Shadith stared after Wayan; she could feel her jaw dropping. It was rather like being nipped by a nursling lamb; you know the thing has teeth, but it's so soft and cuddly and guileless you don't expect it to use them. She'd been wholly preoccupied with herself; she hadn't thought of the people tending her as people at all. Just shadows. Adjuncts. Rushing around, doing things for her. She searched through the sheets for the bell cord, found the light switch and shut off the lamp, then wriggled around until she was stretched out on her back staring up into the dark. There was a lot to think about. The hiatus was bound to end. Tomorrow, the next day… soon. And then they'd all be catapulted back into Ginny's web. Eighty-three days, Spotchals to here. What'd old warhorse say this morning? I should stop malingering. Thirty plus three days is long enough to lie around getting waited on hand and foot? Thirty some days… well, it's one way of killing time. Hunhi If you don't get killed yourself. Don't try it again, old Shadow, the next fool might be a better shot. Fifty days to go… maybe less-I wonder how high Lee can crank that ship up if she's in a hurry to get somewhere? Vryhh ships are the fastest around, nothing can catch them. Somewhat lacking in hard data, that. Let's hope… let's hope she can… cut it… seriously cut it… down…
She yawned, sleep stealing over her despite her plans to get her immediate future better organized. Still weak from the wound and the fever, she slipped from her drowse into a deep, dreamless sleep.
In the morning she began experimenting with the kitskew, running simple scales and listening to the tuning. She tried remembering and picking out some of the songs the women sang that night in the Hostel until one of the morning nurses rushed in and stopped her; it took Shadith some time to find out why, then she shook her head, ruefully amused by her own stupidity. Rebel songs naturally wouldn't go down well, not here. She went back to her own collection, retuning the kitskew to her needs. It had a rich singing tone, with interesting overtones from the secondary strings and was close kin to many of the stringed instruments she'd mastered in her original body. Getting used to this one with these fingers was harder than she expected and frustrating. Ahlahlah, a babbling baby could do better, my fingers feel like sticks. Chording, sari Come on, Shadow, you can pat your head and rub your belly with the best of 'em. It's like learning to swim, some idiot throws you in the ocean and it all comes back. Damn, there goes another fingernail. I want my gear. You think they going to give it to you, naaaa. I swear, I'm going to boot Ginny's behind here to Wolff, give me half a chance.
The next evening Wayan sneaked Shadith's kit to her and helped her glue on the false nails, then she teased the guard into leaving the door open and the nightstaff in the infirmary gathered round for a sing. They taught her Pakoseo songs and love songs and joke songs; guards and all, they sang until they were hoarse and her hands were sore with playing.
That night Shadith slept ferociously well; most of the pain was gone, her energy was returning and, altogether, she just felt good.
The Nish'mok's office was suffused with pearly gray morning light from the northlooking window-wall. A few raindrops slid down the glass, blown at a slant by a healthy wind that made the air inside seem stale and oppressive. Wondering why she was here and what was going to happen, Shadith stood gazing across the crowded, busy bay, white sails bellied out and poufs of black smoke from the steamers, gray water whipped to froth. The city swept in a broad arc along the shoreline, rising to a rocky for on the north horn and the immense pile of stone, wood and tile riding its crest. The Nistam's little cottage. I am Colossus bestride the world, see me and tremble. She made a face at it (scandalizing the guards ranged along the hinderwall), then strolled to the three backless armchairs lined up in front of the table and settled herself in the middle one.
Rohant stalked into the office. He ignored the guards, nodded at Shadith, dropped onto the chair beside hers and sat clicking his claws on the arms and glowering at the table.
Kikun came in surrounded by more kanaweh, officious scowling Kiskaids who prodded him and jerked him about until they got him to the third chair and dumped him in it. Shadith chewed her lip, feeling more helpless right then than she had when she was shut in that miserable cell onboard Ginny's ship. Anything she did would make things worse.
