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Authors: Joan D. Vinge
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complications, however,
like most long-term relationships. Retribution was as much a part of the
symbiosis as contribution. A politician or churchman who made too much noise
about reform got a single warning—if he was lucky—and then a lethal sample of
the offworlders’ wares. It was a system which made the cartels’
strange-bedfellowship with the Church lords work very well. He should know. He
worked for them too.
Ravien came back with a bottle full of something that looked
to be a decent shade of amber. He poured it into an ornate silver metal cup,
and passed it across the bar.
Kedalion took a sip, didn’t gag, and nodded. Whatever it
was, it was drinkable. “Better. How’s business been?”
Ravien made a noise like clearing out phlegm. “Wonderful,”
he said sourly. “I could do ten times the business, if I didn’t have to be so
careful. The bribes I pay would astound you, and still they raid me! But they’d
close me down completely if I didn’t pay them. At least they’ve left me alone
these past few weeks ....” He threw up his hands and stumped away, still
muttering.
Kedalion shook his head, even though Ravian was no longer
there to see the gesture, and went on drinking, searching the crowd for a
familiar face. He’d take a few days off and then it would be time to start
hustling for another job. It wasn’t that he’d need the money that soon; more
that he’d need to get away from here. This world depressed him too much,
reminding him more acutely than even Kharemough of how uncomfortable human
beings invariably made one another.
The sound of tinkling bells and the heavy fragrance of
perfume made him turn in his seat, as one of the entertainers insinuated herself
against the bar beside him. “Ah,” she said, running slender ebony fingers
through his close-cropped brown hair. “Hello, Kedalion. Have you missed me’.’ I’ve
missed you.” She let the fingers trickle like water down the side of his jaw.
“Then it’s certainly mutual,” he said, feeling a grin spread
across his face. She laughed. “I love you iightskms, the way you blush,” she
said. Her name was Shalfaz, which was the name of the desert wind in the local
dialect. She wasn’t young anymore, but she could still haunt a man’s dreams
like the wind. Her body made music with every slightest movement, from the
necklaces, bracelets, anklets she wore, heavy with the traditional clattering
bangles and silver bells. She did not go veiled, since her occupation, though
traditional, was hardly respectable, and her robes were of thinnest gauze, in
brilliant layers like petals on a flower. “My room is empty—” she said. Her
indigo eyes gazed meaningfully into his own light blue ones.
He scratched his stubbled jaw, still smiling. “Yes,” he
said, and nodded, answering her unspoken question. “But have a drink with me
first; it’s the first time Ravien has given me liquor I minded leaving. Let me
savor the anticipation a little.”
She nodded and smiled too, bobbing her head in what was almost
an obeisance. She sat down. “You honor me,” she murmured, as she saw what he
was drinking.
“On the contrary,” he said, feeling uncomfortable as he realized
she meant that.
She sipped the amber liquor and sighed, closing her eyes.
She opened them again, looking out across the room. “What a strange night it
has been,” she said, almost as if she were thinking aloud. “It must be a mooncrossing
night. See that boy there—” She lifted her hand. “He was with me just since.
But all he did was talk. He didn’t even take oft his clothes. He asked me to
show him how I did some of my moves in the dance, but it didn’t arouse him. He
was very polite. But he just talked.” She shook her head. “He always comes in
alone, not with friends. I think maybe he’s some kind of pervert, but he doesn’t
know which.”
“Maybe he misses his mother,” Kedalion said, following her
gaze. “He’s only a kid.”
She shrugged,
like most long-term relationships. Retribution was as much a part of the
symbiosis as contribution. A politician or churchman who made too much noise
about reform got a single warning—if he was lucky—and then a lethal sample of
the offworlders’ wares. It was a system which made the cartels’
strange-bedfellowship with the Church lords work very well. He should know. He
worked for them too.
Ravien came back with a bottle full of something that looked
to be a decent shade of amber. He poured it into an ornate silver metal cup,
and passed it across the bar.
Kedalion took a sip, didn’t gag, and nodded. Whatever it
was, it was drinkable. “Better. How’s business been?”
Ravien made a noise like clearing out phlegm. “Wonderful,”
he said sourly. “I could do ten times the business, if I didn’t have to be so
careful. The bribes I pay would astound you, and still they raid me! But they’d
close me down completely if I didn’t pay them. At least they’ve left me alone
these past few weeks ....” He threw up his hands and stumped away, still
muttering.
Kedalion shook his head, even though Ravian was no longer
there to see the gesture, and went on drinking, searching the crowd for a
familiar face. He’d take a few days off and then it would be time to start
hustling for another job. It wasn’t that he’d need the money that soon; more
that he’d need to get away from here. This world depressed him too much,
reminding him more acutely than even Kharemough of how uncomfortable human
beings invariably made one another.
The sound of tinkling bells and the heavy fragrance of
perfume made him turn in his seat, as one of the entertainers insinuated herself
against the bar beside him. “Ah,” she said, running slender ebony fingers
through his close-cropped brown hair. “Hello, Kedalion. Have you missed me’.’ I’ve
missed you.” She let the fingers trickle like water down the side of his jaw.
“Then it’s certainly mutual,” he said, feeling a grin spread
across his face. She laughed. “I love you iightskms, the way you blush,” she
said. Her name was Shalfaz, which was the name of the desert wind in the local
dialect. She wasn’t young anymore, but she could still haunt a man’s dreams
like the wind. Her body made music with every slightest movement, from the
necklaces, bracelets, anklets she wore, heavy with the traditional clattering
bangles and silver bells. She did not go veiled, since her occupation, though
traditional, was hardly respectable, and her robes were of thinnest gauze, in
brilliant layers like petals on a flower. “My room is empty—” she said. Her
indigo eyes gazed meaningfully into his own light blue ones.
He scratched his stubbled jaw, still smiling. “Yes,” he
said, and nodded, answering her unspoken question. “But have a drink with me
first; it’s the first time Ravien has given me liquor I minded leaving. Let me
savor the anticipation a little.”
She nodded and smiled too, bobbing her head in what was almost
an obeisance. She sat down. “You honor me,” she murmured, as she saw what he
was drinking.
“On the contrary,” he said, feeling uncomfortable as he realized
she meant that.
She sipped the amber liquor and sighed, closing her eyes.
She opened them again, looking out across the room. “What a strange night it
has been,” she said, almost as if she were thinking aloud. “It must be a mooncrossing
night. See that boy there—” She lifted her hand. “He was with me just since.
But all he did was talk. He didn’t even take oft his clothes. He asked me to
show him how I did some of my moves in the dance, but it didn’t arouse him. He
was very polite. But he just talked.” She shook her head. “He always comes in
alone, not with friends. I think maybe he’s some kind of pervert, but he doesn’t
know which.”
“Maybe he misses his mother,” Kedalion said, following her
gaze. “He’s only a kid.”
She shrugged,
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