The Devil's Concubine (The Devil of Ponong series #1) (11 page)

She blinked. She felt the smile slide off her face. For a moment, she
couldn’t breathe.

After a moment, he said gruffly, “That was
unspeakably rude of me. I’m sorry.”

When she was able to draw in a breath, it
staggered down her throat. People said cruel things to her all the time, and
normally, she ignored them; but his words had uncanny aim.

“Lady QuiTai –” He reached for her arm.
She sidestepped his touch. He was under no obligation to be civil to her. She
chided herself for expecting any Thampurian to treat a Ponongese with dignity;
then, chin lifted high, she headed for the Red Happiness.

~ ~ ~

Kyam let her walk alone until the white verandas of the Red
Happiness were close. Then he gripped her elbow and steered her behind a tree.
“I think it would be best if you stayed out of sight for now. I don’t want the
soldiers to see those marks on your neck. They would raise too many questions.”

“You were willing to
hand me over to them last night.”

“That’s before you agreed to help me.”

She looked down at his grip on her and then
raised her gaze to meet his. “Mister Zul, I understand that despite my personal
feelings on the matter, we have entered a business arrangement. I intend to
deliver the information I promised, as I assume do you. However, please
remember that this partnership is not equal. I can find Jezereet’s murderer
without your help.”

“And I can figure out what the Ravidians are
up to without yours.”

“With my blessing.” She stepped away.

Kyam yanked her back behind the tree. “We
have a deal. But if you want to be in charge, be in charge. Tell me what you
want me to do, honorable lady.” His bow had too much flourish to be sincere.

“Before or after you go to hell?”

“Too late. I’m already there.” He blocked her
as she tried to go around him. “If I may make a suggestion though, it really
isn’t a good idea for the Devil’s concubine to mix with the soldiers. They
might take you down to the fortress for questioning just because they can. You
know how those Thampurians are.”

“You have been listening, after all.”

“More closely than you imagine.”

Maybe she should have been alarmed, but she
was flattered.

“And when it comes to this particular group
of soldiers, I have to agree with you. They swagger through the marketplace and
treat the natives as if they own the whole damn island.”

She knew exactly which soldiers he meant.
They were the worst face of the colonial occupation.

“So, do we have an agreement? I’ll take care
of this alone,” Kyam said.

“While I do what?”

“Weave one of your devious plans. Think.
Create new insults to hurl at me. Or maybe – just maybe – rest a
little. Yesterday was a long day for you, and I have a feeling today won’t be much
better.”

She wasn’t used to such treatment; his
consideration would be missed when their business was complete. Resting sounded
good. Keeping mentally sharp around Kyam had exhausted the little burst of
energy of the morning.

She plucked a snake flower from an overhead
branch and sniffed it. The little green fangs of its twin curving carpals tickled
her face. “That’s your cue, Mister Zul. The stage is yours.”

“What do you know? She does listen to reason.”
Kyam pulled down his sleeves and buttoned his jacket all the way up. “Showtime.”

~ ~ ~

QuiTai leaned against the tree. Leaving Kyam to his own
devices was tempting, but where would she go? Her safe houses were even more
barren than his. Why was it that everyone else had someone they could turn to
in moments like this? There wasn’t a single person she trusted to give her help
and restful shelter. She couldn’t think of a lover who had ever offered her
comfort. Maybe it was the kind of people she tended to take to bed. Petrof wasn’t
a tender person, and even before Jezereet was addicted to the vapor, she always
had to be the center of attention.

Perhaps QuiTai needed to find a friend.

She chuckled at herself. A friend. The very
idea was absurd.

Her palm still ached. When she brushed her
fingertips lightly over the wine-red welt, it was like stroking burned flesh.

“Where have you been, QuiTai?” Petrof said.

QuiTai jumped as she turned to his voice. He
shoved aside leaves in his path as he strode toward her.

Her hand pressed to her chest. She’d never
been so stunned. He’d come out of his room. He’d walked through the city to
find her. She searched his face for signs of panic, but he only looked annoyed.

“Jezereet... died,” she said.

“Where have you been? I searched for you all
last night.”

“You already heard?”

His clothes were damp, as if he’d been caught
out in the rain while she’d spent the night inside. No wonder he was grumpy.
And yet, instead of returning to the house for a bath and dry clothes, he’d
still hunted for her. More than any soft words, that proved he cared.

