Levels: The Host (31 page)

“Nothing,” Watly
finally said.

The Ragman
visibly stiffened.

“Nothing at all happened in California.” Watly smiled. “Not anything. Nothing.”

The Ragman’s face grew pinkish as Watly continued. “It was all rumors. All designed to get the people going here—create hope; set the stage. You all made it up. Sent some people out to the western countries to start the stories. It’s all catshit.
Planted seeds.”

“How do you know this?” The Ragman seemed
honestly disturbed.

Watly smiled even broader. He was right. Rape on a crosstown copper, he was right. No California. Just rumors. It was all just the
idea
of revolution. The
idea
of success.

Watly felt the beginnings of a sting from the blade’s point. “We can
help
,” he said loudly, the smile
gone now.

“They lie, Ragman,” said Tavis. “All lies.
And guesses.”

“How can you help?” the Ragman asked. Watly could see his guess had struck home deeply. The Ragman’s hands trembled slightly.
Amazing.
Simply amazing.

“I’m a doctor.” Alysess’s voice sounded strained. “I can
help you.”

From the corner of his eyes, Watly could see her trying to pull away from the hands that held her. She was
not successful.

The Ragman smiled slightly. He was composed again. “A doctor. We can always use another doctor.” He paused for a moment and Watly felt Tavis gently trace across the skin of his throat with the blade—just on the surface. “Kill only Caiper. Spare the doctor,” the Ragman said, and with that he sat back down to noisily continue his meal, looking satisfied with himself. His hands were
steady now.

“I can help too!” Watly said as the blade broke skin. He squirmed but the hands that held him were
too strong.

“What can you do, my child, that we can’t do better with your reward money?” The Ragman took a large mouthful
of weeders.

“He.
..
he.
..
” Alysess seemed at
a loss.

Watly scrambled for an idea—a lie—anything. A reason to be kept alive. “I know secrets, Subkeeper,”
he said.

The Ragman laughed, almost choking on
his food.

Tavis joined in with the laughter and used its rhythm to prod gently at Watly’s neck. “He knows no secrets, Ragman.”

“I can make your revolution have no death,”
Watly said.

“No death?” the Ragman asked, still laughing, as he poked at his sunbeans with a
bird bone.

“No violence—no hurt—no blood. I know
the way.”

“Who taught you this ‘way’?” the Ragman asked, chewing on a sunbean he
had speared.

Watly squirmed again uselessly. His wounds throbbed. “My mother. My mother taught me—P-
pajer Caiper.”

Ragman swallowed the sunbean. “P-pajer? A good woman, she. Much potential. We were just in the process of recruiting her when they poisoned her. A
sad case.”

Watly felt his legs go weak.
Poisoned?
His eyes blurred.
Poisoned?
His legs gave out entirely. The person restraining him was now supporting him. Rape. Could this be true? Poisoned?
No.
“Yes,” Watly said. His voice caught. “Yes. But before she died.
..
before they.
..
killed her, poisoned her.
..
she
taught
me things.” Watly felt drunk suddenly. His mother had been murdered. It made sense. It made a perverse kind of sense. Not the appendix, after all. Poison. She was
a troublemaker.

“What things?” Ragman asked. “Taught you
what things?”

“Gentle things.” Watly answered, his mother’s face vividly floating before him. “Selfish things. Secrets. Tricks. Ways to revolt
without killing.”

The Ragman wiped his beard on a sparkling sleeve and held up his right hand. Tavis froze at this signal. The knife was withdrawn. “
You
have killed,” the Ragman
said solemnly.

Watly went totally limp. “Yes,” he said quietly. “And I was
wrong to.”

The Ragman tilted his head and gazed at Watly sideways, his eyes narrow. “Tell me
these secrets.”

Watly felt tired all over. All he wanted was to rest. Rest and turn his brain off. His mother had been murdered. Poisoned. Incredible. “Help us and we’ll help you,” he said softly. “That’s
the deal.”

The Ragman picked what meat was left on the bird bones and nibbled on them loudly. Some crumbs lodged in his beard. He spoke slowly, still looking for more meat. “Tavis, my sincerest apologies. No evening for you tonight, my child. Perhaps I’ll find you a fade-out tomorrow. Meantime, show these two to a room and get them some food and a bedroll.” He looked up, first to Alysess and then to Watly. “
Two
bedrolls,
my children?”

Watly smiled weakly. “One.”

