“Then we shall give you your choice of women now,” Bulmer said. “Sheel is free at the moment, but soon there will be others for your selection. Sheel is typical of my girls. She is from the Stripe culture, some distance from Mazonia, and all of them are known for discretion.”
“I’m sure Sheel will do,” Faro said.
Bulmer snapped his fingers. In a moment a woman appeared-such as Xylina had never seen before. She was human, and shapely, but her skin was striped black, white, and blue, vertically. The stripes carried from her hair down across her face and on through her neck to her bosom. It looked like paint, but Xylina suspected it wasn’t.
“Show yourself, Sheel,” Bulmer said.
The woman opened her robe, showing her bare torso beneath. The stripes carried all the way down to her feet.
“She will do,” Faro said.
Bulmer snapped his fingers again. The slave with the staff appeared. “Sheel is making a house call,” Bulmer told him. “You will guard her there, and bring her back when she is done. You will be trained there by this man.” He indicated Faro. “The financial arrangements have been made. You will not speak of this matter elsewhere.”
The slave nodded. Sheel closed her robe. Bulmer showed them out by another door. Just like that, they were on their way home.
Thereafter Sheel came regularly to the house, accompanied by one guard or another. Xylina gave word to the hired guards to ignore them. She did not inquire herself into the scheduling of the training sessions or pleasure sessions. She pretended to be unaware, and there was never any awkwardness. In fact she soon was oblivious to the arrival of the striped woman, because she was just one of many who came and went in the course of a typical day. Sheel normally wore man’s clothing outside, with a brimmed hat that shaded her face. She looked like a youthful slave, and sometimes she carried a package. Thus it was easy to take her for a delivery boy. There was no embarrassment.
Except for the first night, when Faro laid his bed across Xylina’s doorway. “Thank you, mistress,” he said. For a reason she chose never to explore, that left her blushing in the darkness. But she knew she had done right.
One year after signing the contract with the Lady Hypolyta, she found out just how mistaken she had been in her optimism. Faro had finally had a chance to do the accounts, and the result was not good.
He brought Xylina the books, and the bad news. She stared at the page with dismay, as it lay on the desk in front of her. “I thought we were doing better than that,” she said after a long moment. “We have so many contracts-”
“If we had not been forced to hire those additional guards, we would have had a substantial profit,” Faro said wearily. “If the city hadn’t found a way to tax everything we do here except eat, sleep, and breathe, we would still be all right. As it is, though, after we paid all the taxes the city found to levy on us and after we paid to hire those guards- this is what is left. You need forty-five coronets for your payment. We have thirty-five.”
“If we had forty-four it would still not be enough,” Xylina replied gloomily. “It must be the full payment or nothing. That is the stipulation in the contract. A partial payment is the same as a default.” Her stomach knotted, and her temples began to throb.
Faro’s expression hardened. “Perhaps if we sell something-”
“There is nothing to sell,” she pointed out. “We must have the house to continue the training contracts we still have. The furniture is rented. I don’t actually own anything except the house and land.” She did not mention the fact that she owned Faro; selling him was not an option either. She put her hands over her temples as the pain of a terrible headache overcame her. “I can think of nothing-if only I had time-”
“I should have done the accounts sooner,” Faro said, fists clenching. “If we’d known-”
“You did them just last week,” she reminded him. “We were fine right up until the tax-collector came with that tax on private schools. We would have it, if it hadn’t been for that. If only I had time tothink of something!”
But there was no time. One of the hired guards came to the room with word that Hypolyta’s manservant was at the gate. There could be doubt of what he wanted.
Xylina’s options had abruptly run out.
Chapter 8
It was, as she expected, the same manservant as before. She had him brought to her office, a tiny cubicle just off the kitchen. Windowless, it held only her desk and chair, and the storage chest for important documents. All three had been built by her own hands. While the construction was inelegant, she felt it hardly mattered. When she needed to impress someone, she covered them in rich swaths of her own conjured fabric. The chest then served as a bench-seat. But she did not want to impress this slave with her prosperity; she wanted to impress him with the fact that she was doing her very best to meet the debt and the deadline.
Faro ushered the manservant into her office, then stood beside the door. “Lady Xylina,” the slave said, bowing. “If you would be so kind-I should like to speak with you about the matter of the first payment upon your debt.” He looked significantly at Faro with his strange, dark eyes. “Alone,” he added.
She glanced over at Faro, who shrugged minutely. It would make very little difference whether she spoke to this slave alone or in Faro’s company. After all, she simply did not have the money to give him. However, he might well have some influence with his mistress, and if she acceded to his request, they might be able to get a precious week or two of time. There were funds coming in and going out constantly; her normal cash flow would enable her to make up the difference, given that leeway.
She nodded, and Faro took this as a sign to depart. He carefully closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with Lady Hypolyta’s graceful slave.
Whose demeanor suddenly changed.
The change was subtle, but suddenly there was nothing subservient in his posture or his expression. Instead, he stood a bit straighter, looking directly into her eyes, a hint of smile on his sensuous lips suggesting that they were not slave and slave-owner, but equals. His clothing no longer seemed to be the typical livery of a slave, but a quaint costume he had chosen to assume, and could just as readily put off.
