The Emperor of Everything

Chapter 6

With the advent of full darkness, the barge lit up with millions of tiny lights. Beads of soft glowing color clustered thickly along every edge, and dusted every surface of the statues. It occurred to Ruiz that the barges would be a wonderful sight, seen from the canal-side. He wondered if anyone watched.

Nisa nestled into his shoulder. “I can hardly bring myself to believe in this,” she murmured. “And you? Are you sure this isn’t all some fever dream? Or perhaps we’ve fallen into one of those goblin tales that nannies tell to frighten bad children.”

“Do you think so?” he asked.

“Perhaps.”

“If this is a goblin tale, what must we do?”

“I was never bad,” she said, and laughed. “Well, once in a great while. Anyway, the hero always knows exactly what to do; he never bothers to ask the princess he rescues what she thinks he should do.”

Ruiz sighed. “I’m not a very satisfactory hero, then.”

“Oh, no,” she said, and touched his face. “You’re a fine hero.” She raised her mouth to his, kissed him gently. Her lips had a soft clinging quality, like ripe fragrant fruit, sticky with sweetness but somehow electric — his mouth tingled where she had kissed him.

It came to Ruiz that they now had more privacy than they had enjoyed in days. He kissed her again, more urgently, and felt her tongue flicker along his lips. He found that he was breathing hard, and his heart thumped.

She pushed him away, slowly, and he released her. Her eyes seemed a bit glazed, her lips were puffy. She looked at him for a long motionless moment, then, still looking into his eyes, she lay back on the bench.

He wondered if it was safe, to so distract himself. He decided he didn’t care, though some ancient scarred part of himself was horrified at this carelessness.

He touched her knee lightly with trembling fingers. Her face relaxed, and she turned her gaze up to the starlight. He pushed up her tunic, slowly, admiring the texture of her skin, the strong beautiful muscles of her thighs. He unfastened the garter that held her little knife and dropped it to the deck.

As his hands moved higher, she sighed and let her thighs fall open. He knelt beside her and kissed her knee, and then trailed kisses up the inside of her thigh, until she gasped and lifted her hips to meet his mouth.

A long time later she knelt on the bench, naked, clutching the railing, damp tendrils of hair tangled across her lovely back, head thrown back, moaning in time to his thrusts. His hands gripped her hip bones, and he looked down at the upside-down heart shape formed by her buttocks and slender waist, marveling at her beauty.

He increased the tempo of his movements and she bucked against him, her voice hoarse and ragged.

Just before they came for the last time that night, he looked up and saw the huge perfect face of the trailing barge. Perhaps it was only the delirium of the moment, but in that moment he had the overwhelming sensation that the face watched their coupling and that the eyes glowed with a strange intensity, as if it approved of the heat between Ruiz and Nisa. There was some great perversity in that gaze, but at the same time it seemed a fiercely erotic regard, and Ruiz surrendered to it, shuddering, pushing himself as deeply into Nisa’s body as he could, pouring himself into her in wave after wave of joy. She thrashed beneath him, cried out wordlessly, reached back to claw at his hips, to pull him deeper yet.

After, they lay on the bench together. Ruiz had pulled their discarded clothing over them, to hold in the heat they had generated, and then had given himself entirely to delightful sensation. He found an almost-suffocating pleasure in the tiny movements of her sweat-slick flesh against his. He was intensely aware of the subtleties of her body where it touched his: the softness of her breasts, the slightly different pressure of her nipples against his chest, the feathery touch of her hair, the coarser hair and the slippery warmth where she held his thigh between hers.

It came to him that something about her lovemaking had been different. The reserve he had sensed in her, that first time in the bathing pool — the reserve that seemed to define the act as a casual exchange of pleasure — was gone.

She had given herself without restraint. He wondered what had changed.

When finally they began to speak, at first it was of inconsequential things: the softness of the night air, the beauty of the stars as they slipped through the passing branches of the trees, the relaxing throb of the barge’s engines.

Nisa propped herself on her elbow and stroked his chest idly. “Did you know that women on Pharaoh bear children when they wish? Every month, when they’re done bleeding, they take a tea of dalafrea root — and then, until they bleed again, they may take pleasure without consequence. Do pangalac women do the same?”

Ruiz was unprepared for her question and spoke without thought. “They have other ways; so do pangalac men. But you needn’t worry, Nisa. When you were captured, the doctors gave you this.” He touched the skin at the back of her left arm, where a tiny contraceptive implant made a barely detectable bump.

