"How do we get rid of the pocket of gas here?"
"I've been marking such places to be dug up with caution, for one spark-"
"I understand. But I can make a crack in the earth to release the gas. Show me where."
Under Aradia's concentration, the paving stones separated, forming an uneven line not wide enough to insert a finger.
"Now the pipe," said Lenardo. "A small crack won't harm its function." A snap rose from the fissure, followed by a soft whoosh of released gas. Aradia, who had been holding her breath, sniffed cautiously. "I don't smell anything."
"Marsh gas," said Lenardo. "It forms in mines sometimes, too. The fact that it's odorless makes it very dangerous. It takes a Reader to detect it."
His heart gave a heave of guilt as he suddenly realized how careless he had been today. It had not occurred to him to test whether he still had the sensitivity to distinguish gases-and if he had not, he could have blown up himself, his work crew, AradiaHe swallowed hard and made a mental note to test himself before taking on any more "routine" tasks. Aradia, meanwhile, cleared the pipe and let the earth settle back over it. They continued on, talking as they worked, as much in harmony as if yesterday had never happened.
Lenardo was so busy Reading the pipes under the street that he was not Reading Aradia, nor was he paying attention to the time. The afternoon dwindled into shadow as the sun dropped behind the buildings, although there was still sunlight in the open forum they approached. An entire street done in one afternoon; if, that is, they cleared one more blockage.
"This is the last one," Lenardo said as he chalked the marks to guide Aradia.
For the first time, instead of Reading on ahead, he watched her. She was wearing a pale wheat-colored silk dress, the same color as her hair, no robe over it, as she had come out in the warmth of the afternoon. Now Lenardo saw her shiver slightly. Yet he was not cold, even barelegged and bare-chested. Aradia's body was exhausted.
It had not occurred to him to keep watch on Aradia the way he did on Vona. This work should have been nothing to her strength. Her powers were diminished just as his were. Why hadn't she said something?
"Aradia, that's enough," he said. "You're worn out."
"Oh, no," she replied. "Why, this much I can-" She staggered, half fainting.
Lenardo caught her, held her against him to support her, panic rising and then subsiding as her heart recovered its strong, steady beat. She clung to him for a moment and then stood on her own. He saw that the grime on his body from the dusty, sweaty work he'd been doing had transferred itself to her cheek, her hands, and all down the front of her dress.
When she realized what had happened, Aradia laughed. "I'm sorry," Lenardo began.
"It's nothing," she replied. "I can clean the dress, but tomorrow, I think. For myself, I'll make use again of your luxurious bathhouse."
"It's just closed," he said. "I'll have water brought-" "Lenardo," said Aradia, "that is your bathhouse. You can use it any time you want, and I doubt that ever in your life have you needed it more."
He was far dirtier than she was, although it was certainly not the first time. Ordinarily, he stopped early enough to use the last half hour of the men's time in the baths.
"These are no attendants now, but you're right, of course. There's no reason I can't go in and scrub off this grime." "Good," she said. "I'll get a clean dress and meet you there." She set off toward her pavilion.
Lenardo went for clean clothes and then got the key to the bathhouse from the attendant, who took one look at him and made no query as to why he wanted it. The only reason the bathhouse was locked at night was Lenardo's fear that children might sneak in and drown. Unlike the small bathhouse at the Academy, this one had a frigidar-ium pool big enough to swim in.
There were a number of changing rooms, but Aradia followed Lenardo into one near the hot bath. Having done plenty of sweating in his work today, he planned simply to scrub off the grime and then take a brief swim.
When Aradia hung her clean clothes on the peg beside his, he said, "Uh… do you want to bathe first, Aradia? I'll go and-"
"There are no attendants, Lenardo. We'll have to attend each other." "Aradia, surely-"
"Lenardo, when you can Read right through clothing, how can nudity mean anything to you? How can you be so modest?"
"After yesterday, how can you ask such a thing?" he asked bitterly, immediately regretting having brought up the subject.
He had turned away from her. Aradia circled him until they were face to face. "You know I wanted you, or I could have stopped you. It shouldn't have happened that way, Lenardo, but I wanted it to happen. And you promised you wouldn't hurt me again. I believe you."
I'll never touch you again! he thought, but she was the one touching him, her hand on his arm, on the dragon's-head brand. It seemed to leap into flame.
Aradia was looking up at him expectantly. "Come on," she said. "I've scrubbed your back before. Now it's your turn to scrub mine."
How could she be so casual? Perhaps because she was too tired to feel desire, she thought that he was. He couldn't seem to convince anyone that Reading took no energy, and today he had done only half the physical labor he was capable of.
Although the furnace had been banked for the night, the water in the caldarium was still quite warm. Totally un-selfconscious, Aradia plunged into the water, emerged, and began lathering her body with the soap that was so plentiful in the savage lands. Lenardo remained soaking, stretching his muscles, until Aradia said, "You promised to scrub my back."
He hadn't, but he couldn't decide whether it would be more embarrassing to argue with her or do as she asked. Then he realized that she was making a gesture of trust. Perhaps she knew that he needed to prove to himself that he could touch her without erupting into mindless lust.
He climbed out of the pool and lathered her back and shoulders, being very careful to remain as detached as when, as a young teacher, he had sometimes had to scrub the smallest boys at the Academy, for budding Readers showed the same affinity for mud as any other little boys.
When he did not go beyond the slender contours of her back, Aradia relaxed against his hands. "Rub harder. Oh, that feels good.''
He kneaded her shoulders, Reading the tenseness of the muscles give way. She seemed to be bouncing back from her exhaustion; perhaps a meal and a night's sleepShe turned in his arms and said, "My turn," starting to lather soap onto Lenardo's chest.
"That's not my back."
"Oh, but you are dirty all over," she replied, reaching up to work the soap through his hair and beard. "I know how to do it. I've bathed you before-remember?"
"At the time, I couldn't stop you."
"Do you want to stop me now?" Her wide eyes invited candor.
"No," he replied, "and that is why I must."
"Lenardo-" there was a terrible uncertainty in her voice, "-do you really not want me?"
Her utter vulnerability struck through him like a sword of ice. "Of course I want you," he said harshly, "but look what I've done to you already."
The hurt in the depths of her eyes abated slightly. "I think," she whispered, and he Read how immensely difficult it was for her to say it, "if we tried, we could make it worth… anything."
What had he done to her? What was she doing to him that her foolish words seemed to make perfect sense, that he suddenly didn't care if he woke up tomorrow a nonReader if he could have Aradia? What did it matter what they did together, as long as it was together? Hadn't he just spent one of the happiest days of his life cleaning out sewers?