Killashandra

Chapter 16

Teradia’s house was situated on one of the upper levels facing North Harbor, and as they hurried up the steep, zigzag stairs that linked the terraces, Killashandra saw that much of the debris occasioned by the hurricane had already been removed. Groups of young people were unhurriedly staking polly trees upright and replanting those young pollys which had been entirely uprooted. Others were pruning bushes or restoring bedding plants.

“Are there any snakes in this paradise?” Killashandra asked when they paused at the first level to let her catch her breath.

“Snakes? What are those?” Lars asked, humoring her.

“Normally, a long, slender, legless reptile – only I meant humans with unpleasant characteristics.” She made a weaving, sinuous gesture with her hand, and grimaced with distaste. “Surely the Elders make use of informers and spies.”

“Oh, they do. Most of whom report themselves to us and pass back such information as we want the Elders to have.” Lars grinned as his fingers caressed her arm. “It’s not naive of us; islanders stick together. The Elders can give us little that we lack – except the freedom to leave the planet. To be sure, not many of us would leave: it’s having the option to do so. And my father has a small detector so that people posing as tourists can be quickly identified. Father has a theory that only a certain type of personality is attracted to such an infamous occupation, and they often give themselves away. Strangely enough, by not singing!” He gave her a mischievous grin. “I was relieved to hear you singing lustily at the barbecue.”

“I nearly didn’t because, if I could recognize your tenor, you might have spotted me as that midnight soprano. So I sang alto. But, Lars, isn’t Nahia in jeopardy for being here? Someone might just slip up and mention her presence?”

Lars took her by the elbows and pulled her against him, unconcernedly stroking her hair. “Beloved Sunny, Nahia would be protected under any circumstances but, as it happens, only my father, you, and the people she came with, know she was on this island during the hurricane. Her party’s ocean jet has been secreted in another of the Back caves, unseen by anyone. It’s still there and won’t emerge until we’ve had a chance to jam the cruiser’s surveillance systems. Nahia and Hauness will use the islands to screen them from any possibility of detection when the cruiser takes you – all right, and me – back to the Mainland. Satisfied? I told you my father is efficient. He is.

“There will also be no one here tonight from Wing Harbor who might inadvertently remember the girl Lars Dahl had as his partner.”

“But – ”

“No one in Wing will feel slighted: they’re all too busy with storm damage. Every building on the waterfront collapsed. And Wingers avoid Elder inspection as they would a smacker school.”

Killashandra did feel relieved by his explanations. She was rather pleased, too, as she reviewed her confrontation with Torkes. Nor would she fail to be exceedingly cautious in the presence of any of the elders. Torkes would never forgive her for that tongue-lashing, and she knew that he would do everything he could to rank the others against her if a second confrontation was to occur. Still, she was glad she had launched her frontal assault on the fardling tyrant.

“We shan’t leave anything to chance, however, Sunny, Lars went on as they climbed to the last terrace level. “If sun-bleached hair and eyebrows alter your appearance enough to deceive an FSP agent – ”

“Corish was not expecting me to be on that beach, any more than you – ”

“Then Teradia can restore your beauty. With more sophisticated clothes, and that hauteur of yours, you’ll he every inch the crystal singer.” Lars halted, swinging her into his arms again. No one was in sight. “Will the impressively beautiful crystal singer still favor her island lover?” He smiled down at her, but tension caught at the corners of his grey-tinged eyes.

“Don’t tell me you – who braves hurricanes, Elders, and Masters – feared my ranting?” She soothed the creases from his eyes. “I assume a role, Lars Dahl, from some opera or other. I play no role with you, no matter under what circumstances. Believe me. Let’s not lose a moment of what we have together!”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him and the hunger they both felt made them tremble.

“How are we going to make out, Killa, on board that cruiser? And back on the Mainland?”

“Oh, citizen!” Killashandra laid her hand gracefully against her bosom. fluttering her eyes, as much to keep back the tears as to embellish her assumed character. “When I trust to you my safety, where else shall you be but with me, wherever I go, even in my bedchamber? And have you seen where they quartered me in the Conservatory? You’ll see, Lars. It will all be arranged my way!”

By then they had reached an establishment with a modest sign spelling out “Teradia” in graceful lettering. Teradia herself greeted them, a woman as tall as Lars, with a supple, willowy figure, and densely black hair very intricately braided. Her skin was olive and flawless, the pale green pupils of her eyes appeared luminous: she was a superb testimonial to her establishment.

“Olav Dahl wants the very best for you, Killashandra Ree, and I myself will see to your care.”

“I’ll supervise,” Lars interrupted. “The bleaching must be . . .”