CHAPTER 36

T
he
room was all red. Red-tiled floor, red-tiled walls, and red-tiled ceiling. A few pinlights hung from one corner and they reflected over and over on the shiny surfaces. Watly almost slipped on the tiles but caught himself and leaned into the wall, wishing his battered cop boots had more traction. Alysess turned at the doorway to face Tavis, who had just led them through the maze of hallways to leave them off at
the room.

“Do you have medipaks here?’’
she asked.

“Medipaks, you want.” Tavis glowered. “If it’s not one thing it’s another—food, a room, medipaks, life
...
”

“I’ll need a medipak equipped for slug wound in the left arm and
right side—”

“
Left
side,” Watly said, sliding down the wall to sit on
the floor.

“
Left
side,” she continued, “bad scrapes and lacerations to the knees and shins, shallow knife cuts across the throat.
..
oh.
..
” She thought a moment. “And a bruise to the left side of the jaw.
Got that?”

Tavis stuck a swollen-looking tongue out and walked off. “
Got
-it-got-it-got-it.”

Alysess folded the tiled door shut and squatted down next to Watly. “How do
you feel?”

“I’ve been better but I’m okay,” Watly answered. He shook his head groggily. “What was that about a bruise on my jaw? I don’t have a bruise on
my jaw.”

That’s when she did it. That’s when Alysess hauled off and socked Watly solidly in the mouth, sending him sliding clear to the other side of
the room.

“You do now,” she said, massaging
her knuckles.

Watly let himself stay there in the corner without righting himself. Not moving at all. His shoulder was touching one wall and the top of his head another, his face pressed firmly into the cold floor. Aside from the shock of the blow, the pain itself wasn’t too bad, and his position was pretty comfortable. Violence, violence, violence. Well, it could have been worse. Compared to his other wounds, the jaw was nothing. “What the rape was that for?” he asked into
the tile.

“That’s for the fact that you ruined my life, is what that’s for!” Watly heard the squeak of her shoes as Alysess stood and began to pace back and forth across the small chamber. “I don’t give a damn if you’ve saved my life
X
amount of times and I’ve saved yours
X
amount of times and we’ve been through this and we’ve been through that and survived all sorts of stuff and smiled and nodded and touched hands—the fact
is
—” The squeaking stopped and Watly turned his head slightly to see her standing directly over him, looking for all the world like she was about to sock him once more. “The fact
is
that now
I’m
in this catshit up to my ears. My career is out the
window
because of this thing of yours, and now they want to kill me as well—all because I tried to help you out of this insane
stupid
situation you’re in. You’ve buried me right along
with you!”

Watly started to speak but realized he had
no response.

“Don’t you understand?
I have no life left.
I can’t go back. I have nothing. And here we are in this underground city—hanging out with the legendary Subkeeper himself—now involved, on top of everything else, with some crazy revolutionary eggless crap that hinges on your ‘magical’ ability to overthrow an enemy without violence. How the rape do you overthrow an enemy
without violence?”

“I don’t know,” Watly
said weakly.

“
You
what?”

“I don’
t know.”

“Oh, great! That’s even better! Now we’re really
home free!”

The door folded open suddenly and Tavis appeared with the bedroll, a medipak, and a tray
of food.

“Can I watch?” the painted creature asked sweetly. “Can I watch you
having sets?”

Alysess grabbed the tray. “No, you can’t watch and no, we’re not
having
sex—or ‘sets’ either. Now leave the stuff and get the hell out of here!” she yelled, dropping the tray before Watly. “And bring us
another bedroll!”

As she threw the door closed Tavis’s voice came through with: “A servant I’
m not!”

Watly sat up, ignoring the food. “I never had
any intention—”

“I don’t give a
damn
what your intentions were—or are. The fact is, unless some kind of miracle happens and you convince the whole damn
island
that you’re innocent—and me along with you—I’m stuck here.” She turned and began pacing again. It struck Watly that there were no windows or openings at all in the pure red room. Just a door and, in the far corner, a small toilet/sink combination. Alysess walked from one wall to another—four long strides in each direction. “Even if you do prove your side of it—prove it to everyone—I might still be stuck here. Probably would. I helped a priority-one criminal and they know it. Whether you’re innocent or not I’m still through. Over. If I don’t get killed for helping you I can always get killed while being ‘doctor to a revolution.’
What fun.”

“I—” Watly coughed. “There must be a
way to—”

“There is no damn way to
anything
. I never should have gotten involved. I never should have helped. First this person wants to kill me, then that person, then another—and when I finally can stop to catch my breath—think for a minute—I realize my life is over. It’s over.” She leaned forward, picked up a piece of food, and popped it into
her mouth.

