The drawback to this particular technique, he thought, was that the hook couldn’t be tested in advance. Once Ruiz managed to hang the hook on the top of the wall, he’d have to go up the rope to retrieve it.
So it was time to decide. Should he go immediately, escaping into the unknown territory of the compound, or should he remain in the paddock awhile longer, mending his strength? Complicating the decision was Ruiz’s completely impractical urge to see Nisa again, though there was nothing he could do for her that wouldn’t jeopardize the job he’d been hired to do, to say nothing of his life. He could not even give her a merciful death without accepting certain exposure. She was a valuable part of the troupe; Corean would take a dangerous interest in any harm that befell Nisa.
When Ruiz considered it, however, it did seem strange that the slaver had shown so little interest in the source of Casmin’s injuries. And why had she allowed Nisa, a valuable item, to be penned in the paddock, ill and vulnerable to superstitious peasants? Ruiz could make no useful inferences, so he took a deep breath, shook his head, and put all thought of Nisa from him.
On the day that Ruiz completed the hook, Flomel came again, late in the afternoon. Ruiz was in the house of the casteless, adding to the length of his rope and inspecting it for weaknesses. He heard voices in the square, and he went cautiously to the door.
Flomel stood in the middle of the square, conversing with Dolmaero and the other guild elders. Two Pung guards stood by, their bodies expressing patient boredom. Ruiz could just barely hear what was being said.
“But how will they bring it?” Dolmaero spoke, puzzled, and he gestured in the direction of the small personnel lock.
Flomel pointed overhead with a theatrical flourish. “Look,” he said. “See the beams, those silvery threads? The Lady’s minions will hang the stage from those beams and float it down into our practice quarters. Don’t ask me how. There’s a lot about these folk that none of us understands.”
You could say that, Ruiz thought, with a certain vengeful relish.
Dolmaero looked diplomatically dubious. “As you say, Master Flomel. And when will Masters Kroel and Molnekh join us?”
“Very soon, very soon. Now, I anticipate a problem with the girl. In Bidderum she was magnificent, but then she was an Expiant, no? Naltrehset, we’ll have to rely heavily on your philters to make her amenable, but to an extent she must cooperate willingly. Dolmaero, you worked most closely with her before. Have you any suggestions?”
Ruiz became even more intensely interested in the conversation. To Ruiz’s eye, Dolmaero seemed to sink slightly into himself. “Nothing comes to me at the moment, Master,” Dolmaero said, looking aside.
A man with pinched features and a subservient whine spoke up. “Master,” he said, “what of the casteless one, the one that protected her from Casmin?”
“What is this?” Flomel asked, his narrow face darkening. “Who is this casteless one, and why was it necessary to protect the phoenix? Who wanted to harm her?”
Dolmaero answered. “Before we knew you were safe, Master, before we understood anything of our situation, the elders decided, by guild ballot, that the survival of the phoenix was unnatural and possibly an affront to the gods.” Here Dolmaero paused, looking uncomfortable. All eyes turned toward the house of the casteless, where Ruiz hid. Reluctantly Dolmaero continued. “The casteless one, Wuhiya by name, a snake oil seller by profession, he cared for her, since she was mistakenly lodged in the house of the casteless. No doubt he recognized her value. At any rate, I sent Casmin in to fetch her out for judgment, and Casmin — you know how he was — Casmin attacked Wuhiya. Wuhiya defended himself. You saw the result.”
Flomel rubbed his chin. “I should be pleased, I suppose. The girl is far more important to the troupe than Casmin was, though I’ll miss his rough-and-ready humor. Had you restrained your religious impulses, none of this would have happened.” Then Flomel’s eyes widened, and rage suffused his features. “Wait,” he said thickly. “Is this Wuhiya the same oil-sucking wretch who threw himself onto the apron at Bidderum, spoiling the finale?”
Flomel started for the house of the casteless, his long fingers crooking into claws. “Is he the one?” Flomel shouted.
Dolmaero hurried after Flomel. “Wait, Master. Do nothing rash, I beg you.” He caught up with Flomel at the doorway, where Flomel had paused, staring past the fluttering insect-guards into the darkness inside. Ruiz Aw, meanwhile, was pressed against the wall, out of sight, wondering what he could do if Flomel attacked him or denounced him to the guards. They might not take Flomel’s accusations seriously; on the other hand, they might take Ruiz before Corean, where Ruiz would be hard-pressed to explain his eccentric behavior. But Flomel stopped, his breath whistling between his clenched teeth.
“Come out, dust rat,” Flomel hissed. “Come out and be rewarded.”
Ruiz made no sound.
Dolmaero reasoned with the conjuror. “Master, you can’t think to sully yourself with this one’s worthless blood. Besides, look what happened to Casmin.”
Ruiz heard nothing for a few seconds.
Then Dolmaero continued. “Listen, I have an idea. The phoenix is obviously attached to this Wuhiya. He nursed her, he saved her from Casmin’s cord, and they were observed in passion at the bathhouse.”
Flomel gasped. “You joke, Dolmaero! She’s a princess, or was before she became an Expiant.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true. Master. I don’t know the reason; it seems incomprehensible to me, too… but what doesn’t, these days? At any rate, we can use her regard for the wretch to secure her cooperation in the play.”
Flomel seemed to be considering. At last he said, in calmer tones, “You’ve given me good counsel once again, Guildmaster. I’ll petition the Lady for a more effective coercer. Perhaps she will loan me the great bug. Just the sight of that one should frighten her into helpfulness, and if not, we’ll pluck fingers from the oil peddler until she takes the point.”
Then the voices moved away, discussing the logistics of the rehearsals, supplies to be requisitioned, the choice of material to be performed, the changes required in the stage. Ruiz’s thoughts ran cool and distant, and he could feel the death net tug at him, a warning tension. He sagged against the wall. Just when the situation seemed worst, it deteriorated again.
Flomel was gone by the time the evening meal arrived. Ruiz took his dinner to his accustomed spot. To his surprise, Dolmaero joined him.
“Well, friend Wuhiya,” Dolmaero said, “I must apologize to you again. You heard?”
“Yes. Flomel’s a vindictive little fart, isn’t he?”
“He takes his art seriously; what more need be said? He’s a bad enemy. But I hope you’ll believe I was trying to do my best for you. I just couldn’t think of anything better.”
Ruiz looked at Dolmaero, appraising. Ruiz’s profession was one that bred cynicism, but in Dolmaero’s broad face, Ruiz saw only concern and weariness.
“I believe you,” Ruiz said. He seemed to concentrate on his meal, but he was thinking about the night ahead.
Chapter 19
When the Pung took her away, Nisa still felt a certain pleasurable lassitude, and so she was slow to fear. The monsters were gentle, and that seemed so incongruous that she walked between them to the personnel lock without thought of escape.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked the monsters, when she finally found her voice. But they were silent, though the one on her right showed a mouthful of needle teeth. Was it a smile meant to reassure her?