by Jill Braden
Kyam grunted. “Get off me.”
She leaned down to stare into his eyes. “I don’t need your protection.”
A long moment passed when she couldn’t read his face. His mood shifted. She’d never seen him without his swagger.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t need me, but I need you. It’s only natural that I’d want to protect –”
“Such a valuable asset?”
He shook his head.
Something about the soft, almost sad look in his eyes told her he was going to do it, so she wasn’t surprised when he kissed her. Resisting him never entered her mind. It had been far too long since someone had kissed her like that. Petrof knew how to excite her, but he never bothered with pleasantries. Kyam kissed like he could spend hours on her lips alone. The stroke of his hand down her back felt nice too, and it was increasingly clear that he was ready to do more than kiss.
“I’ve wanted to do that for months.” He sounded a bit breathless, but that might have been because she sat on his stomach. His voice was low and quiet in that earnest way men had of talking in bed, the kind of voice that made her want to peel off his clothes.
Instead, she climbed off him. “We should get moving.”
He propped up on his elbows. As quickly as it had drained from him, his impish glint was back. “That’s it? No outrage? No triumph? No warning that the Devil is a jealous man who will kill me for touching you? Not even a prim, ‘That was terribly forward of you, Mister Zul, even though you saved my life?’”
As he got to his feet and smacked leaves off his trousers, she wondered if she really sounded that cold. And then she saw the mischief in his eyes. The cheeky bastard was teasing her.
She threw a light punch to his chin. “Better?”
He grinned as he rubbed his jaw. “You pulled that. Or at least I hope you did. Otherwise, you’re not nearly as tough as your reputation.”
It really was a pity he was a Thampurian. He was the best time she’d had in years.
Chapter 9: The Harbor Master
From the look on Kyam’s face when they emerged in the center of old Levapur, QuiTai guessed he’d never set foot in the maze of tin-roofed shacks that clung to the hillsides. That didn’t surprise her.
As they headed down the deeply rutted main road, a young boy ran to them with his hand out. “Pui, auntie QuiTai?”
QuiTai folded her arms across her chest. “Why aren’t you in school, little brother?”
The boy shrugged as he raised his hand higher.
“Pui is for good students only,” she said sternly.
Still grinning, he skipped away.
Although she wished they would teach in Ponongese instead of Thampurian, QuiTai had to admit that the Thampurian’s zeal to educate her people was a good thing. Every parent on the island knew that if they couldn’t afford tuition, the Devil would help, even though the Devil himself wasn’t aware of that. It was one of the many details of his business that QuiTai felt he didn’t need to know.
“You’re a strict little mother,” Kyam said.
She shuddered as his words once again hit hidden marks with surprising accuracy. Maybe she came across as strict, but she was only trying to protect the children. Danger could race out of the darkness without warning and rip your world into pieces in moments.
Some lessons you only needed to learn once.
It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with him or anyone. From their brief time together, she’d learned the surest way to make Kyam’s penetrating gaze glaze over was to share her political views. So she said, “Since when is ignorance the best way to arm children for the future?”
“Arm? You make it sound like war.”
Shaking her head, she gestured to the shacks of old Levapur with contempt. “Look around you, Mister Zul. Sewage running down the middle of the slope. Shacks that will collapse in a typhoon. Look how exhausted even the young men seem, how dull their eyes are, as if the world has beaten them to dust. Of course I’m at war with this.”
“Let me guess. You blame the Thampurians.”
Old Levapur always made her feel hopeless. Her rage had long ago subsided to a numb ache. She did what she could, but it was like trying to build a wall of sand to protect the beach from the sea. “I blame everyone who accepts it.”
“That’s oddly fair, coming from you.”
“There are plenty of other things I blame on your people.”
“Good. I was almost worried.”
People were beginning to set aside their chores and approach them. Kyam said, “We seem to have attracted a lot of attention. How dangerous is this place?” He moved closer to QuiTai.
