Desert World Allegiances (7 page)

“Boy’s about white eyed with fear,” Cardan said, his hand tightening around Temar’s arm. Temar felt another tear escape, leaving a cold trail over his cheek.

“Slavery would leave even me white eyed with fear. Give him a little time to come to terms with this.” Ben set the box down on a long sorting table. A cooling unit, a recycler and an incinerator all stood side by side, thick insulation between them, and Temar tightened his jaw. A small trail of spit escaped from his gag, and Ben leaned over with a rag in his hand, gently wiping Temar’s face, from his chin up to the corner of his mouth.

The touch made Temar’s body stiffen in terror. “He’s handling this about as well as such a young man could,” Ben said kindly. That kindness was a slap in the face that made Temar hold his breath, as he waited for the choking grip around his neck or the affectionate pat on the face. The fact that he didn’t know which he would get was actually far worse than the casual cruelty he would have received from the hand of Landholder Young.

“You’re having remarkable patience with him,” Cardan said. Ben lifted the supplies off the top of the box with the notebooks, and Temar stared in desperate hope at those piles of notes that he had collected and maintained so carefully. Ben lifted the first out of the box and smiled at Temar.

“I think young fools deserve a little patience. After all, the whole point of the slavery system is to help those who have been handicapped by poor parenting. Isn’t that what Naite Polli is always saying?”

Ben pulled the heavy door of the incinerator open and put the first notebook in. Temar made an inarticulate cry behind his gag, but Cardan merely patted him on the arm, the way someone might soothe an anxious goat about to be castrated. And the image wasn’t far off. His power was in those notebooks, in his carefully kept records, and Ben piled them inside the heavy machine.

Ben changed the subject. “So, any word on that south field?”

“Still under watered. I was hoping that, with the Gazer farm shut down, we could start watering our seedlings their full allotment.”

“If there’s a broken pipe, the pipe traps are still getting half our share,” Ben said with a weary sigh. Temar frowned in confusion. Ben should have all the water he needed if he was stealing, so why did he feel a need to play these games?

“We should get out there and find that broken irrigation pipe. You should have gone to the council and complained about the Gazer farm years ago.  So, whose land is that now?”

“No doubt George Young will get the land to repay him for the Gazers’ tricks, because the slave prices weren’t enough to replace the water and the damaged crops.” Ben paused with Temar’s last notebook in his hand. If Temar had evidence that implicated him in his hand, he would be panicked and sweating, but Ben only looked thoughtful. “Honestly, I don’t know that George is going to care about a leak any more than old Erqu Gazer did. Maybe we should petition the council to cut the Gazer farm off the irrigation system altogether.”

Cardan rubbed his bald head. “George’ll protest that.”

“George protests everything. The council is going to engrave a chair for his butt.” Ben shook his head and leaned against the incinerator, the notebook still in hand. “He can get the land back on the system after he’s done a few burns and gotten those pipe traps ripped out… and after he’s found that damn leak. But it’s a waste of water, and it’s keeping us from getting our full share. Erqu was… lost… after his wife’s death. I wouldn’t have taken that man to the council for all the luck in the stars. He was a good man.” Ben fell silent, his sorrow appearing so real that Temar had trouble believing his eyes.  Then Ben seemed to pull himself out of his grief as he pointed a finger. “But George had better be ready for a fight if I don’t get my full water share. If he takes one drop from me, I’ll petition to have him doing labor days.” Ben poked his finger in Cardan’s direction, and Cardan smiled.

“George Young doing a hard day’s labor prepping the ground?” Cardan outright laughed at that thought. “That would mean moving his own sorry ass or hiring out the work.”

“Or getting Cyla Gazer to do it.” Ben made an unhappy face. “There wasn’t anyone bidding her slave price when I left town, so the council might be forced to hand her over to Young.” Ben practically threw the last book into the incinerator and then slammed the door with far more force than it needed. “I don’t like the idea of her over there with that man. He’s not one to show anyone human respect, and he definitely wouldn’t respect a slave.”

Temar almost choked on the irony of that. Right now, Temar would far rather have himself and his sister in Young’s hands. He might take his fury and frustration out on them, but Ben frightened him far more.

