The Spacetime Pool (7 page)

“What can I do for
you?” she asked, awkward in her towel.

Danae offered her
box. “It’s for your wedding.”

Janelle felt the
tickling in her throat that came when she was nervous. “Oh. Yes.”

“The ceremony will
take place immediately,” Farimah said. “His Highness has had word that the
Emperor’s army gathers in the south. Prince Dominick-Michael and his men must
leave today to discover what Maximillian plans.”

Well, that was
romantic; her groom intended to spend his honeymoon spying on his brother. It
would give her time to adjust, though, and to learn about the gate.

“We can wait for the
ceremony until he returns,” Janelle offered.

“He wishes otherwise.”
Farimah’s voice had a definite edge.

“Here, Lady Janelle.”
Danae opened her box and revealed a treasure, gold hoops and rings, all inset
with mother-of-pearl.

“They’re stunning,”
Janelle said. “But I don’t wear jewelry.”

Farimah stiffened. “Generations
of Constantine brides have worn these with pride. You consider yourself above
them?”

“No. No, I didn’t
mean that.” Mortified, she tried to repair her faux pas. “I just don’t want to
presume.”

Farimah gave her a
look that said plainly,
You do.
But she only said, “His Highness wishes
you to have them.”

“It’s kind of
Dominick,” Janelle said.

Farimah jerked up her
hand as if to strike her. Then she took a deep breath and lowered her arm. Her
voice was ice. “You will refer to His Highness as Prince Dominick-Michael.”

Janelle wondered if
she could say anything right. “I’m sorry. He told me to call him Dominick.”

“Ai,” Silvia
murmured. She glanced at Farimah with sympathy. To Janelle, she said, “Farimah
did not know.”

Before Janelle could
further cram her foot down her throat and tickle her tonsils with her toes,
Danae intervened by fastening a luminous torque around her neck.

“These jewels will
help ensure your safety,” Danae said.

Janelle tensed. “My
safety from what?”

Silvia clipped a
bracelet around Janelle’s wrist. “The heirlooms indicate you are wife to the
emperor’s brother. With so much unrest in the provinces, a woman needs more
protection than in normal times.”

Janelle liked what
she was hearing less and less. Running her fingers over the necklace, she
realized it was a delicate version of the heavy chain Dominick wore. The
bracelet had the same pattern as the abalone in his shirt cuffs.

While Farimah put a
belled chain around each of Janelle’s ankles, Silvia took out a blue velvet
cloth with gold highlights. Then she waited. Janelle blinked at her.

Farimah sighed as she
rose to her feet. “It would be easier to dress you without the towel.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed,
Janelle let the cloth drop to the floor.

“Goodness,” Silvia
said, as if Janelle had achieved an impressive feat instead of just standing
there naked and feeling like an idiot.

“No wonder he wants
to marry you so fast,” Farimah muttered. “Men see only one thing.”

Silvia put the velvet
cloth around Janelle’s hips. The skirt fit low on her pelvis, showing too much
of her abdomen. The hem almost reached her knees, but a slit went up the left
side to her hip.

Janelle flushed. “I
can’t wear this.”

“Why?” Farimah asked.
“It appears to fit.”

“It shows too much
skin.”

Danae laughed
good-naturedly. “What is a wedding for, but to entice the groom?”

“Come now,” Farimah
said. She knelt by her box and withdrew a girdle designed from beaten coins,
with a border of little gold bells. Janelle squinted while they fastened it
around her hips. Heavy and snug, the girdle fit over the skirt and sparkled
with sapphires and mother-of-pearl. It jangled when she moved. Then Silvia
brought out a bra made from silver coins, with loops of abalone and opal beads.

Enough is enough,
Janelle thought. “I
can’t
wear that.”

Silvia considered the
halter and then Janelle. “You are right. It is too small.”

“I didn’t mean my
breasts,” Janelle muttered. No one listened. Silvia went to the door and
knocked. As the guard outside opened it a sliver, Silvia blocked his view of
the room. A child squeezed past her, a girl of about three with black curls and
a sweet face.

Silvia glanced back
at Janelle, her gaze malicious, then slipped outside and closed the door.
Janelle stiffened, wondering what she had done to evoke Silvia’s hostility.