She nodded to a group of men who smoked a kur outside a leaning shack. “You’re perfectly safe here, something you can thank the Devil for. He rules old Levapur with an iron fist.”
“How is that any better than the iron fist of the colonial government?”
“Politics, Mister Zul? How delightful that you’ve finally taken an interest. I’d be glad to discuss that with you at any other time, but as you mentioned, we have company.” QuiTai put her hands together and bowed to the people ambling closer to her and Kyam. “Greetings, uncles and aunties. Have you eaten?”
Casting shy smiles at Kyam, many of the people returned the bow. An elderly woman hobbled through the group.
“Grandmother.” QuiTai bowed more deeply.
“We heard a loud boom. Some are saying that the harbor funicular is destroyed.”
“I will tell you.” QuiTai squatted. The crowd squatted too. QuiTai reached for Kyam’s arm and tugged him down beside her. His knees popped as he crouched.
There were two types of Ponongese stories. There was lore, and then there was an oration. For the Ponongese, an oration was their source of news, and the first telling was important because it would be repeated verbatim. While QuiTai thought about the best way to begin, a buzz of happy anticipation went through the crowd.
“The sea dragon Kyam Zul and I traveled to the harbor, little knowing that enemy spies had picked today to attack and destroy your livelihoods.”
It was, she thought, a decent beginning. Many Ponongese would love to rebel against Thampurian rule, and a few well-chosen words from her could incite them to it. But today she wanted them to be angry with the saboteurs, not feel that the attack on the funicular line was a good idea. While she didn’t like that the plantation terraces had been stolen from her people and given to Thampurian colonists; stopping all transport of the vital medusozoa crop would spell economic disaster for her people. As she often reminded herself, better the devil they knew...
Kyam had the good sense not to interrupt her as she spun the story for her wide-eyed audience.
“... and as we leapt from the car, the funicular hurtled downslope to explode in a wreck.” QuiTai put her hands on her knees and slightly bowed her head to indicate her oration was done.
The crowd leaned together and whispered. After a long consultation, the grandmother spoke. “Do you know who sabotaged the funicular, little sister?”
QuiTai spread her hands. “No, but they are the enemy of everyone who makes a living on the sea or the plantations.” That included almost everyone in old Levapur.
A man at the back of the crowd asked, “How long before the funicular works again?”
“I came here to tell you what happened as soon as we escaped. I haven’t even seen the wreckage up close. It was more important to tell you this story before your enemies spread gossip and point the finger of blame.”
Many of the men rose. “We will go help. The sooner the wreck is cleared, the sooner we can repair the line,” a man said.
“Work is honorable, uncle. May it put rice in your bowl.”
Like QuiTai, Kyam pressed his hands together and bobbed his head until the crowd dispersed and they were alone in the middle of the dirt road. Then he groaned as he stood, and put his hand against his back. “My foot is asleep.”
“When I first retur
ned to Ponong, it took me a month to get used to squatting again. As you can imagine, it was frowned upon on the continent,” she said as she tried to decide which of her informants in old Levapur she was willing to let Kyam meet.
“I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised by your story, Lady QuiTai. You didn’t make me the villain.”
“You didn’t cut the cable.”
“But I’m Thampurian.”
“I’m aware of your unfortunate lineage.” She peered into the dark opening of a shack facing onto the main road. It was a bar whose owner had a good view of the road Thampurians used to move between west Levapur and the town square: If anyone in old Levapur knew about the harbor master, she would.
“So why not take the opportunity to make me look like a fool?”
She couldn’t tell him that it was because of the Oracle, or about the scheme forming on the edges of her mind: if he were truly destined to become the colonial governor, it would be better for her people if they and Kyam had some respect for each other. So she only said, “The reason I didn’t make you look like a fool, Mister Zul, is that you didn’t act like one.”
Squinting with suspicion, he drew back. “Have you been drinking again, Lady QuiTai?”
