Hearing her say it excited him. He held her tight and forced his mouth against hers. They struggled. He heard his own voice saying, “Let me biwack you here, Insil, as I’ve always longed to do. You’re not really frigid. I know it. You’re really a whore, just a whore, and I want you.”
“You’re drunk, get away, get away. Toress Lahl is awaiting you.”
“I care nothing for her. You and I are meant for each other. That’s been the case ever since we were children. Let’s fulfill ourselves. You once promised me. Now’s the time, Insil, now!”
Her great eyes were close to his.
“You frighten me. What’s come over you? Let me be.”
“No, no, I don’t have to let you be now. Insil—Asperamanka is dead. The phagors killed him. We can be married now, anything, only let me have you, please, please!”
She wrenched herself away from him.
“He’s dead? Dead? No. It can’t be. Oh, the cur!” She started screaming and ran down the street, holding up her trailing skirt above the trodden snow.
Luterin followed in horror at her distress.
He tried to detain her but she said something which he at first could not understand. She was crying for a pipe of occhara.
The fish seller was, as she had said, at the end of the street. A short passage had been constructed beyond the original shop front, allowing passengers to enter without bringing the cold in with them. Above the door was a sign saying ODIM’S FINEST FISH.
Tliey entered a dim parlour where several men stood, warmly wrapped, all of them metamorphosed winter shapes. Seals and large fish hung on hooks. Smaller fish, crabs, and eels were bedded in ice on a counter. Luterin took little notice of his surroundings, so concerned was he for Insil, who was now almost hysterical.
But the men recognized her. “We know what she wants,” one said, grinning. He led her into a rear room.
One of the other men came forward and said, “I remember you, sir.”
He was youthful and had a vaguely foreign look about him.
“My name is Kenigg Odim,” he said. “I sailed with you on that journey from Koriantura to Rivenjk. I was just a lad then, but you may recollect my father, Eedap Odim.”
“Of course, of course,” said Luterin distractedly. “A dealer in something. Ivory, was it?”
“Porcelain, sir. My father still lives in Rivenjk, and organises supplies of good fish to come up here every week. It’s a paying business, and there’s no demand for porcelain these days. Life’s better down in Rivenjk, sir, I must say. Fine feelings is about as much good as fine porcelain up here.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s so.”
“We also do a trade in occhara, sir, if you would care for a free pipe. Your lady friend is a regular customer.”
“Yes, bring me a pipe, man, thank you, and what of a lady called Toress Lahl? Is she here?” “She’s expected.”
“All right.” He went through into the rear room. Insil Esikananzi was resting on a couch, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. She looked perfectly calm, and regarded Luterin without speaking.
He sat by her without a word, and presently the young Odim brought him a lighted pipe. He inhaled with pleasure and immediately felt a mood strangely compounded of resignation and determination steal over him. He felt he was equal to anything. He understood now Insil’s expanded irises, and held her hand.
“My husband is dead,” she announced. “Did you know that? Did I tell you what he did to me on our wedding night?”
“Insil, I’ve had enough confidences from you for one day. That episode in your life is over. We are still young. We can marry, can make one another happy or miserable, as the case may be.”
Wreathing herself in smoke, she said from the centre of it, “You are a fugitive. I need a home. I need care. I no longer need love. What I need is occhara. I want someone who can protect me. I want you to get Asperamanka back.”
“That’s impossible. He’s dead.”
“If you find it impossible, Luterin, then please be quiet and leave me to my thoughts. I am a widow. Widows never last long in winter…” He sat by her, sucking on the occhara, letting his thoughts die. “If you could also kill my father, the Keeper, this remote community could revert to nature. The Wheel would stop. The plague could come and go. The survivors would see the Weyr-Winter through.” “There will always be survivors. It’s a law of nature.” “My husband showed me the laws of nature, thank you. I do not wish for another husband.”
They fell silent. Young Odim entered and announced to Luterin that Toress Lahl awaited him in an upper room. He cursed and stumbled after the man up a rickety stair without a backward look at Insil, certain that she would remain where she was for some while.
Luterin was shown into a small cabin, before which a curtain did duty for a door. Inside, a bed served as the only furniture. Beside the bed stood Toress Lahl. He was astonished at her girth until he remem- bered that he was much the same size.
She had certainly grown older. There was grey in her hair, although she still dressed it as she had done ten years ago. Her cheeks were rough and florid with the abrasion of frost. Her eyes were heavier, although they lit as she smiled with recognition. In every way, she seemed unlike Insil, not least in the kind of calm stoicism with which she presented herself for his inspection.
She wore boots. Her dress was poor and patched. Unexpectedly, she removed her fur hat—whether in welcome or respect he could not tell.
He took a step towards her. She immediately came forward and embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I saw you yesterday. I was waiting outside the Wheel when they let you free. I called to you but you did not look my way.”
“It was so bright.” Still confused by the occhara, he could think of nothing to say. He wanted her to make jokes like Insil. When she did not, he asked, “Do you know Insil Esikananzi?”
“She has become a good friend of mine. We’ve supported each other in many ways. The years have been long, Luterin… What plans do you have?”
“Plans? The sun’s gone down.”
“For the future.”
“This innocent is again a fugitive… They may even try to blame me for Asperamanka’s death.” He sat down heavily on the bed.
“That man is dead? It’s a mercy…” She thought and then said, “If you can trust me, Luterin, I could take you to my little hideout.”
“I would only be a source of danger.”
“That’s not what our relationship is based on. I’m still yours, Luterin, if you will have me.” When he hesitated, she said pleadingly, “I need you, Luterin. You loved me once, I believe. What choices do you have here, surrounded by enemies?”
“There’s always defiance,” he said. He laughed.
They went down the narrow stairs together, taking care in the dark. At the bottom, Luterin looked into the rear room. To his surprise, the couch was empty and Insil had gone.
They bid good-bye to young Odim and made their way into the night.
In the gathering darkness, the Avernus passed overhead, making its swift transit of the sky. It was now a dead eye.
At last the splendid machine had run down. Its surveillance system was only partly functional. Many other systems—but not the vital ones—were still operational. Air still circulated. Cleaning machines still crawled through walkways. Here and there, computers still exchanged information. Coffee machines still regularly brought coffee to the boil.
Stabilisers kept the Earth Observation Station automatically on course. In the port departure lounge, a toilet regularly flushed itself, like a creature unable to suppress weeping fits.