Lamarchos (17 page)

Folding the instrument roll into a tight bundle, Stavver hitched it to his belt again. For the first time in minutes he acknowledged her presence, jerking his head toward the opening. Disgust etched lines in his face. He murmured. “Not even a soundplate inside there. A baby could crawl in and take what it pleased.”

“Not worthy of you, Miks?”

He tugged at a lock of her hair, grinning at her. “Come on.” He reached inside the web suit and pulled out a pair of thin elastic bags, then packs of spongy tissues. “Be sure you wrap each stone before you bag it. A chip would cut the value in half.”

After a while Aleytys hefted the bag. “Miks.”

“What?”

“One more rock and I can't lift this.” She hauled at the bulging sack. “Can that gadget of yours handle the extra weight?”

He nodded, a brief angular movement of his head. “Rest a minute, Leyta. You're feeling better about all this, aren't you.”

Startled at his perception, she let the bag sink onto the floor and followed it down to sit with her arms wrapped about her legs, watching him as he stripped the shelves. After the wash of emotions that had scoured across her psyche she felt an overwhelming desire to sleep.

“Leyta. On your feet. Time to get out of here.”

“Back the way we came?”

“Right.”

Sighing, she pushed herself onto her knees then onto her feet. With a groan of distaste she eased the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and straightened her back. “All the way up there?”

“Unless you want to wait for the Karkiskya to open up in the morning.”

“Huh!”

Chapter VIII

Aleytys settled the bottom of the sack on the bunk, sliding the strap off her shoulder with a sigh of relief. Rubbing gently at the red pressure mark it left in her skin she backed away and watched Maissa dig greedily into the opening, pulling out one poaku after another. Stavver set his sack beside the first then settled beside Aleytys on the end of the opposite bunk, a hard, sardonic smile tightening the muscles of his narrow face.

Cooing over the carved stones, most of them little larger than the palm of her hand, Maissa inspected them then passed them on to Kale who rewrapped them and stowed them neatly away in the Vryhh box concealed beneath the driver's seat.

After a minute Stavver stirred, his body brushing against Aleytys. “We've paid passage.”

Maissa looked up, fingers still moving over a pale green poaku. She pulled her shoulders down in a noncommittal shrug, eyes glinting with a harsh scornful light. “All right. You have.”

“More than paid. Agreed?”

She frowned. “What's this?”

“I want to have it clear. Your word, Maissa. You know I'm a hard man to keep bound so that's something you won't break. I want your word you'll take us to I!kwasset.”

“Or—” She pulled herself up onto the bunk beside the bag.

“No threats. Either way.” Stavver tapped long fingers lightly on his knee. Her eyes flicked to the movement then away, a tic jerking beside her mouth as her precariously controlled nerves screamed in protest. She swung around and hunched over, burying her face in her hands. Aleytys saw her shoulders shake, heard her ragged breathing, then Maissa swung around to face them again, smiling, eyes brilliant, mocking.

Stavver watched, his own face bland and noncommittal.

“No passage, no stones. Is that it, Stavver?”

“That's about it.”

She looked down, saw the sea-green poaku she'd dropped glowing softly in the point lamps tacked above the bunk. Her fingers closed protectively about the stone. “All right. My word. If you're at the ship when I'm ready to leave, I take you to I!kwasset. See you keep up with me on our way out.”

Aleytys felt a falseness in her; she bit her lip and glanced up at Stavver. He nodded shortly, unwilling to press further and push the unstable woman into a screaming tantrum. “We'll be there, captain. Believe me.”

Maissa shrugged and passed the poaku to Kale.

Kale sat on the floor at the front of the caravan almost lost in the shadows. Aleytys watched him, disturbed by the way he handled the poaku, touching them with a jealous possessiveness. After a minute she shook off the chill. Trust Maissa to keep her greedy fingers on her prize. A soft exclamation swung her eyes back to the slight figure sitting on one foot.

Maissa held up one of the larger poaku. It's warm amber-veined russet gleamed with a silken glow in the harsh illumination. The deep relief was a hawk in mid-swoop, carved with such skill it took advantage of the shading in the stone to suggest the varying coloration of the hawk feathers. The lines of the figure were simple, the simplicity of great genius, each curve eloquent of life, the whole breathing its age, breathing its ancient magic into the air around it. Maissa's face flushed dusky red, her tongue licked daintily around her lips as if she was about to eat the stone in the excess of her greed. Reluctantly she handed it to Kale and reached in the sack for the next.

