Lallia

VI

"Pearls," said yalung. He tilted his cupped hand, the salon light filling his palm with nacreous beauty. "They are fine but. ." Regretfully he shook his head. "On every world there are seas and in every sea there are bivalves. They are very pretty, my dear, but I'm afraid of very little value."

"These are special," said Lallia. "And you know it."

She sat on the edge of the table, long bare legs swinging beneath the hem of an iridescent dress made of finely tanned fish skin. Three hours from Candara, bathed, her lustrous black hair piled in thick coils above her head, she had doubled her beauty.

And her boldness, thought Dumarest. He sat beside her, facing the dealer in precious stones, feeling the ache of fatigue gnaw at his bones. The fight had drained the last of his strength.

"They are special," admitted Yalung after a moment. "To you, no doubt, they are very special. To others, my dear, they are merely pearls. How did you get them from their owners?"

Lallia smiled. "I own them. They were given to me by love-sick fools. I hid them in a place only my lover shall find." Her hand reached out, the slim fingers running through Dumarest's hair.

"And the dress?" Yalung was curious.

"I wore it beneath that stinking woolen thing they made me put on. The men weren't allowed to touch me and the old biddies were satisfied as long as I didn't dazzle their men. Men!" She snorted her contempt. "Blind fools who lived in terror of imagined perils to come. The old ones were the worst, coming to me with the excuse they wanted to save me from eternal damnation. When that didn't work they tried to buy what they wanted. I took what they gave and laughed in their faces. The fools!"

"You were the fool," said Dumarest flatly. "Didn't you even think of the dangers you ran?"

"I thought a ship would come," she admitted. "I hoped every day that a trader would call. When it did I didn't even see it. They had me locked away in the dark. God, you'll never know how relieved I was to see some real men again!"

Again she reached out to caress Dumarest's hair.

"Real men," she murmured. "And one of them a very real man indeed. Tell me, lover, am I to your liking?"

"He fought for you," said Yalung. "He could have died for you. Would a man do that for someone he cared nothing about?"

"I want him to say it," she said and then, as Dumarest re shy;mained silent, "well, perhaps later. What will you give for the pearls, dealer? And don't think I'm some ignorant fool who doesn't know their real worth."

"I will give you the cost of a High passage," said Yalung. "More I cannot give."

"Then forget it." Reaching out she took the pearls from the yellow palm. "The captain will give me more than that. More than you think, perhaps." She smiled at Dumarest, her face radiant. "Can you guess, lover, at what I mean?"

Again Dumarest remained silent. Yalung said, "Tell me, girl, how did you come to be on Candara?"

"I wanted to travel the Web so I entered into a ship-marriage with an engineer. I didn't know that he rode a commune ship and he didn't tell me until we were well on our way. They share everything they own and I refused to be shared. So, when we hit Candara, they kicked me out." She laughed, remembering. "They didn't do any trade, though. I told the chief man that they practiced abominable rites and he believed me. So they went off empty-handed."

Dumarest looked at the long length of her naked thigh. "And before that?"

"You're interested, lover?" Her teeth were white against the red of her mouth. "Before that I worked in a carnival. Reading palms, that sort of thing. And before that I-"

"You read palms?" Yalung interrupted, his smile bland. "Surely not."

"I don't lie, dealer. Give me your paw and I'll tell you things." She reached out for the yellow hand as Yalung snatched it away. "No? Scared, maybe?"

"Cautious," he said, smiling. "Why don't you read the hand of our friend here?"

"Why not?" Lallia again ran her fingers through Duma-rest's hair. They were gentle, caressing. "Give me your hand, Earl." She studied it, brooding, the tips of her slender fingers tracing lines, hesitating from time to time, the touch as gentle as the impact of butterflies. "A strange hand," she murmured. "One not easy to read. There is a sense of power and a mystery hard to unravel. You have lived close to violence for a long time now, lover. You have traveled far and will travel further. You have loved and lost, and you will love again. And you have a great enemy." She sucked in her breath. "Earl! I see danger!"

"A carnival trick!" He jerked his hand away with sudden irritation. "Shall I read your palm?" He caught her hand and, without looking at the mesh of lines, said, "You have ambition. You have dreams and are never long content. You have known many men and many worlds and there are those who have reason to hate your name. You are greedy and selfish and will come to a bad end. Is that enough or do you want more?"