She pressed her face against his chest. The
familiar scent of him almost made up for the way he stiffened when she wrapped
her arms around him.

He paused almost a moment too long, as if he
mulled over the news, but he finally stroked her hair. “Poor QuiTai. How your
heart must be breaking.” From his tone, that seemed to please him.

Suspicious, she leaned back and searched his
face. He was jealous enough of Jezereet to addict her to black lotus. It was a
slow, cruel death sentence and he’d enjoyed making QuiTai watch it. She’d never
fooled herself about that. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to believe
that he’d come to her now out of love.

Soft concern flowed over his face like a
mask. “You can’t blame me for hating sharing you with her.”

Blame and recriminations were the last things
she wanted to think about right now.

“You’re my woman.”

His hand slid down her back and pushed her
groin against his. The hard glint of possessive sexuality was in his eyes now.
It radiated from him as if it covered his skin and flowed onto her. His
seductive charms could sway her, but they wouldn’t make her forget her loss.

“Why would anyone kill her, Petrof? She never
hurt anyone.”

“It was a mistake.”

She nodded. Of course it was a mistake. She
held tighter to him and pressed her lips to his chest.

His hand moved from her buttocks to her neck.
He said, “Were you alone last night?”

If she told him the truth, he might kill Kyam,
and she’d lose her chance to find out who murdered Jezereet. But he’d come to
comfort her. Didn’t he deserve the truth from her, for once?

His thumb pressed against the pulse at her
jugular. “Were you alone?” His voice was quiet with menace.

She almost shook her head… but then his
fingers curled over the bruises on her neck and woke the points of pain.

“Were you with a man?” he said.

The pain steadied her. Once Jezereet’s
murderer was dead, she’d rededicate herself to Petrof and never try to play both
sides again. She swore it.

“I slept alone,” she told him. That much was
true.

He flicked the collar of her blouse. “I don’t
remember you ever wearing pink before. Did you fuck that Thampurian? Did he buy
this for you?”

A shiver went down her back. Who had seen her
with Kyam? She said, “You know how I feel about Thampurians.”

“Yes. I do. So I’ll believe you, about that.”
Petrof’s thumb stroked her pulse. “Tell me about the smugglers.”

“Ivitch probably told you that the dirt
Thampurian died, but I have a new lead. As soon as I have news, I’ll bring it
to you.” Unwilling to let the moment pass, she hugged him hard again. “Thank
you for leaving your den to come find me.”

I never knew I could count on
you until now.

“It was no – Soldiers!” Petrof shoved
QuiTai away. “They’re coming after me!”

QuiTai peered around the tree to see Kyam and
four Thampurian soldiers step off the veranda of the Red Happiness and head
toward them then stop in the middle of the muddy street. She couldn’t hear their
words, but it looked like a terse exchange. Usually Thampurians carried on with
flowery protocol that took forever, but after a curt bow, Kyam stepped away and
headed toward the town square instead of returning to her.

She exhaled in relief. “No, Petrof, they’re
going back...”

But he was gone. She didn’t blame him for
being wary of the soldiers. Whatever torture he’d endured at their hands
haunted him still. He’d never liked the jungle’s bugs and humidity, but
afterwards he couldn’t even bear to walk through it. He refused to talk about
what they’d done to him, but while in the grip of nightmares, he sometimes screamed
about ants. Thousands and thousands of ants swarming over him...

She leaned against the tree. Who would have
ever suspected Petrof of being so concerned that he’d overcome his fears to comfort
her? Not her. It was such an unexpected, out of character gesture… and she had
needed it so much. She would not examine it and twist it until she turned it
into something with darker intent, the way she always did. Sometimes she ruined
everything by thinking too much.

~ ~ ~

When Kyam finally came back, he had a small package in his
hand. “I’m almost sorry you missed my performance. I played the obnoxious scion
of the thirteen families to the hilt. Swaggered in there as if I owned the
place.” He tried to catch her gaze. “No comment? Come on. I know you want to say
something.”

“This is your story,
not mine.” She hated the way Kyam interrupted the spell Petrof had woven around
her. Her nerves felt as raw as her hand.

“You couldn’t have
called that scene any better than if you’d written the script. Major Voorus and
his men were already beating a confession out of one of the barkeeps in a back
room. They weren’t happy about the interruption until they found out they could
go after one of the Devil’s thugs. Then they were all ears.”

