The Glass of Dyskornis (19 page)

I was carrying over four hundred zaks—what remained of the twelve hundred zaks Markasset had stolen from Thanasset, the morning he had left Raithskar with the ill-fated caravan. Thanasset had insisted I keep everything left over after I paid Worfit.

I kept one hand on my moneypouch as I walked through Chizan. It was immediately clear that we would need that money.

The Green Sha’um Inn in Omergol had charged me ten zaks for a night’s rest in a private room. In Chizan, the medium fee was twenty zaks per person, for part of a room’s floor that was crammed full with pallets laid head to foot. I got one entire room, after some haggling, for a hundred zaks. I watched the clerk’s head fur jump with tiny brown bodies, and I resolved to sleep on the bare floor.

Next, I set out to find some food for the sha’um, and to do some exploring. Tarani had told me that Chizan consisted of three semi-circular layers. I was in the first of these, a district devoted to the maintenance and entertainment of the vlek handlers who traveled here from all points, and stayed until their money ran out.

I wandered through the second district, where there were residences and support businesses for the people who worked in Chizan, and better class inns (at much higher prices) for the caravan masters and more discriminating travelers.

Then, because I was running close to the deadline I had set myself for heading back to camp, I allowed myself only a quick stroll through the third, elite district: the rogueworld.

Here were restaurants, gaming houses, rented sex partners, and bathtubs. I walked through to the center of the city, where a large and luxurious gaming house overshadowed all other structures. In that building, in a well-guarded apartment, lived Molik.

Tarani said that Molik owns Chizan, down to the last stone of the last building. He can hire people to work here, give them a small percentage of the take, and let them set prices so high that they can make themselves a fortune. Then he probably acquires their fortunes through his gaming houses. Slick.

Tomorrow, Molik
, I promised silently,
we’ll have a long talk about hired killers and kidnapping. I’m looking forward to meeting you.

I went back to the second district, and visited several meat shops, buying small to medium portions of glith in each one. It might have been an unnecessary precaution, but I was determined that Molik shouldn’t have any idea that Tarani was back in Chizan until she told him herself.

A caravan master might buy bulk lots of fresh meat for his crew, but all the masters were known in these shops. For a single man to make such a purchase, or to march out of the city with a live glith on a leash, would be unusual. I was sure that anything unusual would be reported to Molik. If he couldn’t make the connection between a lot of meat and a sha’um, sha’um and Sharith, Sharith and Tarani—then we were wasting our time worrying about the girl’s uncle.

I made several trips to our room, leaving the small purchases in a corner cleared of the flea-infested pallets. When I had the equivalent of a glith—at four times its cost in Raithskar—I packed all the bundles in oiled canvas and stuffed them into Tarani’s knapsack. Then I bought a couple of meat pies to eat on the way, and set out, glad indeed to leave Chizan behind me for a while.

I reached camp shortly after dark, my shoulders badly cramped from the weight of the meat. Lonna had appeared when I was ten minutes or so away from the clearing. I got the impression that the bird had been sent, not to guide me, but to warn Thymas and Tarani of my approach. They looked stubborn and unhappy.

Terrific. They finally start talking to each other, and the first thing they do is argue. Now who does that remind me of?

“See what you can do to make our bags look like Tarani’s travel bag,” I said to Thymas, as I unwrapped a chunk of meat and tossed it toward the cats. Keeshah reached it first and crouched over it, snarling. Ronar backed off, his ears flat to his head. I tossed another chunk to him, then unpacked the rest of it.

“Tarani, it may be best if you ask Lonna to stay with the sha’um. If somebody spots her, Molik will know for sure you’re back.”

“Tarani will be staying, also,” said Thymas.

I sighed. “Tarani?”

She stood up. “Lonna has her instructions, Captain. I am ready to go.”

“Tarani is to be my wife, Captain,” Thymas said, stressing the title just a little. “This is my decision to make. I demand that you order her to obey me.”

I almost laughed out loud at the image of me ordering Tarani to do anything. But it wasn’t laughable.

He was serious.