“I know that you are in no position to make the stipulated payment upon your loan,” he said without preamble. And before she could protest, he shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself to deny this. I have many sources of information, who have given me detailed accounts which very likely exactly match the ones before you now.” He nodded at the closed account book beneath Xylina’s hand. The rough linen covers seemed suddenly harsh, and the book felt inexplicably warm as her throat tightened.
“You have exactly thirty-five coronets deposited with the bank of Lady Eccolo,” he continued boldly, as she paled. “You cannot redeem yourself. You know this, and so do I.”
She did not know why a slave should speak so boldly, but she did not have the strength at that moment to challenge him. For indeed, what he said was only too true.
She felt the blood draining from her face with his every word, but bravely drew herself up and looked him straight in the eyes. “I have been levied unexpected taxes. The training school is doing well, and we expect to begin training scribes as well as bodyguards soon. Faro’s other abilities have been noticed, and the slaves he has trained are being very much admired. If I had a little more time-”
He shook his head, interrupting her. “All the time in the world will not help you. You have a very powerful enemy who will make certain that youcannot redeem yourself. It is in her interest to be certain that you fail.”
“Who is it?” she cried, half in fear, and half in hope. Finally someone confirmed what she and Faro had only suspected! Shedid have an enemy, it was not simply a paranoid fantasy. “You must tell me!”
“I cannot tell you,” he replied, and for a moment, anger rose in her. How dared a mere slave refuse to answer her question? A slave had no right to withhold anything from a citizen!
“Yes?” she prompted, hope rising with the words. Was he about to offer a solution to her dilemma?
“I came to tell you that there is another way that you can repay this debt. Your enemy is certain that you will forfeit, and face exile or prison. This is another way. A certain service to me.” His eyes glowed strangely, and she had to forcibly pull her gaze away. His burning glance was nearly hypnotic.
“A service to your mistress. Lady Hypolyta, you mean,” Xylina said faintly. What on earth could the woman want ofher ? What couldshe possibly offer? Faro’s services, perhaps? Could the lady want his potential as a sire? Was she not beyond the age for that? Perhaps not-perhaps she wanted him for her daughters. Certainly, as strong and clever as he was, he would breed strong and clever daughters, ideal Mazonites-ifhe would agree. How would she ever get him to agree? That sort of thing required cooperation!
“No,” the man said boldly, destroying her train of thought and her growing embarrassment. “Not to the so-called Lady Hypolyta. To me. There is no Lady Hypolyta. She was and is a baker, hired by me to play a part, the part of your would-be benefactress. If you look upon those contracts, you will discover that the signature is not hers, but mine.”
No Lady Hypolyta? Xylina had contracted with amale ? But that was not legally binding, and surely he must know that! Or did he think she was so ignorant she would not be aware of that? What was going on here?
“That’s not possible,” she said flatly. If he thought she was an unlearned young fool, he was about to learn otherwise. “No mere male can contract for anything outside the Freedman’s Quarters, and his contracts can’t be with a woman. No man can sign a contract that is legally binding on any Mazonite; he can only contract with his fellow freedmen. Everyone knows that.”
“Ah,” the man said, his mouth widening in a broad smile, showing strong white teeth. Vulpine teeth, she thought distractedly. They seemed-oddly sharp. “But you see,” he continued delicately, “I am not a man.”
At first Xylina could not understand what he had told her. Then she understood only too well. She shrank back a little in her chair, and stared at him, only now understanding the meaning of the strange eyes, the too-handsome face, the too-graceful body. And the sharp, sharp teeth. “You-you are a demon!” she gasped. “Monster!”
He bowed a little, a mocking parody of a slave’s bow to his mistress. “Ware,” he replied. “It is my name, Xylina. Things will be much more agreeable if you use it, rather than ‘demon’ or ‘monster.’ And I think if you will review the laws, you will find that a contract signed with a demon is quite as legally binding as any other between Mazonites. We are protected citizens, with most of the same rights that you enjoy. Save only that we may not challenge the Queen, nor disobey her wishes.” He straightened, his smile mocking her. “We may hold property, for instance-the villa is mine, the slaves were mine, and this much was true, the money that bought the villa and slaves came from the sale of trained gardeners, who are also mine. We may contract with freedmen on behalf of Mazonite clients-how did youthink commerce happened between your world and the Freedmen’s Quarter? We supply certain comforts to the freedmen, for a price. We may make investments, and we may contract with Mazonites on our own behalf.” He raised an eyebrow gracefully at her. “Surely you did not think that we lived on light and air and magic?”
She felt as if she were falling down a chasm; she could hardly move for the shock, and she could not think at all.
“What-what do you want of me?” she asked faintly.
He leaned back against the door of her office, crossed his arms over his chest, and surveyed her from half-closed eyes. “At the moment-your potential,” he said lazily. “What you may become, in time. I have peculiar tastes among my kind. Or rather, let us say that I haveparticular tastes. My brothers and sisters are a little less discriminating in their choice of partners than I am. I do not much care for women who are thick-headed, broad-backed and broad-shouldered-who look and act more like draft-horses than I care to contemplate. My tastes run to females who are intelligent, graceful, lithe, as attractive physically in their way as I am in mine-women who are out of the ordinary. You are more than that, Xylina. You are extraordinary. Quite lovely, in fact, and the closest thing to a match for me that I have seen in centuries. Exactly the kind of woman I would choose to be my lover.”