"You-"

He caught her wrist as she swung her hand at his cheek.

"Don't, you're hurting me!" Her eyes widened as she looked into his face. "Earl! Don't look at me like that! Don't make me feel so unclean!"

He dropped her hand, fighting his sudden, inexplicable anger. Who was he to judge? Like himself she was a trav shy;eler making out as best she could. And if she used her woman's wiles to get her way, was that any different to him using his natural speed and acquired skill? Was it worse to hurt a man's pride than to gash his body with blades?

"I'm sorry, Lallia," he said. "I'm tired and spoke without thinking. Please forget it."

"I'm sorry too, Earl. Sorry that we didn't meet years ago. Things could have been so different if we had." She dropped her right hand to his left, squeezed, her fingers tight against his ring. "Earl!"

"What is it?" He stared into her face. It was pale, beaded with perspiration, suddenly haggard with lines of strain. "Lallia!"

"Death," she muttered. "And pain. So much pain. And a hopeless longing. Oh, such a hopeless longing!"

And then, abruptly, she collapsed, falling to lie sprawled on the table, naked arms and legs white against the ir shy;idescence of her dress, the dingy plastic of the surface.

Nimino rubbed the side of his chin with one slender finger and looked thoughtfully down at the girl on the bunk. "A sensitive," he said wonderingly. "Who would have suspected it?"

"Are you sure?" Dumarest had carried the girl into his cabin and now stood beside the navigator.

"I'm sure. She has all the characteristic symptoms of one who has suffered a severe psychic shock. I have seen it many times before." Nimino leaned forward and lifted one eyelid exposing the white ball of the eye. "You see? And feel the skin, cold and clammy when it should be warm and dry. The pulse, too-there can be no mistake."

Dumarest stared curiously at the girl. She lay at full length, the mass of her hair, which had become unbound, a midnight halo around the paleness of her face. The long curves of arms and legs were filled with the clean lines of developed muscle covered with scanty fat. The breasts were full and proud, the stomach flat, the hips melting into rounded buttocks. A courtesan, he thought, the typical body of a woman of pleasure, all warmth and smoothness and femininity.

And yet-a sensitive?

He had met them before, the sports of mutated genes, the products of intense inbreeding. Always they had paid for their talent. Sometimes with physical weakness or ir shy;regular development of body or mind. But always they had paid. Lallia?

"You said that she claimed to be able to read palms," mused Nimino. "Not a clairvoyant then, not even a telepath as we understand the term, neither would have allowed themselves to fall into the position in which we found her. But she could have some barely suspected ability. Barely suspected by herself, I mean. How accurate was the read shy;ing?"

Dumarest looked up from the girl. "It was nothing," he said flatly. "A jumble of nonsense. I could do as well myself."

"Perhaps she was not really trying," said the navigator shrewdly. "She is a girl who has learned the value of cau shy;tion. And she is beautiful," he added. "Not often have I seen a woman of such loveliness. You have won a remarkable prize, my friend."

"Won?"

"But, of course, Earl. To the victor the spoils. Both of you must surely be aware of that." Nimino smiled and then grew serious. "Tell me exactly what happened just before she collapsed."

"We were talking," said Dumarest. "She dropped her hand to mine and touched my ring. That's when it hap shy;pened."

"Your ring?"

Dumarest lifted his left hand. "This."

"I see." Nimino brooded as he examined the stone. "I ask no questions, my friend, but I will venture a statement. This ring has high emotional significance. To you and perhaps to the one who owned it before. Am I correct?"

"Yes," said Dumarest shortly.

"Then I think I understand what could have happened to Lallia. She is a sensitive of undeveloped and probably unsuspected power. There is an ability possessed by some by which they are able to tell the past of any object they may touch. It is almost as if they had a vision in which time unrolls before their awareness. I put it crudely, but you understand what I mean. And if the object has a strong emotional charge then the vision can become overpowering. I suggest that is what happened in the salon. She was ex shy;cited, emotionally sensitive, and she touched your ring. It was as if she had received a sudden electrical discharge through the brain."

"And now?"

