Nectar of Heaven

Chapter Nine

It had been something from the ancient tales of high romance, of fantasy and adventure, of the sagas once sung around leaping fires after the labor of the day was done. A thing Carmodyne would have appreciated and, cosseted in the womb of her bed, Fiona Velen savored every remembered moment.

Chance had taken her to the church at just that time; the sudden decision to see if there was any way to increase revenues from the sector. Tobol had met her, courteous as always, echoing a genuine concern at the problem which was as much his as hers. Even if rents were tripled they would show no increase; Carmodyne had given the monks free use of the church and surrounding land. A contract binding while he had lived and she was reluctant to spit on his grave.

But there had been more cakes, more wine and, as she was about to make her departure, Dumarest had arrived.

Landing like a hero of old, crashing the raft into the dirt, lifting free the limp form of his companion and carrying it to where they stood.

"Brother, I ask your aid."

"It shall be given, brother." Tobol hadn't hesitated. "What do you need?"

"Nothing for myself but my friend is dying." He had added flatly, "I do not ask for charity."

Pride, she thought, a man with pride.

Stretching she felt the soft caress of silken sheets against her naked flesh. A caress accentuated by the touch of her hands as they moved over the contours of her body. Would his hands be as gentle? Would he be patient and understanding or would he take with a selfish disregard of her own needs?

Against the closed lids of her eyes she saw him again, tall, strong, his face savage with its mask of blood. Had he seen her? A glance, perhaps, but his attention had been on the monks, the help they could give. Yet some things she had learned; his name for one, his needs-information conveyed by Tobol as he had made his excuses. Replies to her direct questions.

Earl Dumarest-a man she found it hard to forget.

Her hands moved, settled, explored another region of her body in narcissistic appreciation. Would he look at her as Lynne had looked when they had shared a common bath? The woman had insisted on giving her a massage, leaning over her supine body, her own, untrammeled breasts hanging like pendulous fruit, nipples prominent, blue veins making a delicate tracery beneath the skin. Her hands had been hungry as they applied oil, had quested too urgently. Her eyes, when Fiona had turned and then risen, had held an expression not pleasant to see.

But she had been subtle, hinting at another time, another occasion. Hinting too of the help she could give and the kind of enemy she could make. A frustrated and selfish bitch who would do better with a man.

Dumarest?

Fiona stirred, seeing again the bloodstained face with the hard, searching eyes. The mouth which matched the chin in determination, the body beneath the soiled gray of his clothing. A hard, firm, well-muscled body, well-suited to the giving of strong sons.

The hum of her phone interrupted an intriguing vein of speculation. Rham Kalova stared at her from the screen.

"Fiona, my dear! Not yet up?"

"It's early, Maximus."

"True, but you know the proverb-first to the feast gets the finest choice. Well, never mind that. You are well, I hope?" He beamed as she nodded. "That is good to hear. We haven't been as close as I would have wished of late. A woman of your attainments should be seated at the top table during assembly. Perhaps something could be done about it. I may not be as young as I was but I can still appreciate the presence of a beautiful woman."

A fool, she thought, and worse, a senile one. Or a man acting the part and Kalova was a poor actor. He wanted something-but what?

She said, smiling, "You are most kind, Maximus. And I am most fortunate that you think of me at times. To sit beside you at table would be to gain my highest ambition. Of course, before that could happen my holdings would have to increase, and-"

"Yes, yes," he said shortly, then resumed his smile. "Even that could be arranged. You are a shrewd woman and could gain as long as pressures were not directed against you. If the opportunity should arise I am certain you would recognize it and take full advantage of the situation. High gain, my dear, and it could begin now. Which is why I am calling. A small matter of a transfer of holdings; your sector D 18 for sector K 29. I take it you agree?"

D 18-what could Kalova want with the church?

She said, a little blurredly, "I don't quite understand what you want, Maximus. Something about being seated at your side during the next assembly, wasn't it?" Inwardly she smiled as his face changed, became old and ugly and, somehow, womanish in its spite. A moment only, then again he was smiling, gently shaking his head, little crinkles at the corners of eyes and mouth.

"You're still half-asleep, my dear. I'm merely offering you an exchange of holdings. Of course, should you agree, there, could be other benefits."

Things he had spelled out had she the wit to understand. Pressures not applied so as to give her a measure of safety over and above her own skill and ability. Opportunities made should she become his willing tool in whatever plan he had in mind. But why the church?

"K 29 for D 18," she mused. "Carmodyne's monument. That's what I call it, Maximus, and I am a very sentimental person. I think I owe it to his memory to maintain his bequest. My personal charity, you understand."

"Charity begins at home."

"Of course-and K 29 is what?" Her relay lights confirmed the promptings of her memory. "A section of undersea development situated at the edge of the continental shelf. Hardly a prize, Maximus."

"But one with a high potential, my dear. Also the revenue is good."

"Perhaps." She yawned, slender fingers rising to cover her mouth. "Your pardon, Maximus, but I had a rather late night. Was there anything else?"

"No. I am glad you agree, my dear. The record can be made immediately if you will take care of your end."

