Skeen's Return (34 page)

“I feel like a plucked fowl,” Lipitero murmured, a plaintive note in her muted voice. She glanced along the passage to make sure no one had heard, then retreated into the cabin and dropped heavily onto one of the bunks. “Hai, Peg, you think this is going to keep on the whole time we're in this place?”

“Seems likely.” He scratched at his nose, stared into the shadows. After a few sighs and some thought, he said, “I'd talk to Usoq as soon as you can get hold of him, see if he can negotiate some relief for you. Look but don't touch. Even keep them off the boat, let them watch from the water or the trees. Them, hm. I've a suspicion the news is going to fly and Nagamar will be swarming around like flies about a carcass if you don't mind the unlovely comparison.” He leaned over, handed the darter back to Skeen. “Usoq knows his business. Skeen?”

“Yup. I'll throw in ten gold if he needs sweetening. Probably won't, you know. He isn't going to want the Pouliloulou weighed down with Nagamar and you might point out how much good having you on board is going to do for him in Nagamar eyes. Make life a lot easier. Were I you, I'd bargain for two flights—you can fly in this air? Good. Morning and evening, you go up, show yourself off. Other times, you're down here, no touch no see. And yes, let him handle that Nagamar female, a bit of time he'll have her licking honey off his toes.” Skeen tapped her fingers on her thigh, grinned at Rannah, a quick twist of her wide mouth. “A competent worm, oh, yes.”

Lipitero glanced at the door, grimaced. “I'd rather not go up there.”

Skeen clicked her tongue against her teeth, a soft irritated sound. “Can't you feel it? We're moving again. He won't leave the wheel. He's got to make time now, he knows it, the farther he can get before the flood, Nagamar I mean, the shorter he'll have to endure that kind of notice. Um … I'd offer to bargain for you, but I don't think that I'd have the same … um … clout with him. I can try.…”

Lipitero shuddered, sighed. “No.… Toss me my robe, please Rannah? I might as well make the point early that I'll show what I want when.” She caught the bundle the Aggitj girl lobbed to her, pulled it on. She stood a moment smoothing it down over her body, then she pulled the cowl up over her head and moved away down the passage.

Timka moved out of the shadows and dropped onto a bunk. “Poor Petro, but I can't regret it. No one's going to look hard at me and wonder what I am. Which is just as well, given that fighter's attitude toward Min.” She exaggerated a shiver. “I wouldn't want her after me, hooo!”

Skeen chuckled. “Poor little Min.”

“Phffft to you, Pass-Through.”

Midmorning in the days that followed, Lipitero rode the lift field up, extended her flight skins and soared over the Morass, turning in slow spirals so the Nagamar adults and children could get a good look at her. She stayed up there for over an hour (she admitted to the rest of the Company that it was a lot cooler and smelled better up there) then drifted blown-leaf back to the boat and vanished below deck. Midafternoon, she repeated the performance. The original squad of Nagamar swam the waters about the Pouliloulou, keeping off the curious who would have swarmed and swamped the boat given the chance. The crowds increased each day, their whistles, chirrups, grunts and clicks as thick in the air as the damp. The noise never stopped, night and day, day and night, a punctuated muttering, long wavering whistles breaking from the background noise, sinking into it. Timka felt eyes on her always, day and night, night and day. Each breath she took was blown into her out of the lungs in the murmurous trees, she could taste the burning sweet-sour flavor in the air, in the food. She couldn't escape them even in her sleep, she dreamed of eyes on her, of mouths breathing on her, she wanted to take wing and speed away, but she couldn't. She was Nemin for the space of the Morass, Nemin because she owed debts to Usoq, to Skeen, to Maggí and through Maggí to Rannah. To Lipitero. She watched Lipitero fly and hated her for a moment until she talked herself out of it. Five days, she thought.

Four days. Three. Two. The land around them was rising very gradually, beginning to dry out, weeds and brush were replacing reeds, the trees grew closer together and were changing from the furry wet-footed growth in the Morass to more ordinary trees, the fungus was drier and grayer, sparser. The water was brighter, more translucent, gathering into channels; the channel they slipped along acquired definition as it acquired recognizable banks. The noise from the trees grew more demanding and at the same time more wistful as if the Nagamar thronging there wanted to weave a cage about the magical creature who'd come to their place, but suspected they could not. Usoq was increasingly nervous. This was a perilous time; if the Nagamar decided to hold onto Lipitero there was nothing he could do; on the other hand, if he capitulated to their demands, he had no illusions about what Skeen, Pegwai and Timka would do to him. And Maggí, once Rannah was safe at the Lumat.

