Anneliese's jaw dropped. Her tongue darted across her roughened lips. The man drank, and she saw a drop of water roll from the ladle, down his fingers and onto his sleeve. Then his gaze met hers. Anneliese felt her cheeks redden, caught staring, but she could not look away. Again, he reached into his jug, holding the dipper toward her.
No! she thought. Don't trust him.
Water streamed from the ladle like a string of jewels. The man nodded, his smile blending into the creases of his face.
As if in a dream, Anneliese crossed the street and took the dipper. The liquid rolled, cool, down her throat. She tilted her head until the last drop crossed her lips. Finally, she handed back the ladle and watched him reseal the jug.
The old man grinned. He patted Anneliese's shoulder. Leaning heavily upon her, he got to his feet. Anneliese scrambled to hook the jugs to the pole. She glanced guiltily from his face. She'd accepted his water. What would he want in return?
But the man hefted his burden and, without looking back, resumed his pace. Anneliese watched until the crowd obscured his presence and she could no longer hear his clattering jugs. Had the old man stopped simply to offer her a sip of water, a pat on the shoulder? Kindness did not fit her view of this world.
She thought of the gaoler then, remembering his careful ministration as she lay half-conscious in her cage. Not the act of a barbarian—and yet he enslaved women.
Forcing her feet to move, Anneliese continued down the street. The heavy robe clung to her body, rivulets of sweat rolling down her back. Shadows withdrew from the force of the sun. Fewer people traveled the streets, and she realized the market was closing. She listened to the sound of her footsteps against the gravel, walking woodenly. Abruptly, she stopped.
She stood before a squat building. Cocking her head, she compared the stone front to the image in her mind. Across the door, a curtain swayed—the same pattern. She was certain. She had found Surah's lounge.
A smile cracked her blistered lips. Straightening her shoulders, Anneliese pulled the curtain aside. The vestibule was dark and cool. Anneliese blinked rapidly, arms outstretched.
Immediately, a shadow jumped up, rushing toward her—and she remembered there had been a man sleeping in the corner.
The man grabbed her arms. Anneliese struggled.
"Stop! You don't understand!” she cried.
Lifting her bodily, the man threw her out the door. She scrabbled in the street, and then launched herself at him.
"Let me in! You must let me in!” She pummeled his chest.
He brushed her away then stood in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.
Anneliese stood slowly. Gritting her teeth, ears ringing with pulse beat, she drew the knife from her sleeve. The man's expression shifted. He lowered his arms. Anneliese's fingers shook. Crouching over the knife, she ran straight at him.
The man plucked the knife away as if she were a child. He sent Anneliese sprawling then grinned, examining his prize. Turning pointedly, he disappeared behind the curtain.
Anneliese drew her knees to her chin, covering her head with her arms; but she would not cry. She had to find another way inside.
Following the wall, she moved to the rear of the building. The air thickened with the stench of refuse. Peering around the corner, she watched a deformed man wheel a garbage can from a concrete shed. Anneliese narrowed her eyes.
The dumbwaiter.
The man pushed his barrow over a well-worn path then strained to lift the can. Two women sifted through the dump, filling a soup kettle, and he paused to speak with them.
Keeping her eyes upon his back, Anneliese crept toward the waiting lift, stepping onto the stained platform. The man turned just as she released the pulley.
Darkness enfolded her. Anneliese pressed her hands against the sides of the falling dumbwaiter, holding her breath against the stink. At last, the cubicle halted.
She stepped into a dimly lit hallway, shivering with a draft of cold air. Ahead, she heard laughter, a strain of faint music, and she followed the sound, tiptoeing past closed doors and shadowed shelves.
"You, there! What are you doing?” a voice called.
Anneliese jumped, spinning about. “Please,” she said. “I must speak with Surah Rudnitsky."
The man seized her wrist, glancing toward the dumbwaiter shaft. The platform was gone. “How'd you get in here, anyway?"
"Your name is Erit, right? Well, Erit, it's important that I see your employer.” Anneliese wrenched her arm free.
