colonies of Covanti; once outside of that domain, they were
also beyond the reach of any sort of Covantian imperial
protection, supernatural or otherwise. And there was still five
worlds, four of which were under other kingdoms, before
they reached Masalur and Boolean.
As far as Charley was concerned, she didn't care if she
ever reached Boolean now. She had been giving a lot of
thought to that, although, to be sure, the decisions about her
future were not hers to make.
She had come to Akahlar not by anyone's grand design but
simply because she had been with Sam when the two great
wizards had come for their Storm Princess clone; one to kill,
38
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 39
the other to save. Like the innocent passenger in a car crash,
she'd had nothing at all to do with the accident but she
nonetheless suffered all the consequences.
Then Boolean had taken advantage of her presence and her
superficial resemblance to Sam to make of her a decoy; to
make her appear as Sam would have if everything had gone
exactly right, if the idealized potential in Sam's genes had
been a hundred percent realized. She was beautiful, sexy,
perfectly proportioned, and, after falling into Boday's al-
chemical hands, virtually engineered to be a courtesan, a
high-class whore, whose sole function was to give pleasure to
men and to find high pleasure in that as well.
And although she had had "I'm gonna conquer the world"
Superwoman ambitions in her old life, and now sometimes
felt guilty remembering them, the fact was, she liked the job
and the situation. The only problem she really had with it, and
it was a big one, was that she was designed to stand out in
any crowd, the better to attract the attention of those forces
seeking Sam who would see the resemblance and take her for
her friend. She was the decoy, dependent on her own wits
and the powers and authority of others to save herself without
benefit of Sam's powers or anything else. That was why she
was here. on the road, in the middle of a strange world, on
her way to Boolean. Until she, or Sam, reached that safety
neither could hope for any long-term peace.
Or so she'd thought. Now, in the Imperial Court, she was
beginning to wonder. For the first time since she'd worked
the high-class geisha route back in Mashtopol, she fell safe
and comfortable.
More, the odds of her realty getting any further were
slimmer even than the odds she would have gotten this far.
Set upon by the gang in the Kudaan Wastes, she'd managed
to escape and to rescue Sam and Boday and the others, but at
the cost of her eyesight. Witnessing the supernatural battle
between Aslerial. Blue Witch of the Kudaan Wastes and
Ktittichom ally, and the demon from Sam's amulet had caused
some kind of radiation effect. All sorcerers who dealt in or
with such powers had suffered the same fate and had alternate
ways of seeing, but they knew magic or had powers she did
not. Even Dorion didn't see with his eyes, although nobody
could really tell that just from meeting him.
40 fack L. Chalker
Not that she was totally blind. Rather, her eyes could see
things of magic; the supernatural had its own colors and auras
that were revealed to her when she was in proximity to them,
but there was a lot less magic in the world than even most of
the inhabitants thought. She had been able to see the terrible
Stormrider in the Quodac void, a sight she might have chosen
to avoid, but most of the time the world was a dull and
meaningless gray null. It was an irony, really; most people in
Akahlar, from the lowest to the highest, feared magic and the
supernatural because they were things they could neither see
nor understand. Magic, however, could not sneak up on her,
but she was totally defenseless and at the mercy of the normal
world.
More, having fallen into captivity in the Kudaan and sold
into slavery, the small gold ring in her nose bound her with
strong magic as a slave who could not escape her master and
who was compelled to obey that master. Right now that role
was delegated to Dorion, a rather sweet and shy sorcerer's
apprentice who couldn't make himself take advantage of the
situation, but, thanks to Yobi, the powerful witch and his
own mentor, Charley really "belonged" to Boolean.
Her only convenience was Shadowcat, a medium-sized tomcat
somehow bound to her as she was to Boolean. Through a tiny
sharing of blood, she and the cat were somehow linked, and
if she willed it and concentrated, she could see. in the strange
fish-eyed and monochromatic way a cat saw, and from that
small and low vantage point, just what the animal could see.
