A Bait of Dreams

by Clayton, Jo;

  Grinning at her, Shounach sauntered through the door and started for the one leading to Lorenzai’s room. Gleia caught hold of his sleeve. “Wait,” she whispered.

  “There’s no one in that room.”

  “How do you know?”

  “No questions, Companion.” He frowned. “Why not get rid of this?” He touched the slave ring. “Stand still.”

  She heard the faint clicking of the probe, was intensely aware of his strong nervous hands brushing against her neck and shoulder, aware too of a suppressed irritation of her nerves, an impatience with herself and with him that they hadn’t taken care of this in some safer place. Then the lock clicked open. He broke the ring and pulled it away from her. As she rubbed at her neck, he dropped the ring and kicked it under Amrezeh’s bed. She sighed with relief as it vanished, then looked up as his hands came down on her shoulders. He dropped a light kiss on her lips then turned her about and pushed her toward the other room. “Time to move.”

  He stopped by Lorenzai’s table. “The Ranga Eyes. Where?”

  Gleia crossed to the wall and stared at the carving. It was harder to remember the right spot than she’d expected. She fumbled exploring fingers over the sprays of salt-flowers, then gave a small gasp of relief as the panel popped open.

  Shounach reached a long arm over her shoulder and scooped out the box, startling her because she hadn’t heard him come up behind her. He turned back the lid and stared down at the Ranga Eyes. “You said there were fifteen?”

  She looked over his arm. “They’re getting busy. Five left.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you leave them there?”

  “You know why.” He snapped the box shut and slid it into his bag. “How do we get down?”

  Sighing she moved along the wall and began hunting out the flowers that opened the hidden door.

  “Need light?”

  “Lorenzai didn’t bother … ah!” The door swung open. She took a deep breath and stepped into the passage.

  Six turns into increasing darkness. Then a sudden graying ahead. She hesitated, felt Shounach’s reassuring hand on her shoulder. She touched it briefly then edged around the turn. The stairs opened into a twisting hole that turned steeply downward. A knobby fungus growing in patches on the walls glowed with a cold greenish light. A deceptive light. She stumbled uncertainly. It was hard to judge distance without shadows. When she reached out to steady herself, her fingers brushed against the fungus. It had a rubbery warm texture, almost like living flesh. She wiped her hand vigorously on her sleeve, then looked back over her shoulder.

  Shounach ducked down as he left the stairs, too tall to stand upright in this claustrophobic worm-hole. With a rueful smile he motioned her forward.

  She nodded. Better to get out of this discomfort as soon as possible. She went on as fast as she could, wondering how Lorenzai managed his bulk in this cramped place.

  As she negotiated the difficult dips and turns, her excitement rose until her heart nearly choked her. She was working free of this trap, using her wits and luck to outwit man and circumstance. She felt light-headed, soaring with elation. Poor Lorenzai. Standing down there waiting for his ship to arrive. She giggled. Waiting for us though he doesn’t know it and a bump on the head and being stowed away where Zuwayl can’t see him while we take his place.… She giggled again then frowned. After several more turns of stumbling and swaying and knocking into walls, she became aware of a faint sweet odor. The fungus. She tottered along, wiping at her face with trembling hands, struggling to bring her mind and body back under control.

  The wormhole wound down and down until a low sound began to merge with the near inaudible slip-slip of her feet. The sound quickly grew louder until it was a rhythmic booming that bounced around the hole with deafening force. Then she was out of the blow hole, tottering on a narrow scratch carved from the side of a great echoing bubble in the stone whose top was lost in shadow and whose bottom was drowned in rocking black seawater. The fungus grew over the wall, thicker here because of the salt damp. The track, wide enough for two large men to walk side by side, had no guard wall or anything between her and the drop. It angled steeply down to a short pier whose planks were sodden with the salt water which was just backing off it as the tide fell. She walked to the edge and looked down. The black water washed against the black stone far below. At least fifty meters. Looking down so far with nothing for her hands to grasp made her dizzy. She retreated, bumping into Shounach as he came up behind her.

  He chuckled, wrapped his arms around her, edged her around and released her, then was off down the scratch ahead of her, his booted feet silent on the stone.