She fingered the little hard spot curiously. “Ah,” she said in a voice of sad discovery. “To keep the slaves in salable condition?”

He nodded, sorry for his tactlessness. He pulled her closer and she made no resistance. “It’s easily removed,” he said. “Whenever you wish.”

A silence fell between them.

Finally she spoke again in a breathless whisper. “I’ve never asked you this, but I’ve wondered. Back in your pangalac worlds, is there a woman who wishes you were there? Would you rather be there with her?”

“No,” he answered. “No one.” He grinned. “I admit: I’d rather be there than here, but I wouldn’t wish to change companions.” It was true. He was going to have to stop wondering what was wrong with him.

He knew what was wrong with him. “No, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else,” he said. Even, he thought, if it means I’ll never get home.

“Oh,” she said, and somehow managed to feel even softer against him.

Long peaceful minutes slipped away.

He hovered in that pleasant interval between wakefulness and sleep until he heard Molnekh cry out.

“Ruiz Aw!”

He jerked upright, almost spilling Nisa to the deck.

Molnekh shouted his name again, but there was no overtone of panic to the skinny mage’s voice, so Ruiz took the time to dress before he went to the ladder. “Wait here,” he told Nisa, who was obviously still sleepy. She nodded, stretched entrancingly, and bent to gather her clothes.

Ruiz climbed down the ladder and trotted forward to the place where Molnekh and Dolmaero stood. He found them staring down at something on the deck.

When Ruiz looked, he was astonished to see a stainless-steel tray, bearing several glass flagons, two loaves of crusty bread, a wheel of cheese, a basket overflowing with small golden grapes, a small green porcelain vase with three red flowers. To one side was a stack of plastic cups and a dispenser full of paper napkins.

“Where did it come from?” Ruiz asked.

Dolmaero shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been getting up and walking about the barge — my legs get cramped. A few minutes ago, it wasn’t here. Now it is. I called Molnekh; he called you.”

Ruiz turned to Molnekh. “And Flomel?”

“Securely tied,” Molnekh said. “But recovering — his complaints are incessant. His head hurts, he’s sore all over, his dignity is fatally injured, he’s hungry.”

“Too bad,” said Ruiz absently. He looked again at the deck, could find no seams, no hatch through which the food might have appeared.

His own stomach rumbled, sending him an uncomfortable message. They were all hungry. Was the food safe? He picked up a flagon, unstoppered it, sniffed. Wine.

“This is what you must do,” he told Molnekh. “Take Flomel a flagon, bread and cheese, a handful of grapes. Tell him we’ve already eaten; does he want any? If he asks where the food came from, tell him I discovered a cache of picnic goodies on the upper deck and broke into it.”

Molnekh nodded. “He’ll believe it. And if he survives his meal?”

“We’ll all eat.”

They all ate, and the mysterious food did them no harm. Ruiz and Nisa again went to the upper deck, where Nisa leaned against the rail and watched the passing forest. Ruiz sat beside her and tried to puzzle out the meaning of their odd circumstances.

What were the possibilities? The simplest explanation — that they traveled with generous and benevolent hermits — seemed a farfetched absurdity. Why would hermits travel in such extravagant style? And if their habit was to provide free food, wine, and excursions to the general public, why were the barges not thronged with guests?

Were the barges simply traps of some sort, designed to capture the naive and footloose? Then they were remarkably ineffective, for such elaborate traps — as far as he could tell, the barges had caught only eight vagabonds, and five of those by the merest chance. Still, that explanation seemed most logical to him.

It occurred to him that he could test that theory by seeing if the barge would allow him to jump off. Not tonight — in the dark he’d find it difficult to avoid splattering himself on a tree trunk. Perhaps in the morning he could try.

Of course, if they came upon any sort of civilization, they would all debark, if that proved possible.

“Are you sleepy?” Nisa asked.

“A little,” he said, surprised to find it true.

“Then tonight, you sleep first, and I’ll watch.”

He turned and pressed his cheek against her elegant hip. “Yes,” he said.

To his vast surprise, he did sleep, deeply, lying on the bench with his head pillowed in Nisa’s lap.

He may even have dreamed, though from long habit, he immediately suppressed the impulse to remember his dream when Nisa shook him awake. He surged from sleep and sat up, shaking his head. Had it been a pleasant dream, for once? He would never know.