Leaving Vohdi at the helm (the South Rekkah was a lot more forgiving here) Usoq came to the cabin a few minutes before Lipitero was scheduled to start her afternoon flight. Rannah was on deck, talking to the youngest of the Nagamar guards, putting into practice interviewing skills she'd picked up watching Pegwai, enjoying herself thoroughly. Timka was curled up more than half asleep in one of the top bunks. She roused as he came in, rolled onto her stomach and lay watching him.

He pulled the door shut, frowned, opened it again and stood in the doorway and beckoned to Lipitero. As soon as she reached him, he caught hold of her arm, leaned toward her and whispered. “Ykx, I'm telling you, don't come back. When you go up this time, keep going.”

Skeen unfolded from the bunk where she was sitting, brushed past Usoq and settled herself with her back against the far wall of the passage, her long legs crossed; she pulled on a drowsy mindless look, murmured, “How long till we're out of the Morass?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. If they don't try stopping us.”

“If Petro doesn't keep going, how soon will they try something?”

“Lifefire knows, any time the whim strikes them.” He gave Lipitero a sour look. “They aren't going to like it if she runs out on them, but that's still better than having her here.”

Skeen patted a yawn, coughed. “So she leaves. She'll need to wait for us. Where?”

Usoq fidgeted, glanced along the passageway toward the hatch. “Does that matter? I ought to get back, that crazy bitch will be down here stiff with suspicion.”

“It matters. More than Nagamar'd love getting hold of an Ykx. She can't spend the whole time in the air. Give us a place she can reach but likely no one else.”

“Ah ah ah, no …” he danced from foot to foot like a boy needing urgently to find a handy tree. “Look, there's an island about a day and a half on, mostly rocks, bad currents both sides, far as I know, no one goes there. That do?”

Skeen raised her brows, Lipitero nodded. “If it doesn't I suppose she'll have to look for herself.”

Usoq took off along the passage, scurrying away as if afraid another moment would bring more difficulties.

Skeen got to her feet, moved inside the cabin, stooping so her head wouldn't bang against the timbers. “Want the darter? Just in case?”

Lipitero was digging into her pack. She brought out one of her robes. She folded it small, tucked it into her harness. “No, you might need it a lot more than me. If they turn mean.”

“Um … mind a suggestion?”

“Never.”

“Push it a little. Wait for this flight, start an hour later. Be darker then. Um … sniff the air, see how it feels, you could be a bit edgy. Let the Nagamar know you're a bit tired of showing yourself off like this, lay a trail for disappearing. Might tip the scale to us. Just a hint though, and not if it doesn't feel right.”

Lipitero found a small pouch, filled it from her cache of dried fruit and nuts, tied the pouch to her harness so it dangled beside her thigh. “I hear. You know, Skeen, I'll be pleased to pass the Gate.” Her fur roughed, she shuddered. “I don't like this … this covetousness. It was bad enough in Cida Fennakin, but it was the sort of thing you expected from Angelsin and her kind. You can deal with being a commodity. This is different. I feel like I've got fingermarks, no, eyemarks, all over me. I want to scrub myself for hours to get rid of this.…” She twitched again, settled on the floor beside her pack.

Timka rubbed at her eyes, curled up and went to sleep again. Nothing she could do; it was simpler to sleep and let the time pass.

Lipitero fidgeted about the deck ignoring the Nagamar squad leader who started getting edgy when the time for Lipitero's rise came and passed. As the afternoon slid on, the Nagamar started getting shrill. Finally Lipitero shrugged, threw off the robe she'd been wearing and rode the lift field high enough to catch some wind and began her long loops over the river. The loops stretched gradually longer until the last one broke and the Ykx vanished into the frizzled clouds.

