Babylon Steel (20 page)

Renavir was worse. The fight-trainers came to dread her; she had skill, but no self-preservation. Half the time it was all they could do to stay out of her way without gutting her like a fish. She still wore the scarf Shakanti had given her, though the fragile stuff had been mended so often it looked twisted and humped, like scar tissue. Velance, on the other hand, just ploughed steadily on, doing what was required, hoping, eventually, to stop all this nonsense and be given a temple district and several thousand people to organize. She asked for an interview with the High Priestess, so she could learn from someone who was already doing the role, but she kept getting put off.

Even I could smell something, like coming thunder. I wasn’t bothered about being chosen for some grand role, all I wanted was to stay where I was. I certainly didn’t want to be sent to administrate a temple thousands of miles away. I had visions of being surrounded by sensible older women like Meisheté, or like the cook back home, who rolled their eyes and tutted at my every incompetent move.

But worst of all, I’d be away from Hap-Canae.

I asked for an interview with the High Priestess too; I thought if I could learn something,
anything,
about the way this temple worked, I might have a better chance of staying here. But like Velance, I kept getting put off.

Finally I pulled my courage together and asked Hap-Canae. I begged, in fact. “Don’t let them send me away; I don’t want to be a priestess if I have to leave you. I’d rather stay here and sweep the floors.���

He just laughed. “My sweet, you’ll never have to sweep a floor again, and I won’t let anyone send you away, believe me. I am certain you, of all of them, will be able to stay here with me, where you belong.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HE
S
WAMP LOOKED
much bigger, empty; I’d never noticed that it was floored with cool, silvery tiles. The lamia was sweeping out the bar. She looked up, but obviously didn’t recognise me. It was kind of a relief. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“I know, I just wanted to see Kittack. He around?”

“Oh, surely. Kittack!”

He came out with a cloth in his hand and grinned at me. “Babylon! Hey, is not even noon, what happen for you be up this early?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You here about girl? Sorry.” He shrugged. “Not heard nothing.”

“Wasn’t why I came. Well, not the only reason.”

“Oh?”

“You got a minute? And maybe a bed?”

It wasn’t just the aftermath of Fain leaving me a little overheated. Sex relaxes me and helps me think. Well, not at the
time,
obviously, if it’s any good... but afterwards.

“For that, I got more than a minute.” He blinked at me, his version of raising an eyebrow, since he doesn’t have those.

“Think of it as a favour. For you or me, either way.”

He didn’t ask any questions. Nor did he actually have a bed, as it turned out – but he had plenty of cushions.

Scalentine’s chilly for his people, especially coming on to winter. He wears loose soft clothes in colours of water and earth. Under them his skin is like fine polished leather, a rich reddish brown; the scales lying close and shining. I can feel their edges if I run my hand upwards, from tail to head; it makes him shiver and grin.

“So soft,” he said, running his hands over me in return; he doesn’t seem to notice the scars, but then, even they probably feel soft to him. “How come you so soft when you so strong, eh? Strange person.”

“I’m strange? You’re the one with two cocks.”

“Not strange to me,” he said.

I stroked them as they began to emerge from the fold of skin that hides them. I’ve heard the female part referred to as a flower, more than once, but Kittack’s two cocks are more like some jungle bloom than any cunny I’ve ever seen. They looked sleek and new and strangely vulnerable against the rest of him: gleaming pink and delicately curved.

He sent his long blue tongue flickering over my neck and breasts, stroking me with hands and mouth. I did the same to him, finding the soft vulnerable skin at the base of his throat where the scales are small and fine, feeling the smooth flex of muscles in his buttocks and thighs, enjoying, as always, the differences, the structures and surfaces that are so nearly human, so delightfully other.

He has scars himself, Kittack; mostly on his abdomen, where the scales are thinner, faded yellow against the warm brown. Scars of beatings, given when he was a child, and didn’t run quick enough to do some Gudain’s bidding. He doesn’t mention them, so nor do I. We have better things to do.

Tongue to skin, skin to scale, the sleekness of him, curved hollows and long hard muscle and the powerful, always surprising limberness of his tail. Long clever fingers that stroke and probe. Quick, but never hurried.

