The Novels of the Jaran (54 page)

“Did you know I was here?” she asked.

“Yes.” He took one step toward her, and his gaze flicked to Hon Garii and then back to her. “I was so informed.” His face colored, but in the dimness she could not make out the shade. A moment later she was blinded by a flash of light.

She flung up one arm to cover her eyes. Behind her, something heavy fell to the floor. She felt its impact shudder through her feet. The barest wisp of burning touched her senses and then dissipated into the chill air. She lowered her arm and turned sluggishly, afraid of what she would see.

Garii lay crumpled on the floor in front of the console. A tiny hole pierced his tunic, low in the chest, ringed with an outline of black. Above him, the screen flashed a new image, and then another.

“Doubly a traitor,” said Ishii in his flat monotone, startling her out of her stupor. “That he should attempt to better his station by breaking his pledge to my house and attaching himself to you is deplorable but such shameful actions are not, I fear, unknown among the lower classes. But that he should then betray you in turn.” For the first time, she heard clear emotion in his voice. “Such infidelity must be so repugnant to any of our rank that I beg your pardon for mistaking his character so much as to allow him this expedition and thus force you into this unfortunate association. I am deeply ashamed.”

Tess could only stare at the laser. The thin, dark opening, sparked with red, was now directed at her abdomen. Doroskayev’s body had been laid open as if a butcher knife had sliced him wide—how had Garii been killed so neatly? Or was a clean death reserved for one’s own kind? Ishii examined the body with a grimace of distaste, as if he had just eaten something offensive. Finally, she found her voice. “He alerted you?”

“Indeed, such behavior must be pathological in origin. I had begun to hope that we could perhaps conceal all from you, Lady Terese, and thus finish our journey with no further incident. I regret that you found this room.”

“Why did you come to Rhui now, Cha Ishii? Why not earlier? Why did you ever give this system to my brother?”

He took another step toward her. His face reflected the light of the screen, a constant shifting as data scrolled out, the accumulation of a life’s work. “I fear that was a significant oversight, which I was sent to rectify. We only recently learned that this palace existed. And now that the duke is conducting ethnographic surveys of the native populations, he is bound to find it eventually. It must not be here to be found. I am sure you understand.”

“But unless you blow it up, he’ll find it someday.”

Ishii’s lips twisted, as much of a smile as she had ever seen from a Chapalii. “The Mushai himself encoded a false set of data so that it would appear that this was merely a hunting lodge, an eccentric noble’s secret playhouse, seeded with species from other planets for his amusement. Your brother will find nothing to comment upon. The Emperor cannot control every lord’s whim, or his far-flung travels. I am only sorry that the Mushai did not live to trigger the false codes into the system.”

Blue from the screen colored Ishii’s face, then red, like a sweep of blood. “How did the Mushai die? How long ago?”

“Time uncounted, years beyond years it was. His ship was blown up in battle. According to my best calculations, we passed its graveyard on our journey here. His death would have been instantaneous.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue and took another step toward her. He was a body’s length away. “I will do my best, Lady Terese, to make yours painless as well.”

A low humming filled her ears, but it was only the undertone of the machinery, amplified by her fear. He held light that could slice through air, sear flesh. There was not even space here to roll aside.

“Cha Ishii, I outrank you. You cannot kill me.”

He sighed. “Be assured that I and my family will do penance for your death. I regret its necessity deeply. But you have seen too much. Now, please drop the knife.”

She had been holding it back behind her leg, hoping he would not see it. Now she lifted it. “We are at an impasse, Ishii. Both armed.”

“I hope you do not believe that I did not know of this dead one’s offering to you? I am not so blind as that, Lady Terese. But only my weapon is programmed to kill one of my species.”

While he was talking, she slid her thumb over the hilt: light streaked out. Nothing happened but for a brief echo glittering off the screen.

