It was impossible to approach the compound without being seen, so Edvar whipped the pony that was carrying the two of them into a full gallop, not reining up until they were at the door of the house. It was none too soon. Before they hurried into the foyer, Radi saw a fleet of hovercraft broaching the dunes from the sea approach, their metal hulls glittering in the garish green moonlight. The foreign craft were, he was certain, carrying Sheria’s entourage from the bay where the troop carrier, freshly arrived from Sindra at last, would be anchored. There was room aplenty for her entire household guard in that many hovercraft, and a number of Botvidi’s crack troops as well. Hardly the number to form a simple caravan that would transport the goods. Edvar’s fears for his father were well grounded.
In the foyer of the house, their entrance startled an alert guard, who drew his laser and aimed it at Radi.
“That’s right,” Edvar said, “hold him.”Radi didn’t even have a weapon to reach for, and the long sojourn in the grave must have slowed his reflexes, for Edvar’s sudden treachery took him by complete surprise. But even as Radi cursed himself for trusting the boy, Edvar walked around the unsuspecting guard, drew a desert hunter’s mallet from his belt, and brought it down on the guard’s skull with a solid blow. As the guard crumpled silently to the floor, Edvar wrapped his burnoose around the wounded head; not a drop of blood touched the woolen carpet.
“First a singing snake, and now a guardsman. They teach self-reliance quite well on Kalmar,” Radi said.
Edvar shook his head. “It was your countrymen who taught me. The nomads grow bored very quickly with stalking stupid mbuzim, however great the rewards my father heaped on them. It amused them to see me try to keep up with them when they diverted themselves with more clever prey.”
“Bet they were surprised when you did keep up.”
Edvar grinned openly. “People have a tendency to underestimate me.”
“Did the nomads also teach you not to crow over a kill when another predator might be around?”
“Ah, yes, the princess. I’ll have to be her host until my father returns. You must watch for him and Deza, get Deza away before anyone sees her. Hide her in the stable until I can come for her.”
Radi shook his head. “I’ll keep her in the slipspaces with me. Now, hurry, help me get this man into the priest’s room before someone else comes along.”
Edvar helped him, but when they got to the priest’s room, he surveyed it as if he’d never seen it before. Then he walked to the wall and touched a panel with his fingers, as if he expected it to move. It was the wrong panel. “We had them in the old house on Kalmar…”
Radi laughed. “You didn’t know about the slipspaces, did you? Of course not, or you’d have bothered Deza long ago.”
Edvar flushed, but his fingers finally found the right panel, and it slid open. “Don’t think for a minute that my father doesn’t know about them. He came to Mahali to supervise the construction of the compound. It’s like him to do this, if only to enable him to move about beyond my mother’s watchful eye.” He looked at Radi dolefully. “He didn’t tell me about them. I wish he trusted me more.”
Radi shook his head, wondering at the boy’s loyalty. He couldn’t fault him for it, but he found it difficult to sympathize. “Go do whatever it is that a Kalmarran host does when a princess arrives. This time I can hear the hovercraft; they must be just about in the compound green.”
Edvar nodded and leaped for the door, already on the run for whatever he needed. Radi rolled the downed guard into the slipspace, then waited for the arrival of Sheria’s entourage, wishing he had thought to grab up a flask of wine while he waited. It was quick in coming, and unmistakable. The sound of hard-soled cave boots on the wooden hall floors was distinctive, as was the clink of sidearms against decorative mail. He left the upper slipspaces for the lower to watch for the Tycoon’s return with Deza. A peek into the dark stable told him that the Tycoon had already returned, either a moment before or a moment after his and Edvar’s arrival, for his mount stood crosstied, heaving for breath. Edvar’s pony was there, too, but there was no sign of another mount. Hastily he retraced his steps to the upper slipspaces, dashing to Deza’s room and taking the dark steps two by two. He opened the slipspace carefully, hoping to see Deza within. Only when he saw that the room was empty did he realize how eager he had been to see her again, how alarmed by her absence. Had she evaded the Tycoon somewhere out on the karst, discovered a chance to run and taken it? He hoped that was what happened, for otherwise, he could only guess that she’d walked straight into Botvidi and Sheria.
