Brant started laughing. “I didn’t know your vocabulary was so extensive! Since it is unlikely you know the full meaning of that, I’ll overlook it this time.” He managed the slightest pause between “it” and “this” without breaking his stride or his smile. Darame let her lips thin as she listened to the rewarding hiss of carbonation and sipped directly from the tube.
Are you really that unobservant? If he wanted to think she underestimated the insult, fine — she was not ready to cut his throat. Not yet. Besides, Brant always smuggled a mag gun onto each world he visited, and Sweet Peter alone knew where it was hidden in this room.
Pouring a drink for himself, Brant wandered back over toward his desk. “In answer to both your questions, I haven’t answered your messages because I knew what you wanted and I didn’t know where Halsey was… then.”
A new game. Delightful. “I hope things have been running more smoothly here. I had Sheel trusting me and listening to me, and then White shows up like a rotting corpse, ruining the scenery.” She kept her tone petulant, wanting him to think her work had been compromised. “I could smell him in my sleep.”
Brant frowned at that. “I had nothing to do with White. I think he’s a bit strange in the head — and he dislikes Sheel, that I’m sure about. What happened up there?”
A short laugh escaped Darame’s lips. “You tell me. When I woke, I had Sheel unconscious and the guaard dead, plus Tobias missing. If we’re not careful, the authorities will have our skins for this entire mess.”
Seating himself on the edge of the desk, Brant shook his head at her. “I have the two of us covered thoroughly. Atare taking a fancy to you helped: they can’t do much to you when it’s obvious their ruler trusted you. It’s Halsey I’m concerned about.” His expression became grave. “He’s been missing for almost a month. I must admit I’m worried about him.”
“He said nothing to you about leaving?”
“Nothing.” Brant was both emphatic and annoyed. It was a good performance; Darame found herself almost tempted to re-think her theories. Almost.
“Not like him to leave for this long,” she pointed out, leaning against the bar and studying an area just to the right of Brant’s head. “Any theories?”
Brant tapped his nails across the polished wood of his desk, a slight frown pulling at his face. He apparently had not noticed Darame using his own tricks against him, but he clearly felt them — he was becoming irritable. “I don’t think he’s dead,” Brant said at last. “I’ve kept a watch for loose corpses — murder draws attention in this town, it’s rare.” He chuckled at that. “They don’t know how to deal with it.” Glancing up, he added: “I think the guaard may be looking for a scapegoat, as incredible as that seems. That’s the other reason I’m worried about Halsey. I think… I think that someone in the guaard may have been involved with Cort Atare’s death.”
Darame raised her eyebrows. How much was he going to volunteer?
“Seriously,” Brant continued, misinterpreting her expression. “I told you, I think that guaard called White isn’t playing with a full deck. He may be our best lead to Halsey, and I know he has Sheel Atare as well.”
“Why?” No need to pretend puzzlement; the real question was, what would Brant say in return?
“Maybe to find out where Leah’s boy is, maybe for some other reason. It occurred to me that a faction of the guaard might be trying to force some changes, even gain some control in the government. They may be trying to get Sheel to agree to some terms. Once I figured out where you all where, I kept an eye on things. When I decided the guaard knew, I dropped a hint that we — the embassy — wanted to know where you were and were concerned about you. So I knew you’d be fine.”
“And sent an observer?”
“Of course.”
Darame controlled a chuckle, allowing her smile to show. So… as usual, you know almost everything. A cold thought touched her stomach… If Brant had plans for Avis, Tobias was no longer needed, either… “I could have done a better job,” she finally said. “Where do you think they are?”
“East of here, in the mountains — beyond them, even.” It was too casual.
Darame had had enough of caution. “I think you know. What are you going to do about it?”
“What’s it to you?”
Her eyes widened in feigned outrage, even as Brant added: “Not Halsey. The Nualan.”
