Watcher's Web (34 page)

Stop
it.
“Stop
it!”

A warm arm
passed over her shoulders. “Lady, you’re not well. Let’s go back to
the—”

Jessica
pushed his arm aside. “I’m fine.” Although she felt like she would
throw up any minute, but to prove her point, she re-formed the
light and sent it back up to the others. Daya’s warmth brushed past
her.
Hang in
there.

Iztho raised
his eyebrows. “You don’t look well, Lady.” With his ashen-grey face
he didn’t look so well himself.

“I’m fine.”
She wiped sweat off her upper lip. Slowly, she walked onto the
floor, into the pool of light. There was utter silence. Every eye
in that huge hall was on her.

At the
pentagonal table, the mediator raised her eyebrows.

Jessica spoke,
her voice wobbly at first, but then more certain. “I want to know
what is going on here. It is my life we’re talking about, my
co-passengers who were killed, my family who are waiting for me.
And . . .” She swallowed and glanced at the lights
floating above the table. “As you can see, I have an ability that
may have mis-fired your Exchange equipment.”

The audience
broke out in shouts. Commander Satarin jumped up from the bench.
Pengali whistled, and those who had them snapped their tails.

The mediator
slammed her flat hand onto the table, shouting, “Ashi, ashi.”

She had done
that so often that by now, Jessica thought she knew the Coldi word
for quiet.

When, after at
least a minute, silence of some measure had returned to the hall,
she turned her eyes to Jessica.

“So, you do
know more than you let on. Interesting. What is your role in this
story? Do you still maintain you were on this craft?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell
us what happened?”

“We were
flying, there was a flash and we crashed in the forest. None of us
knew where we were. At night, three of us were killed. By
. . . people . . . Small ones, with dirty hair
and rags. They smelled like fish—”

The rotund
man, Chief Councillor Semisu, broke in. “Tribal rogues.”

The mediator
repeated the word stiffly. “Rogues?”

“Young outcast
men who patrol the borders of the tribal lands.”

Jessica
continued, “They came at night and shot at us without
question.”

“But not you.”
The mediator’s dark eyes fixed hers.

“I escaped. I
frightened them.” The dark horrors of that night came back to her.
The shouts in the forest, the screams of the men, the blue flashes
of light.

Iztho sat
there, his light blue gaze on her with deep intensity. He wanted
her to come to Miran with him. He had been on the flight with her
. . . and he didn’t want that to be widely known.

The mediator
spoke again. “We have a strange situation here. If your version of
events is true, you would in effect give yourself up as illegal. Do
you have Union citizenship?”

“No.”

Iztho jumped
up. “I’m sponsoring her for Union citizenship!”

Daya’s
voice cut through her mind,
The hell he is. I’m sponsoring you. I’m not letting the
Mirani get their hands on you.

“Lady, tell
the delegation you intend to go to Miran with me.” Iztho turned a
pleading gaze on her.

The Mediator
cut in, “A moment, Trader Andrahar. You can discuss your plans
after we have concluded our investigation and have no more
questions for this woman regarding the matter of the Barresh
Exchange.”

Iztho sat
back, his nostrils flaring. Across the hall, a tiny smile curled
Daya’s lip.

“What is this
ability you’re talking about?” she asked.

Jessica
called her light down and let it float above the palm of her hand.
“The Pengali call this
avya.
It is
the same energy that powers the Exchange.”

“Hmmm.”

Jessica
couldn’t read the expression on her face. Did she believe it?

“That is
. . . interesting. Tell me, where is your family? What is
your ancestry?”

At this
question, both Iztho and Daya jumped up. Daya shouted, “Her
background has nothing to do—” Before Iztho’s deep voice drowned
him out. Then they both fell quiet, glaring at each other.

The mediator
raised her eyebrows, looking from one man to the other.

Daya spoke
first. “Her present-day family is irrelevant.”

Iztho added,
“As much as I disagree with him on other matters, I agree here. We
are investigating an illegal transfer by the Barresh Exchange. The
Lady is clearly disturbed. She suffers illusions and must be taken
to a hospital. I ask for your leniency.”

