Skeen's Return (14 page)

“Skeen, aren't you forgetting something?” Timka nudged the Ant with her toe. “This one. Hopflea. The shorthorns. What do we do with them?”

Skeen made an impatient gesture. “You want to do some throat cutting … No!” she shouted as Hart started toward the boy. “I was joking. Put them in the cells, we can let Angelsin deal with them later. Yes, I know, probably comes to the same thing, but she'll be happier if we let her handle things like that. Believe me. Better she doesn't think she's completely helpless. No. It is not good tactics to make her desperate. We want her to cooperate, not dig her hooves in and decide to take as many of us with her as she can. Of course she'll be plotting the minute she wakes up; I want that. It'll keep her from doing something precipitate, like ordering her Ants to swarm us, calling in her hardboys to back them up; she won't do that unless she's pushed into it. I think I'm shifty enough to thwart her, for a while anyway. Um. Bring Hopflea over here. We'd better have him up there too; he might be missed. He shouldn't weigh much, you think you could carry him, Petro? I'd like Ti-cat running scout ahead while I guard our rear. Good. Weil, let's get moving. Sooner we're settled in, the better I'll like it.”

They found the Boy curled up with the Beast, both deep in drugged sleep, locked in a small room that opened off Angelsin's bedroom.

Angelsin was laid out on the bed like a corpse for a wake except that her long three-fingered Funor hands were placed one over the other on her diaphragm and rose and fell with each breath. In this huge and gaudy room only one lamp was lit, throwing most of it into shadow. Skeen and Timka sat without talking on a plump bulging backless sofa pushed against one wall. Out of sight, moving in and out of the other rooms, searching them, poking through Angelsin's secrets, hunting out the hidden exits from this fortress suite, Pegwai and the Aggitj had slipped into wild humor and made the silences ring with laughter and jokes and shouts of discovery. The thick walls were eaten into termite lace by the secret ways Angelsin had gouged in them, evidence of the value she placed on her hide.

“Tell me something, Skeen.”

“Hmmm?”

“When Hart wanted to slice Angelsin, you nearly exploded. Why?”

Skeen was silent for several more minutes; Timka began to think she didn't mean to answer. Finally the long thin woman stirred, lifted a hand, let it fall. “That word,” she said, “that attitude.
Scum.
Not even people. Us. Well, maybe not Chulji or Pegwai.” She spoke slowly, pausing frequently to dig out the word she wanted. “I suppose the Aggitj don't feel it either. Their people threw them away like trash, but they're … um … accepted well enough out here, though if they went home … I don't know, that could be different too … when Hart said that, it cut at me.…”

“Skeen! There's no comparison between you and that … that eater of filth. She's a monster. She's evil. A beast. This world would smell better if she was wiped off it.”

“Of them all, I thought you might … um … see what I'm saying, Ti.” Skeen's voice had a dull sadness that Timka found oppressive and to a large degree incomprehensible. Skeen passed her hand across her eyes, slapped it down against her thigh. “It's like … um … choosing sides in a game, Ti. My style might be different, but Angelsin and me, we're on the same team. The Scum Team. The ones respectable types sneer at and stomp when they can. When you say wipe her away because she is what she is, then you're a hairline off from doing the same to me.” Her hands were working, her tongue flicking out to follow the line of her lips as she struggled with what she'd not put in words before. “Pit Stoppers aren't a sweet bunch, Ti; to say true, we're a godsawful collection of misfits, murderers and thieves. The excrement of the universe.” A small tight grin, not much humor in it. “You take 'em as they are, or take yourself off. You ought to know there's lots worse than Angelsin sitting in seats of power—think about Telka—Angelsin at least takes care of her folk and she doesn't expect them to kiss ass for it. Pegwai calls her a monster and I suppose she is, I don't know … I don't know.…” She moved her shoulders uneasily, got up off the sofa. “I've heard of saints, but I've never met any.” She walked with quick short steps to one of the barred windows, pushed aside the heavy lace curtain and stood staring out at the night sky.