Her tube of wine crashed to the bar as she started for him, grabbing the first excuse that came to mind. “How are we going to salvage anything from this job if you — “
“Forget the job.” Brant’s calm expression did not change. “It’s blown, forget it. I have a bit going on the side, and if you’re smart, you’ll start something up, too. I’m not sure Avis will be worth your while, though: she’s a younger daughter, and they’re as worthless as younger sons.” The last was almost too casual, causing Darame’s ears to sharpen. So, Avis was under his eye. Worse and worse… Then his expression altered, and amusement creased his features. “Of course. I should have seen it sooner. Brilliant, my dear! And with care and a bit of smuggling, you can even avoid children. It won’t matter: his children have nothing to do with the succession.”
“I don’t follow,” she said slowly, thrown off-balance in the conversation for the first time. Turning, she reached for what was left of her drink.
“Come, come, Darame, have you been too busy with short-term credit-shuffling to see a larger picture? That trinket around your neck is a toy compared to what you would have as Atarae.” He played with the strange word, stretching its three syllables. Seeing Darame’s frown, he laughed. “Is the word unknown to you? The wife of the ruler, sweet Gavrielian. He has to marry someone, and he certainly won’t be blasting off for Caesarea to find her. Why not you?”
“I doubt the people of this city would appreciate a free-trader as their ruler’s consort,” Darame said wryly. “And I have this aversion to marriage. I’ll take my trinium and a ticket for Cold Sleep, thanks.” It took all her training to remain calm. Don’t mock me, you bastard, I know my place! Or do you know it looks like he’s lost interest? Good God, was even old Harald in your pay?
Brant shook his head. “Don’t be crazy. More wealth than you could spend in a lifetime — probably as petty cash! I’ll even give you a hint: the trade routes are closed this time of year, but my informants tell me that seven days east of here, a few hours off the road to the south, lies a small camp, unregistered as a wintering caravan. I’d look for Sheel Atare there. You can take my Arab, he’s as tough as they come and fast.” Brant reached lazily over his head to touch his communication board. “Irving, arrange for my Lightning to be taken to the palace for Darame Daviddottir’s use. Immediately.” Glancing at her, he added: “I’d take rail to Portland and save yourself some time.”
“You’re serious.” She studied him quietly, controlling her elation, wondering just what was behind this offer.
“Very.” The smile disappeared from his face. “Some odd things are going on right now, and I don’t have my finger on them as I’d like.… You can move where I cannot. The act of returning you as he did — without any damage — shows that White thinks you no threat. So, pay him a visit. You can even tell him that it was authorized by me.” That seemed to amuse him greatly. “Make Atare see reason. He can counterplot all he wants, once he gets back here alive. I’ll even help him, at this point.”
“Brant the kingmaker?”
He smiled at her turn of words. “Just don’t forget who your friends are, my dear, when you ascend the bloody throne.”
Reaching languidly to touch the necklace pressed against her skin, wondering how he knew, for it was hidden beneath her shirt, Darame allowed an answering smile. How smooth it all sounded — if one did not know how power worked in this place. Ah, Sheel, this is not how you intended me to use this chain, but it has certainly come in handy! As her smile faded, her thoughts took a savage turn. He had better be just fine, Brant… or between us we’ll show
these children what a real blood feud is.
Suck the Monkey
to drain the vitality of a
pawn during a swindle.
Chapter Twelve
STARRISE MOUNTAINS
ONEHUNDRED FORTYSEVENDAY, COMPLINE
Darkness was a better state of mind… of being. Sheel suspected that it was actually past starset, but he could not be sure; the drugs blurred all distinctions, including day and night. It had been a long time since he had seen anyone… Two days? Surely he had seen the star’s light twice. Losing your grip, fool, he thought idly, contemplating the spur of rock his feet rested against. This new position was more comfortable… comparatively. It was closer to lying down, at least, although the wire binding his wrists was infinitely more painful than rope. Wiggling fingers, wiggling toes, ensuring circulation…
You had one chance, and it is gone, he reminded himself. But what other choice had there been? Grinding the ropes to threads a few days back, he had managed to slip away into the netherworld of dusk. Odd that their ignoring him for a few days should work to his advantage. He had walked until there was no strength to continue, and even found a trickle of a thermal stream, which had both bathed and filled his body. What chance to evade guaard? They can track anything, anywhere… Sleep was necessary, and of course they found him. Now the drugs which had caused his will to deteriorate were being used to make sure no further escapes would be made. The beating had merely released White’s frustration.
