Nightside the Long Sun (19 page)

“I can, sir. One strives to best utilize lulls in the conversation, pauses, and the like. It is largely a matter of allocation, sir.”

“But you didn't tell them where I was. You can't have. Why not?”

“He did not inquire, sir. As they entered each suite, he asked whether there was a stranger present.”

“And you told them there wasn't?”

“No, sir. I was forced to explain that I could not be certain, since I am not perpetually present.”

“Blood's steward—is that the young man called Musk?”

“Yes, sir. His instructions take precedence over all others, except my master's own.”

“I see. Musk doesn't understand you much better than I do, apparently.”

“Less well, perhaps, sir.”

Silk nodded to himself. “I may remain in this suite after you've gone. On the other hand, I may leave, too, as soon as you're no longer here to watch what I'm doing. Do you understand what I've just told you?”

“Yes, sir,” the monitor said. “Your future whereabouts will be problematical.”

“Good. Now vanish at once. Go wherever it is that you go.” Silk draped the glass, covering it completely in a way that he hoped would seem merely careless, and opened the door to his right.

For the space of a heartbeat, he thought the spacious, twilit bedchamber unoccupied; a faint moan from the enormous bed at its center revealed his mistake.

The woman in the bed writhed and keened aloud from the depths of her need. As he bent over her, something within him reached out to her; and though he had not touched her, he felt the thrill of touch. Her hair was as black as the night chough's wings, and as glossy. Her features, as well as he could judge in the uncertain glow, exquisite. She groaned softly, as though she knew he was looking down on her, and rolling her head upon her pillow, kissed it without waking.

Beyond the boudoir, the drawing room door opened.

He tore off his black robe and straw hat, ducked out of his torn tunic, kicked all three far under the big bed, and scrambled in, shoes and all. He was drawing up the gold-embroidered oversheet when he heard the door through which he had entered the boudoir open.

Someone said distinctly, “Nothing in here.”

By then his thumb had found the safety catch. He sat up, leveling the needier, as the searchers entered.

“Stop!” he shouted, and fired. By the greatest good luck, the needle shattered a tall vase to the right of the door. The report brought the bedchamber's lights to their brightest.

The first armored guard halted, his slug gun not quite pointing at Silk; and the black-haired woman sat up abruptly, her slightly tilted eyes wide.

Without looking at her, Silk grated, “Go back to sleep, Hyacinth. This doesn't concern you.” Faintly perfumed, her breath caressed his bare shoulder, deliriously warm.

“Sorry, Commissioner,” the guard began, uncertainly. “I mean Patera—”

Too late, Silk realized that he was still wearing the old, blue-trimmed calotte that had once been Patera Pike's. He snatched it off. “This is unforgivable. Unforgivable! I shall inform Blood. Get out!” His voice was far too high, and mounting toward hysteria; surely the guard must sense how frightened he was. In desperation, he brandished the tiny needler.

“We didn't know—” The guard lowered his slug gun and took a step backward, bumping into the delicate-looking Musk, who had stepped through the boudoir behind him. “We thought everybody had— Well, just about everybody's already gone.”

Silk cut him off. “Out! You've never seen me.”

It had been (as he decided as soon as he had said it) the worst thing he could possibly have said, since Musk had certainly seen him only a few hours earlier. For an instant he felt certain that Musk would pounce upon it.

Musk did not. Silencing the sputtering guard with a shove, Musk said, “The outside door should've been locked. Take your time.” He turned on his heel, and the guard shut the boudoir door quietly behind them.

Trembling, Silk waited until he heard the corridor door close as well before he kicked away the luxurious coverings and got out of the bed. His mouth was parched, and his knees without strength.

“What about me?” the woman asked. As she spoke, she pushed aside the oversheet and the red silk sheet, revealing remarkably rounded breasts and a small waist.

Silk caught his breath and looked away. “All right, what about you? Do you want me to shoot you?”

She smiled and threw her arms wide. “If it's the only thing you can do, why, yes.” When Silk did not reply, she added, “I'll keep my eyes open, if that's all right with you. I like to see it coming.” The smile became a grin. “Make it fast, but make it last. And make it good.”

