Skeen's Return (42 page)

Timka thought a minute, then thumbed out more chips and piled them in front of her. “What can you tell me that I couldn't get for one of these,” she picked up a chip, held it between thumb and forefinger, “at the nearest computer outlet?”

“Nuances,” Briony said softly, “things the Brain can't tell you. Background on Vanker and his habits. Like that.”

Timka nodded and pushed the chips across the table. “Enough?”

Fingers moving quickly, neatly, Briony transferred the chips to the tray. “Generous,” she murmured, gave Timka a gamin's grin, “but I don't make refunds.”

Timka clicked her nails on the table top. “Why me?” she said, the words exploding out of her. “Why me?” she said more quietly, “From what he could see, I'm nothing special.”

“You're new in the Pits?”

“Very.”

“Don't think I'm prying, but you have friends here? The folk who brought you?”

“Yes.”

“Why did they let you wander about alone? Didn't they warn you something like this might happen?”

“Skeen didn't say anything about challenges.” Timka gazed past Briony at a spectacular spray of stars. She sighed. “Probably no one's ever challenged her and she just forgot. She has other things on her mind. Besides she knows me, she knows I can take care of myself.”

“Skeen? The Rooner? Ship Picarefy?” Briony leaned forward, a desperate eagerness breaking through her professional mask. “That's your friend?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn't know that.” There was no question in her voice. “Call her.”

“In a while. Why me?”

“Because you're new, you're young, you're attractive, he saw you and decided he wanted you. Because that's the way he is. He sees something he wants, then he takes it. If someone tries to stop him, he cries challenge, and that's the end of it. I'd best tell you, he never loses. Not in the five years standard he's been here. Not in the more than hundred challenges he's fought.”

“There's always a first time. What happens to me when I kill him?

“When?” Briony bit her lips, her eyes shining with emotions Timka couldn't sort out. “If you kill him,” she said softly, paused lips twitching into a tight nervous smile as Timka made a gesture of protest, “when you kill him, nothing happens to you. The Challenge is recorded. A life challenge. No, he can't know who your friend is.”

“He doesn't know me. If by some wild chance he happened to defeat me, what happens?”

“He keeps you till he's tired of you, then he sells you where he can get the most for what's left of you.”

“I've no recourse but fighting him?”

“Skeen. Call her.”

“No. I don't think so. If I stomp him, but don't kill him?”

“He'll get you. I don't know how, but he will.”

“Then I'd better make sure he's dead.” She waggled a finger at the pile of chips. “It's not that, is it. You hate the man.”

Briony chewed her lip, looked around like something timid and trapped, then shrugged. “What does it matter, everyone knows. And you paid the price for whatever I can tell you.” She closed her eyes, clasped her hands so tightly the tips went pink. “A friend of mine,” she breathed, “a sister, by love if not by blood. He took a fancy to her, but she loved me.” Her eyes opened, she flushed, paled. “She had a quick tongue, too quick. She told him to go play with himself, if he was lucky maybe he'd enjoy it more than his women had. She was wise enough to have a stunner pointed at him when she said it. She bought me a badge from the Shtrazi but couldn't afford two. When he called challenge on her, she fought him and tried to make him kill her. He didn't. He used her and humiliated her, he broke her, then threw her out when he was finished with her. She killed herself.” Briony shook herself, with visible effort she put off the grief that twisted her face and recaptured the image that greeted the patrons of Xochimiyl. She slid her hand under a fine gold chain she wore about her neck, lifted a black metal triangle from under the gauzes of her dress. “I still have the badge, I renew the fees every year, I will do that until he is dead.”

Timka rubbed her thumb across her fingertips, flattened her hand on the table. “Thank you.”

Briony slid the badge under her gauzes. “Why?”

“Don't be silly, you know the answer to that. Um … you implied I could call Skeen to help me.”

“To fight in your place. Not beside you.”

“Anything to complicate matters. Games, tchah!” She heard herself and laughed. “I … no, I can't explain, not without telling you the story of my life. So. Hested Vanker. How does he fight?”

