The Devil Incarnate (The Devil of Ponong series #2)

by Braden, Jill

  When Grandfather had arrived on the Winged Dragon with his odd troop of soldiers, he’d seemed to know a lot more about recent events in Ponong than Hadre did, but like Kyam and the colonial militia, he hadn’t shared any information. That was typical Grandfather.

  Answer me. TtZ

  That’s Kyam’s department, not mine. HnZ

  Hadre immediately regretted sending that reply, but there was no retrieving a message once it was sent. At least he hadn’t added what he’d muttered under his breath: “So ask him.”

  Are there any signs of unease or unrest in Levapur? Is the colonial militia on alert? TtZ

  “Again, you’re asking the wrong grandson,” Hadre muttered at the farwriter. He didn’t know any of the colonial militia by name except Captain Voorus and didn’t socialize with them while he was in Levapur. Why did grandfather think he’d know anything? And why did the old man expect trouble? “What are you up to, Grandfather?”

  What the hell, he was already in disgrace. All Grandfather could do was exile him to Ponong as he had Kyam. The difference being that Kyam took his punishment. Hadre could sign on as crew on any non-Thampurian ship. There were plenty of smugglers around who didn’t care too much about official papers, and they were always ready to take on experienced seamen.

  I wouldn’t know. Kyam knows Levapur and the colonial militia. Ask him. HnZ

  He sent it off.

  “Come on, old man. Let’s see how you feel about that.”

  Any lesser man would have sweated out the seven minutes between sending his message and the chime sounding the reply, but Hadre simply poured himself a glass of whiskey and put his feet up on his desk.

  Am unable to discuss current affairs with KtZ. TtZ

  “Unable? You’re too much of a coward to talk to him in case he asks you why you marooned him on this damn island,” Hadre told the piece of paper in his hand.

  Need insights from fresh perspective. TtZ

  “Why are you always so obsessed with Ponong? You haven’t been the governor for almost sixty years.”

  Remain in harbor. Fix sails and rudder. Re-tar the hull. Make any other repairs necessary to Winged Dragon. TtZ

  “Now you’re suddenly interested in the Winged Dragon? Or is this your subtle way of keeping me in port so I can play spy for you? I have news for you. I’m going to sit on this junk and never leave the harbor, and even if I do, I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you a thing about unrest in Levapur. If you want to know, you’re going to have to talk to Kyam.”

  Hadre set down his drink and typed: Message received. HnZ

  He was enough of a Zul to know to keep some tiles close to his chest.

  ~ ~ ~

  A long, curved fingernail hovered over a farwriter keyboard.

  She has returned.

  A bead of sweat formed at his temple. It wasn’t betrayal if the message could have been sent by several others, he told himself, but he knew QuiTai would see it differently.

  The return message came more quickly than he would have thought. Did the old man hover over his farwriter day after day, hoping for a signal? Had he pounced on the machine when the bell rang?

  What is her next move? TtZ

  This conversation was a mistake, but it was already too late. How to reply? Two years ago, he would have reported every rumor. Now he was more cautious.

  For now, nothing.

  That seemed a safe enough answer. No one as ill as QuiTai was could make trouble for a couple of days.

  Perhaps she needs further motivation. TtZ

  The lump of fear in his stomach warned him that a dreadful game was underway. How could he warn her without bringing her wrath down upon him?

  She probably already knew.

  He nodded, willing to believe that because it comforted him. Whatever was happening, it was over his head and out of his hands. People like him were only ever the tiles in such games, never the players. All he could do was hedge his bets by staying friendly with both sides.

  Chapter 6: The Marketplace

  Midmorning, RhiLan walked with her sons and daughter to a rundown Thampurian neighborhood on the first upslope rise. Other parents greeted her as they walked toward the same ramshackle house with their children. Near the steps leading to the small veranda, she put a coin into the hand of each of her children. As she kissed them, she reminded each not to mention their visitors to their friends or teacher.

  “Learn.” She wagged a finger at the eldest boy. “And behave.”

