The Sardonyx Net (29 page)

The front door of the house was open. A slave stood like a statue in the entrance. From the other side of the Boulevard, a small crowd of people approached the steps to the house, all finely dressed, all carrying parasols. Dana counted nine of them. Leading the group was a small, spare man beside a statuesque woman with glorious, flame-colored hair. Rhani halted. “That,” she said softly, “is Imre and Aliza Kyneth, and their children.” Unobtrusively she slid her hand from his arm.
 

Dana expected her to wave or call to them. But, with a twist to her mouth that reminded him suddenly, vividly, of Zed, she stood politely aside, as if waiting for the procession to pass. The small man inclined his head toward her, acknowledging the deference. Then he stopped on the first step and turned around. “Is that—Rhani?”
 

She grinned. “Good day, Imre. I was hoping that you wouldn't recognize me so that I could tease you later.”
 

The red-haired woman laughed. “That's quite a disguise,” she said, and bent to kiss Rhani's cheek. “How nice to see you, my dear. Are you well?”
 

“Yes, thank you, Aliza,” Rhani said. “I am sorry that I missed your party.” She nodded to the tall woman behind the man. “Margarite.”
 

“Domna.”
 

“Shall we go in?” Imre Kyneth said. He gestured Rhani to go ahead of him. She lifted the long skirt of her gown from the front and snapped closed the sheltering parasol.
 

Dana took it from her. He did not know what to do; should he follow at the tail of the Kyneth procession? She seemed to sense his confusion. “Stay near me,” she murmured, in the middle of a sentence addressed to Aliza Kyneth. A lot of people were pressing up the steps. A pale man with black, short hair was greeting people in the doorway. He wore red-and-gold—Ferris Dur, Dana thought. He watched Ferris greet Rhani; he held out both hands, and seemed to want to talk with her. She said something light to him, pressed his hands, and moved on.
 

Dana stayed at her elbow. Once inside the house, his job changed somewhat; he became escort, and ceased to be bodyguard. Rhani put her hand on his arm as they stepped into a hallway. Music flowed from somewhere; he heard the tinkle of bells, and a stringed instrument playing in minor tones. About seven meters ahead of them a voice said loudly, “Look at that, will you?” The hall grew suddenly, inexplicably cold. The crowd moved forward to a narrow room in which the walls were pearly-white...."It's ice!” said the same voice. Dana looked around, and then up. All four walls and the ceiling of the room had been coated with ice.
 

Here and there, curtains were drawn back to allow bright bands of sunlight to wink through to the room. The sunlight seemed to have no effect on the ice. Slaves circulated through the room carrying trays with different kinds of wine. Dana said, “Rhani-ka, do you want me to stay with you all the time?”
 

Under the black wig the angles of her face looked different. “No. But be where I can find you if I need you.” A woman with feathers in her hair greeted Rhani, stepping between them. Dana stood by uneasily. He felt embarrassingly conspicuous. He couldn't see how to obey her without turning into an obstacle for every person in the room to walk around.
 

The babble of voices grew loud, as more people poured in from the hall. There were adults here, no children, except for a slender white-gowned girl, and the curly-haired Kyneth boy, who appeared to be about ten years old. A woman with blue eyes stopped to stare him up and down. He recognized Charity Diamos. He followed Rhani to another room with wood-paneled walls. He realized he was not alone. There were slaves all over the house, serving food, carrying drinks, standing like statues at their owners' elbows; the Chabadese paid no more attention to them than they did to the sunlight. Rhani beckoned. He went to her. She told him to get a drink for the woman she was talking to. He relaxed. He was invisible, to everyone but Rhani. He delivered the glass. His only worry was that he would lose sight of her and be unable to find her again because of her disguise.
 

He was not totally invisible. Leaning against a pillar, he felt a long-fingered hand grope slowly, intimately down his thigh; in the crush of people he could not even tell whose it was. The pungent odor of marijuana swam through the jumbled scents of wine. Within the two rooms he estimated there were close to two hundred people. The rooms were getting hot. Dana wondered what would happen when the ice walls started to melt. It was hard to stay detached among this many people.... He gazed at one of the windows; through it he could see the brave flutter of kites riding the currents of the sky.
 