Both had spoken softly, and the lights were no longer glaring; Silk kicked the bed to re-energize them. “You have been given a philtre of some sort, I think. You'll feel very differently in the morning.” Pushing up the safety catch, he dropped her needier back into his pocket.

“I was
given
nothing.” The woman in the bed licked her lips, watching for his reaction. “I took what you're calling a philtre before the first ones got here.”

“Rust?” Silk was on his knees beside the bed, groping for the clothing he had kicked beneath it. Fear was draining from him, and he felt immensely grateful for it. Lion-hearted Sphigx still favored him—nothing could be more certain.

“No.” She was scornful. “Rust doesn't do this. Don't you know anything? On rust I'd have itched to kill them all, and I might've done it, too. Beggar's root's what they call it, and it turns a terrible bore into a real pleasure.”

“I see.” Wincing, Silk pulled out his ruined tunic and his second-best robe.

“Want me to give you some? I've got a lot more, and it only takes a pinch.” She swung amazingly long legs over the side of the bed. “It's a lot more expensive than rust, and a lot harder to find, but I'm in a generous mood. I usually am—you'll see.” She favored Silk with a sidelong smile that made his heart leap.

He stood up and backed away.

“They call it beggar's root because it makes you beg. I'm begging now, just listen to me. Come on. You'll like it.”

Silk shook his head.

“Come sit next to me.” She patted the rumpled sheet. “That's all I'm asking for—right now, anyway. You were here in bed with me a minute ago.”

He tried to pull his tunic over his head and failed, discovering in the process that even the slightest movement of his right arm was painful.

“You're the one that they were looking for, aren't you? Aren't you glad that I didn't tell them anything? You really ought to be, Musk can be awfully mean. Don't you want me to help you with that?”

“Don't try.” He retreated another step.

Sliding off the bed, she picked up his robe. She was completely naked; he closed his eyes and turned away.

She giggled, and he was suddenly reminded of Mucor, the mad girl. “You really are an augur. He called you Patera—I'd forgotten. Do you want your little hat back? I stuck it under my pillow.”

The uses to which Patera Pike's calotte might be put if it remained with her flashed through Silk's mind. “Yes,” he said. “Please, may I have it back?”

“Sure, I'll trade you.”

He shook his head.

“Didn't you come here to see me? You don't act like it, but you knew my name.”

“No. I came to find Blood.”

“You won't like him, Patera.” Hyacinth grinned again. “Even Musk doesn't like him, not really. Nobody does.”

“He has my sympathy.” Silk tried to raise the tunic again, and was deterred by a flash of pain. “I've come to show him how he can be better liked, and even loved.”

“Well, Patera, I'm Hyacinth, just like you said. And I'm famous. Everybody likes me, except you.”

“I do like you,” Silk told her. “That is one of the reasons I won't do what you want. It's a rather minor one, actually, but a real reason nonetheless.”

“You stole my azoth, though, didn't you, Patera? I can see the end of it poking out of that rope.”

Silk nodded. “I intend to return it. But you're quite right, I took it without your permission, and that's theft. I'm sorry, but I felt I'd better have it. What I'm doing is extremely important.” He paused and waited for remonstrances that did not come. “I'll see that it's returned to you, and your needier as well, if I get home safely.”

“You were afraid of the guards, weren't you? There in my bed. You were afraid of that one with Musk. Afraid that he'd kill you.”

“Yes,” Silk admitted. “I was terrified, if you want the truth; and now I'm just as terrified of you, afraid that I'll give in to you, disgrace my calling, and lose the favor of the immortal gods.”

She laughed.

“You're right.” Silk tried to put on his tunic again, but his right forearm burned and throbbed. “I'm certainly not brave. But at least I'm brave enough to admit it.”

“Wait just a minute,” she said. “Wait right here. I'm going to get you something.”

He glimpsed the balneum through the door she opened. As she closed it behind her, it occurred to him that Patera Pike's calotte was still in the bed, under her pillow; moved by that weak impulse which turns back travelers to retrieve trifles, he rescued it and put it on.

