He opened the door for her, waited as she hoisted the harp and slipped the strap over her shoulder. As soon as she was in the hall, he repeated, “Not me. Not anyone.”
It was raining when she stepped into the street, a-slow steady downfall that soaked her within a minute after she left the shelter of the doorway. “Ah spla! And me with no umbrella.” She trudged along, thinking over what Tank had told her. Heavy protection. Probably bought it when she came scuttling home like her tail was on fire, maybe with proceeds from a crystal she got for smuggling the array off Pillory. Be a hoot if I tolled her out when I was just trying to find out where she…
She woke, confused, her head throbbing. She was sitting in a chair, something pressed against her legs. She tried to move her arms and she couldn’t. She was tied… strapped. When she looked down, she saw that the pressure on her legs was her harpcase. She stared at it, then lifted her head and looked around her.
She was in a sketch of a room, dark and shadowy. The door was steel with a small grill about eye level. The walls were packed dirt and irregular bits of sheet-rock interrupted by vertical two by fours, the floor was large square tiles the color of dried blood, the ceiling was fiberglass insulation faced with brown paper. Torn, filthy brown paper. A cellar of some kind? She swore under her breath. Tank! You set me up, you zalup. I’d like to…
A clank from the door interrupted her thoughts. She considered pretending she was still unconscious, discarded that idea, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her head. It’ll probably be some kind of babble, she told herself. This is where you find out how good your timing is, Shadow, and get the ol’ mind-move ready to jump.
“A short life but a merry one,” she said as the door swung open. And she laughed aloud at the figures who came through it-three men wearing heavy black robes and headsman’s cowls that hid all but their eyes. “What are you? Black monks in some tridda farce?” One was tall and broad, menacing as a meat ax and about as subtle, one was tall and thin with a cold, snaky feel, the third was short and tubby. From him she sensed inquisitiveness of the peephole sort, the kind that made you feel dirty thinking about it.
The short one came toward her. When she saw the blowgun in his hand, She concentrated, used her small Talent to set a catchfield round her carotid. Neck. I think. Yes, he’ll go for the neck.
As if he obeyed her thought, he shoved the business end of the blower under her jaw and tapped the sensor.
She slapped the field round the drug and caught most of it before it got loose, ran the encapsulated dollops of blood and babble through her system and peed it out on her underpants. Despite her efforts, she absorbed enough to turn her silly, though she was still in control of her mind. Talent pays, pays, pays… no, I’m wrong, pees not pays. Giggles bubbled in her throat but she kept them down. Stupid zalups, pinch brain ground hobs, not enough sense in the three of you to keep an ant walking straight. Amateurs. Silly silly zots, I foolin’ you to the max, no monitor, you uziks. Uzik ziks. Zikky ziklings… She caught what was happening and throttled that burbling fast. Get to feeling too superior and she’d start explaining in detail why they were so stupid.
The short man who’d blown the babble into her pulled a chair over and sat in it facing her, his hands on his knees. The other two were silent shadows behind him. “What’s your name?”
“Shadow.” A snort escaped from her, turned into a giggle.
“Your real name.”
She considered that. Real name? Whose real name? “The body’s real name?”
“Yes. The body’s real name.”
“Oh. Hawk, bird rider of the Centai zel. But I don’t call the body that any more. That was before. Now it is Shadith. I am Shadith. Shadow. Shadowsong.”
“Who pays you?”
“Tank pays me. I sing in his place.”
“Who do you work for?”
“I work for Tank.”
“Who else do you work for?”
“I work for Shadith. Shadow. Shadowsong.”
“Did someone send you to Hutsarte?”
“I sent me. I go nowhere at any one’s order.”
“Why did you ask about Lylunda Elang?”
“I have a message for her.”
“Tell us the message.”
“I don’t want to. I’m not supposed to tell anyone but her.”
“Tell us the message.”
“Qatifa says there’s a rumor round the Market that the Kliu have hired Excavations Ltd. to dig her out, and if it’s true she should get as much cover as she can fmd.”
“Who is Qatifa?”
“She’s a Caan smuggler.”
“Why should she bother?”
“You don’t know?”
“Why should she bother?”
“Lylunda likes furries. She and Qatifa were belly friends for a while.”
“Were you a belly friend to either?”
“No.”
“Do you know Lylunda Elang at all?”
“No.”
“Why carry a message, then?”
“Favor for favor. I pay my debts.”
“Why did you wait till now to try finding Lylunda Elang?”
“I was busy and I kinda forgot till Tank talked about asking over the Wall when Teri turned up missing.”
“Do you know what Lylunda Elang looks like?”
“Only what Qatifa said.”
“Have you seen anyone like that in the past five days?”
“No.”
“Have you seen anyone
“No.”
He got to his feet, crossed the short distance to the other two. When he spoke, he was muttering but loud enough that Shadith could catch what he was saying. “She’ll be under for about five more minutes, then she’ll start coming out of it. Anything more you need to know?”
The bigger man’s voice was a low rumble and harder to make out. She thought she caught a question about a phot, but she wasn’t sure until the short man came back holding a jewelcase in his hand.
He held the phot up so she could see the tridda image inside. A young woman with a pretty, round face, long black hair and white streaks like wings over her ears. Wide shoulders, wide hips, a narrow waist. Shadith almost burst out giggling. Even Digby hadn’t come up with a phot and here her captors were showing her just what she needed to know.
“Have you seen this woman at any time?”
“No,”
“Look closely at the phot. Look at her face. Look at her ears, at her left hand. See the crooked little finger. Think carefully. Have you seen anyone who looks like this woman?”
“No.”
He lowered the phot. “I…”
A hand closed on his shoulder. The big man bent, whispered in his ear. He nodded. “Shadow, if we let you go, what will you do?”
“Go back to The Tank, sing there till I can earn enough to buy a low passage on a worldship and go on till I feel like stopping.”
The big man whispered again, longer this time.
Shadith decided it was time to start acting edgy. She tugged at the straps on her arms, put on a puzzled frown. “Wha… why…” She tugged harder, started moving her head about. “Where… what’s happening?”
“Nothing you need worry about. We’re not going to hurt you unless you make us.”
Whimpering, panting, Shadith ignored him and started fighting the straps, throwing herself about, making the chair rock, putting on as reasonable a show as she could manage without falling over and cracking her head on the tiles…
The snake man moved for the first time. He came over to her, slapped her hard, then stood beside her with his hand closed on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. He still said nothing, but she decided that she could get his point and stop her struggles.
The big man moved to the door. “Gantz, clean her up, flush her out, bring her upstairs. Krink, get over here. You stay outside the door, on watch. I’ve got a thought about using her and I don’t want you messing it up. You hear me?”