He knew just the right moment to hook one leg over me and slip in, sideways, the way he does. The curve of him is strange, but pleasant; a tickling pressure that makes me gasp. Once settled, he’s fast and vigorous and blissfully uncomplicated. I heard him hiss with pleasure and a moment later pleasure shot through me too, sharp and delicious.

Afterwards, feeling much more relaxed, I looked around, taking a breath before I had to introduce less pleasant subjects. I’d never been in this room before. The walls were grey-green stone, which should have felt cold, but Kittack being the lizard he is, he keeps the place pretty warm; some kind of system of hot water that runs beneath the floors. You get it in Ikinchli houses, something they brought with them from Incandress.

There were little niches in the walls, holding bits and pieces – some decorative, some just things that had been put there, apparently for no other reason than because someone needed to put something down. In one, there was a statue about the size of my hand, a graceful little figure, with chips of yellow stone for eyes. The face wasn’t quite Ikinchli – a shorter muzzle, and different proportions.

“Kittack?”

“Hssh?”

“What’s that little statue?”

“That? Itnunnacklish. The One who is Both.”

“Huh?”

“Old-old story, from home. Legend, yes? Not so many left now, these old statues. The Gudain they not like, when they find, they break, so we got hide. Me, I am not religious, you know? I only keep statue because was old thing of my family, was carve by my many-times grandmother.”

“Why’d the Gudain not like these statues, anyway?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, and ran a finger down my hip. His hands were pleasantly cool. “Legend say long ago, there is no Ikinchli and no Gudain. Is only the Kay-ebakat.”

“Who?” I relaxed against him, not sorry to put the evil moment off a little longer.

“The children of the Old.” Kittack nodded at the little statue. “Like that. Is powerful, almost like gods. But they not good children, is disobey, and make mess of things. They play with the world like toy, and make big trouble. The Old they say, you are wicked children, you be good or we will not be so nice no more. But the Kay-ebakat do not listen, they fight and dance and make the world all broken. In the end the Old say, look at mess. Now you get punish. So the Old, they take the Kay-ebakat and tear them in two” – he made an unpleasantly graphic gesture, and I could have lived without the sound effects – “and so is made Gudain and Ikinchli.”

Ouch. “I can see why the Gudain aren’t fond of the legend.”

“No, they not like at all. To Gudain, Ikinchli is low, is only for do dirty job. And in Gudain legend is no Old. Is only big noble God-Gudain make everything; make high Gudain and middle Gudain and low Gudain and, under that, Ikinchli. Also have legend of Ikinchli take high-born maiden and sacrifice to Old, you know? Any time Ikinchli say, ’scuse us, not like being treat like filth, out come story of sacrifice maiden, and lots Ikinchli get dead.”

Religion. If there’s a better excuse for beating up the other guy, I’ve never heard it.

“Your Old, Kittack – they don’t manifest, do they?”

“Nah. Is not been Old on our plane for long long time. Some say when we behave proper, Old come back, make us and Gudain one again; everything be good, you know?” He gave that sinuous shrug. “We behave proper, but Gudain don’t, so we get sick waiting. Now Empire come, plenty trade, can get away, lots Ikinchli like me go bye-bye, we going elseplace, you do own dirty job now. So maybe when Old come back, find no-one there but Gudain no more.” His stroking got more specific and I started to get distracted.

Something was niggling at me, and I held his hand still for a moment. “But who’s the statue?”

“Itnunnacklish.”

“And the story?”

“That she was best of the Kay-ebakat, and that the Old did not tear her in two, to make Gudain and Ikinchli, because she was behave proper, but put her to sleep, with sacred cup in hand. And if any find cup and drink from it, everything be good, you know? Gudain and Ikinchli be one again, rivers so full the fish can’t move, plenty of everything, all thing be wonderful.”

“So do people go looking for this cup?”

He hissed laughter. “Sometimes. Maybe very crazy people, who think gods solve everything. But is all very well wait for special cup, wait for planes to move into right place, wait for gods turn up, go, okay, you been good, we make everything nice now. Time of gods, not like our time. Maybe better not to wait, you know? Do things for yourself, even if thing is to leave home.”

“Yes,” I said. “Sometimes you do have to stop waiting for the gods to intervene. Who knows if they’re ever going to turn up? Or what they’ll be like if they do?”