Dead man. Names were being mentioned… Dirk’s, even Leah’s. The lines of choice were being drawn: assist them, or spend his last days wired to this bolt in the wall. Sheel had given up on Varden; the youth was simply too frightened of White. What has he done to these children, to frighten them so? That avenue had been explored before the ill-fated escape attempt. Sheel had chosen his time and his words carefully: It is still not too late. The boy had actually blanched, his voice trembling as he answered. Not too late? It was too late the moment I said “You are right.” He would not explain this cryptic remark, nor volunteer any other information.
Not much time left. As Sheel had hoped, his training and healing abilities had enabled him to fight the erosion of his body and will, but things had changed abruptly in the last few days. Now White used the drugs to keep him from escaping, and he was not careful in dosage or mixture. Sheel understood a great deal about his own talents, and the chemical and electrical procedures he used to heal — but all stamina had a limit. White’s current actions had the potential of damaging the mind; all Sheel’s remaining strength went toward protecting his brain. Nothing was left for his immune system. Given sparse food, meager water, and temperature fluctuations, infection was inevitable.
Outside the cave was a crunching sound, infiltrating the steady trickle of water that lulled his senses.
The intruder paused at the entrance to activate a lantern. Pale yellow light wavered into the cave, illuminating the far end of it. Sheel quickly focused on the light source, knowing that a beacon might suddenly flare on. A large, unfamiliar form walked slowly up to his feet.
Totally unfamiliar. The man was not even dressed as a guaard. Sheel studied his boots, wondering where White’s game was leading. Who are you, and should I know you? Now that thought was almost frightening. He was so tired.…
Squatting near the flat rock White often sat upon, the stranger placed his lantern upon the stone and settled his large body into the sand. A big man, who once had been bigger: his clothes seemed slightly loose. Several objects were laid beside the lantern, including a water bottle. That was interesting to Sheel: he knew he was dehydrated, and that his body could not continue to feed on itself. Most of the day had been spent trying not to think about thirst.
“Do you remember me, Atare?” the man asked softly in Caesarean, his pleasant tenor voice rolling through the sound of water falling.
“Should I remember you?” Sheel chose to say, the whisper barely penetrating the silence which followed the stranger’s words.
“Not necessarily. We met only once, for but a few moments: the night of your heir’s birthday celebration. I am called Halsey in this time and place. My company was here to arrange some trade agreements — we arrived the night of the party.”
“And everything fell apart — for you as well as my family. Why are you here?” There was no harm in asking. Either he would explain or he would not; Sheel was fairly certain he could tell if the man was lying. Pain seemed to make him sensitive to nuance.
“I suspect I am here to kill you… in a manner of speaking.” Halsey reached for the soft water bottle. “You are called a healer. I understand that part of your skill lies in recognizing chemical imbalances. Can you do it with water?”
Sheel shifted slightly, trying to get a good look at the man. It was awkward, what with his hands anchored past his head. Parting his arms at the elbows, he studied the off-worlder. Dark eyes flicked with gold stared back, as if weighing, analyzing… “I am not sure,” Sheel began. “I can detect bad water, if that is what you are asking. But water intentionally altered… poisoned? I am not at my best,” he added wryly.
Halsey’s gaze moved to the water bottle. “I do not trust it. Why would they have me deliver your food and water, unless there was something behind the deed? What do you want me to do?”
“Pour some of the water… No, not against your skin — “ Sheel changed his mind abruptly.
“I have lined gloves.” Pulling them on, Halsey poured a tiny amount of water into his cupped palm. “And now?”
“I am afraid I must stick an appendage into it,” was the dry response. “Unfortunately, it had better be my tongue. A finger would take a long time.”
“What if it is highly concentrated?”
“It will probably give me the dry heaves,” Sheel told him. “It has been a day or so since they have bothered bringing me water.” Cautiously Sheel lifted his head as Halsey brought his hand closer. And if you poison yourself? The idea that he had a choice amused him, and he managed a grin before turning to the man’s palm.