"Nothing, my friend." Nimino gripped Dumarest's shoul shy;der. "She will sleep a little and wake as good as before. Her talent is untrained and undemanding and, as I said, probably she is not even aware of it other than the ability to read palms and tell fortunes. For time runs in both directions and such a one could have a limited awareness of events to come. Events appertaining to the object held, I mean. She is not a clairvoyant-as we both have reason to know."

Nimino dropped his hand as he moved towards the door of the cabin. "Let her wake and find you here, Earl. And, if you are afraid of demons, I know seven effective rites of exorcism. But I think the one she would appreciate most can only be performed by you."

Alone, Dumarest sat beside the bunk and closed his eyes as weariness assailed both mind and body. Demons, he thought, remembering Nimino's offer and suggestion. An old word for old troubles. The demons of hopelessness and hunger, of hate and the lust for revenge. The demons of ambition and greed, envy and desire. And the worst demon of all, perhaps, the cold, aching void of loneliness. A demon which could only be exorcised by love.

"Earl."

He opened his eyes. Lallia was awake, lying with her eyes on his face, the long length of her body relaxed, a thick coil of hair shadowing one side of her face. Her arms lifted as he stooped over her, white restraints pulling him down, holding him against the yielding softness of her body while her lips, soft and avid, found his own.

"Earl, my darling!" she whispered. "Earl!"

He could do nothing but sink into a warm and comforting sea.

They slept and woke to drink cups of basic and slept again in the warm cocoon of the cabin, lulled by the soft vibration of the Erhaft field as it sent the Moray arrowing to a distant world. Dumarest moved uneasily in his sleep, haunting dreams bringing him a montage of faces and places, of violence and blood, of hope and arid disappointment.

Finally he woke, refreshed, stretching his body and open shy;ing his eyes. Lallia stood at the side of the bunk, smiling, vapor rising from the cup in her hand.

"You're awake," she said. "Good. Now drink this."

It was basic but with an unusual flavor. He sipped ap shy;preciatively before emptying the container.

"I was a cook once," she said. "There's no need for basic to taste like wet mud. A few drops of flavoring can make all the difference."

He smiled. "And the flavor?"

"A few drops of the captain's precious oil. I raided the hold," she admitted. "That was after I'd fixed my passage with the navigator. He said that he could talk for the big boss. Can he?"

Dumarest nodded, Nimino handled details while the cap shy;tain dreamed under the influence of his symbiote. "You didn't have to pay for passage," he commented. "That was a part of the deal."

"I know that, Earl." She sat beside him, serious, her eyes soft with emotion. "But that was only to the next planet of call. I want to stay with the ship, with you, so I arranged to ride all the way." She leaned towards him, the perfume of her body a clean scent of femininity. "We're married, Earl. A ship-marriage but married just the same." Her hand found his own, tightened. "You object?"

"No," said Dumarest. "I don't object."

"It will last as long as you stay on the Moray" she said. "As long as you want it to. A month, a year, ten years, a week, even; it doesn't matter. A marriage is good only as long as both partners want it to last. And I want it to last, Earl. I want it to last a long, long time."

She meant it, he decided, and found nothing objectionable about her or the idea. Lallia was all woman, a soft, yielding assembly of curves and tender flesh; but she was more than a sensuous animal designed to give pleasure. She was a crea shy;ture who had learned to survive, a fit mate for a lonely traveler, a woman who could tend a wound and live on scraps as well as wear fine gowns and dine with nobility.

Someone, perhaps, with whom to make a home.

He looked at her, reluctant to give up his dream of finding Earth, yet knowing that reality was preferable to a romantic quest. And yet need the dream be wholly discarded? Two could search as easily as one and it would be good not to have to travel alone.

"Earth?" She pondered the question, white teeth biting at her lower lip. "No, Earl, I've never heard of it. A planet, you say?"

"An old world, the surface scarred and torn by ancient wars, yet the interior holds a strange life. I was born there. I'm trying to get back."

he frowned. "But if you left the place you must know where it is. How to get back. Surely you have the coordi shy;nates?"

"No, Lallia, I haven't."

