Water Witch Page 7

  “Why would the Tycoon lock in his son’s betrothed?” he wondered aloud. “He can’t know the truth about the peketa, and if he did, he’d surely send you packing, not lock you in.” As he turned to Deza for an explanation, he held up the peketa, twisting its rubbery form between his fingers. Visually, it would fool anyone, including himself as it had indeed for awhile. Only the rubbery feel of it when he’d smashed it into the sand had induced him to pick it up before they left, for a gorged peketa would have popped and crunched. He hadn’t wanted to leave a fake peketa round for a shuffling guard or servant to find on the very spot where. Deza had suffered her attack.

  Deza shook her head. “He doesn’t know about that, but he knows something else.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged helplessly. She was still glancing at the slipspace, no doubt wondering if she dared use it. “I don’t think I should stay around to find out. I’ll be found out when the wife gets hold of her geodes anyway.”

  Finally Radi smiled. “They think you are not only a princess, but a water witch as well?” He’d heard that the foreigners believed the water witches could tell a geode from a rock, and in fact, he knew a few priests who claimed to be able to make the distinction. He also knew that performing the trick took elaborate preparation—cementing geodes together so perfectly that the crack could only be found with a magnifying glass, marking the geodes in a fashion no one but the initiated could see or feel, then distributing the geodes in a likely place so they could be found, seemingly discovered, at will. Likely, Deza’s father had always made these preparations for her, since he could probably have moved about freely while his daughter kept the household’s attention.

  “I could arrange for a few geodes,” he said. She looked doubtful. “I can have them marked, say with a mound that will fit the palm of your left hand and a dent you can feel with your right. I’ll have Harubiki do it.”

  Finally her attention came away from the slipspace, and she looked at him suspiciously. “Can you also arrange something for the Tycoon, like a fatal accident?”

  “I’d rather not,” he said, walking thoughtfully and slowly over the fleecy pelt on the floor before the bed. “You see, he wants something that he can get either from you or from me. Perhaps we can get him to tell us what it is at dinner.”

  “You overheard?”

  “Of course. Edvar, too, though I’m sorry I missed the beginning of that scene. Was it true what you said about it being better if you wait?”

  “I’m not sure that I should,” she said. She fingered the woolen overpants lying on the end of the bed.

  “If you blood that young whelp, he’ll not be satisfied with one taste. And he’s not smart enough not to get caught when he comes sneaking back for more,” Radi said, wondering why his voice had risen with anger.

  “I meant, I don’t know if I should stay for dinner,” Deza said sharply. “I can handle Edvar. He’s the least of my concerns.”

  “Well,” Radi said gruffly. “I can handle the problem with the wife for you, so you only have one left to cope with: the Tycoon himself.”

  “He’s the big one,” Deza said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did you see the way he was dressed?”

  Radi nodded. “Full ceremonial robes, right down to the gembone necklace. I half expected to see cheek insets.”

  Deza nodded thoughtfully, fitting her own insets along her cheekbone. They were intricately carved with the pattern of the royal house, as fine as Sheria’s own. “He used to wear Kalmarran clothes.” She turned to look at Radi. “Why do you suppose he’d do that, change his manner of dress? It can’t suddenly be the heat. He’s been here for years and the heat never bothered him before.”

  “Empire-carving, I’d say,” Radi said seriously. “He’s decided he’s here to stay, no longer planning to go back to that frigid planet he came from. That’s not hard to figure out. What puzzles me is why Mahali suddenly looks so attractive to him. And so easy. What’s made him think he can get away without tithing to the City? He must have some plan for getting water or he wouldn’t risk the City’s wrath.”

  “And one of us fits into the plan somewhere,” Deza said. “And since empire-building is a little beyond my scope, I think I’ll let it be you by being gone before dinner.” She grabbed the woolen pants and swung her feet into them.

  “Wait, Deza, where would you go? You have a lot of time invested here, and it can still work out well for you, if you’ll cooperate with me.”

