by Clayton, Jo;
She lifted her head as the door opened and Shounach came in. He walked briskly to the center of the room, looked briefly at her. “You’re talkative tonight,” she said. He shrugged the bag off his shoulder and lowered it to the floor, then dropped the dark bundle under his arm on top of it.
She moved and the water danced. She watched the light-web settle again then said, “What did he want?”
He squatted beside the bundle and began working knots loose. “Clothes for you. A veil. Some blankets.” He began tossing things aside. “And someone stole the Ranga Eye from your Empty Man.” Thrusting his hand into his mysterious bag, he began pulling out glassy blue spheres and a number of small rods.
“What’s that for?”
“Bath’s over. Climb out of there.”
“Don’t want to.” She paddled to the side and propped herself up on crossed arms, watching him fit small rods together into a latticed pyramid.
“Shy?” He sounded amused.
Gleia sniffed. “Comfortable,” she snapped.
“Too bad. I need you to bang on the door and get the two guards in here.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
“Do it yourself.” Then she sighed. “Never mind, I’ll do it.” She rolled up onto the floor and shook out the thissik dress. Long. Black. Soft. She ran fingers over the material, enjoying the silken feel. “Nice. What is it?”
“Later. Get them in here. I want to try something.”
As she slid the dress over her head, she saw him touch the point of the pyramid. When her head came through the neck opening, red and yellow light was cycling upward. The Juggler had settled himself behind the pyramid and was spreading an opaque white paint on his face.
She smoothed the dress down, excitement itching at her. Eyes sparkling, heart banging in her throat, she ran across the tiles and slammed her heel at the door, screaming for the guards. When they stood in the narrow opening, she swept a hand around, pointing at the Juggler. “He wants you.
Red and yellow light rose and fell at the Juggler’s feet. Glowing blue balls circled the white mask, their changing blues flickering across the heavy paint.
Two balls
then four
doubling doubling again they were a circle of blue glowing a blue halo shimmering blue pale bright dark up and over never stopping never sometimes many sometimes melting away to two always changing
and the black rings around the Juggler’s eyes
narrowed widened and the dark mouth
curving up
curving down
a blue ball unfolded
was a shimmering golden dragon swooping the circle
and was gone and another
was a jewel-bright dancer
and was gone and another was a
and was gone and another was
and was gone
and was
and
Gleia blinked. The two thissik were glassy-eyed, rigid. Shounach caught the balls that remained and set them carefully aside.
“Thissik.” His voice was gentle, musical. “Put your weapons on the floor.”
To Gleia’s open-mouthed wonder, the guards bent stiffly and placed their rod-weapons on the floor.
“Pick them up.” The whisper came hastily. Gleia saw Shounach frowning as he seemed to struggle against an invisible pull. The thissik opened with the same jerky movements. “Return to your posts and forget what has happened.” He waited tensely until the door was shut again, then he started breathing again.
“Why’d you send them away?” Gleia sat on the floor watching him as he began cleaning the white from hands and face.
A corner of his mouth curled up. “Tough little creatures. Hope I got them out in time.” He fingered the collar and his smile broadened. “How close would you want to get to them?”
She grimaced. “Point taken. Now tell me what all that was about.”
“Information. Possibilities.” He yawned. “You want a blanket over you tonight, you’ll have to share these.” He touched the bundle with his toe. “Since we’re supposed to be paired. Trust me?”
Gleia shrugged. “It’s that or shiver.”
Gleia woke shivering. She had rolled out of the blankets onto the tiled floor. Icy drafts from the broken window circled along the tiles. She jumped up and rubbed hands over her arms trying to warm them a little. Shounach was deeply asleep, traces of white visible along the line of his jaw. She wrinkled her nose at him and began pacing about the room, toes curled, walking on the sides of her feet.
Picking at the dead skin poking up from the broken blisters in her palms, she crossed the room and stood looking out the end window, the one with all its glass. Outside, the night was still and dark. Both moons had set. The Crouching Cat was low in the west, the two brilliant eyestars floating just above the horizon. Late, she thought. She pressed her face against the bars and glanced toward the Endhouse. There was a red glow shimmering above the roof.
Trembling with excitement, she ran to Shounach, went down on her knees and began shaking him awake. In one swift surge he was up, awake, frowning. “What is it?”
She sat back on her heels. “There’s something I want to show you.” Grinning at the expression on his face she jumped up and fled back to the window. The red glow was still there. “Shounach!”
Yawning, wrapping the blanket about his long lean body, he came across to stand beside her. “What is it?” he repeated.
“Look.”
He leaned past her. “At what?”
“No. I want to know if it means the same thing to you. Look!” She knew the moment he realized what the glow could mean. He stiffened and his fingers closed around the bars, one hand on each side of her head. “I see.”
“Finally.” She ducked under his arm and ran across to the blanket still on the floor. Sitting down on it, she rubbed her feet and watched Shounach’s back. After a minute his hands came down and turned to face her. “He’s always tired,” she said. In the faint light from the stars she could see his mouth twitch into a smile. He crossed the tiles with three quick strides and dropped on the blanket beside her.
