Maeve (26 page)

Gwynnor stirred restlessly. “I don't understand.”

“Does that matter?” The Synwedda's acerbic voice stirred resentment in the young cerdd. She sighed and leaned back, looking tired. “Smooth your feathers, Gwynnor. I summoned your cludair friends, Quilasc and Tipylexne. They will be here by nightfall.”

“That journey takes at least two weeks. Aleytys and I …”

“One week. They came a quicker way.”

“You knew I'd come … we'd come?”

“I knew I'd summon you, if necessary.”

“Ah.” He rubbed his forefinger over his upper lip. “What about Aleytys?”

“Can I compel her? No. She has made peace with those who are the source of Synwedda's power. But she will come. I mean to ask her aid this night. You and this child will take your boat to the mainland and pick up the starwitch and her companion.”

“Companion?”

“The Hunter.”

Gwynnor rubbed his lip. Then he faced the Synwedda, frowning. “How do we cross that stretch of water?” He jerked a thumb to the west. “We got across last night because the storm kept the skimmers in. We might not be so lucky again.”

The Synwedda snorted. “Luck!” She placed her hands precisely on her thighs. “The storm was a sending and there will be another tonight at the proper time.” She stood, shaking out the folds of her robes. “You both have passed a tiring night and face another as difficult. Rooms and food are being prepared. Rest. You will be called when it's time to leave. If you wish to see more of the island, feel free to pass through any door that will open to you.”

Chapter X

Dimly, she grew aware of a presence moving in the room. Still locked in the remnants of deep, deep sleep, she felt a surge of fear that went slow and powerful down her legs, bounced against her soles, rose again in a mighty tsunami of terror that blasted her out of her paralysis. She flung her body out of the bed, landing on the floor, hopelessly tangled in the blanket.

Grey laughed. Aleytys was angry at first, then she relaxed and laughed with him. “I should have known. Give me a hand.”

“I didn't intend to wake you.”

She yawned and stumbled back into bed. “I wish you hadn't.”

He draped his shipsuit over the chair and slid into bed beside her, pulling her against him so that she lay curled up and warm, her head on his shoulder. “I got hold of the ship. And the other Hunters.”

“Mmmm.” Her eyes drooped closed as she drifted back asleep, his voice a droning in the background of her mind.

“They know about the Director … they'll wait … watch … hope …”

When she woke again, he was lying on his stomach beside her, breathing heavily through his mouth, his coarse black hair flopping into his eyes. Gently, she brushed the hair back, smiling tenderly as he muttered disjointedly in his sleep. Careful not to wake him, she maneuvered herself out of bed.

There weren't many customers in Bran's cookshop since it was the middle of the morning. Aleytys slid onto the stool and smothered a yawn. Bran poured a mug of cha and set it in front of her. “Hard night?”

“You don't know the half.” She sipped at the cha, relishing the invigorating taste of the hot liquid. “I think I'll eat back in the room. Wrap up some pies for me … mmmmm … about five, I think. I feel hollow. And do you have a liter-sized container for some hot cha?”

“You serious?”

Aleytys nodded. “I'm a bit tired of people, don't want them around me for awhile.”

Bran nodded. She kept glancing over her shoulder at Aleytys as she wrapped the pies deftly in plastic-coated paper. Silently, she set the package in front of Aleytys, then turned to fill the liter bucket with hot cha.

The little gray man dropped a coin on the counter and prowled out of the shop.

Aleytys scrubbed a hand over her face, then dug in her pocket for the money. As Bran swept the coins off the counter with her long, beautiful hands, Aleytys looked around. The spy walked past the window, strolling off down the street.

She relaxed. “Lovax won't bother you anymore.”

“Why?”

“He got to me last night. Took me to his den. He's there now. Very dead.” She laughed unsteadily. “A few more days and he'll start to stink. Then everyone will know.”

“I see. Like Henner.”

“Very like Henner.” She took the food and slid off the stool. “A crazy night. I don't like killing.” She moved across the room and stopped by the beaded curtain, looking sadly back at Bran. “I really don't like killing.”

Grey was at the window, looking out when Aleytys opened the door and walked in. She held up her packages. “Come and sit down. I brought food for you, too.”