His painfully repressed fury giving his chest an unhealthy rale, Kikun got to his feet and moved around behind Shadith; he stood there, leaning against her, his hands on her shoulders. Needing her. Her eyes misted, she reached up, touched his fingers. "All right?"
"All right now." He took warmth from her and his breathing quieted, she could feel him gathering himself, smoothing out the jags and getting ready for whatever was coming. She wasn't all that ready herself, the only thing she knew was whatever they wanted she wasn't going to do it. Gently stroking Kikun's fingers, she turned to Rohant.
"Fifty days to go," she said. "About Think we can make it?"
Rohant shrugged. "Can't change it, so we live with it."
"Maybe we can find another smuggler."
He swung round, his eyes narrowing. "Another?"
"At the cattletrot." She sighed: Read this(?) "Someone you knew?" He sighed: So-so, go slow. "Not to say knew." She signed: Told(him) pass (the) word. "Just a face I'd seen before."
"Why keep it to yourself?" He signed: Why (before)(not)sign(?) "I've got credit, you've got credit, we might have bought passage."
"Maybe you've an urge to suicide, I haven't." She signed: Because I did(not)think of it, why did(not) you(?)
"That why we got blown out of the water?" He signed: Mea culpa. Head bowed(and)bloody. "Never mind. Explains why Miralys already knew who when where. I was going to ask you about that."
"Doesn't short the time any. We still have to stay alive till they get here." She signed: G know(s). For sure. We (now)dangerous.
"Just have to keep twisting." He signed: Tell mudfeet? "Locals mention what they mean to do with us?" She signed: No(!)
"No, but I doubt if this lot is any different from the other." He signed: Why(?)
"At least the other side didn't shoot me." She signed: What point(?) Some (have to be)(G(his))men. (Already)know. Will(not)help. Some not. Can(not)help.
"There is that." He signed: Gotcha. "It doesn't count for much, it's this side that's got us. How you feeling?"
"Like I'll be glad to get back where the treatment isn't worse than the trauma. I itch. And I can't play my harp yet."
"If you've got the energy to paitzher like that, I'm going to stop worrying about you."
"Hah."
As if on cue Makwahkik came in, exuding energy like a shorting dynamo, dynamotor on feet no wheels. He dropped into the swivelchair behind the table, glanced briskly from one to the other, settled on Shadith. "You're looking better than the last time I saw you, Singer. One hopes the search this time was more thorough and you've had your teeth pulled. My kanaweh shoot straighter than that fool one reminds you we've both forgotten." He raised a brow.
Thinking of the crystal blade disguised as a welt in her boot, Shadith smiled noncommittally; they'd missed that, though her armory was gone when they returned the remainder of her gear (except for the harp) a few hours ago. She considered his words and his attitude and wondered what the man thought he was about. Whatever, it didn't mean anything to her. Let him talk. Let him see where it got him. Nowheresville and Nevemeverland.
He had light brown eyes with flecks of orange in them, marmalade eyes. He pinned her with them, measuring her unspoken hostility with the ease of long experience, then he turned to Rohant. "Hunter, one is certain you were aware of listeners. Fifty days you have before your friends? family? come for you. You've made it obvious that one cannot use you for information, so you've no value that way. A kana is dead. The girl killed him, you others are complicitous. The judgment is death by the strangler's cord." He waited for a response; when he got none, he went on. "It is possible-though one believes not likely-that you really are Avatars of the Three. Yes, one knows you've denied it, but that means nothing, less than nothing." He smiled, though he shouldn't have bothered, it didn't improve his face any. "There's plenty of historical precedent to suggest you wouldn't know if you were." He moved his hand as if he were brushing away what he'd, just said. "And the truth is, it doesn't matter what the truth is, only what people think it is. And they think you are the Three. Rumor of you has spread throughout the Five Nations, so there's value in you after all. If you consent to play the Game with us. It's that or the Cord."