A Bait of Dreams

by Clayton, Jo;

  When the one-eyed boatman reached his customary mooring, he swung the boat against the ladder and waited. Ussuf swarmed up onto the pier, tossed him a silver coin, then stalked away. Gleia snorted with amusement, pulled up her hood, and hauled herself onto the dock. Then she sped along the worn planks toward Ussuf who was waiting impatiently at the start of a switch-backed scratch that wound up the black stone to one of the smaller gates.

  The trail was too steep to climb comfortably. Ussuf kept altering his pace, slowing abruptly until she nearly bumped into him, then speeding up until her legs ached from trying to keep up with him. Her temper began fraying, the anger boiling in her to match the heat radiated by the black stone. She kept stumbling on the carefully roughened track; at times she was forced to stop and wipe the sweat from her face so she could see where her feet were taking her.

  By the time she reached the top, she was trembling with fatigue and fury, but she looked into the housemaster’s small bright eyes and smiled, so angry that acting was no effort at all. His sly glee dissolved. Disappointed, he wheeled and stumped through the gate in the wall, the ends of his head-cloth fluttering out in small wings beside his ears. Gleia clamped her mouth shut and followed.

  There was a guard lounging against the planks of the gate. Startled, Gleia stared at him. His leathers were decorated until no inch remained untouched His eyebrows were gilded and his moustache twisted into fierce points that extended beyond the wings of a headcloth stiff with gold thread. The cloth was held on his head by gilded cords whose tasselled ends hung down beside his ear, brushing against his shoulder each time he moved.

  Ussuf was waiting impatiently at the end of the alley that led from the gate into a wider street. She hurried toward him, but couldn’t resist a final look back at the guard. He preened as he met her eyes, obviously convinced that he’d stunned her with his magnificence. Gleia followed Ussuf along the broad inner street, looking with interest at the elaborate façades of the great houses. They were built of the same black stone as the cliffs and carved as thoroughly as the guard’s leathers. There were few people in the street, all of them in the black and white stripes of slaves. Gleia shook her head, puzzled, wondering if Thrakesh’s boasted strength had gone hollow in the middle. That ridiculous guard.

  Humming softly, Gleia bent over the fragile material, her fingers sliding the needle in and out with quick precision. The oil lamp threw a steady glow over the sleeve bands with their scrollwork of leaves and vines in olive and ocher. One lay beside her on the table, its design completed. The other was close to being finished. She yawned, set the work aside and stood up. Rubbing at the brand scars on her face, she strolled across the small room and leaned into the window embrasure.

  Small Zeb was a skinny crescent swimming through a light mist, while Aab was an opaline nail-clipping on the horizon. Gleia sighed and moved her shoulders until she rested comfortably on crossed arms, looking out across the harbor of Thrakesh.

  Aab edged higher, lighting up the tips of the waves with her thinning crescent of silver. Slave. Gleia grimaced at the shimmering water. Tomorrow, she thought. Somehow I’ll get out and find him. She ran her eyes over the dark bulk of the market and the pinpoints of light that marked the positions of the ships anchored out by the breakwater. Wonder where he is now. She sighed again and pulled away from the window.

  As she settled at the sewing table and took up her work, she thought about the heavily carved outer walls of the merchant’s house. I could climb down on those carvings, she thought. Have to get over the wall, though. That’ll take a bit of doing. She chuckled as she considered Lorenzai and his probable attitude toward her plans, then sobered. Not a man to be taken lightly, her new owner. Once I’m out, I better keep going. She set the last stitches then held the band up close to the lamp, checking to make sure the work needed no final touches. He would tolerate sloppy work as little as he would being cheated. She nodded. It was good. Simple but effective. Wrapping the sleeve bands in muslin, she set them aside, then stretched and yawned. A long day. Lifting the chimney, she blew out the lamp and wound the wick down. In the new darkness Aab’s light painted a square of silver on the door close to the floor. She made a face at it, glanced at the bed and groaned. Then she went to the door and opened it, stood listening. No sound. No sign of anyone in the hall outside. She went out.