Jessica
bristled. Disturbed? Illusions?

“
She
is
not
disturbed!” Daya strode onto
the floor. Patches of red had risen to his cheeks. “And I have no
idea who told her that this pitiful amount of gathered
energy . . .” He flung his light at a group of
Mirani soldiers across the hall; they scrambled aside.
“. . . is anywhere near enough to complete a
bilateral translocation of a craft that has
no
Exchange capability. Anyone with the faintest understanding
of Exchange technology knows about the mutuality and reciprocity
needed to self-perpetuate the signal. The suggestion that a person
could handle the amount of energy needed is ludicrous.”

The mediator
nodded, once.

Daya whirled
around to face the Pengali and other citizenry. “This is what we
have to put up with, being called lunatics, being ridiculed. It is
time this came to an end. I will shout it at all those who want to
hear. We are not aberrations, monsters or freaks, but we are the
old Aghyrians, the people who first developed space travel. We
developed the Exchange. We are the reason you even exist. And we
may not be many, but we will no longer be discriminated
against—”

Iztho’s deep
voice drowned him out. “Discriminated? You treat the Lady like dirt
and talk about discrimination? Your ridiculous jealousy knows no
boundaries. My Lady, do not listen to his ranting lunacy. Miran
will solve your situation. I wish to help you more than anything. I
am willing to risk my reputation; no, my life for that. Watch
this.” He crossed the floor, unfastening the clip to his cloak as
he walked, slipped it off his shoulders and in a flourishing swoop,
draped it across hers.

Deep
silence.

Jessica’s
breath caught in her throat.

The weight of
the cloak hung on her shoulders like a heavy pack, while Iztho’s
familiar smell enveloped her. With the gazes of all those in the
hall on her, fear grew inside her. She took Iztho’s outstretched
hand and whispered, “What’s all this about?”

A loving smile
crossed his face. “This, Lady, the offering of the cloak, is the
traditional way for a Trader to offer himself in marriage. I’m
yours, my Lady.”

Jessica
stammered, “Marriage? Me?” She stared at the lips which over the
past few days had kissed hers, had caressed her naked skin. “Please
don’t do this to me.”

He bent
closer. “Lady, forgive my rashness. It’s the only way you can be
free.” His breath tickled in her hair; he kissed her cheek softly,
running a hand over the line of her jaw.

Part of her
screamed to embrace him, to give in to her desire, huddle forever
in the safety of his arms, but it wasn’t quite as simple as that.
Not at all.

She met
Commander Satarin’s gaze across the hall. Intense, almost as if
willing her to agree. On the other side of the hall she met Daya’s
eyes, wide and disbelieving, too horrified to even send her a hot
jolt of jealousy.

“Lady, I beg
you, please. Take my hands and press them to your forehead.”

“I take it
that is the way to agree with your proposal?” She hadn’t quite
intended it to come out so petulant, but damn.

“Lady,
please.”

“I have to
know what you want.”

“Isn’t that
obvious? Ever since I saw you, my heart has burned for you. I tried
to be distant, I tried to be proper, but I cannot deny it any
longer. Have I not shown you my total commitment, my undivided
love? Please, for now just do as I say. We can talk later.”

Jessica took a
step back. “No.”

“Lady, please,
however much I love your independence and the way you think for
yourself, this is not the time to be stubborn. Whatever happens,
you will be coming to Miran anyway. Commander Satarin has brought
undercover soldiers to force you to come with him. His promises of
taking you home are untrue. They want you for what you are, for
what you can do. Why go with him and live as prisoner, while you
can live in luxury with me and still contribute to our great
nation?” Light blue eyes met hers out of his sweat-slicked face.
Lips parted, his breath came in shallow gasps that made the
medallion on his chest glitter.

Jessica pushed
his hand away, remembered how he had spoken of opportunities, of
learning, of power and wealth in Miran. She felt sick. “How long
have you known all this? Did you know about the Exchange—that it
couldn’t be my fault?”

Silence. His
throat moved when he swallowed.

“
Tell
me. Were you playing the game?” And she had been so blind to
believe him? To believe that
she
had been
the cause of the transfer?

