Racing the Dark (12 page)

Leilani was thinking of Lana, who was getting better enough to talk for a few sentences without coughing. What would happen if she ran out of the medicine?

"For a price," she said.

He looked at her appraisingly. "Now that's what I like to hear. How much? You've kept me away for so long, I'll pay anything."

"A thousand kala," she said, and could hardly believe her audacity when the amount left her mouth. What humble hostess in a third-rate sailor establishment could possibly hope for such a large amount?

He looked surprised as well, but then narrowed his eyes. "You have guts, Lei, I'll tell you that. You think you're worth so much? Well, for a thousand kala it would have to be the whole night. You'll have to do whatever I want."

The back of Leilani's mouth filled with the taste of vomit, but he had agreed. A thousand kala. She could buy enough medicine for another week. She nodded. "My shift is over in an hour."

He smiled. "This will be a night to remember." He took a long pull on the pipe and blew the smoke into her face.

He took her to an inn with clean sheets and a proprietor who looked the other way when rich guests with anonymous partners booked rooms. He took his time with her, kissing and touching her far more gently than she would have expected. At first, she went through the motions numbly and struggled not to be sick. But then, unexpectedly, she felt herself respond physically to his caresses, even while she cursed him in her mind. It seemed to her like the worst sort of betrayal-it was one thing for her to give her body to another man, but to enjoy it? Her moans occurred somewhere halfway between pleasure and grief. It seemed to go on forever, no matter how she tried to speed it along. She felt crushed by him, horrified by both his and her own desire. Before tonight, she had only been with one man in her entire life, a man she was completely in love with. Was this how sex was for most women? Pleasure without love? How could she ever tell Kapa of what she was doing, of what she'd had to do-even if it was for the sake of their daughter? She felt as if she were dying when he finished, despite the fact that she had taken every necessary precaution earlier.

He came at her all night long. All she wanted to do was leave, melt away, and she couldn't because he was on top of her again, and she couldn't even tell which one of them was gasping in pleasure. And then, finally, it was all over. Sated at last, he rolled onto the other side of the bed. She shook him awake.

"The money," she said. Her voice was flat.

His cold gray eyes looked amused. He levered himself upright, reached into his purse, and tossed the coins on the bed.

"You were all right. I figured you'd have more stamina, though," he said as he collapsed on the bed again. She struggled into her clothes and put the money in her pocket.

Outside the building, she ducked into an alley and vomited violently. Then she went to find the doctor.

4

HE WOMAN HAD SETTLED HERSELF in an abandoned stall in the Alley, one of the less-than-savory market streets near the Eastern harbor. The previous occupant, a taxidermist of chimeras and exotic creatures, had succumbed to the bloody cough that was spreading relentlessly among the less respectable denizens of the docks. A few blocks from her stall in the Alley was Opona Street, where the better-patronized vendors hawked their more respectable wares, from bolts of brightly colored silk worth thousands of kala each to increasingly rare mandagah jewels. Those wishing for items of a less decorous nature went to the Alley. Fortune-tellers and apothecaries, prostitutes and bear-baitersthey crowded the wide, dirty street, clamoring for business with pitches as vulgar as they were amusing. Which made it an ideal location for the one-armed woman to set up shop. Indeed, she caused barely a ripple among those whose job it was, unofficially of course, to monitor the Alley. Just another self-styled fortuneteller plying her trade-strange about her arm, perhaps, but not worth any undue commentary. So long as she paid her tithe to the Alley Master, she was free to do as she pleased. If her business was especially slow, it was far more logical to blame it on the weather or her location than on halfhearted salesmanship. After all, why would she go through the trouble of setting up a stall if she had no interest in turning a profit?

The one-armed woman did, of course, intend to turn a profit, but perhaps not the kind that her neighbors expected. It had taken some time for to find the girl again after that night, but after a bit of judicious inquiry the woman-who, for the past several years of her search, had taken to calling herself Akua-had found the girl's mother. Leilani's exotic good looks had attracted the interest of several men who frequented her hookah lounge (the same kind of men, it turned out, who frequented the Alley). Her accent was that of the outer islands, and her dark skin and proud bearing made many speculate that she had been one of the legendary mandagah divers. She had a daughter, one young sailor had told Akua as she felt his skull-a young girl who worked the vats at a laundry and nearly died of the bloody cough. She might have a husband too, but if so, he wasn't around to disapprove of the way his wife had been raising money of late-prostituting herself to the highest bidder. That little fact, tossed her way so offhandedly as a trivial piece of gossip, had piqued Akua's interest. She now understood that Leilani was a desperate woman, and desperate people were easy to exploit: you only had to give them what they wanted.

Akua's scrying had told her to come here to Okika City in the first place, but scryings were unreliable. She had been truly surprised (for the first time in many years) when she had chanced upon the young girl that night and discovered just how suitable she would be. She was quiet and she held herself closely, but the one-armed woman could, nevertheless, sense the untapped depths within her. Some great power had marked this girl, but she was still too young and naive to know how to protect herself.