“Dammit, Amber.” He jerked his head at the window. “Who the hell are you supposed to be feeding?”

“Me.” Aleytys set her burdens on the dressing table. “Bring the mug from beside the bed.”

“All that?”

“I said I was hungry.” Taking the mug, she filled it with cha. “Here.” She tore open the paper and handed him three of the pies and some paper napkins. “I had a busy night.” She bit into a pie, savoring the rich, meaty flavor.

Grey sat on the end of the bed, sipping at the cha. The meat pies rested on the rumpled coverlet, folded in the paper napkins. His hand dropped until the warm bottom of the mug rested on his thigh. “You advertised that?”

She swallowed and took a sip of cha from the plastic cup. “Too much conceit, Grey. You aren't the center of my world. Seems I had to … to kill a prominent figure on Star Street last night. Before I even got here.”

His eyebrows up, Grey unfolded a pie and consumed it quickly and neatly. He brushed the crumbs from his fingers. “Who?”

“Lovax. He got ideas about breaking me to service.”

“And you killed him.”

She nodded and bent her head, feeling sick at the reminder. Hastily, to clean away the bad taste in her mouth, she gulped at the cha, draining the cup. She filled it again before speaking. “He panicked and came at me with a knife. I don't want to talk about it.”

He looked at the omnicron on his wrist. “You'll be late for work.”

“I'll go when I feel like it. Dryknolte gets impatient. He can chew on himself. What's Wolff like?”

“Cold. About twice as heavy as this world.”

She stretched and yawned. “Sounds good. First time I set foot on this ball of mud I nearly bruised my nose. Hard to stand up straight. Kept tripping over my own feet.” She sniffed at the cha, sighing with pleasure, then swallowed a sip. “What you say about Wolff reminds me of my homeworld. In winter, most times we had snow higher than the roof of a three-story building. And an honest pull on our muscles. Not like this, bounding through fluff.”

He nodded briefly, his face sharpened with interest. “You'll like Wolff. I'll set my winters against yours anytime. The storms come sweeping down across the plains like a wall of killing ice, freezing everything they roll over. We dig in and let them roll. It's a good time.” He smiled as he ate the last pie, remembering the warm closeness of the winter. “Then there's a time of peace when we break up through the crust, and make up a noisy, sometimes rowdy, crowd riding snow-boats from house to house. Damn, that's a good time.”

“What are your summers like?” Aleytys patted her mouth with a napkin and sipped at the last of the cha. “Mine were a standard year long and hot enough to singe the hair off your head.” Her mouth tugged up in a rueful grin. “Though I've sampled a lot of worlds since I left, it still makes me uneasy to see an unpaired sun in the sky.”

“A year of summer.” He shook his head. “Excessive, Amber. Now we on Wolff take a connoisseur's approach to summertime.” He grinned at her, wiping greasy hands on the napkins. “Keep 'em short. Keep 'em intense. You can see things grow, even watch fruit ripen. A lot of hard work. More hard playing. You don't go to bed in the summertime. Well, not much. You'll see.” He stared past her shoulder at the wall. “A hard world and a poor world. We needed so much to make our lives more than barely supportable. But there was nothing to pay for what we needed. No heavy metals. No industry. Nothing but what we could make and grow. Some years there was enough for everyone. Some years whole families starved. The only real resource we had was our people.” His eyes refocused on her, crinkling into narrow slits with amusement. “Stubborn bastards, all of us. With the trick of surviving, and an obsession with puzzles. Show me a puzzle …” His eyes ran over Aleytys, bright and curious. “And I'll bust my ass solving it.”

Ignoring the hint, Aleytys dumped the throwaway cup into the bucket and stuffed the used napkins in after it. “You finished with those?” She pointed at the paper napkins beside his knee. At his nod, she said, “Throw them over here. I suppose Hunters Associates is your world's answer to famine.”