She was determined.

I was so tired of it all.

“I can’t command Tarani’s actions,” I said, “and neither can you, until you’re actually married.”
If
then
, I added silently. “Besides, we need her. I just got a look at the outside of the building where Molik is. I saw a lot of people going in. Nobody had to turn in their weapons. If Molik feels that secure, we’ll have to fight an army to get to him without Tarani’s help.”

“But—”

“If you don’t want to see her with Molik, then stay here,” I snapped. “And if you come with us, you’d better keep quiet and follow orders—especially those regarding Molik.”

“Tarani is—”

“Do you understand the terms, Thymas?”

“Yes,
Captain.
”

I grabbed my saddlebags out of his hands. The ropes had been re-tied to serve as a shoulder harness, and I arranged them as I walked away.

In a few minutes, I looked back to see Tarani following me and, some five paces behind her, Thymas.

He might not want to see Molik and Tarani together
, I thought.
But neither does he want them to be together while he’s not there.

I’ve seen some jealousy in my time, but Thymas takes the prize. I can’t see what’s bothering him, since it’s more than clear that Tarani despises Molik, and Thymas has everything she gave to Molik, plus a promise of marriage …

Oho.

Everything?

She told Thymas she had borrowed her grubstake from Molik. She didn’t tell him the truth until she was forced to. And whenever I’ve mentioned the “pleasure illusions,” Tarani has gone off like a firebomb. Embarrassment over the business arrangement may have been only part of it. Compulsion is degrading, she said. What about this other talent? The idea of using her power like that again probably disgusts her.

So of course she recoiled when I made that crack about Thymas being addicted to her illusions. And when I implied that the only thing about her worth wanting was that pleasure she hated to give …

I sucked in my breath.

How I hurt her. My God, how I hurt her.

She was sixteen when she went to Molik, and she admitted that she was a virgin then. The onset of sexuality, coupled with unusual control over how that sexuality is used—that makes the ordinary pain and problems of growing up look like a trip to Disneyland.

She would have been eighteen when she went to Thagorn for the first time. There probably hadn’t been any men since Molik; anybody who knew Molik still wanted her wouldn’t have dared to cross him. She probably identified sex with misuse of power—until she met a young man who had never heard of Molik, and was in the mood to celebrate a big day in his life.

I turned my thoughts away from what it must have been like for her, having her physical needs awakened early, and then repressed for so long.

Now I understand why Tarani consented to marry Thymas. She’s grateful to him, maybe she really does love him. But beyond that, Thagorn must seem like a sanctuary to her, a place where Molik and his memories can never reach.

Or couldn’t reach, until the roguelord kidnapped Volitar. Her uncle must really mean a lot to her, if she agreed to contaminate the one place she felt free of her past.

Poor kid. Her whole world has crashed around her, these last three weeks. Her uncle is in danger, the show she went through hell to get is probably ruined, and Thymas knows about a time she wants to forget ….

Hoohoohoohoohoo.

I recalled the way Thymas and Tarani had acted, after spending the night together at Relenor. Tarani’s stiffness, I had attributed to my own clumsiness—I winced again as I thought of what my words had done to her. But Thymas, too, had been gloomy and snappish and generally peeved about something.

Could Thymas have resented it, that she had never told him about that particular talent and given him a chance to choose for himself whether he wanted it? Could that hotheaded, jealous s.o.b. have been stupid enough to ask Tarani for a sample?

Man, we both clobbered her that night.

Of course, all this might be a total crock, resulting from an overactive imagination. But I doubt it. Ricardo Carillo used to be a shrewd judge of character. Besides, it all fits together too well. I’d bet my shirt that I’m right.

Which means that I’ll have to watch Tarani and Thymas both, every minute we’re with Molik—or he’ll be dead before he can tell us anything about Gharlas.

Molik may be something unmentionable, but it was Gharlas who pulled the strings. Now, I may not be as convinced as Dharak that Gharlas is a world danger, but I’m sure as hell fed up with the way he messes into other people’s lives. Thanasset could have been killed. Dharak, too. Not to mention yours truly. And now Tarani and Thymas …

Scratch that. I don’t approve of the method, but I think that those two kids will be better off, in the long run, for knowing these things about one another. So you’re off the hook for that one, Gharlas.