  Gleia pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, biting down hard on her finger to stifle her annoyance. He was taking over her escape. She watched him flit down the track, an absurd figure in his crimson trousers and the loose blue jacket that was flying open to expose its gold lining. With a reluctant smile she started after him.

  A spark of light angled along the rock some distance below. In the treacherous cold light of the fungus she saw a dark shadow, solid and large, carry the small flame along the pier toward the end, footsteps heavy and dull on the water-soaked planks. A torch flared. The candle flame moved to the other side of the pier and a second torch was burning.

  Gleia blinked. The sudden brightness of the flame killed the feebler glow of the fungus and her dark-adaptation at the same time. The cavern was suddenly black except the small area of torchlight where Lorenzai stood, elbows out, fists socked into his sides, staring out into the darkness. Gleia shut her eyes and waited a moment, trying to re-adapt. As she began creeping downward again, Shounach stepped onto the pier and started toward Lorenzai.

  “Lorenzai!” The shriek burst into the silence, was echoed and re-echoed around the bubble. “Lorenzai … renzai … zai … ai … ai … ai.”

  Gleia wheeled. Amrezeh was plunging recklessly down the track, her face twisted with fury. She must have been up there all the time … followed us.… Gleia jerked back but Amrezeh was on her, biting and scratching, whining in her eagerness to hurt and punish. Her fingernails furrowed Gleia’s cheeks. As the clawed hands drove for her eyes again, Gleia twisted away. She pulled her head down and slammed her fist into Amrezah’s diaphragm, driving her back, choking and gasping, stumbling, finally falling hard on her buttocks.

  Scrambling frantically, Amrezeh caught herself before her head cracked against the stone. Eyes glazed over, hands clawing, she was up immediately, driving at Gleia, knocking her back against the wall, mashing her against the patches of fungus, grinding the slimy stinking mess into Gleia’s shoulders and hair.

  Bleeding and nauseated, sick as much from the stench as from the violence, Gleia brought up one leg, planted a foot on Amrezeh’s stomach and shoved blindly.

  For a frozen moment Amrezeh tottered on the edge of the track. Her eyes opened wide. Her mouth gaped soundlessly. Then she fell back, tumbling over and over in eerie silence until just before she hit the water. A brief tearing shriek. A splash. Silence.

  Dabbing at her face with her sleeve, her stomach churning, her hair clotted with the mashed fungus, Gleia staggered to the track’s edge and looked down. The black water was lapping lazily at the stone, the surface rising and falling like the side of a panting beast. “No,” she whispered. “No.…” She dropped to her knees and vomited until there was nothing left in her, until she knelt trembling with fatigue and soul-sickness.

  “Gleia?” Shounach’s shout and its echoes jerked her back to reality. She got shakily to her feet and looked down.

  Shounach stood over a dark mound, his body tense. He relaxed a little when he saw her but called again to make sure. “Gleia?”

  The word broke into fragments as it echoed around the bubble. She winced and tried to scrape some of the fungus off her hair. “It’s me, Juggler,” she called. She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve then tugged at the cloth that was sticking to her back. Then she went slowly and unsteadily down the track. A few moments
later she met Shounach on the pier.

  “You stink, Companion.” He wrinkled his nose and backed away.

  The look on his face surprised a short laugh from her. “I know, Juggler. I’m closer to it than you.” She squeezed sections of her hair between thumb and fingers, then flung the mess into the water beside the pier. “Is he dead?”

  “No.” He nudged Lorenzai with his toe. The body fell over to lie with arms and legs tumbled awkwardly. “Just out cold. He went berserk when Amrezeh fell off the track.”

  Gleia dropped to her knees as her legs gave way with relief. The man’s chest was rising and falling steadily; she could hear his rasping breath. Not dead, Madar be thanked, he isn’t dead too.

  Shounach sniffed. “As I remember it, you swim.”

  She looked up. “Yes, why?”

  “Swimming seems a good idea right now.” He grinned at her. “We’ve had enough melodrama, love.” Grimacing with distaste, he picked her up before she could protest, strode the length of the pier, and dropped her off the end into the cold salt water.

