Jo Clayton - Shadowkill

Polyapo got slowly to her feet. She bowed perfunctorily and left without a word.

Pirs waited until Aghilo was back from barring the door after the titular Housekeeper, then turned with grave formality to Tinoopa and Kizra. Kizra could feel his unease with them; he was a better man than his father, but he was also a product of his culture; what was in his bones and blood fought the pale overgrowth from his mind. He was honest enough to realize this and recognize the roots of his distaste for them, but he still felt it-and showed it in his dealings with them.

Shadith felt her power come on her, nothing but the intensity of the belief before and behind her. Kikun squeezed down that force and funneled it into her.

The feedback built and built until the air clanged like metal.

She began to shape… digging deep within herself… laying hold on the power offered her… crafting out of memory and instinct… out of the people’s belief… she SHAPED the THREE and sent THEM dancing over the crowd… made them sing with the voice of the throng…

“It would be best,” he said looking past Tinoopa at the wall, then forcing himself to look directly at her, “if you would spend the night here. Things being as they are, you would probably be safe enough in your rooms, but…” he shrugged, then turned his eyes on Kizra. “I owe you my life, child.” There was a shade more warmth in his voice; he touched the bandage on his head, then the one on his arm. “It was close there for a while. Without the warning and the weapons, I might easily be resting in some l’borrgha’s belly. I thank you.”

Kizra bowed her head, said nothing.

“Yes,” he said. He closed his eyes a moment, then stirred himself and finished what he’d determined to say.

“And you, chapa Tinoopa, you have made the Matja’s life infinitely more pleasant even in the short time you have been here. I have said nothing before now. For this lack I ask your favor.” He turned abruptly, took the hands the Matja held out to him, and pulled her to her feet.

At the bedroom door, he looked over his shoulder. “Aghilo, if the chapai decide to stay here, take care of them, please. We know how surely we may rely on you.”

A redheaded woman came riding through the Cicipi Gate, sitting in an arslibre howda mounted on the arching back of an immense and ugly warbot like the worse possible cross between a spider and a lobster.

Two more paced alongside and a third followed behind. They shot gouts of steam through spiracles along their sides, opening a path for themselves through the surging throng of pilgrims, walked with ominous sinuous agility through the steam clouds.

“Eh, Shadow, Dea ex machina reporting for duty.”

“Eh, Aleytys.” Shadith closed her eyes, opened them again as she remembered. “You better machinate some more or this world is going to go BOOM.”

Aghilo went out without waiting to ask if they meant to stay.

“Backwater worlds,” Tinoopa said. She stood, stretched, looked around the room. “It’s the floor for us, dust headaches and an aching back. Ah, well. Could be worse. You could easy have been the goat, Kiz. Hung out for that oogaluk to gnaw on.”

Kizra wrinkled her nose. Lecture time. Tinoopa was going sententious again. She was getting tired of being instructed, especially as her memory drained back. She loosed the strings on the arranga, set it on a table and moved to a chair.

Tinoopa rubbed at her arms and frowned at one of the windows. A raindrop splatted against the glass, then another and another. “We haven’t seen a strong storm yet, not the kind they call a kwangkular. Sound of that wind says this might be it. Too bad. Lasts a good week they say. No flying in that weather. Those two oogaluks might be stuck here for days. You’ve been shut up with the Matja most of the time, you don’t hear what the chal are saying. It’s only a matter of time, they’re saying. Pirs is better than most Irrkuyon, but he won’t stand up to his father, he never has except maybe when he courted the Matja. They’re taking bets how long he’ll last.” She glanced at the door, stopped talking.

Arel the smuggler got to his feet. He was a small dark man with a bony sardonic face, fans of fine wrinkles about the outer corners of his eyes and his mouth. His long dark hair was pulled through a filigreed silver clasp at the nape of his neck and hung halfway down his back.

“What am I doing here?”

“You can bypass Goyo Security, get a lander down and off again unnoticed?”

“Oh, Shadow Shadow, you need to ask that? It’s my business.”

“I need a back door. Just in case.”

“Operating against one of the families, aren’t you?” His brow shot up.

She didn’t answer, figuring it was none of his business.

“You owe me danger money, then; those Goyo are tricky bastards.”

Aghilo came in, two maidservants following her with bedding and rolled up pallets. She waved Tinoopa and Kizra aside to give the girls room to make up the beds. “I’m going back to my room for the night. The door out there, chapa Tinoopa, you lock and bar it when we’re gone.” She twisted a key from the chatelaine on her belt, tossed it to Tinoopa. “I’ll knock and call out my name in the morning when it’s time for you to be up. Be very sure who’s out there, chapa Tinoopa, before you open the door. Use the peep to see if I’m alone. Do you hear me?”

“I hear, Aghilo chal.”

She died again in her dreams. Plunged down and down through fire and pain and crashed.

She woke sweating.

Tinoopa was getting up, smoothing her hair out of her face, shaking out her nightgown.

Someone was pounding on the outer door.

What… Kizra scrubbed at her eyes. There was a terrible urgency in that knocking, though it wasn’t as noisy as she’d first thought when it crashed into her dream. She kicked off the blankets, rolled from the pallet, and got to her feet. Lifting the front of her borrowed nightgown so she wouldn’t step on it and fall on her face, she followed Tinoopa into the anteroom.

The knocking continued; she could feel the desperation, the fear and anger in the woman on the other side of the door. Aghilo. What was happening?

After a quick look through the peep, Tinoopa turned the key, slapped the bar up, and tugged the door open.

Aghilo stumbled inside. Her face was drained of color, her mouth was working. She put out her hand, flattened it against the wall, and stood leaning into her braced arm while she caught her breath and stifled her panic.

After a moment she straightened, looked quickly from Tinoopa to Kizra. “You’d better get dressed,” she said. “There’s trouble.” She started past Tinoopa, but the Shimmarohi caught her arm.

“What happened?”

“Contract woman. She killed Rintirry, hung herself. I have to wake the Arring.”

“Wait, wait, just a minute. It’s barely light now, you’ve got plenty of time before the Artwa goes nova. Sit down.” Using her size and her grip on Aghilo’s arm, she maneuvered the smaller woman to, one of the benches and muscled her down. Then she stood with feet apart, hands on her hips. “How’d you find out?”

The room was as stale and sordid as she’d expected; she felt a little sick when she saw it. She closed her eyes and told herself it didn’t matter. But it did. Arel put his hands on her shoulders. He was exactly her height, his mouth on a level with hers. She focused on that mouth, not daring to meet his eyes. “Give me a minute, Luv.” Whistling softly, he tossed the filthy bedding into a closet, brought out clean sheets. He made the bed with an expertise that had her smiling; he caught her at it and his whole body laughed. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.