  A single oil lamp burned where the corridor met another running at right angles to it. Some light trickled into the gloom beyond the small circle of brilliance. Gleia frowned, closed her eyes and sought the memory of how she was brought here, then she straightened and reached out for the wall. Her fingers trailing along the stone, she moved slowly off down the corridor.

  Slowly, carefully, she worked her way into the maze of corridors and through the slave dormitories under the roof, then went down the narrow flight of stairs toward the floor below. And found the way blocked by a grating with a large clumsy lock. Very sensible of Lorenzai, she thought. Must sleep better at night. Slaves aren’t known for their kind thoughts about their masters. May he walk Aschla’s seventh hell for messing up my plans. She stood a moment fingering the lock, her mind going back to her childhood and the lessons Abbrah had forced on her. Too long ago? Have I forgotten the touch? I’ve got no tools. Sighing, she turned and started back up the stairs, not that displeased at having to sleep instead of explore. She was very tired.

  A pounding on the door jerked her from a heavy sleep. She sat up, groaning and bleary-eyed. In the fuzzy red twilight she pushed reluctantly onto her feet and stumbled to the battered table propped against the wall at the foot of the bed. With both hands she lifted the heavy ewer and poured a dollop of water into the bowl. The night had given the water a pleasant chill that stung away the last wisps of sleep.

  When she was finished she poured the water from the bowl into the slop bucket then sat on the end of the bed and began combing her hair. Nothing up here. The comb scraped on the slave ring. She worked a finger under the ring and ran it around inside the curve. Have to get rid of this thing somehow. Her mind flew back to the spring before when the thissik had locked her into another neck ring. At least this won’t explode. I wonder what you’re doing here, Juggler. Wish I was out of this and with you. She dragged the comb impatiently through the last of the tangles, tied her hair back from her face with a scrap of material, then slid into her slave cafta. She wriggled the cafta into place and went out to breakfast.

  As she’d half-expected, the other female slaves were still taking their attitude from Ussuf, giving her surreptitious pinches and glowering looks. A little man who resents anyone taller than him. Especially a female slave with privileges. She looked briefly around at the sullen faces, then kept her eyes on her dish, eating the porridge with a quiet concentration its taste scarcely deserved. Again her solitude was driven home to her. There was no one here she could trust, no one to laugh with, to tease and quarrel with. She bit into a section of quella fruit beside her bowl. I’ve grown soft, never used to need any company but my own. Never even wanted it. Tetaki. Temokeuu-my-father. Jevati. Shounach. You’ve spoiled me, my friends. She washed her fruit down with a last swallow of cha, trying to wash away the thorns of loneliness with it.

  She spent the hours after breakfast in the sewing room allotted to her, sketching designs and waiting to be summoned. When the morning was half gone, a slight blond girl came drifting into the room and beckoned to her. Gleia saw the ring around her neck and was abruptly angry. The child winced as she saw the flare of anger, and Gleia hastily controlled herself. “What is it, little one?”

  The girl touched her lips, shook her head, then beckoned again. Gleia rolled up her designs, thrust them in a pocket and followed her.

  At the entrance to the wizard maze an aged Mariti male, tongueless and blind, wrapped soft white cloths about their faces and led them into the maze.

  The wizard maze filled the large room beyond the bare anteroom with sliding panels and dead ends. Whenever Lorenzai ordered it, the route was changed b
y sliding the panels about and locking them in place to open new ways and close the old. The maze was the only entrance to the master’s private quarters.

  Her determination fueled by a growing annoyance, Gleia put to work a skill she’d learned almost before she could walk. Her sense of direction and her direction-memory never missed. She kept track of turns and twists, silently counting her steps as the mute led her along. When they came out into the bare room on the far side and the mute took away the blindfolds, she knew she could retrace that route whenever she wanted.

  Amrezeh, Lorenzai’s wife, was sitting up in her wide bed, dressed in a lacy green bedgown. Her small pointed face was alive with interest. “You’re the new one.”

  Gleia bowed her head. “Yes, mistress.”

  “Lorenzai says you do beautiful work. He says he set a task for you yesterday to see how I would like it. Did you finish?”