“No, but it sounds like a lovely idea. And look, here’s a tavern. How convenient.” She swept into the metal shack ahead of Kyam.
~ ~ ~
“I thought you said we’d have drinks.” Kyam gave the murky liquid in the mug a doubtful look.
Like the back-alley bar where QuiTai had met PhaNyan, this place had few furnishings beyond an old door balanced on stacks of bricks on which to serve the drinks. The floor was dirt, and there were no chairs or tables. Ocean breezes blew through the wide gaps between the four metal walls and the thatched roof, keeping it cool inside. The short, curvaceous barkeep wore a faded blue kebaya blouse and a bored expression, although her yellow ringed pupils seemed to glow with curiosity.
QuiTai sipped the slightly salty mix of yogurt and tea. “This is a drink, it just isn’t alcoholic.”
Before the funicular crash, she’d been about to tell Kyam everything she suspected about the Ravidians. Now, she had a better idea: reveal enough to intrigue him while keeping a few steps ahead. She had a couple of trustworthy and resourceful assistants in mind to help her profit from the situation, if she could keep Kyam busy and distracted in the meantime. She’d talk to LiHoun, of course. He was old, but he always delivered. Most of her younger informants only wished they were as accomplished. PhaNyan was a calculated risk. He was resourceful, strong, and reasonably intelligent. Since she’d broken his fingers, he’d sent several ardent messages begging for her forgiveness. As a sign of his desire to please her, he’d discovered a few tantalizing bits of information and promised to bring more. He’d willingly take on a dangerous mission and do his best to bring her what she asked.
Kyam took a sip of the yogurt drink and made a sour face. “It must be an acquired taste.”
“A beer for the sea dragon, please.” QuiTai put a coin on the door. It disappeared before the beer appeared.
Kyam gulped down a long drink of the dark beer.
“Happy now?” QuiTai asked.
He nodded.
“Good. Then go stand over there” – she gestured to the corner – “while auntie and I have a little chat.” She saw an objection rising to his lips. “I’ll be perfectly safe with you standing ten feet away. And if you don’t go, I won’t get the information.”
She forced him to turn around and gently shoved him toward a corner. To his credit, he went without a fuss.
She slipped behind the bar and squatted.
The barkeep jerked her head toward Kyam. “Is it safe?”
“He’s the one buying the information. The Devil might not be happy that you talked to him, though.”
The barkeep hissed as she leaned away.
QuiTai grabbed her wrist. “I could have lied to you, but I didn’t. The sea dragon wants to know where the harbor master lives. If the Devil or his men ask, that’s what you tell them. And give them the answer too if you want.”
She laid out a trail of coins between her and the woman. The barkeep’s eyes widened as the coins increased in denomination.
QuiTai lowered her voice. “This is not for the sea dragon or the Devil to know. You will also deliver a message to PhaNyan and LiHoun. Tell them to meet me, and only me, in about an hour in the town square. I have a task for them.” She picked up a coin half way between her and the woman. “I will return this after I have spoken to them.”
The woman nodded.
QuiTai took the two biggest coins. “And these I will return to you after your son brings me a report from the teachers saying that he’s been in school every day for three months.”
The woman scowled as the coins disappeared into QuiTai’s purse. “He is in school.”
“He tried to beg pui from me ten minutes ago.”
The bar owner’s look of shock wasn’t convincing. “The address, and the message,” QuiTai said.
The woman snatched the coins out of the dirt. “I’ll have to talk to some people.”
“The sea dragon and I will wait here. Go.”
~ ~ ~
West Levapur was a spur of the city built on low hills overlooking the harbor. The buildings reminded QuiTai of the town houses in Thampur’s capital. None had verandas. No one sat outside and chatted with their neighbors. The street was empty even at midday. The jungle had been clipped back with vigilant thoroughness, leaving the dignified, stuffy buildings in stark relief against the red hills.
