'Ah,' she said, easing her knickers out from under her hips and pulling them all the way down.
Nish worked on his belt buckle, which did not want to come undone. She helped him with it, and the trousers, easing them down. They touched, skin to skin, and he wanted to hug her, to touch, to cling, but Mira was impatient now. Sliding her arms around his back, she pulled him down on her.
'Cham,' she said, squeezing him tightly. 'Ah, Cham. Now, now.'
Nish went still in her arms and his desire vanished. She was thinking of her dead partner, not him. His first urge was to tear himself away, but that might hurt her more. Should he pretend he had heard nothing?
He pressed himself against her. She spread her thighs, guiding him, but as soon as he touched her there she cried out 'No! You're dead, Cham!'
Nish reared back, not knowing whether to try to calm her or quietly disappear.
'Dead!' she screamed at the top of her voice. 'You're dead, Cham. Get off! No, no, no!'
Down the corridor people began shouting and yelling. Feet thumped along the hall. Nish shook his head, trying to clear the wine away. What would happen when they found him with his trousers around his ankles and Mira naked on the floor, screaming her lungs out? They'd put a rope around his neck and heave him up over the branch of the nearest tree, and nothing he could say would make any difference.
Nish jerked his pants up and hurled himself out the open window just as the servants burst in through the door. Three jumps and he was off the edge of the veranda and pelting for his life down the grassy slope toward the river.
F ORTY-ONE
Why did it always have to end with him running for his life? Nish darted along the river edge. It was not far to the rope bridge but he did not see how he was going to get across it. A guard stood at the foot, staring towards the house, and the end of the bridge was well lit. The fellow could summon more guards in an instant. Besides, Nish did not want to compound his crime by attacking anyone.
On the other hand, the island was not a prison. They had boats. He scurried along the shore, crouched low, for cropped grass ran all the way to the river and there was nowhere to hide.
Nish found no boat. Presumably they were in the boatshed. He dared not try to get one out, for lanterns were bobbing all around the house. He slid into the deep shadow between the boatshed and the river, making his way toward the piles of timber on the other side. The river was fast and cold; even a good swimmer might have trouble in the dark. Nish was not a good swimmer and could not possibly survive. Nor could he remain on the island. He would have to find a float.
Someone pounded down the path. No time to waste. Nish lifted the uppermost beam off the pile, staggered to the water with it and slid it in. It went down like a rock.
He cursed. The timber must still be green. He tried several other pieces but they were just as heavy. He felt around. Another stack seemed to be of older material but they were only small pieces.
At least a dozen people were running along the shore with lanterns and what looked like cudgels. Even if they did not kill him, the least he'd get away with would be a sound thrashing.
Well, he'd done what Troist had asked him to do. Nish hefted the largest piece of wood, only the length and width of his torso, clutched it in his arms and slid into the water. It was damned cold.
Kicking away from the bank, he was caught by the current and whirled out into midstream. The timber floated but it was too small for him to climb onto. Nish put his weight on it, it went under and bobbed up again, overturning him. He panicked and sucked water up his nose. Trying to turn over, he went face-down and a squirt rushed down his windpipe.
Nish managed to choke most of it out. He thrashed his legs, desperate to keep on top of the water. Panic was driving him now, but he was tiring rapidly.
'There he is! Bloody fool's in the water.'
'Get the boats.'
Terrified of being caught, he slid under until just his nose and eyes showed. People were running along the shore, holding up lanterns on poles. The current whipped him downstream. Nish discovered that it was easier to keep his head above water when the rest of his body was below it. The piece of wood, held high on his chest, provided plenty of buoyancy. He drew his head down and allowed the water to take him.
The shouts died away, the lights fell behind. They would be lucky to find him now. The water was so cold that it hurt his fingers and toes, and there were rapids downstream. He had to get out, and quickly.
Turning on his back, he kicked toward the other side. This proved ineffective because of his boots, but as he swept around a bend the accelerating current pushed him against the bank. It was a wall of earth with nothing to catch hold of. As the river straightened he kicked hard, just managing to push himself out of the stream into slack water.
Roots stuck out of the bank here. His trailing hand touched one after another but he could not get a grip. Then his shirt caught on a thicker one. Nish let go of his float and grabbed the root.
It was hard to see, the moon being behind clouds. Nish pulled himself up on the root, a good, sturdy one, and felt around for another handhold. There was none. How far was it to the top of the bank? If further than he could reach he was sunk, literally, because his float was gone. In the dark he could not tell, and dared not stand up lest he overbalance.
Nish clung there, shivering. if he got out, what was he to do? It must be a league back to the horses from here and they would be waiting for him. He would have to keep going on foot and trust to his wits.
A pity he had not used them last night, but it was too late for regrets. Nish felt through his pockets. He had nothing but the papers Troist had given him, doubtless sodden and falling to pieces, and the bag of coin. Neither would be any use to him in the forest. He would have traded all the money for a knife or a piece of flint to start a fire with.
The moon came out and Nish discovered that the top of the bank was not far above his head. If he stood up on the root he should be able to reach it. As soon as he did, the root bent under his weight, but he managed to hook his fingers into the springy turf. He dug his toes into the bank and strained, afraid the earth would collapse on him. Dirt crumbled into his eyes but the bank held. He got one leg up and over, the other followed it and he lay gasping on the turf.
When he had his breath back, Nish emptied the water from his boots, wrung his socks out and put them on again, and squelched off into the forest, setting his course by the moon, roughly south. He was not going anywhere in particular, just away from Morgadis. Daylight found him in the same hilly country, the same dense forest. His belly rumbled but he could find nothing that looked edible. Nish found a hole in the base of a tree, checked that there was no venomous creature inside and curled up on the floor.
Two days later he was still walking, slowly now. It was too early in the season for fruit, nuts or seeds. There could have been all kinds of roots and tubers here but he had no idea how to find them, or which ones were edible and which poisonous. He saw animals and birds all the time but hurled sticks and stones to no avail. His attempts at traps and snares were equally unsuccessful.
Another day went by. Nish could think of nothing but food. He tried some strands of green algae growing in a pond by a creek. It was slimy, tasteless and seemed to have no nutrition in it at all, for he felt just as faint when his belly was full of the stuff.
He was sitting by the creek with his back to a tree, wondering if there were any fish or crustaceans in the water, when he saw a bee emerge from a hole in the trunk of a neighbouring tree. Another followed it, and a third.
He climbed up the knobbed trunk and looked in. It was a hive, thickly clustered with bees. They could be rendered docile by smoke but he'd already failed to strike a single spark from the only iron object he had, his belt buckle. Driven by his flabby stomach, he broke the end off a branch and bashed it with a rock until he had a chisel-shaped point.