese.
"Sayer-Kihn warned me of a man who searches Enceinte for the murderess of the Security Master. The man has paved the streets in coin, paying for information."
Anneliese turned cold inside. Sayer knew about Harmadeur? Then a new thought struck her. “Did Sayer mention a reward?"
Wathe's eyes shifted. “I'm not aware of such."
She staggered back. Of course there would be a reward, she thought. That's why Sayer was so happy to take her into his custody. He was holding her until a better deal could be struck.
Anneliese pressed her palms against her temples. She'd been a prisoner after all, a slave seduced by words of love. How could she be so trusting? “Dear God, not again."
"I am charged with your safety,” Wathe said.
"And from whom should you save me?” she asked bitterly. “Sayer or the bounty hunter?"
"The white-haired man.” He frowned. “The stranger who shares your name."
"What did you say?"
"The man whose name is Thielman."
She shoved him. “My father? My father is here looking for me—and Sayer-Kihn kept me from him?"
Wathe-Taln shook his head. “This man is your sire?"
"Damn you. What other secrets are you hiding?"
He reached for her arm. “The chiliarch will explain."
Anneliese pulled the gun from her sack, pointing it at her bodyguard. “I'll listen to no more of his stories."
Wathe's eyes hardened. “You are not the Jefe-Naik."
Anneliese's aim wavered. An aircraft screamed overhead and she glanced up distractedly. “Look, I've ended your Fool's War,” she said. “I've given you a real chance for change. Just follow it through."
"I do not play your game.” Wathe sneered.
She took a step away. “Go back to your barrow, Wathe. Tell Sayer ... I'm glad I found out in time."
Turning, Anneliese ran toward the loading docks. Her boots pounded the heated pavement, exertion plastering her jacket to her body. Her father was looking for her—she turned the thought over in her mind, incredulous. If he were on this world, the yacht would be in orbit. She could leave word of her whereabouts with the crew.
The streets were empty, the local workers sleeping through the heat of day. She rounded a stack of crates, and then bounded down a short stairwell cutting into the side of the communications building.
A locked door barred her way. Anneliese slammed it with her shoulder.
"Damn it!” she cried, pounding. “Open this door!"
"He's probably gone for something to eat.” A woman looked down at her from the street.
"I have to get a message to my ship,” Anneli
ese said.
The woman shrugged. “He'll reopen at sundown."
Anneliese watched her walk away, and then sank upon the steps. Sweat streamed down her face. Scrubbing away hated tears, she shouldered her sack, returning to the Wayfarer Inn.
The tavern was busy, laughter rising in waves. She felt eyes upon her as she crossed to the bar.
"What can I get for you?” the barkeep asked.
"I want a quiet room and a meal,” she said.
"That will be three local scalar."
Anneliese fished inside her sack, drawing out the remaining piece of malpais. The man's eyes lit as he lifted the stone from the bar.
"Enough?” she asked him.
He handed her a rectangular keychip. “Room 16B, down the tunnel to the left."
Anneliese followed the shadowed hall. Noise deadened as if the tavern had been cut off—a trick of the rock, she thought. She slid the chip into its slot and the door of her room clicked open. Light flickered from bars set in the ceiling.
Sitting upon the lumpy cot, Anneliese removed her boots. Above the bureau, a spotted mirror looked back at her. She turned away from her face.
A knock came at the door. Anneliese tucked the gun into her waistband, peering outside. She found her dinner untended on a tray upon the floor. A pitcher of ale, a bowl of stegort, and a loaf of steaming bread.
She carried the tray to the bureau, drank the ale too fast, setting her head swimming. The bread was laced with morels. She ate half, wrapped the rest in the napkin draping the tray.
Then, finding the control for the lights, she lay in pitch-darkness, picturing the face of Sayer-Kihn.
* * * *
Anneliese startled herself awake, forgetting for a moment where she was. Standing before the bureau, she stared at the remains of her supper. The stegort was shriveled from sitting out. She tore off a piece, chewing it solemnly, then placed the rest of the meat and the bread in her sack. Tucking the gun into the sash at her waist, she left the room.
The tavern was quiet. A woman stood behind the bar, looking as if she would rather be asleep. Anneliese placed her key upon the counter as she walked past.
Outside, the air was dry and still, the sky fiery with sunset. Floodlights painted the dockyards in stark white and blue shadow.
Anneliese stepped out of the way of a local man walking behind a repulsor trolley. The trolley was unwieldy and overloaded. Someone's shipment had come in, she thought. Several shipments, in fact—the yard boasted an imbroglio of people and crates. Hovercraft hung overhead, jockeying for position, and workmen moved their employers’ possessions from pile to pile.
She fixed her eyes upon the communications building. Soon she would be safe, she thought. She would be on her father's moon, imprisoned as neatly as with any cage.
A bird struggling against its captors.
Anneliese bit her lip, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Sayer had been the consummate liar, she thought, saying all the right words, looking into her heart and playing upon her pain. And she'd wanted to believe him, needed to believe. She was strong when he was with her.
A crash stole her attention. The trolley had failed, scattering its load upon the rock. Instantly, a barrel-chested trader appeared, bellowing red-faced at the laborer. The man stood meekly, eyes downcast, shoulders collapsed.
Anneliese winced, looking away. She could not help people who believed themselves worthless. Yet, she'd thought herself worthless most of her life. When had her perceptions changed?
She circled around the back of the Inn, hoping to keep out of the way, plotting a route to the communications hut. Shadows gathered beyond the reaches of the dockyard, night swallowing the last vestiges of day. Leftover heat swelled from the pavement.