With a quick movement, Teradia placed one hand across Lars’s chest and eased him away from Killashandra, a look of mild disdain on her elegant features. “My dear boy, clever you may be in some of the ways of pleasing a woman, but this is my art . . .” she began to draw Killashandra away with her, “and you will allow me to practice it. Come, Guildmember, this way.”

“Teradia, that’s not fair.” Lars pushed through the door in pursuit. “I’m Killashandra’s bodyguard – ”

“Here I guard her body, though from the look of her skin and hair, you’ve done a poor job – Sun-bleached, dry-skinned, waterlogged child.”

“Teradia!”

For the first time Killashandra had seen her lover rattled; she looked more keenly at Teradia. There was a twinkle in the woman’s eyes, though her expression did not soften at his exasperation.

“It is, of course, as the Guildmember wishes . . .”

“How do you do it, Teradia?”

“Do what?”

“Quell him.”

Teradia shrugged delicately. “It is easy. He has been reared to respect his elders.”

“What?” Killashandra peered more closely at Teradia’s face.

“She’s my grandmother,” Lars said with a disgusted growl

“My compliments, citizen,” Killashandra replied, trying not to laugh at Lars’s discomposure. “I shall have your artistry to support me this evening – ”

“And me!” Lars was emphatic.

So, under Lars’s eyes and occasionally with his help and company, Killashandra was soaped and bathed and massaged and oiled, and repairs to hair and nail accomplished, Killashandra fell asleep during the massage and later Lars fell asleep while Teradia tinted Killashandra’s hair and dyed her eyebrows dark again.

“It does make a considerable difference in your appearance,” Teradia said, surveying her handiwork. “I’m not certain which becomes you more,” she added thoughtfully. “You are a striking woman in either guise. Now,” she went on so briskly that Killashandra did not have to make any reply to this assessment, “we don’t have everything back from hurricane storage, but I know exactly where I put several unusual gowns that would suit your style and rank. Come this way, into the dressing room.”

Killashandra looked over her shoulder at the slumbering Lars.

“If he fell asleep in your presence, he is far more tired than he would ever admit, Killashandra Ree. We will leave him so until he is needed to escort you back to Olav Dahl.”

By the time Teradia had garbed Killashandra to her satisfaction, which had nothing, Killashandra realized, to do with her own, Lars had awakened. He executed a double take at the vision before him, presented a properly stunned expression before he began to smile then nod with approval.

“In there, “ Teradia said, flicking her fingers to direct him to another dressing room in the shop portion of her establishment. “We can’t have a shabby escort. Not that any will notice you.”

Killashandra began to frown, then the woman winked slowly and grinned. “That one is too sure of himself by half.”

“He’ll need it,” Killashandra said sadly.

“Oh?”

But before Killashandra could say anything more, an unclad Lars had stormed into the room, waving a heavily embroidered, tissue thin, blue shirt and equally thin blue trousers.

“If you think I’m parading about like a stud on sale! When did I ever have the need to display – ”

In one long stride Teradia reached the room, and scooped up a pair of blue briefs that had evidently fallen to the floor. She flourished them under his nose and then pushed him back into the room.

“Well, if that’s the case . . .”

Killashandra stifled her giggles.

“You only wanted to take the limelight . . .”

He poked his head around the door. “Not when I know Torkes’s proclivities. Then again,” he paused in the act of withdrawing his head, “he probably has the cruiser packed with his boys so I’m safer here than in City.”

“Who needs the bodyguard then?”

“Shall we have a mutual assistance pact? I read those were once very popular.”

“Done!”

Lars slammed open the door, strode across the room, and gathered her into her arms, beaming down at her. “If you spoil her dress or make-up . . .” Teradia’s mock anger subsided as she became aware of the atmosphere between them.

Lars ached to kiss Killashandra as badly as she wanted to have his lips on hers. He sighed deeply and let her go. “You look regal, Killashandra! But I think I liked you even better on the beach at Wing! Then you were mine alone to enjoy!” His voice was low, his words meant for her, his sentiment unhindered by his grandmother’s presence. “You have outdone yourself, Teradia.” He pulled the woman close, and kissed her cheek.

Killashandra felt relief that there would be another sane and well-adjusted person to help Lars when she had returned to Ballybran.

“Now we had better go, Killashandra. The cruiser will have docked!”

Killashandra thanked Teradia as warmly as she could, wishing that the woman did not dismiss so casually her genuine gratitude.

As they started to retrace their steps to the Harbor Master’s residence, Killashandra was instantly aware of an alteration in the ambiance. Far below the squat bulk of the cruiser jet did much to explain the change, looming as it did, gross and menacing, its white ovoid hull diminishing the graceful fishing vessels. The slanted superstructure, the little nodules of its armaments, and the sprouting whiskers of its communications and surveillance equipment added to its menacing presence.

