The Devil Incarnate (The Devil of Ponong series #2) (2 page)

At the Red Happiness, three people behind the bar filled
drinks as fast as they could, and the sex workers rarely spent more than half
an hour in the long, narrow room before heading upstairs with a different
customer. Even though the rain fell heavily, so many people were on the veranda
that wrapped around the first floor of the brothel that most stood in clusters
around the wicker chairs. Everyone was in the mood for a party, especially Kyam
Zul.

Kyam wore his finest
Shewani jacket and trousers. Everything else he owned was packed. Finally,
after over a year in exile, he could go home, his dishonor forgiven. He smacked
the mosquito that landed on his knuckles, and then smeared the blood and insect
away. How he hated this damned island.

He shared a small
table with his cousin Hadre. They were tall, broad shouldered, well-educated
gentlemen, scions of the most powerful of Thampur’s thirteen families. Hadre
always looked the part; Kyam didn’t usually bother. Hadre wasn’t much older
than Kyam, but years at sea had etched lines around his eyes and his straight
black hair was turning gray at the temples. Kyam’s hair had finally been cut
properly, although his bangs still fell into his dark eyes, and for the first
time in months, he hadn’t missed a patch while shaving.

“Business is good,” Hadre said. He glanced around the bar
with his glass still pressed to his bottom lip.

Kyam wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It depended on who
profited – the Devil or QuiTai. She’d been right about the records in the
government office: They were in such disarray that he hadn’t been able to find
the deed to the Red Happiness in his short search. Not that it mattered now. If
she chose to stay with the Devil, it was no longer his business. Had never been
his business. She had certainly made that clear.

He wasn’t going to miss the Red Happiness, but he wanted one
last look at it before he moved on. No brothel on the continent was so
self-indulgently tawdry, but it struck a perfect balance between Thampurian
furnishings and colonial decadence. Lewd figurines gleamed under the
white-light jellylantern chandeliers that must have cost a fortune. Nowhere else
in Levapur, not even the Governor’s compound, was that well lit.

A new Ingosolian Madam stood at Jezereet’s post on the
sweeping staircase that led up to the rooms. That was the only change Kyam
could see from before his adventure with QuiTai. But he couldn’t help trying to
detect something different about it, something he’d missed those many nights
and afternoons he’d sat in the bar, painting, drinking, and occasionally going
upstairs with one of the workers. As he glanced around, he realized that he was
searching for some hint of QuiTai’s presence; but the flocked wallpaper and
Thampurian furnishings didn’t reflect her personality, except that both were
meticulously maintained façades.

Kyam tried to think
of QuiTai as the aloof, cruel, inscrutable Devil’s concubine he’d matched wits
with from the first hour he’d set foot in Levapur, because that woman would be much
easier to salute as a formidable foe when he left. But the memory he always
returned to was of her sitting on the stoop of an apartment building, hugging
her knees to her chest. She’d turned to him, offering a rare true smile.
 
She’d said, “There’s more. Want to hear
it?”

She’d been talking about the crime scene they’d just left
and the harbor master’s mutilated body – hardly a topic to inspire such a
delightfully unguarded moment – but in his dreams, she hinted at
something he’d failed to grasp, even though it was probably right in front of
him. He only had that one intriguing glimpse of her soul to go on. It wasn’t
nearly enough, no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind. His answer,
then as now, would always be, “Yes. Amaze me.”

If only he could find out what had happened after she fled Cay
Rhi with some of the slaves. Had she escaped the militia? Was she back with the
Devil? And was Petrof still trying to kill her? He at least deserved to say
goodbye to her.

“Feeling your rum?” Hadre asked.

Kyam picked up his empty glass and shook his head. “Don’t care
if I am. I can sleep it off as I sail for home.”

“You must be drunk if you’ve already forgotten what I told
you.”

Kyam leaned back in
his chair and laughed. “You almost had me believing you. Almost.”

“I wasn’t joking,
Kyam. I can’t honor your articles of transport.” Hadre grabbed his drink and
swallowed half of it in one gulp. He made a face then drank the rest.

“But Governor Turyat
and Chief Justice Cuulon both signed my papers. I assure you, those signatures
are real.” Kyam still grinned, but Hadre’s grim expression added unwelcome
uncertainty to his celebration.