“That doesn’t
surprise me,” QuiTai said. She found it hard to summon any interest in his
story.

“I told Voorus that
everyone knew the werewolves’ blood lust ran high the night of the full moon,
and that yesterday while we rode on the funicular down to the harbor, Ivitch had
muttered dire threats about teaching Jezereet a lesson for some slight. And I
warned them that Ivitch was crazy and they should knock him out the second they
capture him. It’s the only way I could think of to stop him from bringing up
your name.”

That was smart. It
was a relief to work with someone who didn’t screw up all the time.

“I, um, bought
something for you.” Kyam thrust the package at her.

The polite thing
would be to extend both hands and take the gift with a bow. She kept her hands
at her sides. It wouldn’t do for Kyam to think they were friends.

“Okay then.” He
ripped the packaging away to reveal a mocha silk scarf. He lightly wound it
around her throat. “It doesn’t match what you’re wearing, but it will look nice
with the colors you usually wear.” He fussed with the ends. “It hides the
fingerprints.”

She could feel tears
for Jezereet welling up inside her. She said, “If time had any manners, it
would stop when someone dies and let the mourners catch their breaths. But it
doesn’t.”

His movements slowed
but he didn’t look up. “I never suspected you had such melancholy moods. You’re
usually so confident. You saunter around town with that wicked smile playing on
your lips… your scathing wit is always ready to draw soul blood.”

“Moods pass.” Grief ended. The world went on.
She took a deep breath.

“If I didn’t need your sharper side so much
right now, I wouldn’t mind this softer QuiTai.”

She jerked back from his touch. “I’m not
soft, Mister Zul. Never soft.”

A glimmer of humor lit up his eyes. “That’s
my girl.”

She tried to wither him with her glare. He grinned. “Let’s pay a visit
to the harbor master,” he said, and offered her his arm.

The
harbor master’s
office was locked. While Kyam rattled the door, QuiTai
headed for the wharf. The normally tranquil waves of the protected harbor were
white capped, breaking hard on the beach sand, leaving behind a meandering line
of foam, broken shells, and kelp when they ebbed. The stiff wind rocked the junk
at the dock and whipped her thin sarong around her ankles. Dock workers cast
loaded crates onto a net of heavy rope.

She watched a crane
lift the net full of crates, the rope creaking as the crane swung towards the
junk, where waiting sailors sprang into action, grabbing guide ropes and straining
to keep them in place as the ship rolled in the rough waves. The crane lowered
the crates through an open cargo hatch into the junk’s hold.

Kyam joined her. “When
will the harbor master’s office open?” he asked the dock workers.

“He hasn’t been in
since yesterday morning,” a dockworker replied grudgingly. It was clear that
was all he meant to say.

“We should look into his office,” QuiTai
whispered.

Kyam nodded.

They strolled to the weathered single-story
building. Like all Thampurian structures, the eaves of its roof curved upward
at the ends, but that was its only nod to style. It was an ugly, squat building
in much need of paint.

As they tried to peer through the salt-caked
windows, another worker asked, “What are you two up to?”

“Colonel Kyam Zul of His Majesty’s
Intelligence Services. I will be entering the harbor master’s office to
ascertain whether or not he is inside and in need of assistance. This is a
matter of Thampurian national security.”

QuiTai put a hand over her mouth to hide her
smirk. Thampurian national security indeed. As if a corrupt minor local official
meant anything to them.

Kyam knocked on the door. “Harbor master, are
you inside?” He cocked his head as if listening. “In the name of His Majesty, I
command you to open this door if you are able.” QuiTai thought he was in danger
of overplaying his part. Still, the dockworker seemed impressed, until Kyam
took a small black fold out of his pocket, selected a pick, and jiggled it in
the lock.

“Aren’t you going to kick it in?” the man
asked.

QuiTai faked coughing to cover her laughter.
Kyam shot her a dirty look. “How would I lock the door after I leave if I kick
it?”

The lock clicked open. “That wasn’t very
exciting,” the dockworker complained. He peered through the doorway. “Is there
a body in there?”

“Please, sir, stay back.” Kyam stepped into
the office and slammed the door behind him.

The dockworker nodded toward the door. “If
he’s in there, wake him up and tell him our boss needs him to sign papers on
this shipment we’re loading.” He walked away.

QuiTai knocked gently on the door. It creaked
open. She looked inside. “He’s gone. Find anything interesting?”

