The Devil's Concubine (The Devil of Ponong series #1) (12 page)

He shook his head. “Not unless we entered the
vapor together.”

“Right now, I wish we had. And I wish I would
wake up before I really hurt myself.”

“Are you hurt? We can rest longer if you need
to.”

QuiTai swatted his hands away before he could
coddle her like an elderly aunt. “We can’t risk climbing up the tracks if the
saboteurs are still there, so we should hike through the jungle.” She stared up
the hillside. “If I’m right, we’re downslope from old Levapur. Once we’re
there, you can conduct your Thampurian spy business while I talk to my
contacts. One of them will know where the harbor master lives.”

Kyam finally stopped smiling. “Is the Devil a
werewolf?”

Confusion was rare for her; she didn’t like
it. “Where did that question come from?”

“You’re not the only person who can add
things up.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not giving you anything until you help
me find the Ravidians.”

“Fine, as long as you stop fishing for
information about him.”

“Ivitch is a werewolf, and I’ve seen you
around town in the company of a big brute who looks as if he’s the model for
werewolf heroic statues.” Kyam struck an ironic pose. He had to mean Casmir,
although a few other werewolves fit that description too.

“Still fishing? If you’ve been following me,
Mister Zul, you’ve probably also seen me talk to Ponongese, Ingosolians, and a
few mixed-blood folk too. On occasion, I even stoop to Thampurians.”

“If I asked you not to meet your regular
contacts alone until we have this Ravidian situation cleared up, would you?”

“I’m not sure how the spy business works back
on the continent, but around here, we don’t send engraved invitations asking people
to kindly stop by for an afternoon water pipe and interrogation. If you want to
talk to the harbor master, I have to ask my people where we can find him. That
is why you dragged me into this little adventure, isn’t it? My contacts?”

His face flushed with anger. “At least let me
come along to protect you.”

Tired of staring at his chest, she shoved him
back. “Quit doing that. I’m not some docile daughter of the thirteen families
in need of a gentleman to catch me when I faint.”

He made the mistake of reaching for her
shoulders as if to shake sense into her. In one fluid movement, she yanked his
arm and used his forward momentum to shove him to the ground. She dropped onto
his chest as he rolled over.

Kyam grunted. “Get off me.”

She leaned down to stare into his eyes. “I
don’t need your protection.”

A long moment passed when she couldn’t read
his face. His mood shifted. She’d never seen him without his swagger.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t need me,
but I need you. It’s only natural that I’d want to protect –”

“Such a valuable asset?”

He shook his head.

Something about the soft, almost sad look in
his eyes told her he was going to do it, so she wasn’t surprised when he kissed
her. Resisting him never entered her mind. It had been far too long since
someone had kissed her like that. Petrof knew how to excite her, but he never
bothered with pleasantries. Kyam kissed like he could spend hours on her lips
alone. The stroke of his hand down her back felt nice too, and it was
increasingly clear that he was ready to do more than kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months.” He
sounded a bit breathless, but that might have been because she sat on his
stomach. His voice was low and quiet in that earnest way men had of talking in
bed, the kind of voice that made her want to peel off his clothes.

Instead, she climbed off him. “We should get
moving.”

He propped up on his elbows. As quickly as it
had drained from him, his impish glint was back. “That’s it? No outrage? No
triumph? No warning that the Devil is a jealous man who will kill me for
touching you? Not even a prim, ‘That was terribly forward of you, Mister Zul,
even though you saved my life?’”

As he got to his feet and smacked leaves off
his trousers, she wondered if she really sounded that cold. And then she saw
the mischief in his eyes. The cheeky bastard was teasing her.

She threw a light punch to his chin. “Better?”

He grinned as he rubbed his jaw. “You pulled
that. Or at least I hope you did. Otherwise, you’re not nearly as tough as your
reputation.”

It really was a pity he was a Thampurian. He was the best time she’d
had in years.

From
the look
on Kyam’s face when they emerged in the center of old Levapur,
QuiTai guessed he’d never set foot in the maze of tin-roofed shacks that clung
to the hillsides. That didn’t surprise her.

As they headed down
the deeply rutted main road, a young boy ran to them with his hand out. “Pui,
auntie QuiTai?”

QuiTai folded her
arms across her chest. “Why aren’t you in school, little brother?”

The boy shrugged as he raised his hand
higher.

“Pui is for good students only,” she said
sternly.

Still grinning, he skipped away.

Although she wished they would teach in
Ponongese instead of Thampurian, QuiTai had to admit that the Thampurian’s zeal
to educate her people was a good thing. Every parent on the island knew that if
they couldn’t afford tuition, the Devil would help, even though the Devil
himself wasn’t aware of that. It was one of the many details of his business
that QuiTai felt he didn’t need to know.

“You’re a strict little mother,” Kyam said.

She shuddered as his words once again hit
hidden marks with surprising accuracy. Maybe she came across as strict, but she
was only trying to protect the children. Danger could race out of the darkness
without warning and rip your world into pieces in moments.

Some lessons you only needed to learn once.