The squad leader waited till the sun was coloring the western sky, then she laid hands on Usoq and warbled at him. He writhed in her grip, signed one-handed and gabbled out a flow of Trade-Min, word tripping over word; to Skeen (who was sitting unnoticed, she hoped, with her back against the mast) it was mostly nonsense, half-disclaimers, broken protests, other things, perhaps words to remind the Nagamar of other times, old debts, whatever. It sounded like babble, but it worked, the squad leader let go of his arm, not exactly calmed down, but her anger was no longer focused on the furry little man. She tromped about the deck hissing to herself, stopping to glare at Skeen and Pegwai. Around and around, out to the bow to gaze unhappily into the gaudy clouds. Around and around, stopping by Rannah and the young guard. She kicked the guard off the boat, pulled Rannah to her feet and dragged her over to Usoq. She pushed the Aggitj girl against him and began snapping through angry signs. Skeen got quietly to her feet and moved so Usoq could see her and she could see the girl. She unsnapped the holster. “Peg,” she murmured, “watch the crew girls. They'll be dangerous if they see him going down.” She felt at the darter, switched to spray. Djabo's weepy eyes, why can't I teach these fuckin' eyes of mine to aim straight: …

Usoq patted Rannah on the shoulder. “Calm, calm, there's no problem here. No, no, no problem here. Rannah love, tell the kurshup here what you know about the Ykx, why she's not here, tell her and me I'll translate.”

More patting, more flickers of his hands telling the squad leader what he was saying. Skeen watched the lean musuclar shoulders of the woman, saw their contours soften a little and knew he was translating accurately. As she'd suspected, the Nagamar knew more Trade-Min than she admitted to. Clever little man.

Rannah blinked, turned to stare at the darkening clouds. “Oh. She didn't come back?” She swung round to gaze wide-eyed at the Nagamar. “I didn't notice, I was talking to Kisri, you saw me. You want me to guess, I'd say she didn't like all these people staring at her. She said she felt like a bird in a cage. I think she must have decided enough was enough and took off, but I don't know that.” She stopped talking, stood looking as dewy and innocent as a downy chick. Skeen disciplined a smile away. Maggí's daughter, yes, indeed.

Usoq finished his translation, paused a moment, then added some more. At the same time he nudged Rannah with his elbow, urging her away. The squad leader ignored her and started a silent elbow-swinging wrangle with him while Rannah ambled over to Skeen and Pegwai.

Skeen rested her shoulders against the mast and slid down it till she was sitting. Rannah dropped beside her. The girl touched Skeen's wrist, tilted her head, her whole body a single wordless question.

Skeen winked at her. “The veritable daughter of Maggí Solitaire,” she murmured. “You do learn fast.”

Rannah grinned happily. She lifted her bowside shoulder, dropped it. “Not coming back?” she murmured, taking pains to move her lips as little as possible. “What will they do?”

“No. I don't know. Um … in a minute or two, go down and let Ti know what's happening. Peg and I had better stay in sight for a while longer.”

The night slipped down on them. The squad leader paced around the deck a while, went overside into the water, came flashing back a short while later, paced some more, her movements angular and filled with irritation. Skeen stayed on deck until moonrise, watching two more of those departures and returns, then she went below, leaving Usoq at the wheel and the crew girls taking turns bringing him food and scrambling to follow his orders as they worked to ride the edge between racing and recklessness.

Morning. No Ykx rising. Moaning mourning whistles from the trees. Louder. Louder. Grieving. Demanding. The Nagamar squad leader crouched in the shadow of the sails, watching, suspicious, unhappy. Skeen came on deck briefly, looked around, winced at the volume of sound directed at the ship, the number of dark silent forms in trees on either side, and went back down.

The Morass began changing, the change increasing as they fled battered by the sound, Usoq and the crew working harder as the winds grew more erratic while clouds gathered overhead, graying the day, underlining and intensifying the dolor of the griefsong coming from under the trees.

Skeen fidgeted with a bit of wood but couldn't concentrate on it; the sound was muffled down here but that didn't seem to help much. As if her skin had been flayed off, her flesh and nerve ends left bare. She cut carelessly at the wood, swore as the knife slipped and nicked her thumb.

Pegwai looked up from his notebook. “Try sleeping.”

“Hah! Tell me how. Then tell me how much longer that's going on.”

“Timka seems to manage well enough.”

“Her? She could sleep in the crater of an erupting volcano.” She slipped the knife back into the arm sheath, dropped the scrap of wood and kicked it recklessly away, narrowly missing Rannah who was squatting beside Pegwai, watching him write, making her own entries into her own notebook. Skeen bit her lip, waved her hand in a half apology. She stretched out on the bunk, pulled a blanket over her ears and tried to ignore that miserable idiot sound.