He tilted his head.

“You okay, Babylon?”

“I’m fine. Do you ever miss it, though? Home?”

“Is things I miss. Light on the home water; ceremonies in the ancestor caves. The swamp in spring, white flower everywhere, thousand little fish like silver fire in the water. But here is good. Here not got Gudain all time going, do this, do that. Gudain come in my bar, order me about, can smack head and throw out on street. Is okay.”

“
Do
they ever come here?”

“Not seen, no. Closest was that girl you show me, the picture. Why they leave home? Got everything they want right there. They come here, they not in charge no more.”

I frowned at the statue. “Kittack, I need to tell you. That girl? She was part of one of the ruling families. They’re mad to get her back, and married, before Twomoon. Do you have
any
idea why?”

He shrugged. “Is crazy Gudain. Who knows?”

“Because if I can’t find her, if they don’t get her back, things may get even worse for your people. The Gudain may take it out on them.”

He paused, looking down at me. Then he shrugged. “My people, they had a hard time many many years. Used to it. Can be good slave, can do what you told, can hide or run or be angry, what it mean? Only more beatings, more murderings, every way. Better to get out, eh? I got out. Whatever happen, Gudain find some excuse for give Ikinchli bad time. Me, I taken my back away from the whip.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling the old guilt coil in me like cold, bitter coffee. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Hey, what are you doing down there?”

I let myself be distracted again.

F
EELING SLIGHTLY MORE
energised, I went out talking to the freelancers, handing out Enthemmerlee’s portrait, and making promises that would eat up Fain’s money pretty quick if any of them bore fruit.

There was a bar off the docks, the Dog’s Head, that was so grimy it looked as though it had been smoked like a side of bacon; I was getting hungry, but I’d sooner eat off the floor in Gallock’s than risk the food in the Dog. I knew a few of the freelancers worked out of there, but the place was near empty except for the sort of drinkers who like to start early. There was a commotion in one of the corners and I heard, “Babylon-Baba!”

Glinchen was sitting with a middle-aged faun and a thin, long-nosed type with the pouched eyes and collapsed face of a man whose closest relationship for a long time had been with the stuff in his glass.

Not that Glinchen was in a much better state. Hir eyes were crossing with the effort of trying to focus on me, and one of hir necklaces had broken. As I watched, a glass bead slid from the thread and bounced away like a frozen tear.

“Come on, honeysweet, come have drink.”

“Another time, all right?”

“Ah, come on, baba.”

“Glinchen, I’m still trying to find that girl.”

“What girl?”

“The yellow-eyed one, remember? You thought it might be her, the one in Rolldown Street.”

“Oh, I remember,” Glinchen’s already swimming eyes spilled tears. “Poor little, who do such a thing? They know who was done it yet?”

“No, they don’t. It would be a real help if you’d go talk to Chief Bitternut, Glinchen.”

“Oh, nonono. Not talk to no millies, me. Here’s to poor lost girls,” Glinchen said, and downed half hir drink.

“Who?” said the faun.

“Girl got murder by some crazy person.”

“Ah, that’s bad. Friend of yours?” he said to me, and slid off his seat. I don’t think he meant to, but he very gallantly offered it to me anyway.

“No, no, I didn’t know her,” I said. “But thanks.”

The faun, with some effort, climbed up next to Glinchen, and started whispering things in hir ear. Glinchen began to look more cheerful. I wasn’t going to get anything useful here.

“I got to go,” I said. “Another time, all right?”

“Nono!” ze said. “Wait, I remember now, girl, yellow eyes girl,” ze elbowed the comatose man. “Heyyou! Be wakesome! You know ’bout new girls.”

He opened a smeared eye. “New girls? Where? I like ’em fresh.”

I thought of Enthemmerlee and the dead, nameless girl, and lifted him by the hair. Woke him up all the way, at least.

“What do you know? Talk, or I’ll...”

He was gasping and clawing at his head, his toes just scraping the carpet. “Gah! All’s sake, let go! Let go!”

I lowered him until his feet could take the weight, but kept hold of his hair. Glinchen was, helpfully, laughing like a drunk jelly. The faun was watching what laughter did to Glinchen’s cleavage. He grinned, poured the remains of his drink down there, and went after it.