Radi returned to the slipspace, intent on following the sounds of Sheria’s noisy entourage when his foot rolled over something soft and his ears were filled by the sound of a belligerent bawl. Deza’s stupid mbuzi, Its pupilless eyes glowed now where a second ago there had been nothing but darkness. It probably had been sleeping, and only his taking the stairs two by two had prevented his stepping on the beast earlier. He picked it up and tucked the thing in a turn in the passageway beyond Deza’s bedroom. This time he made his way back down the steep stairs uneventfully.
The first sounds of activity in the lower levels of the house that Radi stopped to investigate turned out to be the result of City technicians in a little used hall. They had carried in a computer communication console and now were uncoiling leads to the Tycoon’s power sources. The technicians were dressed in Sheria ‘s blue, not the City’s scarlet as they should have been. The console they were installing was not the kind ordinarily used. This was a big console, the kind with memory banks of its own, so that bits of the grid data would be instantly available to the operator. Years ago this kind of console had regularly been used by water witches whose power had in some mysterious way comprehended the vast amounts of data about the grids while they worked the sluice gates that controlled the water. Much of what they had been able to do was lost now, or perhaps locked in the computer banks. But the console could be used, even if less effectively, by those without water gifts. Radi had used it himself, and Sheria used it often. It was painful to remember her sitting in the high-backed control seat, with her face almost surrounded by the curving headrest of the chair, looking as if she were a child with a new toy. There were no landlines between the compound and the City to achieve communication between the console and the computer, but there was a big receiving antenna on the surface above the cave. If the Tycoon could arrange a shuttle filled with weapons, he could arrange an orbital relay of signals to that antenna. Radi had hoped there’d be some time, that Sheria would have to work her treachery in the City itself. It was obvious now there’d be no delay, no time or chance to forestall her anywhere but here in the compound. It was scant consolation to have it cross his mind that the Tycoon might gain some advantage over Sheria if she remained in the compound. He was, after all, first a businessman, and if Edvar was right, only recently a desperate juggler of realms and light-fingered gentry. It’d be luck if he were able to use his advantage. He passed on, still hoping to find some sign of Deza.
Sheria’s voice made him pause. He couldn’t hear her words, but he was certain it was she. Unable to restrain himself, he opened the nearest slipspace panel a hairline crack, and peered through. Yes, it was Sheria, seated on the largest and most comfortable cushions in the great room. Harubiki sat crosslegged by the princess’s feet, amid the folds of Sheria’s silk travelling cloak, carelessly discarded. Behind Sheria’s blonde braids, and a bit to her right, stood Botvidi, priestly garb set aside in favor of more impressive military clothes. Edvar was pouring wine for all of them, doing his best to keep the native robe’s sweeping sleeves out of the goblets; the garment did at least hide the desert dirt clinging to his regular clothes. Radi tried to press closer to hear what was being said. Instead he heard a noise behind him. He turned swiftly and silently, staring into the dim passage. Click-click, click-click. Inwardly he sighed; the mbuzi again. He licked his dry lips, wishing he’d kept Edvar’s wine flagon with him. Then he
turned back to look and listen through the slipspace. That was his undoing, for the next thing he heard was the sound of himself and someone much larger crashing through the panel, and then he was flung at Sheria’s feet atop the very robe where Harubiki had sat only seconds ago. Now his one-time henchwoman’s dagger was at his throat and the big foot in his back could be only the Tycoon’s.
“Ssss,” Harubiki raged. “Will you not die?”
“Try again, Harubiki,” the Tycoon said. “Perhaps you can get it right if I hold him down with my foot.”
“Oh, no, not here,” Sheria said, hastily drawing back the hem of her gown from where Radi lay. She got up and stepped away, a distasteful expression on her face.
The Tycoon laughed loudly. “I followed a trail of priest’s robes and unconscious guards; had to be this one again. Is this another example of your City efficiency?” He jeered at Harubiki. “My young son follows orders better than you.”