Briony folded her hands, looked inward, spoke with soft non-emphasis. “A challenge lasts three days standard, starting for you the moment you walk out the door. While it's on, you'll not be permitted to leave Sundari. Skeen can't help you that way, not if she wants to keep her welcome here and in the other Pits. He knows Sundari, every bubble of it. He has vermin who'll make sure he knows where you are every minute. When he's ready,
he
chooses the time,
he
chooses the place. You can't hide and you can't run. He favors his right side just a little, will swing right more often than left, but he knows that and compensates. I've seen him sucker at least two men with that weakness. He is very very good, despina. Strong. Fast. Don't judge him by what you saw here. He might be a stupid clown most of the time, but he's brilliant when he fights.”

“The thing to do, then, is shake him loose from his patterns. Make him come at me before he's ready.”

“Despina, believe me, that's been tried. Over and over.”

“My name's Timka. Call me Ti. Tell me his favorite weapons.”

“His hands. Anything. For women like you that he doesn't want to damage before he's ready, a tangler.”

“Good.” Timka giggled. “Be somewhere you can see his face when he tries that on me. If he gets a chance to.” She touched the pot. “Cold. I'd like another pot, please. Um … could you make a call for me? Without getting yourself in trouble?”

“Of course, despina. Xochimiyl's pleasure. If you prefer it, I can have a com brought to the table.”

“Oh.” Timka shook her head. “I am not accustomed to this … this sort of life. How much is it going to cost me?”

“Nothing, despina. This is Xochimiyl's lagniappe. If you wish, you can tip the person who brings the com, a one perc is sufficient, but a tip is not necessary.”

“Um … how private are these coms?”

Again Briony chewed on her lip, her face wrinkled as she weighed her priorities. She fixed her eyes intently on Timka, brushed her forefinger lightly across her mouth. “Xochimiyl provides nothing but the best, despina,” she said in her lovely liquid business voice.

“I see. Skeen should still be at the Buzzard's Roost and even if she isn't, they'll probably know where to find her.” She stopped talking as the boy approached with the com and connected it for them, she gave him a chip and watched him flow off with the driftway. “Would you work this thing for me? Where I come from, a needle's complicated technology.”

“Skeen?”

“What is it, Ti?” The tiny face in the image looked impatient.

Timka went hastily through the events of the past half hour, finished, “I thought you ought to know. In case of complications.”

“You've got it worked out?”

“Yes. I think so. Shouldn't take long. Briony says it's probably a tangler.”

A chopped-off laugh, then the head turned to someone off screen, then Skeen was speaking again. “There's no hurry, Ti. Wait where you are say five, six minutes more. I'm still tied up here a while, but I'd like Tibo there. As you said, in case of complications, showing a friend's face, that sort of thing. Um, Buzzard says be careful, Vanker's tricky. But he doesn't know you, does he.” Another laugh. “Don't make a fool of me, hmm? … and get yourself killed.”

“I'll try not.”

Timka sipped at the tea, savoring the taste of it and the warmth that spread through her body; the gentle drift of the island was like a cradle, rocking her to sleep. Briony fidgeted; she maintained her professional smile, but it was beginning to look strained. “Weapons,” she said suddenly. “Ti, how are you armed?”

Timka poured herself more tea. “I'm not,” she said, “I'm going with what I was … born with.” She closed her eyes, consulted her internal timeclock. “Time is.” She got to her feet. “Do me a favor,” she said, “take care of my clothes, please.” She unlatched the moneybelt and laid it on the table, then proceeded to strip to her skin, folding everything neatly, piling shirt and trousers beside the belt, laying her boots across them. “Maybe you could bring them to the atrium in a bit?”

Briony surged to her feet, knocking with atypical clumsiness against the table. “Ti!”

Timka ran her fingers through her black curls, fluffing them out from her head. “I parade out in front like this, yelling for Vanker to come get me, you think he can ignore that? Little naked woman calling him names, making a fool of him.
My
time,
my
place, Briony.” With a wave of her hand she stepped onto the driftway and let it carry her toward the exit.