The child ran to
Farimah. “Fami!”

The elderly woman
laughed and reached for her. Then she froze, her gaze darting to Janelle. Panic
surged over her face.

Puzzled, Janelle gave
the child a friendly smile. “Hello.”

The girl hid her face
in Farimah’s skirts.

Farimah lifted the
child into her arms, her attention riveted on Janelle. “My apology.” She
sounded terrified. “I didn’t realize she had followed me here.”

“It’s all right,”
Janelle said. Both Farimah and Danae had gone deathly pale.
Why?
“She is
welcome to stay.”

“Thank you.” Farimah
spoke stiffly.

“She’s charming,”
Janelle said. “What’s her name?”

“Selena. Like her
mother.”

“You seem to know her
well.”

“She is my
granddaughter.” Farimah took a breath. “I also care for her siblings. Her
mother died in childbirth.”

“I’m sorry,” Janelle
murmured.

The girl was watching
her with big, dark eyes that somehow looked familiar. “You mama now?” she
asked.

Mama?
Mama?
Ah, hell. Janelle stared at Farimah. “She is Dominick’s child?”

Farimah answered
tightly. “Yes.”

Life grew messier by
the moment. “How many does he have?”

“Five.” Farimah was
as taut as a coil. “The oldest is twelve.”

Janelle wondered when
he had planned to tell her. “Are they all your daughter’s children?”

“Of course!” Anger
flashed in her gaze. “After Selena came into his life, His Highness had no
other women.”

Janelle rubbed her
neck, trying to ease her aching muscles. Selena hardly sounded like a
concubine, if Dominick had lived monogamously with her for so many years,
raising a family. Had some stupid prophecy kept them from marrying? No wonder
Farimah resented her.

Farimah’s fear also
made sense now. Janelle spoke quietly. “Your grandchildren are welcome in my
household.”

Farimah just nodded,
her posture rigid. But her frozen look thawed a bit. She took the girl to the
door and gave her into the keeping of someone outside.

Silvia returned then,
watching them with an avid gaze. Janelle wanted to sock her. Silvia could have
kept the girl outside and protected Farimah from that heart-stopping moment
when the grandmother realized
she
would have to tell Janelle about the
children. What had Silvia hoped to achieve? It didn’t take a genius to see
women had little power here. It created a dynamic foreign to Janelle, an
unstated enmity and maneuvering for sexual power. Silvia was a beauty, with
glossy black hair and a voluptuous figure. Had she hoped for Dominick’s favor?
Maybe she believed discord between his new wife and the mother of his former
favorite could work to her advantage.

Janelle had no
interest in such machinations. Compared to this place, her world was so
enlightened it glowed in the dark. She didn’t think women here would be burning
their bras any time soon. Given the halter Silvia was holding, they would have
to
melt
the damn things.

At least this one fit
better than the last, though “fit” was a generous description. It held her
breasts in a scanty gold mesh with a few jewels in strategic places and more of
those bells fringing the bottom. Her groom would certainly have no trouble
finding her, given all the noise she would make in this outfit.

“This is the most
appallingly prehistoric contraption I have ever seen,” Janelle muttered.

Her companions
regarded her politely. She didn’t think they had understood what she said.
Frustrated, she added, “Why are guards outside of my door?”

Danae answered
obliquely. “As far as we know, Emperor Maximillian has no idea you are here.”

“And if he did?”
Janelle asked.

“I would never speak
ill of the emperor,” Farimah said, “to suggest he might brutalize you out of spite
for Prince Dominick-Michael.”

Janelle was starting
to feel queasy. “Are all women here treated this way?”

“Those with value are
protected,” Silvia told her.

“I’m afraid to ask
what ‘value’ means.”

“I should think it is
obvious,” Farimah said. “Beauty. Youth. Fertility. Good birth. Gentle nature.
Intelligence. You obviously have the first two. Maybe a few of the others.” She
shrugged. “So if you lack the last, it does not matter.”

Ouch. Janelle barely
managed to hold back her retort.