  Half an hour later, scrubbed pink, hair clean and damp, back in a soggy cafta, she stood beside Shounach over the bound and gagged figure of Lorenzai. She winced away from the fury in his eyes and turned to the Juggler. “Where are we going to put him?”

  “I’m thinking about it.” He began playing with the pouch of gold he’d taken from Lorenzai’s robes, juggling it from hand to hand. From somewhere he produced the large and clumsy key to the armory’s door and began tossing them both up and catching them, managing effortlessly the two radically different weights and shapes.

  Gleia watched, exasperated. “Must you fool with those?”

  One eyebrow arched up. “Why so serious, Companion? Life is only as grim as you make it. Relax.” He caught the pouch and the key and slipped both into his bag. “You take his feet. I’ll get his shoulders. Up there.” He pointed up the track to the point where the worm hole broke into the bubble. “No one’s likely to look for him there.”

  After an exhausting struggle that Lorenzai hampered as much as he could, they dropped him on the stone and stood a moment to catch a breath before returning to the pier. Gleia leaned against Shounach smiling down at the merchant. “We’ll see you get your weapons, Lorenzai. I’m sorry about Amrezah.” She closed her eyes a moment, feeling sick as she saw again Amrezeh tottering on the rim of the track, face ugly with horror. “We didn’t plan to hurt anyone; it just went wrong.” Shaking herself out of her sudden depression, she moved away from Shounach. “We’ll have your smuggler stack the weapons in front of your armory. You can still pull your coup. Not my business but I think you’ll do a lot better at running Thrakesh than those crazy Ayandari.” She smiled tentatively but the rage on the merchant’s face failed to abate. He humped his body about, struggling against his bonds, then fell back, gasping for breath around the gag.

  Shounach tossed the armory key down beside him. It rang on the stone, bounced, settled against Lorenzais arm. “Forget him.” He took Gleia’s arm. “You’re not going to reach him now. Let’s get back out there.”

  An hour later they stood together between the torches, watching a line of small boats come into the light. Gleia plucked at the still damp material of her cafta and glanced up at Shounach. He was frowning slightly, his eyes moving from the six rowers to the man sitting at the bow of the front boat. She tugged at his sleeve. “Zuwayl?”

  “Probably.”

  “You know him?”

  “No.”

  She scowled at the nearing boats. “Five, Shounach. A lot of men.”

  “We don’t intend to fight them. Words, Companion. They’ll get us a lot farther than swords.”

  Gleia examined the man they thought might be Zuwayl. “Wag your tongue carefully; Juggler.”

  Zuwayl stepped from the boat onto the pier. He looked at them, looked past them at the empty pier, raised his eyebrows and turned to face Shounach. “Who’re you?”

  “Passengers.”

  “Hoh! Not that I know. Persuade me.”

  Shounach tossed five pentoboloi at him, one at a time. “Let these whisper in your ear.”

  Zuwayl grinned and clicked the coins in his left hand. “They have sweet tongues, friend. Welcome aboard.” He jerked a thumb at the boats rocking in the water by the end of the pier. “I had a deal.”

  “Still got it. Our friend who shall be nameless gave me the money for the shipment. Have your men haul it up and dump it in front of the armory door.”

  Zuwayl’s mouth split in a wide grin, folding the skin of his cheeks into a dozen small wrinkles on each side of his mouth. “You seem like an honest man, friend.” He snapped thumb and forefinger together. “Me, I gotta check myself to see I don’t sell my skin. The gold, friend.”

  Shounach dipped into his bag and produced the pouch of gold. He tossed it to Zuwayl.

  “Now that’s style.” Zuwayl wheeled, casually turning his back on them. “Jorken, take our passengers out to the ship. Herler, the rest of you, start unloading. Move it. Tide’ll be in before we finish, we don’t hurry.”

  Gleia stepped into the boat and settled herself somewhat nervously between two of the villainous-looking oarsmen. Shounach stopped for a last murmured word with Zuwayl, then settled in behind her.

  The stone bubble’s wall swept quickly down to another wormhole dripping seaweed and slime. They wound quickly through the short tunnel, then were out under the open sky and heading for a dark bulk barely visible in the dusting of surface mist. Gleia looked around, her curiosity back stronger than before.