Killashandra unconsciously hugged Lars’s arm. “That is a very deadly looking machine. Do they have many of those?”

“Enough!”

“Can Nahia and Hauness escape it?”

Lars chuckled, relieving his own tension and reducing hers. “The Yellowback is smaller and faster, highly maneuverable and could slip through reefs that would ram the cruiser. Once they’re away, they’re well away.”

Killashandra could see the coming and going on the ramp leading to Olav’s – people bearing tables, chairs, seating cushions, baskets of fruit, bowls of fruit, jars, several men staggering under loads of provender. Killashandra had been expecting another beach barbecue, with its pleasant informality. It had not occurred to her that there might be no beach at North Harbor, nor would the Elder have been entertained in the casual setting she had so much enjoyed at Wing. She groaned.

Lars squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”

She gave a gusty sigh. “State occasions! Formality! Scrapes and smiles and total boredom.”

Lars laughed. “You’ll be surprised. Pleasantly.”

“How will your father get away with it?”

Lars grinned at her. “You’ll see.”

What she first saw was the disposition of guards, lining the route up from the harbor, spaced neatly and stiffly about the Residence, and armed. She had seen very few stun rifles in her life but she could recognize them.

“What was he expecting? Civil war?”

“Elders usually travel with a considerable entourage. Especially in the islands. We are so aggressive, you see.” Lars spoke with deep sarcasm and she took in an anxious breath. “Oh, don’t worry, Killa. I’ll be circumspect. You’ll not even recognize me as your impetuous lover.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’ll expect a return of that lover as a reward for my evening with Torkes. And why is it Torkes? I thought he was in charge of Communications.”

Lars choked back a loud laugh, for they had neared the first sentry. “Elder Pedder is afflicted with motion sickness.”

The sentry who had been watching them approach from the corner of his eye suddenly pivoted, ported his weapon, and stared with impartial malevolence at them. “Who goes there?”

“The crystal singer, you fool,” Killashandra replied in a loud and disgusted tone. “With her bodyguard, Lars Dahl.” When Killashandra would have proceeded she was stopped by the weapon. “How dare you?” She darted forward, grasped the weapon by its muzzle, and levered it forcefully to the ground. The surprised young sailor panicked and relinquished his weapon. “How dare you threaten a crystal singer? How dare you threaten me?”

Killashandra was seized by a violent surge of real anger at the archaic and inane formality. She didn’t hear Lars trying to soothe her; she barged past two more sentries who came to assist their mate; she would have gone through the officer who came hurrying up the ramp, flanked by three additional guards on either side. She paused momentarily, seething at this additional obstacle. The officer had either encountered Elders in a tearing fit or he instantly recognized an elemental force. He barked an order, and the barricade suddenly became an escort which fell in behind the officer and Lars, who had managed to keep at Killashandra’s heels as the enraged crystal singer stormed forward to the Residence seeking the initiator of this additional affront.

Here Lars took the lead, adroitly indicating the way. She heard an exchange of urgent shouts. She had a confused vision of more guards snapping to attention, and another pair hastily opening the elaborately carved wooden doors – which despite her involvement in anger, she recognized as magnificent panels of polly wood. Then she was in the formal reception antechamber of the Residence, and she remembered thinking that the tip of this iceberg was the business end. She continued her angry progress right to the shallow tier of steps that led down to the main level. With an alert and wary expression, Olav was half way across the floor to greet her. Behind him Elder Torkes was seated on a high wooden chair, members of his staff standing about the room, conversing with several islanders.

Automatically, Killashandra gave the assembled one quick glance before she proceeded toward Torkes. “Did I spend weeks on a deserted island to be stopped and questioned by an armed minion? To have a weapon thrust in my face as if I were an enemy? I” – and Killashandra nearly bruised her breast bone as she thumped herself with rigid fingers – “I am the one who has been assaulted and abducted. I am the one who has been at jeopardy and you – ” Now she pointed an accusing finger at Torkes, who was regarding her in a state of shock. “You have been safe! Safe!”

Afterwards Lars told her that she had been magnificent, her eyes visibly emitting sparks, her manner so imposing that he had been breathless with astonishment. What operatic role had she been using?

“I wasn’t,” she’d replied with a rueful smile, for the effect of her dramatic entrance had more than satisfied her rage. “I’ve never been so angry in my life. A weapon? Pointed at me?”

