Maeve (20 page)

“Would she help us? If you asked her?”

“I don't know. She might be gone by now.” He frowned at the warming beer. “By the way, Sioned, has anyone thought about going to the Synwedda for help?”

“How? No one goes on the river these days.”

“What about at night? Treforis said they don't raid at night.”

“Who wants to trust those bastards an inch? Beside, Synwedda might not want company. She hasn't asked for any.”

“Still … someone ought to go.”

She snorted. “Think you could get one of them that far from his hidey-hole?”

“I wasn't talking about them.”

“You?” She drained her mug and set it down with a thump. “I'll go with you. I'd like to meet this starwitch of yours.”

“Keep your fingers crossed she's still on Maeve. But …” He set his mug next to hers, pushing it until the two clicked together. “Synwedda first. Sioned …”

“What, Gwyn?”

He rested his fingers on the back of her hand. “Lie with me tonight.”

“Me?” There was an odd shake in her voice. Surprised, he saw her lips tremble, then firm in a bitter line. “Just thinking of her gets you so excited you'd bed anybody, even me?”

He shook his head, feeling dazed by this sudden turn. “What makes you think …”

“Them.” The bitterness was seared into her bones. He could feel it as a sad, sick agony in himself. He looked over his shoulder at the cerdd and saw them glancing surreptitiously at the pair of them.

“What is it?”

Her taut body relaxed suddenly. “They act like I'm some kind of freak, half-fascinated and half-repelled. Ofydd's the worst. He's crazy to have me and at the same time he hates me worse than …” She shook her head.

“Let's get out of here.”

With Ofydd's eyes burning into his back, Gwynnor escorted Sioned through the swinging door.

Outside, clouds were building, blowing in tatters across the sky. The moon was just rising, casting long, fuzzy shadows around their feet. They walked slowly toward Blodeuyn's Lane.

“Ofydd seems to think you shouldn't leave with me.”

“What Ofydd wants and what I want are two different things.” She shrugged. Out in the moonlight, away from the other cerdd she seemed softer. “You really want me?”

“I really do.” Fingers moving caressingly over the junction of her neck and shoulder, he looked back at the yellow glow from the tavern windows. “Has he tried to hurt you?”

“He's tried. I got a knee in where it hurts and got away.”

“I'm glad.”

“I know. He was a beast when you were lads. He's still a beast. I'm glad you came back, Gwyn.”

He hugged her against him. “I didn't do so well before. He used to beat hell out of me.”

“It'll be different this time and he knows it.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

“I am. And so was he. I don't think you realize the full difference these months have made in you, Gwyn.”

“Apparently.” He pulled her to a stop at the head of the lane. “I don't want to go in yet. I want to talk to you. Come see my boat.”

“Why not? It's early yet.”

They strolled on in a companionable silence, feeling a warmth grow between them. Gwynnor found he liked this quiet pleasure better than the body-shaking firestorm Aleytys had awakened in him. They talked casually about unimportant things, memories of the time before the terror, his arm around her shoulders holding her close to him.

When they reached the landing, he pulled her down beside him to sit on the rough hewn, time-smoothed planks, the shadow of the old oak a dark secret pool over them.

“There it is. Cludair-built, with sails of Lliain woven here on the maes. It's a good boat. Tomorrow night we'll take off in it, if you still mean to come with me.”

“I come. I want to see that witch.” At his disgusted grunt, she chuckled. “How long will the trip take?”

“Coming up it took … what's that?”

“Maeve! The raiders.” The deep hum of the skimmers floated to them on the wind, growing louder and louder. “Into the river,” she snapped. “Quietly.”

Gripping the edge of the landing, she slid into the river until only her head showed. Puzzled, Gwynnor followed and together they paddled along close to the bank until the steep-sided landing site gave way to the gentler muddy slopes where reeds grew in scattered clumps.

Sioned eased her way into a patch of reeds. Gwynnor followed.

“Help me,” she hissed, “and be quiet.” She began digging at the mud, pushing the reed bunches aside without tearing them so that she hollowed out a space for her body. She settled into the space and pulled the reeds back over her until she was almost invisible. Quickly, though more awkwardly, he followed her example and burrowed into the mud.