Radi felt the steel across his neck begin to move as Harubiki took insult. But again Sheria said, “No!” All looked at her, Radi the quickest of all. Her lovely face was distorted with horror. “It would be… disgusting,” she said lamely. It wasn’t the compassion he’d hoped for, but it stayed Harubiki’s hand. The assassin stepped away and gestured for Radi to get up. He did so slowly.
“I know what you are about to do, Sheria,” he said. “You must not go through with it.”
“Did you really think I’d share my throne with you?”
“You had my complete loyalty, until today. We could have ruled well together,” Radi said.
“Over a dark cave,” Sheria snapped. “Alone I shall rule the entire planet.”
“Sheria, my dear,” Botvidi said, stepping around the silken cushions. “There’s no need to converse at all with this rebel, not here, not now. I’m certain the Tycoon has excellent accommodations for his kind.”
“Better listen to him, Sheria,” Radi said. “He’s cautioning you not to open your mouth in front of the Tycoon. The foreigner is not the ally you believe him to be, nor quite as big a fool, either. Isn’t that right, Botvidi?”
“I meant nothing of the sort,” Botvidi said, straightening to his full height. “Our host has provided us a great assistance in putting a dangerous rebel into our hands, but we would not wish to strain his hospitality, would we, Sheria?”
She had completely composed herself. “Of course not; you’re absolutely right. This rebel is the City’s problem and none of the Tycoon’s.” She smiled gratefully at the big foreigner. “If you’ll but hold him until we’re ready to leave,” she suggested.
“My dungeons are large; I’ll do that with pleasure,” the Tycoon said, but Radi hoped that he had sowed a seed or two of mistrust in the man. He didn’t dare look at Edvar straight on, but from the corner of his eyes he could see the boy was tense. “I’ll summon my guards,” the Tycoon said, stepping toward the door.
“Hold a moment,” Harubiki commanded. “He didn’t escape the grave I left him in without aid, which means he still has an accomplice at large.”
“She’s right,” Botvidi said, suddenly concerned. “It can’t be Chappa; he’s been dead since last night. Who helped you, Radi?”
Radi straightened his spine, inwardly surprised at how much effort that took. “She tied the bonds poorly. She’s careless and stupid.”
“A lie!” Harubiki said, but Radi could tell she was terribly embarrassed at having failed in her task, for whatever reason. Her dagger was in hand again and she stepped menacingly toward him. “Tell me, Radi.” The blade flashed and he knew his earlobe was nicked. It was only a warning; she could have taken the whole ear, just as easily. Despite his will not to, Radi was sweating profusely. “Tell me who, Radi, or I’ll design a special set of tortures for you… perhaps one finger at a time? Or maybe chop off a little something more important?”
“Deza,” Edvar said, speaking up for the first time. “It must have been Deza.”
Radi looked at Edvar; he looked frantic.
“Who else but the trollop?” Edvar said coarsely. “Why, I’ll bet she’s been working with him all along. Tell me where she is, father, and I’ll fetch her in here right away. We’ll settle this matter of who we can trust once and for all.”
Radi frowned. The boy was throwing him to the wolves for a chance to save Deza, yet, he couldn’t blame him. He might have done the same if their circumstances were reversed. Deza would need help in getting away safely; Edvar, as the Tycoon’s son, might be the only person capable of doing it now. Radi had few illusions about his own fate; Harubiki would lose too much face if she failed again. Nothing worse than a prideful assassin.
“Yes,” Radi said at last. “It was Deza who rescued me. She followed us into the desert and dug me out just as soon as it was dark.” The boy looked immensely relieved.
“Deza?” The Tycoon laughed. “Deza? Oh, that’s very good. Tell me, can water witches fly? Because that’s what she’d have had to do to get out of the sinkhole, assuming she could survive a thousand foot fall.”
“What?” Edvar said, stunned but alert. “What are you saying. Where is she? Where is Deza?”
