High Couch of Silistra

by Janet Morris

  I got down a third thin strip, wiped my bloodied knife on my boot, and returned it to its parr-hide sheath.

  Then I got the surcingle from between the boulders and stood over Santh’s drowsy head.

  “Get up, lazy one,” said I, prodding him with my foot and pointing to the surcingle. “We must make M’lennin’s by night.”

  Complaining loudly, Santh stretched and rose. I threw one end of the web-weave band over his back, between his shoulder and forewing, and grabbing the dangling end from beneath his belly, hitched it tight. Having secured the cube and letter from harm by this means, I relaxed again. Whatever happened on the trail, Santh would bring the cube and letter to M’lennin. Although the danger of the open plain is slight, and with such a companion slighter still, I had been uneasy in Santh’s absence. Silistrans have only one natural enemy. Other Silistrans. I had seen no one since we had set out before sun’s rising, but one fears the enemy one doesn’t see. With Santh at my side, I feared nothing.

  We set out again, I at my easiest jog and Santh padding beside. He would have allowed me to ride him, but my legs were strong under me. I had not had time for my usual exercise this day, or yesterday, and I had need to work the kinks from my muscles.

  Santh paced me patiently until I felt loose and pleasantly tired. Then we rested and shared the waterskin. When I had replaced it in the pocket and laced the flap securely, he nudged me toward his back with his wedge-shaped head. He could not understand the slowness of our pace. I laughed and scrambled onto him, placing my feet and hands in the surcingle loops provided for that purpose. When I was secure, he got carefully to his feet and broke into an easy lope that ate up the distance. His approval was a purr in his throat.

  We sped across the green and yellow flatlands, toward the foothills where the Liaison First had built his angular, ugly complex. The jitkaws swooped and darted in the green-blue sky. It was a clear afternoon, and the west wind carried the smell of new awakening, for it was Detarsa first first, that is, the first day of the first seven-day set, or of the pass of Detarsa, our fifth month from winter solstice. Yesterday had been Macara fourth seventh, that is, the last day of the last set of the pass Macara. We have on Silistra a fourteen-month revolution, each month containing twenty-eight days. Our year is eight days less than the standard B.F. year of four hundred days. Our day is forty minutes shy of the Bipedal Federate Standard day of thirty hours, but we divide it into twenty-eight “enths,” or “bells.” Each enth, or bell, contains seventy-five iths.

  I had not been conscious of the problem relating times until I had spent a year as M’lennin’s couch-mate. This questionable custom is not a chaldric matter, but courtesy to the outworlder Liaison, and had been originated by Well-Keepress Astria. I had found it very difficult to live with M’lennin, in his strange home of clicking machines and canned and frozen food, where time and date are Bipedal Federate Standard, and nothing Silistran. M’lennin prides himself on his retention of off-world customs, and holds us, I am afraid, in sour contempt. He would have us mechanize and modernize and become like all the other Federate worlds. Much money comes to Silistra, but little goes back to the star-worlds. This is a great problem, in his mind. I think matters are as they should be. If Silistra became as all the other star-worlds, if we were not unique, what would we have to offer them?

  Such were my thoughts as Santh bore me effortlessly toward M’lennin’s star-steel fortress. Within its walls was the help I needed. It was well within the Liaison’s power to analyze the data contained in my mother’s tape and make me the copies I desired. Since each major Well had its own Liaison, and these kept in constant contact with each other, I could also benefit from his assistance in arranging my stay in Well Arlet. Doubtless, too, he could provide me speedy and anonymous passage up the coast. Perhaps his computer complex would be able to pinpoint my father’s race and planet, and I would not need to go to Arlet at all.

  There was, however, one problem in obtaining this invaluable assistance from my former couch-mate, and this problem was more and more in my mind as the hulking geometric Keep of the Liaison First loomed larger and larger on the horizon. I would have to ask. I, who had so many times derided M’lennin for his all-consuming technological passion, who had declared my independence from communicators and computers, now found myself in the ignominious position of needing those very machines which I had so loudly decried.

