hanging from your—'
'Nevermind!'
'—neck,' he finished, grinning.
'He has blue eyes,' I explained.
Fouad reverted to surprise. 'A blue-eyed horse? In the desert?'
'I know! I know! Just get the tassels, Fouad. And if you've got any charcoal and axle grease, I'll take that, too. Mixed.'
'Also for your horse?'
This time I leveled my most threatening sandtiger's glare at him, and he flung his hands into the air. 'All right! All right. I'll get charcoal and axle grease. Mixed.'
I watched him turn away. 'What about Silk's tassels?'
'Oh, you can get those yourself!'
'But—' But. He was gone.
Swearing inventive oaths having to do with Fouad's nether parts and the decreasing amount of time he would retain them, I swung the pouches over one shoulder and went back through the curtain. I didn't know which room was Silk's, which was probably intentional on Fouad's part. So at each curtained doorway I had to stop, ease the fabric aside and peer in, hoping I wouldn't awaken anyone. After a late night of entertaining various dusty and lusty males just in from the desert, Fouad's wine-girls wouldn't exactly enjoy me waking them up this early.
Fortune followed me until I found the correct room. As I eased aside the curtain, looking for a string of crimson tassels, I discovered the owner of the tassels in the midst of a morning stretch. She stood in the middle of her little room, nude, arching her back with arms outstretched. A long, luxurious, languorous stretch. When a woman does that with her back, other parts of her body shift forward.
I realized, as my face got warm, that once upon a time I wouldn't have been embarrassed. But somehow that had altered when I hooked up with Del. I guess maybe you don't have to get married for a woman to start changing your perspective about naked women who are not the woman who's doing the changing.
Not a happy thought, I reflected glumly.
Silk's eyes sprang open. I yanked my head back and shut the curtain hastily, then cursed myself for behaving like a green boy who'd never been with a woman.
'Tiger?'
She had seen me. My face warmed again. 'Yes?'
Silk now stood at the doorway, curtain pulled around her body. The long black hair was a tangle spilling over her shoulders. Brows lifted, she waited for me to explain myself.
I floundered my way ahead. 'I know this sounds strange . . . but could I buy your tassels?'
Black brows arched higher. 'My tassels?' I pointed self-consciously. 'Those tassels. The red ones.' She glanced back over a naked shoulder, marked tassels, then looked at me. 'For her?'
'Her?' It took me a moment, but I got there. 'No, not for Del! For my horse.' Which I realized, as soon as I said it, didn't sound particularly complimentary. At least Del was a human. I floundered on as quickly as possible. 'He's white. And blue-eyed. He needs shielding from the sun.'
Silk eyed me a long moment, her expression curiously blank. Then she dropped the curtain and padded naked to the table where the tassels lay. When she turned around again, swinging the tassels on one finger, there was no attempt to cover herself. In fact, she was doing her best to display everything. I cleared my throat, averted my eyes, and busied myself digging through pouches for coins.
She appeared in front of me, offering the tassels. 'No charge.' I looked up, wished I hadn't. 'Why no charge?' 'Because I will have my payment over and over again,' she explained sweetly, 'each time I imagine you telling your Northern bascha that you got these tassels from me. And what I was wearing when you got them.' Hoolies. Women!
I muttered thanks through gritted teeth, grabbed the tassels out of her hand, and got myself back to the front room as quickly as possible. Fouad, straight-faced, handed me a small pot of grease mixed with charcoal.
In a purple burnous, carrying a pot of black greasepaint and dangling crimson tassels, I made my way from the cantina with what dignity I could muster.
The white gelding peered at me out of sorrowful—and watery– blue eyes. He was bridled, saddled, and packed. Nothing left to do save for two final touches.
'I'm sorry,' I told him, 'but I have to do this.'
He blinked lids edged with long white lashes. I stuck two fingers into the pot Fouad had given me, made a face denoting disgust, then began to glop on the first black circle.
'I've seen dogs like this,' I said. 'White dogs with black patches. But they were born that way. They don't have humans painting the patches on.'
The gelding dipped his head briefly and snorted.
'I don't blame you,' I agreed. 'I'd protest, too. You look like a buffoon.' I moved to the second eye. 'It's not your fault. I don't mean to offend you. But you must admit this is not exactly how a self-respecting horse is supposed to look.'
He extended his nose and whuffled noisily.
I filled in the last bit of white hair, stoppered the little pot and stuck it in one of the pouches. I wiped off as much of the gunk from my fingers as I could on burlap grain sacking, then heaved a huge sigh and picked up the tassels. 'It gets worse,' I informed the gelding.
I had considered trading him in for a darker horse, but I decided against it for two reasons. First, he had truly smooth gaits and Del, wounded, might need them; second, he was Del's pick for a mount. I'd learned from experience not to discard any number of items she'd selected for whatever reason, even if I considered them worthless, because she always eventually found a use for them. (Or said she would.) Even if it meant packing them along for months at a time, taking up space. In her own way, Del was as much a collector of unique things as Umir, except she at least didn't collect humans.
Unless you count the men who lose all control of their brains at first sight of her. We'd probably have a goodly collection trailing along after us, annoying the hoolies out of me, if I didn't run them off.
So I kept the gelding. Who stood very still and obliging as I looped the string of tassels from ear to ear, tucking the ends under the browband of the headstall.
I stepped back and appraised him. Now he had two black patches around blue eyes and an ear-to-ear loop of brilliant red tassels dangling down his face. I gazed at him a long moment perched somewhat painfully between outright laughter and stoic resignation, then with great sympathy patted his nose. 'Don't worry—we're leaving town the back way.'
It was still early as we rode out of Julah, and I was certain that by taking the shorter route through Vashi territory I could cut a fair amount of time off the journey. If all went well, I would see Del before sundown. So I looked for and finally found the almost nonexistent wagon ruts cutting off from the main road into town, reflected I'd better make speed now while the footing was decent, and asked the gelding to once again resume the walk- trot-lope routine. Tassels swung and bobbled.
Del and I had been in no hurry before. Now I was. By asking more of the gelding when the footing was decent and letting him drop into a ground-eating long-walk at other times, in good time I located the spot where Oziri and his three warriors had appeared. Here the footing was rocky, and I couldn't in good conscience ask the gelding to do more than walk at a slower pace. I'd watered him twice already, and myself, but still felt the warmth of the sun. Within a matter of weeks it would be high summer.
I bypassed the detour to the clearing where Del and I had gotten drunk on Vashni liquor, and found the dry streambed. I dropped down into it, following the left bank. Eventually I came across the leather bag I'd dropped off the stud in an effort to evade the rank stench of spoiling sandtiger meat. The bag had been chewed and clawed open. Someone—or several someones—had enjoyed a good meal.
I exited there, trading sand for stone drifts, broken rock, and hardpan. Riding in, we hadn't concerned ourselves with marking our route. Now I depended only on my recollection of those things I'd considered landmarks, such as a tree with a twisted limb or a spill of rocks forming a shape that caught my eye. During that ride I'd been studying wagon ruts, but the land rose steadily toward the massive rock formations thrusting upward in the dis-
tance, and so long as I headed in that general direction, I knew I'd find the plateau.
