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  “Are you sure?” he said, and jerked her upright by her hair. “So help me, if you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you and throw you down one of these pits!”

  “I’m sure,” Deza said, giggling again for no real reason except that he was hurting her. “I’m a water witch. I can spin water out of wishes. That way. Toward the blue lake.”

  He let go of her hair, and she fell forward onto the pony, resting her cheek against her tied hands on the pommel of the saddle. He mounted his pony and prodded them forward across the broken ground.

  The jarring movement of her pony against her cheek roused Deza a little. She sat up awkwardly and tried to untie her hands. The Tycoon had tied them with a red scarf, and that seemed important. As she struggled with the scarf, it covered both her hands in a film of red.

  It was dark again. It was not the same dark as that other blanketing dark. She was clearly above ground and running through the rooms of some building because she could see dim outlines of walls and corridors. She was running through the dark, calling someone. “Vira, Vira,” she called, as if it were a game of hide-and-seek. She was not afraid of the dark, but there was a growing uneasiness in that other conscious Deza—a feeling of dread that grew and grew as the little girl ran through the darkened rooms calling.

  There was a thread of light. A door and a lighted room beyond and the end to the game. “Don’t, oh, please don’t,” the conscious Deza said to her, but it was too late. She was through the door already. “Vira,” the little girl said one more time, and squatted on her short legs by the woman’s body. She shook her by the shoulder and her hand came away covered with a film of red.

  “Where is it, you little liar?” the Tycoon said. “Time is running out.” He had slapped her, Deza realized by the way his hand was pulled back to strike her again. She was off the pony again and lying on the ground and the Tycoon was standing over her, looking as if he would kill her. Like Vira. Terror overwhelmed her. She struggled to get away from him, and his hand came down across her face with all the force of murder.

  “I’ll kill you,” he said, and yanked her to her feet. “Tell me where it is or I’ll kill you!” She swayed against him, and he held her up by the force of his own body, his hands digging into her arms. “TELL ME!”

  “I can’t tell,” she said. “They’ll find us if I tell. My daddy said they’ll kill us if they find us.”

  “I’ll kill you, you liar. Lead me all over the karst like one of your love-sick suitors, will you? ‘Certainly I’ll take you to the Maundifu. I’m a water-witch, aren’t I? Certainly.’ You’re no water-witch at all, and you’ve used up my last precious day to find the Maundifu with your stupid charade. How dare you lie to me?” His hands were crushing her arms, but she was grateful for them. They were all that kept her from falling, from disappearing into the eternal darkness under the karst, from falling and falling and falling until everything was covered with red.

  Deza didn’t like the red stickiness on her hands. She tried to shake it off. She rubbed at the blood with her other hand, and it came away red, too. She squatted a moment longer, looking at the still woman and the red stream of blood at her throat. Then she was up and running again through the darkened rooms, but silently now, running without making a sound. That tiny part of Deza that held to consciousness tried to rouse herself to warn the little girl running through the dark, to tell her not to run, to tell her to hide, to hide before the hand came out of the darkness to stop her headlong flight. The hand that was so sudden that her neck would be jerked back and the breath knocked out of her so she could not even scream. “Deza,” she called helplessly to the little girl, but the large hand was upon them both, smothering them and dragging them down into darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The thicket-splintered shards of sunlight on his grave softened and gave way to starlight and the nearly full green moon rose, and still Radi heard the whiffling song of the snake. The dirt packed around him was sun hot and leaching sweat from his body; no matter that he could smell the sea mist starting to blow across the desert dunes; it brought scant relief with only his head above ground to feel it. He could move his fingers—just barely—but it was to no avail, for they filled with dirt, not rope that he could worry away from his wrists. His chest heaved against the packed earth as the snakesong faded again. The serpent was on the prowl. Twigs and sharp sand stung his neck every time he turned his head, like the nips of a thousand peketa; those might be here, too, attracted by the sweat dripping through the tight band of the gag. A few peketa bites might be a blessing over the terrible death from the snake’s poison, but he was not ready to die, not while Sheria was in need. Not heeding the bite of the loops around his neck, Radi struggled against the grave.