  His grin was so much like his father’s. She tousled his hair.

  The children ran up the stairs of the faded blue two-story building that had been converted into a schoolhouse. At the door, they solemnly handed their coins to Ma’am Thun, a Thampurian lady who wore an expression of constant suffering.

  RhiLan had offered herbs to soothe a grumbly stomach and gently suggested that the thin woman need not lace her corset so tight, only to be sharply rebuked for the personal nature of her comments. Thampurians, she’d learned, were odd that way. They wore clothes over another set of clothes and covered their arms all the way to their wrists. They slept inside even in the hottest weather. And while they made much of their ability to shift between forms, they never splashed in the chilly mountain streams during the dry season or waded in the gentle surf of the island’s lagoons.

  Still, RhiLan didn’t care how foolish Ma’am Thun was as long as her children spoke fluent Thampurian and learned their numbers. If they had to live among Thampurians, who controlled most of the wealth on Ponong, then it made sense to prepare her children to be employed by them. Maybe a nice clerk position or a job in an upscale shop. Even working upslope at a plantation wouldn’t be bad, as long as it wasn’t in the pools. She had ambitions for her children. That’s why they’d left Cay Rhi. And what a lucky decision that had been. Her cousin RhiHanya said most of the villagers were still trapped on the island. RhiHanya had faith that the wolf slayer would find a way to set them free.

  RhiLan had heard rumors about the Devil’s Concubine. It was hard to believe that storied being was the same woman who so politely and humbly tried to be of help in the apartment, even though she was too ill to do much. It was harder to believe the Devil would want such a sharp and angular woman in his bed. But what RhiLan couldn’t accept was that people in the marketplace hated QuiTai for what they’d done to the Full Moon Massacre werewolves. As far as RhiLan was concerned, the werewolves had had it coming, and no one should feel guilty about that.

  Besides, hadn’t QuiTai shown concern over her children? She’d even put their safety before her own. From now on, if someone spoke ill of the Devil’s Concubine, she’d tell them to stop spreading lies.

  Chin up, she headed for the marketplace.

  The streets were still muddy from the morning rain. It was hell on sandals, but then at least no one stole them from the rack on the first floor of the apartment building when they were caked with mud. In the dry season, even though they weren’t supposed to, her family carried their sandals upstairs. Otherwise, they might not be there in the morning.

  As RhiLan neared the marketplace, she passed a furious woman balancing a large basket of roasted jikal roots on her head. There were other tense Ponongese in the streets as she neared the town square. She couldn’t decide if they were fearful or humiliated; then wondered why she imagined either emotion. Maybe something had happened in the marketplace. She wanted to ask, but the children would be home for lunch in a couple of hours, and she needed to sell at least one sarong before she returned to the apartment.

  Between the government building and the dour Thampurian bank, she caught a glimpse of the marketplace. There were only a few stalls set up, as if it were still very early. Craning to see, she ignored the spice merchant who stomped past her.

  Four soldiers gathered to block her way. Thampurians were a head taller than most Ponongese and solidly built, but these men were huge even by Thampurian standards. Their uniforms resembled the ones the colonial militia wore, but the
ir shewani jackets were crisper and they had no flashy braid or jangling medals across their chests.

  “No Ponongese in the marketplace,” one of the soldiers said.

  RhiLan was sure she hadn’t heard right. “But I have a permit.” She reached into her basket for the piece of paper that had cost her ten coins.

  “All permits are revoked.”

  She bowed her head and softly said, “I’ll just shop then.” She tried to step around the soldier, but the others formed a wall of dark blue jackets much too close to her face.

  The soldier told her, “Until further notice, no Ponongese in the marketplace, to buy or to sell.”

  Her chest tightened. She pointed to the Thampurian merchants setting up their stalls. “But you let them in!” She was so confused. What was going on?

  The soldier spoke over head as if she wasn’t there. “These snakes are deaf. No matter how many times we tell them, they think the law doesn’t apply to them.”