Kyam stood behind the desk, shuffling through
papers in a file. “No. Unless one of these papers has
clue
written across it in bright red letters, I won’t find anything
without spending hours reading through them.”

QuiTai leaned against the doorjamb. “He
wouldn’t have left a paper trail if he were helping Ravidians.”

“Unless the ship’s captain knew it was
smuggled goods, he would have insisted on an official receipt,” Kyam said as he
lifted files off the desk. “This would go faster if you helped.”

“Our business agreement strictly forbade
paperwork,” she said.

He almost smiled as his gaze rose to hers.

“It’s an implied clause. I invoke them only
as the need arises,” QuiTai added.

From his reluctant chuckle, Kyam was as
amused by her as she was by him. “I have a feeling you could swindle a con
artist. My grandfather would adore you.”

“If he ever returns to Ponong, I should like
to meet the old rascal. I might even like him.”

Kyam tossed the file onto the desk. He leaned
on his knuckles. “This is work for a team with some expertise in harbor
management. Finding the harbor master is a better use of our time.”
 
He gestured her toward the door.

“See? You don’t need my help. You’re doing
fine on your own.”

They stepped outside. “But it wouldn’t be as
fun,” he said. He shut the door and re-locked it.

“This is business,” QuiTai said.

“That doesn’t mean it’s boring. This morning
was the first time I woke up on this island with something to look forward to.”

“Only a Thampurian would be giddy at the
prospect of digging through a mountain of forms.”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant.” Kyam
stepped up to the ticket office for the funicular. “Two, please.”

~ ~ ~

While they waited for the funicular to make the slow descent
from the town square, QuiTai squatted in the shade and plotted her next moves.
She would go back to Petrof and tell him her theory about the Ravidian
smugglers – which he probably wouldn’t believe – and hope he didn’t
get too angry with her. She touched her throat. The scarf was like water
through her fingers. It must have cost Kyam a small fortune. All because he’d
upset her and wanted to apologize. For a man of such brusque manners, he had
his moments of charm.

And he was right: In
spite of her grief, this investigation was fun. And she had no right to enjoy
herself right now. She should simply tell Kyam why she thought the Ravidians
had brought crates of sea wasps to Ponong. If he really thought about it, he would
figure it out: Once he did, he’d also have a good idea where to find them. To
save them both time and trouble, she should tell him the theory she’d worked
out while on the dirt Thampurian’s skiff; then he could tell her the name of
Jezereet’s murderer, and they could go their separate ways.

The funicular’s
cable twanged as if plucked. Although she couldn’t see the cars yet, that sound
was always the first warning that the funicular was near. Kyam offered his hand
to pull her to her feet.

The brakes screeched as it slowly slid into
the station.

The station master unlocked the doors of each
car. Even though Kyam was a Thampurian, they had to wait while crates from the
wharf were loaded and strapped in first, and then squeeze in past the cargo. Once
they were on board, the station master shut the door and locked it. Moments
later, the shrill whistle sounded and the funicular started the steep ascent
uphill. The crates strained against the frayed belts that held them in place.

QuiTai leaned against the lower window to
watch their rise from the harbor. She always liked this view. The water was the
same color as jewels in the windows of expensive shops back on the continent.
It seemed so very long ago that she and Jezereet had walked arm in arm through
paved streets, dressed in the latest fashions, always happy. Sometimes admirers
followed them and bought Jezereet anything she desired. There had been so much wine,
so much laughter. If nothing in life was free, then QuiTai was sure she was
paying for those carefree days now, with interest.

She shook her head. She was growing
melancholy again, and it wouldn’t do. She had to stop clinging to this brief
respite from the world that Kyam offered and take up her duties again. She owed
that to Petrof. It was time to move on.

“Mister Zul, let me save us both a lot of
trouble. I’ll tell you my theory about the Ravidians. Then you can go your way,
and I’ll go mine.”

“Oh, no. Our contract clearly states that you’ll
continue to help me until I have all the proof I need.”

She arched an eyebrow as high as it would go.

“It’s an implied clause,” he said.

He thought he was so funny. QuiTai gritted
her teeth. “There’s ample evidence that you’ve discovered something important.
At the very least, the sea wasp stinger in the dirt Thampurian’s boat should
raise questions. Get out that farwriter you have hidden in your trunk, and inform
your superiors.”

“I need proof, not theories.”