No one spoke though eyes followed her and after a short interval there was a building mutter of voices and the Islands began emptying onto the driftways. Timka ignored her followers; she felt good, alive. She laughed aloud, laughed again as the Islands echoed her joy, broke off, suddenly disconcerted by her reaction to the prospect of killing a man. Tchah, she told herself, this isn't your doing, besides he owes the Lifefire more than one death according to what Briony said. Calmly, Ti-cat, you're getting above yourself. Remember the other thing she said, he's brilliant when it comes to a fight. Idiot-savant. Uh-huh. Definitely not brilliant otherwise. No no, forget that, my girl, don't you be stupid too, borrow some of Skeen's caution. What are you going to do if he ignores you? He can't. Not him. What if he does? I'll think about that when it happens.

Timka strolled into the street, senses alert. She'd been busy practicing the mind-skills she'd neglected. Perhaps because she'd been living with Nemin so long, maybe because she was just better than most at the Min outreach, she'd found she could keep track of Nemin almost as well as Min—if she knew the Nemin and he (or she) was less than a kilometer off. Tibo was somewhere around, interested but not apprehensive. He wasn't all that fond of her anyway and only cared what happened to her because Skeen would. She strained harder, caught whiffs of Vanker. He was close, inside one of the buildings that looked onto Starlong Way. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Eh, Vanker, where you hiding?” she yelled, and went on to describe in defamatory terms his person, character and probable failings in the sack. The street emptied rapidly before her. She heard gasps then laughter as the growing crowd of watchers understood she'd come to meet Hested Vanker not only unarmed but naked.

He stepped into the street before her. “What do you think you're doing?”

She measured the distance between them, smiled with satisfaction. He thought he was far enough off to be out of her reach and close enough for his tangler to take her when he was ready to use it. “What? You were the one who called challenge on me. I've come to answer you, what else?”

“You're surrendering?”

“Certainly not. If you want me, see if you can take me.”

He looked around, moved farther out into the empty street, stopping where he could keep an eye on the gathering crowd. “You're forfeit if someone helps you.”

“If you don't want to fight me, I'll understand,” she said, loud enough so several watchers heard it and sniggered softly. “I don't need help, pretty man. Is there anything special you want done with your body?”

He forced a grin. “I'll tell you that when I've got you in my bed.”

“I won't be hearing you then, I don't believe in ghosts.”

More laughter, louder laughter.

He reddened, but didn't let it prod him into hurrying. His body seemed to grow denser, increase its energy tenfold, as he shifted his balance.

She waited, arms hanging loosely at her sides, watching him warily, beginning to understand a little of what Briony had meant.

His hand moved to his belt, his arm snapped out, the sticky net of the tangler came at her driven by the power of his arm and the whiplash of the stock.

And passed through her as she shifted, the net too coarse to trap her S'yer. Timka cat-weasel leaped at him, catching him a fraction off-balance, though he was almost too fast for her, turning the stumble when the net didn't catch into a push to his right that would have avoided her claws if Briony hadn't warned her about his tendency. Ignoring the knife that slapped into his hand, she took out his belly with her hind claws, his throat with her foreclaws and fell off him, the knife sunk to the hilt in her side. Someone ran from the crowd, pulled the knife away, she shifted back to Pallah, the wound closing over as she completed the change.

Tibo was crouching beside Vanker, wiping the blade on his shirt. With an elegant bow, he presented it to her, hilt first.

She laughed, sketched a naked curtsy, took the knife. “Thanks,” she said. “Anything I should do about that?” She waved at the corpse.

“Garbage 'bots will clear it away.” He touched the body with the toe of his boot. “Time that happened. Too bad, though, that you had to blow your edge on Hested Vanker.” He looked her over, raised a brow. “Going to stay like that?”

All around them credit chips were changing hands. The hush during the two breaths the fight lasted was broken by a rising murmur of comment as the watchers began to disperse. They left a large clear space about her and Tibo, went back to work and play as if what had happened was so common an occurrence it didn't warrant any excessive excitement. Briony came hesitantly toward them, carrying Timka's clothing. “I thought you might want these.…”