They ignored her
protests and inflicted make-up on her next. Silvia brushed her hair, working
until she had dried and fluffed up the curls. Then they took her into the
bathing chamber, where a long mirror hung on the wall. Her reflection stopped
her cold. She glistened in gold and sea colors. Her eyes looked larger and
greener than normal, and her hair floated around her shoulders like a gold
cloud. Even her bangs curled in traitorous perfection. She had to admit, the effect
was impressive—and in that it became seductive. They turned her into a woman of
mystery and beauty, and it tempted her to believe it increased her worth. That
wasn’t a path she wanted to go down, one where her intelligence and character
had less value than her body or fleeting youth.

“That isn’t me,”
Janelle said.

“It will please
Prince Dominick-Michael,” Silvia answered with strained patience. “That is the
purpose, is it not?”

“What about pleasing
his bride?” Janelle asked.

Farimah threw up her
hands. “You are
marrying
him.”

“Only because of a
prophecy.”

“Yes.” Farimah’s
voice quieted.

They left her then,
so she could “prepare” for the ceremony. She had no clue what that entailed,
but she suspected she was supposed to think of ways to entice the groom. She
smiled wryly. Maybe she should entertain herself by deriving equations for the
sinusoids on the walls. That ought to stir up Dominick’s libido.

She stepped up on the
bench in the bathroom to look out the window—at a spectacular panorama.
Mountains towered on both sides, east and west. In the south, before her, they
dropped to a mesa several miles distant, where mounted riders moved in
chess-like patterns. Dominick’s army? It had thousands of men. She hoped that
qualified as a large military, one comparable to the emperor’s, if Dominick’s
brother was as bad as everyone implied. Then again, maybe Maximillian was a
saint and Dominick just coveted his throne, as disenfranchised brothers had
since time immemorial.

Wood grated in the
other room. Janelle returned to the bedroom and found a group of strangers
waiting for her. Six older women stood in the front, their carriage and jewels
surely marking them as noblewomen. Blue silk wraps covered them from neck to
ankle, making Janelle even more self-conscious about her skimpy attire. Behind
them, an array of servants carried platters of food.

They offered her the
feast and waited while she ate. Everyone declined her invitation to join in,
but no one seemed offended by the thought. The meal was delicious, though odd,
with Janelle standing up, surrounded by silent people, sampling foods and wine.
Strong wine. Well, good. Right now, a few shots of whiskey would have done
nicely.

When she finished,
they took her outside. Twelve warriors waited in the corridor, hulking in
armor, with what looked like ceremonial broadswords on their backs, the gilded
hilts inlaid with jewels. While the servants took off with the platters, the
noblewomen and soldiers escorted Janelle the other way. She went in a daze. She
wanted to believe this was a delirium; maybe a car had hit her and she was
lying in a hospital. But it felt all too real.

Up ahead, shouts
echoed in the halls. It seemed out of place with the reserve of the people
here. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who thought so; her escorts were
slowing down. Those broadswords weren’t ceremonial after all, for the men drew
the weapons, and the honed blades glittered.

Crashes sounded in
the distance. More shouts came, and the halls vibrated with a great pounding.
The guards split their group into two, half of the warriors taking the
noblewomen one way and the others hurrying Janelle into a side corridor. They
ran hard, with drilled precision, while all around them the rumble intensified.

A rangy soldier kept
pace with Janelle. “We will go to tunnels under the palace,” he said. “They
exit into the mountains.”

She nodded, rationing
her breath.

The rumble surged
into a roar—and raiders thundered out of a cross-hall, all astride biaquines.
The man in front brought his mount to an abrupt halt, and it reared, its hooves
smashing the pillar of an arch that framed the corridor. Dominick’s men skidded
to a stop, but momentum carried the groups together. Biaquine screams rent the
air, and metal rang as swords flashed. Janelle had about as much military
knowledge as a toadstool, but it took no expert to see Dominick’s men were
outnumbered and in trouble. She couldn’t understand how outlaws had broken into
such a well-defended fortress.

The rangy soldier
pulled her into a side hall, and they ran hard down the corridor. The bells on
her clothes chimed as if announcing their location. Only a few lamps lit the
area. Despite the dim light, her guard took the turns with confidence, always
choosing hallways too narrow for a biaquine.

Until they hit a dead
end.

“Ah, no!” Janelle
stopped, heaving in air. They were
trapped.

“Don’t worry.” Her
guard stepped into a wall recess and pushed the tiles in what looked like a
combination.

