"My dear?" Enrice Heva was at her side. "It seems we bore you. Some wine?"
She shook her head.
"Another diversion, perhaps?" His leer left no doubt as to his meaning. "If you are agreeable I would be happy to cooperate."
"You've had my answer to that," she snapped. "I don't want to repeat it. If you are so hungry for a bedmate try Cleo. Or Glenda-I understand she has a taste for perversion. You should amuse her." She smiled with undiluted malice. "Or disappoint her-even she needs a man."
"Bitch!"
"Yes?" She met his eyes. "And?"
He backed away, scowling, knowing better than to insult her further. A coward-would he have dared to face one of Charisse's creatures? Would she? An empty question, she knew the answer too well, but Dumarest had and she wondered why. A matter of a debt, she'd gathered, that and a promise given. How gratifying it must be to have power over such a man.
A servant offered wine and she waved it aside leaning back in her chair to study the others. Ienda Chao and Lunerarch were absent and it took no genius to know where they were and what they were doing. Glenda would probably sleep with Corm or, this time, it could be Astin. Cleo-what the hell did it matter who slept with whom?
"A draw," said Krantz. "The result can only be a draw. They met, neither was hurt, the contest was ended."
"That proves the lack of superiority of Charisse's creation." Enrice, smarting at her rejection, found refuge in taking a stand in the argument. "So the man won."
"Which means you are happy to see Charisse collect." Vayne took another sip of wine. "I don't feel so generous."
"You think she will agree to supply copies as promised?"
"No, which is why we had better all agree with Krantz. If the result is a draw then no one has to lose." Vayne looked at Linda as she rose. "Leaving us so soon?"
"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
"Alone?"
She heard their laughter as she climbed the stairs.
Her room was set high in the building, a large chamber softly decorated, fitted with all a person could need. The bed was wide and soft and covered with a fabric of rich material adorned with arabesques of gold set against a field of black. A servant had placed a decanter of wine beside it together with a pair of glasses, a subtle comment by her hostess which she chose to ignore. Charisse could be generous but always with reason, and her order, this time, had been large. A score of mutated cattle together with two breeding pairs of dogs, some birds genetically engineered to consume a particular species of troublesome insect and the eggs of serpents able to live on dust, sun and apparently little else.
Now, work done, she could afford to relax and estimate her profit.
She could think, too, of the spectacle she had seen.
Krantz had been wrong-if there had been a winner it had to be Dumarest but she would go along with his decision for the sake of peace. In any case she had no use for a copy of the monster no matter what the cost and, she remembered, Charisse had left it deliberately vague. But of one thing she had no doubt; if Dumarest could be persuaded to fight in an arena he would make a fortune.
She poured wine and stood sipping wondering why she had left the others so early. Tiredness had been an excuse induced by boredom but there had to be more than that. An impatience to leave, perhaps; the Chetame Laboratory held little inducement to linger once business had been done.
A touch of chill caused her to shiver and she turned, staring at the window, frowning when she saw it open. The fault of some careless servant who would have paid for it had she been back home. While the days on Kuldip were warm, the nights were cold, the more so after the early rain. And the wind, blowing toward her room, brought added discomfort.
Setting down the glass, she moved toward the open pane, reaching forward to catch the edge of the outward-swung window, pausing to stare outside. The cloud had thickened and the rain had returned driving toward her in vagrant showers driven by equally vagrant winds. A bad night to be in the open, a worse one when hunted, and she shivered at the distant baying of a hound. God help Dumarest if the animals should catch him.
God help Charisse if they did not.
She touched the glazed panel and pulled it toward her then froze as she saw the broken spot at the edge near the catch, the glass shattered to form an opening ringed with jagged shards-evidence she recognized immediately for what it had to be.
Somehow, incredibly, Dumarest had managed to elude the guards, to climb the wall and to break a hole in the window to gain entry into her room. She had returned too soon for him to have closed it and drawn the curtains. She wondered what he would have done had she screamed. She had no doubt of what would have happened had she been Charisse.
Chapter Ten
He stepped from the bathroom where he had to be and she sucked in her breath at the sight of the blood masking his face. The blood was not wholly his own but some had oozed from lacerations on his scalp, and the hand which held the knife poised to throw was bruised, the nails stained with ugly purple, rimmed with fresh carmine.
"You're safe," she said quickly. "I won't scream. I'm long past the age when a man in my bedroom is a cause of fear." He failed to appreciate the humor, and she regretted having made the comment. "You're hurt. Bleeding. Strip and get under the shower." As he hesitated she added, "I won't betray you. I give you my word on that."
One he felt she would keep and he remembered her support at the contest, her attitude at the banquet. She had no love for the owner of the laboratories. And there was an indefinable something which he had known before: an attitude, a concern, a betraying tenderness even though masked by a brusque efficiency. As the water drummed on his head to lave his body with paling streams of carmine, she washed his clothing free of dirt, pursing her lips as she saw the damage.
"What happened out there, Earl? Did you have an argument with tigers? Some of Charisse's pets? And the dogs-did you tangle with them?"
"One. It was enough."
"Is that how you got that arm? You'd better let me take a look at it."
She touched it gently as he stepped from the drier, frowning as she examined the ugly bruises, the mangled skin. Even though dying, the beast had summoned strength enough to have severed the limb had it not been for the protective mesh.
"It's cracked." Her fingers dug deeper. "I'm no doctor but I've worked with animals long enough to have picked up some knowledge. Move your fingers." She grunted her satisfaction as he obeyed. "You were lucky. How the hell did you manage to climb that wall?"
Because, she knew, he'd had no choice. No way of avoiding the pain, the danger, the risk of being spotted, of falling. Now she understood the condition of his hand, the bruises and blood rimmed beneath the nails. The knife would have helped; rammed into cracks, it would have provided holds, but the rest had stemmed from raw courage and determination.
"Here." She handed him a glass of wine, ignoring his nakedness as she ripped fabric into strips to bandage his arm. "What made you pick this room? Luck?"
That and the carvings which alone had made the climb possible. They had led him to the window and his failing strength had left no choice.
As she finished the bandage Linda said quietly, "I suppose you intend killing her now. I can't blame you for wanting that, but, Earl, be careful."