Yubere looked up at his brother with an oddly affectionate pride. “What an engine of destruction Remint is, Corean. Did you know, he once killed a Moc in unarmed combat? It’s true the Moc was old, and suffering from a degenerative chitin disease — but still, a formidable feat. And he is much stronger now; reengineered bone and tripled muscle fiber. Monomesh embedded in his skin. Other enhancements. I think now he might even best your Moc, terrible as it is…. Anyway. Remint, you must obey this woman as you would me; unless of course she orders you to do something detrimental to my interests. But you already understand that, don’t you, brother — now and forevermore?”
Corean repressed a shudder. She had always considered Alonzo Yubere a passionless calculating man — how wrong she had been.
Only after she had taken Remint away did it occur to her to wonder what scheme or act of Yubere had caused Remint to turn against his brother.
Flomel found his new quarters no more satisfactory than his last — it was, after all, little more than a cell.
When the back door opened, and the woman in the vidscreen told him to go out and socialize with his fellow slaves, he went gladly.
He moved through the door and found himself in a vast high-ceilinged room. Little knots of people stood about, talking. Others copulated in upholstered niches along the wall, or sat at tables playing board games. Flomel curled his lip in distaste. What a frivolous people the pangalacs were — or maybe it was their slaves who were frivolous. On Pharaoh the slaves were not notably serious-minded. Probably it was the same in the wider universe.
He walked among the other prisoners, avoiding eye contact and studiously ignoring the vulgar activities of the folk in the wall niches.
Suddenly he stiffened, unable to believe his eyes. Dolmaero, Nisa, and Molnekh sat at a small table, drinking from tall glasses and watching the other slaves.
His first impulse was to rush gladly up to them, to greet them like long-lost friends, but then he remembered the way they had cooperated in the abuses the casteless slayer had inflicted on him. A rage rose up in Flomel, and he clenched his fists. For a moment he wanted to rush at them, to destroy them with his hands. Ruiz Aw was nowhere to be seen; they were unprotected. But then he controlled himself. He could be patient; soon Corean would come for him, and until then he could make himself valuable to her by learning what he could. Corean would punish them, he had no doubt. He composed himself, pasted a glad smile on his face, and rushed up to them, shouting out a cheerful greeting.
Nisa lifted her head at his shout and saw Flomel, who wore a crooked smile of such naked falsity that a chill shivered down her backbone.
“Dolmaero! Molnekh! How good to see you.” He widened that obscene smile. “And you too, Nisa, of course. Where is your gallant snake oil man?”
She could not force herself to speak. Flomel’s sudden unlooked-for appearance seemed an evil portent.
But Dolmaero answered for her, in a guardedly polite manner. “We don’t know, Master Flomel. He left us here, to find a buyer for us — or so he said. But, what an unexpected coincidence, to find you here too.”
“Yes, I’m astonished,” said Flomel. He drew up a chair and sat down uninvited. “So, he has abandoned you to your fate,” he said, triumph flickering across his face, to be instantly replaced by an almost-convincing expression of sympathetic commiseration.
“I fear so,” said Dolmaero glumly, and Nisa was moved to admiration for his thespian skills. Perhaps the Guildmaster should have been a conjuror — certainly he acted his part more convincingly than Flomel did his. On the other hand, perhaps Flomel’s hatred for Ruiz Aw was far too huge for him to entirely contain it. Dolmaero was acting from a cooler and more calculated impulse.
“Well, I never trusted his generosity — and you’ll remember how he rewarded my caution? He’s a bad one, and I’m relieved to see that you’ve come to share my opinion — though I’m sad to see us all come to such an end,” said Flomel in a voice ringing with insincerity.
Nisa had to control her urge to defend Ruiz; she clamped her lips shut and nodded jerkily.
Flomel laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she struggled not to shudder. “This disappointment must be particularly difficult for you, dear,” he said with a condescending smile.
Dolmaero must have sensed her distress, because he spoke quickly, as if to distract Flomel from the vindication he was so obviously savoring. “And what of you, Master Flomel? How did you come to be here?”
A brief confusion passed across Flomel’s face, then cleared. Nisa thought: He’s decided which lie to tell.
“It was a somewhat obscure process, Guildmaster — I admit to puzzlement. The ones who held us all took me to another and less pleasant pen, where apparently I was purchased by some great person of the city, who sent his creature to bring me here. A strange creature, who walked like a man, but had the face and mannerisms of a house cat. Very odd. What will happen to me now? I have no inkling.” Flomel appeared to reflect on his mysterious circumstances, then gave a philosophical shrug of his shoulders. “Well, we’re far from old Pharaoh. Things are very different here, eh, Molnekh?” He gave the skinny mage a good-natured dig in the ribs with his elbow.
Molnekh’s answering smile was somewhat sickly, but Flomel appeared not to notice. Flomel continued his musings. “We must adapt, it seems. So you believe that Ruiz Aw has yet to sell you? Perhaps he won’t, perhaps he intends to return for you at some later date, and keep the promises he made to you — when he needed your help. Is it possible?” A slyness flickered in Flomel’s eyes, and Nisa decided he was testing them, to see if any remnant of loyalty to Ruiz remained in them.
Dolmaero shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. It seems we misjudged him. It now appears he was nothing more than a convincing liar.” He glanced at Nisa; she saw that he was asking for her help in convincing Flomel.
Nisa managed a nod of agreement. Perhaps Flomel would take her silence for an incapacitating rage, and not see on whom it was focused.
Flomel laughed, a cruel sound of satisfaction. It suddenly occurred to Nisa that Flomel had a secret from which he took great pleasure, and she wondered what unpleasant consequences his secret would have for them.
“Tell me,” said Ruiz. “What difficulties do you foresee in reaching Yubere?”
They had returned from the cell with the false Alonzo Yubere walking behind them in calm obedience. Now the three of them sat in Publius’s rooms, again sipping the lilac cordial. The presence of the ringer made Ruiz acutely uncomfortable, though he told himself that it was no different than keeping company with a semiautonomous mech. But mechs didn’t drink sweet liquor, smacking their lips after each sip. Mechs didn’t watch him with clear guileless eyes, apparently eager to be helpful. Mechs didn’t breathe, no heart beat in their metal breasts, their brains were cold crystal, not warm flesh. Ruiz had never been so close to a person who had undergone the Gench processing — at least not to his knowledge — and the ringer’s presence seemed to disrupt the smooth flow of reality. What did that human-shaped inhuman creature feel; were his feelings so different from the things that everyone else felt? If not, what did that say about the validity, or even the verifiability, of Ruiz’s existence?
Publius nodded at the false Yubere. “Alonzo can tell you all about his circumstances — though he’s not quite sure of some important details. Most regrettably, these include the defenses of Yubere’s stronghold, which are almost sure to be more formidable than we expect.”