It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss
with him or anyone. From their brief time together, she’d learned the surest
way to make Kyam’s penetrating gaze glaze over was to share her political
views. So she said, “Since when is ignorance the best way to arm children for
the future?”

“Arm? You make it sound like war.”

Shaking her head, she gestured to the shacks
of old Levapur with contempt. “Look around you, Mister Zul. Sewage running down
the middle of the slope. Shacks that will collapse in a typhoon. Look how exhausted
even the young men seem, how dull their eyes are, as if the world has beaten
them to dust. Of course I’m at war with this.”

“Let me guess. You blame the Thampurians.”

Old Levapur always made her feel hopeless.
Her rage had long ago subsided to a numb ache. She did what she could, but it
was like trying to build a wall of sand to protect the beach from the sea. “I
blame everyone who accepts it.”

“That’s oddly fair, coming from you.”

“There are plenty of other things I blame on your
people.”

“Good. I was almost worried.”

People were beginning to set aside their
chores and approach them. Kyam said, “We seem to have attracted a lot of
attention. How dangerous is this place?” He moved closer to QuiTai.

She nodded to a group of men who smoked a kur
outside a leaning shack. “You’re perfectly safe here, something you can thank
the Devil for. He rules old Levapur with an iron fist.”

“How is that any better than the iron fist of
the colonial government?”

“Politics, Mister Zul? How delightful that
you’ve finally taken an interest. I’d be glad to discuss that with you at any
other time, but as you mentioned, we have company.” QuiTai put her hands
together and bowed to the people ambling closer to her and Kyam. “Greetings,
uncles and aunties. Have you eaten?”

Casting shy smiles at Kyam, many of the
people returned the bow. An elderly woman hobbled through the group.

“Grandmother.” QuiTai bowed more deeply.

“We heard a loud boom. Some are saying that
the harbor funicular is destroyed.”

“I will tell you.” QuiTai squatted. The crowd
squatted too. QuiTai reached for Kyam’s arm and tugged him down beside her. His
knees popped as he crouched.

There were two types of Ponongese stories.
There was lore, and then there was an oration. For the Ponongese, an oration
was their source of news, and the first telling was important because it would
be repeated verbatim. While QuiTai thought about the best way to begin, a buzz
of happy anticipation went through the crowd.

“The sea dragon Kyam Zul and I traveled to
the harbor, little knowing that enemy spies had picked today to attack and
destroy your livelihoods.”

It was, she thought, a decent beginning. Many
Ponongese would love to rebel against Thampurian rule, and a few well-chosen
words from her could incite them to it. But today she wanted them to be angry with
the saboteurs, not feel that the attack on the funicular line was a good idea.
While she didn’t like that the plantation terraces had been stolen from her
people and given to Thampurian colonists; stopping all transport of the vital
medusozoa crop would spell economic disaster for her people. As she often
reminded herself, better the devil they knew...

Kyam had the good sense not to interrupt her
as she spun the story for her wide-eyed audience.

“... and as we leapt from the car, the
funicular hurtled downslope to explode in a wreck.” QuiTai put her hands on her
knees and slightly bowed her head to indicate her oration was done.

The crowd leaned together and whispered.
After a long consultation, the grandmother spoke. “Do you know who sabotaged
the funicular, little sister?”

QuiTai spread her hands. “No, but they are
the enemy of everyone who makes a living on the sea or the plantations.” That
included almost everyone in old Levapur.

A man at the back of the crowd asked, “How
long before the funicular works again?”

“I came here to tell you what happened as
soon as we escaped. I haven’t even seen the wreckage up close. It was more important
to tell you this story before your enemies spread gossip and point the finger
of blame.”

Many of the men rose. “We will go help. The
sooner the wreck is cleared, the sooner we can repair the line,” a man said.

“Work is honorable, uncle. May it put rice in
your bowl.”

Like QuiTai, Kyam pressed his hands together
and bobbed his head until the crowd dispersed and they were alone in the middle
of the dirt road. Then he groaned as he stood, and put his hand against his
back. “My foot is asleep.”

“When I first returned to Ponong, it took me
a month to get used to squatting again. As you can imagine, it was frowned upon
on the continent,” she said as she tried to decide which of her informants in
old Levapur she was willing to let Kyam meet.

“I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised by your
story, Lady QuiTai. You didn’t make me the villain.”

“You didn’t cut the cable.”

“But I’m Thampurian.”

“I’m aware of your unfortunate lineage.” She
peered into the dark opening of a shack facing onto the main road. It was a bar
whose owner had a good view of the road Thampurians used to move between west
Levapur and the town square: If anyone in old Levapur knew about the harbor
master, she would.

“So why not take the opportunity to make me
look like a fool?”

She couldn’t tell him that it was because of
the Oracle, or about the scheme forming on the edges of her mind: if he were truly
destined to become the colonial governor, it would be better for her people if
they and Kyam had some respect for each other. So she only said, “The reason I
didn’t make you look like a fool, Mister Zul, is that you didn’t act like one.”

Squinting with suspicion, he drew back. “Have
you been drinking again, Lady QuiTai?”

“No, but it sounds like a lovely idea. And
look, here’s a tavern. How convenient.” She swept into the metal shack ahead of
Kyam.