Crumpling the napkins into a ball, he threw it to her. “Right. About three generations back we scraped through a cycle of years where crops failed and a lot of good people died. A young man called Elro Rohin scratched his way to University by methods he never talked much about later. After several years there, he came up with the idea of Hunters Associates, and eventually managed to use his contacts to get a small grant. Sent out a couple friends to hunt down a few rebels on a Company world. Was successful. Another time was one of a survey party on a new, wild world. Brought out a comprehensive report when everyone was killed. It went on like that for awhile, getting bigger and bigger as his reputation grew. He wasn't an admirable man, but we owe him a lot.” He leaned forward, grinning. “End of lecture. Sony you asked?”

She heard his pride through the imposed lightness. That it showed at all was evidence of the depth of his commitment to the Associates. She felt a warmth of her own since his invitation to join was quite a compliment. Then she came briskly to earth. “If I sit around here much longer, I'll get fired. I'm not ready for that yet. Damn. How do you tactfully refuse to sleep with your boss?”

Stretched out on the bed, hands linked behind his head, Grey grinned at her. “I never had that problem.”

“I hope you do sometime, fool.” She thrust the key in her pocket and went out.

Dryknolte was waiting for her, frowning in annoyance. “You're late.”

“I was hungry. So I took lunch to my room.”

“You could've eaten here.”

“I didn't feel like it.” She brushed past him and went through the door behind the bar.

The day went much as before, but there were more customers so she was soon awash with cold cha. Dryknolte's eyes kept following her and, somehow, he was close behind her whenever she turned around. It began to wear on her nerves, but she kept misunderstanding and not noticing, preserving, with difficulty, a bland ignorance of what he was up to, knowing he was going to set out his desires too explicitly for her to ignore before too long. All she could do was push away that crisis as long as possible.

About three hours before quitting, when she was just finishing a last song, the RMoahl came in. She laid the harp on the bar and slid off the stool.

Dryknolte loomed beside her, his huge hand landing heavily on her shoulder. “Let 'em sit. You don't have to go.”

Aleytys fixed a smile on her face and moved casually from under his grip. Without looking back she threaded through the crowded tables, mouth curled in the meaningless professional smile, head shaking coolly at shouted words, body swaying expertly away from clutching hands, murmuring later … later … later …

She stopped by the RMoahl table. “Buy me a drink, despoites.”

Sensayii clicked his nippers in consent and waited for the Actor to bring her glass. When the big blond man ambled off, she sat down, picked up the glass, and sipped at the cha. “Well, Hounds?”

“Have you decided to come with us, woman?”

“Certainly not.”

“We will force you.”

“We seem to have had this conversation before. Look. There's no way I'm going to go with you. You can't get at the diadem without killing me. Is that what you plan? Are you going to kill me?”

Waves of shock swept out from the three. Sensayii's feelers twisted frantically and the orange pompons fluttered as if a storm wind prowled through the wiry fibers. “N … n … no,” he stammered. “No!” He sucked in a long long breath, his black matte nostrils flaring wide. “We are NOT killers. We would not even have killed the thief had we caught him.”

She nodded, then set the glass down on the table. She crossed her legs and rested her hands on her knees. “The only option you have is to wait for my death from other causes. I tell you frankly, Hounds, I'm not going to spend the rest of what I hope will be a very long life on Roal. Can't we reach some sort of compromise?”

Sensayii tapped his nippers on the table. “We are merely Hounds, despina. If you would come back with us, we could put that question to the Hoahlmoahl. Only The Nine have the right to make such decisions.”

Aleytys sighed. “No use going on with this.” She pushed the chair back and stood. “I suggest you go back and talk to your … what did you call it … Hoahlmoahl.” Leaving them silent and looking a little doleful, the crisp black hair on their rotund bodies drooping disconsolately, she headed toward a collection of engine crew from several ships who were grinning and beckoning to her.

She kept away from the bar the rest of the evening, staying so involved with her patrons—laughing and fending off groping hands, listening to sad stories and ancient jokes and wild exaggerations—that she managed to avoid Dryknolte's creeping encirclement.

A few minutes after midnight, she came out of the back room, once more in her worn and comfortable tunic and pants. The Actor escorted her across the room while the remaining drinkers yelled noisy farewells. Dryknolte stood beside the door. The intense smothering possessiveness exuding from his pores like sweat convinced her that she could put off facing this particular problem very little longer.