  Now her face was hot and her hands trembled. The regular soldiers called her people snakes when they thought no one else could hear, but they’d never said it loudly in front of her. She was so embarrassed. She turned around and walked away with as much dignity as she could summon, but hot tears welled in her eyes.

  RhiLan wondered for a moment if it was because she harbored the wolf slayer in her home. Could the soldiers sense the fear wrapped around her shoulders? She should have heeded QuiTai’s warning against taking her in, but now it was too late. After the swift stab of fear passed through her, she realized that the soldiers ignored her. They didn’t seem to care about QuiTai. Afraid that they’d see guilt in her face, she walked away quickly with her chin pressed to her chest. If only she could turn invisible, or maybe the ground would kindly rip apart under her feet and swallow her. She wanted to hide in her apartment until the shame went away.

  At the next street corner, the Ponongese spice seller she’d passed earlier rushed over to her and stroked her arm. “It’s okay, auntie. You’ll be fine. We were all turned away. Come talk with us. Please, auntie. Don’t cry.”

  Tears dropped down her face, but she nodded and followed him to the group that squatted on the veranda of a café. She’d often seen Thampurian ladies seated inside, with plates of delicate food so pretty that it had to taste like music. Of course no Ponongese would ever be allowed inside, except maybe to work in the kitchen where they couldn’t be seen. She felt special and brave simply sitting on the veranda outside.

  The spice seller smiled at her as he gestured for her to take a spot closer to the center of the gathered Ponongese. She set her basket at her feet and cast fleeting glances at the others. Many of them she recognized from the market, and most she knew by name. That made her feel a little better.

  “We should protest to the governor!” someone said.

  “How? First, we’d have to get to the government building, and that means getting into the town square.”

  “And who controls the soldiers? The governor.”

  “I’ve never seen those soldiers before.”

  RhiLan turned to the woman who’d said that and nodded. When her family had moved to Levapur, the town had seemed huge, confusing, and full of strangers, but now she recognized most people she saw even if she didn’t know their names. Who would have thought she could know so many people? She could even tell the Thampurians apart; and as the other woman said, the soldiers she’d seen today were strangers. Could they possibly have been hiding down in the fortress all this time?

  “If they won’t let us into the marketplace, how are we going to sell our wares?” someone asked.

  There were many suggestions. Some RhiLan thought were good, until someone pointed out why they weren’t, and she changed her mind to agree with them. As the group traded ideas, she watched a Thampurian inside the café peer out at the Ponongese on his veranda from behind a curtain. He looked scared, or maybe he was just upset that he had no customers. It was hard to read Thampurian expressions. After a while, he edged to the back of the café and out of sight.

  Next to RhiLan, a barefoot upslope woman balanced a basket of mangoes on her head. She whispered, “I’m so angry.”

  Why hadn’t she thought to be angry instead of humiliated? RhiLan wondered. What did she have to be embarrassed about? She had a permit. The paper was still clasped in her hand.

  “So, it’s decided. Tomorrow, we’ll meet in Old Levapur and have our own marketplace,” an auntie in the center of the group said. Her face was lined from many hours in the sun, even though her hair showed no grays. A clay pot, probably full of juam nut oil, sat by her feet. “Tell everyone you see.”

  The others nodded.

  Someone lit a kur. It passed through the group. Warm energy flowed through RhiLan’s blood as the smoke filled her lungs. She looked up at the sky. It wasn’t raining, but the clouds had gathered and looked grumpy enough to pour on their heads.

  “What will my children eat if we have no rice?” RhiLan wondered out loud. “I planned to buy some today.”

  People turned to look at RhiLan. She blushed and bowed her head again.

  The woman in the center of the group spoke directly to her. “Rice isn’t the only food, little sister.”

  “But auntie, a little piece of meat gets lonely in an empty rice bowl.” The man laughed, making a joke of it. Some laughed with him, but many nodded in agreement.

  “Pass word around to the rice merchants that if they want our business, they must come to our marketplace tomorrow,” the woman said. “There are so many more of us than Thampurians. They might not like us, but they’re fond of our coins.”

  “But that does me no good tonight!” someone on the other side of the circle said.