Suddenly, arms encased her from behind, lifting her into the air.
"Let go of me!” she shouted, kicking her feet, toppling a shelf.
"What the hell's going on here?” a new voice cried.
The arms released, dropping Anneliese to the floor. She glanced back at the deformed man.
Then she looked up at Surah Rudnitsky. “Oh, Surah, please remember me. My name is Anneliese. I was here with my husband, Cade."
"Anneliese Thielman?” Surah stepped forward, shaking her head. She pulled down Anneliese's goggles. Then her lips parted and one side crinkled into a smile. “They told me you were dead."
CHAPTER 11
Anneliese clasped her hands before her. She was safe. Nothing would happen to her now. Tears blurred her vision and she shut her eyes against them.
"I thought I'd never find you,” she whispered.
"Take her to my apartment,” Surah said, “and not a word to anyone."
The deformed man lifted Anneliese to her feet, and then led her through a stone maze. With a clubbed hand, he keyed a code into a security lock, opening a door.
The room beyond was shadowed and stale. Crates interspersed the furniture. Anneliese stepped along a narrow aisle, wondering if she were in a warehouse.
Behind her, Surah said, “You look like hell.” The woman pressed her palm against a touch pad and the lights brightened. Clucking her tongue, she cupped Anneliese's chin, tilting her face toward the light. “What happened to your hair?” she asked, crossing the room.
Anneliese opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. Surah held out a glass. Water! Anneliese dove forward, trembling, drinking too fast, feeling coolness spill over her chin. The room swayed, and she sank to a nearby couch.
Surah took the glass away. “So. Where's Cade?"
"I don't know,” Anneliese said. “Hasn't he been in touch with you?"
"That limmer.” Surah laughed huskily. “He skipped out of here owing me a lot of money. I haven't seen him since the explosion."
"The what?"
"The explosion.” Surah pulled up a chair. “The one that took out half the penthouse suites. The one that supposedly ended your life."
Anneliese's eyes glazed, looking back through time. Yes. She remembered hearing an explosion. That night. That horrible night. “What ... how did it happen?"
"Bomb. Damn Llaird terrorists. They executed the conspirator, a man named Ahzgott. He worked as a host in the Resort. Funny, I knew he was outspoken, but I never pictured him as part of the Movement."
Anneliese felt herself receding, as if reality had stopped and she was falling away. “My father,” she whispered. “Was he told that I was...."
"You made the sub-space news, if that's what you mean."
Anneliese closed her eyes. She imagined her father sitting before the screen, reading the sub-space as he did every morning. Vaguely, she was aware of Surah rising, speaking in hushed tones at the door.
"Are you hungry?” Surah asked her, carrying a plate toward a table. “Wake up, honey. I'm not talking to myself."
Anneliese gathered her thoughts, climbing to her feet. Surah was such a kind woman. No wonder Cade trusted her.
"How long has it been since you've eaten?” Surah asked.
"I had a piece of stegort yesterday,” Anneliese said.
"Is that a fact? Hunger must have broadened your tastes. Sit down. You can tell me how you escaped annihilation."
Anneliese stared at the plate of mushrooms.
Food. Real food. Taking a breath, she bit into the fist-sized morel, moaning in appreciation.
"Thank you,” she said, slumping forward.
Surah refilled her glass from a pitcher. Anneliese forced herself to sip the water slowly. Drawing her chair closer, she struck her knee upon a box beneath the table.
"Do you live here?” Anneliese asked.
"Yes. It's not much, and so on. I try to keep my store of trinkets to a minimum, but sometimes they come in faster than I can sell them."
In the back of her mind, Anneliese heard Cade say: Trade is power.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?” Surah asked.
"I hardly know where to begin.” Anneliese looked away. How could she tell her, how could she verbalize her shame?
Surah leaned back, watching. “Why don't you start with something simple? Like after you smashed my rantobi table."
Anneliese kneaded her fingers. “Cade became angry and sent me back to the Resort. I waited for hours. Then, Mr. Ahzgott came. He said that Cade had lost a great deal of money and, according to local custom, I was expected to pay the debt."