She was a treasure hidden in plain sight: an innocent holder of unknowable power. Soon, Akua would have her.

Leilani pulled the conical straw hat farther over her head and hurried through the rain. The light drizzle of the past few days had turned into a nearly respectable downpour-something she might have enjoyed from the relative comfort of her apartment, but which made her curse now. The offices of the city doctor were in the governing district, a half-hour walk from the Eastern harbor. Since Lana had become ill, Leilani had learned that there were dockside healers who would probably charge far less for their services, but she had seen too many people by the docks die of the cough to trust them. No matter how much it cost her, she had to take care of Lana. She reached the octagonal brick-and-granite building several minutes later, and walked around to the garden side, where a few still-burning lamps made strange shadows dance on the wet grass. She walked to the oak door and knocked three times. Almost immediately, she heard heavy footsteps and then the door opened.

The familiar smell and warmth of the place enveloped her as the doctor ushered her inside. It smelled of clean sheets and the nose-clearing tang of healing balms, all mixed with the sweetness of fresh-cut orchids-an acknowledgment of the doctor's patronage by the council as an officially sanctioned healer. Most of the staff had gone home by this time, and the hallway was empty as he led her to the relatively small room where they stored their medicines.

"How's the child?" he asked as he lit the lamps on the wall.

Leilani sighed. "Better. She's still weak though-I worry that she's going to overexert herself from boredom."

He fingered the various jars and sachets of dried herbs before he alighted on one. He pulled the rough homespun cloth bag off the shelf and carefully tilted some of its contents into another, smaller one.

"This should do for another week," he said, handing the bag to her. "If there's any change in her condition, let me know and I'll do what I can ..." he trailed off when she reached into her pocket and pulled out a money purse.

"Here," she said, untying the strings and carefully counting out ten plum-sized, rose-colored coins into his palm. "This week's thousand," she said. There was a slight breathiness to her voice, but otherwise she gave no outward appearance of agitation.

Still, the doctor looked at her sadly, almost pityingly, and Leilani cringed. Ever since this ordeal had first begun he had looked at her this way, but today it was somehow more damning. But what else could she do, after all? Let her daughter die?

After a tense moment, he handed three of the coins back to her. "I gave you less this week. You don't owe so much."

Leilani stared at him. She knew how much he had given her. He knew it too, but for whatever reason, he had decided to pretend otherwise. She felt a brief surge of anger-she had the money, after all-but it passed away quickly. It was merely a gesture of kindness-born out of pity perhaps, but who was she to refuse it? After an instant's struggle, she pocketed the coins.

"Leilani," he said just before she turned to leave. "Please ... be careful. Women with lesser hearts than yours have found this city's hard edge fatal."

Leilani tightened her lips and nodded. Throat aching, she turned around and walked as quickly as she could toward the door, heedless of etiquette or even safety.

Kapa, she thought to herself, when she had exited into the blanketing rain. When will I see you again? When will this all be over?

Despite the rain beading on her face, Lana had raised the resincoated paper covering the window and rested her elbows on the sill. She watched the frothy gray waves lap against the docks, making the moored ships creak and groan like tortured souls. She sighed and used her finger to smear the beads of water on the stone sill into the pictograph for "help" without really thinking. She shook her head and wiped it away with her sleeve. It was cold-but she was always cold lately, and she wondered if the chill would ever leave her bones. The gray sky was growing dark without an accompanying sunset. She had loved the rain back on her island, but here it was merely depressing-no cacophony of thunder and rain, only a desultory drizzle that went on for days and seeped into her soul like fog. How could anyone live here? Even the harbor water was too foul and cold to swim in. She longed to kick her legs against the water and tunnel far beneath the surface, to hold that precious breath of air as long as possible while exploring like a fish. Instead, she was stuck in this tiny apartment with cracked floorboards and peeling whitewash.

Below, a woman dressed in the bright purple and pink of one of the council member's houses hurried down the dock to a fish stall and commenced haggling. She was probably a housekeeper or a cook's assistant, sent out to buy dinner for that evening. Lana's stomach began to growl as she thought of the delicacies that family probably took as commonplace. Today was her birthday, but even if they could have afforded it, she was too weak to go out and haggle for food in this rain. Ever since she had collapsed five weeks ago, she had steadily improved, but even a few laps up and down their tiny apartment exhausted her. Much as she longed to work and help ease the strain that never seemed to leave her mother's eyes, she knew she still wasn't well enough. Something had been bothering Leilani lately, but every time Lana asked her about it she just shook her head and changed the subject. Sometimes she came back home late with bruises on her face and arms, but she would never say how she got them. Lana was scared for her mother, but she felt utterly powerless to help her.