"But we haven't agreed," she said firmly. "One sector for another-where's the profit? And I like to look at the church and think of Carmodyne. Somehow it brings him closer to me. Did you know there's a carving of him inside the building? At times I sit before it and it's almost as if he were speaking to me. I'd hate to lose that small pleasure."

He said tightly, "Sectors K 29 and M 15-I'll double the bid!"

Again she checked the dancing lights. M 15-a stretch of barren land adjoining the Quale Consortium. Yet its very position gave it a certain value. Arment was eager to break the Consortium and could be interested. Helm too-the possibilities were intriguing. But why did Kalova want the church? If it was important to him it could be equally so to others.

"You are generous, Maximus, but I hate to be rushed into anything. Could I call you back on the matter? I'm sure there can't be any hurry. In any case I must arrange for a new gown to wear at the next assembly." Her smile held a cloying sweetness, "You know-when I sit next to you at table."

As Rham Kalova turned from the phone Zao said, "She refused."

"You heard."

"The probability was in the order of sixty-four percent. Less when you doubled your offer. Obviously there is a factor yet to be taken into account."

"The man," said Kalova. "Dumarest and his friend. Had I made the offer a week ago she would have jumped at it." His sneer was obvious. "Even I can determine what lies under my feet, Cyber. I don't need the Cyclan for that."

A man wounded in his pride and striking out without thought for the consequences. One looking for a convenient excuse.

Zao said, "The men are a factor, that is apparent, but what are they to her?"

"They are men-that's good enough. The woman is a nymphomaniac!"

A false judgment; narcissism was not nymphomania as Kalova should know. Yet further proof that his faculties were not what they should be. Left to his own devices he would have been beaten long ago, toppled from his high position to make way for another, more capable Maximus. As he would be toppled if the need arose.

"If you had issued the directives as I asked, my lord, this situation would not exist." Zao followed the restless pacing of the other with his deep-set eyes. "I would suggest that it is futile to employ experts if you have no intention of following their advice."

"Advice?" Kalova halted, spun so as to face the figure in scarlet. "Orders, you mean. Permission for the guard to search my holdings! To fly over them! To abrogate my rights! And for what? So a couple of poachers could be apprehended. Some trespassers taught a lesson. Dumarest-what is he to me?"

The man who held the answer to Kalova's dearest wish; the secret he held would provide the Maximus with a young, virile body. The affinity twin which could make Kalova the dominant part, using the host's body as if it were his own, sensing, feeling, a seeming part of the subject. Active life extended via a line of host-subjects. New bodies for old-a bribe no man could refuse, no aging woman resist.

If the Cyclan regained it a cyber's mind would now be in Kalova's body, dominating his own subdued intelligence, making the Maximus nothing but a puppet of flesh and blood and bone. A fact he dared not reveal; if Kalova even suspected it he would stop at nothing to capture Dumarest for his own ends.

Zao said in his even monotone, "The man is nothing to you, my lord, that is true, but the crime he committed against the Cyclan must not remain unpunished. He must be taken and your help would be more than appreciated."

And the converse would apply. Kalova resumed his pacing, brow creased in thought. To aid the Cyclan would bring rich rewards as had already been promised; a hint of surgical techniques to recapture a new vitality, drugs to combat the advance of age. A bonus to be added to the power which kept him Maximus. To defy them was to invite ruin and death.

What had Dumarest done to arouse such determination?

"I cannot be blamed, Cyber." Kalova paused to touch a hanging chime, small sounds rising to echo his words. "You had rafts and men commanded by an officer of your choice. The permission to search my northern holdings was unnecessary and events proved it. My own guards would have taken the fugitives had yours not argued the matter. A stupidity compounded by your commander."

A fool, who had paid the price of his folly. Kline was better dead but still questions remained.

Kalova shrugged when they were asked. "The officer, driver, marksman and signaler were killed but the observer was found alive. The fugitives did not open fire-they returned it. Hardly a crime. Those in the other rafts obeyed their original instructions and took no potentially harmful action. In any case they had no choice once the chase had left the north and Dumarest was crossing other holdings. Not even I can violate another's rights."

The code would destroy him should he break it, which made it impossible to send a task force to snatch Dumarest from the church; should it be tried, every holder would rise in protest. A hundred and forty-seven of them each with rafts and men and guns. Each determined to protect his rights.

"She'll make the exchange," said Kalova. He touched the chime again, waited for the tinklings to fade. "She's greedy and worried and aware of just how vulnerable she is if I choose to move against her. The last conflict hurt her and she'll be wary of taking risks. Just give her time to think about it. She'll do as we want."

"And if she defies you, my lord?"

A stab at his pride and the result Zao had intended. Those cursed with the burden of emotion could be manipulated like dolls.

"I'll break her!" Kalova slashed his hand at the hanging chimes and left shattered crystal to litter the carpet. The blow lacerated the skin of his hand, minor wounds he did not feel as he remembered her smile, the lilt of her voice, her barely masked contempt. He was the Maximus and should be obeyed! Would be obeyed! "I'll ruin her!"

Bowing, Tobol said, "My lady, it is a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon after your last visit."