In minutes, the chill water had sucked the warmth from his body. Shivering and uncomfortable, he still managed a shaky laugh. In a hasty whisper, he said, “This isn't how I'd planned to be with you tonight.”

“Fool.” He could hear amusement quivering in her voice. A small, muddy hand snaked through the reeds and closed on his.

Behind them they could hear shouts and explosions in the village. Gwynnor moved restlessly.

“Don't,” Sioned whispered. “You can't help.”

“They're here for me.”

“Holy Maeve, that's conceit.” Her whisper mocked him but her hand tightened around his. “You can't know that.”

“The very first night attack on the day I come home? After I helped screw Chu Manhanu?”

“It could be coincidence. Hush!”

The skimmers came flying low over the river, searchlights streaming in long liquid lines across and across and across the river and the banks.

“Get under water,” Sioned breathed. “As long as you can. They've got some way to spot people but the water fools it.”

Gwynnor sucked in a lungful of air then pulled his head under water. He lay there minute after minute until his lungs labored, hummed, the blood pounded in his head, his ears rang, and the cold … the cold … Drifting up till his nose broke the surface he let the stale air trickle from his straining lungs and carefully drew in fresh. Brilliant light skittered across his face, broken in shards by the screen of reeds. Startled, he ducked back under water as a brilliance whooshed out and seared across the surface of the water, clearing his face by less than a centimeter and burning the reeds to ash. The water hissed with the sudden application of heat, nearly parboiling him. Once again the lights flickered across the troubled surface of the water, then slid away. Gwynnor stirred feebly, but before he could surface for the air his straining lungs demanded, Sioned's hand pressed down on his shoulder.

And the light came back, hovered, then was gone again.

The pressure on his shoulder went away and he pushed his head out of the water, gulping the air in throat-tearing sobs. Sioned sputtered beside him. When the ache was gone from his chest he started to stand.

“No.” She snatched at his arm. “Not yet.”

“This is how you live?” He felt her shoulder move up and down against him as she shrugged. The whites of her eyes glistened in the fitful moonlight.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Though usually they don't bother us at night. Like I said.”

In the dim light he could see her face crumple together. Then she shuddered, the water shaking with the movement. Uncertain what to do, he chewed at his lip and rubbed absently at the clinging mud on his arm fur.

After a minute she lifted her head, her face restored to its usual calm. “We can go back now.”

He glanced to the west where clouds obscured the horizon line. “Will they come back?

“Who knows?” She moved past him and paddled back to the landing. Swimming close behind, Gwynnor found the movement warming his blood. Still, he felt oddly weak as he hauled his body onto the landing beside Sioned.

Scraping the water from his fur, he turned to her. “We need a hot bath and a warm bed.”

“You do.”

“If you think I'm going to let you go shiver somewhere on the maes, you've got water on your brain, love.”

“Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?”

“No.” He tucked his forefinger under her chin, lifting her face so that the moon shone into her eyes. “What do you think?”

Her teeth flashed white as she grinned. “No.”

“Come, lass.” He pulled her against him. Arm in arm they walked around the cyforedd trees. “We'll get Treforis out of bed and scare up some hot water.”

“You'll have to scrub my back.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her spine, liking the feel of the supple muscle under the soggy fabric. “Mmm,” he murmured. “My pleasure.”

Chapter IV

The cook shop was filled with cheerful noise, Bran yelling long distance quips at her usuals. A constant stream of transients going in and coming out with plastic cups of cha and steaming meat pies clutched in fists, trailed off down the street to the noisy bars, gobbling at the pies and gulping the cha.

The street was alive with human, humanoid, and others. Alive with color. Alive with noise. Noise, a deep pervading hum of voices interspersed with raucous music battling out from the bars. Shimmers from up the hill in tight packs escorted inconspicuously by Company police. Traders and ship crews. A few star-hoppers stopping over till the traders they traveled with finished their business and were ready to move on.