"Wait a minute. Are you saying they put a hotel guest into the cage?"
"I didn't want to go. I fought the guards, but there were too many. When I awoke, it was dark. There were bars all around. And then...” She balled her fists into her eyes. Tears burst forth in spasms. “A man came into the cage. It was Harmadeur. I couldn't get away."
"Harmadeur? The Security Master?"
"He ... hurt me."
"Anneliese, look at me. Did anyone else call upon you, did you have other ... visitors?"
Anneliese hiccupped, shaking her head.
"I see.” Surah folded her arms. “How did you escape?"
And in a voice so small she could barely hear it, Anneliese said, “I killed him."
"You killed Harmadeur Gendarme?” Surah gave a gravely laugh.
Anneliese's head snapped up. She bared her teeth. “Yes! I killed him! I struck him down with his own knife. He was an obscenity, an abomination."
"Where's the knife, now?"
"The man at your door stole it from me.” Anneliese ran a hand through her hair then flinched.
"Banhazl,” Surah said. “He's probably already sold it. Do you have anything else, anything to connect you to a murder?"
"I used his blood to darken my hair."
Surah lifted her lip in a crooked smile. “Ingenious. And how did you stain your skin?"
"Moss from my tea."
"It's a wonder you didn't die of heart failure. Our tea is addictive. We'd better get it off you."
"Surah, you don't understand. I have to find Cade. They must be holding him somewhere."
"Don't worry. Cade has always been able to take care of himself. But, if what you say is true...."
"Of course, it's true!” Anneliese cried. “Do you think I would make up a story like that? You must have heard something about Harmadeur's death."
Surah shrugged. “Perhaps the Resort is playing it down. Are you certain Ahzgott was the one who came for you? Interesting. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
Surah led Anneliese into a lavatory that seemed spacious in contrast to the cluttered room. Anneliese stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was dark with sunburn, her lips cracked and rough. Bruises marred both eyes, and the bridge of her nose looked puffy and raw.
"Water is at a premium here,” Surah told her. “The best I can offer is a sonic shower."
"That sounds wonderful.” Anneliese sat upon a wrought iron bench, untying the bindings about her feet. The fabric, stiff with dried blood, stuck to her wounds, and she winced as she pulled it away. “Surah, thank you for helping me. I don't know what I would have done."
"Didn't think I'd turn you away, did you? Now, give me that robe so I can dispose of it."
Hesitating, Anneliese slid the robe from her shoulders. She crossed her arms over her breasts.
Surah clucked her tongue. “You've got more lumps than a gilly-whack frog. You'd best not need a doctor."
Anneliese glanced at her reflection. An angry splotch spread over her side. Perhaps she should see a physician, she thought, but before she could reply, Surah picked up the robe and left the room.
Anneliese approached the sink. She twisted the spigot, running a trickle of water into the basin. The water was warm. She cupped some into her mouth then splashed her face.
Leaning forward, she dunked her head into the basin, rubbing at the blood coating her hair. The crystal water turned to ink. Releasing the stopper, Anneliese let the water run out then filled the sink again, rinsing her hair until it felt soft.
With soiled water streaming down her back, she activated the sonic shower. The cubicle glowed, and the air inside appeared to tremble. Taking a bottle of cleansing gel from a shelf, Anneliese lathered her body then stepped into the inaudible waves.
A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. She lifted her chin, closing her eyes to mere slits, and allowed the electric tingle to consume her slight form. She imagined the filth washing away, new skin emerging: skin that had never been sullied nor used, bruised by abusive hands.
Lathering again, she remained in the shower until her flesh shone bright pink and her shoulders sagged with weariness. Stepping from the cubicle, she buried her fingers in her diminished hair.
Surah had not returned. Anneliese wandered into a sparsely furnished bedroom. By the light of the open door, she dressed in a tunic she found upon the bed. Then, stretched out upon sheets that smelled faintly of smoke, Anneliese fell asleep.
* * * *
"Rise and shine,” Surah said. “I've brought your breakfast."