With every word, Xylina’s shock deepened, but at his final sentence, her outrage overcame her shock. She leapt to her feet, so enraged she could hardly see.
Howdared he! How dared he come to her with such a perverted proposition!
If he had been something other than a demon, she would have attacked him then and there, or challenged him for his slight to her honor. But caution forced her rage to cool a little-hewas a demon, after all; his powers of magic were just as strong as hers, and they were utterly unknown. Demons were incredibly dangerous; that was all she knew. He could probably defend himself against her perfectly well.
In fact, from the way he was acting, he could probably not only defend himself, but do it with ridiculous ease.
She contented herself with glaring at him instead, putting every iota of her detestation into her gaze. “Give me a moon,” she said, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. “You tricked me-you owe me at least that much,incubus . If you know anything of honor, you will give me a moon to make up for that.”
Ware shrugged. “A week, a moon, what does it matter?” he said with indifference. “You still will not have the coronets. The proposition will be the same.”
“A moon,” she insisted. “I swear it.” She shifted her stance, and unconsciously raised one hand, invoking the gods to witness her oath as she spoke in the formal words of binding. “If I pay thee not in gold, I will pay thee in silver!” Unspoken was the real import: she would never pay him in sex.
He blinked a little, as if taken aback by her vehemence; the formal words which made her pledge into a solemn oath, and the force of will with which she swore the oath. Then he smiled, lazily. “Very well, then,” he agreed. “One moon. It will make your surrender all the more piquant for the wait. I have waited years to find a woman like you; I can wait a moon.”
Before she could order him out, he winked, slowly, and vanished before her eyes. He was a demon, without doubt; both his magic and his arrogance attested to that.
Ware returned to his villa in the tiny section of the city that housed mostly demons and those few wealthy women who found the incubi and succubi to be quiet and agreeable neighbors. He was very pleased with himself, and well satisfied with his encounter with Xylina. It had been altogether successful as far as he was concerned. He had been generous-more than generous. In recompense for his tiny deception, he had given Xylina more time to raise the gold she needed to pay her debt. That was just; that was honorable. A tiny concession to make up for a tiny deception. Now she knew what her options were and that she had an enemy-and that, too, was honorable. The Queen had forced him to swear that he would not tell Xylina the identity of her enemy, or else he would have done just that. But now that she knew that shehad a powerful enemy, he could skirt around the outside of the oath to give her more information. IfXylina guessed her foe was Adria, then Ware had not violated his oath. He was fairly certain she was bright enough to do just that, if not now, then in a moon, when he brought her more such information.
In human parlance, “all the cards were upon the table.” There were no deceptions, there was only his ability and hers. A challenge of sorts, though a bit one-sided. She could not win, not with the Queen against her.
She was, he thought, a most incredible creature. Every day seemed to add to her beauty-the more she grew in wisdom and maturity
, the more she ripened, rather than souring. Her courage in defying him was quite amazing. No few Mazonites in Adria’s service had quailed and cowered when confronted with a demon-but not Xylina! She stood up to him, her magnificent eyes flashing, and demanded that extra time of him, demanded honorable recompense, as was her right. She was a far cry from the child in the arena, a child whose bleak eyes had told him that she was ready for death. Xylina would not consider death to be an option now; she would fight to the last breath in her body before admitting defeat.
This was good; he did not want a poor, shattered creature who longed for death. He wanted a spirited woman quite prepared to meet him on his own grounds. She was, he thought with a touch of longing, a fair match for Thesius. Now if only…
He let himself into the villa with a touch upon the gate, but instead of entering the building, he followed one of the paths leading off deep into the wilderness garden, to one of the many half-hidden alcoves the garden boasted. He had not lied to her about this; one of the sources of his ordinary income came from his own training school, which supplied skilled gardener-slaves to most of Mazonia, and the ones who tended his own grounds were second to none.
Here, deep in the cool shadows beneath his trees, there was a quaint little half-cave beside a tiny, artificial waterfall. Although some suspected that his magic had a hand in creating this spot, it had been constructed entirely by his gardeners. The water fell down a graceful cascade of rocks into a pool containing three red-gold fish, who flashed among the smooth water-worn stones of their pool like shadowy living treasures hidden there by an eccentric miser. He flung himself down on the thick, deep emerald green moss carpeting the cave and the rocks surrounding the pool, staring at the waterfall without really seeing it, listening to its music without truly hearing it.
How beautiful she had been! And how graceful! With her golden hair flying like a battle-banner as she tossed her head and defied him, and her deep blue eyes flashing like precious sapphires, she had been incomparable. Indeed, she was everything he desired in a woman. Not like that black cow of a Queen, nor the dun cattle that were her subjects. No, it was no great sacrifice to give her the time she asked for; it would only increase his desire to wait a little longer.
If I Pay Thee Not in Gold Page 15