A Bait of Dreams (15 page)

Amrezeh, Lorenzai's wife, was sitting up in her wide bed, dressed in a lacy green bedgown. Her small pointed face was alive with interest. “You're the new one.”

Gleia bowed her head. “Yes, mistress.”

“Lorenzai says you do beautiful work. He says he set a task for you yesterday to see how I would like it. Did you finish?”

“Yes, mistress.” Gleia bowed her head again and extended the sleeve bands.

“Bring them closer.” As Gleia stepped froward, Amrezeh noticed the scars on her cheek. She gasped and pressed a small hand against her mouth. Then she pulled it down, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What happened to your face? Bend down.” She touched velvet fingertips to the letters burned into Gleia's flesh. “Brands. What do they mean?”

Gleia was silent a minute. The brands were like talismans to her and she was reluctant to speak of them. She found it harder and harder to act out the slave's part. She was silent too long. Amrezeh's brows began to lower; she didn't like having to wait for a slave. Gleia forced her reluctant hand up and touched the oldest brand. “This marks me a taken thief, bonded to serve where they told me, mistress. The Kadiff put me under bond to a cafta maker who beat my skills into me.” She touched the second scar. “And made it possible for me to buy my bond. This marks the cancellation.”

“And now you're a slave again.” Amarezeh sighed, but her eyes were shining. “What stories you must have.” She dropped. “I was shut up in my father's house and only left it to come here.” Gleia caught a flash of blue as Amrezeh peeped slyly at her, assessing the effect of her words. “Not that Lorenzai has been unkind. It's just I get so bored! Enough of that.” She pulled her knees up and rested her arms on them. “Let me see the bands. Sit down there where I can talk to you without shouting.” She pointed to a low footstool beside the bed.

As Gleia settled herself, Amrezeh began examining the bands critically, drawing her fingers over the stitches to see if they were small and firmly set, examining the design itself. “You completed this is one day?”

“It's a simple design, mistress. And I worked late. Master said I was to finish the bands before sleeping.”

“Um.” She pulled the lengths through her soft pale fingers. “Simple but charming. In one day.” Her voice trailing off, she fixed her vivid blue eyes on Gleia. “What do you call yourself, girl?”

“Gleia, mistress.” She lowered her eyes and moved her shoulders cautiously. Playing submissive was making her back ache and starting a pain behind her eyes. She found Amrezeh's friendliness extremely seductive. It crept through her defenses and teased her to respond with equal warmth. But she'd learned her skepticism on the streets of Carhenas where trust was a quick way to pain or death. The parchment design sheets rustled as her hand brushed them.

Amrezeh pounced on that. “What do you have there?”

“If mistress pleases.” Gleia put the roll in the outstretched hand. “While waiting to be summoned, I prepared several other designs.”

The tough translucent parchment rustled crisply as Amrezeh unrolled the drawings. The first sheet bore a design of waves and fish, highly stylized, the curves squared off. Color values were indicated by ink washes—the palest gray to solid black. The values passed through the angular forms with a rippling grace. “Ah. Unusual and delightful.” Amrezeh flashed a smile at Gleia. “You really are gifted.” Then she set that sheet aside and examined the second.

That design was an abstract pattern of interlocking, irregular shapes, not too impressive in the black and gray of the ink washes. Amrezeh tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the parchment, then closed her eyes, a faint smile on her lovely face. She turned abruptly to Gleia. “You flatter me.”

Gleia dropped her head. The surprise she felt wasn't exactly the flattery that Amrezeh thought. She hadn't expected that design to mean anything to an untrained eye, had done it to please herself. “No, mistress,” she said softly. Pain beat in long slow pulses behind her eyes. She was annoyed at herself for bringing the designs, only prolonging this miserable interview.

The small blonde woman smiled and put the second sketch aside. One glance at the third was all she needed. It was a simple design of spring flowers with nothing really interesting about it. Amrezeh pulled the first two back in front of her and went over them again, then she tugged on the bell rope.

The frail child came gliding in and sank onto her knees, bending over until her forehead touched the carpet. “Go to the storeroom,” Amrezeh said crisply. “Bring the blue-green avrishum and the white katani. Understand?”