Cardan patted him on the arm again. “Don’t think that we’ll let him do poorly by your sister,” he offered reassuringly, his voice deadly serious.

“Perhaps we can retire the northwest corner from pasture for a few seasons, turn the goats loose in there.”

“It’s not scheduled for livestock for another four harvests.”

Ben’s mouth curved into a slow smile. “Ah, but if we have goats so far from the house, I imagine some would get through that old fence on a fairly regular basis.”

“Which would lead to us having to ride up to Young’s place, looking for our missing stock. I wouldn’t mind catching that bastard being a bastard.”

“Me too.” Ben sounded so honest in his desire to protect Cyla that Temar thought, for a moment, that maybe he’d imagined the whole scene in the bedroom, maybe he’d hallucinated the entire hellacious week. How could a man appear so honest one moment and—Temar’s thoughts froze in a white storm of horror as Ben turned the incinerator on. The heavy machine thunked and hissed and then gave a mighty roar as it devoured all his work and then sent the ashes down to become fertilizer.

“We may lose stock to the pipe traps.” Cardan continued the conversation, never knowing that he was witnessing the end of Temar’s hopes. His father would forever be remembered as a fool, and he and his sister would be water thieves for the rest of their lives.

“Don’t you think it’s worth a few stock animals to make sure that Cyla doesn’t end up like that girl in Blue Hope?” Ben asked.

Cardan’s face hardened. His jaw bulged, and he pulled his lips back, so that the white of his teeth shone against his dark skin. “They should have done more than exile that man. What he did was an abomination.”

“Let the sandcats eat him. Some people are just born wrong.” Ben pressed his lips together into an angry line and shook his head. “I won’t have that happen here. If Young gets that girl, we will be keeping a close eye on her.” Then Ben turned to Temar and gave him another of those fatherly smiles that turned Temar’s guts to ice. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure we keep tabs on your sister.”

“That we will, boy,” Cardan agreed, slapping Temar on the arm. “We’ll keep an eye out for both of you.”

Ben’s smile suddenly looked far more dangerous. Temar fought an instinctive urge to run away, because clearly he wouldn’t get far. Even if he’d been free and ungagged, he’d never convince people that Ben Gratu was a water thief and monster. “It looks like Temar has calmed down some. Why don’t you head back out to the barn, and I’ll see if I can’t get our hellion settled in some, before the field crew comes in.”

“You got it, boss. Behave, boy,” he said with a final friendly slap on Temar’s arm, and then he wandered out of the mechanical room, leaving Temar alone with Ben.

Ben ran a finger over the door handle to the incinerator. “Do I need to explain the futility of screaming?” Ben asked, with an amused twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Temar shook his head. Clearly, Ben had won this fight. Temar’s family was gone, his land was gone, and his sister’s life was in the hands of a monster.

“Such a trainable boy,” Ben said, his expression widening into a big grin. He stepped forward, his body trapping Temar against the table as he reached around to pull at the knotted strip of fabric. Ben was taller, so when he leaned in, Temar was eye level with his chin and had a close-up view of the tiny, rough hairs pushing out of his face. Temar focused on the stubble, tracing patterns in the miniature forest of hair rather than look up into the mocking friendliness in this monster’s eyes.

With a last tug, the tie came loose, and Ben pulled it off, leaving Temar with a mouth full of fabric that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with. He looked at Ben, wondering if he dared to spit the soggy mess out or if that would bring back the anger. His throat still ached at the memory of those strong fingers wrapped around it as they threatened to strangle him.

Ben’s smile grew larger as he considered Temar. Bringing a finger up, he traced from the edge of Temar’s mouth to a spot under his ear. Temar suspected that he was following the red line made by the gag pressing into his skin. “Such a trainable boy.” Ben retraced the mark, pressing on the corner of Temar’s mouth. Temar sucked air through his nose as the pressure made the skin heat and sting.

“Ten years is a long time, but your life would go much smoother if you would yield to reason… if you’re a good boy and yield to me. There’s no cause to fight, because there is nothing to be gained.”

Temar watched with wide eyes, not sure how he was supposed to react.