  Dusk was fast approaching. The lights, keyed by an electronic sensor, were ablaze in M’lennin’s outer court. Still I had found no way to approach him that would allow me to retain my dignity. Perhaps I would have to admit that, indeed, his toys were good for something after all. I stopped Santh with a touch, and dismounted, walking by his side through the electric eyes that sentried the outer gate. Now M’lennin knew I had arrived.

  I dallied in the empty court, hoping in these last few moments that some inspiration would come to me. I scratched Santh under his massive chin, and he butted me with his head toward the door. He knew where he was. He had been raised his first year here.

  The hulion was anxious to be indoors with his sister, Sithantha. I sighed. It would be unpleasant, but the time called the move. I must set aside my pride and principles and my personal feelings for M’lennin. I wished it were not he whom I must petition for aid. He would take much satisfaction from my plight.

  Santh growled restlessly. I ran the three broad steps to the star-steel door and put my hand to the glowing red panel. The door slid silently aside to admit us. With Santh at my heels, I stepped into the reception hall. The door slid back into place.

  We had taken but three or four steps along the hallway when I heard the clatter of running feet and M’lennin careened down the steps directly in front of me, almost colliding with Santh.

  He was gasping for breath, his black-and-gold dress tunic rumpled, his face contorted. He reached out a hand as if to steady me, and then I understood.

  “Time has improved our relationship, M’len.” I grinned at him. “I had not imagined you so anxious to see me.”

  “The blood, I thought, that is…” He took his hand from my shoulder and ran it through his blond beard. His blue eyes were keen and icy.

  “I thought you were hurt,” he began again, looking pointedly at my bloodstained garment. “I see I was mistaken.”

  “Only a fresh meal I took with Santh on the trail.” I reached out to take his fine-boned, freckled hand. “It is good to see you, Liaison. What have the winds blown you?” I dropped his hand and stripped the surcingle from Santh, slinging it over my left shoulder. The hulion, sniffing loudly, his head to the ground, disappeared around the first corner to our right. I let him go.

  M’lennin had not answered, but stood, watching Santh. His back was to me.

  “He is immense,” the Liaison said. “Twice the size of his sister.”

  “Males are often bigger than females,” I reminded him.

  “But not always,” said he, turning to face me. M’lennin and I are the same height. “Time has been easy on you,” he observed.

  “And you also,” I lied. I could see new lines upon his boyish face, and silver in his flaxen hair. I moved to join him where he had seated himself on the bottommost of the three steps that led up into the keep proper.

  “You did not answer me,” I reminded him, “when I asked of your affairs. I assume you have been profitably engaged? We have not seen you in Astria for more time than is customary.” I had not seen M’lennin since the end of the couch-bond.

  He shrugged. “You seemed to wish it so,” he said softly, examining his booted feet. “Should I have sought you there? When we parted, you wanted nothing from me that I could give. Nor has there been any amendment to the trade arrangements. They have stood unaltered since you took up control of the Well.” His eyes met mine. “Did you come here to try me again? I doubt your luck will be better now than it was then.”

  M’lennin had not changed. He was bitter, still, that he had not brought child upon me in the year
I had spent with him, and hurt that his feelings for me were more than I could return. He had wanted me to himself, and had managed to acquire me for a year. When the year was over, I left with no regret. It had not been so for M’lennin. During that year he had tried to manipulate the trade balance in the Well through me. He had not succeeded. I had thwarted his plans in more ways than one. M’lennin was used to getting his way. I, also, like control of my situation. There was much discord between us.

  I did not answer.

  “If not my glorious body,” he asked again, “then what brings you here? And why alone? How will the Well fare without its Keepress?”

  “I came,” said I, snatching the opening, “because I have taken up the chaldra of the mother. It must be done without aid from the Well. I have the Day-Keeper’s leave to pursue this end. I would have your help. These things,” I said as I handed him the cube and letter, “were my lever with Ristran. He will pick them up from you. I need the copies, computer evaluation, anything that will help me discharge this chaldra.”

  M’lennin turned the cube in his hands.

  “How did you come by this? I thought there were no such viewers in Astria? You did not get it through me.”