The feathery blonde curls flipped about as the child nodded, then she stood with careful grace and slipped out of the room.

Amrezeh picked up the sea design. “This first, I think. I can't wait to see it realized. How long do you think it would take to complete a cafta? Do you cut?”

“Mistress, I can't say for sure until I've worked on it a little. And if you have one who cuts for you, perhaps it would be better for that one to continue. I was not taught cutting.”

The small slave was almost lost behind the big bolts of cloth as she stumbled into the doorway. She hesitated there, waiting for permission to enter. Amrezeh smiled and said pleasantly, “Bring them here, child, and put them on the bed beside me. Then wait outside until I call you.”

The avrishum was a grayed blue-green with a subtle darkening where folds touched the light; it was beautifully suited as a background for the sea design. Gleia was startled by this casual glimpse into great wealth. A body length of that material would probably sell for more than her purchase price. Beside it the white katani, also a rare material, looked almost common. It was a crisp fabric, katani, so fine it was translucent.

“The avrishum, I think. The katani might serve for the abstract.” Amrezeh turned to Gleia, eyebrows up, waiting for her comment.

Gleia could see the harsh bright colors and shapes contrasting with the delicacy of the Katani. The garment would have a rich barbaric flamboyance. She glanced at Amrezeh. Might be too strong for her. I don't know her. Is this only an act she's putting on for me? If so, why does she bother? Something in her that makes it necessary to conquer everyone around her before she discards them? What could have done that to her in the sheltered life she's led? Or was it so sheltered? There was something exaggerated about her behavior that shouted to Gleia of a weakness too strongly compensated for. Habbiba had looked like that when she was trying to impress a highborn customer. How young I was then, but I could smell it when Habbiba was faking it. And I can smell it now.

Amrezeh ran her thumb across a corner of the avrishum. “You'll need thread.” She slipped out of the bed and padded a few steps to a cluttered dressing table. Opening an elaborate jewel case at one end, she dug about inside then brought out a handful of gold coins. “Come here, girl.”

Gleia came round the end of the bed and took the coins.

Amrezeh tilted her head back to look up into Gleia's face. “I want you to go down to the market and get that thread; I wouldn't trust any other eye than yours for that. Mind you, don't stint on quality; but don't be uselessly extravagant. What you have there should be enough.” She paused, frowned. “No. Wait.” She wheeled and went through a door Gleia hadn't noticed before. Minutes later she was back with several silver drachs. You'll need these for the boatman. One drach to take you out and back. Don't let him take you for more. Be back in time for the midday meal.” Her smile widened suddenly; her blue eyes twinkled. “Don't yield to temptation, my dear. Sad though it is, you have no chance of escaping.”

Gleia passed the guard, who smirked at her until she wanted to kick him. Halfway down the track she stopped and leaned on the safety wall and looked out over the bay. She could just see the pointed top of the tent roof over the stage. With a sigh, she wiped the sweat off her face and continued on down.

The boats at this last pier were a bedraggled lot. There were patches of decay in the canvas tops and paint peeling from the wood. The worst-looking one had a skim of water over the floorboards. The boatmen matched their craft, ugly and infirm. But slaves had nowhere else to go for transport; these were what they had if they needed a water-taxi to run their errands. Gleia went down the pier, stopping at the one-eyed man's boat. She brought out a silver drach.

The one-eyed man recognized her, she saw that. He shook his head. “Two.”

For a moment she was tempted. It wasn't her money, better he had it than the pampered Amrezeh, but let the man cheat her now and she had nothing but more of the same to look forward to the rest of her time here. She raised an eyebrow. “One.”

“Two.” The boatman sneered toward the other boats. “If you want to swim.…”

“One. Swimming doesn't come into it if I want to walk a little.”

The boatman grunted and held out his hand. Gleia tossed the drach to him. In spite of his missing eye, he caught it with no difficulty. With a neat economy of motion he swung onto the back seat and brought the boat around so that it was parallel to the dock.