The longing for escape, for freedom, for the Hype rose in him, and he clamped hard on it. He turned to face the party, looking for Rhani. He did not see her. Squinting, he turned in a circle, looking for black hair topping silver cloth. He found Imre Kyneth, Aliza Kyneth, Margarite Kyneth, even Charity Diamos—no Rhani. His throat began to dry. She might have tired of the wig, and removed it. Prowling through the two rooms, he looked for russet hair and silver cloth. He found three people in silver, but none of them was Rhani. He grabbed the arm of a nearby slave. “Have you seen Domna Rhani Yago?” The slave shook his head, smiling an unnerving dorazine smile.
 

She had to be in the house. He circled both rooms again. He felt trapped between the ice walls. He could not find her. His bladder ached. Surely she could not be in danger, not in this house.... Maybe she had gone to another floor. He watched the slaves with food trays until he located the door to the kitchens. Toiling cooks ignored him as he walked through it. He found a stairway leading up, and took it. Glancing upward at the curving hallways, he wondered if he would find his way back, and then laughed at himself. He was a Starcaptain, a navigator in the Hype. There was no chance, on this world or off it, that he was going to get badly lost.
 

Rhani sat on the edge of a chair in Ferris Dur's bedroom.
 

She wanted, very much, to be somewhere else. This was the room that had been Domna Sam's. It reeked of candlewax. She gazed at it. Ferris had changed it: the bed, with its red-and-gold drapes, was the only piece of furniture in the room that had been there while Domna Sam was alive. She had died in it. Everything else was new: chairs, com-unit, and desk, and all was made of metal, foam, and plastic. Ferris perched on a chair of extruded black foam, wearing red-and-gold. It looked incongruous. He had even retiled the floor, in black tiles. Rhani wished that he had left the place alone.
 

She wondered what he had done with the black kerit fur rug. It had been a gift from Orrin Yago to Samantha Dur, at Ferris' birth. A black kerit was the equivalent of an albino on Chabad. They did not survive in the wild, but the Sovka breedery nurtured a special strain. They were the fur market's greatest prize.
 

Ferris said, “Rhani, have you had time to consider my proposal?”
 

Reluctantly Rhani turned her attention to him. It was hard to keep out the memories of the last time she had been here. Domna Sam had been lying in the great canopied bed, face a mottled blue, surrounded by support systems and oxygen tanks, an old woman who would not admit that she was dying....
 

“Have you?” he said.
 

She said, “I am still considering it, Ferris.”
 

“But you have not rejected it,” he said.
 

“Not yet.”
 

“Good.” He leaned back in the foam chair. Even in this room he looked awkward, Rhani reflected, but less so. Maybe he would grow into it.
 

“How are things at Gemit?” she asked.
 

He blinked. “How are things at Sovka?” he countered.
 

“Quite well,” she said. “I was there on an inspection tour a few days ago. What problems there were appear to have been solved.”
 

“I am glad for you,” he said. “Gemit is presently in turmoil. But it will resolve itself. I don't know if you heard—we had a serious accident, several people injured.”
 

Rhani stared at him. Why was he telling her this?
 

He smiled—it made his pouty face seem rather attractive. “It seems strange to be talking honestly, doesn't it?” he said. “I am trying to get us both accustomed to thinking of each other as allies.”
 

Of course. Rhani rubbed her chin. She contemplated telling him—it could not hurt, now that the problem was solved—about the kerit kits. But he had spies in Sovka and would know it...."How are your dorazine stores?” she said casually.
 

He pleated the silk over his knee. “Somewhat depleted. My agents tell me they have been having difficulty buying.”
 

“It's planet-wide,” Rhani said. “The new head of the drug division of the Federation Police is a fanatic anti-slaver. He's been concentrating all his forces in this sector.”
 