“It’s one of these,” QuiTai told Kyam.
“That was an awful lot of whispering between you and that barkeep for only an address.”
QuiTai walked quickly down the road. The numbering sequence made no logical sense. Finally, she pointed to one of the buildings that clung to the cliff overlooking the harbor. “This one. Seventeen dash three. What idiot decided that seventeen falls between forty-three and two hundred?”
“In Thampur, we number houses by when they were built, not by where they are. Eighteen and sixteen could be two streets upslope.”
“You are aware that only makes sense to Thampurians, aren’t you?”
“These apartments weren’t built for Ponongese. And by the way, seventeen dash four is the apartment the Ravidians lived in. Right next door.”
“What were they doing in such a thoroughly Thampurian neighborhood? They would have blended into the background better in a mixed neighborhood such as yours.”
Kyam spread his arms and turned in a half circle. “Look how still it is. How quiet. They ignore each other here. ‘A family’s apartment is their compound,’ or some other such nonsense that helps them cling to their Thampurian identity. I’ve seen it before. People who fight so hard to stop cultural contamination that everything becomes a sacred rite.” He gestured toward the apartment buildings. “What’s sad is that no one in Thampur really lives like this. This is a grotesque exaggeration.”
“So their mortal enemies could live among them, and the Thampurians would pretend they didn’t see? No wonder why I have so few informants on this side of town.”
“But it makes breaking into his apartment a lot easier.” Kyam brandished his lock picks.
“Why don’t we try the simple, obvious answer first, as that old thief Grandfather Zul would advise?”
When she knocked, the door creaked open under the gentle force of her fist. The coppery smell of blood and the sickening stench of rotting meat made her gag.
Kyam pushed in front of her.
A narrow staircase led from the foyer up to the second story of the apartment. Kyam gestured for QuiTai to follow him down the hallway of the first floor as he moved forward.
A swarm of flies buzzed angrily around a jellylantern sconce.
The smell grew stronger as they came to the end of the hallway, which widened into a room furnished with divans and soft chairs. Daylight streaming through the carved window
screens made shell patterns on the rug covering the dark wood floor.
QuiTai pulled her scarf over her nose as they moved to the kitchen.
Flies zigzagged through the air. A Thampurian man with broad, muscled shoulders lay face down in thick, syrupy blood.
A wide smear of blood was near the blood puddle. It looked to QuiTai as if something had been dragged through it. Nothing around the body looked as if it had been moved.
Kyam rolled the corpse over. The throat wasn’t the only part of the body torn open. “Werewolf?” he said.
QuiTai didn’t mind Kyam’s shorthand speech. She planned to open her mouth as little as possible too, or the taste of death would coat her tongue. She pointed to the cuts in man’s thighs and arms. “Cut, not bitten.” Werewolves ate the stomach and entrails first, all of which were intact on the corpse.
Kyam nodded to a knife on the sideboard then found a towel to lift it with. “Blood on the blade, but the handle is clean. I doubt they’ll find fingerprints.” He set it down almost exactly where he found it.
QuiTai’s gaze jumped, taking in glimpses of the carnage without the details. Her thoughts were in similar disarray. She saw that near the corpse, blood spray peppered the lower cabinets to either side of a clean space. Flies walked across congealed stew in a pot. A lone clean bowl sat on the counter by the cooking fire…
She took a steadying breath and forced herself to methodically look at the floor inch by inch. Her mind grabbed onto the sense of order.
She knew she wasn’t looking at a werewolf kill. It was possible a Ponongese killer had mutilated the victim’s throat to hide fang marks, but the spray of blood on the cabinets didn’t fit that theory. That narrowed the list of suspects to Thampurians and Ravidians.
Her eyes were drawn to the body on the floor. She squatted and forced herself to take her time looking over the rest of the evidence. The answer was there.
A path of blood drops led from the body to the window. Three distinct circular spots of blood about three feet apart formed a line parallel to the blood drops.