 
Hadre couldn’t
even look at him. “There isn’t a captain in the Zul fleet who will honor your
papers, even if they were signed by the king.”

Kyam started to say something, but the deeper meaning behind
those words sank in and he closed his mouth. He tried to cling to his joy, but
it was fading fast. “Grandfather.”

Hadre nodded.

“Why does he always do things this way? He could have just told
me himself.”

“Because he’s a cruel old man who treats his family like
tiles to be played.”

“Hadre! Respect.”

Hadre grabbed his
empty glass and lifted it as he turned to catch the bar keep’s eye across the
room. After his glass was filled, he turned back to Kyam. “And when will he
respect you? You’re a sea dragon! Grandfather might not have let you follow the
sea, but you’ve been sailing since you were five years old. You know most ships
in our fleet better than you know your house back in Surrayya. How can you sit
there and accept being landlocked?”

“There must be a good reason.” Kyam was growing angry, but
not at his grandfather. Hadre had no place talking about the head of their
family like that. Grandfather was difficult to please, but he had a right to
high expectations of his family. Kyam could recall each time Grandfather had
praised him, maybe because there had been so few, but he’d worked hard for
those scraps of approval. “It’s not our place to question him.”

“Underneath all your dash and devil-may-care, you really are
a traditional Thampurian at heart, Ky-Ky.” Hadre’s thick black brows drew
together. “A landlocked sea dragon is no better than dirt. I told Grandfather
that.” Hadre’s smile was grim. “Grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.”

Shock left Kyam speechless for a moment. Another thought
interrupted before he scolded Hadre for assaulting their Grandfather. “Wait.
You didn’t have time to sail home and back here in two days. How could you have
possibly –”

“Because he was here, Kyam. Didn’t want anyone, even you, to
know. Sailed out this morning.”

Kyam couldn’t
believe it. Little of this conversation made sense, and he wasn’t drunk enough
to be that confused. “And he didn’t see me?”

“He gave me a direct
order not to tell you that he was here. He didn’t have the balls to tell you
the bad news to your face, so he ran away and left it to me.”

Anger lashed out of Kyam’s control. “Are you calling him a
coward? How could you be so disrespectful? How could you attack him?”

Hadre tipped his glass back and forth, sending waves of rum
close to over-spilling the rim. “Your argument is with Grandfather, not with
me. Besides, Grandfather made sure I learned my lesson. He gave the
Golden Barracuda
to cousin Malk and
sailed home on it. I’m presently the proud captain of the
Winged Dragon
.”

Hadre lost the
Golden
Barracuda
? The
Winged Dragon
was
the oldest and smallest junk in the Zul fleet. It should have been scuttled
decades ago. Being assigned to it was a disgrace almost as bad as exile. But
then he remembered what Hadre had done. “Serves you right.”

Hadre’s temper, always much slower to burn than Kyam’s,
flared across his face. He leaned over the small table, grabbed Kyam’s lapel,
and yanked him forward. “You listen to me, cousin.” He whispered urgently, but
so quietly that Kyam had to strain to hear him over the festivities swirling
around them. “I’ll bet you never knew that your masters in Intelligence were
willing to let you off with censure over the Oin Affair. Grandfather is the one
who insisted on exile. And I beg you to remember that obeying Grandfather over
your superiors in Intelligence is what got you into trouble with that little
caper.”

Kyam shook his head. “It wasn’t like that –”

“The hell it wasn’t. He wanted you in Levapur for a reason,
so he set you up to be disgraced and exiled. Now that you’ve thwarted the
Ravidian plot and regained your honor, everything is forgiven back in Surrayya.
Intelligence gave you back your rank. But he’s ignoring that and treating you
as if you’re still in disgrace.” Hadre let go of Kyam. “He’s warned the rest of
the thirteen families not to allow you to board their ships either. Face it. He’s
marooned you here. He took the sea away from you.”

Kyam’s chair tipped over as he came to his feet. “I know my
duty to my family. If he’d asked, I would have told him that I’d obey him and
stay here to see his plan through.”

“But he didn’t ask, did he?”