  “Yes, mistress.” Gleia bowed her head again and extended the sleeve bands.

  “Bring them closer.” As Gleia stepped froward, Amrezeh noticed the scars on her cheek. She gasped and pressed a small hand against her mouth. Then she pulled it down, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What happened to your face? Bend down.” She touched velvet fingertips to the letters burned into Gleia’s flesh. “Brands. What do they mean?”

  Gleia was silent a minute. The brands were like talismans to her and she was reluctant to speak of them. She found it harder and harder to act out the slave’s part. She was silent too long. Amrezeh’s brows began to lower; she didn’t like having to wait for a slave. Gleia forced her reluctant hand up and touched the oldest brand. “This marks me a taken thief, bonded to serve where they told me, mistress. The Kadiff put me under bond to a cafta maker who beat my skills into me.” She touched the second scar. “And made it possible for me to buy my bond. This marks the cancellation.”

  “And now you’re a slave again.” Amarezeh sighed, but her eyes were shining. “What stories you must have.” She dropped. “I was shut up in my father’s house and only left it to come here.” Gleia caught a flash of blue as Amrezeh peeped slyly at her, assessing the effect of her words. “Not that Lorenzai has been unkind. It’s just I get so bored! Enough of that.” She pulled her knees up and rested her arms on them. “Let me see the bands. Sit down there where I can talk to you without shouting.” She pointed to a low footstool beside the bed.

  As Gleia settled herself, Amrezeh began examining the bands critically, drawing her fingers over the stitches to see if they were small and firmly set, examining the design itself. “You completed this is one day?”

  “It’s a simple design, mistress. And I worked late. Master said I was to finish the bands before sleeping.”

  “Um.” She pulled the lengths through her soft pale fingers. “Simple but charming. In one day.” Her voice trailing off, she fixed her vivid blue eyes on Gleia. “What do you call yourself, girl?”

  “Gleia, mistress.” She lowered her eyes and moved her shoulders cautiously. Playing submissive was making her back ache and starting a pain behind her eyes. She found Amrezeh’s friendliness extremely seductive. It crept through her defenses and teased her to respond with equal warmth. But she’d learned her skepticism on the streets of Carhenas where trust was a quick way to pain or death. The parchment design sheets rustled as her hand brushed them.

  Amrezeh pounced on that. “What do you have there?”

  “If mistress pleases.” Gleia put the roll in the outstretched hand. “While waiting to be summoned, I prepared several other designs.”

  The tough translucent parchment rustled crisply as Amrezeh unrolled the drawings. The first sheet bore a design of waves and fish, highly stylized, the curves squared off. Color values were indicated by ink washes—the palest gray to solid black. The values passed through the angular forms with a rippling grace. “Ah. Unusual and delightful.” Amrezeh flashed a smile at Gleia. “You really are gifted.” Then she set that sheet aside and examined the second.

  That design was an abstract pattern of interlocking, irregular shapes, not too impressive in the black and gray of the ink washes. Amrezeh tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the parchment, then closed her eyes, a faint smile on her lovely face. She turned abruptly to Gleia. “You flatter me.”

  Gleia dropped her head. The surprise she felt wasn’t exactly the flattery that Amrezeh thought. She hadn’t expected that design to mean anything to an untrained eye, had done it to please herself. “No, mistress,” she said softly. Pain beat in long slow pulses behind her eyes. She was annoyed at herself for bringing the designs, only prolonging this miserable interview.

  The small blonde woman smiled and put the second sketch aside. One glance at the third was all she needed. It was a simple design of spring flowers with nothing really interesting about it. Amrezeh pulled the first two back in front of her and went over them again, then she tugged on the bell rope.

  The frail child came gliding in and sank onto her knees, bending over until her forehead touched the carpet. “Go to the storeroom,” Amrezeh said crisply. “Bring the blue-green avrishum and the white katani. Understand?”

  The feathery blonde curls flipped about as the child nodded, then she stood with careful grace and slipped out of the room.

  Amrezeh picked up the sea design. “This first, I think. I can’t wait to see it realized. How long do you think it would take to complete a cafta? Do you cut?”