“You think the Keeper’s still working.” He unwound the blanket. “Come here before you freeze.”
She stretched out beside him, beginning to feel warm again as his body heat reached her through the thissik dress. With the blanket beneath them and one tucked around them, the cold air was a pleasant nip rather than a bone-shaking chill. “I think it’s the best chance we’ve got.”
He tugged at a curl. “Well?”
“They’ve got the windpumps working.”
“That doesn’t explain much.”
“That means they’re using the underways. Remember the pool in the Day Court?” His eyes narrowed then he nodded. “There’s a conduit that runs from there straight to the bay. A big one.”
His eyes darkened; in the dim light she couldn’t see color but the change meant he was feeling amused. “Leave me something to do, love, or I’ll start feeling useless.” His voice was filled with laughter.
She pushed the hair back off her face. “Plenty of problems left for would-be heroes.” She yawned. The warmth under the blanket was blending with the aftermath of her surge of excitement to make her sleepy. Her eyelids dropped. She snuggled against Shounach and drifted off to a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next day dragged by. At Horli-set Gleia and Shounach were barely talking to each other. Gleia flounced away and stood at water’s edge, ignoring man and thissik until the guard ordered Shounach to fetch her. He wouldn’t let them swim, just herded them back to Twohouse. They picked up two food trays and a jug of water, then he marched them to their room and slammed the door on them.
Gleia crossed to the window and pressed her face against the bars. Behind her she could hear Shounach stripping, the small splashes as he slid into the basin and started washing. She closed her eyes. “Juggler.”
“What?” She heard a larger splash as he pulled hi
mself out of the water.
Watching smuts and ash drift past the window, she said, “There’s a screen in slots at the end of the pool nearest the outside wall. Pull it out.”
She heard the soft slither of clothes as Shounach got dressed. Then he padded to his tray and sat down. She heard him pour some water in a cup. “Big man,” she sneered and turned around. He was sitting with a plate on his lap, chewing placidly on a mouthful of cold fish. His eyes, icy gray, came up to meet hers then dropped to his plate. He went on eating.
Pushing impatiently at her greasy hair, Gleia stalked over to the basin. She untied her sandals and kicked them away, ripped off the veil and flung it aside, then lowered herself into the water. The gentle current washed the top off her accumulation of grime and sweat, taking a large part of her irritation with them; as her body cooled so did her temper. She bobbed against the outlet, eyes closed, letting the water work the tension out of her muscles. Finally, she turned and began struggling with the screen.
Muttering impatiently Shounach stalked over, jerked the screen out of its slots and tossed it aside. He thrust a hand at her. “Come out of there.”
She splashed out and stood dripping on the tiles.
“Drowned rat.” The green was back in his eyes.
Gleia plucked at the fine black material that clung with disconcerting fidelity to her body. “Wonder if this shrinks.”
She dripped over to the window bars. “How come you know so much about the thissik?” She stripped off the dress and pulled the wrinkled cafta over her head. “Just who are you, Juggler, and why’d the Keeper call you Fox?” She hung the thissik dress over the stubs, then came back to him, pushing at her hair. “I’d kill for a jar of soap.”
He was sitting, his back against the wall, his hands resting lightly on his knees, his eyes flickering between green and blue. “I’ll remember that.”
“Well?”
“I could spin a tale for you.” He sounded comfortably drowsy. “Oddly enough I’d rather not.”
“Oh.” She settled in front of him, arms wrapped around her knees. The light was still good enough to let her see his face. It had a worn look as if time had rubbed away at the flesh until it was like very soft, very thin, very old leather, crossed and re-crossed with hundreds of fine wrinkles. He had an unconscious arrogance, a sense of superiority so ingrained he’d never know it was there. Very much a loner. She could recognize one of her own kind. Could recognize a deliberate distancing. Allowing no one to creep inside his shell and touch the places where he was vulnerable.
She sighed and began examining the palms of her hands. The blisters were filming over with tough new skin. She picked at the dead skin until she’d peeled it loose, then pulled her palms several times over her hair to work the oil into her rough, crackling skin. After a while she looked back at Shounach. “I twitch-talked to Tetaki when I went to stand by the water. Told him to get in here tonight if he could.”
“Twitch-talk?”
“The seaborn do it.” She smiled. “They say a good twitcher can put a year’s history in a single wiggle.” Shounach raised both brows. “Well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.” She sighed. “Tetaki says I’m worse at it than a one-summer wiggler with a bad case of stutters.”
“It’s the truth and you know it.” Tetaki came out of the water, the faint light gleaming on nacreous needle teeth when he grinned at them.
Gleia swung around. “How was it?”
“A mess.” His thin nose wrinkled with disgust. “Once I thought I’d have to go back. The conduit narrowed to a hole the size of my arm. But the plug was soft enough to dig through.”
“What about the outlet?”
“The screen was a little warped but I could move it.” His light-green eyes narrowed as he scanned her face. “I know you, Gleia-my-sister. What’s this leading up to?”
Gleia started to rise then settled back. While she and Tetaki had been talking, Shounach had crossed the room and was looking out the window. “Is the light on?”
