body with a liquid film. A time in which he was helpless, conscious only of the agony which dominated every cell of his body.
Then, as Melome screamed, it eased to vanish as quickly as it had come.
'Earl! Earl!'
The raft leveled as he grabbed at the controls, juddering, metal grating from one side as it glanced off an upthrusting finger of stone. Then it was riding clear and Dumarest gasped for breath, tasting blood, aware of the jerking quiver of his hands.
The pain had gone-but why had it come at all?
Shakira?
He had gambled the owner had been bluffing-had he lost the wager?
For a long moment Dumarest kept the raft riding scant yards above the ground, eyes narrowed as he followed a clear path. Distance covered while he gained time to think and then, again without warning, the agony returned.
To send him doubled, writhing, the raft slewing to one side, the nose lowering to hit the ground, the rock half-buried within it.
CHAPTER TEN
There were rustles and squeaks and small scampering noises as rodents foraged in the vegetation. Sounds as harmless as the wind but which caused Melome to quiver in fear. Like most who clung to urban places, for her the open at night was filled with imagined terrors.
'It's nothing,' said Dumarest. 'Just the wind and creatures hunting for food. Small creatures,' he added quickly. 'Things like mice. There's nothing big or harmful on Baatz.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'It's the air. It leads to pacifism. A predator needs to stalk and kill in order to survive. It can't do that if it just wants to lie down and dream.'
A facile explanation but it had elements of truth and Melome relaxed, leaning back to look at the sky.
'I'm not used to the open. It's too big, too empty. You could get lost and wander and starve and die and no one would ever know.' She shivered a little. 'And it's cold.'
The truth-the air held a pre-dawn chill. Dumarest paused in his task of gathering twigs and rose, stretching. Behind him the raft lay on its side, the nose crumpled, the controls useless. They had been lucky. The impact had flung them from the open body to land on cushioning fronds and, aside from minor bruising, neither was hurt.
'Earl?'
'We'll have a fire before long.' He stooped and ripped free another mass. Most was green but enough had dried to feed a blaze. 'Why don't you help? Pick some fuel and choose the lightest. Come on, now!'
She obeyed the snap in his voice and came toward him with a large bundle of fibrous strands. Dropping it she went for more while he arranged the fire, siting it before the raft so as to gain its protection against the wind. The open body would act as a reflector.
Fire winked as he stooped over a small heap of finely whittled twigs. It grew as he fed it with thicker pieces to steady into a red and glowing comfort topped by a rising plume of smoke.
'That's nice.' Melome held out her hands to the warmth. She sat beside him, one shoulder touching his, the firelight touching the pale blondness of her hair with dancing, russet glows. She looked less pale, more animated, her eyes holding a sharper expression. 'Shouldn't you do something about the smoke?'
'No.'
'They'll see it. If they come looking for us it'll guide them right here.'
'I know.'
'You want that?' She turned to look at him. 'I don't understand. You stole me from Tayu and yet now you want them to find me and take me back to the circus. Why, Earl?'
He said, 'The raft's wrecked and I don't know where we are. We've no supplies and this is hard country to make out in. Walking takes energy and we've no food to supply it. No water, either.'
'So, unless they find us, we'll die. Is that it?'
'They'll find us.'
'But I still don't understand why you stole me. I thought-' She broke off then, in a different tone, said, 'I guess you just wanted me to sing for you. Is that it?'
The truth but he took his time admitting it. The firelight which gave her vivacity had also given her an unsuspected maturity. The pubescent girl had developed into a young and mature woman, one now touched by the magic of the night.
'Melome, I need-'
'I can give you what you need,' she said. 'I'm as much a woman as Reiza.' Then, as he shook his head, 'Why doubt it? Look at me. Touch me if you think I lie. Stop thinking of me as a child.' She added, with a petulance which denied her claim to maturity, 'Kamala kept me looking young. She thought a skinny girl would arouse sympathy and denied me certain things essential to my development. Tayu explained it all. I'm a certain physical type with a delayed pubescence but when it comes I catch up fast.' The deep breath she took inflated her chest. 'I've had drugs and hormones to help. Tayu wants me to be a real woman.'
'Did he tell you why?'
'It's something to do with my talent. That or-' she shrugged. 'Does it matter? I wanted to grow fast for you, Earl. Now you want to send me back.'
'I've no choice.'
'We could hide,' she said. 'Take a chance on finding our way. We might even spot another raft. One not from the circus. And I'll sing for you if you want. We'd be together and alone and I'll sing for you. Earl?'
He looked at her, a young, infatuated girl, and dangerous because of that. One who would deny him the use of her talent if he was curt in his rejection. Who could still withhold it should she doubt his intentions.
He said, 'When you sing do you know what happens?'
'Those listening relive old terrors.'
'But can you control the reaction?' He saw the shift of her eyes. 'In a sense they move back in time,' he said. 'Become young again or not so young. Does the song govern that? And do you govern the song?'
'Earl! Look! A falling star!'
He ignored the arm she lifted, the finger she used to point at the bright streak against the sky.
'When you sang for me in the circus did you obey Shakira's orders as to how far to send me back?'
'Earl! Look! Another!'
She gasped as he caught her arm and turned her to face him. Her eyes widened as she saw his face, read his expression, the turmoil of his emotions.
'No! No, Earl! Please!'
A child caught in a web despite her protestations of maturity. Obeying orders, delaying him, keeping him locked in the prison of his own making.
One on which Shakira had turned the key.
The threat had been no bluff-the pain had proved that. Agony which had left him helpless and which would return should he attempt to escape. He remembered the card Krystyna had let fall toward the last. The Hourglass, the symbol of time.
How long did he have?
'Earl! Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!'
'Earl!' Melome's voice rose as fear robbed her of confidence. Tears filled the luminous eyes and her lips trembled as he reached for her. 'No! Don't! Please don't-'
She fell silent as his hand touched her hair, followed it over the curve of her head and shoulders. A soothing caress to which she responded, coming closer, resting her head against his shoulder as his arm closed around her shoulders.
He said, 'You don't have to fear me, Melome. I'd never hurt you. I want you to believe that.'
'I do.' Her voice was muffled against his tunic. 'It was just the way you looked at me. You were so
