Melome

CHAPTER TEN

There were rustles and squeaks and small scampering noises as rodents foraged in the vegetation. Sounds as harmless as the wind but which caused Melome to quiver in fear. Like most who clung to urban places, for her the open at night was filled with imagined terrors.

"It's nothing," said Dumarest. "Just the wind and creatures hunting for food. Small creatures," he added quickly. "Things like mice. There's nothing big or harmful on Baatz."

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's the air. It leads to pacifism. A predator needs to stalk and kill in order to survive. It can't do that if it just wants to lie down and dream."

A facile explanation but it had elements of truth and Melome relaxed, leaning back to look at the sky.

"I'm not used to the open. It's too big, too empty. You could get lost and wander and starve and die and no one would ever know." She shivered a little. "And it's cold."

The truth-the air held a pre-dawn chill. Dumarest paused in his task of gathering twigs and rose, stretching. Behind him the raft lay on its side, the nose crumpled, the controls useless. They had been lucky. The impact had flung them from the open body to land on cushioning fronds and, aside from minor bruising, neither was hurt.

"Earl?"

"We'll have a fire before long." He stooped and ripped free another mass. Most was green but enough had dried to feed a blaze. "Why don't you help? Pick some fuel and choose the lightest. Come on, now!"

She obeyed the snap in his voice and came toward him with a large bundle of fibrous strands. Dropping it she went for more while he arranged the fire, siting it before the raft so as to gain its protection against the wind. The open body would act as a reflector.

Fire winked as he stooped over a small heap of finely whittled twigs. It grew as he fed it with thicker pieces to steady into a red and glowing comfort topped by a rising plume of smoke.

"That's nice." Melome held out her hands to the warmth. She sat beside him, one shoulder touching his, the firelight touching the pale blondness of her hair with dancing, russet glows. She looked less pale, more animated, her eyes holding a sharper expression. "Shouldn't you do something about the smoke?"

"No."

"They'll see it. If they come looking for us it'll guide them right here."

"I know."

"You want that?" She turned to look at him. "I don't understand. You stole me from Tayu and yet now you want them to find me and take me back to the circus. Why, Earl?"

He said, "The raft's wrecked and I don't know where we are. We've no supplies and this is hard country to make out in. Walking takes energy and we've no food to supply it. No water, either."

"So, unless they find us, we'll die. Is that it?"

"They'll find us."

"But I still don't understand why you stole me. I thought-" She broke off then, in a different tone, said, "I guess you just wanted me to sing for you. Is that it?"

The truth but he took his time admitting it. The firelight which gave her vivacity had also given her an unsuspected maturity. The pubescent girl had developed into a young and mature woman, one now touched by the magic of the night.

"Melome, I need-"

"I can give you what you need," she said. "I'm as much a woman as Reiza." Then, as he shook his head, "Why doubt it? Look at me. Touch me if you think I lie. Stop thinking of me as a child." She added, with a petulance which denied her claim to maturity, "Kamala kept me looking young. She thought a skinny girl would arouse sympathy and denied me certain things essential to my development. Tayu explained it all. I'm a certain physical type with a delayed pubescence but when it comes I catch up fast." The deep breath she took inflated her chest. "I've had drugs and hormones to help. Tayu wants me to be a real woman."

"Did he tell you why?"

"It's something to do with my talent. That or-" she shrugged. "Does it matter? I wanted to grow fast for you, Earl. Now you want to send me back."

"I've no choice."

"We could hide," she said. "Take a chance on finding our way. We might even spot another raft. One not from the circus. And I'll sing for you if you want. We'd be together and alone and I'll sing for you. Earl?"

He looked at her, a young, infatuated girl, and dangerous because of that. One who would deny him the use of her talent if he was curt in his rejection. Who could still withhold it should she doubt his intentions.

He said, "When you sing do you know what happens?"

"Those listening relive old terrors."

"But can you control the reaction?" He saw the shift of her eyes. "In a sense they move back in time," he said. "Become young again or not so young. Does the song govern that? And do you govern the song?"

"Earl! Look! A falling star!"

He ignored the arm she lifted, the finger she used to point at the bright streak against the sky.

"When you sang for me in the circus did you obey Shakira's orders as to how far to send me back?"

