'Earl?'
'Yes. What happens now?'
'We go back to the station, check in the raft and gear.'
'And?' Dumarest stepped to the man's rear as he made no answer. 'What about me?'
'You'll be taken care of. A medical check first, a bath, some food and I guess you could do with a rest after what you've been through. Climbing to the roof like that was a crazy thing to do. Crazy!'
'You think so?'
'No doubt about it? What made you do it? If you'd just stopped for a minute to think you'd have realized there was no point in-' Sayer broke off as Dumarest clamped his left arm around his shoulders, lifted his right hand from his boot to the man's neck. 'What the hell are you doing?'
'Feel this,' said Dumarest softly. 'It's a knife and it's resting against your windpipe. If you yell or struggle I'll cut your throat.'
'You're insane!'
'Maybe.' Dumarest looked at the man standing at the searchlight, aside from the driver the only other occupant of the raft. 'Take me to Charisse.'
'If I don't?'
'You die,' said Dumarest, and his tone left no doubt he meant it. 'The man standing by the searchlight will go after you. The driver will do as I say once he sees you dead so it will all be the same in the end.'
'Yes,' said the old man. 'I guess it will.'
'Take me to Charisse.'
'Now I know you're crazy. She won't see you. She's busy and you'll have to wait. In any case-' Sayer drew in his breath as a slight movement of the knife slit the skin at his throat. 'All right, Earl! All right!' As Dumarest released him he dabbed at the smart, the blood. Looking at the smears on his fingers he said, 'You bastard!' Then, to the driver, 'Take us back to the house. Land in the inner court.'
Chapter Eleven
She sat in a room ceilinged with shadows; gloom rested like a cloud so as to mask all detail ten feet above the carpeted floor. A trick of lighting as was the shimmering thing of crystal standing on a small table, the winking sparkles which came from flasks of restless fluids, the gleams which scintillated from her throat, the rich mane of her hair.
'Earl!' She rose to greet him, one hand resting on the table at which she'd been sitting, the scatter of papers spread over the polished wood. 'My impetuous friend. All right, Dino, you may leave us.'
'But-' He looked from one to the other. 'Are you sure?'
'You think he will hurt me?' Her smile, her tone made a mockery of the concept. 'I am as safe with him as with a hundred guards.'
A confidence the old man didn't share and his hand crept up to touch the minor wound at his throat. The scratch had bled, the blood drying to leave an ugly smear, though she seemed unable to see it.
'Leave us,' she said again, and this time her voice held impatience. 'I assume you have no objection, Earl?'
'None.'
'Then you may go.' She waited until the door had closed on the old man and gently shook her head in mild reproof. 'Such a devoted servant and so frail when compared to yourself. Did you have to threaten him? Cut the skin of his throat?' She leaned forward a little, eyes sparkling. 'Would you really have killed him? Yes,' she answered her own question. 'Why not? Even though he had saved your life-why not? The law of the jungle, Earl; kill or be killed. Is that not so?'
He watched, saying nothing as she crossed the room to stand before the shimmering fabrication.
'Do you remember this?' It came alive beneath her touch, light flashing in motes and points of swirling brilliance which flared in silent explosions, to die, to be reborn in scintillant splendor. 'My toy, Earl, surely you remember it? You saw it on Podesta when you acknowledged the debt you owed me. The small matter of having saved your life-but, now, that seems little to you. Would you have preferred me to have let you die? Your life, Earl, and not once but twice. A heavy debt for an honest man.'
'Once,' he said. 'Not twice.'
'Because you consider the original debt paid? The blood and tissue and sperm taken from your body sufficient compensation?' She smiled, then shrugged as if the matter were of no importance. 'We will not argue the matter. Some wine?'
She moved to where a decanter stood with glasses and poured without waiting for his answer. As she turned, he strode toward the shimmering toy and, finding the switch, turned it off. As it darkened, the shadows thickening the upper reaches of the chamber seemed lower than before.
'Earl?'
'A distraction,' he said. 'One I can do without.'
'So that you can concentrate on me?' She came toward him, one hand extended, the glass resting in her fingers. 'Take it, Earl. Drink. At least let us share a toast to your continued good fortune.' She sipped, frowning when he made no effort to follow her example. 'Perhaps you would care to bathe first. Are you in pain?'
He was in too much pain for comfort but he ignored it as he did her suggestion. A shower had washed the pulp and slime from his clothing, the blood from his face and neck and hands. One taken with Sayer an unwilling partner.
'You hesitate,' she said. 'You did not refuse when Linda Vyna made you the same offer. Did you enjoy her ministrations? Was the bitch gracious? At least she's had experience enough in entertaining men in need.' She drank and lowered the empty glass. 'Do you love her?'
'No.'
'Yet you would use her. As you were willing to use me on Ascelius.'
'To escape,' he said. 'And you were there to help me do it. A lucky coincidence.'
'They happen.'
'Perhaps.'
'Have you never known others?' She refilled her glass and, when she turned, again she was smiling. 'Come, Earl, why be so suspicious? Drink and relax and talk to me. Of your travels and other coincidences you have known. Surely there are some?'
'Many.' He lifted his glass and lowered it untouched. Her eyes ignored its passage. 'One should amuse you. Two brothers left home at various times to seek their fortunes. Both became mercenaries and, after twenty years, they met on a battlefield.'
'And one killed the other?'
'I said they were mercenaries,' he said patiently. 'They had been at their trade long enough to have learned the futility of slaughter. One held the upper hand and made an offer; terms which would leave his opponents far less than what they had but more than they could hope to retain if beaten into submission. The offer was accepted.'
'And when they met face to face and realized their relationship they joined forces and turned against those who had hired them?'
'No. Mercenaries, if nothing else, are realists. The terms stood but, afterwards, they traveled together. A mistake; while there was work for one there was not enough for two. Finally they argued over a woman and one killed the other. He lived barely long enough to claim his prize; she had loved the other and took her revenge in bed.'
'So?' She frowned. 'What is your point?'
'A simple one, Charisse. Things are not always what they seem. You, for example, a young and beautiful woman-who would take you for a liar?'
She said, tightly, 'You are a guest in my house, Earl. I suggest you remember that.'
'A guest?' He looked at the glass in his hand then set it on the table. 'On Podesta you told me your father had died a year earlier. I believed you-why should you bother to lie? But later I learned that a man, Rudi Boulaye, had visited you. You, Charisse, not your father. Circe was not a man. That was ten years ago.'
