"Own this side of the mountain, you know," Biyanco said, glancing at Killashandra to see the effect of his announcement."Ah, you thought I was only a bar brewman, didn't you?Surprised you, didn't I?Ha!"The little man was pleased.
"You did."
"I'll surprise you more before the day is out."
At last they reached their destination, a permaformed clearing with acid-proofed buildings that housed his processing unit and temporary living quarters.The climbers he had escorted went further on, sending the lorries off on automated tracks, six climbers to each lorry.They had evidently climbed for him before and in the same teams, for he gave them a minimum of instruction before dismissing them to pick.
Then he showed Killashandra into the processing plant and explained the works succinctly.
Each of the teams worked a different fruit, he told her.The secret of good harmat lay in the careful proportions and the blending of dead ripe fruit. There were as many blends of harmat as there were fish in the sea.His had made the Golden Dolphin famous; that's why so many Armaghans patronized his hostelry.No vapid, innocuous stuff came from his stills.Harmat took months to bring to perfection: the fruit he'd process today would be fermented for nine months and would not be offered for sale for six years.Then he took her below ground, to the cool dark storage area, deep in the permaform.He showed her the automatic alarms that would go off if the vicious digger roots of the jungle ever penetrated the permaform.He wore a bleeper on his belt at all times (he never did remove the belt, but it was made of a soft, tough fiber).He let her sample the brews, and it amused her that he would sip abstemiously while filling her cup full.Because she liked him and she learned about harmat from him, she gradually imitated drunk.
And Biyanco did indeed surprise her, sprier than she had ever thought him and elated with his success.She was glad for his sake and somewhat puzzled on her own account.He was adept enough that she ought to have enjoyed it, too.He had tried his damnedest to bring her to pitch but the frequency was wrong, as it had been with Tir, would have been with Orric, and this badly puzzled Killashandra.She ought not to have such trouble off-world.Was there crystal in her soul, after all?Was she too old to love?
While Biyanco slept, before the full lorries glided back to the clearing, she probed her patchy memory again and again, stopped each time by the Guild Master's cynical laugh.Damn the man!He was haunting her even on Armagh.He had no right to taint everything she touched, every association she tried to enjoy.She could remember, too, enough snatches to know that her previous break had been as disastrous.Probably other journeys, too.In the quiet cool dark of the sleeping room, Biyanco motionless with exhaustion beside her, Killashandra bleakly cursed Lars Dahl.Why was it she found so little fulfillment with other lovers?How could he have spoiled her for everyone else when she could barely remember him or his lovemaking?She had refused to stay with him, sure then of herself where she was completely unsure now.Crystal in her soul?
Experimentally, she ran her hand down her bare body, to the hard flesh of her thighs, the softness of her belly, her firm breasts.A woman never conceived once she had sang crystal.Small loss, she thought, and then, suddenly, wasn't sure.
Damn!Damn!Damn Lars Dahl.How could he have left her?What was rank to singing black crystal?They had been the most productive duo ever paired in the annals of the Heptite Guild. And he had given that up for power.What good did power do him now?It did her none whatsoever.Without him, black eluded her.
The sound of the returning lorries and the singing of the climbers roused Biyanco.He blinked at her, having forgotten in his sleeping that he had taken a woman again.With solemn courtesy, he thanked her for their intercourse and, having dressed, excused himself with grave ceremony.At least a man had found pleasure in her body, she thought.
She bathed, dressed, and joined him as the full fruit bins began spilling their colorful contents into the washing pool.Biyanco was seated at the controls, his nimble fingers darting here and there as he weighed each bin, computed the price, and awarded each chief his crew's chit.It was evidently a good pick, judging by the grins on every face, including Biyanco's.
As each lorry emptied, it swiveled around and joined the line on the tract-float that was also headed homeward.All were shortly in place, and the second part of the processing began.The climbers took themselves off under the shade of the encroaching jungle and ate their lunches.
Abruptly, noise pierced Killashandra's ears.She let out a scream, stifling a repetition against her hand but not soon enough to escape Biyanco's notice.The noise ceased.Trembling with relief, Killashandra looked around, astonished that no one else seemed affected by that appalling shriek.
"You are a crystal singer, then, aren't you?"Biyanco asked, steadying her as she rocked on her feet."I'm sorry.I wasn't sure you were, and I've not such good pitch myself that I'd hear if the drive crystals were off.Honest, or I'd have warned you."He was embarrassed and earnest.
"You should have them balanced," Killashandra replied angrily, and immediately apologized."What made you think I might be a crystal singer?"
Biyanco looked away from her now."Things I've heard."
"What have you heard?"
He looked at her then, his black eyes steady."That a crystal singer can sound notes that'll drive a man mad.That they lure men to them, seduce them, and then kidnap 'em away to Ballybran, and they never come back."
Killashandra smiled, a little weakly because her ears still ached."What made you think I wasn't?"
"Me!"He jabbed at his chest with a juice-stained finger."You slept with me!"
She reached out and touched his cheek gently."You are a good man, Biyanco, besides being the best brewman on Armagh.And I like you.But you should get those crystals balanced before they splinter on you."
Biyanco glanced over at the offending machinery and grimaced."The tuner's got a waiting-list as long as Murtagh River," he said."You look pale.How about a drink?Harmat'll help-oh, you are a witch," he added, chuckling as he realized that she could not have been as drunk as she had acted.Then a smile tugged his lips across his face."Oh-ho, you are a something, Killashandra of Ballybran.I should've spotted your phony drunk, and me a barman all these decades."He chuckled again."Well, harmat'll help your nerves."He clicked his fingers at one of the climber chiefs, and the boy scampered into the living quarters, returning with glasses and a flask of chilled harmat.
She drank eagerly, both hands on the glass because she was still shaky.The cool tartness was soothing, though, and she wordlessly held the glass out for a refill.Biyanco's eyes were kind and somewhat anxious.Somehow he could appreciate what unbalanced crystalline shrieks could do to sensitive nerves.
"You've not been harmed by it, have you?"
"No.No, Biyanco.We're tougher than that.It was the surprise.I wasn't expecting you to have crystal-driven equipment…"
He grinned slyly."We're not backward on Armagh, for all we're quiet and peaceful."He leaned back from her, regarding her with fresh interest."Is it true that crystal singers don't grow old?"
"There're disadvantages to that, my friend."
He raised his eyebrows in polite contradiction.But she only smiled as she steadily sipped the harmat until all trace of pain had eased.
"You told me you've only a certain time to process ripe fruit.If you'll let me take the tractor down the rails past the first turn-No…" She vetoed her own suggestion, arriving at an impulsive alternative."How long do you have left before the pick sours?"