~ ~ ~

The Home Port was the only Thampurian-owned tavern Kyam knew
of in Levapur. If it hadn’t been for the fans churning the stuffy air inside
the dim room, it could have been on one of the wide streets bordering Suvat
Park back in Surrayya. The authentic Thampurian dishes used imported spices and
meat. Anyone who dared order rum would be served whiskey with a scowl. Normally
Kyam avoided the place, but tonight he needed the touch of home.

He almost walked out when he saw Major Voorus and three
other colonial militiamen at a table. He was their hero now, which was why he
planned to sit with his back to them and hope they didn’t notice him at the far
end of the bar.

Kyam signaled the barkeep to bring him a drink.

He was still torn
about Hadre.
 
Maybe he’d visit him
in the morning, and they could pretend they’d never had that conversation at the
Red Happiness. No; Hadre would have to apologize, first to him, and then to
Grandfather. Some things just couldn’t be overlooked.

A hand clapped against
his back.

“What the hell are you still doing here, Zul?” Voorus asked.

Although Voorus wasn’t a member to the Zul clan, Kyam and
Voorus looked more alike than even he and Hadre did. It wasn’t just their
height and build; the shape of their faces and even their noses suggested
kinship. Many people had remarked on it.

Kyam wished Voorus would go back to the other soldiers. It
wasn’t that he disliked the man as a casual acquaintance. Voorus was likeable
enough to drink with occasionally, and he’d been a damned good man to fight
beside on Cay Rhi. But he’d also tried to execute QuiTai, taken over Kyam’s
raid of the Ravidian’s secret base, and after they’d captured the Ravidians
he’d secured the base... Kyam almost snorted.
Secured the base.
QuiTai foresaw that in her odd way of picking at
words like a death bird stringing out the guts of carrion. He had no idea how
she’d done it. One minute they were hacking their way through the jungle; the
next, she was predicting they’d find that the natives of the key had been
forced into slavery, and worse, that the colonial militia meant to keep those
slaves captive. He hadn’t wanted to believe her because it went against everything
Thampurians believed in – but she’d been right.

“If I had signed articles of transport, I’d be out of here
on the next ship. Hell, I’d shift and swim all the way back to Thampur,” Voorus
said.

Voorus’ breath was sour with drink. His eyelids drooped.

The reality of Kyam’s position was sinking in. He couldn’t
leave Ponong until his grandfather freed him. “I’m going to extend my stay.”
Kyam was careful not to sound bitter.

“On this filthy island? You’re going to need more to drink
than that!” Voorus snapped his fingers at the barkeep. “A whiskey for my
friend.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“It is if you’re going to stay in Levapur.”

For a fleeting
moment, Voorus looked sharply aware and focused. He glanced around the tavern.
When he sat on the stool next to Kyam, he fidgeted.

One of the soldiers Voorus
had been drinking with weaved over to the bar. “Hey Voorus! We’re heading over
to the Red Happiness. Coming along?” He leaned on the bar for support. “Well,
if it isn’t Colonel Zul. Finally able to show your face in here?”

Before Kyam could say anything, Voorus whipped around to
face the soldier. “Except for the plantation owners, every Thampurian on this
island was forced to come here because of some disgrace, Lieutenant. Don’t
pretend you’re here for the weather.”

Kyam couldn’t see Voorus’ face, but his tone made it easy to
guess his expression. The young soldier’s face mottled as if he choked back his
anger. He stumbled away to join his friends.

“I thought you soldiers made it a point of honor to overlook
the past,” Kyam said when the room grew quiet.

Voorus leaned against the bar on his elbows and seemed to
stew over the confrontation. Then he laughed, hollow and joyless, as he shook
his head. “Honor.” He made a dismissive sound. “What’s that?”

An uneasy feeling crept over Kyam. Voorus had the look of a
man caught in a moral dilemma, and he seemed drunk enough to want to talk about
it. Kyam had heard one man’s confession this evening and was in no mood for
another.

He looked around the tavern. The other patrons acted with
typical Thampurian tact and pretended they hadn’t heard or seen anything
unusual. Even though the other men didn’t seem to be listening, he saw their
glances. “Come on, Voorus. Let’s take a walk.”