His voice held a question she made no attempt to answer. Let him wonder at her interest-knowledge was wealth to those who commanded it. Then, looking into his face, his old, wise eyes, she recognized her childishness.

"Those men? How are they?"

"Well, my lady. As well as can be expected." His arm made an inviting gesture. "Dumarest is on the upper balcony. I will send wine and cakes if you care to join him."

The wind was from the sea and ruffled her hair as Fiona emerged on the long, narrow path flanked by the rising swell of the roof to one side, a crenelated parapet on the other. Dumarest turned as she approached. His clothing had been refurbished and gleamed with a muted sheen. A softness hardened by the knife in his boot, the face above the collar of the tunic.

"My lady." His tone was formal. "May I take this opportunity to extend my gratitude for your forbearance?"

"Accepted, but why be grateful? The monks took care of you, Earl, not I." She smiled and took a step closer. "Yes, I know your name. Do you know mine? Good, then use it. My first name," she added. "I want us to be friends."

"You are kind."

"Curious," she corrected. "Strangers are rare on this world and each holds novelty. What brought you to Sacaweena?"

"A promise, my lady, and a name."

"I asked you not to be formal, Earl. It places a barrier between us. Do you want that or is it that you have reason not to like my name? Carmodyne used to say it sounded like music. Do you agree?"

"Fiona," he said. "Fiona-yes, it holds melody. A charm which matches the one who bears it. Carmodyne?"

"My uncle. He built all this." Her gesture embraced the church. "He's dead now but his memory lives on in stone and decorations. If you are interested I'll show you what he looked like. He left a carving, somewhat distorted, but it holds the essence of the man. I think he would have liked you, Earl. You could have liked him. You could even have taught him a little sense."

He noted the hardening of her tone, the underlying tension. A woman of strong passions, subjected to equally strong impulses. He remembered the way she had looked at him, the expression in her eyes. One he had seen before.

He said, "Carmodyne. A Velen?"

"Of course. The Holder when he died. I inherited. To me came the paper, the profit and the penalties." She drew in her breath at the thought of what they could be, annoyed at herself for having mentioned them, more annoyed at the fear they created. Ghosts which need never materialize. Terrors which could remain unborn. Had Correo consoled himself with such platitudes? Did Bulem?

"So you inherited," said Dumarest. "Were there others of your house? Your father, for instance?"

"He died a year after I was born. That's why my uncle was so close." She shrugged, impatient at the questioning. "Does it matter?"

"Not really."

"Then why mention it?" She turned to look at the sea. The wind had created long, rolling swells which caught the light and reflected it in shimmers of crimson so as to form a lake of fire, broken by something which rose, to hang for a moment in a sparkle of droplets, to dive again to leave widening ripples. "Do you fish, Earl? Not with a line or nets but with a mask and air tanks and a gun. Meeting things ten times your size and challenging them in their own environment. Killing them and bringing back the trophies to awe your friends. Does that appeal to you?" She turned to face him. "Earl?"

He said quietly, "I do not kill for amusement."

"No." Her hand rose to touch his cheek, the fingers to linger on his lips before falling back to her side. "No, I didn't think you did. You aren't like other men. You have no need to prove your masculinity by hounding and destroying creatures from a safe distance. How many hunters, I wonder, would dare to meet an animal on equal terms? Naked, armed only with natural weapons, a knife at the most. Is your friend a hunter?"

"You could call him that."

"And you? What should I call you, Earl?"

"A fool, perhaps? An optimist?" He smiled down at her from his superior height. "Or just a very lucky man."

That, certainly, but there had to be more. She was aware of his eyes searching her face, lingering on the golden mane of her hair. Flattery without the need of words, which alone proved he was a clever man with a strong sense of survival-yet why had he risked so much? And why did Kalova want him so badly? Dumarest had to be the answer-for hours she had checked and assessed each possibility. His companion, hurt, could be of little value, the sector was a liability-so what else was left?

Yet how to be sure?

The scuff of sandals broke her introspection as monks came with the promised refreshment. Impatiently she watched as a small, portable table was loaded with cakes and wine, the monks bowing as they withdrew. Again alone she looked at Dumarest as he poured them both wine, wondering at his ease, his confidence. Surely he must know how deeply he was in her power?

Abruptly she said, "Who are you, Earl?"

"Your guest," he said. "Your debtor."

"And you pay your debts?"

"When I can." Picking up the glasses he came toward her, halting to extend one, lifting his own as she took it. "But some debts can never be repaid. Your health, my lady!"

He drank with neat fastidiousness-if he had drunk at all. Another item of information to add to the rest but the increase made her all the more irritated. Why couldn't he fit into the normal pattern of masculine behavior? To desire her, yes, that in itself was a compliment, but also to display all the small crudities, the weaknesses and faults which made it so easy for her to be dominant. How should she handle him? How to manipulate his actions, to test and demand-yet how much more pleasant it would be to receive without the necessity of asking?

Dumarest looked at the glass she lowered. "More wine?"

"No." The container was empty. "I mean yes," she amended. "But not here. We'll drink at home."