"You did them just last week," she reminded him. "We were fine right up until the tax-collector came with that tax on private schools. We would have it, if it hadn't been for that. If only I had time to think of something!"
But there was no time. One of the hired guards came to the room with word that Hypolyta's manservant was at the gate. There could be doubt of what he wanted.
Xylina's options had abruptly run out.
• Chapter 8
It was, as she expected, the same manservant as before. She had him brought to her office, a tiny cubicle just off the kitchen. Windowless, it held only her desk and chair, and the storage chest for important documents. All three had been built by her own hands. While the construction was inelegant, she felt it hardly mattered. When she needed to impress someone, she covered them in rich swaths of her own conjured fabric. The chest then served as a bench-seat. But she did not want to impress this slave with her prosperity; she wanted to impress him with the fact that she was doing her very best to meet the debt and the deadline.
Faro ushered the manservant into her office, then stood beside the door. "Lady Xylina," the slave said, bowing. "If you would be so kind-I should like to speak with you about the matter of the first payment upon your debt." He looked significantly at Faro with his strange, dark eyes. "Alone," he added.
She glanced over at Faro, who shrugged minutely. It would make very little difference whether she spoke to this slave alone or in Faro's company. After all, she simply did not have the money to give him. However, he might well have some influence with his mistress, and if she acceded to his request, they might be able to get a precious week or two of time. There were funds coming in and going out constantly; her normal cash flow would enable her to make up the difference, given that leeway.
She nodded, and Faro took this as a sign to depart. He carefully closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with Lady Hypolyta's graceful slave.
Whose demeanor suddenly changed.
The change was subtle, but suddenly there was nothing subservient in his posture or his expression. Instead, he stood a bit straighter, looking directly into her eyes, a hint of smile on his sensuous lips suggesting that they were not slave and slave-owner, but equals. His clothing no longer seemed to be the typical livery of a slave, but a quaint costume he had chosen to assume, and could just as readily put off.
"I know that you are in no position to make the stipulated payment upon your loan," he said without preamble. And before she could protest, he shook his head. "Do not trouble yourself to deny this. I have many sources of information, who have given me detailed accounts which very likely exactly match the ones before you now." He nodded at the closed account book beneath Xylina's hand. The rough linen covers seemed suddenly harsh, and the book felt inexplicably warm as her throat tightened.
"You have exactly thirty-five coronets deposited with the bank of Lady Eccolo," he continued boldly, as she paled. "You cannot redeem yourself. You know this, and so do I."
She did not know why a slave should speak so boldly, but she did not have the strength at that moment to challenge him. For indeed, what he said was only too true.
She felt the blood draining from her face with his every word, but bravely drew herself up and looked him straight in the eyes. "I have been levied unexpected taxes. The training school is doing well, and we expect to begin training scribes as well as bodyguards soon. Faro's other abilities have been noticed, and the slaves he has trained are being very much admired. If I had a little more time-"
He shook his head, interrupting her. "All the time in the world will not help you. You have a very powerful enemy who will make certain that you cannot redeem yourself. It is in her interest to be certain that you fail."
"Who is it?" she cried, half in fear, and half in hope. Finally someone confirmed what she and Faro had only suspected! She did have an enemy, it was not simply a paranoid fantasy. "You must tell me!"
"I cannot tell you," he replied, and for a moment, anger rose in her. How dared a mere slave refuse to answer her question? A slave had no right to withhold anything from a citizen!
Then the anger collapsed, for this was no ordinary slave; that much was clear. And he was not subject to her orders. If his mistress had told him not to reveal something, Xylina could not countermand those orders. "It would do you no good in any case to know who it is," he continued. "But-that is not why I am here."
"Yes?" she prompted, hope rising with the words. Was he about to offer a solution to her dilemma?
"I came to tell you that there is another way that you can repay this debt. Your enemy is certain that you will forfeit, and face exile or prison. This is another way. A certain service to me." His eyes glowed strangely, and she had to forcibly pull her gaze away. His burning glance was nearly hypnotic.
"A service to your mistress. Lady Hypolyta, you mean," Xylina said faintly. What on earth could the woman want of her ? What could she possibly offer? Faro's services, perhaps? Could the lady want his potential as a sire? Was she not beyond the age for that? Perhaps not-perhaps she wanted him for her daughters. Certainly, as strong and clever as he was, he would breed strong and clever daughters, ideal Mazonites-if he would agree. How would she ever get him to agree? That sort of thing required cooperation!
"No," the man said boldly, destroying her train of thought and her growing embarrassment. "Not to the so-called Lady Hypolyta. To me. There is no Lady Hypolyta. She was and is a baker, hired by me to play a part, the part of your would-be benefactress. If you look upon those contracts, you will discover that the signature is not hers, but mine."
No Lady Hypolyta? Xylina had contracted with amale ? But that was not legally binding, and surely he must know that! Or did he think she was so ignorant she would not be aware of that? What was going on here?
"That's not possible," she said flatly. If he thought she was an unlearned young fool, he was about to learn otherwise. "No mere male can contract for anything outside the Freedman's Quarters, and his contracts can't be with a woman. No man can sign a contract that is legally binding on any Mazonite; he can only contract with his fellow freedmen. Everyone knows that."
"Ah," the man said, his mouth widening in a broad smile, showing strong white teeth. Vulpine teeth, she thought distractedly. They seemed-oddly sharp. "But you see," he continued delicately, "I am not a man."
At first Xylina could not understand what he had told her. Then she understood only too well. She shrank back a little in her chair, and stared at him, only now understanding the meaning of the strange eyes, the too-handsome face, the too-graceful body. And the sharp, sharp teeth. "You-you are a demon!" she gasped. "Monster!"
He bowed a little, a mocking parody of a slave's bow to his mistress. "Ware," he replied. "It is my name, Xylina. Things will be much more agreeable if you use it, rather than 'demon' or 'monster.' And I think if you will review the laws, you will find that a contract signed with a demon is quite as legally binding as any other between Mazonites. We are protected citizens, with most of the same rights that you enjoy. Save only that we may not challenge the Queen, nor disobey her wishes." He straightened, his smile mocking her. "We may hold property, for instance-the villa is mine, the slaves were mine, and this much was true, the money that bought the villa and slaves came from the sale of trained gardeners, who are also mine. We may contract with freedmen on behalf of Mazonite clients-how did you think commerce happened between your world and the Freedmen's Quarter? We supply certain comforts to the freedmen, for a price. We may make investments, and we may contract with Mazonites on our own behalf." He raised an eyebrow gracefully at her. "Surely you did not think that we lived on light and air and magic?"