“What happened back
there?” she asked.

“I cannot say. I saw
no symbols I recognized on those men.” He leaned into the wall and it slid
inward, revealing a tunnel. Taking a lamp off a hook in the recess, he motioned
her forward.

She entered the
passage. “Do you think they came to stop the wedding?”

“I doubt it.” He shut
the door, closing out the distant clamor. As they headed along the path, he
added, “Emperor Maximillian is the person with the most reason to stop it, and
those weren’t his men. Nor would he raid his brother’s home. Even if he were
willing to commit such an atrocity, too much chance exists that in the heat of
the attack, you would be killed despite his orders. He wouldn’t risk it.”

Janelle blanched. His
answer had an obvious corollary: whoever
was
raiding the palace had no
qualms about killing her or anyone else.

They followed an
ancient tunnel. Cracks cut through the walls, and lichen encrusted them in
eerie patterns. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see a wraith coalesce in the
recesses where shadows pooled. The damp air smelled musty, and the stone
chilled her bare feet. She shivered, wishing she had more clothes.

Then it hit Janelle:
not all those marks on the walls were cracks. Wave functions oscillated down
here, too, engraved in the stone.

She indicated the
patterns. “What are those designs?”

“Artwork,” her guard
answered. “They’re all over the palace.” He looked apologetic. “These tunnels
aren’t kept up well because so few people use them. The levels above are in
better repair.”

“Ah. I see.” In
truth, she didn’t see at all. The designs looked ancient, which didn’t make
sense to her.

A murmur of flowing
water came from ahead. The path widened into an open area, and a crude rail
blocked the way, with walkways curving to either side. She went to the rail and
looked down into a well about ten feet across. It plunged into darkness. She
toed a pebble over the edge, and a good five seconds passed before she heard a
faint splash.

“I’m glad that wasn’t
one of us,” she said. “Pushed by an invader.”

The warrior spoke
gruffly. “It is a cruel business, this life.” He motioned to the walkway on the
right. “This should take us to another set of tunnels.”

They followed the
path—and neither of them saw the break until almost too late. Janelle had
already stepped forward when the lamplight revealed the ground had collapsed
into the well. She jerked back and stumbled into the guard. Grasping her
shoulder with a steadying hand, he held her until she caught her balance.

She stared bleakly at
the fissure. It was too large to jump, and the rail that bordered the well was
broken. Although two sheets of wood lay across the gap, neither looked solid.
Whatever bridge they had once belonged to had fallen into neglect.

Her guard squinted at
the boards. “Maybe we can go another way.”

They tried the left
side, but the fissure extended through that path as well. The tunnel contained
nothing they could use to repair the bridge, and the rail around the well
consisted of sections too short to bridge the gap.

The chill seeped into
Janelle, and the clink of her clothes seemed muted in the damp air. She pried
off the bracelets and anklets and hid them in a crack to retrieve later—if she
survived to tell anyone. She couldn’t remove the girdle because it held on her
skirt, but at least she didn’t jangle as much.

The guard knelt to
examine the boards. “I think they can hold you. Perhaps me, but I can’t be
sure.” He looked up at her. “If we go back, you could be killed. Or captured,
which could be worse.”

“What will happen to
you?” she asked.

His gaze never
wavered. “I serve Prince Dominick-Michael.”

Janelle understood
what he didn’t say. “To get to me, they would have to kill you.”

His face gentled. “Do
not look so dismayed. In battle, death is always possible.”

Please, God, not
today.
She knelt next to him. “Can we
wait here?”

“I think it unwise.
People know of these tunnels.” He indicated the shadows beyond the break. “The
passages that way will let you escape the palace. You must not be caught. The
rest is secondary.”

“Your life isn’t
secondary to me.”

His face gentled. “I
thank you. But it is my honor to serve Prince Dominick-Michael.” He handed her
the lamp. “You try first, in case the bridge won’t hold me.”

“But if you can’t
cross, you won’t have any light.”

His grin flashed. “That
will make it harder for our enemies to find me, eh?”

It amazed her that he
could joke at such a time. She managed a smile for him. “I hope so.” She took a
deep breath, then turned and stepped onto the bridge. She walked forward, her
hand clenched on the lamp, and the span bent under her weight.