"Earl! Look! Another!"

She gasped as he caught her arm and turned her to face him. Her eyes widened as she saw his face, read his expression, the turmoil of his emotions.

"No! No, Earl! Please!"

A child caught in a web despite her protestations of maturity. Obeying orders, delaying him, keeping him locked in the prison of his own making.

One on which Shakira had turned the key.

The threat had been no bluff-the pain had proved that. Agony which had left him helpless and which would return should he attempt to escape. He remembered the card Krystyna had let fall toward the last. The Hourglass, the symbol of time.

How long did he have?

"Earl! Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!"

Who was the Snake?

"Earl!" Melome's voice rose as fear robbed her of confidence. Tears filled the luminous eyes and her lips trembled as he reached for her. "No! Don't! Please don't-"

She fell silent as his hand touched her hair, followed it over the curve of her head and shoulders. A soothing caress to which she responded, coming closer, resting her head against his shoulder as his arm closed around her shoulders.

He said, "You don't have to fear me, Melome. I'd never hurt you. I want you to believe that."

"I do." Her voice was muffled against his tunic. "It was just the way you looked at me. You were so savage."

"I was thinking of someone else."

"Tayu?"

"No."

"Zucco? Reiza?" Her voice took on a note of jealousy. "Who do you hate so much, Earl?"

"It doesn't matter."

"No," she said. "As long as it isn't me." She snuggled a little closer. "You're strong," she murmured. "So strong. I felt it from the very first. In the market when you made the deal with Kamala. I wanted to sing for you and then she told me. Well, you're here now and that's all that matters. Together we're safe."

"Yes." Dumarest fed more fuel to the fire. "Who else lives where you do in Shakira's private quarters? Have you seen them? Talked to them?"

"One. Elagonya's nice."

"What does she look like?"

"I don't know. I've never seen her. She wears a cloth over her head."

"Old? Young? How does she sound?"

"Like music. I asked Tayu about her once and he said she had a very special talent. He didn't tell me what it was but I think she makes dolls. I saw some in her room."

Dumarest said, "Did they look like anyone you know?"

"No, they were just dolls. Small, about that tall." Her hands measured a distance. "Some of them were very old."

"And her room, was it decorated with strange signs? Like those the fortune tellers used in the market."

"I didn't see any." Melome twisted in his arm to look at him. "Why so interested, Earl? What's Elagonya to you?"

"Nothing, but I knew someone once who made dolls. She tried to use them to hurt people."

"Not Elagonya." Her tone was emphatic. "She's too nice."

To her, perhaps, but to strangers she could be different. A sensitive, hidden away, unwilling even to reveal her face-what hatred could such a creature harbor against normal people?

"Earl, you're worried. I can tell it." Against him Melome stirred, relaxing as she yielded to the pressure of his arm. "Maybe I can help. Tell me why you're so worried."

"Forget it now. Just listen to the wind." It sighed as it caressed the silvered fronds, a susurration which filled the air. "And the crackle of the fire. It's like music, isn't it. And watch the stars. Perhaps more will fall. When one does you're supposed to make a wish. Did you know that?"

She muttered, sleepily, "Will the wish come true?"

"It might. So make sure it's a good one." His voice droned on, soothing, hypnotic in its comforting reassurance. He felt the weight of her slender body as she slumped against him, the sound of her deep, regular breathing. "Melome? Melome, are you asleep?"

A sigh was his answer and he fell silent looking at the fire, the smoke, the wheel of the paling stars.

The raft came two hours after dawn arrowing from the horizon directly toward the rising pillar of smoke. Dumarest watched it from where he lay buried in the vegetation far to one side of the fire. Melome, still asleep, lay where he had placed her close to the shelter of the wrecked vehicle.

She woke as the raft landed, rearing upright as Zucco strode toward her. He was tall, arrogant, wearing yellow and black, cruel colors which matched the expression on his face. The wand in his hand reached out, touched her arm, drew back as she screamed.

"Hurts, doesn't it, you bitch. Think of it the next time you're tempted to run from the circus. Where's the scum who helped you?"

"I didn't run! I-" She screamed again as the wand touched her body. "No! Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!"

"Where's Dumarest?"