Without answering he walked slowly back and stood looking down at them. “It’s on,” he said finally. “Too early to tell if he’s sitting up to work. What’s your situation, Tetaki? Could you get out around Zebset?”
“No problem. The thissik don’t bother guarding us. They count on the collars to keep us around. Why?”
Gleia leaned forward. “The Day Court lights were on past Zebset last night. We think the Keeper might be working late.”
Tetaki’s grin widened until it was no longer a grin but a snarl of rage. “Tonight,” he hissed. “I want this off tonight.” He pulled at the ring, then his taut body folded in on itself. “They might just leave the lights on all night.”
“Well, Tetaki-my-brother, that’s why we need you. The Day Court pool is full and it has the scrollwork screen around it. Swim up the conduit and take a look, then let us know what you saw.”
The seaborn closed his eyes, his breath grew harsh and irregular, then the gasps grew quieter as he worked to calm himself. “Sorry about acting like a cheksa in a feeding fit,” he said. “But I’m not going to wait till Zebset. I’m going in as soon as the Crow’s down.”
“To look.”
He laughed. “To look.”
Shounach was a shadow in the shadow veils. Gleia prowled about, rubbing at her arms, more nervous than cold. She kicked at the ragged cafta swaying around her with a life of its own as the tattered cloth answered the strengthening breeze coming through the broken window. Both sleeves were gone, one torn off in the fight with Korl, the other cut away because one sleeve made her feel like a clown. It was heavy with ground-in dirt and greasy sweat and torn in a hundred places. The black thissik dress fluttered at the window. Gleia wandered over and took it down, looking briefly at the sky as she did.
The Crow’s tail was still visible. Half an hour at least before he goes in. She pulled the cafta off and dropped it on the floor, then worked head and arms into the thissik dress, wiggled around searching for the sleeve holes, then smoothed the dress down over her body. As she pressed the front closure shut, she said. “This closing they make. I wish I had it on all my caftas. I get so sick of all those ties.” She ran her hand along her side, enjoying the soft sensuous feel of the material. “No wrinkles,” she said. “What do they make this cloth out of? Even avrishum needs to hang a while. Not that I’ve ever seen much avrishum.” She waited. “Shounach?”
When he still didn’t answer, she turned and stood leaning back against the wall watching him. Aab was floating over her shoulder now, sending through the window enough light to transform the sitting man into a statue of black and silver. Legs crossed, booted feet tucked up on his thighs. Eyes paled to a shimmery silver. Face with a soft unfocused look. The backs of his hands resting on his knees, hands relaxed, fingers curling upward. As she watched she began to feel the stillness that spread out from him to fill the room. She touched the edges of it and felt herself settling into a quiet peace where she was one with the earth and the stones around her. She slid down and sat leaning against the wall. Stillness washed over her, filled her, expanded her, without knowing she touched him, began to merge with him.…
He moved and the stillness snapped back inside her.
“Why did you do that?” Her mouth felt numb, unused to forming words.
His eyes narrowed as he bent toward her; she sensed puzzlement and surprise in him. Then he said quietly, “I needed to consider the consequences of intervention.”
“What?” She shook her head, still feeling strange.
“Gleia,” he began then stopped, looked hesitant. That startled her; it seemed out of character. The moon was shining on his face, painting silver on his cheekbones and black in the lines running from nose to mouth.
“What do you think of the Keeper?”
Gleia rubbed a thumb along her upper lip, then she shrugged. “He’s a slaver, holding us here against our will. He sends out raiding parties capturing, even killing, people who’ve done him no harm
.”
“That all?”
A lock of hair fell across her face and she shoved it back impatiently. “No. Of course not. If you look from the other side, he’s a man working under impossible pressures to save his people.” She opened her hands and stared into the palm. “Not like Korl.”
“Impossible pressures?”
The lock of hair fell down again, brushing at her lips; she slapped it back with a muttered exclamation. “I don’t know what they are. How could I? What does that matter, just look at the man!”
Shounach nodded. “A thissik ship has five castes on board,” he said slowly. “Engineering. Life support. Navigation. Administration. Trading. Each caste contains a minimum of four extended families but the traders are the only ones that leave the ship. Ever.” There was a faint sadness in his voice, a remote compassion on his face. “I’d say there are over a thousand thissik on this Cern.”
Gleia shook her head. “That has to be wrong. I’ve only seen a dozen altogether.”
“In the rooms beyond the Day Court I think you’d find row after row of dreaming thissik, waiting in improvised life support for the Keeper to prepare a place for them. A shelter.” He laid stress on the last word. “They were born within ship’s walls and expected to die there. A thousand-year culture drowned when that ship came down.” He brooded a minute, eyes focused beyond her head. “I wonder if they’ll make it. They’re fortunate in their Keeper.”
“The ones we’ve seen are?”
“Traders, of course. They’re better able to handle openness.”
“Why the strange attitude toward females?”
He looked down at his hand. Again she sensed a sadness in him. “Rumor says there are fewer thissik born each generation, fewer fertile females. Their women are both adored and enslaved, kept in luxurious idleness.”