  “How?” She pulled up the overdrawers.

  “Just find out what he wants, then I’ll make sure he knows I can supply it better, or more cheaply, or more quickly than you.”

  “And if you can’t supply whatever it is? Then where am I? Up to my neck in his plot, that’s where, and in yours. I think I’d better stick to my own plots. I’m leaving.”

  “Deza, if it gets dangerous, I’ll get you out. What’s the difference between sneaking out now and waiting a week or even a few days?”

  “No dinner and those natives who eat worms,” Deza said wistfully. Idly she tied the drawstrings around her waist. “I ought to at least build up my strength. Anyway, I think he’s watching me too closely right now to try and get away. He might lock me in so securely even I can’t get out. Besides, I can’t leave without the mbuzi and I don’t even know where he is.”

  “Then it’s settled?” Radi said.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” He thought she looked as if she wanted to, and ordinarily knowing would have made him prey on her hope like a vulture. The circumstances did, after all, call for anything that would work. But that hint of fear had returned to her eyes, and he didn’t like seeing her afraid. He sat next to her.

  “You don’t know for sure, but I swear that you can trust me.” It was exactly what he would have said if he were lying. The difference was that he meant it and he knew he meant it. He would see her safely away from the Tycoon’s stronghold, if only to have her to himself.

  She regarded him a moment, then nodded.

  He took her hand, and she seemed surprised. “I just want to measure the size of your palm so that Harubiki can mark the geodes.” He turned her hand over to run his fingers over the mound of her thumb into her palm. Her skin was rough and scratched from her days along the shore, but she hadn’t come by the firm flesh beneath them in so short a time. “Good,” he said, quietly releasing her. “A bit smaller than she would fashion for herself, but not too much.”

  “You know that from memory?”

  “I know Harubiki’s hands well,” he said, remembering how skillfully they could encircle an enemy’s neck and how tenderly his own.

  “Oh,” Deza said. “Well, don’t reacquaint yourself too well during the after-dinner punch. I may need to make Edvar jealous.”

  “Won’t Chappa do? He’s younger.”

  “That’s precisely why he won’t do. Edvar will worry about a mature man in ways he’d never consider worrying about a boy who seems his own age, especially one who’s nothing more than a priest’s lackey. But the priest himself, that’s a different matter. There are enough stories around about priests and the girls in the households they served for him to make the connection. If there aren’t any stories, I’ll see that there are.”

  Radi nodded. “I’ll be properly attentive to you, Deza dear, and you may rest assured that my intentions will not look at all proper.” He flicked a curl away from her breast. Those certainly were not rough or scratched. Her skin looked smooth, her flesh soft. “Well, now,” he said, restraining himself, “where do you want me to put the rigged geodes?”

  “In the barn. The wife’s got a mound of them waiting for me. Put them at the lower edge of the pile. To the right as you face the door of the barn. There’re bound to be guards,” Deza added worriedly. “They always watch the breeder animals carefully, and with the added value of the geodes, there may be even more guards than usual.”

  “A few guards won’t bother us,” Radi said casually. “But, why wou
ld they guard a few mbuzim? Why in the world would anyone want to breed those smelly beasts? They’re not very good eating, and the pelts never quite lose that distinctive odor. The only useful part of them is the skeleton, and that only when it’s properly fossilized into gembone.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. He’s determined to build up his herd. They must be useful for something. Perhaps he’s found some use for them off-planet.”

  Radi thought a moment. “No,” he said slowly. “If that were the case, they’d have been shipping them off Mahali, even if only in small numbers. So far as I know, the only mbuzi parts they’re buying from the nomads are the fossilized bones, and it’s true there’s a small off-world market in gembone jewelry, but not enough to justify his interest. The supply is too limited. I don’t think even the Tycoon would make investments that can’t possibly pay off for half a million years… unless, of course, he had access to ground water, but the City will not sell him that. No, it’s got to be the mbuzim themselves, not their fossilized relics.”