Timka frowned at the stiff erect back. For her, the difference between Skeen and Angelsin was broad and glaring. A chasm. And she was indignant at Skeen for implying there was a tie between her and Timka and that creature. Lifefire, she confuses me, she thought. There has to be some order, some rank of values. I can't live in the kind of chaos you imply, Skeen, and I don't believe in it. No. She smiled. Haven't I seen you despising and loathing this, that and the other? No universal acceptance in you, graverobber my friend. Hmm. It's that word. Scum. That's what bothers you. The dismissal in it. So easy to … yes, I think I see. What Telka's trying to do with me, that's why Skeen thought I'd understand, turning me to a beast that other Min won't fuss about hunting, slaughtering. Still, me and Angelsin? I'll never accept that. But I begin to see the other thing. What Skeen didn't quite manage to say. I deserve to live because I desire to live. I deserve what I'll never be able to command as my right. I deserve to exist simply because I do exist. The attack on Angelsin is an attack on me. Timka pushed up off the couch and moved to the foot of the bed where she stood for several silent minutes contemplating the sleeper. Her lips twitched. She started laughing.

Skeen swung around. The curtain fell in place behind her. “What's that for?”

“I've been thinking about what you said.” Timka stretched, rubbed at her back. “And I've been thinking about the dead along our back trail.” She hitched a hip over the footboard and laughed again. “Wouldn't it be lovely if she woke up and came charging at us and gave us a really satisfactory reason for removing her? No fuss about words, no fuss about worth, just she lives or we live. A nice clean uncomplicated choice. Pop! and it's over, all settled.”

Skeen nodded, her face drawn and grim. “It'd settle a lot of things. Us, for one.” She moved along the bed until she stood gazing down into the Funor woman's broad pale face. A swift bend, a thumb lifting an eyelid, then she swung around to face Timka. “She's still under, but I don't know for how much longer, there's a lot of meat laid out there. Djabo's weepy eyelids, I'm about done, I need some sleep. Ti, go hunt out Pegwai and see if the two of you can come up with some stout rope, or something else strong enough to hold that much muscle. And take Hopflea and stuff him in a closet somewhere. Be sure it's not one with a trick exit in it; better tie him too.” She yawned, “Have Domi do the knots. You said he's a sailor, he should be able to thwart that ancient baby's tricks. Remind him Hopflea's got lots of experience squirming out of tight spots.”

Dawnlight filtered through the heavy lace curtains. Timka dozed in an oversize armchair, her feet tucked under, mind and body relaxed, drifting in that twilight region where nightmare and strokes of genius lived. Skeen's slow breathing went on for several minutes until her breath caught in her throat; she blinked slowly, then pushed up and looked around. She brushed at her face, swung her legs around and slid off the couch, started stretching and bending, moving quietly, the only sound the soft brush of the eddersil against her body. Timka roused, watched her sleepily without bothering to move, blinked in time with the whispered grunts as Skeen swung through her exercises.

Angelsin snorted, shivered, tried to move, went still as she understood the pull of the ropes that tied ankles and wrists to the bed posts. She lifted her head, looked venomously at Skeen, but said nothing.

Skeen kicked at the footboard, made it boom. “Some things I want to make clear. One. You made a bad move tackling us, now you pay for it. Two. You know better than me how many down here would go for your throat if they thought you'd sprained your wrist a bit. Three. You try going for us all out and what you'll get is a bloody mess. You won't do us and you'll announce to the world how we've done you. Four. You're not going to have time to get organized. We'll be out of here in a day or two. Five. If you're reasonably intelligent, you'll keep your temper on a low simmer and let it off kicking ass once we're gone. That way you won't lose anything you think is important. Six. I want to buy a temporary peace and the coin I plan to use is your life. I won't off you unless you make me and I won't let the others touch you. Seven. You push us and you're dead. The minute it looks like we've made a bad bargain, you go. That's it. Keep quiet until I've set out how we're going to handle the logistics of this mess. When I'm finished, then you can have your say.” She grinned tightly. “Yelp all you want, but don't waste my time too much.”

