I think
I will not endure
The pure white silence
Of the day
I will sleep the bright away
And rise
With the moon
To reprise
The melodies of night.”
Five songs later, hoarse and weary, humming with the praises of her audience, quite pleased with herself and starting to wonder if the old man was really a spy or just a whacked piece of beach wrack, Shadith ambled back to her boardhouse.
After a long hot shower and a pot of caloury tea to soothe her throat, she stretched out on her bed and went hunting for ears so that she could listen to the Cobben.
Sound of a door closing. Feet, sighs, grunts, a thud as one of the Cobben knocked something onto the floor.
“Meya, you’re drunk!”
“Am not. ‘F you’d turn the light up.”
“Heb, you stink like a whorehouse. Where were you anyway?”
“Whorehouse.” Sound of honking snigger
“Ta-tse, how’s the talent?”
“Talented. Sarpe, you back?” Hebi’s growl loudened to a shout, then he answered himself. “Hunk Guess she is, looka that, shield’s on.”
Sound of door sliding open. A confusion of footsteps, sound of yawns. Sarpe’s voice had a post-orgasmic muting of its usual harsh edges. “So you lot are back”
“You getting shy, Coryfe?”
“Don’t be more of an idiot than you have to, Feyd.”
“Any news?”
“Clo-Kajhat finally came through with what’s on his alleged mind. More than just strangling some hapless git. He wants Linojin brought into the war: The tourists are getting bored with the sniping, he needs something big to get their juices going.”
“Huh? Don’t get it, Sarpe. How’n Tarto’s Hell we supposed to do that?”
“He’s targeted three mals. The Holy Piz who plonks that Temple thing. ahh, Brother Hafambua, Humble Haf the preaching mal, the jinners go round licking up the sweat where he walks, they think he’s so righteous, then there’s a Prophet Speaker called Kuxagan, got a mouth on him could talk you into a spate of celibacy, Heb, need I say more? The third’s the hohek leader, the one they call the Arbiter, name of Noxabo. He keeps the peace between Pixa and Impix, which is something I wouldn’t like to try. CloKajhat figures we do ’em and fix it like one of the other factions killed ’em. That should stir the pot real nice.”
“So when we getting started on it?”
“Day after tomorrow; be ready to catch the boat for k’Wys straight up noon.”
After she let the mouse run free, Shadith lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. The horns of this dilemma had very sharp points. It wasn’t her job, it wasn’t her war. Why should she feel pushed to get to those people to warn them? And who said they’d believe her anyway? And yet…
Finally, tired of the ruts she was running in, she shoved that problem aside and began to consider how she was going to explain disappearing after that performance. Ah Spla! I STILL haven’t gotten into work mode. Or stayed in character. Doing what comes naturally will have to wait till the job’s done, or I’m going to mess up worse than this some time soon. She sighed. If the old man isn’t a spy, just a nice old guy who’s convinced himself I could be a daughter or something like that, he’s going to make one big fuss when I stop showing up. If he is a spy, I’m in the soup for sure.
She laced her hands behind her head and lay scowling at the ceiling. Say I write him a bit of thank-verse, say I’ve met this neat guy and we’re going to do some snuggling, so he shouldn’t fuss if he doesn’t see me for a couple weeks. Give the thing to Saul, tell him to pass it on. Just stupid enough an excuse he might even believe it; the way I’ve been acting, it’ll be right in character. She sighed and turned to working out the final details of stowing away on the Cobben’s flier.
3. Night swimming with eels
Shadith slipped out of the long dress she’d worn to cover her swimming tack and stuffed it into her gearsac, pushing it down behind the break-in kit Digby had provided along with other bits and pieces he thought would prove useful. She knelt in the deep black shadow at the end of the wharf where the weathered stone rose a dozen meters above the surface of the water. Old Tiger was moving in his hole. She could feel the hunger developing in him; if she left him alone, in another half hour he’d come gliding out to chase down some dinner. Sorry, old son, she thought. But this won’t take long.
She pulled on the breather hood, clamped down on his brain, slid over the side, and lowered herself into the water.
Old Tiger was a horror mask snarling in her face as she kicked herself down to meet him. She caught hold of the ragged crest that ran down his backbone, positioned herself beside him and sent him swimming at top speed toward k’Wys.
When his body brushed against her as they plunged through the darkness, she could feel the slide of those long live muscles fighting the resistance of the water. It was a wild intoxicating ride and made her want to howl at the moon for the glory of it all.
She scolded herself to order as the slopes of k’Wys loomed before them, set the eel to searching for the configurations around the blowhole she wanted.
The crescent moon was low on the horizon when she pulled herself cautiously from the hole and wriggled through the thornbush until she could stretch out on a mix of gravel and dead grass and use her nightglasses to sweep the area around the hangar.
Quiet. No one around. As usual.
She eased up, squatted, and pulled the gearsac round where she could get at it. Screened by the brush and the folds of rock, mindtouch reaching out to warn her if anyone came round, she stripped off the wetsuit, rolled it into a tight cylinder, and tucked it into a crack in the stone. No point in dripping on the hangar floor. The breather hood she contemplated for a moment, then slid it into a press pouch on the outside of the sac. There might come a time when she needed it.
By the time she was ready to move, the moon was gone and clouds were blowing across the stars, thickening the darkness. The wind had risen and was whipping dead leaves and grit across the ground. She let it whip her along with them, turned the corner of the hangar, and stopped before the small personnel door. She clicked on the reader Digby had given her, confirmed what her own senses told her. The only barrier was mechanical. She flipped the reader over, extruded the quickpic, and inserted it into the slot.
A moment later she eased the door open and slipped inside. As she started to turn so she could relock the door, there was a swift scrabbling and a sudden weight slammed into her, knocking her flat.
Carrion breath.
Feet on her back, nails ripping into her shirt and the skin beneath it.
Teeth closing on the nape of her neck.
The instant she felt the weight, her mindride stabbed out, froze the beast.
She lay with her face in the dust, holding desperately to the grip she had on him.
Focus. Slow. No hurry. You know how to do this. Follow the pathways, take control, bleed off the rage… In another few breaths she had him.
She opened his mouth, walked him off her back, then rolled up and scowled at him and through his eyes at herself. It was a weird feeling. She eased off on the hold, played a moment in his pleasure centers, then brought him closer so she could rub her hands over him and get him used to her scent.
The faint light coming through clerestory windows high overhead showed her a black canine with a flash of white on his neck. She dug her fingers into his droopy jowls, scratched behind his ears, worked down his spine, evoking slobbery whimpers and an ecstatic wriggle of his hindquarters. Gradually she removed the controls, starting to breathe again as he stayed friendly. He, was an intelligent beast and not mad at the world, no meanness in him, just doing his job.
“Yes, you’re a good dog, aren’t you. With a good trainer, you like him, don’t you. He’s my friend, you’re my friend. Feels good when I scratch you like that, doesn’t it. Ah, spla, your breath’s enough to knock over an ox. So I’ll get up. Down, boy, feet on the floor. That’s right. Head at my knee. Now let’s go explore.”