“Lady, I
confess I was playing the game, in the beginning.”

“You were on
the flight so you could kidnap me?”

He looked
down. “Yes, I was, but—”

“You knew who
I was all along?”

He nodded,
once.

No, no, it
couldn’t be true. “You were? Tell me! Tell me. Was it because of
you? Did you take something in your luggage that caused it?”

His eyes
didn’t meet hers. “I’m not proud of it, my Lady and you have every
right to be angry. Commander Satarin sent me to pick you up for
considerable . . . payment. It is complicated to explain,
but he holds considerable power over me—over my family’s business.
I was to travel with you, and bring you here. Things went wrong. We
weren’t meant to crash, a craft was waiting to pick us up, but it
was too foggy and we didn’t quite appear where it was planned. We
didn’t plan landing in the Pengali territory either. The plan was
just to get you, drug the others and send them back.”

“And I was a
thing to be picked up?” Her shout echoed in the hall. Daya watched
her, tenseness on his face.

“Please Lady,
I’m asking for your forgiveness. Yes, I meant to deliver you to him
at first, but . . . You, my Lady, are a treasure. No one
should claim or use you. I’ve come to see that now . . .
I love you. Please accept my love as a man, not as an agent of
Miran.” He added in a whisper, “We will escape the army.”

However
much he might have meant them, to Jessica, the words rang
hollow.
Never agree
to anything you don’t understand.
Her father’s straightforward policeman’s advice.
And she damn well wouldn’t. She might be young, but she was not
stupid.

She slid
Iztho’s cloak off her shoulders and dumped the furry bundle into
his arms. “If you really knew me, you would know why I can’t accept
this.”

For a few long
seconds, his light blue gaze met hers. Before a sob could rise in
her throat, before she would lose control, she turned and strode to
the stairs. Two soldiers jumped to block her path. She swiped at
them, sparks swirling over her arms. “Why the fuck don’t you leave
me alone?”

Eyes wide,
they stumbled back.

Behind her,
Commander Satarin yelled, “Don’t shoot!”

There was a
crack of something hard hitting the wooden floor and a wave of cold
swept the hall. Jessica turned. A small object on the floor drew
all the Pengali mind lights into a twirling vortex, sucking all
strands of light into it. People stumbled for the doors in
increasing darkness. Jessica yanked her threads free just in time,
and stood panting, gaping at the last remains of the tornado of
lights. What the bloody hell did that?

Daya’s
voice jolted her.
Run, my love, run.

Jessica bolted
up the stairs, out the entrance before the soldiers at the gate
could even question her.

In the street,
the groups of dancing Pengali had gone. So had the food stalls, the
musicians, the flower sellers. Screens of slats covered shop doors.
An abandoned turquoise shirt lay in a puddle, amidst trampled
flowers. Where was everyone?

A voice
shouted behind her. Jessica gathered her dress around her buttocks
and ran. Her sandals splashed in the puddles. Around the corner,
down an alley. Low-hanging branches of trees slapped wet in her
face. She jumped over roots, puddles and piles of rubbish. Booted
footsteps followed close behind.

Into the next
street. Two half-clad Pengali youths ran towards her, carrying
sticks and looking over their shoulders, where figures in white
linked hands, blocking off the road to the crowd on their other
side. Yells and shouts echoed between the houses. Shit—a riot.

Jessica
hesitated and in that moment, her pursuer shot in front of her,
blue eyes wild with triumph. “Don’t move!” The point of his
crossbow aimed at her chest.

In a fluid
motion, one of the Pengali youths turned. He lifted the stick and
brought it down on the soldier’s head with a frightening thunk. The
man’s eyes glazed over; he slumped sideways.

“Anmi.” The
boy reached barely to her waist. Jessica needed no encouragement;
two other soldiers had emerged from the alley. She ran to the door
held open by the second youth.

As soon as she
was through, he pushed it shut and shoved a metal bar across. Yells
echoed in the street; the door thudded. Jessica leaned against the
rough wall, catching her breath and attempting to knot the flowing
petticoats of her dress out of the way. She hated dresses.