"I don't know! I was asleep!"

"Where's Dumarest?" The tip of the wand hovered an inch from her face. "Why is he so interested in you? What can you do for him?" A sneer thickened his tone. "Aside from the obvious, that is. Talk, damn you! Talk!"

From where he sat at the controls of the raft Valaban said, "Take it easy, Jac. This isn't the way to handle the situation. The girl isn't to blame."

"Stay out of this!"

"I'm in it. Shakira-"

"Never mind him. I'm in charge and I don't intend wasting time. If you don't like it then you know what you can do." Zucco returned his attention to Melome. "Well, bitch, are you going to talk?"

"We crashed. I fell asleep. When I woke he had gone." Her arm waved at the surrounding vegetation. "He must have tried to make it on foot."

"In which case we can spot him." Valaban jumped down from the raft, staggered a little, regained his balance. "He must have left tracks and couldn't have got far. Let's load the girl and go looking."

"I told you to stay out of this." Zucco's voice was cold. "The next time you open your mouth I'll shut it for good."

"You could try." Valaban took a step closer, one hand buried beneath his blouse. "But it'll earn you a ruined face. I may be old and slow but this makes us equal." His hand appeared holding a flat gun, a twin to the weapon Reiza carried in the ring. "Now let's load the girl and lift. For all you know Dumarest could be within yards of us. Maybe hiding under the wreck and waiting his chance to jump us."

The truth but he had realized it too late. As he had guessed wrong as to the location. Like an animal, Dumarest had moved silently through the vegetation, taking advantage of the argument to get close, rising to lunge forward as Zucco turned to face the girl.

Valaban fell as Dumarest slammed against him, snatching the gun to level it as Zucco turned, snarling, the wand lifted in his hand.

"Drop it!" Dumarest fired as the man hesitated, the shot whining inches to one side of Zucco's body. "The next one you get in the face. Now drop that wand!"

He stepped forward as it hit the ground, thrusting back the man with the heel of his left hand, the muzzle of the gun held steady in his right.

"Melome! Get up and get over here. Move!" He didn't look toward her as she obeyed. "Take hold of his hand, girl. Grip it tight."

"No. I don't want to touch him."

"He won't hurt you." Dumarest stepped back as he heard a rustle to his rear. "Stay out of this, Valaban. Move over to the fire and lie face down. And you," he snapped at Zucco as the old man obeyed. "Down and kiss the dirt."

"Go to hell!"

"You've a choice." Dumarest tightened his finger on the trigger. "You've three seconds to make it."

A moment and Zucco was down, lying with his face to the dirt, trembling with the helpless rage which consumed him.

"Right, girl, put your hand on his neck." A glance at his face and she obeyed. "Now sing, Melome. Sing!"

Dumarest jammed his hands against his ears as the air filled with the wailing cadences of her song.

It was different, driving through the bone and flesh and muscle of his hands, without the wail of pipe and pulse of drum and yet still it caught at his mind and sent it wheeling in a succession of phantom images. An effect lacking its true power because of the lack of contact. From where he lay beside the fire Valaban groaned and cupped his ears with veined and blotched hands.

Zucco lay as if dead.

A man lost in terror-a captive of the song.

Bound and helpless by the fantasies of his mind and suffering a greater punishment than any physical torment. Dumarest watched him and then, as Melome looked toward him, dropped one hand and sliced the edge across his throat.

An unmistakable signal and he lowered the other hand as she broke off her song.

"Into the raft, girl. Quickly!"

He followed her into the vehicle as Valaban sat upright, shaking his head. It rose as Zucco twitched, climbing as the man rolled over to sit with his face buried in his hands. Figures which dwindled as the craft soared into the sky.

"You did it!" Melome came to sit beside him. "You got us away."

"For now."

"You had it planned," she said. Her voice was excited; a youngster enjoying a treat. "You left me asleep to act as bait and then, when they didn't expect it, you attacked. But what if there had been more?"

"Your song would have taken care of them."

"A weapon," she said. "You used it as a weapon. But I wasn't in contact so-" She answered her own question. "Zucco. You had him helpless. They would have had to obey." She laughed with pure delight. "Earl! You're so clever!"

