Tilting back his head he drove the blade into his throat.
A calculated thrust; the point guided by the fingers of his left hand, piercing the trachea just above the breastbone and well below the larynx. A stab which opened the windpipe between two ridges of cartilage, the cut widening to the drag of the blade. As it came free Dumarest forced the plastic tube into the opening.
And breathed.
Falling to his knees in a welling darkness as he sucked air through the narrow tube; the entire universe diminished to the stream of oxygen which was his life.
After the fifth blatant error Valaban snapped, 'Get hold of yourself, Reiza. You're confusing the beasts. Keep on like this and you'll make them useless. Lose your reputation too, but that's your business. The animals are mine.'
'You tend them-I work them!'
'Then do it. Damn it, I've seen tyros do better!'
A harsh rebuke but she deserved it and Valaban knew his trade. As she knew hers too well not to know he was right.
More softly he said, 'Get a shower. Some sleep. Go into town for a while. Give the cats a rest until you've settled down. You know what I mean.'
Good advice but even if she took it the torment of waiting would still remain. Irritably she strode from the ring, seeing Zucco standing in the passage, his normal finery subdued under a cloak of black trimmed with yellow. A means to remain inconspicuous in the shadows? A possibility and if true meant that he had been watching her. More ammunition to feed his intentions, but now she had weapons of her own.
'Reiza!' He fell into step beside her. 'You have my sympathy. It was a dreadful thing to have happened. You were lucky Dumarest didn't hurt you.'
He knew-there was little that went on he didn't know about, but some things had to remain speculation. Now it suited her to be ignorant.
'Dumarest?'
'A murderer. I sensed it from the first. Now we have proof.'
'Ruval? He drowned in my bath.'
'With bruises on his face and throat. We know who must have put them there. Dumarest-'
She halted and turned to face him, her eyes matching the hardness of her voice.
'Yes, Dumarest. The man you gassed then stripped and chained in the sump. One you tortured and Ruval must have helped. Well, Ruval has paid. It could be your turn soon, Jac.'
'You think he could beat me?' His amusement was genuine. 'That scum? Have you forgotten what I was before I became ringmaster?' Abruptly he smiled. 'We quarrel for no purpose. You have chosen to care for Dumarest as another would care for a sick dog. A weakness I deplore but I am willing to let you indulge yourself. Simply be aware of what he is. A liar. A cheat. A thief. A murderer.'
'A man!'
One such as Zucco could never be. His strength was built on the weakness of others, his power the fruit of pandering to decadent tastes.
He said, quietly, 'A man who will use you as he used Helga. I suggest you remember that, my dear. And, when you are sane again, I shall be waiting.'
Smoothness coupled with the vicious barb of a subtle tongue. Why else mention Helga if not to make her jealous? And why no mention of what must have been foremost in his mind? The details Dumarest could have told her about Melome and which he had wanted so desperately to know? And why had he made no move against Dumarest?
The answer waited in the infirmary where the doctor greeted her with a smile.
'He's fine.' He answered her question before she could ask it, jerking his head toward where Dumarest sat in a chair sipping from a beaker. 'Basic laced with brandy from Shakira's own store. His orders. All to be of the best.'
'He knows?'
'Of course. I sent him a full report. We don't get many patients who've given themselves a tracheotomy. A good one too, I must admit, but he almost left it too late. Of course there was other damage; the larynx, cellular disruption, dehydration, nervous degeneration-used to excess those wands can be nasty things. The gas didn't help either.'
'But he's all right now?'
'Fine.'
Healed by the drugs and skill of the doctor, the magic of slowtime. Dressed now in a drab robe of dull puce which was a little too short for his height. He smiled as she came toward him.
'My lady, it seems I must thank you for my life.'
The formality stunned her then she understood; such a man would be accustomed to moving among those to whom procedure was paramount. To be less than punctilious would be to invite retribution.
She said, 'This is the circus, Earl. We're ordinary people. You don't have to crawl on your knees.'
'Ordinary?' His eyes studied her, bringing a flush of pleasure to her cheeks. 'Whatever you are, Reiza, you're not that. And you did save me.'
'I found you,' she corrected. 'But you'd already saved yourself. Unconscious but breathing steady. We've just patched you up and speeded the healing. Now, I'll bet you're hungry.' She saw him glance at the empty beaker which had held a fluid rich in protein, sickly with glucose, laced with vitamins. And Shakira's brandy-that had been an extra. 'For real food; meat and richness and things you can get your teeth into. Come on-I'm buying.' To the doctor she said, 'Can't you find him something more decent to wear?'
Dumarest said, 'Where are my own clothes?'
'God knows-we'll find them later. Please, Doc, can't you hurry?'
He produced pants and a blouse in faded blue together with soft shoes tied with thin laces. The legacy of a dead man, perhaps, but they fitted well enough and Reiza was satisfied. Delaying only long enough to change from her costume into a gown of lilac ornamented with jet she led the way to the outer galleries, to a restaurant Dumarest had used before.
'The best,' she said. 'You'll like it here. Voe!' She saw the waiter's glance of recognition as he approached her companion. 'You order, Earl.' She added, with a touch of malice, 'Let's have the same meal you had before.'
'No. This should be special.'
'True.' She was glad he hadn't tried to dissemble. 'The best, Voe. Red meat and all the trimmings. Some wine too-this is a celebration!'
But it was shared with an invisible companion. Had Helga used this very glass? Sat at this very table? Seen his smile as he looked at her? Felt the same acceleration of her heart?
Foolishness and she knew it. Knew too that she was talking too fast and laughing too loud. Eating too little and drinking too much.
As she reached for the decanter Dumarest leaned forward and caught her hand.
'It's none of my business,' he said. 'You can drink yourself stupid if you want. I've no right to interfere. But do it for the right reasons.'
'Such as?'
'That's for you to decide. Most do it for escape. Is there anything you need to run from?'
'No.'
'Zucco?'
'No. I-' She shook her head and lifted the decanter as he released her hand. Wine filled her glass in a ruby stream. Looking at it she said, 'I guess I'm running away from myself. Have you ever wanted to run?'
'Often.'
'I find that hard to believe.'
'It's the truth.' Dumarest helped himself to some of the wine. Scarlet, the hue of a cyber's robe, the Cyclan which hunted him from world to world. 'Were you born in the circus?'
'No. I was sold. Twenty years ago now when I was ten. On Tsopei.'
'A harsh world.'
'You know it?'
