Watcher's Web (32 page)

“Your tailed
friends probably had something to do with it.”

Or could it
have been Daya?

“It seems the
Barresh council can’t accept their incompetence and must have
someone else to blame for this disaster.”

“But . . .”

He gave her an
intense look.

Jessica
hesitated. “Tell me the truth. Do you think. . . ?
It
was
my fault, wasn’t it? Because of
my . . .” She held up her hands. “Because I stuffed
things up. With the lights and . . .
Avya.
”

He put a hand
on her shoulder. “That is only one possible explanation and not one
that will impress officials responsible for the Exchange network.
The incompetence of this town is well-known.”

“
But
it
was
my fault, though. Don’t you
think?”

“
Possibly.” Meaning
yes.

Jessica
sank down on the bed, feeling very small. Tears pricked behind her
eyes. She’d killed three people. Four when counting Stephen.
I am a
monster.

Iztho took her
hands in his. A smile crossed his face. “You are strong, Lady.
Whatever happened to that craft, likely no one will ever know. Even
if you are responsible, no one will ever believe you. No one
believes this ability is real. No one knows how powerful it is. But
if you follow my instructions, you should be fine. I will tell you
exactly what to say.”

Jessica
nodded; she had been afraid of that. She was getting sick of people
telling her what to do.

He closed her
in his arms.

She wanted to
push him away. She wanted to understand what was going on, really
understand it, not just listen to things people told her, however
well-meaning.

His lips met
hers in a soft kiss. “You still feel hot, my Lady, are you all
right?”

“I . . .” A breeze came into the window; she
shivered. “I don’t know.” She was beginning to feel very unsure
about this whole flushing business, too. It lasted for a short
period every ten days, he had said, not for two days on end almost
without stopping.

“You are not
catching a sickness?”

Jessica
shrugged, considering the thought of a fever. Whatever diseases
occurred here, she would be totally unused to them.

“I will
arrange medical help as soon as we’re out of here.”

*     *     *

In the streets
and alleys of the city, the festival’s parade was in full
swing.

Whistles rent
the air, rising over the squealing and trilling voices of Pengali
girls, the chants of boys, the cheering of the crowd and the deep
thumps on the huge drum carried by four males.

Jessica rubbed
her arms, where the skin had broken out into goosebumps.

A group of
young males walked past, hair adorned with the same white flowers
that grew all over the town’s gardens and neglected planter boxes.
Some of the boys danced, wriggling their hips. Their white skirts
did little to hide their swaying pride. Others, especially the
younger ones, looked terrified.

Soldiers
watched the proceedings from the street corners, brooding, silent.
So many of them.

Iztho
tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Come, my Lady, let’s go. We
don’t want to give the council the wrong impression by coming
late.”

Iztho led her
into a side street where merchants wheeling trolleys held up the
flow of Pengali children taking a shortcut to the next main street,
where the head of the parade was yet to arrive. Jessica clutched
Iztho’s arm in the effort not to be separated from him.

Lining the
street, a rusty fence had almost collapsed under the weight of a
climbing plant with orange seedpods. Above it rose the roof of a
building: a grey and featureless dome that, with an adhering cover
of flakes, looked like it had once been painted, but it was
impossible to tell in what colour.

Iztho leaned
over her shoulder, his breath tickling in her ear. “The glorious
residence of the Barresh council.”

That building?
It looked like a prison.

Two lines of
soldiers linking arms made a futile attempt to keep the crowd away
from the gate into the complex. Bejewelled keihu citizens entered
at a trot, harassed looks on their faces.

Iztho, too,
guided her through the gate, passing soldiers who nodded at
him.

In a dark hall
where their footsteps crunched on broken and loose floor tiles, a
man in the black outfit of the Barresh council pointed them in the
direction of an arched walkway, much like that in the guesthouse. A
series of murals adorned the left-hand wall, depicting flowers and
fountains and beautiful buildings, bridges, gardens, all filled
with smiling people from times past. In the central mural, on a
balcony overlooking this splendour, stood a man. Sunlight played in
his copper-coloured curly hair and drew lines of experience in his
stern face. The picture intrigued Jessica. This town clearly had a
rich history. Why had it gone backwards?