Lucky would have been a better word. Had Zucco not given way to his spite, pandered to his sadism, the plan would have failed. As it could still fail.

Dumarest checked the controls. The raft was moving as it should in the direction indicated on the instrument but he sensed something was wrong. Why had Zucco come for them at all? Why had Valaban come with him? Any crew would have done and the circus had rafts and men to spare.

Questions lost in a sudden blast of pain.

As before it came without warning, a red tide of agony which doubled him over the controls and filled the universe with screaming torment. An eternity which lasted for seconds for when he could see again the raft was still on an even path, the ground below no different from what he remembered.

"Earl?" Melome was beside him. "Is something wrong?"

"Can you handle a raft?" A stupid question; how could she have learned. "Listen," he said urgently, "if anything happens. If I should fall sick, touch nothing. Understand? Stay away from the controls."

"Yes, Earl, but-"

The rest was lost as again fire caressed him, acid burned every nerve, vises crushed bones and sinew. A man flayed and set unprotected in the sun. As if smeared with honey and covered with ants. Boiled, broken, seared-all the torments ever devised inflicted in a wave of utter torment.

"Earl!"

Sweating, he reached for the controls. The escape had been an illusion, the trap Shakira had constructed still held him fast. More pain would come and more after that until he was helpless to do more than breathe. And Melome was in the raft, frightened, liable to do anything in her panic.

"Please, Earl, talk to me. What's happening?" She caught at his arm as the raft began to turn. "What are you doing? Where are we going?"

"To the circus," he said. "Back to Shakira."

He sat in his office of a dozen scents; odors and tangs echoing strange and alien places. Again he wore lavender, this time ornamented with a tracery of black which gave the appearance of somber scales.

"Be seated, Earl." A hand gestured toward the chair facing the wide desk behind which he sat. "I'm sure there is no need to warn you of attempted violence. You have had time enough to realize its futility."

Too much time. Hours during which he had been locked in a cubicle, given food, water, allowed to sleep after bathing. Time enough for Melome to be swallowed into the circus, for Zucco and Valaban to be rescued.

Dumarest said, "Why did you send them to recover the girl?"

An unexpected question and Shakira paused before replying.

"Someone had to go and they were best suited."

"An old man and a sadist?"

"Coincidence."

"No," said Dumarest. "Not coincidence but intent. Did you want them both out of the way at the same time? Or did you hope I would do what you seem to lack the courage to do?"

"And that is?"

"Zucco is ambitious. He yearns for power and intends to get it. Resents having to take orders. You are old. Need I say more?"

"You imagine he thinks of killing me and taking over the circus?" Shakira lifted his hands in the sudden, upward gesture. As he lowered them he said, "Do you really think it would be as simple as that? For a barbarian, perhaps, but we are not barbarians. There are considerations of finance, administration, loyalties, contracts. Those who work for the circus of Chen Wei would not be eager to follow a murderer. Would you?"

"If I had the choice, no."

"You are bitter," said Shakira. "You are thinking of the pain. The agony you had to bear as the price of your disobedience. But why blame me for that? I warned you what could happen and you chose to disregard that warning. Or you thought it a bluff. A mistake-I never bluff. Those who know me would have told you that."

"Reiza, for example?" Dumarest watched as Shakira made no movement. "Krystyna? Valaban? Helga, even? Melome? Who knows you, Shakira? Who really knows you? Elagonya? Your tame sensitive. Does she know what you are?"

"Shrewd," murmured Shakira. "I sensed it from the first. Shrewd and cunning and with a primeval instinct for survival which operates on an intuitive level. Which is why I was glad when you agreed to work for me."

"Work," said Dumarest. "As yet I've done nothing but walk around and let myself be seen. You didn't want me for that."

"You are wrong, but there is more."

"What?"

"You will learn soon enough." Shakira rose and stepped from his desk. "But first let me introduce you to Elagonya."

She sat in a cubicle thick with the fumes of aromatic incense but despite the pungent smoke the air held an acrid stench. One based on corrosive acids, alien exudations and warning odors. A blend which caught at his nostrils and Dumarest wondered why Melome hadn't mentioned it.

Shakira gave the explanation.