  The overhead light flickered and went out. Radi felt Deza’s hand on his thigh as she jumped.

  “It’s all right, Deza,” he whispered. “They’ll come back on in a moment. Harubiki has interrupted the power so they won’t be suspicious when they find their listener tapes disabled. They would have had a power-off signal etched right into the tapes, and they’d have known someone tampered with them. This way they’ll just think it was the power failure.”

  “Then there are listeners in here?” Deza said, sounding frightened again.

  “Yes, but they were off before I came up here The Tycoon won’t find out about your conversation with Edvar. Or me.”

  The lights came back on, dazzling them for a second. Radi put his finger across his lips, indicating that they couldn’t talk any longer. That glint of fear was back in her eyes, and this time it didn’t disappear. Yet she nodded solemnly, smiling slightly. She hadn’t struck him as being foolishly brave, nor innocently trusting. She’d been through too much in her life not to have shed temptations like those long ago. So why was she trusting him now? She must realize he could get the Tycoon’s plan from her and then abandon her to whatever fate might bring. Unless, of course, there was something she saw in his eyes that responded to the fear in hers. It was foolish to wait for another time when she wouldn’t be afraid. There was plenty of time before dinner, right now. But before he could even touch her, or gesture towards the bed, there was a knock at the door.

  “What is it?” Deza answered quickly and loudly.

  “I’ve brought you some water and come to help you to dinner,” replied a timid voice.

  “I don’t need any help,” Deza said. “I know the way.”

  “But your ankle… The wife said…”

  “Oh,” Deza said. “Just a minute.” She gestured toward the slipspace, indicating that Radi should go.

  Impulsively he put his arms around her and whispered softly in her ear, “I’ll be back later.” He tried for a quick kiss, but she was pushing him away, hurrying him to the slipspace and making ready to close it behind him. He glanced at the door, then at Deza, and finally ducked out. He heard the gentle snick as the paneling moved back into place.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Deza watched the slipspace close, smiled at it a moment, and then hurried to empty the flagon of water into the tub before she opened the door. The servant slid the bolt and edged in, hardly opening the door. She was a young girl who looked at Deza with large eyes that were filled with awe and almost a touch of fear. Whatever for? Well, at least take advantage of it.

  “How long is it until dinner?” Deza asked her, limping with dignity back to her dressing table. “I had not thought it was at this early hour.” She sounded a little too imperious even to her own ears.

  The servant girl quailed. She was holding a huge decanter, twice the size of the flagon the wife had left. “Oh, no, miss, not for another hour, but they said to come. They said you might need dressing. They said…”

  What the servants had said about her was obviously very impressive. It had this poor child tongue-tied with fear. And it was all very surprising. Deza’s father had always said the servants were the key to a household, that to ignore their influence and feeling was to court disaster because, in spite of appearances, servants knew everything. The question was not how to keep them from finding out a con, but how to arrange their allegiance so they would not tell what they knew.

  Their awareness had worked to Deza’s favor when she went after Edvar. After all, it was a typical enough situation. They hated the lady of the house with her high-and-mighty foreign ways. They were glad to see her brought down through her son. But they had not had any particular allegiance to her. They knew her for the part she was playing. The pretty trollop out to seduce the naive son. They had stood by and watched, amused and a little contemptuous. In fact, Deza was still convinced that one of the servants had precipitated their sudden, disastrous departure. So why were they reverent now? Even frightened of her, if this girl was any indication. There was no time to question the girl. Besides, she might faint from sheer fright if Deza spoke harshly. No, better to make her an ally for now and find out more about this mysterious change later.

  “I… my ankle hurts so much I’m afraid it makes me rude,” she said, abandoning the regal tones for a pretty forlornness. “I had hoped to go and find my mbuzi before dinner. He cannot bear to be away from me for long. But I don’t know where they have taken him, and with my ankle I can’t go running about the compound looking for him.” She didn’t mention the locked door that also prevented her from running about.