She turned down a narrow alley. Soon she would be safe. She thought of soft clothing and cool sheets, wondered if her bedroom was as she'd left it. What would her father say when he saw her? Her smile broadened.
But her step slowed. A stand of boxes piled three deep blocked the alley. Damn! She'd lose time if she went back around. Perhaps she could squeeze between them.
She jarred the wall of cartons. The box on top wobbled. She took a step back, hands on her hips.
Behind her, a voice said, “Hello, Lisa."
Anneliese froze, replaying the words, her stomach filling with dread. She turned, forcing herself to face him.
"Hello, Cade,” she said.
CHAPTER 40
Cade showed a crooked smile, hair spilling over his forehead. He was so handsome. Anneliese found herself leaning forward, irresistibly drawn to the man. Hope resurrected itself. Perhaps he hadn't betrayed her, after all. Perhaps it was all a mistake.
"Lisa,” he said. “At last."
And she stammered like a child. “Cade, what are you doing here?"
"I've come for you, of course."
Anneliese's stomach wrenched, as if she were falling. “Stay where you are."
"But, aren't you happy to see me?” he asked.
Yes, she cried silently. She flexed her fingers, arms aching. Images flashed through her mind: Cade standing in a garden of stars—Harmadeur before her in the cage.
Something within her screamed. She swayed, remembering, reliving the horror as hands tore at her breasts, teeth bruising her lips. Cade moved toward her slowly, so slowly, and as if in a dream, she took the gun from her waist and leveled it at his chest.
His eyes narrowed but the smile remained. “I see you've figured it out. Maybe you have more intelligence than I'd given you credit for."
Anneliese blinked with the sting of his words. “I know about your gambling debts. I know you orchestrated my death with that explosion at the Resort. But why, Cade.... “She paused, afraid to ask, afraid he would not deny her accusations. “Why did you put me in that cage?"
"Why?” He barked an explosive laugh. “Because everything you have was meant for me. My mother loved Mortar Thielman. And he loved her. Until that libertine came between them."
Anneliese shook her head. What was he saying? “My mother was not—"
"Yes, she was.” Cade's face contorted into a mask, feral and vicious. “Surah did all she could to make him see that. She was crazy with despair, tried to make him jealous with another man, some trader she didn't even know. So, I was born without the life I deserved, and you were born to a whore."
Anneliese staggered against the wall of boxes. Her head pounded as if the world were crashing down. “Personal? Are you saying this was all personal, that the plot was against me and not against my wealth?"
"Oh, your money repaid my creditors all right. But Harmadeur would never be satisfied with mere repayment. I knew he would haunt me, blackmail me for the rest of my life. I had to entice him with something I could hold over his head."
"The rape of a captive virgin.” She stared. True. It had all been true. Her stomach churned with seething rage.
Cade paced back and forth, moving closer. “He was supposed to finish you when he was done. I couldn't believe you'd escaped him."
"I'm sorry you were disappointed."
"Well, I was at first, but I figured you wouldn't last long in Enceinte. Then your father found your diary. Really, Lisa, I'd expected you to be a little more discreet."
"Stand back.” She motioned with her gun.
Cade continued pacing. “He became obsessed with finding your body. Even in death, you stole him from me. Now, the only way I can save myself is to be sure no body is ever found."
Breath froze in her chest. Anneliese sensed the boxes behind her. She said, “How did you know I was here?"
"Prin, of course."
She winced. Of course.
Cade smiled. “He told me about your boyfriend. I can't say I was surprised, but a stinking Llaird?"
"Shut your mouth, you bastard. You don't know anything about them. They're a proud people."
He cocked a brow. “All this passion?"
Anneliese felt her face redden. She held the gun out
. “Hold still! Keep your hands where I can see them."
"I have to kill you now, Lisa. No blood, of course. Red blood in a local alley would attract attention. But I want you to know I almost liked you in a way."
Her voice became shrill. “Put your hands up, Cade. Don't come any closer."
"What are you going to do? Shoot me?"
"I'm going to take you to the police. You'll spend the rest of your life in a labor camp. That is what you deserve, Cade."
He laughed. The sound chilled her.
"Tell me something, Lisa. What the hell did you do to your hair?"
Abruptly, he lunged. Anneliese pulled the trigger.
The gun did not fire. She squeezed again, staring blankly.
Cade swatted the weapon from her hand. He struck her across the face, sending her flying into the boxes, dislodging them. Anneliese shook her head, ears ringing, felt herself lifted by the front of her jacket, fingers closing about her throat. She struggled, gasping, clawing at Cade's face. With all her might, she brought up her knee, ramming it into his groin.
He gave a muffled moan, staggering. She locked her hands together and, using them as a club, smashed her fists into his jaw, knocking him to the ground.
Run, her mind ordered, but rage overcame her wits. Swinging her foot in a wide arc, she kicked his chest with her boot. He grunted, catching her ankle, seating her heavily upon the pavement.
Anneliese swiped her sack at his head, causing him to duck, loosening his hold on her. Bringing her foot back, she slammed her heel into his head. He fell back, a bloody crescent appearing over one eye.
Turning, she got to her feet. Cade struck her bodily from behind, throwing her headfirst into the boxes. The unsteady wall toppled. Anneliese felt the air rush from her lungs. A red haze encroached upon her vision.
A hand grabbed her thigh. Anneliese tensed with an onslaught of visions, electrified by the force of her memory—Harmadeur lying, weight heavy upon her, spreading her legs....
Fueled by hatred, she twisted about, pushing the carton aside. Cade bared his teeth in a demon's smile, fingers sinking into her flesh. The bridge of his nose bled freely, filling the hollows of his eyes. Slowly, he rose to his knees, pieces of smashed box shedding from his back.
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