Frustrated, she folded her arms over her
chest. “What is Ponong’s primary export, Mister Zul?”

Clearly confused, he said, “Medusozoa for
jellylanterns.”

“And what –?”

The funicular car lurched to a halt. The
belts securing the crates at the end of the car squealed. A rhythmic clang of
metal on metal began somewhere on the track uphill, and the car began to bounce
in time.

Kyam and QuiTai exchanged a silent, worried
look.

The car dropped several yards downhill. Kyam
rushed to the door. Then the frayed end of a cargo belt ripped from its hook.
The crates in that stack groaned. The top one slid forward.

A vision of a shard of bloody glass leapt to
QuiTai’s mind. This was like her vision of the Ravidian’s crates sliding across
the skiff as they sailed to their hiding place.

“Mister Zul?”

“I’m on it. Why did he lock this?” He reached
into his pocket for his picks.

“They do it to keep people from jumping on
and riding for free.”

“And everyone knows that, don’t they?”

QuiTai worked the cranky window down far
enough to stick her head out. They were far above the harbor now. The station
below looked tiny. The jungle along the uphill tracks was too dense to see past
the first car. Whoever stopped the train probably couldn’t be seen from the
town square either. The station masters would figure it out soon; but not soon
enough.

The sound of strained metal grew louder.

“Someone is going to a lot of trouble to stop
our investigation, Mister Zul.”

“And the sky is blue.” He kept his attention
on the pick.

She inspected the belts holding back the
crates. If they gave, the crates would slide down the car and crush them. “They
haven’t cut through these, so they weren’t at the harbor station.”

Kyam said, “The real plan, I assume, is to
cut the funicular’s cable.”

The metallic clanging grew louder and faster.
The car slid several yards before jolting to a stomach-churning halt. QuiTai
grabbed a belt to stop from sliding to the end of the car; another belt snapped
loose and flew at her. As she ducked, she saw the belt strike Kyam’s arm. He
dropped his pick.

“Damn it!” Kyam searched the floor. “Can you
climb out the side window?”

“It would be tight. You’d never fit.”

Kyam strode to her, lifted her up to the open
window, and shoved her through it feet-first. Her head hit the frame, and then
she landed hard and slid down the slope beside the track, grabbing frantically
for a handhold among the plants. Leaves shredded through her fingers. She saw a
thick vine and stretched desperately with both hands to grasp it. As she jolted
to a stop, she felt the muscles in her shoulders tear. Her injured hand seared
with pain.

She heard a loud snap.

The funicular barreled downhill, picking up
speed as it went. The loose cable whipped through the air, slicing small trees
in half as QuiTai flattened herself and kept her head down. Moments later, she
heard a horrible screech of metal and loud booms as the funicular hit the
bottom of the hill.

Then everything was quiet: even the birds and
monkeys were stunned into silence. The quiet made QuiTai feel as if a predator
stalked her through the wild undergrowth. The hairs along her arms rose.

She crawled to a tree and rested against it
while she checked herself for broken bones. Then as she took a deep breath and
tipped back her head to look at the sky, she saw Kyam smiling down at her.

“Survived, did you?” she said.

He squatted beside her, a wild grin on his
face. “Opened the lock with seconds to spare. Jumped off right as the cars
started to fall. It was very dramatic.”

“Good. I hate a boring escape from near
death.”

“Should I be worried?” Kyam asked. “You have that
wicked grin.”

“I was only thinking, my dear Mister Zul,
that I’m in danger of liking you.”

His lips twitched. “How perfectly horrid for
you.”

She felt a pang of regret for her old life,
where she could banter with interesting men for hours and the only thing at
stake was a night of pleasure. In that world, she and Kyam might have been
lovers. He was probably the kind of man who lingered in bed. She gave a rueful
half-smile. She had to stop thinking of that. She had a lover. Even if Petrof
had never really been enough.

QuiTai tried to rise, wincing. Kyam slipped
his arm around her waist to help her. When she was standing, she brushed the
broken leaves and dirt from her arms and hands and said, “Well. Where were we?
Ah yes. Paying a call to the harbor master.”

Kyam still grinned stupidly at her. “You’re a
tenacious little demon.”

“I don’t suppose this is simply a horrendous
vapor dream?” She checked her blouse. As far as she could tell, it had survived
her downhill slide in fairly respectable condition. The pattern on her sarong
was busy enough that the smears of red clay near her knees blended in.