This was handy only to a degree. Shadowcat might have been
something supernatural,.but deep down he was a cat, and cats
didn't go where you wanted them to. nor necessarily look at
what you wanted to see.
The other advantage Shadoweat gave her was a two-edged
sword. She had been unable to master the complex polytonal
language of the Akhbreed; it was doubtful that anyone not
born to it or who had not absorbed it in some magical way as
Sam had done, could ever master it. After all this time she
understood it well enough to get by, although following a
fast-talking multiparty conversation was sometimes impossi-
ble, but that was about the limit. She could understand Boday,
for example, but not speak to her. except in the servile Short
Speech of the courtesan whose few hundred words were
41
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM
designed strictly for the job of woman of pleasure. Many
magicians, including Dorion, could handle English, having
learned it by spell, since for some reason English, or a form
of it, was a major language of the high Akhbreed sorcerers,
but without Dorion or Boolean around she was cut off there,
too. On her own she was effectively both blind and voiceless.
The Shadowcat binding spell also gave her a way out of
that; when she held the cat others in her immediate vicinity
could read her thoughts. The problem was, everybody could
read all her thoughts, so she didn't use that much unless it
was an emergency.
Still, for the only thing she could really do, and the thing
she like doing the most, she didn't need to see or speak. She
had concentrated not on dwelling on her problems but on
coping with her situation, and, with a lot of patience and
thought she was as self-sufficient as she needed to be or could
be. She could memorize the basics of almost any room of
normal size in a half hour; she could find the bathroom or
chamber pot or whatever was available for the need and tend
to herself. She could dress herself as much as one of her class
and station dressed, fix her jewelry and her hair, apply per-
fume and even some limited cosmetics. There were tricks you
just worked out for doing that. Even pouring a drink—the
finger unobtrusively just below the rim of cup or glass telling
her when it was full. That sort of thing. She'd arranged what
little supplies she'd picked up so that she could find them and
use them in the same ways every time.
In the Covanti court, they had placed her with the royal
concubines, in a sort of loose harem that was pretty good and
had a lot. There were real hot showers, and slaves to do your
hair and nails and the like, a pick of perfumes, cosmetics, and
assistance for her in putting them on, along with good-tasting
tilings to eat and fine wines of the region and coffees and teas
served regularly. Each concubine slept on satin sheets and
pillows atop feather beds and had little to do until summoned
but play around with the luxury. There wasn't much of a level
of conversation that she felt left out of; while the Short
Speech was reserved for when they were outside, just about
all the women had been born and raised to this position and
purpose. They were all illiterate, and appallingly ignorant of
the world or much of anything outside the immediate Covanti
42 Jack L. Chalker
royal grounds. They mostly did superficial comparisons of the
men of the Court, and how they were in bed, and did and
redid their own and each other's hair, makeup, and the like,
did exercises and tried out dances. They were all pros, just
like she was, only they had a kind of status and a gilded cage
and they knew of nor wanted much else. This was the highest
level to which they could aspire.
Charley found herself quickly slipping into their vacuous
lifestyle without any problems. If they had no depth, they
were at least all friendly and sympathetic, their competition
between themselves limited mostly to boasting about their
own sexual prowess or trying to top one another in style. It
was more like a girls' luxurious summer camp back when she
was, say, thirteen or fourteen. That lonely, friendless feeling
she'd had since losing track of Sam in the gorge back in the
Kudaan Wastes was filled, to a degree.
Too, she had not realized just how much pressure she had
been living under until it was removed. Here, with the Royal
Courtesans, protected, cared for, she felt reasonably safe, and
slept long and well without nightmares. Particularly consider-
ing her handicaps of language and sight, this was also the
highest level to which she could reasonably aspire. Even in
twenty years or more, when beauty was fading and demand
for older women was lessened, the royal honor was kept, and
all needs would be attended to for life. No worries, no
insecurities, no real responsibilities—it was a seductive thing,
empty as it might be, particularly when you considered how
she was, what she'd already been through, and what was
waiting out there should she leave.