  They were outside the breakwater in the open sea. She glanced up and back, catching fugitive gleams from the gilded roofs of Thrakesh. She moved her shoulders impatiently. That part of her life was irrevocably over. Over. She laughed silently, remembering the crazy rage in Lorenzai’s eyes. Better to get away far and fast. She looked around at the men bending their backs in practiced unison as they drove the boat across the waves toward the ship anchored in deeper water. Far and fast. The both of us.

  She stared to turn to the Juggler but changed her mind. Time for that later. Time to find out who and what he is. Shounach the juggler. The thissik Keeper called him Starfox. Hunting for the source of the Ranga Eyes. Should be uncomfortable but interesting. As the longboat’s bow cut across the incoming waves, rising and falling in bumpy swoops, she began to feel a similar swooping in her spirits.

  She ran her hands through her hair and sniffed the wind. Southwind again. Southwind. She laughed aloud, drawing astonished glances from the rowing men. Southwind my mother, here I go again. Jumping into the dark. I wonder what will happen this time.

  FIFTH SUMMER’S TALE (PART TWO)

  Companioning

  “Damn him. Five days and not a word.” Gleia stabbed the needle through the soft black material, pricked her finger, and jerked it away before blood could stain the cloth. Sucking at the small wound, she laid the shawl aside and swung around on the window seat where she’d taken her work to save on lamp oil, using instead the pale red light from Horli that struggled through the heavy layer of clouds. She propped her elbows on the windowsill and gazed out at the busy street below. The pattern of silver and green on the shawl heaped beside her was nearly finished. Another day and there’d be coins plumping out the limp money pouch she’d left on the table by the bed. One more thing to worry about. That and Shounach. Damn him for not letting me know whether he’s alive or dead.

  She was still chuckling at that absurdity when an iron bird swooped past to hover over the street. As she watched, it darted back and forth over the suddenly quiet people, then soared back to hover in front of her, humming like an outside insect, wings a foot long, moving slightly but constantly, the red light from cloud-hidden Horli sliding along crisply modeled features. The ball-head’s single eye set above a needle beak scanned her, small flickers of red light stirring in the depths of the dark lens. The thing made her shiver—a parody of a living bird. Deel called it an iron bird, the
Lossal’s iron bird, though it was made of a shining metal more like polished silver than black iron. It’s only a machine, she told herself, not a creation of some devil sorcery. As it swung suddenly and whirred off, she shivered again. Temokeuu-my-sea-father, I wish you were here to tell me it’s only a machine. She continued to watch as it soared inward over the middle city, dipping finally out of sight behind one of the Family Houses that dominated the center of walled Istir.

  She rested her chin on her hands and looked dreamily out the window, thinking of her adopted family of sea-folk, wondering how Tetaki-her-brother was coming with his new trade route, wondering whether Jevati-her-friend had married again. Snatches of music from neighboring taverns drifted up to her; street sounds floated around her—men’s voices as they passed along the street, arguing, talking, laughing; the clop-clop of horses’ hooves on the dark stone paving, a whinny or two and some snorts; the distant blended noise of huckster cries coming from the markets on both sides of the Strangers’ Quarter. Sharp smells floated on the lazy breeze—frying oil, fish, cooked meats, urine, horse manure. Her eyes dropped; she studied the people passing by, feeling a comfortable familiarity with a mix much like that she’d grown up with in Carhenas across the ocean—drylanders in silent groups; hunters; hillmen; boatmen from the highland rivers; an enigmatic group of veiled and armored women who seemed to call out hostility in the men around them. Gleia blinked, frowned as they passed out of sight followed by curses, uneasy laughter, obscene gestures.

  Once the women were gone, Gleia lost interest in the street and turned back to wondering about Shounach. How is he? What’s he doing now? What’s he been doing the last five days? Why doesn’t he send word out? She scratched at her arm; living with the Juggler was making her itchy. Companion. What’s that mean? That red-haired cow, the Lossal’s daughter.… She flexed her fingers, then began rubbing at the line of her jaw. It was difficult. She wasn’t used to fitting her actions to someone else’s needs. If he isn’t back by tomorrow, I’m getting out of here. With a feeling of relief, she let her hand drop into her lap. Relief and anger and uncertainty.