  “It is old, before your time and mine. In my mother’s time we had looser standards. We had surveillance devices in the Well. My mother made the tape, and it was held for me. On it is the record of my conception. It shows my father. The chaldra involves—” I stopped, for he had raised his hand.

  “Estri, I have guests in the dining hall. This is a long and complicated story, it seems, and dinner lies cooling on the plates. I will give you what I can in the way of aid. Perhaps you can also aid me. Will you stay the night?”

  I nodded. I could see no way around it, though I knew he would exact his price.

  “Have you something else I might wear? And I would wash the trail dust from me before I meet your guests.” I plucked at my bloodstained tas jerkin.

  He got to his feet, lifting me from the step.

  “I have kept your things. They are in the room you had. I will walk you there, and you can tell me more of this chaldra.” He smiled, guiding me down the corridor, his hand at the small of my back. “It is an interesting twist, you coming here for such specialized assistance. I think I will much enjoy aiding you.” He chuckled.

  We stopped at the door to his sleeping quarters, and I waited while he locked the cube and letter in his private vault and called the house computer to alter the dinner plan. It clicked disapprovingly. I leaned against the blue wall in that blue room that I had thought never to see again. Caught up tight in the weave of some strong time skein, I felt very helpless. M’lennin made no move to leave, but lit a pipe and threw one leg over his desk and leaned there, puffing the mild aromatic smoke.

  “Who are these guests we keep waiting?” I asked, to remind him.

  “The new Liaison Second, bound to Arlet, and his pilot. We Liaisons would rather fly than walk.”

  “What?” I clutched my chald. Still tighter wove the weave. “What happened to the old Liaison Second?”

  “He died of natural causes. He was an old man,” said M’lennin, eyeing me curiously. “Did you know him? You seem upset.”

  “No,” I whispered, “but I must go to Arlet from here.” Now I knew why I had felt need to hurry here. I shook my head and rubbed my hands across my eyes.

  “To Arlet? In connection with the chaldra?” he asked.

  “I must meet with a Day-Keeper there. I had thought to take residence in Well Arlet, but under another name. There is need for secrecy. I have much to discuss with you, M’len, and little time.”

  He waved me out of the room, and followed, palming the door shut. We hurried down the corridor, past three doors on the left. Before the fourth he stopped.

  “Perhaps we can settle this here, and you will not have to journey to Arlet. The new Liaison Second, Khaf-Re Dellin, and his pilot must stay here a few days. He is young, and has never before been to Silistra. The old Liaison’s death was sudden, and Dellin is being shoved into this thing unprepared. He needs more than briefing and language tapes before taking on the second-greatest Well on Silistra. I must work with him before he settles into his responsibilities.” He grinned. “I may ask your aid with him. Who knows Silistrans better than the Well-Keepress of Astria?” He leaned against the wall, fingering his beard.

  “Tomorrow,” he continued, for I had not replied, “I will start early with you, at sun’s rise, if you wish, and we will see what can be learned from the letter and viewer. There is ample time to arrange your passage with Dellin, if we decide it is prudent. Tonight we will eat and enjoy each other’s company, and Dellin will meet the high-couch of Silistra.” He rubbed his hands together. “This is really most opportune.”

  “But I would start—”

  “No,” he interrupted me firmly. “No chaldra, no business, no predictions. Not tonight. Tonight you see to my aid and comfort, tomorrow I to yours. It is a fair trade.” He touched the red block beside the door, it glowed, and the panel slid soundlessly aside.

  “You will find it unchanged,” said he, and waved me within.

  It was true. The room that had been mine two years ago was exactly as I had left it. I shivered as I entered. M’lennin followed, and the door closed us in. I stood in the midst of all the off-world opulence imaginable. Thrah-skins from Torth covered the floor, multicolored and luminous, and the pile was ankle-deep. The curtains were wine plush, heavy-napped and glowing, like tiers of strung rubies, woven on the looms of Pleiatus. The Pleiatu are the master weavers of the known galaxy, and their magnificent dyes are their greatest secret. The table and two chairs were carved from the white bone of the wistwa, giant sea-beast of Oguast. The windows behind the tables, framed by those bloodred curtains, were quartz crystal slabs from M’lennin’s home planet, M’ksakka. The only thing Silistran-made was the couch itself. It was double to my own thala well-couch, crafted by Astria’s own masters.