Aleytys edged inside, flattening against the wall to avoid being trampled by a pair of ursinoids whose hair-trigger tempers and awesome size bought them a lot of tolerance.

Three street urchins ran back and forth between the counter and the tables, ducking thumps from Bran with wide grins, collecting money, dropping off orders, exchanging cheerful insults with the men and women seated at the tables.

Wriggling cautiously through the crowded room, Aleytys worked her body to the counter and wedged herself into a small space next to the wall.

Bran's brilliant black gaze flicked across her. She brought a mug of cha and waved away the half-drach piece Aleytys held but to her. “Hang on a minute, hon.” She thumped a hand on the brawny arm of a sleepy-faced, gray-haired man dreaming over the dregs in his cup. “Hey, Blink,” she bellowed, “shift your butt off that stool and let the despina sit.”

He looked up slowly, blinked several times, then moved off silently, working his way with dreamy unconcern out of the shop.

Shaking her head, Aleytys eased onto the stool and sipped at the hot liquid. Bran stumped off and refilled the cha pots. Then she scooped sizzling pies from the oil, dropping new ones in their places as soon as all the brown ones were in the draining rack. Then she wiped her hands on a rag and looked around, black eyes darting purposefully over the crowd. “Rabbit!” she yelled.

One of the boys came running.

“Take over here a minute. I need breathin' time. Mind you, keep your hands off the rolls and don't burn yourself on the cha pots.”

“Sure, Ma.”

“Don't you ‘ma' me, imp.”

“Gramma?”

“Ha!” She aimed a swipe at his head but missed by a half meter. “Keep a respectful tongue in your head or I'll warm respect into another part of your skinny body, Rabbit.”

He grinned at her and began filling the disposable cups with fresh cha. Shaking her head, Bran came down the counter. “No respect at all these days. When I was young …”

“You were probably twice as nimble-tongued.”

Bran chuckled. “Right you are, hon.” She settled her bulk onto a stool place near the wall behind the counter. “Well, girl, I've had a word or two with this one and that on the Street. Wouldn't mind taking you on myself, but …” She looked uncomfortable. “The work keeps those imps off the street and away from some bad habits they might be picking up. You understand.”

“Yes.” Aleytys sipped at her cha. “They're lucky.”

“Brats.” She radiated a fierce pride. “Every one of 'em. But they got a brain and a half between them. That's not what you're here for. Ummmm. Ulrick, the jeweler, could use a clerk. He's a tightfisted old miser. Well, he didn't haye no openings till I described you, so I figure part of your job'd be warming his bed. So, unless you're really low, forget that one.”

“How honest is he?” She thought a minute. “As a jeweler, I mean.”

“Buyin', he'd squeeze an obol till it yelped, but he'd give a reasonably honest appraisal if you stood fast.” Bran's black eyes darted about warily, then she leaned closer, her voice almost inaudible as she spoke. “If you've got stuff to sell, he'd keep it quiet and give a honest price. But don't tell me. Don't tell anybody. These things get out. You could end up on Lovax's list.”

“I'll remember. Anything else?”

Bran straightened her back, grunting with effort. “Blue don't like women much, but she might give you a go as a bouncer to put the arm on drunks and busted gamblers. She runs games on her second floor, rents rooms on the third, and lives on top of it all. It can get rough. You'd earn your pay.”

“Can't say that sounds very appealing.”

“I saved the best for last. Dryknolte. You must have seen his place. Biggest and best on Star Street. He needs a hostess.” She pressed her back against the wall and stared blankly over the noisy room. “His last girl ran across some creep and ended up in a back alley with her throat cut. He hasn't replaced her yet and his business is hurtin'.”

Aleytys twisted the mug back and forth on the counter. “There are plenty of women on Star Street. What's his problem?”

“He don't want whores. Needs a kinda special woman. He likes to think his place is refined. You'd have to make his customers feel good, listen to their problems, smile at them, make them feel like they're fascinatin'. All you have to do is listen and smile a lot. You sit at the tables with them. They buy you drinks. Dance with you, maybe, if they have compatible forms. You don't have to go on your back 'less you want to. If you do, the house gets its percentage. Don't forget that.”