Joan Vinge - The Summer Queen

Shalfaz left his side in a soft cloud of silver music. He watched her make her way across the room to where the boy was sitting and speak to him, gesturing at Kedalion. The boy’s head came up, and he rose from his chair almost in one motion to follow her back to the bar.

They had almost reached it when a hand shot out from a table full of local youths and caught Shalfaz’s clothing, jerking her up short. She tried to pull away without seeming to, and Kedalion could almost make out her murmured half-protests as she explained that her time was taken. The man’s answer was slurred and crude. The boy hesitated, looking toward Kedalion, and then turned back, speaking brusquely to the other Ondineans as he tried to take her hand. One of the men pushed him away. Kedalion watched the boy recover his balance with surprising grace, saw his fists tighten with anger. But he didn’t reach for the knife at his belt, only stood with his hands flexing in indecision as the drunken youth at the table pulled his own blade.

Kedalion slid down from his stool and crossed the space between them. “My guests would like to join me at the bar,” he said flatly. “I’d appreciate it if you would let them do that.” He hooked his hands over his weapon belt … realized with a sudden unpleasant shock that it was empty, because noncitizens were not allowed to carry weapons in the city. He kept his face expressionless, needing all his trader’s skill to ignore the gleaming knifeblade almost exactly at eye level in front of him. “Shalfaz—?” he said, with a calm he did not feel.

“You insult my manhood, runt.” The Ondinean with the knife jabbed it at Kedalion’s face, this time speaking the local tongue, not Trade. “Leave now, and keep your own—or stay, and lose it.”

Kedalion backed up a step as more knives began to appear below the table edge, hidden from most eyes, but not from his. He knew enough about young toughs like these to realize that if he pushed it they’d kill him; but even if he backed off now there was no guarantee they’d let the matter drop. His hands tightened over his empty belt, and he said numbly, “Neither of those choices is acceptable,” answering in their own language. He wondered how in seven hells he had managed to get into such a stupid position so quickly. The wine must have been stronger than he thought.

“Kedalion, please go,” Shalfaz said softly. “I will stay here.” She moved closer to the man who still held her arm, her body settling against him.

“Slut!” He slapped her. “You don’t tell a man what to do. I choose, not you!” He shoved her away. She crashed, jingling, into the offworlder who had been leaning against the bar behind them, watching with casual amusement. The bottle the man had been holding fell and smashed, spraying them with liquor and bits of broken ceramic.

Kedalion dodged back awkwardly as the local youth aimed a kick at him. And then his vision seemed to strobe as the man Shalfaz had collided with suddenly exploded past her.

Before Kedalion could quite believe it was happening, the man with the knife was no longer a man with a knife—he was a man howling on the floor, and the offworlder’s foot was on his neck. “You want a fight—?” The, curved, jewel-handled blade was in the stranger’s fist, and he was grinning at the fury still forming on the faces of the other men around the table. He flashed the knife at them. “Come and get it,” he said.

Kedalion backed up another step. “He must be mad,” Shalfaz whispered. Kedalion, who had caught a flashing look into the man’s eyes, didn’t answer. Slowly he began to edge away, taking Shalfaz and the boy with him.

“Dopper shit,” one of the Ondmeans said, “there are six of us, and one of you. Do you want to kiss the sole of my boot and beg our forgiveness? Or do you really want your guts cut out of you with that blade?”

Kedalion glanced back, hesitating as he saw the offworlder’s smile grow thin and tight. “Sure.” the offworlder said, twisting the knife so that it caught the light. “Gut me. I’d enjoy that; that sounds good. Or maybe use it to peel my skin off a centimeter at a time…. But you still have to get this away from me first.” He leaned on the edge of their table, waving the blade at them, invading their space with fatal nonchalance. “Well—?”

Their stares broke and fell away from the hunger in his eyes. They looked at each other, their bodies unconsciously shrinking back from him. “The Foreteller has shown us that it is unworthy to kill the insane,” another man muttered. The blades did not go back into sheaths, but the men began to get up slowly from the table.

The offworlder snorted and stepped back, looking down at the man still sprawled on the floor. “You kiss my boot, you shit.” The bottom of his foot brushed the man’s lips in a not-quite-gentle caress. He shoved the man’s dagger into his own belt. “Then think twice about being an asshole in such a crowded room.”

The Ondinean scrambled to his feet, spitting and wiping his mouth, and joined his friends. “You will die for this!” His voice shook. The others put restraining hands on him, because they were surrounded now by the club’s security. Ravien himself stood beside the offworlder, putting a cautionary hand on his shoulder. The stranger shrugged it off. But he only murmured, “Yes. Sooner or later…” looking back at them. “Sooner or later we all get what we deserve.”

Kedalion joined Shalfaz and the boy at a table as far from the scene of the fight as possible, stopping only to collect his bottle from the bar. As he went he saw the club’s security herding the Ondineans toward the door. He noticed with some surprise that Ravien escorted the offworlder solicitously back to the bar instead of having him thrown out with the rest. Well, the man had lost a bottle. Or maybe Ravien didn’t want his private entrance marked by a litter of corpses.

The offworlder shot Kedalion a curious glance as he passed. Kedalion touched his forehead in a brief, wary acknowledgment, and the stranger gave him a surprisingly cheerful smile. Kedalion looked away from it, and went on to the table. He poured drinks for himself and the two Ondineans; noticed the boy’s stare as he handed a drink to Shalfaz. “You ever see that one before?” Kedalion asked her, gesturing over his shoulder at the stranger.

She nodded, still looking as unnerved as he felt. “He comes in often to watch the shows. He never visits anyone’s room, male or female. He is usually very quiet, and sits by himself.”

Kedalion took a deep breath, shaking himself out, and looked at the boy again. “So,” he said, somewhat inadequately. “Shalfaz says you’re looking for a way to get offworld.” The boy nodded, selfconsciousness struggling with hope on his face. “I can’t imagine why.” Kedalion glanced toward the door and back, his mouth twitching sardonically. “Why?”

The boy also looked toward the spot where the locals had made their forced exit. He made a disgusted face of his own in response.

Kedalion studied him, as unobtrusively as possible. The boy was small and slight compared to the men who’d just left, even though he still towered over Kedalion. Maybe he was tired of being bullied. “What kind of work are you looking for?”

The boy hesitated, and then said, “Anything,” meeting Kedalion’s stare. Kedalion half smiled, thinking that at least the kid didn’t ask for “honest work.” He probably knew how much of that he’d find in a place like this.

“What skills do you have?”

The boy hesitated again, his face furrowing. “I’m flexible,” he said.

“Physically or mentally?”

“Both.” A spark of pride showed in the boy’s changeable eyes.

Kedalion laughed out loud this time. “That’s unique,” he said. “And probably an asset.” The boy was wearing the long, curved ritual knife all the local men wore, although his was plain and cheap-looking, like his clothes. He also carried a less common state-of-the-art stun weapon, partly concealed by the folds of his jacket. “You ever kill anybody?” Kedalion asked, wondering suddenly if that was why he was in a hurry to leave. But he remembered how the boy had hesitated, confronting the men who had accosted Shalfaz—not a coward, but not a hothead, either.