“You see, Lady Terese, that I have always told you the truth.” He blinked, his inner eyelids flicking down and up. The pistol lowered slightly, like a reprieve. “Violence is such an inelegant transaction. Perhaps we could bribe you.” Was it her imagination or had his voice taken on a coaxing tone? “Leave this palace, Lady Terese. Forget what you have seen. Forget this journey. And we will take Bakhtiian off planet with us. We will give him the treatments that will make him live one hundred of your years, and you can have him.” He lowered the pistol even further, gaze hard on her as if he was trying to measure some attribute in her character. “Does that tempt you?”

Tempt her? To have Ilya for a hundred years. To show him the stars.

The stars, where the jaran, a name that could—that would—resonate across a continent, meant nothing.
Lord, it would kill him.

The pistol rested at Ishii’s side, but his finger still touched the firing lever.

“I fear, Cha Ishii, that you will make me laugh. Of course, he might make a sensation for a time, which would be diverting enough, I suppose, but when it wore off, I would have to dispose of him. That would be tiresome.” She took a step toward him and casually rested her hand on her saber. His hand did not move. “But I think you will find that there are other commodities that might persuade me.”

“Other commodities?” A flash of many lights on his face as the screen changed, then a sick, brilliant white. “I do regret this hasty, slovenly solution, Lady Terese, for you would do so very well at court. But I am not a fool. The sister of a mushai, a traitor, cannot be bribed.” He raised the pistol to point straight at her heart. “Please remove your belt and the weapons.”

Her hands shook. She slipped the tongue of her belt free of the buckle and took another step toward him. The harsh light had drained all color from his face. He looked as if his skin were painted on. “The duke knows I am on this planet. I left him a message. A letter.” Her voice broke. It was her last play. “You will be ruined.”

“Unfortunately, the message to your brother was destroyed. The duke never received any letter from you. I must assume that he believes you still on Earth. There is no reason to trace you here.” His finger—

She lashed out with her hand, the instantaneous reaction of cold fear. The buckle of the belt smashed into his hand. He cried out. The shot seared into a bulk of metal, a high, harmless crack. She whipped the belt back. The hard metal caught his fingers. His knife fell to the floor. Tess kicked it away. It skittered across the smooth surface and slid under Garii’s slumped body.

The impetus of her kick brought her forward, and she plunged into Cha Ishii. Without even thinking, she knifed him in the abdomen. He screamed and fell.

Caught in his falling, she lost her balance and came down with her knees in his stomach. He made a sound, a cry. She scrambled forward, pulling out the knife, tripping on the belt, stumbling, getting up. Then she was in the passage, slipping on the smooth floor, hitting her knee hard as she went down, catching herself one-handed, pushing up. She got her balance and drew her saber, holding the belt in her other hand. Glanced back. Ishii was gasping as he struggled to get up. She ran.

Her hand, thrust in front of her, came up against sheer wall. It fell away. She tumbled out into the empty, white room. As the door slid back into place behind her, she stuck the knife into the crack. The door shut with a sharp grinding noise, not quite closed. She shoved at it. It did not move.

“Jammed. Please, God, jammed.” She ran to the other door, paused there, trying to stop breathing so loudly. A tear snaked down her cheek to dissolve, warm and salty, on her lips. The door was shut. She gave it a gentle push, and it slid open a handbreadth. She saw nothing, heard no sound at all from the chamber beyond. She slipped into the room with her saber preceding her. The two megaliths framed the doorway like sentinels at a tomb. A scraping noise sounded behind her. She ran.

She got no farther than six steps. A figure emerged from a megalith. Like the strike of a snake, a hand gripped her right wrist, twisting it so her saber fell, a brilliant clatter on the floor, and pulled her in. An arm closed around her back. Her hands were trapped, one in back, one in front of her, her legs constrained by space. Her hair rested against a head. Head. Neck. Throat. She ducked her head, got it under the chin, and pushed up; lunged with her teeth for the throat.

It happened so fast that she only knew that both her arms were jerked painfully up behind her back. A hand locked on her chin, holding her head bowed back, fingers pressed tight on her jaw. His face held a breath away from hers.

“Try that again,” he said, his eyes two points of blackness, “and I’ll have to—” Abruptly, he jerked her chin to one side, as if he could not stand to look at her. His beard tickled her cheek.

“Oh, God,” said Tess. She would have fallen if he had not been holding her.