But only for that one.

Tarani was sure that Molik would be holding Volitar in one of the rich homes in the third district. Several of these were reserved for use by the Living Death, until their time ran out one way or another. I thought it might be possible for Tarani to reach into Molik’s mind from a distance, and find out where Volitar was. But I didn’t ask her to do that.

First, I guessed she would be so anxious about Volitar that she wouldn’t think to get the information I wanted about Gharlas.

Second, Molik was no dummy. If he thought Tarani might be able to do that, he’d have arranged things so that he didn’t know where her uncle was—only who to contact to find him.

Third, Molik was a living memory of something Tarani wanted to forget. I didn’t know whether she could project a compulsion strong enough to kill him, but I didn’t want to take the chance of tempting her.

So it was necessary for us to get close to Molik physically. It had taken a lot of heated discussion, the night before, to agree on a plan which would get all of us close to him with as little risk as possible.

Molik, like Worfit, kept dusk-to-dawn office hours. The last hour before sunrise was the slowest time for the never-closed rogueworld, and Tarani, Thymas, and I had chosen that time to come to Molik’s gaming house, the Lonely Caravan. I was standing beside a mondea table in the second-floor salon, not ten feet from Molik’s office door. Two uglies were guarding it. I was losing what remained of my bankroll, and trying to look cheerful about it.

Thymas came running up the stairs. He paused at the wide doorway, looked over the people in the room, then came straight for me. He panted as he ran up, making a good show of excitement.

“Lakad!” he said. “Remember that show we saw in Dyskornis—the girl who lit her hands on fire while she danced? Well—” he paused and took a breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the two guards listening, almost leaning toward us. “Well, I could swear I just saw her downstairs. I went over to talk to her, but she saw me coming and moved off into the crowd. You remember her, Lakad. What was her name?”

I pretended to search my memory. “Tarra? Torelli?”

“Tarani!” Thymas crowed, the loudness of his voice quite in keeping with the act he was putting on.

One of the guards knocked on the door.

“Yes, that’s it,” I agreed. “Great show. Wouldn’t mind seeing it again. Is she performing in Chizan?”

“Let’s go ask her,” Thymas urged. “I’m sure she’s still down there somewhere, wearing a desert rig with yellow tunic and trousers. With two of us, we ought to find her.”

The door had opened a crack. One man was talking into it; the other was saying something now and then out of the corner of his mouth. He was watching us closely.

“Later, maybe,” I said. “Right now, I’m more interested in getting my money back from this table.”

“Losing, are you? How much have you dropped so far?”

The guard lost interest.

“A hundred zaks,” I told Thymas, keeping up the act. “Here, why don’t you try your luck for a while. Mind if I just watch for a round or two?” I asked the table attendant, who indicated it would be all right. Thymas took the dice, and I tried to watch the door and the table at the same time.

When a man came out of the office and headed for the stairs with one of the guards in tow, I began to breathe again. We had counted on Molik wanting to see for himself.

As the round ended, Thymas gave up his bet with a shrug.

“That’s all I can afford to lose,” I told the attendant. “See you next trip.”

“Health and wisdom to you, sir,” the man said.

Thymas and I strolled slowly toward the stairway, idly watching the tables, waiting …

Someone in the far corner said: “Why, these mondeana are made of gold!”

“Let me see those,” said a voice which had to be an attendant’s.

“Fleabite you,” came the response. “I’m taking these with me for a souvenir. Some repayment for all I’ve lost in this filthy place.”

“Those are the property of—”

“Let him have ’em. He’s right about this place. Hey, are they really gold?”

“Yeah, they just changed …”

“Maybe I’ll take some, too …”

It was in character for us to stop to watch the incipient riot. When the door guard, along with the other heavies stationed around the wall of the salon, headed toward the trouble, Thymas and I made a dash—to the door, and through it.