  “If you have no rice tonight, eat dried jellyfish,” the woman said.

  People gasped.

  “But that’s famine food,” the joking man said; only he’d stopped laughing.

  The woman shrugged as if resigned. “It’s jellyfish or hunger. You choose.”

  A nearly toothless grandmother sighed as she rose. She put her hand on her back and bent this way and that to work the kinks out. “If I’m making jellyfish, I need pepper flakes and sweet seed oil. Who here has some to trade? I have fish cakes.”

  RhiLan bought fish cakes, fragrant anoin seeds, and a little oil. Then the café owner came back, followed by soldiers. She wouldn’t give them a chance to humiliate her again. The other Ponongese seemed to feel the same way – they all hurried off into the alleyways and quickly dispersed.

  ~ ~ ~

  QuiTai screwed her eyes tight and braced herself as RhiHanya poured water over her ankle to flush out the wound. Eyes still closed, she asked, “Is it healing?”

  “Only a little new pus. We won’t need to use maggots.”

  The tightness in QuiTai’s shoulders loosened a bit. “Thank goodness. Sometimes they destroy too much muscle.” She opened her eyes and craned to see her ankle.

  “Only if your healer doesn’t know what she’s doing, or you wait too long to treat it in the first place.” RhiHanya’s knee popped as she rose from the hard wood floor.

  “Always scolding me.” But QuiTai smiled. She’d missed the comfort of daily life with a woman. Men were fine for sex, but she’d never met one who made domestic life as pleasant as a woman could.

  Do not. Do. Not. Start thinking like that. This is strictly business.

  “Drink the rest of that potion RhiLan made for you.”

  QuiTai braced herself and gulped down the rest of the drink. She’d let it cool; that was a mistake. Bitterness coated her tongue. As bad as it tasted, at least the black lotus in the potion helped her relax.

  RhiHanya lifted QuiTai’s legs back onto the divan then felt her forehead. “I think the fever is finally broken, but only the night will tell.”

  QuiTai pulled the blanket under her chin. Every time she moved, the sharp scent of her sweat wafted from her damp clothes. A wrinkle she couldn’t smooth irritated her shoulder blades. If on
ly she could bathe and put on a fresh blouse.

  RhiHanya curled next to QuiTai on the divan and wrapped her arms around her. “I’ll keep you warm.”

  “The blanket is enough.”

  It’s bad enough that I’ve infected this apartment with my unhealthy stink. Why would you embrace the source?

  QuiTai gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the comfort of RhiHanya’s body, but it was difficult when her hair was being stroked. The chill came on strong, setting her teeth chattering and her aching legs into restless motion. She lifted her head from RhiHanya’s bosom. Her breath caught as she realized how close their lips were.

  “I’m warm enough now. You can let go.” She hadn’t meant to whisper as if they had been intimate.

  Do not push your hair behind your ear or tilt your head and smile. Do not flirt with this woman. Do not entangle yourself with her.

  “I don’t have much patience for sickness.” QuiTai tried to escape from RhiHanya’s arms.

  RhiHanya gripped her tighter. “So I see, but you’re not going anywhere until you’re healed completely.”

  “There’s no honor debt between us. You and your cousin have paid me a great favor, but it’s time for me to leave. I wasn’t joking when I told RhiLan that I’m a danger to her family.” QuiTai scowled. “Would you let go of me?”

  “No, I won’t. Not until you’re well enough to free the others from Cay Rhi.”

  Shocked, QuiTai flinched. Every rumor she’d spread about herself had been selected to support a certain image. No one in Levapur would be foolish enough to look to her for help. Maybe those tales hadn’t reached the outer islands yet. RhiHanya’s faith in her had to be quashed immediately.

  “I’m a dedicated disciple of the conjoined goddesses of self-interest and self-preservation. Don’t expect heroics from me.”

  “I know your reputation. I’ve also seen your actions. I know which I believe more.”

  “I am not a nice woman. Ask anyone in Levapur, and they’ll tell you that the only thing I care about is coin.”