A LITTLE GAME FOR THE GENTLE READER. PLAY OUT THE BARGAINING IN YOUR OWN HEAD. YOU SHOULD HAVE A FAIR IDEA NOW OF THE TEMPERS OF THE TWO WOMEN AND WHAT STRICTURES AND LIMITATIONS THEY'RE OPERATING AROUND. IF YOU WERE ANGELSIN ABOUT TO BE HELD PRISONER ON A FAIRLY LONG LEAD, HOW WOULD YOU WANT TO SET THINGS UP SO YOU'D HAVE A CHANCE AT STOMPING THIS GNAT WHO IS DRIVING YOU CRAZY? NOTE: THERE'S SOMETHING SKEEN HAS NO WAY OF KNOWING; THERE IS A RITE ANGELSIN WILL NOT DARE BE ABSENT FROM COMING UP IN FOUR DAYS (more about this later; read ahead if you want) SO SHE HAS A LIMIT TO HOW PATIENT SHE CAN BE. IF YOU WERE SKEEN, DRIVEN BY A NEED TO MAINTAIN THE LID ON THIS SITUATION FOR A MINIMUM OF TWO DAYS, IF YOU SUSPECTED THAT THERE WERE A LOT OF UNKNOWNS THAT COULD BLOW YOUR PLANS TO ASH, HOW WOULD YOU SET THINGS UP, WHAT SUSPICIONS WOULD YOU HAVE, HOW WOULD YOU WORK TO LIMIT THE DAMAGE ANGELSIN COULD DO YOU? REMEMBER, YOU WANT HER COOPERATION. TO GET THAT, YOU WILL HAVE TO KEEP THE SURVEILLANCE INCONSPICUOUS. ANGELSIN HAS THE ADVANTAGE OF HOME GROUND, SKEEN HAS THE ADVANTAGE OF EXPERIENCE AND FIREPOWER. ME, I'D SAY SKEEN HAS A SLIGHT EDGE. HER NEEDS ARE SIMPLER. IN TIME, THE FORCES SHE IS HOLDING DOWN WOULD EXPLODE UNDER HER, BUT WITH A LITTLE LUCK, SHE AND THE OTHERS WILL BE GONE BEFORE THAT HAPPENS. THE BEST METHOD FOR SURVIVING A VOLCANIC ERUPTION: BE SOMEWHERE ELSE.

“Eh, Skeen, you drop inna hole or somethin'?” A schooner of ale in each battered hand, a big rough Pallah pushed through the noisy crowd gradually filling the room. After a moment of blank surprise, she remembered him from several of her more drunken forays. He set a schooner in front of her, pulled over a chair and dropped into it. “Hey?”

She gazed into the deep rich gold of the ale, breathed its bitter perfume. One wouldn't hurt, she thought.

The Pallah nudged her with his elbow. “Hey?”

“Can't do it,” she muttered and repeated the words louder when he cupped a hand about his nearside ear. “Got me in the gut,” she yelled and pushed the schooner away. “Sorry, friend, that'd light too much fire.” The real regret thickening her voice brought a sharp look, but shut his mouth.

He drained his own schooner and ambled off, after livelier company. She looked after him. Friend or shill, who knows.

She glared at the heavy glass beaded enticingly, the liquid inside flowing with gold fire, whispering temptation to her. One won't hurt, just one. Her throat closed up. She swallowed several times. Finally she got to her feet and snagged a passing waiter. With considerable reluctance and several attempts to misunderstand her, the Funor mossyhorn took the ale away.

During the last two hours of her watch, one after another of her drinking buddies ambled over to the table, tempting her with just about anything that poured out of a bottle. She grew increasingly edgy as these incidents rubbed at her never wholly stable temper, but the suspicion that it was all contrived and the massive presence of Angelsin reminded her continually of how important it was for her to keep hold of her appetites and her head. She stayed dry and she stayed cool enough, but when she went upstairs, she exercised for hours before she tried sleeping. She slept without dreaming, going so deep the chek could have burned down about her without waking her.