“By the gods.” Bakhtiian looked past her to her saber, a gleam on the ebony floor. “I think it is time for you to tell me the truth.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“To protect it within your silent bosom.”

—
EMPEDOCLES OF AGRAGAS

H
E DID NOT LET
go of her until they were inside the room that the priests had given him to sleep in. She was panting, dizzy from the pace he had set, the sudden halts, the fear of every blind corner. Her wrist ached where he held her. When he released her, she staggered backward. The bed frame caught her knees and she half-fell to the hard mattress. All of her breath sighed out of her. She sank back against the wall and rested her face in her open hands. Light flickered. She lifted her head. He set a candle on the little table midway along the wall.

His stare was so hard that she looked down. “What, did he try to kill you?” he said finally, as if he had thought of doing it once or twice. “If you will be caught spying, then you must expect to suffer the consequences.”

She stared stupidly at him. Half a meter to the right and the shot would have burned through her.

“I could not sleep,” said Ilya at last. “I saw you meet the pilgrim called Garii and go with him. He took you into the white room, but when I looked inside, you had vanished. Then Ishii came and went inside, yet the room remained empty—to my sight, at least. And you came out, running as if demons were after you. There is blood on your hand, by the way. Where did you go?”

There was blood on her hand. She wiped her face frantically but only the barest smear came off. There was not much, after all: a pale stripe across her knuckles and a few drops darkening her sleeve.

“You have done violence in the shrine,” he said.

Her head snapped up. “No! He tried to kill me. It was self-defense, damn you. I didn’t kill him. God, he killed Garii. He would have
killed
me!”

“Where did all this take place?”

“There’s a secret room, a secret door. Don’t you have anything I can clean this off with? It stings.”

He took a step toward her. She jerked up, but he was only turning to open the door. He went out. She was suddenly seized by a paralyzing terror: what if he had gone to find Ishii? Or Mother Avdotya? A hand rattled at the door—but it was Ilya. He tossed her a damp cloth and resumed his stance against the door, regarding her with his unrelenting gaze. She scrubbed at her hand and her cheek and then sat, staring at the rag until finally she dropped it on the floor next to his bed.

“You have no farther to retreat,” said Bakhtiian, “and I want an explanation.” The candlelight threw his shadow high up on the wall, arching over onto the ceiling, so that it seemed to lower down on her like the approach of a storm. “You had better be honest with me, because I am—completely—out of patience with you.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me! The penalty for violence—”

“You aren’t listening to me!” She pushed up to her feet. “He tried to—” Inside her shirt, the cylinder slipped down. She grabbed at her side.

“Tess!” he cried, starting forward. “He hurt you—”

“No.” She stepped back, half up onto the bed.

Ilya stopped short. “Let me see.”

“No.”

He walked forward. She backed up along the bed, standing on the mattress, until he had cornered her.

His shadow seemed to take up an entire wall. Under her hand, through her shirt, the cylinder felt hard and cold. He looked at her hand, cupped at her waist. Slowly he placed one foot up on the bed and, with a slight grimace, pushed up with the other, so that he, too, was standing on the bed. He placed a hand on either side of her, trapping her.

“What do you have?”

The implacability of his voice terrified her. “I can’t show you.”

“You will.”

Finally, she lowered her head in acquiescence. He stepped down. Too quickly, this time; he winced and with a marked limp moved back to the middle of the room.

“Oh, God,” she said under her breath. This was it. All her efforts for nothing: now he would know, and she could not begin to imagine what the knowledge would do to him.

She turned into the corner and retrieved the cylinder. With it in her hand, she stepped down from the bed and handed it to him.

He took it to the candle. “I see no writing. Is this some holy relic?”

She felt impelled to smile, thinking of what Ishii had said about archaeology. “Yes, the relic of a prince who is long since dead.”

He turned it in the light as if its black sheen fascinated him. “Whom ought this to belong to?”

“That depends on which one of us you talk to. Myself or Ishii.”

“Why do you want it?”

“My brother wants it. It represents—I can’t explain in a few words. Power and knowledge.”