  I was unsettled that M’lennin had done this thing. There was no dust on the wistwa table, no wrinkle in the resplendent silken hangings from Kost. It was as if he had made a shrine of this place. It felt wrong; I did not like it.

  I liked less the look on the Liaison’s face. I turned from him and knelt before the low chest beneath the windows. In it were the clothes I had brought with me from Astria. I stripped off the jerkin and threw it aside. The silence screamed its message. I freed my hair, and it fell around me.

  I rummaged in the chest, finding at last what I sought—a comb and two gold clips, and a length of embroidered Koster silk.

  These I laid beside me on the pile rug. I sat on my heels, naked, and with the comb I went to work on my ratted hair. Through the curtain of its strands I saw M’lennin’s booted feet appear in front of me.

  “M’len—” I said, before his hand twisted in my hair and pushed my head hard to the floor between my knees. I felt with my hands for him, but he caught them up behind my back.

  “Did you think I would give you the chance?” he, growled as he used me so brutally I cried out. “Did you think I would wait while you read my mind and manipulated me, while you witched me again? No. This time you will take what I see fit to give you, my way.”

  It did not last very long. When he let me go, I rolled over and looked up at him. To use a Silistran woman so that the precious sperm is wasted is a great insult. I would have, had he wished it, made love with him. He had not wished it. It had been painful, the more so because I could not move to ease him.

  He stood above me, already buckling his gold-studded belt. I would not give him more satisfaction. If I could have avoided it, I would not have cried out.

  “I know the way to the dining hall,” I said. “I will meet you there.”

  He looked down at me as I lay there, on my back on the Torth pelt. For a moment I thought he would speak. Instead, he turned on his heel and in three strides was out of the room, slapping the lock without looking back.

&nbs
p; “Have I hurt you so deeply, M’len?” I asked softly of the empty room. It appeared that I had. I explored myself with my hand, and finding no blood, rolled to my feet.

  As I made my way into the adjoining washroom, I picked from the pile of silk my bone comb. In the shower I attacked my ratted hair section by section. When it was tangle-free, I lathered my body and leaned back, letting the steaming spray run long over my aching buttocks.

  I flipped the knob that controlled the shower’s temperature, holding my breath as the icy needles struck.

  The cold was invigorating, but it did not cool my inner heat. I was still much aroused. I smiled to myself, thinking of M’len. I hadn’t thought him capable of such ferocity. That was my mistake. It lies waiting in all men. I had made the novice’s error of allowing my conception of the man to blind me to his needs.

  No one is perfect, I decided as I padded on squishing feet back into the apartment. It had turned out the better for my surprise. By surrendering control of the situation, by expressing my pain and humiliation, I had gained an edge. And perhaps I could exploit it.

  I stood on the Torth pelt wringing my hair dry. The smell of the room, of star steel and damp clean body, of my own need, excited me.

  Finally I was dripped dry enough to dress. I wound the Koster silk, all embroidered in gem tones, around my body, and clipping two ends at the neck and the others at my hip, drew it taut over my breasts and hips. Then I regarded myself in the mirror behind the couch. My skin gleamed from the needle spray of the shower. I tingled all over. My image reassured me. Even with my hair still damp, and parted simply, I looked well. There were no toilet maids to dress me here. I would have to get used to caring for my own needs. I had done it in the past. I reached back and took the curling mass of my hair where it fell over my hips and squeezed once more. The drops ran down my legs and dripped on the rug.

  I inspected my reflection once again. Good enough, I thought, and tossed the bone comb on the couch. The rust silk set me off to my best advantage. There was, however, something missing. Thoughtfully, I disengaged the clip that held the two ends of the silk strap together at my right hip. I lifted the ends and stuffed them through my chald, so that they were tightly belted to my waist. Then I refastened the clip higher on my thigh. I fingered my father’s ring for a moment. Better. I turned, slowly, full around. Much better.