~ ~ ~

“I thought you said we’d have drinks.” Kyam gave the murky
liquid in the mug a doubtful look.

Like the back-alley
bar where QuiTai had met PhaNyan, this place had few furnishings beyond an old
door balanced on stacks of bricks on which to serve the drinks. The floor was
dirt, and there were no chairs or tables. Ocean breezes blew through the wide
gaps between the four metal walls and the thatched roof, keeping it cool
inside. The short, curvaceous barkeep wore a faded blue kebaya blouse and a
bored expression, although her yellow ringed pupils seemed to glow with
curiosity.

QuiTai sipped the
slightly salty mix of yogurt and tea. “This is a drink, it just isn’t
alcoholic.”

Before the funicular
crash, she’d been about to tell Kyam everything she suspected about the
Ravidians. Now, she had a better idea: reveal enough to intrigue him while
keeping a few steps ahead. She had a couple of trustworthy and resourceful
assistants in mind to help her profit from the situation, if she could keep
Kyam busy and distracted in the meantime. She’d talk to LiHoun, of course. He
was old, but he always delivered. Most of her younger informants only wished
they were as accomplished. PhaNyan was a calculated risk. He was resourceful,
strong, and reasonably intelligent. Since she’d broken his fingers, he’d sent
several ardent messages begging for her forgiveness. As a sign of his desire to
please her, he’d discovered a few tantalizing bits of information and promised
to bring more. He’d willingly take on a dangerous mission and do his best to
bring her what she asked.

Kyam took a sip of
the yogurt drink and made a sour face. “It must be an acquired taste.”

“A beer for the sea
dragon, please.” QuiTai put a coin on the door. It disappeared before the beer
appeared.

Kyam gulped down a long drink of the dark
beer.

“Happy now?” QuiTai asked.

He nodded.

“Good. Then go stand over there” – she
gestured to the corner – “while auntie and I have a little chat.” She saw
an objection rising to his lips. “I’ll be perfectly safe with you standing ten
feet away. And if you don’t go, I won’t get the information.”

She forced him to turn around and gently
shoved him toward a corner. To his credit, he went without a fuss.

She slipped behind the bar and squatted.

The barkeep jerked her head toward Kyam. “Is
it safe?”

“He’s the one buying the information. The
Devil might not be happy that you talked to him, though.”

The barkeep hissed as she leaned away.

QuiTai grabbed her wrist. “I could have lied
to you, but I didn’t. The sea dragon wants to know where the harbor master
lives. If the Devil or his men ask, that’s what you tell them. And give them
the answer too if you want.”

She laid out a trail of coins between her and
the woman. The barkeep’s eyes widened as the coins increased in denomination.

QuiTai lowered her voice. “This is not for
the sea dragon or the Devil to know. You will also deliver a message to PhaNyan
and LiHoun. Tell them to meet me, and only me, in about an hour in the town
square. I have a task for them.” She picked up a coin half way between her and
the woman. “I will return this after I have spoken to them.”

The woman nodded.

QuiTai took the two biggest coins. “And these
I will return to you after your son brings me a report from the teachers saying
that he’s been in school every day for three months.”

The woman scowled as the coins disappeared
into QuiTai’s purse. “He is in school.”

“He tried to beg pui from me ten minutes ago.”

The bar owner’s look of shock wasn’t
convincing. “The address, and the message,” QuiTai said.

The woman snatched the coins out of the dirt.
“I’ll have to talk to some people.”

“The sea dragon and I will wait here. Go.”

~ ~ ~

West Levapur was a spur of the city built on low hills
overlooking the harbor. The buildings reminded QuiTai of the town houses in
Thampur’s capital. None had verandas. No one sat outside and chatted with their
neighbors. The street was empty even at midday. The jungle had been clipped
back with vigilant thoroughness, leaving the dignified, stuffy buildings in
stark relief against the red hills.

“It’s one of these,” QuiTai told Kyam.

“That was an awful lot of whispering between
you and that barkeep for only an address.”

QuiTai walked quickly down the road. The
numbering sequence made no logical sense. Finally, she pointed to one of the
buildings that clung to the cliff overlooking the harbor. “This one. Seventeen
dash three. What idiot decided that seventeen falls between forty-three and two
hundred?”

“In Thampur, we number houses by when they
were built, not by where they are. Eighteen and sixteen could be two streets
upslope.”

“You are aware that only makes sense to
Thampurians, aren’t you?”

“These apartments weren’t built for
Ponongese. And by the way, seventeen dash four is the apartment the Ravidians
lived in. Right next door.”

“What were they doing in such a thoroughly
Thampurian neighborhood? They would have blended into the background better in
a mixed neighborhood such as yours.”

Kyam spread his arms and turned in a half
circle. “Look how still it is. How quiet. They ignore each other here. ‘A
family’s apartment is their compound,’ or some other such nonsense that helps
them cling to their Thampurian identity. I’ve seen it before. People who fight
so hard to stop cultural contamination that everything becomes a sacred rite.”
He gestured toward the apartment buildings. “What’s sad is that no one in
Thampur really lives like this. This is a grotesque exaggeration.”