Torkes heaved himself out of his chair, his expression that of a man confronting an unknown and dangerous entity and uncertain which course to take. “My dear Crystal Singer – ”

“I am not your dear anything.”

“Your experiences have unnerved you, Guildmember Ree. No aggression was intended against you, merely – ”

“ – Your wretched, suffocating need for protocol and an irrelevant show of aggression. I warn you” – and she waggled her finger at him again – “I warn you, you may expect the most severe retribution” – she caught herself; in her rage, she had been on the point of revealing too much to Elder Torkes – ”from my Guild, reparation for the callous and undignified way in which I have been treated.”

Torkes regarded her finger as if it were some sort of deadly weapon in itself. Before he could assemble a suitable reply Olav was at Killashandra’s elbow, offering a glass of amber liquid. “Guildmember, drink this . . .” His baritone voice, so soothing and conciliatory, penetrated her ranting. She knocked back the drink, and was rendered momentarily speechless. The shock of the potent beverage effectively restored her to discretion. “You are understandably overwrought, and have been needlessly upset, but you are safe here, now, I do assure you. Elder Torkes has already initiated the most thorough investigation of this terrible outrage and personally supervised your security here on Angel Island.”

Olav’s tactful reassurances gave her the time to regain use of her throat and vocal cords. Her throat was on fire, her stomach throbbing, and her eyes watered. Which seemed a good cue to develop. She allowed her tears to flow and reached weakly for Olav’s hand to support her. Instantly she felt Lars take her right arm, and the two men led her to the other elaborate chair in the chamber, seating her as if she were suddenly fragile.

“I am overset. Anyone would be, enduring what I have,” Killashandra said, using her sobbing to purge the last dregs of anger, for she estimated that she’d worked that pitch long enough. “All alone, on that wretched island, not knowing where I was, if I’d ever be rescued. And then the hurricane . . .”

A second glass was proffered. When she glared at Olav, he winked. Nevertheless, she sipped cautiously. Polly wine.

“Please accept my apologies, Elder Torkes, but that ridiculous weapon was the last straw.” Her voice died away but she managed to sound reasonably sincere. Then she smiled weakly at the nonplussed Elder, and fluttered her eyelashes at his attendants. They seemed afflicted by some sort of paralysis. It afforded Killashandra considerable satisfaction that she had managed to confound an entire Optherian crew. They had stood in great need of such a lesson. She relaxed into the cushioned back of the chair.

“There isn’t an islander in this Archipelago who would do you any injury, Guildmember,” Olav continued, now offering her a finely stitched handkerchief. “Especially after the news of your devoted nursing of the Bar Island injured. When I consider how unselfishly you volunteered to assist, and you only an hour away from being rescued, why, we are all in your debt.”

Shielding her face from Torkes with the handkerchief, Killashandra looked up at Olav. She blotted the last of the tears she could manage to squeeze out. She had received his message. She gave a sniff, then exhaled in a huge sigh.

“What else could I do? Their need was far greater than mine for I had suffered no real physical injury. It was excellent therapy,” and she managed that on a rush of breath, “for me to tend those less fortunate than I. And I do feel safe with you, Harbor Master, and with Captain Dahl!” She touched each man on the arm, favoring them with a tremulous smile. Lars managed to give her shoulder an admonitory pinch which, she felt, indicated that she had milked this scene for all it was worth. “I hope you didn’t encounter that ferocious storm on your way here, Elder Torkes?”

“Not at all, Guildmember. In fact,” Torkes cleared his throat nervously, “we didn’t set out until sure that the hurricane had dwindled. I ought to have listened to Mirbethan’s representations, Captain” – he turned to the senior officer behind him – “for she offered to accompany us, Guildmember, on the slim chance that we would discover you here.”

“How very kind of her.”

“She would have been an ideal companion to settle your nerves, Guildmember.”

“Yes, she was most considerate but, though I appreciate her willingness, I now insist on someone . . .” she waved a negligent hand in Lars’s direction, “who is capable of managing himself in difficulties. I have seen Captain Dahl in action, fighting to bring his ship close enough to take me off that island, and in dealing with high seas, and injured people.” And that should be the end of that notion. Had it been Mirbethan’s? Or Ampris’s? From whichever source, she’d not spend credit on it.

“If I may suggest it, Guildmember, would you be feeling recovered enough to dine now?” Olav asked, deftly changing the subject. “Or should Captain Dahl escort you to the quarters prepared for you here in the residence?”

“Why, yes,” Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and smiling graciously at Olav, “I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of my deplorable temper. I’m not usually so easily upset, citizens.” Now that the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olav’s hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was seated on Olav’s right at the beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of Torkes’s retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the diners’ ears.