The light was gray and cold and the air had a fragile daybreak chill in it. Ruiz was astonished to find the night gone; he had never meant to sleep so long. He stood up, looked out at the passing forest.

Nisa shifted awkwardly, as though her muscles were sore. “I wanted to let you sleep a bit longer,” she said. “But I heard Dolmaero call.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing serious, I’d guess — he didn’t sound alarmed. Perhaps it’s breakfast.” She stretched, then rubbed her back and winced.

He touched her cheek. “You should have moved my head. You made a soft bed, but you shouldn’t have made yourself stiff for my comfort.”

She laughed and pushed his hand away playfully. “You made yourself stiff for my comfort,” she said. “I want to do what I can. How many things have you done for me? I’ve lost count. But what have I done for you?”

“Much,” he said, and meant it.

It was indeed breakfast — another tray sat on the deck. It held a plate heaped with still-hot muffins, a white bowl filled with pale blue hard-boiled eggs, jars of purple jelly and honey, a huge jug of some frothy pink juice.

Dolmaero stood beside it, looking vaguely triumphant. Molnekh looked ravenous.

“One mystery is solved,” announced Dolmaero.

“Oh?” said Ruiz.

Dolmaero pointed up at the statue’s belly. “It came from there. The metal opened, the tray descended — hung from a thin rod. The tray reached the deck, the rod withdrew, the metal was as before.”

“‘How’ is explained, but not ‘why,’” Molnekh pointed out. “But I’m not complaining. Who’d have thought such things could happen? For desperate fugitives, we’re doing well.”

“Possibly,” said Ruiz. “In any case, we might as well eat before the muffins get cold.” He picked up the tray. “Is Flomel well secured?”

“Of course,” answered Molnekh in injured tones. “I carry out your instructions meticulously.”

“In that case, let’s go to the upper deck, where the view is better, and we won’t have to listen to Flomel’s whining,” Ruiz said.

Corean cursed, and kicked at the remnants of Kroel’s head, an ill-considered action that left a stain on her armored foot and prompted a longer burst of invective. The cargo hold of her damaged airboat stank of death and burned insulation — and of the Mocrassar, who stood by the lock in a watchful posture.

Marmo floated forward on his repaired chassis and examined the hole in the engine compartment wall. “Vast luck,” he muttered darkly. “Have you considered the possibility that he’s just too lucky.”

“None of your foolish pirate superstitions, Marmo.” Corean turned a wrathful gaze on Marmo. “Instead, you might start formulating useful advice — since that’s what I pay you for.”

“Indeed.” But he said no more then.

She went to the lock and signaled to Fensh to bring the repair mech from the survey sled. She ordered the Moc to remove Kroel’s remains. As the great insectoid carried the body out, she shook her head violently. “He’s done me a great harm financially. Now the phoenix troupe is broken, and who knows if the boat is repairable.”

“On the other hand,” Marmo said, “you were going to smash the boat into the cliff, until he prevented you.”

She looked at Marmo thoughtfully, eyes cold. “Good of you to remind me, Marmo. I’m certainly glad I scraped you off the veldt, so that you could assist me in this manner.”

“Sorry,” he said in a subdued voice.

She nodded. “I’m going to give Fensh an hour to make an assessment. If he can repair the boat, I’ll leave him here with his brother. He can bring the boat when it’s ready; we may need the armament.”

“All Ruiz Aw has is the splinter gun and a few pigstickers.”

“Nevertheless. Now, since he may have contrived booby traps, you will explore the remainder of the boat. When it’s safe, call me.”

By the time they’d eaten their fill, the light was strong, and it had become apparent that the forest was changing. They saw occasional brushy clearings, and the trees were of more recent growth, as though the forest had been logged in the last hundred years or so.

“Look,” said Nisa. “Is it a road?”

“So it seems.” Ruiz studied the opening in the trees as it passed. A small landing abutted the canal. It lacked the ornamental features of the landing from which they had boarded the barge, but it was built of the same shiny pink granite. “Perhaps we should think about leaving — the road looks recently used. Maybe we’re near some town where we can get better transport.”

“Maybe not,” said Molnekh, rubbing his belly. “And I have no objection to the accommodations.”

“Oh?” Ruiz lifted his eyebrow. “Did you know that it’s the custom on many worlds to provide a condemned criminal with a fine meal just before his execution?”