"You are a stranger," he said. "A hostile intrusion into her environment. For the sake of your life, I warn you not to be violent. Do not even think of extracting revenge. Before you could act you would be dead."

"A telepath?"

"No, but with you she has a rapport. One built on fragments of your blood, tissue, muscle, bone. A focal point for her directed thought. Sometimes she incorporates it into a doll."

Small artifacts which Dumarest could see lying around. Crude things with vacuous faces and oddly distorted bodies. The product of unskilled hands or hands so disfigured that they were incapable of normal dexterity.

"I found her on Tomzich, a world in the Bannerheim Cluster. She was living in a cave at the edge of a village living on scraps and hiding from the light of day. A mutant, hated by those from whom she had sprung. At times she cursed them and, at times, those cursed would die. They called her a witch and would have killed her had they been able." Shakira stepped forward and rested one hand on the rounded hump of a shoulder. "My dear," he said gently. "Have I your permission to reveal your face?"

The masked figure turned to face Dumarest, the covered head seeming to tilt as if to question.

He said evenly, "As you wish, my lady. Here, at this time, I am at your command."

Shakira lifted the cloth.

Elagonya was a parody of what a woman should have been. The victim of cruel nature which, tormented by the blasting radiation which had distorted the pattern of genes, had taken a vicious revenge. The face was a jumble of features, one eye higher than the other, the mouth a twisted gash, the chin cleft so that it was forked, the nose the grotesque appendage of a clown. Lank hair hung like worms from a peaked skull and the eyes, muddy brown, flecked with yellow and red, looked like the dusty windows of an empty house.

"No surgery can aid her," said Shakira. "No drugs or treatment alleviate her condition."

It must have been a living hell. Dumarest looked at the warted encrustations on the skin, the puffed cysts marring the lines of the scalp. The gown she wore came high up the throat and covered the arms and legs to touch the floor but he could guess at the condition of the body it covered.

The whisper of her voice was the thin grate of a nail on slate.

"You look at me and do not cringe. Are you so accustomed to horror?"

"That is not what I see, my lady."

"You mock me?" For a moment tension stiffened the air and Dumarest heard Shakira's sharp inhalation, the touch of something like a feather against the naked surface of his mind. And then, as if he had been tested and had passed the test, the tension vanished. "No," she whispered. "You do not mock. Yet I do not need your pity."

"Something else, then?" A question to which she gave no answer and Dumarest continued, "We are what we are, my lady, and have no hand in our making. Therefore we should not be blamed for what we cannot help. Nor derided. Nor abused. But to deny pity is to reject what is good in a person. And there are those who, if they were you, would beg for more than pity."

"A quick and merciful end-you offer me that?"

"If I did, would you accept it?"

"No." The denial was sharp. "I live and while I live I serve. I can help those who have been kind." A sleeve lifted to reveal a knotted appendage which touched Shakira's hand. "Save your pity for those who need it. I do not."

Dumarest bowed, lowering his eyes.

"Yet you have been kind and merciful in your fashion. Tayu!" He lowered the cloth to hide the ravaged features, the fabric softening the harsh timbre of the whispering voice. "Therefore, from me to you, something to remember."

The touch came again, a feather on the mind followed by a wave of pleasure so intense as to send his mind spinning in a vortex of indescribable ecstasy. One which blinded him to the journey back and left him shaken and gasping in Shakira's office.

"Her talent, Earl." The owner offered him a glass of wine. "The reverse of the coin she can spin at will. Pleasure and pain. Reward and punishment. Ironic, isn't it, that such power should be housed in such a frame."

The price paid by most sensitives for their talent; physical weakness and deformity, but Elagonya had paid higher than most. How many others like her did Shakira keep in his private quarters? And how to break the hold she had over him?

Dumarest said, "In order to function she needs a focal point."

"That is so." Shakira lifted his own glass of wine. "You had no choice but others are more cautious. Also her ability is limited." He sipped and swallowed and, looking at his glass, added, "I wanted you to realize how helpless you are, Earl. Run and pain will torment you. Attempt violence against me and you will be rendered helpless. Elagonya's talent has fabricated an affinity between you. In a sense you are an extension of her body."

"And?"

"That makes you mine, Earl. A part of the circus of Chen Wei."