The soft
murmur of many voices came from a set of double doors at the end of
the walkway. The meeting hall.

As soon as
Iztho led her into the hall, a glow of warmth went through her.
Familiar, happy, it felt like home, like arms surrounding her, a
familiar smell surrounding her. Unsettled, she held tight onto
Iztho’s arm, while her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.

Shadows moved
where people found seats on benches set in an amphitheatre-like
arrangement. A large pentagonal table in the centre of the hall was
bathed in bright light. It was empty.

Iztho led her
down the stairs. Heads turned and gazes followed her; a hush fell
over the crowd. Jessica stared ahead, lifting her chin, trying to
ignore the prick of gazes and the increasing feeling of warmth.

A keihu man in
a dark green robe waited at the bottom. He spoke briefly to Iztho
and marked him off a list displayed on a reader. Jessica fiddled
with her dress.

A woman
directed Jessica and Iztho to an empty spot on a bench at the
perimeter of the floor, lit by the glare reflecting from the
central table.

Jessica sat
down, clamping her hands between her knees. A flush of heat went
through her, making sweat break out on her brow.

Iztho put a
calming hand on her knee. “Just tell them what we practiced.”

She returned a
rehearsed smile, still feeling all those gazes on her. “What are
all these people doing here?”

She had
imagined a much more private affair.

“The ones
sitting on this bench I would expect to be the Barresh
council.”

Next to her
sat two enormously fat men, in light blue robes resembling tents.
On Iztho’s side, a couple of younger men balanced readers on their
knees. Scribes or journalists maybe. A group of robed and
jewel-laden men stood talking to each other using lots of hand
gestures. Half-hidden behind them sat a tall figure.

A shiver crept
up Jessica’s arms as she finally recognised the reason for her
unease.

Daya.
What are you doing here?

You
will see soon enough.
The cool and professional tone surprised her. Why wasn’t he
angry?

There’s
no time to be angry. There are many things happening that are not
good.

Someone rang a
bell at the back of the hall. The knot of men in front of Daya
dissolved, giving Jessica a clear view of him, dressed in sober
navy blue. Clear black eyes met hers. His hair had been combed and
fell in loose curls about his face. Dark lips curled into the
faintest of smiles. Warm, mesmerising, gorgeous.

You look
beautiful.

Jessica inched
closer to Iztho.

He rumbled,
“Don’t be nervous. I’ll help you.”

But her gaze
was still on Daya. One of his feet was bandaged and so were both
his hands. What had happened to him? She hadn’t bitten him that
badly, had she?

“Is anything
wrong, Lady?” Iztho stiffened. “Is that him? The man who hurt
you?”

Jessica
averted her eyes.

“Is it, Lady?
Tell me and I’ll make sure he’s removed from this meeting.”

Jessica
cleared her throat. She glowed with heat. “It doesn’t matter.”

Iztho jumped
up from the bench. “It does matter. This meeting is important for
you and I will not have you intimidated by anyone. I’ll tell him to
mind his own business and stop ogling you.”

Jessica
grabbed the bottom of his cloak. “No, stop.”

“Why? If he
has hurt you, he shouldn’t be here. This is a place where we deal
with respectable people.”

“Please, don’t
make a scene.”

Past
Iztho, Daya had gripped the edge of the bench.
Why do you let that
dressed-up clown overpower you?

She
glared back.
That
dressed up clown is
 . . .  No, she had a better idea. As
strongly as she could, she thought of Iztho kissing her.

A burst of
heat shot through her, so strong she gasped.

He was
jealous. Good.

Iztho pulled
his cloak from Jessica’s grip. “Leave this to me, my Lady. I see he
upsets you and I’ll deal with this.”

In slow paces,
he crossed the floor. A council attendant waved him back, but he
ignored her. The chubby and bejewelled keihu councillors halted
their conversations. Iztho stopped a few paces from Daya and
languidly crossed his arms over his chest. His deep voice carried
in the hall. “Why are you bothering my Lady?”

