"Shakira?"
"The owner of the circus." She handed Dumarest a pot containing a clear jelly. "Use this salve. Rub it in all over. The gymnasts use it and it works." Her eyes lingered on his face before she turned away. "I'd better get dressed and find you something to wear."
The salve stung a little, the momentary discomfort yielding to a warm glow as it dried. Alone Dumarest examined the chamber, the bed, the few furnishings it contained. A cabinet held costumes and other garments; mementos of earlier roles of those used in different performances. Like all circus-folk on the way up Reiza would have had to be versatile. A shelf held packages of cosmetics, threads, sequins, a photograph edged in black. One of a man.
He smiled as Dumarest picked up the portrait, the surface shimmering to give an illusion of life. As the warmth of his hand triggered the cycle, Dumarest heard the whisper of a low, intimate voice.
"I love you. My darling, I love you. Reiza, my dearest, always be mine. I love you. I…"
The voice ended as Dumarest replaced the photograph and continued his examination.
A table bore a glowing lamp, a shelf beneath it the weight of a decanter and goblets. The bed was covered with an ornate creation of fine threads woven on silk; pictures depicting dragons, felines, couples in exotic embraces. A rack held books. A vase a cluster of crystalline flowers.
A small place, cramped by necessity, a box which held the appurtenances of a life. One which held the sense of lonely isolation.
The bath lay in an adjoining chamber, the tub still half-full of water. A curtain, now drawn back, closed the opening. A whip lay coiled on a second chair. The gemmed pin he had used to free himself lay beside the lamp. The door leading to the passage outside was masked by a curtain of vividly colored plastic tubes and balls threaded on strings ending in copper bells.
Dumarest heard their chime as Ruval thrust his way into the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
He was dressed as Dumarest remembered, a tear now in the blouse where the pin had been, a white patch of bandage resting over one eye. Halting, he stared, air rasping through his nostrils as he drew in his breath.
Dumarest said, "You've come for the money. Good. Give me pen and paper and I'll write that note."
Words which could have been silence for all the notice the big man took.
"You," he said. "I guessed that bitch might have you here. Sneaked down and let you out, did she? And I might never have known if I hadn't missed my pin." His eyes moved to where it lay. "So you found it. Maybe took it during the fight. Well, no matter. I'll take you back now."
"No," said Dumarest.
"You going to stop me?" Ruval smiled as he looked at Dumarest's naked body, his empty hands. "No knife now, friend."
"No knife," agreed Dumarest. "But I've got your pin. You want it?" He moved forward, snatched it up, threw it. "Here."
Ruval was fast, batting at the spinning glitter arcing toward his eyes, sending it to fall to one side. A distraction he had mistaken for an attack and Dumarest had reached him before the bauble had fallen, left hand sending stiffened fingers jabbing at the face, right hand rising, the heel of the palm forward, slashing upwards at the nose as the big man threw back his head.
A blow which would have killed had it landed, shattering the nasal septum and sending splinters of bone up into the sinus cavities and the brain.
But it missed as Ruval twisted his head, landing instead on the cheek, creating surface bruising and internal damage.
Ruval snarled, twisting away, his foot rising to lash out in a savage kick. Dumarest dodged, felt the brush of the boot against his knee, dodged again as the big man sent a fist at his stomach. A hard and vicious fighter careless if he killed or maimed so long as he won. One now maddened with rage.
"You scum! Making a mock of me! Laughing at me! I'll make you laugh-the next time you go into the sump it'll be as garbage!"
Talk wasted energy but the big man could spare it as he could the wild blows which ruptured air. Strength Dumarest lacked; weakened by his ordeal he knew the fight had to be ended soon or he would go down.
He weaved to one side, his left arm stabbing, the fingers like a blunted spear as they thrust into the fat and muscle over Ruval's heart. A blow followed by the edge of his right palm slashing lower down and to the side. As it hit his knee jerked up toward the groin as he jerked his head forward to slam his skull against the other's nose.
Ruval cried out, staggering backward, blood from his broken nose masking his mouth and chin. Minor damage; his massive bulk had protected his internal organs and Dumarest had missed the small target of the genitals. He backed to gain room to maneuver, his speed would be useless once clutched in Ruval's crushing grip.
"Now!" The big man wiped a hand across his face smearing its back with vivid carmine. "Now, you scum!"
He came in a rush; a living mass of bone and muscle, powered by hate. A killing machine intent on destruction. Dumarest sprang toward the adjoining chamber, felt his foot turn beneath him, staggered and, before he could regain his balance, Ruval was on him.
Dumarest felt the pound of a fist against his cheek, another at his jaw-and gagged as a third found his throat.
A blow to the larynx which blossomed into searing agony filled his mouth with the taste of blood, blocking the passage of air to his lungs. A killing blow-unable to breathe-death was scant minutes away.
He dived within the circle of Ruval's arms, his own lifting, elbows spread to keep the other's hands from his eyes. His own darted toward the thick neck, thumbs searching for the carotid arteries pulsing beneath the surface. Finding them. Closing them with pressure to cut off the supply of blood to the brain.
Waiting, fighting to remain calm, to maintain the pressure until Ruval sagged and he slumped unconscious. Falling toward the bath as Dumarest released his hold, splashing into it and coming to rest face-down in the water.
Dumarest left him there. He was dying, blackness edging his vision as he lurched toward the whip now lying on the floor. A twist and the blade came free of the stock; twelve inches of flattened steel, pointed, edged to a third of its length. Bells jangled as he tore down the masking curtain, slashing a strand free, catching one of the thin plastic tubes.
Tilting back his head he drove the blade into his throat.
A calculated thrust; the point guided by the fingers of his left hand, piercing the trachea just above the breastbone and well below the larynx. A stab which opened the windpipe between two ridges of cartilage, the cut widening to the drag of the blade. As it came free Dumarest forced the plastic tube into the opening.
And breathed.
Falling to his knees in a welling darkness as he sucked air through the narrow tube; the entire universe diminished to the stream of oxygen which was his life.
After the fifth blatant error Valaban snapped, "Get hold of yourself, Reiza. You're confusing the beasts. Keep on like this and you'll make them useless. Lose your reputation too, but that's your business. The animals are mine."
"You tend them-I work them!"
"Then do it. Damn it, I've seen tyros do better!"
A harsh rebuke but she deserved it and Valaban knew his trade. As she knew hers too well not to know he was right.
More softly he said, "Get a shower. Some sleep. Go into town for a while. Give the cats a rest until you've settled down. You know what I mean."
Good advice but even if she took it the torment of waiting would still remain. Irritably she strode from the ring, seeing Zucco standing in the passage, his normal finery subdued under a cloak of black trimmed with yellow. A means to remain inconspicuous in the shadows? A possibility and if true meant that he had been watching her. More ammunition to feed his intentions, but now she had weapons of her own.