"But-"

"I was very young when I left," he interrupted. "I stowed away on a ship, frightened and desperate and knowing no better. The captain was an old man and treated me better than I deserved. He could have evicted me into space; in shy;stead he allowed me to join his crew under an oath of secrecy. That was a long time ago now and he is safely dead. I moved on, always heading deeper into the galaxy, moving from world to world towards the Center. And Earth has become less than a legend. The charts do not show it. No one has ever heard of it. The very name has become mean shy;ingless."

"It must be a very long way away," she said quietly. "You must have traveled for a long time, Earl, my darling. So long that your home planet has become lost among the stars. And you want to find it again. But why? What is so special about the place you ran away from that you must find it again?"

Dumarest looked down at his hands and then back to meet the level gaze of the woman. "A man must have some reason for living," he said. "And Earth is my home."

"Home is where you make it, the place where you want to be." Her hand fell to his arm, pressed. "Mine is with you, Earl. It would be nice if you felt the same way about me."

He said, quietly, "Perhaps I do."

"Darling!"

He felt the soft touch of her hair as she pressed against him, the smooth roundness of her cheek, the warmth of her full, red lips. Her hand rose, caressing his hair, his face, running over his shoulder and down his left arm, the fingers pressing, moving on. He heard the sharp intake of her breath as she touched his ring.

"Lallia?"

"I'm all right, Earl." She kissed him again then moved away, eyes curious as she looked at the gem on his hand. "When I touched that ring I felt the strangest sensation. It was as if I heard someone crying, sobbing as if their heart would break. Where did you get it, Earl?"

"It was a gift."

"From a woman?"

He smiled at the sharpness of her voice. "It came from a woman," he admitted. "She is gone now."

"Dead?"

He nodded and she smiled, coming close to him again, a female animal purring her satisfaction.

"I'm glad she's dead, Earl. I don't want to share you with anyone. I think I'd kill any woman who tried to take you from me. I know I'd kill anyone who hurt you. I love you, my darling, always remember that."

Dumarest closed his arms around her as she again pressed close. She was a creature of emotion, as honest as her tem shy;perament allowed, with the fiercely possessive nature of a primitive. But was that so very bad? She would be true to him according to her fashion and who could do more than that? And she was his wife, married to him according to Web trader custom, jealous of her rights.

"Earl?" Lallia stirred within the circle of his arms.

"What is it?"

"Nimino said that we're calling at Tyrann next. Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"That's good." She purred, moving even closer, snuggling against him. "Neither have I. We can explore it together."

Tyrann was a world of wind and scouring dust, of heat and eroded soil, a dying planet exploited for rare metals by men who looked with envious eyes at the beauty of the girl. A merchant, bolder than the rest, offered to buy her for the price of five High passages, doubling the offer when Dumarest refused.

Lallia was thoughtful as he escorted her back to the Mo shy;ray. "You should have sold me, Earl. I could have sneaked out later and left the fool with nothing."

"A man like that is no fool," said Dumarest curtly. "And I am not a seller of women."

For the rest of their stay he kept Lallia within the con shy;fines of the ship while Sheyan negotiated a load of freight and Claude, happy in a tavern, stocked up on supplies.

From Tyrann they went to Dreen, where they delivered their freight and sold the fish skins. From Dreen to Ophan, where they left the oil and singing crystals, buying manufactured electronic components, capsules of medicine, and gaining three passengers: dour, silent men who refused to gamble despite Lallia's blandishments.

The passengers and medicine were left behind on Frone as they plunged deeper into the Web. With them rode a dozen passengers bound for Joy.

"I will take," said Yalung slowly, "one card."

Dumarest dealt him the required card, relaxing a little as he threw in his own hand. The game was poker, the stakes running high, and they had been playing for twelve hours straight. He watched as Yalung bet, raised, was called, and raked in another pot. The dealer in precious stones had been a steady winner throughout the session.

One of the players rose, shaking his head.

"That's enough for me," he said. "Deal me out. I know when I'm outclassed."

Dumarest scooped up the cards and shuffled, his eyes searching the faces of those who remained at the table. A miner, an engineer, a raddled woman who smelled of acrid spice, a seller of chemical dreams, and Yalung, who sat to his right. In the light their faces were taut masks of inner concentration.

"The pot is ten," said Dumarest and, as chips were thrust forward, began to deal. "Openers are a pair of jesters or better."