The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly – fruit, pulp, and heart – was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder, boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish.

From the way in which Torkes’s officers filled their plates, and refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they weren’t used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair trencherman away from Elder Pentrom’s dietary regimen. He did not refuse the wine, either, though his two senior captains did.

When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded.

“Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl?”

“On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I don’t normally pass by for it’s a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset.”

“Do you have this islet marked on your charts?”

“Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately after dinner.” Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off as he had her? “As well as the entry in my log which verifies the position.”

“You keep a log?”

“Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of responsible seamanship.”

Farther down the table, an officer nodded his head in agreement. Torkes returned to his meal.

“What is this delicious fish, Harbor Master?” Killashandra asked, indicating the smacker.

“Ah, that is one of the island delicacies, Guildmember,” and Olav launched into an amusing description of the habits of the tropical behemoth and the dangers of capturing it. In his tale he managed to touch on the strength and bravery of smacker fishermen and their dedication to an unenviable task. Much of the smacker catch went to feed the Mainland.

With such innocuous tidbits and discourse, the meal finished. Immediately upon rising from the table, Elder Torkes told Lars Dahl that now was the time to show him the islet.

“We can call up the information right here,” Olav said, going to the elaborate sideboard of the dining room. One section of its flat surface immediately transformed to display a terminal while the island seascape above slid to one side exposing a large screen.

Killashandra, watching Torkes obliquely, saw him stiffen until Olav merely gestured for Lars Dahl to retrieve what documents he needed. Within a moment, a small-scale chart of the entire Archipelago dominated the screen. Lars tapped keys and the chart dissolved to a larger-scale one of Angel Island, then flowed left toward Bar Island, slightly upward, and in another adjustment, magnified the chosen islet, complete with its protecting reefs, quite isolated from other blobs of polly-treed islands.

“Here, Elder Torkes, is where I discovered the Guild-member. Fortunately, whoever abandoned her left her where there is a good fresh spring.” He now magnified the islet so that its topographical features were apparent.

“I’d a bit of a shelter on the height,” Killashandra said.

“Here,” Lars agreed and pointed.

“And mercifully I was high enough there to be out of reach of the hurricane tides – just barely – I fished in this lagoon, and swam, there, too, because the larger things couldn’t pass over the reef. But, as you can see, gentlemen, I could not even have swum to an occupied island for help!”

One of Torkes’s officers noted the longitude and latitude of the islet.

“Just thinking about it again distresses me.” Killashandra turned to Olav. “That was a magnificent dinner to he served so soon after a hurricane, Harbor Master. And it was such a pleasure, for me especially,” and she graciously gestured, “to have so much variety to choose from and enjoy. Now, I would like to retire.”

“Guildmember, there is much to discuss – ”

“We can discuss it just as easily in the morning, Elder Torkes. It has been a long and exhausting day for me, remember. We left Bar Island with the injured at dawn and it’s now midnight.” She turned from the Elder now to Olav. “I am quartered tonight in the Residence?”

“This way.” Olav and Lars immediately escorted her to the inner wall where a lift door slid aside. “Let me assure you that this is the only way into the living section of the Residence. This will be guarded well tonight.” He peremptorily gestured for thc guard to be posted.

“Elder Torkes, this is the first time that we have been privileged to entertain members of the Council,” Teradia said, her deep voice tinged with awe as she took Torkes’s arm and began to lead him back to the reception room.

Olav bowed over Killashandra’s hand, smiling as he came erect and gestured her into the lift. The door slid shut on Killashandra and Lars and, with an exaggerated sigh of relief, Killashandra leaned against him.

He made a quick sign with his hand, his eyes busy on the ceiling pane.

“I am totally exhausted, Captain Dahl.” So, Torkes had had the area monitored. That would make it exceedingly awkward for her and Lars.

The lift made a brief, noiseless descent and then the door slid open to a scene that caught her breath. The wide window gave onto moonlit harbor. An aureole of bright light illuminating the ancient stratovolcano as a second moon rose behind it. Of one accord, they stood for a long moment in appreciation of the beauty.

As Lars led her down to the short corridor toward two doors at its end, he glanced at the chrono on his wrist. Killashandra had time to notice the grin on his face before all the lights went off. Simultaneously she saw three short blue flashes, two along the corridor and a third one at the first door.

“What – ” she began in alarm, but then the lights came on and Lars took her in his arms.

“Now we’re safe!”

“You blew the monitors?”

“And his ship’s systems. Father’s got a way with electronics and . . .” he swung her into his arms and impatiently strode toward the first door, which slid open to their approach. “I’m about to have my way with you.”

Which, of course, was exactly what Killashandra had been hoping for.