  “Oh, but I can,” the girl said eagerly. “I can find out for you. If, I mean if that’s all right. I could dress you and then go and fetch it for you.” She waited, poised for flight.

  Deza frowned. This was no good. The girl would bring her the mbuzi and she would know no more than she had before except for what her father could, or would tell her. She needed to use the mbuzi as an excuse to explore the place herself. She also needed to get rid of this girl so she could wrap her ankle and collect her confused thoughts before dinner. Events were still skidding away from her at an alarming rate.

  “Where do you think they might be keeping the mbuzi?” she asked, careful to smile at the girl.

  “Oh, with the others probably. In the grazing pens behind the lower stables.”

  But there aren’t any grazing pens below the lower stables. And if there are, I need to see them for myself. “Run and see if it is there,” she said thoughtfully. “My mbuzi is very sensitive. It may not let you carry it.” She didn’t say what the girl should do in that case, which Deza was fairly sure would be the way her father would react. The girl’s hesitation in deciding to leave it and fetch Deza, or to struggle with the sharp-hoofed animal herself should give her enough time to follow the girl and see things for herself.

  “It is so nice to have a helpful friend. I envy you your swift legs and strong feet,” she said wistfully. That had the desired effect. The girl was off like a shot. Deza eased the door shut after her and hurried back into the bathroom, remembering to take the decanter with her and to empty it promptly. Anyone with a peketa bite would have to consume ten times the body’s normal liquid requirements, else succumb to the fever, dehydration, and quite likely death. It was turning out to be a terrible bother to pretend that she was suffering from a peketa bite and a turned ankle. She should have used only the peketa, then groaned inwardly as she remembered that was exactly what her father had recommended.

  With the door unbolted, she had no time to spare, but it could not be helped. She never would remember to limp unless she bound her ankle again so there would be no forgetting. She hurriedly slipped on the wide-sleeved yellow blouse and tied the turquoise wool waistcoat over it, bound up her hair with a strip of rose wool, and then sat down again on the edge of the tub to rebind her foot.

  She fumbled through the bath sack looking for something sharp, remembered
the peketa that Radi had confiscated, and smiled again. That was an area, at least, where she could keep pace. So he wanted to get her into bed, did he? Well, she just might let him succeed. She had watched him weighing the advantages of the moment. He had seemed to think they were on his side. She had done a little figuring herself. And decided… well, she hadn’t decided, but she was considering some intriguing possibilities. It was all a question of whether he would be more eager to help her before or after she was bedded. Edvar, of course, was simple. He could be staved off forever, for he was far too inexperienced to know that his peculiar noble pride was being manipulated, and he was much more useful that way. She was not sure Radi would be so easily put off. It was obviously a game to him, a question of conquest and surrender. Deza was inclined to agree with him, though she was not sure they had quite the same thing in mind.

  She smiled again, and abruptly pulled her finger out of the bath sack and sucked on it. Something sharp was in there after all. A rough, bristled sponge, more suitable for the scrub bucket than the bath. She tore off a corner of it, pushed the rough edge against her bare ankle, and began tightly rewrapping the ankle and the leg. The slight bulge would be noticeable only as a little swelling from the sore ankle, and with the sharp bristles digging into her skin, she would not forget again that she needed to limp.

  She put the sponge back in the bag, put the bandaged foot into one of her own sandals and the other into a fleecelined boot, and hurried out of the room and down the side stairs that led to the back of the enclosure. Since there was no one on the long straight enclosed staircase she risked running and didn’t slow her steps until she was nearly to the lower stables.

  Servants were about, grooming the horses and tending the lumpish, sweating draft animals the Tycoon had insisted on bringing from his home planet and nearly killing with the heat. They were kept here, in the hollowed-out sandstone caves, away from the blistering sun and the most intense heat. It was still hot and dusty, though, and the animals looked uncomfortable in the gloomy stalls.