The effect was immediate. If anything, his mouth felt dryer, and sparks which had no reality beyond his brain danced before his eyes. He could hear Halsey move quickly, and the sound of water splashing on rocks.
“This, Atare.” It was the man’s other hand. Blind to his intentions, Sheel accepted the water. Tepid, brackish, but free of anything dangerous.
“What?” Sheel managed when his mouth was moist enough to spit.
“The basin of water in the cave. Heavy on minerals, but apparently they have not bothered to foul it.” Wheezing slightly, Halsey bent to seize the bottle. “Can I rinse this out, do you think?”
“Several rinses: pour the water on the floor each time,” Sheel instructed. He head felt clear for the first time in several days. Was dehydration disorienting his mind, or was he simply becoming ill? You are confused, dead man. “Then you might pour a bit on me. My bath is wearing off.”
“You are not eating enough to pass wastes,” Halsey pointed out. “Not good, Atare. You do not smell unwashed, you smell sick.” Carefully refilling the bottle with the cave water, the off-worlder brought it back and sat down next to Sheel.
“Quite likely,” Sheel said, the faint grin returning. “I have the choice of protecting various portions of my body. Hot healing can only do so much, and lack of food and water weakens the ability.” Slowly he drank some of the offered fluid.
“How about the food?”
Still sipping, Sheel considered it. “No,” he said finally. “Better not to risk it.” His pale right eye gave Halsey a sharp look. “It has only been two days since I ate. I can last quite a while without solids.”
“Not good,” Halsey told him.
“No.” Sheel kept it simple.
“You were slender to begin with, and I can see by your face that you have lost weight. What else?” There was patience in the question.
Sheel did not pretend to misunderstand. “A few cracked ribs… And
my back has seen better days — do not bother looking! There is nothing you can do for it. Just cuts and bruises,” he added quickly.
“I could wash away the blood.” Into the quiet Halsey added: “But they will probably be back, won’t they?”
“It seems that our usefulness draws to an end,” Sheel agreed. “Pretend that you gave me the water and food. Few outside my field of study know just what a healer can do; perhaps they will think it must build in my system.”
“Do you really believe that?” Halsey’s expression was tired.
“Of course not. But short of lighting a flare to announce our location, I am out of ideas. You?” Sheel watched his face, trying to remember something about this man, something once known.… “You are Caesarean?” Why was thinking so difficult? Surely that meant something, something political.… It was taking everything just to concentrate on this man’s face.
“My godchild has a bad habit of taking matters into her own hands. If there is a way to find me, she will. Can we stay alive until then?” Sheel gave Halsey a questioning look, and the man clarified his statement by saying: “Darame.”
Ah. Was it worth mentioning that she might be dead? He did not want to think about the possibility… it increased the pain. If you do not say the words aloud.… “More water,” Sheel said finally. Right now, life was enough. He would not bring death into it.
o0o
Night was far advanced… past midnight, for certain, and approaching lauds, moonset for Nuala’s largest natural satellite. Darame leaned against her mount, sipping at the tube attached to her water bottle and watching the path for loose stones and shards of ice. A handsome black nose turned slightly, reaching to shove against her.
“I know, your turn,” she told him affectionately, squeezing some tepid water into the shallow, soft bag Nualans used for watering their horses. Only a squirt, since they were still walking; no chances could be taken with her riding animal. Praise all the saints for concentrated food, or she would not be this far into the mountains. No pack hazelle could match this animal’s speed, and few horses could equal his endurance. “You are much too good to be Brant’s riding toy,” she told the stallion, patting his neck. “I think I’ll have to blight my Nualan record with a bit of horse theft.” Snorting, the Arab tossed his head and extended his walk. “Ready to speed up again? Very well.” Slowing the horse with a firm grip on his rein, Darame tightened the girth and then jumped into the saddle, wincing as she landed. “We have been blessed with a waxing moon — let’s take advantage of it.”
Fires of Nuala Page 30