  The rustling of parched fitala leaves halted his movement. It wasn’t the snake moving in, couldn’t be. He’d never hear its silent advance. No, something else was in the thicket. Barely breathing lest the sound of his own breath mask a softer noise, Radi listened. He heard only the distant chirp of a desert locust at the far side of the oasis, no other sound. Silence. His heart thumped beneath the grave; if the snake was so close that he could not hear its song, it must be poised to strike. He stared through a jungle of moonlit grass blades off to the right, certain they’d part when the snake made its thrust, fangs bared. So certain was he that the grass concealed the snake, he cried into the gag when a solitary blade moved. When the expected stab from the trident fangs did not come, he opened his eyes to see the soft leather of a desert boot rise over the grass and come silently to rest beside his cheek. The Tycoon’s whelp stared down at him, leather flagon and bulging pouch dangling from his belt.

  Edvar knelt and pried the gag from Radi’s mouth. “I waited until she was over the horizon,” the youth was saying. “I don’t think she’ll double back, but…”

  “Snake,” Radi tried to say through his cottony mouth.

  “What?” Edvar said, reaching for the water flagon at his belt. He trickled some wine over Radi’s lips, which Radi sucked at greedily.

  “Singing snake in the brush,” he rasped, and drank some more.

  “Oh, sure. I disposed of it. Wouldn’t do to have it bite me on the arse while I dig you out.”

  Radi stared at the boy with new respect; few desert hunters could successfully stalk a singing snake, hardly a skill he would have expected a pampered foreigner to have mastered. Edvar scooped dirt away from Radi’s neck, exposing the coils of rope. Then he gently sliced through the twine, and continued scooping away the dirt.

  “I was afraid she’d killed you, or that the snake had gotten you.”

  “How did you know…?”

  “Deza sent me to warn you about Harubiki. I thought it was too late when I saw Harubiki in the barn, but when I realized she wasn’t alone, I guessed it was you she was with. The marine wasn’t in on it.”

  Radi looked at Edvar sharply. “What marine?”

  “Chappa. Don’t bother pretending. I know you’re no priest, and so does my father. He knew who you were the minute he saw the princess’s messenger.”

  “What princess’s messenger?”

  Edvar sighed and handed Radi the flagon of wine again. “Have some more. The heat has slowed your thinking. There’s only one princess on Mahali who is of any consequence, the Princess Sheria. Her messenger is Harubiki, your travelling companion and would-be murderer. She was sent to replace the old messenger who kept my father and the princess in contact when Botvidi wasn’t around. Pelono was to have been replaced soon in any case by electronic communications. But my father had to turn the old priest out before he was ready. The old man wasn’t quite as senile as he’d thought, and he feared he’d broken the code of the messages he was required to send. He was supposed to just disappear in the desert. He did—really, I mean. The next thing we knew, Botvidi arrived to say the old man had made his way back to the City.”

  “Through the caves,” Radi said, amazed. “He’d be one of the few old enough to remember the wa
y, but I, too, thought he was rambling.” Radi shook his head regretfully.

  “Botvidi said Sheria would send a replacement. When Harubiki arrived with her water message device, we thought she must be the witch.”

  Radi shook his head. “There are no more witches. We use the message devices crafted from gembone by the old witches. No one can make them anymore.”

  “They can on Kalmar,” Edvar said, and Radi nodded bitterly. There had been some truth in Harubiki’s wild tale after all. Edvar continued. “The witch was supposed to arrive alone, so I had no clue that Deza was more deeply involved than she was before. I thought that as long as Botvidi was gone, she was not in immediate danger. I planned to take her away with me, but,” he added forlornly, “she wouldn’t go.”

  Radi remembered now that Harubiki was the only one in the majini to wear water wings, and she might very well have arrived at the compound alone had Deza not been on the scene to keep Radi’s head above water. Pelono had not been as fortunate. The old man rambled a lot, but his water sleuthing had made him valuable to the City and apparently to enemies of the City, as well. But only for so long as he could be kept ignorant of the contents of the messages he was sending. His drowning, Radi was certain now, was more of an execution than a mishap. “And now,” Radi said, “your father needed to be rid of me, too, and so he used Harubiki to do it.”

