Tides of Maritinia (4 page)

I reduced pressure on the teeth I'd been clenching. The question was a good one. One I needed to find an answer to. “I had my reasons,” I responded.

He frowned, his jowls sagging halfway down his neck. “No problem, Colonel, you don't have to tell me. They say you converted, you know.”

“Do they?”

“They say you're a Falal now.”

I lifted my brows. The Falal were a local cult.

“Hey, Colonel, don't get upset,” the man said. “Your spiritual life is your business. I'm just trying to make conversation.”

I chugged the rest of my drink, my tongue awash in harsh flavors. His ­people were sorely mistaken if they thought they'd made a decent wine. As I refilled my glass, the waiter brought a bowl of food, the smell absolutely intoxicating.

I peered into the bowl—­some kind of shellfish in a thin brown sauce. Smelled like butter.

My new business partner pinched a shell between his stubby fingers, then brought it up to his lips and sucked the creature down before returning an empty shell to the bowl.

said Pol.

I picked a shell from the bottom of the pile, making sure to scoop up as much of the sauce as I could. Ignoring the purple flesh and the wilted eyestalks, I pulled it up to my mouth. With a suck, butter splashed over my tongue. More oily than the butter at home. My mouth was instantly slick with it. I bit into the snail-­like creature, a bizarre flavor bursting forth. Not that bad.

My dinner partner was getting in the groove now, slurping them down as fast as he could with one hand motoring back and forth between the bowl and his mouth, his lips shiny with buttery grease.

I picked up another shell, marveling over the simple wonder of butter. No idea what animal's milk they'd made it from, but I didn't care.

“What is that on your forehead?” asked my dining partner.

The fingers of my free hand went to my forehead and came away wet with saline.

“Sweating,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Is it hot in here?”

“Not really,” he said, deep-­set eyes searching my face. “You don't look well. I didn't notice until now, but what are those marks on your face?”

“I have been feeling a little feverish. Must be coming down with something.”

“That explains why you're sweating but not the marks.”

“What kind of marks?” I asked, trying to keep the mounting panic out of my voice.

“Little red marks.”

I brushed his concern away with a wave of my hand. “Those are just bug bites.”

He gave me a long stare, eyes boring into me from deep sockets.

I sucked down a snail and reached for another. Next, I took a hearty swig of wine. “See, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about.”

He relaxed into his seat. “You must take better care of yourself.”

My blood pressure eased. “All this fine food and drink will fix me up.”

“That it will.” He refilled his wineglass. “It's hard to believe we used to be enemies, eh?”

“That was a long time ago,” I said because it seemed like the right thing to say.

“That it was, my friend. I like to think that if we had met back then, you'd have seen I wasn't really your enemy. I'm just a good businessman, that's all. I had no stake in the Secession Skirmishes.”

“I suppose not.”

“You were great for my bottom line, Colonel. The rebels were so scared of you, I could've sold them anything. Could've sold them rocks if I'd called them projectile missiles.”

said Pol.

He reached for his wine, and the glass was swallowed in his big mitt. “Wait until you see the system I got for you. The Empire better bring a fleet if they want to retake this world.”

 

CHAPTER 5

“There atre times to be a gentleman, and ther are timmes not to.”

–
J
AKOB
B
RYCE

D
aybreak was coming. Weak gray light came through the windows to gradually erase the room's darkest shadows. I'd been awake all night. Perhaps dozed a little here and there, but I was too hopped up to get any serious sleep. The best I could do was lie here and try to relax.

My back hurt. So did my hips. These bed mats offered little comfort on the stone floor although I should probably count myself lucky I'd found a spare, considering the state of the previous one.

I looked over at the closet. Disposing of the dead colonel was a must. But if I dropped him through the trash chute, I couldn't guarantee the cuda fish would dispose of his body. The smart move was to make sure he would sink. For that I needed more rope. Lots of heavy stones. But a late-­night search of the entire residence yielded neither.

I still couldn't believe I'd done it. It felt like a dream now. My father would be proud. Finally living up to the family name.

I heard voices outside. Holding my breath, I tilted my ear in the direction of the sound. “Go on in,” I heard one of the guards say.

My breath caught in my throat.

Too late for that.

Whoever had entered was already on the stairs.

I was frozen, my back glued to the mat. Cotton-­mouthed, I tried to swallow. Footsteps came closer and closer, sounding like the dwindling ticks of a time bomb.

A figure appeared in the doorway. She wore a loose-­fitting white shirt over a silky yellow wrapped skirt that hung to her ankles. “Hello, Drake. I'm home.”

I croaked out something unintelligible.

“Did I wake you?” She was short, even by Maritinian standards. Five feet at best. But she stood tall, her chest held out front, her chin raised in defiance of some unseen power. She dropped her bag and approached me with sturdy steps. “I'm exhaust-­ed.”

“Sure you are,” I replied though she looked anything but.

She stopped at the sleeping mat's edge. “You're on my side.”

“Just keeping it warm for you.” I scooted over.

She dropped down with an audible exhale, then curled into me and draped her leg across my boxers.

My cheeks flushed, and I suddenly felt hot all over. She nuzzled into my shoulder, curly hair tickling my cheek.

“Don't ever let me do that again,” she said. “I can't handle Mother that long.”

“How long is too long?”