  “Mistress, I can’t say for sure until I’ve worked on it a little. And if you have one who cuts for you, perhaps it would be better for that one to continue. I was not taught cutting.”

  The small slave was almost lost behind the big bolts of cloth as she stumbled into the doorway. She hesitated there, waiting for permission to enter. Amrezeh smiled and said pleasantly, “Bring them here, child, and put them on the bed beside me. Then wait outside until I call you.”

  The avrishum was a grayed blue-green with a subtle darkening where folds touched the light; it was beautifully suited as a background for the sea design. Gleia was startled by this casual glimpse into great wealth. A body length of that material would probably sell for more than her purchase price. Beside it the white katani, also a rare material, looked almost common. It was a crisp fabric, katani, so fine it was translucent.

  “The avrishum, I think. The katani might serve for the abstract.” Amrezeh turned to Gleia, eyebrows up, waiting for her comment.

  Gleia could see the harsh bright colors and shapes contrasting with the delicacy of the Katani. The garment would have a rich barbaric flamboyance. She glanced at Amrezeh. Might be too strong for her. I don’t know her. Is this only an act she’s putting on for me? If so, why does she bother? Something in her that makes it necessary to conquer everyone around her before she discards them? What could have done that to her in the sheltered life she’s led? Or was it so sheltered? There was something exaggerated about her behavior that shouted to Gleia of a weakness too strongly compensated for. Habbiba had looked like that when she was trying to impress a highborn customer. How young I was then, but I could smell it when Habbiba was faking it. And I can smell it now.

  Amrezeh ran her thumb across a corner of the avrishum. “You’ll need thread.” She slipped out of the bed and padded a few steps to a cluttered dressing table. Opening an elaborate jewel case at one end, she dug about inside then brought out a handful of gold coins. “Come here, girl.”

  Gleia came round the end of the bed and took the coins.

  Amrezeh tilted her head back to look up into Gleia’s face. “I want you to go down to the market and get that thread; I wouldn’t trust any other eye than yours for that. Mind you, don’t stint on quality; but don’t be uselessly extravagant. What you have there should be enough.” She paused, frowned. “No. Wait.” She wheeled and went through a door Gleia hadn’t noticed before. Minutes later she was back with several silver drachs. You’ll need these for the boatman. One drach to take you out and back. Don’t let him take you for more. Be back in time for the midday meal.�
� Her smile widened suddenly; her blue eyes twinkled. “Don’t yield to temptation, my dear. Sad though it is, you have no chance of escaping.”

  Gleia passed the guard, who smirked at her until she wanted to kick him. Halfway down the track she stopped and leaned on the safety wall and looked out over the bay. She could just see the pointed top of the tent roof over the stage. With a sigh, she wiped the sweat off her face and continued on down.

  The boats at this last pier were a bedraggled lot. There were patches of decay in the canvas tops and paint peeling from the wood. The worst-looking one had a skim of water over the floorboards. The boatmen matched their craft, ugly and infirm. But slaves had nowhere else to go for transport; these were what they had if they needed a water-taxi to run their errands. Gleia went down the pier, stopping at the one-eyed man’s boat. She brought out a silver drach.

  The one-eyed man recognized her, she saw that. He shook his head. “Two.”

  For a moment she was tempted. It wasn’t her money, better he had it than the pampered Amrezeh, but let the man cheat her now and she had nothing but more of the same to look forward to the rest of her time here. She raised an eyebrow. “One.”

  “Two.” The boatman sneered toward the other boats. “If you want to swim.…”

  “One. Swimming doesn’t come into it if I want to walk a little.”

  The boatman grunted and held out his hand. Gleia tossed the drach to him. In spite of his missing eye, he caught it with no difficulty. With a neat economy of motion he swung onto the back seat and brought the boat around so that it was parallel to the dock.

  Gleia went agilely down the ladder and settled on the middle seat. “The shop of Shahd the thread-seller.”

  When the taxi passed the open space, the crowd was back and Shounach was performing. Gleia lifted a hand. “Wait. Take me over there.” She pointed.