Dedication
To the cats whose lives have enlivened my own reading for so many
years. To Midnight Louie, and Carole Nelson Douglas. To Koko and
Yum Yum, and Lilian Jackson Braun. To Solomon, Sheba, Sealy,
ShebaLu, and Saska, and Doreen Tovey; and to the many cats, real and
fictional, of Andre Norton (Chang-Un in particular).
May they find Prauo a worthy successor.
—L.M.
Acknowledgments
To Jim Frenkel, Tor editor, who edited this book with considerable patience despite dealing with an author who can't spell or punctuate, and has no computer-savvy whatsoever. Thanks.
To the computer-repair firm of StanCo, who rushed out several times to fix my printer on the spot so I could produce this work. Thanks, Stan and Andrew.
And to the one, the only, the ubiquitous, Premier Ocispot Tigerman—my Ocicat—on some of whose traits and abilities I based the character of Prauo, and without whose loving assistance this work would have probably been finished a lot sooner.
Thanks, guys, I couldn't have done it without you.
Chapter One
Laris crouched over the new animal. It was gasping for breath still, but that would not last long. The shock of its injuries and the pain of losing what meant most to it were draining both its strength and will to live. Even as she worked, it gave one final, long, slow breath—and as that was released so was the poor beast's life. She felt tears come to her eyes. She'd tried. She had. But that would buy her nothing from those who employed her.
Nor did it. A moment later a whip sang, the lash burned across her thin shoulders, and she cried out, twisting away.
"Dedran, no! I did my best. I can't work miracles."
She glared up at him. "If your people brought me anything but damaged goods mind-broken by the way they were taken, I might have a chance."
The Circus Master glared down. Dedran was a lean, hard-looking man. His hair was that odd shade of blond that looked almost white but his skin was a weathered brown. He'd fought with the Ishan forces until his planet was destroyed almost five years earlier. What he'd been before that no one knew—although they made guesses which could well have been right.
Dedran had never given anyone the impression he was rigidly honest. The Ishan forces had not cared, their leader had taken the man in to fight, not to attend league meetings. In fact, Dedran had been a criminal already allied with the rising Thieves Guild. He was a clever man with ideas. One of which had been that it was safer to be given a weapon and encouraged to fight against the Xik than to hide without arms and wait to be slaughtered. He'd bided his time, survived the destruction of his world, and made sure of some very portable and valuable loot as he escaped the ruins of his planet.
He'd set up the circus after Ishan. Spent the two years before the war ended sorting out acts and people to work for him. He seemed to have enough money to do it without problems. Within the circus though there were hints that he owned only a part of it—that others had funded the business as a cover. Laris could believe that. The circus had swept her up four years ago. She'd been a starving refugee from one of the worlds cleared by the Xik, or so she believed. She'd been barely twelve, and remembered little of her first years. The years after the loss of her home had been filled with dimly recalled moves: being bundled into a ship and dumped on another world with no more than the clothes she stood up in and her mother, who wept. She thought she might have been four or five then. Another move and another, and her mother was gone. Another and still yet another until at last she was twelve and in a camp with many others, none of whom she knew and most of whom spoke other languages or the one-speech with strange accents. She'd fought first to survive, then to escape, sensing that if she stayed within the camp she would become as hopeless as they.
Laris had a keen intelligence but had learned enough by the time she was alone to hide much of what she knew. She looked younger than her true age and could appear younger still. People were more careless around a child—both with talk and small change.
She'd found part-time employment in a pet shop run by an old man. He wasn't unkind but he expected a full day's work for his credits. Sometimes the work was almost too much for the light-boned, underfed girl but she always managed. She loved the beasts, and when he saw how well they responded to her the owner gave her more responsibility. Then he died and her way of escape appeared closed.
There were other roads open but none that she would willingly take. At twelve she appeared to be only nine or ten, and in any great city there was a market for that. Had she agreed, there were several, including Mercer, the camp boss, who'd have found her employment. Laris was small and appeared fragile. Yet for all that she showed promise of becoming not so much pretty as elegant. Her movements were graceful, her cap of dark hair complemented the dark brown of her eyes, and her skin was a warm, creamy, faintly olive shade. Her manner was self-contained and she unbent to few.
Why bother? Camp after camp had swept away her mother, her memories, and any earlier friends she had made. Now she walked alone but for the one friend she'd kept these past few years. Prauo, whom she cherished and trusted, loved as she'd had none to love for so long.
Dedran was back. "Don't sit there dreaming, you fool. Get that carcass cleaned up, take samples for me, and make sure no one will find it afterward." He turned to leave, then swung back. "Your cat, he'll be well enough to perform tonight?"
"Yes—at least—here?"
Dedran smiled hungrily. "Elsewhere, a climb maybe."
Laris considered. Prauo had been ill from another growth spurt but he was recovering. "So long as the climb isn't too exhausting and he can rest once it's done."
Her employer nodded. "It's a straight job. If you and the cat do it well I may even toss you a half credit or two." He laughed and strolled away, ignoring the look Laris gave him. Even after four years she sometimes wondered how well she'd done to sign on with Dedran's Circus. But she'd had to get out of the camp. With the pet shop owner's death her one obvious avenue of escape had closed.
She'd despaired; then Mercer, the camp boss, had come to her smiling and she'd cringed. It meant no good for someone when the boss of the camp grinned so cheerfully. But, incredibly, it had meant good for her. He'd towered over her, smirking down.
"You Laris? The one who's good with animals?" She'd nodded. Mercer nodded back. "You don't look like much. Maybe that's an advantage. Come with me." She followed, hiding the inward sneer at his pretense of not knowing her. He'd remembered her well enough last year when he'd wanted her to accept work in a city place. He'd thought she looked like a lot then, a lot of credits. Now what did he have in mind?
He'd taken her to Dedran. Both men had eyed her coldly. "This! You reckon this miserable thing'll be any use to me?"
Mercer nodded. "She's been working in old man Plaistrin's shop the last year. He told me once she was real good with the beasts. He was considering a contract. Reckon he'd a done it if'n he hadn't died." Laris felt her heart jump. So near to escape and the old fool had to go and die. But what was she doing here, another job with animals?
Dedran snorted. "All right. I'll test her. If she passes I'll take her on." He smiled viciously. "Five-year bond and you get the bond money. I suppose she's yours to bond?"
Mercer looked at her and Laris understood. In the camp there was always talk; some escaped it in various ways, and sometimes they returned to see friends or family. From them and their tales she had learned all she could about conditions of freedom. What it meant to be bonded. If she were ever in that position she must know what she would receive and what she could legally ask for. Here and now she could speak out. Deny that Mercer had the right to give a bond for her. Dedran would walk away and once she was back in the camp, she'd pay. But if she agreed she might have hope. She'd be out of the camp, employed even if she was under bond. After five years she could leave with an honorably canceled contract saying she'd had a good job these past five years. Or she might be able to stay, with a new contract and good pay if she'd proved her worth.