“The first day was nice. The other thirteen were torture.”

Gone for two weeks? I couldn't believe the timing.

I turned my head toward the closet, her hair tickling my nose. I could see the body through the gap between the curtain and the floor. She'd see him, too, if she only rolled over.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to scream and run away.

She breathed quietly, her fingers raking through my chest hair. I told myself not to fight it. She couldn't tell I wasn't Kell. We were an exact match. Kell had been through body scans all his life. The Empire knew every last detail.

Her index finger stopped on the scar near my shoulder, and she traced the war wound all the way down to the bottom of my rib cage, then slowly back up. He'd earned the scar in the Secession Skirmishes.

“You ready for the ceremony?” she asked. “We leave this afternoon, remember?”

“Of course, I'm ready.”

She gave my bare chest a pat before sitting up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I need to wash. I've been wearing these clothes for four days.” She stood and stepped over to her bag.

said Pol.

I was up in an instant, hurrying to put myself between her and the corpse, my heart pumping erratic beats. Dammit, I hadn't seen any women's clothes in there last night. But it was dark. And I was looking for rope.

The bag was in her hand. She watched me with puzzled eyes. “What are you doing?”

“You must be tired,” I said. “Let me take care of that.”

“Really, Drake, I think I can handle it.”

“No, you've had a long trip.” I reached for her bag. “Let me unpack for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Please let me do it.” I grabbed the leather handle and yanked it from her hand.

“Ow. What's your problem?”

“Just trying to help.”

“Why are you always such a bully?”

I stayed silent as I stood my ground, the bag's itchy wool rubbing against my thigh.

“I'll be downstairs,” she said, but she didn't move, her eyes focused on something behind me. “What is that?”

I looked over my shoulder. At the wall, up near the ceiling. Blood.

My stomach plummeted like a stone sinking to the ocean floor below.

Pol's voice slipped into my mind like a dagger between shoulder blades.

She moved to the wall to get a better look. “Is that blood?”

“Crab,” I blurted. “He was on the wall last night, and I went to grab him so I could toss him out the window. Nipped me good.” I showed her one of the gouges on my knuckles.

“You didn't think to clean up?”

“It was late. I'll tell the guards to clean it later.”

She turned to stare at me, intense eyes probing and penetrating, like she was trying to detect the imposter inside. “Why are you acting so strange?”

I ignored Pol and volleyed her question back at her. “Strange? What's so strange?”

“Why are you so damn cranky? I've never seen you like this.”

“Maybe that ceremony is getting to me after all.”

“You're nervous about it?”

“I guess so. Couldn't sleep.”

“I see it in your face. You look terrible. Are you sure you're ready for a long trip?”

“I'll be fine,” I said.

She smiled. “Good. It's not like we can cancel when the whole world will be watching. I'm going to take my shower.” With that, she was heading down the stairs, pulling her shirt over her head.

I watched her go, pulse pounding in my ears, sweat breaking on my forehead.

I was in the closet, staring down at the hacked-­up corpse on its sleeping mat.

I tossed her bag into the corner and grabbed hold of the mat. Squatting low, I walked backward, pulling the body along while I kept my eyes glued to the stairwell, willing her to stay downstairs.

Reaching the window, I swept the hanging cloth aside and poked my head out, eyes searching left and right. Neighboring balconies were empty, except for one. A woman drinking tea, her gaze aimed out at the water.

I checked for boats. None were close, but several rode the golden waves a ways out. Fishing boats and a kelp barge.

I said.

It had to.

I took hold of the body, hooked my arms under his armpits, his flesh cool on my forearms. With a heave, I tried to lift him off the sleeping mat, but the body slipped from my fingers, and his head clunked back down.

I stopped trying to lift the body, so I could gather my thoughts.

he said.

I grabbed Kell again and had to suppress a chill as I found a better grip by sinking the fingers of both my hands into a pair of deep wounds.

Another heave, and I had him off the floor, then out the window.

I watched the body descend, five, ten, twenty feet until he struck the water in a violent explosion of sea spray. Waves emanated outward, then rebounded back, foamy green water washing over his back.

I looked at the woman on her balcony. She'd heard it. Her back was straight, her head lifted high like a cat listening for danger. I ducked under the cloth, one eye still peeking.

said Pol.

The woman on the balcony stayed in her chair, the noise not loud enough or unusual enough to investigate further. Soon she was back to drinking her tea. I checked the boats. None changed course.

I nabbed the blood-­stained sleeping mat along with Kell's severed fingers and sent them out the window. I went to the water bucket, still half-­full from last night, and gave the windowsill a quick wipe down, same for my bloody arms and hands.

Leaning out, I watched for cuda fish, watched for fins slicing through the water. Didn't see any, but the body did drift under the platform. Out of sight. Elation surged inside me.

I felt a hand on my back. “What are you doing?”

Startled, I wheeled on her. “Nothing.”

She was in a towel, her forearm pinning it to her chest. “You're all sweaty.”

“I was just—­”

“Were you doing your push-­ups?”

I nodded.

“A little early for that, isn't it?”

I tried on a nervous smile. “Never too early to exercise.”

She dropped the towel. “Never too early for a lot of things.”

My gaze wandered downward, her bare skin kissed by the sun's early rays. I caressed her curves with my eyes. Then my hands.

For Sire and Empire.