Daya rose
equally slowly. He was taller than Iztho, though not by much, but
his lack of a big and furry cloak made him look younger and more
vulnerable. “She is not your Lady.” He spoke Mirani almost without
accent.

Languages—another characteristic of their race.

Iztho’s hand
shot out to grab Daya by the front of his tunic. “Say that again
and I’ll smash your face in.”

Jessica
cringed.
No, don’t
hurt him.

Daya coolly
yanked his tunic out of Iztho’s hand and met Jessica’s eyes; a flow
of warmth went through her. “She belongs to no one. If you think
otherwise, you’re fooling yourself.”

“Don’t give me
that rubbish. I’ve seen what you did to her. I picked her up off
the street after you were done with her. Crying, wet and covered in
bruises. That may be the way you lot look after your women but in
my language, it’s abuse. If I see you as much as look at her
again—”

The two men
faced each other, barely an arm’s length apart. White facing black,
rational facing emotional, there could not be a greater contrast
between them.

Daya was the
first to break the tense silence. “Is that a threat?”

“Fuck it is. I
want you as far away from her as possible or you will face the
consequences. Why don’t you piss off and leave us alone before I
get really angry. The Lady has chosen. She doesn’t want you.” He
half-turned back to Jessica.

In a flash,
Daya grabbed Iztho’s cloak and pulled him back. A wave of sparks
flowed under the skin of his arms, escaped and flew into the
surrounding air. His cheeks had gone bright red. In his eyes burned
such hatred that the whole hall chilled with it. Warmth sucked out
of Jessica’s skin as if an iced wind stroked past her.

No,
Daya, no!

In two steps,
Jessica had crossed the floor. She pushed Daya away from Iztho.
“Stop! Stop it!”

Daya stumbled
back a few paces.

Jessica
placed herself between the two men, hands planted at her sides.
“Don’t you dare attack someone with your mind. If you must, deal
with me.”
And if you
do, I’ll never look at you again.
But she was already looking at him and in that
brief moment, a burst of Daya’s warmth flowed through her.
I love you I love you I love
you.
His scent made
her heart thud against her ribcage.

Jessica reeled
back, into the fur of Iztho’s cloak. His voice rumbled. “Come, my
Lady, let’s stay well away from him.”

As he led her
back to their seats, Daya did not avert his gaze. Her vision went
dark, and full of cold. The metal of a wall at her back almost
froze onto her skin. Someone emptied a bucket of ice water over her
head. A male voice screamed.

Jessica
balled her fists.
Stop it!

I won’t.
If nothing else, I will make you believe what happens to people of
our kind in Miran.

He has
nothing to do with it!

A bell
rang.

Iztho
settled on the bench on her other side and shifted forward so
Jessica could no longer see Daya, but she could still feel him. He
was talking to the man on his other side, reminding him to speak
slowly and wait for the translator to do his job. Daya sounded calm
and confident, as if he had forgotten the argument already, as if
he accepted her choice. He was
helping
the council?

Damn
you.

He didn’t
reply.

The bell rang
a second time and murmur ceased. With difficulty, Jessica forced
her thoughts back to the statement she and Iztho had practised in
the guesthouse. She would tell of the accident, the killing of the
other passengers by rogues presumed to be sent by the council, her
trek through the jungle, her meeting with the Pengali, how Iztho
had helped her come to the city and end with a plea to be allowed
to return to her family, at which time Iztho would step in and say
that he would sponsor her for Union citizenship.

It all sounded
so simple.

At some stage,
when she hadn’t been looking, a woman had settled herself at the
pentagonal table. Light glittered in the gold embroidery around the
rim of her tunic. A mediator, Iztho had explained, from the Union,
and another world. She spoke in slow sentences in Coldi, the Union
language; Jessica understood none of it. Iztho provided quick
translations of her formal welcome and explanations of the rules of
the hearing. And the question: was the Barresh node of the Exchange
responsible for the death of these offworlders who had landed in
the forest?