Watly held out a hand toward her. “I’m sorry” was all he could think
to say.

“So am I,” Alysess said bitterly, with no acknowledgment of his hand. She chewed and
swallowed loudly.

“Well.
..
so am I. So am
I
sorry.” Watly dropped the hand and grabbed something brown from the tray. It tasted salty but good. “I didn’t
plan
it this way, you know. I didn’t say: ‘Let’s see who I can rope into this thing and mess up real bad.’
I’m
not the one chasing us.
I’m
not the raping cops. I’m not whoever the hell it is who started all this crap! I never wanted this to happen.” He swallowed and took another piece. “You think I want this? You think I like that now you’re in this as much as I? You think that makes
me happy?”

Alysess reached for more of the food and snatched up a handful angrily. “You want to know what I think? You really want to know?” She shoved more of it into her mouth and chewed until she could speak again. “I think you’re
glad
. I think you’re glad you have
company
in all this melted garbage. I think you’re happy you’re not alone!” Her eyes lowered to the bloodstains on Watly’
s clothing.

Watly sat up taller and leaned into the wall. “
That’s
catshit.” He ate one of the small
green things.

“It is not catshit,” Alysess said as she pulled over the medipak. “
Misery loves—”

“Oh, come on! I didn’
t intentionally—”

“You can’t tell me—” she started, carefully removing Watly’s clothes to get at his injuries. By now Narcolo’s makeshift bandages underneath were caked with dried blood. “You can’t tell me it isn’t nicer going through all this
with
someone
than without.”

Watly reached around Alysess to get at more of the small green things. They were quite tasty. “That’s not the point. I never intended to get you caught up in all this. You’re acting
like I—”

“That is
exactly
the point,” she snapped, and began treating his wounds with the salves and dressings from the medipak. Watly flinched at the sting. “It shouldn’t hurt,” she said as she spread more ointment over the slug wound in
his arm.

“Well,
it
does
.”

“Well.
..
good!”

Tavis threw the door open and dumped another bedroll beside them. “A servant I’m
not
.” The androgynous voice was bitter and the painted features tightened up
in anger.

“Fine!” Watly yelled. “Then leave and we won’t treat you
like one!”

Tavis turned back in the doorway, colorful face suddenly calm and angelic. “Are you going to have
sets now?”

“No, we are not going to have ‘sets’ now,” Watly said, trying to get up. Alysess held him down and continued treating his wounds. “But if and when we ever
do
decide to have ‘sets,’ we will stick our heads into the hallway and quietly call out your name—‘Tavis?
Taaaay
-vis?’ we’ll say—so that you can, if you’re nearby, hear our gentle call and come to watch us. How’
s
that?”

“That’ll be fine,” Tavis said, and left
the room.

“Jeez!”

“Stop wiggling, Watly—or I’ll never finish this
raping stuff.”

“Well.
..
finish the raping stuff.” He scooped up more of the green things and gulped
them down.

Alysess worked on his arm, his side, both legs, his neck, and—finally—his jaw. Doing the jaw seemed to bother her more than the rest. She avoided looking at Watly’s eyes as she worked on it and kept her head lowered toward
the medipak.

When she was done treating him they both finished what was left on the tray, eating silently, neither looking at the other. After the food, they unrolled their respective bedrolls—one on each side of the room. Watly was by the door and Alysess by the
far wall.

Watly used the toilet and then lay down on his bedroll and stared at the ceiling, looking at the geometric patterns the tiles made. His own dim reflection was sectioned into hundreds of tiny Watly-bits.

“This whole thing’s a mess,” he
said quietly.

There was a
long pause.

“Yes, it is,” came
the reply.

Watly turned to see Alysess was also lying down, staring at the ceiling. The pinlights near her bedroll put her face in silhouette. Her features were hidden, but the outline of her nose, forehead, lips, and jaw was clear
and sharp.

“I’m sorry,” Watly said. “Really.”

Something sparkled on her cheek, just below
the eye.

“I know you are,” she said. “I
am too.”

Soon the bedrolls were brought together, the pinlights lowered, and after a while—after a long while—Tavis was
called in.

As Watly and Alysess made love, Watly would occasionally look over to the corner, where Tavis—watching quietly, intently—fiddled beneath his/her raglike clothing with whatever genitalia she/he had down there. It still was impossible to tell. Whatever the creature was, it enjoyed the show politely through to
the end.

“Are you a he or a she?” Watly finally asked softly after the pleasure faded
to memory.

“Yes,” was Tavis’s answer.