“I see,” he said.
 

It was almost like sex, like foreplay, this cautious testing. Sex—Rhani frowned, and then smoothed her face quickly. She did not want to have sex with Ferris Dur, even to have a child.
 

“Rhani,” he said. She glanced at him. He was standing, leaning over her. She had not heard him move. “I hope you will not find it necessary to consider too much longer.” His voice was almost pleading. She wished he would sit down, she disliked having to look up to people. Why, she wondered, was this so important to him? It could not be because of the business arrangement; he was not financially minded....
 

Was it, she wondered, that he wanted her to tell him what to do? He was used to that, after all; he'd lived most of his life with Domna Sam standing at his elbow. She rose. He did not step back. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders.
 

The black metal chair trapped her; she could not move back. “Ferris!” she said sharply. His fingers slid wetly over her bare skin. Angry, she tried to pull away from him, and he poked his face at hers, jerked her toward him, and, with graceless haste, pressed his lips on hers and stuck his tongue into her mouth.
 

She tore away from him, furious. “Damn it, Ferris, let me go!” she said. But he had already let go, and stood now irresolute and pale, hands opening and closing.
 

“I thought—” he began.
 

“You didn't think!” she said. She rubbed her lips.
 

He glared at her, petulant again. “You don't have to shout.”
 

Sweet mother, she thought, he's like a child. Suddenly, behind her, she heard the sound of a door opening, and a familiar, welcome voice said, “Rhani-ka?”
 

Ferris, pale face reddening, glared over her head. “You were not summoned,” he said. “Get out!”
 

Rhani said, “No. Stay.” She turned around, smoothing the cloth over her breasts. The black wig had slipped, straggling fake hair over her right eye, and she adjusted it.
 

Dana said, “Domna, I'm sorry to disturb you. Binkie sent a messenger. You're needed at the house.”
 

His face was shuttered, the perfect mask, but Rhani thought she detected amusement there. Did it please him to see her embarrassed? Ferris had regained his poise, what there was of it. “My regrets, Domna, that you have to leave.”
 

“I am sorry,” she said, glacial. “I will be in touch with you soon, Domni.”
 

They went down a kitchen stairway. Dana stayed a pace behind her. At the foot of the steps, she waited until he was level with her. “Was there really a message?”
 

Behind the decorous look, she was sure that he was smiling. “No, Rhani-ka. That was a lie.”
 

She nodded. “We'll leave anyway,” she said. He bowed, and slid the kitchen door aside for her. They walked through the ice-walled parlor. It was largely empty; the guests had gathered in the wood-paneled room for the entertainment. Finger bells tinkled and a dancer came in, body slick with oil, naked except for a sequined loincloth snaking around muscular thighs.
 

The Boulevard was bare and hot. Rhani remembered their sunshades and parasols. She did not want to go back for them. It was close to noon; after the entertainment the slaves would serve a lunch: salads and cold fish and pickled greens and ices. She glanced at Dana, strolling quietly by her side, and wondered what he had seen or heard or guessed. She had no idea how long he had been outside the door. She slid her arm through his. “He wants to marry me,” she said.
 

He stiffened. “That man?”
 

“His
name
is Ferris Dur,” she said, “and he is head of the First Family of Chabad. You'd do well to remember it.”
 

He said, “I beg your pardon, Rhani-ka. I meant no disrespect.”
 

The sun blazed on the white pavements. “What are you thinking?” she asked. He did not answer, and she stopped. He faced her. “Tell me.”
 

He smiled. “I was thinking that in bed he looks as if he would be—unimaginative.”
 

His eyes looked very dark in the brilliant noon light. Coldly, Rhani said, “It would be a business arrangement.”
 

“I see,” he said. He coughed. “Are you going to tell your brother about his unbusinesslike conduct?”
 

Rhani frowned, and turned to walk again. “You mean, am I going to tell Zed that Ferris kissed me and that I didn't like it?” She watched their shadows moving almost directly underneath them. “No. Zed would flay him, or want to.”