  Radi’s shoulders were free now and he struggled to lift his hands high enough so that Edvar could cut the rest of the ropes, but the dirt kept caving in. Edvar continued scooping it away.

  “Oh, no,” Edvar said. “I don’t think my father much cared about you. He’s a businessman, not a murderer, at least, so far he’s not.”

  “He turned an old man out into the desert, and he’s engaged in treason.”

  “He’s a citizen of Kalmar, not Mahali, so it’s just business to him, not treason. He could have had Pelono killed in the compound instead of turning him out. He didn’t murder him, your people did,” Edvar said stubbornly. “Furthermore, he doesn’t really want to deal with your treacherous princess. He’d much rather succeed on his own, without her help. That’s why he took Deza out to the karst to have her douse for the Maundifu flow that he needs for his mbuzim herd before they eat his entire investment. Deza will fail, of course. I’ve always known she was no princess of the Red City, that she and her father were working a swindle. I didn’t mind exactly.” He looked at Radi. “It’s rather nice, even when you know she doesn’t mean it. I don’t think my father believed in her either, not until Botvidi came with orders to murder her. I tried to warn her, but she’d already escaped in the hovercraft with her father, which was just what Botvidi had planned, I’m sure. That was when my father realized that if the Princess Sheria considered Deza a threat to her plans, Deza might be useful. My father decided that perhaps there was some truth to the crazy stories her father told about her being a princess and water witch. By now he’s found out that she’s a fraud, and he’ll know that he has to deal with your princess.” Edvar looked at Radi. “So far he hasn’t hurt anyone, not really. He won’t hurt Deza, will he?”

  “He’s your father,” Radi said, quite unwilling to engage in defending the Tycoon, who was every bit as deeply involved in treachery as he was coming to believe Sheria was. Still, the boy looked so troubled that he added: “He’d have nothing to gain but your ill will if he harmed her. Besides, Deza can take care of herself.”

  Reluctantly, Edvar nodded. “But maybe this time, she’ll need me. They already tried to kill her once, and succeeded with her father. She’s only safe because my father didn’t tell Botvidi that Deza was back when he came to the compound last night. When Botvidi told him the princess would come tonight, under cover of darkness, he knew he’d have his last chance to find the Maundifu flow today.”

  “Even if Deza were a witch, she wouldn’t find Maundifu water, the City diverted it generations ago in favor of sweet water.”

  “He only knew that it used to flow near the karst, or under it, and he had to find it before the princess arrived. I wouldn’t have known even this much, but he had to tell me to greet the princess if he doesn’t get back in time. He’s really angry with me, you know.”

  “Because you’re going native?” Radi grinned. “I’m surprised your mother didn’t give Deza away; she’s got to be in a real dither over her son falling for a native.”

  “Mother wouldn’t do that until she had her geodes,” Edvar said. “They were supposed to be marked, weren’t they?” When Radi nodded, Edvar frowned. Radi supposed there was even more to Harubiki ‘s treachery, but he was deeply concerned about Botvidi ‘s involvement. Botvidi was a surface governor, a priest of sorts in the eyes of natives, but he came from a long line of military men, the very reason Radi had supported his selection in governing the region the foreign Tycoon was trying to usurp.

  “Botvidi has actually been in the compound?”

  “Yes. Many times. Most recently the night that Deza left, and of course again last night. The shuttle had landed with the weapons, and he came to inventory them. The landing maneuver lights the desert like day, and the hovercraft buzzing around are hardly silent. How could you have missed it?”

  Radi grimaced. Remembering how he’d overlooked so much activity was an exciting memory, but hardly one that would endear him to Edvar if he told him about it. “So now you’re afraid Botvidi will see Deza tonight, and your father, having no further use of her, won’t care. That’s why you’re telling me all this, eh? To get me to help you to save Deza?”