“Dead,” the Tycoon said, glowering at his son. “I threw the useless wench into a sinkhole in the karst.”
Edvar gasped and moved, perhaps as if to reach for his knife, perhaps only a gesture of recoiled horror. Whatever the reason, Harubiki grabbed his hand.
“Look at his fingernails,” she said. “There’s dirt under his nails.” In a single movement she slashed the sash on the boy’s robe and pulled it from his shoulders. The knees of his breeches were badly stained from kneeling so long over Radi’s grave. “Here’s your accomplice,” Harubiki said, relieving Edvar of his knife.
The Tycoon stopped laughing, staring at his dirty son. “Edvar, is this true?”
Edvar’s lips pursed belligerently, then he said, “You don’t know what you’re doing. You might have pulled it off if all they wanted was gold, but guns, Father. What do you think they are going to do with the guns?”
“Oh, my dear friend,” Sheria said, gently touching the Tycoon’s arm with her slender fingers. “Your son is young and has time in which to learn. Perhaps he’ll learn more quickly if he spends a night in the dungeon with a real criminal. I think the morning light will bring him to his senses.”
Radi caught Sheria’s wink, as did the Tycoon. The big man hesitated, but his anger overcame him. “Guard!” he bellowed. Household guards burst into the room. “Take these two to the dungeons.” He pushed his son into Radi with the heel of his boot so that the guards would have no doubt of which two he meant.
“I’m sorry,” Edvar said under his breath, and Radi couldn’t tell whether the remark was meant for him or the Tycoon. He watched almost with detachment as Edvar was dragged out of the room. Then he allowed himself to be half-carried downstairs, wishing irrationally for a drink of the wine still in the flagon dangling from Edvar’s belt.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What finally woke her was the sound of dripping water. Deza opened her eyes and looked up. At first she could see nothing, and that and the steady sound of water on rock made her think she was underground. She was lying, not on rock, but on sand, and she did not feel cold at all, even though desert nights were treacherously chill. She turned onto her side and went to sleep.
When she woke again, she could see degrees of darkness, the flat black of rock against the clearer black of an edge of night sky and a few stars. She was lying under an overhang of rock on smooth sand, perhaps under the shelter of the cliff where she had fallen off her pony. She was not underground after all. She had been dreaming she was lost underground, wandering endlessly through dark caverns and winding passages, looking for her father, but it was only a dream. She wrapped her cloak about her and slept without dreams.
Morning woke her fully, and she saw that she had been both right and wrong. The overhang above her head was not one of the heavy cliffs of the karst, and although it was sand sh
e slept on, it was not the prickly desert sand, but the smooth bed of a river that no longer flowed here, carving out the rock above and below till its roof was narrower and more fragile and collapsed finally under its own weight. She was, in fact, underground, halfway down a sinkhole.
The Tycoon must have made good his threat, Deza thought. He said he’d throw me down one if I didn’t lead him to his source. She wondered lazily how she had managed to survive the fall and crawled out from under the edge of the overhang to see. Her tracks in the deep sand were easy to see—the underground river had poured through this ruined passage and past it perhaps ten feet before plummeting straight down into the underground lake that formed the body of the sinkhole. From above, the Tycoon would have seen nothing but shadows. When he had kicked her in (not pushed, she decided) she had fallen not even on her hands and knees but like a sack of orbs. She could read that record in the sand. Totally helpless, unconscious perhaps, and he threw me down a hole. Very nice. With any luck I would have gone all the way to the bottom.
Deza stood up, her head nearly touching the low rock roof. She felt a little dizzy. I’d better not go too near the edge, she thought, or the Tycoon will get his wish after all. Using the sides and roof to keep her shaky balance, she edged out into the sunlight. The overhang sloped downward near the opening and then cut off sharply, part of the general collapse, forming a straight-fractured cliff that extended straight up a good twenty feet. Deza inspected the east-facing rock face in the morning light, but could see no footholds that would help her climb out, even in the full sunlight. The rock had fractured smoothly, leaving an almost perfectly flat face.
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