A Bait of Dreams (11 page)

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 himself 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.”

She shivered. “I'd go crazy with boredom.” With a yawn and a groan, she stretched arms and legs. “Talk about impossible pressures. Ugh! Shounach.”

“What?”

“We can't kill him. That would be like … like cutting all their throats.”

“Consequences of intervention.”

“Fancy words for murder.” She wrinkled her nose, then shook her head. “The Keeper's small and tired, but he's no fool. Jevati won't get near him when he's awake. Tetaki will have to use his knife. He's very good at throwing it.”

“Would he insist on that?”

She rubbed her forehead, then smoothed her hand back over her hair. “Tetaki's no killer.” She laughed. “Except when he's trading.”

“Mmmh. Would he trade with the thissik if he had a chance?”

Gleia grinned. “Yes.”

“That's all? Just yes with no qualifications?”

She giggled. “Wave a few market in front of Tetaki and watch him salivate.” She hugged her arms across her breasts. “His mouth must be watering already over the things he's bringing up from the ship. Probably has a few little tidbits stashed away hoping to collect them if he gets away. Can you get the Keeper to listen?”

“I can try.”

“He's going to kill us when the clean-up's finished, isn't he.”

He looked sharply at her. “So you caught that.”

“So am I stupid?” She sniffed. “Shounach the Juggler. Juggling lives.” She yawned and closed her eyes. “This night is crawling along. Where are you going after you get loose?”

“Here and there.”

“Off world?”

“You say that with remarkable equanimity for a young woman in a low-level technology.”

She chuckled drowsily. “Big words, big words. Some of the seaborn have forgotten less about their origins than the other sorts here. Temokeuu says it's because of long lives and a very stable culture.”

“Your father?”

“You say that with remarkable equanimity,” she murmured. “Some people consider my relationship with him sick and shameful—mammal consorting with fish—and the other way around depending on who's talking.”

“Affection transcends form,” he said gravely.

“Affectation obscures sense.” She snorted and opened her eyes. “Did you crash here too? Temokeuu told me about the …” she hesitated, trying to remember just what he'd said, “the way things are around our world and our suns. Like marshland trapped with quicksand, some places safe enough and others that twist and tear the starships until they are destroyed or tumble down on us.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Temokeuu says there are hundreds of different worlds out there. Is it like going from Cern to Cern? He says the distances the ships travel are so great I can't even begin to imagine them. Have you seen many worlds? Are they anything like Jaydugar? Tell me.…”

“Slow down.” He was laughing so hard he swallowed the words. “Later, Gleia,” he managed. “Plenty of time later.”

The bar chunked back and the door swung open. Tetaki looked in. “Come on,” he said. “The only guard is half-asleep by the front gate.”