Gleia went agilely down the ladder and settled on the middle seat. “The shop of Shahd the thread-seller.”

When the taxi passed the open space, the crowd was back and Shounach was performing. Gleia lifted a hand. “Wait. Take me over there.” She pointed.

The boatman complied silently. He brought her to the landing and waited until she stepped out. Gleia dug into her sleeve and tossed him a second drach. “Wait here till I come back. Then I want the thread shop.”

He shrugged and settled down to sleep until she chose to return.

She stood looking down at him a moment, fingers stroking the house badge sewn on her right shoulder. That was what made them all polite to her. In an odd way she had the power of Lorenzai behind her. She rubbed at her nose as she turned to inspect the crowd around the stage.

It was loosely packed on the outside. Gleia managed to work her way through spectators, mostly men, as they laughed and yelled their appreciation. As she got nearer the platform the crowd was denser and quieter. It was harder to push through them. She wriggled and shoved, mostly ignored, as they stared in fascination at the stage. At last she broke through and came up against the edge of the platform. She closed her hands around the outer plank, pushed back with elbows, bumped her body about until she'd moved the staring men aside enough to have breathing space. Then she looked up and met Shounach's eyes.

Swallowing a growing excitement, she pulled back her hood so he could see her face better, then she clicked her fingernails against the slave ring.

He nodded, his painted mouth stretching into a quick grin. And he never missed one of the blue spheres circling his head.

She watched him for a while. He began spinning slowly on his toes, turning round and round without missing one of the growing and shrinking number of glowing spheres. When he faced her again, the blue spheres expanded suddenly to head-sized blurs that flickered in and out of existence, changed suddenly to smallish gilded dragons that snorted and cavorted and shot out miniature tongues of flame as they rose and fell around his masklike face. Then one by one they changed to crimson jewels catching the light of the suns in dozens of facets and shining red rays out into the crowd and up at the canvas overhead, dancing red light flickering and darting over dazed faces. The balls kept circling and changing. The Juggler was on his toes, then sitting cross-legged, then circling slowly, then whirling. And the spheres kept circling.…

Gleia blinked and wrenched her eyes from the firgure. Time was passing, time she couldn't afford. She looked up. Hesh was peeping from behind Horli and both were two-thirds of the way up the eastern arc of their day. Sighing she began pushing her way back through the crowd.

The boatman swung the taxi against the ladder. Gleia climbed up, clutching her packet of thread. She smiled at the man, flipped him a third drach, then walked slowly down the pier and hesitated at the base of the cliff. After one look at the winding track, she rebelled. The morning's play-acting had worn her out. There was a little time before midday, a little time before she had to return to confinement and irritation. She stepped back on the pier and looked along the crescent toward the middle. A lot of activity there, water-taxis darting about, groups of men gesticulating, snatches of music coming out of the taverns. She began walking along the wharves, heading toward the taverns in the center of the crescent, looking down the short side-alleys as she moved past them. Behind the great warehouses, hovels cobbled together from driftwood and whatever scraps of refuse were usable, clustered like starlings' nests against the stone. She saw occasional drunks sprawled in and around these places. Otherwise there were few people this far from center.

The wharves were mostly empty, the ships having discharged their cargoes and retreated to the breakwater where anchorage was much cheaper. Many of their captains and master traders were engaged in marathon bargaining in the rented barges out in the market. What ships were left creaked slowly in the rocking water and the erratic breeze with drowsy watchmen curled up in the few patches of shade on deck. There were sneak thieves among the sea-wrack living in the hovels, driven by desperation that made them disregard the death-by-torture of the captured thief.

This end of the crescent was still and somnolent in the growing midday heat so it was startling when a hoarse voice called, “Hey, girl.”

She looked around. For a moment she saw nothing, then a waving hand caught her eye. A large fat man was sprawled in the meager shelter of a warehouse doorway. His face was moon-round and sweating. There was an amiable grin on his whiskery face, a twinkle in his bloodshot blue eyes. Wisps of greasy white hair stuck out in a dirty halo around his face. His grin widened as he met her eyes. He lifted a wobbly wineskin. “Want a drink?”