A man beside himself with rage, converting it to pleasure, enjoying the pain he caused, the anguish. One who would kill unless satisfied; his need justification enough for any action he chose to take.
Dumarest jerked, slumped to the floor, feeling the bite of nails in his palms as he clenched his fists. Screaming to vent his rage at the pain which consumed him, a sound Zucco mistook for terror, the signal of his victory.
Panting he stepped back, lowering the wand, looking at the slumped figure before him. A man sprawled in a faint and beyond any further pain he could inflict.
'I'll be back,' he said. 'And, when I do, you won't escape so easily. Ruval!'
Dumarest heard the pad of boots as Zucco moved away. More footsteps came close, heavier, accompanied by a metallic clinking. He gasped as a flood of water drenched head and shoulders. Another and he rose upright to stare at a massive body, a close-cropped head. One he had seen before.
'Here!' Ruval handed him a beaker of water. 'I warned you not to come back but you had to be smart. Crazy to do what you did. Now you're paying for it.'
Dumarest handed back the empty container. 'Your doing?'
'Zucco's. The one who questioned you. Reiza's his woman. You made a mistake going up against her.'
'And you?'
'I just work here.' Ruval refilled the beaker and handed it to Dumarest. 'Gas makes you thirsty and you've enough trouble as it is.'
'Thanks.' Dumarest sipped, looking at the big man. Less kind than he seemed; Zucco must have given him orders to take care of his charge. To get him in condition for another session with the wand. 'Is Zucco the boss?'
'The ringmaster.'
'But not the owner?' As Ruval shook his head Dumarest added, 'You said something about paying. I can pay. A thousand kobolds if you help me get out of here.'
'Forget it.'
'Why? All you need is the key. A file if you can't get it. I've money on deposit in town. It's yours if you'll help. A thousand in cash.' Money which would buy luxury. Dumarest watched as the man's interest grew. 'What can you lose?' he urged. 'Think of what you could buy.'
Ruval said, 'How would you pay?'
'I'll give you a note. The money will be put aside. You can see it, check that it's there. When I sign the transfer it'll be yours.'
'Sign?'
'Countersign. Of course, I'll have to be with you at the time. A thousand kobolds.' Dumarest emphasized the figure. 'How long would it take you to earn that much?'
Too long, but there were problems.
'I don't know,' said Ruval. 'I'm just not sure.'
'Afraid of Zucco? You could break him in half with one hand. Doubt my word? Talk to Helga, she'll tell you I've money. I didn't hurt her, you know. I wasn't lying.'
'I didn't figure you were. A push, a slap, touch them in the wrong way, even, and they scream murder.' Ruval sucked at his cheeks. 'A thousand?'
'That's right.'
'Just for bringing you a file?'
'For getting me out of here,' corrected Dumarest. 'I want to be free and clear.'
He sipped at the water as the man thought about it. Ruval was dressed in good clothing; pants of good weave and boots of fine leather. His blouse was ornamented by a cluster of brilliant stones held to the fabric by a long pin. His belt was carved in elaborate designs. A chain around his neck held a massive lucky charm. A dandy despite his bulk. One who would always need money.
'Well?'
Ruval shook his head. 'I daren't risk it. Zucco would have my hide.'
'Two thousand then. Double.'
'No.'
'Coward!' Dumarest blazed with anger. 'You stinking freak! You've no guts!'
He flung the beaker into Ruval's face.
It hit above an eye, shattering, breaking the skin to mask the face with blood. Ruval snarled and lunged forward, fists clenched, slamming like hammers at Dumarest's face and body. Blows he tried to divert, dissipating their force as he grappled with the big man, but enough landed to make him grunt with shock and pain. To fall and lie slumped in a limp heap.
'Scum!' Ruval drove his boot into the naked body. 'I treat you decent and what do I get? To hell with you!'
He stormed away leaving Dumarest lying bleeding, semiconscious, the gemmed pin he had stolen clutched tightly in his hand.
It was going all wrong.
Reiza, standing in the brilliant circle of light, alone with her animals, sensed it with the instinct which made her what she was. Chang was too slow to obey, Ahrda too edgy, Torin flexed his claws too often, Kiki bared his lips too wide. Small details which warned of danger and she met it, mastering the beasts as a matter of survival more than art. Quashing all trace of fear, feeding her anger so as to radiate an aura of seething rage and determination.
Even so she had to cut short the performance, giving the signal which brought the clowns running, tumbling, distracting attention while the handlers wafted tranquilizing vapors at the cats before guiding them from the ring. As they vanished from the area her cheeks burned to the yelled annoyance of the audience.
A hard crowd; mostly new arrivals and as yet uncalmed by the soothing atmosphere of Baatz. Rock-miners, mercenaries, hunters from nearby planets hungry for entertainment and free with lewd advice, suggestions, open invitations.
They quieted as the gymnasts began to spin in complex patterns of incredible dexterity; lithe bodies like living flames adorning the struts and poles with practiced grace.
'You were terrible.' Old Valaban faced her in the tunnel beneath the stands. In the light from the ring his face was creased, worn, the livid scars which ran from scalp to chin on his left side a barred chiaroscuro. 'An amateur couldn't have done worse and you know it. Hayter-'
'He's dead!'
'Sure-as you could have been a couple of times out there. But he died because of pride. You would have gone down because of stupidity.'
She saw the change in his eyes and looked at her raised hand, loaded with the stock of her whip, heavy with its concealed blade.
'Sorry.' He was a genius with animals and the claws which had ripped his face had paid the dues for a free tongue. 'Val-I'm sorry.'
'Something's wrong, girl. You should know what it is.'
Tiredness. Turmoil-her brief sleep had been haunted by dreams. A face which dominated her universe. The glitter of a knife-the thought of what it would have felt like as it sheared home. At first nothing, the blade like a cat's claw too sharp to register. Then the sting, the burn, the horror of impending death.
The face-why couldn't she wash it from her mind?
Valaban said, 'Women don't make good tamers as a rule. Nature's against them; at times their scent is too strong and makes the cats restless. You're lucky in that way but other things can be as bad as blood.'
She said, curtly, 'I'm not a fool. I bathe before each performance. I don't smell.'
'But you sweat.' He was blunt. 'And I'm talking about scents, not smells. You're in rut,' he accused. 'A bitch in heat. I can't smell it but the animals can. They're males-do I have to spell it out?'
'You're sick! Perverted!'
'I'm alive.' A hand rose to touch the scarred cheek. 'I've had time to learn. To realize that you, me, all of us are just the same as any other animal. We all share the same hungers, the same fears. If you think you're special then you should quit the ring before it's too late. I'd hate to see your face look like mine.'
He was trying to frighten her; such scars could be healed but he wore his like a badge. Would she have such courage? She knew the answer, knew too that such wounds would break her spirit. Even if the damaged tissue