She emerged from the balneum, naked still, holding out a gold cup scarcely larger than a thimble, half filled with brick-colored powder. “Here, Patera. You put it into your lip.”

“No. I realize that you mean well, but I'd rather be afraid.”

She shrugged and pulled forward her own lower lip. For a moment it made her ugly, and Silk felt a surge of relief. After emptying the little cup into the hollow between lip and gum, she grinned at him. “This is the best money can buy, and it works fast. Sure you don't want some? I've got a lot.”

“No,” he repeated. “I should go. I should have gone before now, in fact.”

“All right.” She was looking at the gem in the hilt of the azoth again. “It's mine, you know. A very important man gave it to me. If you're going to steal it, I ought to at least get to help you. Are you sure you're a real augur?”

Silk sighed. “It seems that I may not be much longer. If you're serious about wanting to help me, Hyacinth, tell me where you think Blood is likely to be at this hour. Will he have retired for the night?”

She shook her head, her eyes flashing. “He's probably downstairs saying good-bye to the last of them. They've been coming all night, commissioners and commissioners' flunkies. Every once in a while he sends a really important one up here for me. I lost count, but there must have been six or seven of them.”

“I know.” Silk tried to push the hilt of the azoth more deeply into the coil of rope. “I've lain between your sheets.”

“You think I ought to change them? I didn't think men cared.”

Silk knelt to fish his broad-brimmed straw hat from beneath the bed. “I doubt that those men do.”

“I can call a servant.”

“They're busy looking for me, I imagine.” Silk tossed the hat onto the bed and readied himself for one last try at his tunic.

“Not the maids.” She took his tunic from him. “You know, your eyes want to look at me. You ought to let them do it.”

“Hundreds of men must have told you how beautiful you are. Would you displease the gods to hear it once more? I wouldn't. I'm still young, and I hope to see a god before I die.” He was tempted to add that he might well have missed one by a second or less when he entered her chambers, but he did not.

“You've never had a woman, have you?”

Silk shook his head, unwilling to speak.

“Well, let me help you get this on, anyway.” She held his tunic as high as she could stretch while he worked both arms into the sleeves, then snatched her azoth from the rope coiled around his waist and sprang toward the bed.

He gaped at her, stunned. Her thumb was upon the demon, the blade slot pointed at his heart. Backing away, he raised both hands in the gesture of surrender.

She posed like a duelist. “They say the girls fight like troopers in Trivigaunte.” She parried awkwardly twice, and skewered and slashed an imaginary opponent.

By that time he had recovered at least a fraction of his composure. “Aren't you going to call the guards?”

“Don't think so.” She lunged and recovered. “Wouldn't I make a fine swordsman, Patera? Look at these legs.”

“No, I don't think so.”

She pouted “Why not?”

“Because one must study swordsmanship, and practice day after day. There is a great deal to learn, or so I've been told. To speak frankly, I'd back a shorter, less attractive woman against you, assuming that she was less attracted to admiration and those bottles in your balneum, too.”

Hyacinth gave no sign of having heard. “If you really can't do what I want—if you won't, I mean—couldn't you use this azoth instead? And kiss me, and pretend? I'd show you where I want you to put the big jewel, and after a while you might change your mind.”

“Isn't there an antidote?” To prevent her from seeing his expression, he crossed the room to the window and parted the drapes. There was no one around the dead bird on the terrace now. “You have all those herbs. Surely you must have the antidote, if there is one.”

“I don't want the antidote, Patera. I want you.” Her hand was on his shoulder; her lips brushed his ear. “And if you go out there like you're thinking, the cats'll tear you to pieces.”

The blade of the azoth shot past his ear, fifty cubits down to the terrace to slice the dead bird in two and leave a long, smoking scar across the flagstones. Silk flinched from it. “For Pas's love be careful!”

Hyacinth whirled off like a dancer as she pressed the demon again. Shimmering through the bedchamber like summer heat, the azoth's illimited discontinuity hummed of death, parting the universe, slitting the drapes like a razor and dropping a long section slabbed from wall and window frame at Silk's feet.