Ben traced the edge of Temar’s top lip with a fingertip. “Do you want that out of your mouth?”

With a small nod, Temar watched Ben, feeling very much like the birdbug about to be pounced on by a sandcat. For a second, Ben didn’t do anything but run his work-rough finger over Temar’s lower lip and watch Temar with a predatory eye. Temar held himself perfectly still, his hands helpless and fisted between them.

“Such a
very
trainable boy.” Ben pressed down against Temar’s lip, and he allowed Ben to open his mouth and reach in for the soggy cloth. “You are so much brighter than your father even knew. You see the sides of the trap even now, don’t you?”

Temar dry swallowed, fear stealing his spit so that his lips and tongue tried to stick together. Ben tossed the cloth aside and pressed so close that Temar’s back had to arch against the hard edge of the table. “What would happen if you told your story to Carden?” Ben was back to sounding friendly and helpful.

For a second, Temar wasn’t sure whether Ben really wanted an answer, but then the hand that had been stroking his lip gave him a light slap across the face. “He’d think I was just accusing you because I’m angry. He wouldn’t believe it,” Temar blurted.

Again, Ben reached up, but this time he patted Temar on the cheek. “Good boy. You aren’t coming across as particularly reliable right now. And the less reliable you are, the less I have to worry about you, and the safer your sister is going to be. Guess what game we’re going to play.” Ben wiggled his eyebrows, and Temar watched him, terrified because right now anything that came out of Ben’s brain was not going to be good. “We’re going to go out there, and you’re going to play good slave until someone mentions water or George Young. Guess what you’re going to do then.” Ben reached up and fingered a lock of Temar’s hair, stroking it with his thumb. After a second, he gave that same lock such a hard yank that Temar gasped. “I asked you to guess, boy.” Suddenly he didn’t sound as friendly.

At first, Temar was too afraid to guess anything. He wanted Ben to tell him what to do so he knew how to navigate this shifting sand he’d found himself walking. He felt as if, any second, the winds would change, and the dune would move under him, and he’d be buried under two tons of sand. However, his mind spun an answer out of Ben’s words.

“You want me to prove how unreliable I am.” He whispered the answer.

He’d hated giving answers in school because he’d hated having everyone look at him. They looked at him and whispered about his father or about how Cyla had gotten in trouble again or about how he came to school in clothes that were too large because he had to take whatever handouts others would give him. And as the terraforming ships grew rarer, the number of handouts others had been willing to offer had dwindled. He didn’t want anyone to notice any of that. Even when he’d had the right answer, he had preferred to remain in the back, unnoticed and uncommented on.

Now Ben was asking him to make himself the center of a scene, like his father when he was so drunk that he flung accusations as easily as clods of dirt.

Ben rested his palm against Temar’s cheek and stroked his thumb over the corner of his mouth, where it was still sore. “Good boy. I’ll never trust you until you show me you can earn that trust by doing what your master says. My friend wants to kill your sister, so you know that I’m the only one standing between the Gazer family and death.” Ben’s expression softened with worry. “Your father was a good man before your mother died so young, and I’ve wanted to do something to help you. I just always worried about drawing attention to myself. But now, I can help you. I can protect your sister, and I can make sure that these next ten years are easy for you. But you have to show me that you know how to appreciate my protection.” Ben’s hand paused, and he brought his other hand up, so that he cupped Temar’s face. Temar held himself perfectly still. He didn’t know the rules to this game, but he knew he had no power in it.

“I think you want to scream and rant and accuse George Young of stealing your water and setting you up and ruining your farm. Hell, you can throw in something truly outlandish, like a suggestion that he killed your mother. What am I going to do?”

Temar’s gaze darted to the table where the clump of damp cloth lay. “You’ll gag me.”

“That I will. After all, as your owner, it is my job to teach you control, and I would never allow you to publicly slander George. That would give George the right to demand days of labor from you, and everyone knows that I’m too good of a man to want George near you or your sister. That man values land and money and wringing fourteen hours of labor out of a twelve hour day. I wouldn’t give him the right to overwork my young Temar. So, what will the others think of me for gagging you?”

“That you’re protecting me.” Temar choked on the words, but he could see the twisted logic of them.