Aleytys sighed with relief. It seemed a sacrilege that Maissa's bloodstained hands should caress such beauty. Then she remembered the age and lure of the stone. Such things swim in blood through the ages coveted by greedy men willing to do anything to possess them. She glanced at Kale, wondering how he'd feel about this one.

He was running trembling fingers over the hawk's tense body, breath sobbing in his excitement. The stone meant something special to him, something more than all the others … talk of being willing to kill for.… She shifted against Stavver, the feel of him against her bringing a measure of comfort. He smiled down at her, rested his hand on her shoulder, making a pool of warmth against her neck.

As Kale rewrapped the poaku and thrust it in the box with sweaty face and trembling hands, Stavver slid off the bunk and began stripping away his working outfit, tools and web suit. Taking his batik and belt from the drawer beneath the bunk, he dressed himself back into the role of Keon. Then he tucked the web inside the tool pack and tied the roll shut. “Kale.”

The Lamarchan jerked nervously, nearly dropping the poaku he was pushing into the box. “What?”

“Shove this in there before some nervous Karsk picks it up on his screen.”

Without a word Kale caught the bundle. A sheen of sweat glowed over his skin and his eye-whites glistened intermittently in the light as his eyes jerked nervously around.

Maissa went rapidly through the rest of the stones, none of them as fine as the hawk. By the time they were all packed away she was breathing as hoarsely as Kale, hair gone stringy from the sweat rolling off her scalp. Her body jerked, then her breathing steadied and she relaxed. With the first uncontrived smile Aleytys had ever seen on her, she nodded at Stavver. “Good work thief. Hah. I need some tea.”

She pulled open the drawer beside her dangling legs. Inside was a small tea set with an automatic heater. “Have a cup with me?”

Stavver shrugged. Kale straightened painfully, grunting as his stiffened joints protested. “Good,” he muttered. “There's a chill in the air tonight.”

Maissa dipped into the tea cannister and dropped a generous pinch of leaves in each cup. Then she poured the boiling water over them and handed the steaming cups to the others, saving the last for herself. With a quick laugh she raised her cup. “To the Karkiskya who give so nobly.”

Kale sniggered, then gulped at his tea. “To the Karkiskya,” he muttered.

Aleytys felt an overwhelming tiredness. She sipped silently at the tea, appreciating the warmth it spread through her. She leaned against Stavver, feeling her muscles grow flaccid and trembling with her weariness. Stavver's face looked more fine-honed than usual, the lines cutting deeper, dragging downwards. “What time is it?”

Maissa's cup clattered as she set it down. She looked at Kale. “Well?”

“Maybe two hours till dawn.” He handed his cup to Maissa and yawned. “You going to stay up or try for some sleep?”

“Me, I'm for sleeping if someone'll carry me to my bed.” Aleytys set her cup down, feeling a ripple of silliness flutter through her as it tipped on its side, spreading a five-fingered stain on the mattress. She clutched at Stavver. “Thanks for the tea, Maissa.”

In their own caravan she sank on the bunk, giggling in small squeaky bursts while she watched Stavver shake Loahn awake.

“How'd it go?” The boy stretched and yawned. “What's wrong with her?”

“She's just tired out, reacting to the strain. Wake us up in a couple of hours.”

Loahn frowned. “You sure?”

“Have to be. Look, you can sleep here the rest of the night. Whatever you want.” He rested a hip on Aleytys' bunk. “God, I'm tired. Lee, stretch out.” He pushed her down and spread the quilt over her. “You'll feel better after a little sleep.”

She reached up and pulled him down beside her. “Stay with me, Miks.”

“Lee, I'm too tired. And you're nearly unconscious.”

“Just stay with me.” The last word trailed off into an indistinct mutter as she sank into sleep. Stavver lay beside her and was immediately deep, deep asleep.

Loahn sighed. He worked the quilt from under the long man and spread it over the two of them. The quality of their sleep made him a bit uneasy, then he shrugged and returned to the other bunk.

