Fire-dancers assembled, almost nude, garish in paint and tinsel. On the ring flames would be leaping in a dancing pattern of red and gold, orange and scarlet. A furnace tinged with smoke into which the waiting dancers would throw themselves, merging with the searing fury, spinning, seeming to be burned to be reborn and rise again.
A spectacle to add to the rest. The life of the circus and one she had always enjoyed but now, oddly, she felt no elation. First Valaban and now Zucco. The first was genuinely concerned but the ringmaster would have his own motivations. Refused, he would turn ugly, promote Lacombe to her spot, find her a lesser place. Once she lost her status the descent would be inevitable. On another world she could have sold her skill to others but, on Baatz, that was impossible.
"No," she said. "By, God, no!"
A clown stared at her and moved quickly on. One she ignored as her hand closed on the stock of her whip. Zucco thought he held the master hand; her poor performance the weapon she had given him to justify any decision he might choose to make.
The victory in the war between them-one she determined he would never enjoy.
Dumarest stirred, feeling the sharp sting of teeth in his leg, seeing a small rodent dart away into the shadows. A scavenger of odorous waste and the creatures which fed on it. His blood and sweat had attracted it to a more wholesome feast.
He looked at his hand and the gemmed pin clutched in the fingers. His escape if he could use it, a weapon if he could not. If Ruval or Zucco came again to torture him he would not be so defenseless. One or both would lose an eye if not more.
He sat upright, fighting a wave of nausea. His mouth was dry and small tremors ran over his limbs. Bad but not as bad as he had been when shocked nerves and the beating made it impossible to stand or exercise control. Time in which he had drifted on the edges of oblivion wrapped in a red-shot nightmare of pain.
Now, ignoring the small shape which watched from the gloom, he bent over the manacle on his left wrist. A narrow band, closed tight, held by a simple lock. One into which he slipped the pin, moving it with practiced care as he searched for the tumbler. It slipped free and he drew in his breath with a sharp hiss before trying again. His hands were clumsy, quivering, the pin seeming to have a life of its own. At the third attempt it held and he applied pressure, easing it as the slender probe bent, trying to hit a workable compromise. Too much force and the metal could snap, too little and it wouldn't throw the tumbler. Sweat stung his eyes before the catch yielded with a click.
The other followed and Dumarest stretched his arms to ease the ache in his shoulders. The belt still held him chained to the wall but it too yielded to the pin. A few moments and he stood upright, breathing deeply as the released circlet fell to clash against the wall.
A sound which produced echoes; small scurryings in the dimness, vibrations which quivered and died as he stepped toward the door to his right. One Zucco had used and Ruval after him but it was locked as was another facing it. Strong catches against which the pin was useless and he slipped it into his hair as he turned to study the pounding machine.
It held a pulse like that of a heart; an irregular throbbing as it churned the detritus from above and fed it into the pipe. Masses fed from a hopper yielding its contents when full. Accompanied with water so as to make a liquid sludge. If he could open the pipe it offered a chance of escape.
If he could breathe while traveling along it. If he didn't get jammed in a bend. If he didn't drown in the filth of the lagoon into which it emptied.
A gamble he couldn't take; the room was devoid of tools, the pipe impossible to open.
Back at the door Zucco had used he examined the hinges then tensed, ear to the panel. A moment and he backed, flattening himself against the wall, the gemmed pin gripped sword-fashion in his right hand.
The door opened and Reiza stepped into the sump.
"Earl? Earl Dumarest?" She spun as he stepped behind her, flattening his shoulders against the thrown-back panel of the door. "My God!" Her eyes widened as she looked at him. "What the hell have they done to you?"
"They?"
"You don't think I had anything to do with this." She looked at the blood on his face, the blotches on his body. "The swine! I should have guessed."
She wore a robe of blue touched with silver. This she untied and slipped from her shoulders to reveal the white nudity of her body, loins and breasts embraced by silver lace.
"Here." She handed him the robe. "Put this on and let's get out of here. It stinks!"
Dumarest said, "Is anyone out there? Ruval? Anyone?"
"No." Her nose wrinkled again. "Hurry up and put on that robe. You need a bath."
It was scented, warm, a place of luxury in which to wallow as the dirt and smell was washed away. More water replaced the soiled and he felt the sting of medications and the easing of strained muscles. Tissues knotted by the charge of the wand but the red mesh of broken capillaries remained together with the purple of ugly bruises.
"They'll go," said Reiza. She stood beside the bath, her skin dewed with condensed vapor. "I've got a salve which will help. Something for your eyes, too."
They were puffed, swollen from the impact of Ruval's fists as his ribs ached from the impact of his boot. Pain caused by cracked bone but the toe had slipped to prevent more serious damage. Dumarest sat as the woman checked his torso with surprisingly strong fingers.
"This will hurt a little." She reached for a syringe from among a litter held in a wooden box bearing a name burned in the lid. Valaban's kit, the contents more suited to the treatment of animals than men. "Hold still, now."
A hypogun would have been more efficient but the needle was sharp enough and the hormone-enriched bone glue better than bandages.
As she finished Dumarest said, "You've done this before."
"On animals, yes."
"And men?"
She straightened without answering to stand before him, hands on hips, legs straddled. In the glow of the lamp her skin held a nacreous sheen, small gleams coming from the silver lace marring her nudity. A woman displaying herself and Dumarest looked at the long columns of her thighs, the swell of hips, the narrow waist, the contours of her breasts. The body of a magnificent animal and one matched by the face.
She said, bluntly, "If you like what you see it's yours."
"Just like that?"
"For me, yes." Her breath came faster as she stared at his own nudity. "It happens and no one knows just how or why. A person in a crowd, a single glance, and it's done. A need. An obsession. Call it love or madness it's just the same. You've got to have that person. For me it happened with you."
"Is that why you came to rescue me?"
"No." She was blunt in her honesty. "You were in my mind-I can't deny that, but I had another reason. I still have it. Zucco-" She broke off, looking at his face. "You know Zucco?"
Dumarest nodded.
"He wants to use me, degrade me, but I'm damned if I'm going to let him do it. You can give me something to use against him."
"Such as?"
"Melome. You know her. You asked after her. Why?"
He said, dryly, "That's what Zucco wanted to know."
"But you didn't tell him. You-" She broke off as she realized what he was thinking. "No, Earl! No! It isn't like that. I'm not working with Zucco. I didn't rescue you just to gain your trust. Please! You've got to believe that!"
An easy path to take but his caution warned him against it. The rescue, the bribe of her body, the relaxing waters of the bath-all could be the steps of a master plan.
He said, "Zucco is the ringmaster. Surely he would know why Melome was bought."
"Not necessarily. Shakira has his own methods. A lot goes on which only he knows about."