“It goes differently on Pharaoh,” Molnekh said, but he looked shaken.

“Besides,” Ruiz continued. “Corean will understand that we have embarked on this voyage. She’ll catch up with us soon; before noon, if she’s clever enough to overfly the canal before she sets her sniffers on us.”

“She is not stupid,” said Dolmaero glumly.

“No.”

Ruiz considered that it might be time to see if disembarkation was possible. He rose, leaned over the rail, and looked ahead, hoping to see a fairly clear area for his experiment.

He was startled to see another landing drawing near, and even more startled to see a large group of people standing on the quayside. He pulled his head back, turned to tell the others, and felt the barge slow.

“What is it?” asked Dolmaero.

“I don’t know.” Ruiz had no idea what to do. Until they were threatened, it might be a bad idea to show hostility. “We’ll have to wait and see. I suppose.”

By now the others had seen the landing, and there were no more questions.

They slowed to a drift. The barge drew even with the landing and they looked down at the crowd. It seemed to be divided between a large number of old people shrouded in what appeared to be black mourning cloaks, and a smaller group of almost-naked youngsters wearing colorful wisps of silk. The old folks wore grim faces; the young ones seemed to be celebrating some happy event — but no one looked up at Ruiz.

The focus of the sorrow or felicitations appeared to be a young couple who stood together on the bank. They were beautiful, in an unformed youthful way; they were obviously the handsomest couple in the festive portion of the gathering. They wore identical expressions of resolute anticipation — though Ruiz thought he detected a good deal of anxiety beneath that surface. Otherwise, they were naked, except for beauty paint and hair ribbons.

The barge bearing Ruiz and his people slid past; then all the barges stopped. The boy and girl stepped aboard, and, holding hands, turned and waved to the crowd. The old folks watched them stonily; the others clapped and cheered.

The young couple disappeared behind the statue’s vast breasts.

The barges began moving again with a slight jerk, and the landing receded. Just before it disappeared behind them, Ruiz saw the old people begin to file away, and the young ones lie down on the grass in twos and threes.

Nisa colored and turned away. “How strange,” she said. “Why would they wish to do that so publicly?”

Ruiz shrugged. “Another mystery.” The whole spectacle had made him even more uneasy about their benefactors — it had the flavor of a decadent religious rite. Unsettling thoughts circulated through his mind. Were they captives of one of the numerous outlawed cults that infested Sook? Some of those practiced extremely unpleasant sacraments. It was, he thought, time to see if they could leave the barge.

He turned to the others. “If we can, we should try to leave. I’m going to see if I can jump off. If I succeed, follow.”

Molnekh frowned. “I’m not sure Flomel is that strong yet.”

Ruiz shrugged. “He can’t stay. Make sure he jumps quickly, one way or the other.”

“As you say, Ruiz Aw.”

“Be careful,” said Nisa, her expression solemn.

Ruiz led them to the lower deck, where Molnekh untied Flomel and prodded him to the waist of the barge. Flomel glared at Ruiz with equal amounts of hatred and fear, baring his teeth in a defiant grin.

Ruiz ignored him, stepped to the gunwale, gathered himself. Just before he threw himself outward, a bell-like voice sounded in his head. No, it said calmly.

He couldn’t arrest his movement completely, but the voice startled him sufficiently that he didn’t hit the barge’s containment field with as much force as he otherwise might have.

Still, the impact jarred the voice from his head. The field flared a brilliant yellow.

He rebounded to the deck, falling into a nearly unconscious heap.

The next instant he felt Flomel land on his back, punching at him. “Now’s our chance!” Flomel shrieked. “Help me kill him.”

Then Flomel’s weight disappeared. Ruiz rolled to his feet, and saw Flomel curled up against the figure’s knee, clutching his ribs, gasping.

Dolmaero was hopping up and down, holding his foot, grimacing with pain.

Ruiz grasped the situation quickly, though he was still dizzy from his encounter with the containment field. He nodded to Dolmaero. “Thanks, Guildmaster. There’s a trick to kicking villains.”

“So I see,” said Dolmaero, setting his foot down gingerly and wincing.

“How is it?”

“Not broken, I think….”

“Good.”

Molnekh, looking somewhat less cheerful than usual, fastened the leash to Flomel, heaved him to his feet, and marched him back to the pit.

“Are you all right, Ruiz?” asked Nisa.

“More or less. But I’m afraid our cruise isn’t over.”