  Edvar nodded. “My father hasn’t really harmed anyone, but your princess hasn’t hesitated to take lives. It will be bad enough if Botvidi sees Deza, but your princess could act immediately if she chose. So yes, there’s Deza to be saved, and, I fear, my father as well. He’s never done this sort of thing before,” Edvar said rapidly. “He’s…”

  “… a businessman, right?” When the boy nodded, Radi nodded, too.

  “She refused to give him the Maundifu ground water unless he pays with the shipload of weapons. He hadn’t expected that, but by now he’s so far in debt that, when he realizes Deza can’t help him, he’ll believe it’s the only way. Sheria is coming to the compound tonight to take possession of the weapons. I’m afraid of what will happen when she has them.”

  Well he might be, Radi thought, remembering Harubiki’s prediction that the guns would be turned on the foreigners themselves. Finally the boy had uncovered Radi enough to slit the bonds on his wrists, but Edvar hesitated, the blade gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Before I free you, you must promise that you’ll help me save Deza and my father.”

  If Edvar deserted him now, Radi was pretty sure he could finish getting loose on his own; he didn’t believe the boy had it in him to kill him outright. But there was a sincerity in Edvar that touched Radi, even though the love he bore for Deza was an annoying factor. And how would Edvar feel when he learned that Deza loved Radi? Did Deza love Radi? Like Sheria loved him? The thought made his head spin. “Give me more wine,” Radi said, feeling unreasonably hot in the cool of the night.

  “First your answer,” Edvar said sternly.

  “I’ll help you save Deza. We’ll get her away from the compound tonight. But I’ll be honest with you; I can’t tell what if anything I can do for your father. If what you say is true about Sheria, if she truly plans to supply him with ground water from the source, the City in the Red Cave will be in grave danger. The Maundifu river once flowed through the cavern where the City itself now rests, and it cannot fill your father’s reservoir without flowing through the same caverns again. My loyalty to the City comes before aiding a foreign… businessman.”

  “He’s just confused because everything that is his is invested in those mbuzim. He’d face ruin and to him that’s worse than death,” Edvar said, a plea for understanding in his voice.

  “Perhaps that’s your answer them,” Radi said gently. “Best tell me everything, Edvar, or I’ll be trapped by lack of informat
ion. If there’s any way to save your father from his own folly, I promise I’ll do it, but not if it threatens the City in the Red Cave. Now, cut me loose.”

  Again Edvar hesitated, but finally the blade sliced through the coils, and Radi was free.

  Edvar explained as they hurried back through the darkness to the compound on Edvar’s pony. It must be nearly midnight. The moon was high overhead, shedding more light than Radi would have wished for, but at least it speeded their journey.

  The situation was much what Radi suspected, but happening much sooner than he believed was possible. Not only did the Tycoon know he could force premature fossilization of mbuzim hooves and bones with ground water, he’d already invested enough of his resources in building herds that he kept in secret underground pens to become desperate for ground water to make the mbuzim profitable. The Tycoon was right to believe the source would provide that ground water; the flow from the Maundifu could easily fill the reservoir above the compound and water any number of beasts. The question in his mind was no longer if Sheria would provide water from the source—he’d heard too much to believe any longer that she was as guileless as she’d seemed—but if she understood the consequences when she did it. Sheria was not a water witch, and she understood less about the intricate checks and balances of the water tables above the city that were monitored by the computers. Yet, she was not so stupid that she couldn’t understand the danger if Botvidi explained it to her. So the only question remaining was just how far her treachery went: Did she merely desire to increase her power by arming more troops of marines for herself? Or did she plan to wipe out the entire City deliberately, the only place where there would be any organized opposition to her absolute rule over Mahali? The former was bad enough, but the latter was unthinkable… nearly as unthinkable as her pretending to love him, making a sham of his own noble dreams of sharing the throne with her. Oh, yes, Edvar had told all, even more than Harubiki, and it hurt every bit as much. Sheria had bragged to the Tycoon of Radi’s blind love for her, assuring him that her own power was quite enough to consummate their deal. Well, he had been blind… or stupid enough to provide his innocent bride-to-be with a trained bodyguard, only to have Harubiki turned into a trained assassin.