The miner passed, the engineer also, the woman opened for ten. The seller of dreams stayed and Yalung raised the bet to twenty. Dumarest took a quick look at his cards. A lord, a lady, two eights and a three.

"Dealer stays."

The miner dropped out and the engineer stayed, which meant that he had either passed on an opening hand or hoped to improve. The woman stayed as did the seller of dreams.

"Discards."

Dumarest watched the players as he poised the deck, not their faces, they were schooled to display only desired emo shy;tion, but their hands which told more than their owners guessed. The engineer flipped his cards, moving one from one end of the fan to the others. Adding it to others of the same value? Arranging a sequence?

"I'll take three."

He held a pair then, probably of low value because he hadn't opened. Dumarest dealt and turned to the woman.

"Two," she said.

She had opened and must have at least a pair of jesters. A two-card draw meant that she might have three of a kind or was holding onto an odd card, hoping to make two pairs or more, or, more likely, in order to bluff. She hadn't raised Yalung's increase-unlikely if her hand had been strong.

Beside her sat the seller of dreams. Envir had a thin, in shy;tent face, which told nothing, and hands which told little more. He moved a pair of cards, hesitated, then threw out his discards.

"I'll take two," he said.

Like the woman he could have either a pair or three of a kind. He could also be hoping to complete a flush or a straight, in which case he was fighting high odds.

"One," said Yalung.

He had not fiddled with his cards, his hands, like his face, unrevealing. He could have four to a flush or a straight, two pairs, three of a kind and an odd card, or even four of a kind.

Dumarest threw out his own discards. "Dealer takes three."

He let them lie, watching the hands of the others, the tiny, betraying tensions of their knuckles as they saw what they had drawn.

"Twenty," said the woman. It was a safe, normal opening bet. Envir raised it.

"Make that fifty."

Yalung pushed chips into the pot. "I'll raise that fifty more."

Dumarest looked at his cards. He had drawn another eight and a pair of ladies. A full house.

"Dealer raises that by fifty."

The engineer hesitated, scowling, then threw in his hand. The woman stayed. Envir cleared his throat.

"Well, now, this promises to be fun. I'll just meet that last raise-and lift it another two hundred."

"That's two hundred and fifty to stay," mused Yalung. "I'll raise by another hundred."

Dumarest looked at the pot. It held over a thousand. If he raised it would give him a chance to raise again later- but both Envir and Yalung had seemed confident. The woman, he guessed, would drop out. Envir might stay, in which case the pot would go to the one with the best hand.

"Dealer stays," said Dumarest.

He thought he saw a shadow of disappointment cross Yalung's face, then turned his attention to the others. The woman, as he had guessed, threw in her cards, displaying the pair of jesters on which she had opened. Envir hesitated then made his decision.

"I'll raise a hundred."

"One hundred?" Yalung leaned forward, counting the chips in the pot. "There is just over seventeen hundred there," he mused. "According to the rules I am allowed to raise to the full extent of the pot. So I will do that. I meet your raise, my friend, and add another fifteen hundred." He smiled at Dumarest. "It will now cost the dealer sixteen hundred to stay. An interesting situation, is it not?"

"No," said Dumarest flatly. "I cannot stay. I haven't the money."

"But surely you have items of worth?" Yalung looked at Dumarest's hand. "That ring, for example. Shall we say a thousand?"

It was a tempting proposition. Envir had drawn two cards and could be pushing his luck with a straight or flush, both of which he could beat. Yalung could be bluffing, using his money to buy the pot, also maybe holding a flush or straight. But, against that, Dumarest could only gain to one for his money if Envir dropped out and, if he raised, he would be unable to stay.

"Dealer drops out," said Dumarest, and threw in his cards.

He heard the quick intake of breath from those who stood around the table, Lallia among the watchers, Lin at her side.

Envir sucked in his cheeks and slowly counted his chips. "Damn it," he said. "Damn all the luck. Well, to hell with it. I think you're bluffing." He pushed forward a pile of chips. "I'll see you!"

Yalung slowly put three tens on the table. "Is that enough?"

"Like hell it is!" The seller of dreams glowed his excite shy;ment. "I've got a flush. That means I win."

"Not quite." Yalung put down the rest of his cards. An ace and another ten. "Four tens. The pot is mine, I think?"

Envir cursed in his disappointment.