And if it got too boring, there were the wines of Covanti
and an endless supply of mild drugs that would take you for
as long as you wanted into a state where everything was
pleasant and wonderful and the silliest little things were end-
lessly amusing.
She indulged herself in all the pleasures because she knew
it would end, probably sooner than later. She was property,
and not of Covanti's royal family as the others were, and she
was being taken to her master.
And then there was Halagar. She had seen him only through
Shadowcat, but she had known him far more intimately than
that. He was a big, strong, muscular man with an equally
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 43
strong and handsome face, with a bodybuilder's frame and
muscle control, and so worldly wise and experienced that he
had taught her some new things in the bedroom. He was
rough, yet tender, too, somehow, and he seemed to be as
smitten with her as she was with him. On his part it was a
strictly physical attraction, but that was the only kind she
really knew and it fired up her ego and self-image to think
that out of all the choices available to him he had chosen her.
It had to be physical; somehow, for some reason, every
time she was alone with him Sharlene Sharkin just ceased to
exist, leaving only Shari. her perfect courtesan alter ego, who
had no memories beyond being a courtesan, thought only in
the Short Speech, and existed only to serve and please. There
was a spell that would do that, of course; Sam had created it
so she could have some fun back on that wagon train without
betraying anything by accident. But that spell's words were
English and known only to Sam and herself. Even on her own
and without the spell, she could slip into Shari as easily as
slipping into a dress, but she had always been there, as a sort
of rider, able to regain control if needed. It was her "profes-
sional" persona. But this was different.
She wondered, sometimes, if perhaps that spell were break-
ing down. That maybe it was her subconscious doing it; that,
deep down, she really just wanted to be Shari and to hell with
anything else- In Akahlar, Shari was all that she needed,
required, or could actually be. The rest, Charley, was excess
baggage. She knew, at least, that if she ever did wind up
permanently in a harem like this, she would quickly become
all Shari and remain that way. And, truth to tell, she won-
dered if that wouldn't be all for the best for her own sake.
She would always prefer to be in total control of her own life,
but, if that could not be, and if there was no hope of ever
returning home and she had to live her life here, as she was,
wasn't it better to forget what wasn't relevant and just enjoy,
like the girls here?
Sure, she was the brave, blind courtesan who'd outwitted
and caused the destruction of a feared demon Stormrider by
merely remembering a bit of high school physics, but there
were only so many times you could get away with that, and
she knew how lucky she'd been. One of these times, she'd
lose. If not the next time, then the next, or the next. And,
44 lack L. Chalker
although one of her fantasies from the old days back home
had been as the fierce and feared Amazonian warrior, it was
different when you really faced those kind of things. On the
whole, in real life, she knew that if she had to choose
between being a warrior or a lover, she'd much rathet be a
lover.
Boday remained as personal slave to Dorion, although the
plump, sandy-haired apprentice sorcerer would much rather
have had Charley around. At least Boday was also subject to
his commands, although, truth to tell, Dorion just wasn't all
that comfortable in the role of master. And Boday was just a
bit too weird a personality even for him.
Boday, tall and thin, now had a dark, chocolate brown
complexion just like Charley, and for the same reason. Boday's
body, tattooed from neck to feet, made her instantly recogniz-
able anywhere and hardly somebody you could sneak through
civilized areas. The sorceress Yobi had, therefore, dyed them
both with an incredibly natural-looking skin dye to cover the
designs. In Boday's case, it hadn't helped much. Neither did
the fact that she assumed the name of Koba (and Charley was
Yssa) so their names would not only not be obvious flags but
also would match (heir new apparent nationalities. Neither
dye nor a mere alias could hide Boday herself.
"Your humble slave is desolate!" she wailed to him in
private. "When will we leave this velvet prison and resume