Anneliese stretched languidly. “Surah? What time is it?"
"You've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours."
"But ... a whole day?"
"I guess you must've needed the rest. Here. Try a sip of this."
Sitting up, Anneliese accepted the frothy glass; it contained the milk concoction she'd tasted when she'd visited the lounge with Cade. The memory drew a pang of sorrow. “Have you contacted my husband?"
"Not yet. It's been more difficult than I expected—leads have been blocked, information too sketchy to be believed.” Surah tore a corner from a slice of bread, taking a bite. “You say you had no other visitors, you saw no one else?"
Anneliese frowned. She thought of the gaoler bringing a bowl of tea, thought of the woman arguing with her husband. Suddenly, she remembered the group of ruffians who had approached her pen the first night she was there, remembered them taunting her, laughing as she begged for help. But that wasn't the type of visitor to which Surah referred.
"No,” Anneliese said. “Only Harmadeur."
Surah smiled. “Here. Take these with the milk.” She held out two white pills.
Anneliese swallowed them obediently. “What are they?"
"Melen-tabs. I sell them to tourists who want to stay outdoors all day without the sun cooking them. Of course, I don't mention that it darkens the skin."
"But, I'm already sunburned."
"Yes. You certainly are."
Behind Surah, a man cleared his throat. Anneliese looked up to see a tall, native-born man.
Surah leaned against him possessively. “Anneliese, I'd like you to meet Pol-Agher-Estab, my partner."
The tall man nodded. “Miss Thielman."
"Pol will take you somewhere to hide."
Anneliese's scalp prickled. “You're sending me away?"
"It's for the best."
No. Dear God! “Surah, please. I've been through so much."
"I know, and I'm sorry."
"But I want to stay with you."
"Damn it, Thielman, wake up! You knew this would be the first place they'd look. Already, there've been strangers...."
Anneliese crawled to the far side of the bed, spilling milk upon the sheets. “No! You can't make me leave!"
"Anneliese, be reasonable,” Surah said.
"You don't be
lieve anything I told you!"
"And what would you have me believe? That you were caged to pay a debt to the local commonwealth, yet you entertained only one man? I'd think they'd have you working day and night."
"It was Harmadeur,” Anneliese said. “He coveted me. He must have paid the gaoler to keep me apart from the others."
"That's absurd! Why would he give Cade something to hold over him? Cade owes him too much money."
Anneliese gaped, taken aback.
Surah waved her arm. “And now you say Harmadeur is dead. And the man who took you to the cage is dead. Probably every guard involved in your abduction was lost in the blast. Some fantasy."
"You're twisting my words. Why won't you listen to me? You're a vicious and spiteful woman."
Surah slapped Anneliese hard enough to split her lip.
Anneliese raised her fingers to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. “You are supposed to be Cade's friend."
"You've no idea,” Surah muttered.
Anneliese felt the room close about her. She felt someone tug the tunic over her head. Don't believe it, she told herself; it won't happen if you don't believe.
"Bring her in here,” Surah said.
Her feet turned cold upon the rough floor. Anneliese walked docilely, wincing into the brightness of the lavatory.
Behind her, Pol said, “She certainly acts the part."
"I tell you, it will work,” Surah answered.
Anneliese retreated to that part of her mind where she would go when her father ignored her. She watched herself as if from a distance, saw Surah pull a dye-rod through her hair, turning the silver tufts to ebony. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her flat, smooth breasts. She stared at her image in the mirror, surprised at the deepening color of her skin.
I'm a boy, she thought dully. What have they done to me?
They dressed her in an undergarment similar to bloomers, draped a threadbare robe over her shoulders, then an outer robe.
Surah clucked her tongue. “What could he have been thinking?"
"He told you all along,” Pol said.
Anneliese blinked, glancing between them.
Surah flashed her partner a warning look. “Lace up her boots. We're running out of time."
Anneliese closed her eyes, balling her fists at her sides. I'm sorry, Father, she thought. Please let me come home.
Resort Debauch Page 8