For a time he lay awake, his brain circling around and around the problem of Aleytys. He looked across the caravan where her face was a pale blur beside the thief's. “Lahela,” he muttered. “It's not your name.” He shut his eyes, huddled further under the quilt, disturbed about the sight of her curved against that man. Abruptly he turned to face the wall, hugging the quilt about him. After a while he slept.

Chapter IX

A sharp jab of intense pain stabbed through her head. Another followed blasting along the path of the first. Aleytys stirred, dimly aware of a disturbance in her body overlaid by a foreboding that strained the hot sunny day dark with gloom. Clutching at her head, a head throbbing in a hangover worse than the time she'd got into the Azdar's stock of hullu-wine and drunk herself silly at reaping festival one pre-puberty fall, Aleytys sucked in a lungful of air, then regretted it immediately. After a minute she opened her eyes.

Stavver was snoring next to her ear, his face slack in drugged sleep. There was a sourness around him that woke her stomach to nausea again. She plucked at her wrinkled batik, rubbed the red spot where the brooch pin had marked her, brushed at flies crawling over her stomach … flies … too many flies … and the smell.…

She swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, keeping her eyes shut to minimize the vertigo, then she looked down.

“Ay mi sa Madar!” She fell off the bunk thudding onto her knees.

Sharl was gone. Oh god, thank god, Madar. Help me. Sharl.… She brushed the flies off Olelo's body, feeling his fur stiff under her fingers from the gout of blood that had spurted from his savagely torn throat Oh god, Sharl.… Maissa!

She leaped to her feet, clutched at the bunk until the world steadied, then thrust her head out the back curtains. The brilliant daylight hit her like a blow in the face. She leaned against the sidewall until her eyes cleared then looked again. The other caravan was gone.

Clinging to the wall, she turned back inside. Shutting her eyes she fumbled for the black river and sent the power splashing over her body until she could think coherently again. She opened her eyes. “Miks …”

Sinking fingers into Stavver's sinewy shoulders, she shook him. He muttered vaguely. She buried her hands in his mop of hair and rattled his head against the mattress. “Stavver, wake up … is he dead, dying …?” Amber light flashed around her and she flushed angrily, this time at her own stupidity. With the healing power she flushed the drug from his body, then shook him awake, muttering swift thanks to the diadem for its timely jab.

Stavver sat up, blinking at the light. “It's late.” He glanced at the other bunk. “Where'd he get to?”

“I don't know,” Aleytys said impatiently. “Forget him. Look at this.”

“The speaker. Maissa!” He slid off the bunk but she stopped him before he got to the back of the caravan.

“She's gone.”

“I should have expected that,” he muttered. “If we're not at the ship, she'll leave us.” He dropped an arm around Aleytys' shoulders. “Damn. That tea.”

“I suppose so.” She began to tremble. “Miks … Sharl, she took Sharl, came in here and took my baby. Why?”

He held her against him. “He'll be all right. Face it, Lee. She could have killed him here, like she did the speaker. Since she didn't.…”

“Oh god, Miks—”

“He'll be all right.”

“He's too young, he can't live away from me, how'll he eat … how will.…” Her voice grew shriller and shriller as terror flooded her. She shoved at Stavver, struggling to get past him, to get out and.… An empty, aching horror grew in her, an eating out of her center until a bleeding shell was all that was left, a raging fury and pain that filled the emptiness with hate.

Stavver slapped her, shocking her from the surges of rage and loss that rattled her mind out of any chance of coherent thought. She gasped and collapsed against him sobbing painfully.

He stroked a hand over her hair, across her shaking shoulders, following the path over and over until the storm of emotion blew itself out and she rested against him, weary, ragged breaths creating a damp warm spot on his chest. “He'll be all right, Lee. He's your son, a survivor like you. Maissa will take care of him.”

“Maissa …” The word was a sorry wail muffled against his chest.

“I know,” He murmured. “I know, Lee. We'll catch up to her if you pull yourself together.”

Aleytys drew in a deep shuddering breath and leaned back against his arms. “Thanks, Miks.” She stepped away, rubbing her red, aching eyes. “I suppose you'd better see to the horses. If Maissa left us a team. I … I've got to get Olelo back to the earth.”