“Are you.” Herne wiped his mouth. “What about you, are you gonna go back, let them bust you off the force, throw you in prison for this? No. Hell, no, you’ll probably plead insanity: A crime of passion — you did it for love. Love — love is a disease!” His hand trembled around the bottle neck.
Death to love a sibyl… death not to. Gundhalinu let himself cough, postponing the need to answer. What am I going to do? I don’t know. The future opened like an infinite sea. “Ask me tomorrow…” He glanced toward the doorway as someone entered the room — Persipone, and a second figure cloaked and hooded.
Persipone moved aside to let the other step forward, drew the hood carefully back from her face.
“Moon?” Gundhalinu got to his knees, pulled himself up the wall, staring. Moon stood before him, her face subtly altered by cosmetic art — not painted with the tasteless gaud of Persipone’s, but heightened to a luminous, mother-of-pearl beauty that blinded his memory of the plain-pale, open face of an outback native girl. Her up swept hair was caught in a net of silver braids interwoven with golden beads, convolutions his eyes couldn’t follow. Tor pulled the cloak from her shoulders, revealing a honey-hued gown that flowed along her body like a field of wind-rippled grasses, that clung to her everywhere without seeming to, falling away from a bodice of ivory lace melting sensually against her skin. A collar of opalescent beadwork hid the secret sign at her throat.
BZ stood speechless, watched her radiance shine as she absorbed his admiration.
“BZ, I feel like a fool.” She shook her head; but she brightened still.
“My lady—” Like a star lord of the Empire he took her hand, bent above it, touched it briefly to his forehead. And every centimeter a queen. “To thee would I gladly kneel.” Moon smiled freely, not understanding — her own smile, and not Arienrhod’s.
“What do you think, Herne?” Persipone beamed, carrying Moon’s nomad tunic under her arm. “Will she pass?”
“Did you do that to her?” Herne asked.
She twitched a shoulder modestly. “Well… Pollux gave me a hand. He’s got good taste, for a machine.”
“Arienrhod doesn’t like that color.” Herne set the bottle on the floor. “But she’ll pass… Gods, yes — she’ll pass! Come here, I’ Your Majesty.” He held out his hands.
l.f
Gundhalinu frowned, kept his own hold on Moon’s hand, felt her grip tighten as she looked back at Herne. “Don’t call her that,” warning.
“She’d better get used to it. I won’t hurt you, damn it! I won’t even touch you.” Herne let his hands drop. “Just let me look at you awhile.”
Moon let go of Gundhalinu, went to stand before him. She turned slowly, uncertain of her skirts, but no longer uncertain under his gaze. He devoured her with his eyes, consumed her, but she stood with patient dignity, without censure; allowing, not enduring. Gundhalinu watched her watch Herne through the endless moment, his own feelings un analyzable He tensed as Herne pushed himself abruptly to his feet, swaying… stayed where he was, as Herne dropped clumsily, jarringly, onto one knee before Moon. “Arienrhod .” He murmured something, inaudible to any ears but hers. Gundhalinu glanced at Persipone; her flower-lidded eyes widened, answering his amazement with her own. She made a crazy-sign in the air, shook her head.
“I know, Starbuck…” Moon nodded, hiding pity. She helped Herne up onto the bed again with an un queenly hoist.
Herne glanced away from her, suddenly remembering that he had an audience; let his face harden over again. “Your mistake, Dawn treader… when I was down you should have kicked me. Arienrhod hates losers.” He leaned on the rowel led word with masochistic pleasure. “Now listen good, while I tell you the rest.”
“You still mean to help her try this?” Gundhalinu said, indignant.
Herne smiled cryptically. “ ‘The prey is safest at the hunter’s door.’ You ought to know that, Blue.”
Moon turned back, caught between expressions. Or is it just that you’re afraid to refuse her? Gundhalinu sighed; it hurt his chest. “Then it’ll be because I’m the doorkeeper.” Moon smiled, and was all that he could see.
40
“Oh, my aching back!” Tor stretched to her limits in the privacy of the casino’s storeroom. The words rebounded from the exposed walls; the room was almost empty of supplies, and the patrons were doing their best to finish the job. “Come on, Pollux, get this last container of tlaloc out front for me before their tongues turn black.” She yawned, hearing the crack of her jaw echo inside her head. Empty? “Lost my mind at last.”
“Whatever you say, Tor.” Pollux moved stolidly across the room, following her point like a faithful hound.
She giggled, giddy with exhaustion. “I swear you do that on purpose! Don’t you? You can tell me—”
“Whatever you say, Tor.” Pollux connected with the crate.
Her mouth fell, her emotions avalanched from the heights. “Oh, hell, Polly… what am I going to do without you? I’m really going to miss you, you greasy hunk of junk.” She straightened her wig. “There’s only two things Oyarzabal can do for me that you can’t, and once I get off this rock it’ll be down to one — and I can get that from any man. No wonder he’s jealous.” She laughed glumly. Oyarzabal had told her that she would become his wife only if she agreed to get rid of Pollux first. She had agreed, and felt another link soldered onto the chain he was forging to turn her into his slave. He wants what I am… so why does he try to change it? She pushed her wig crooked, straightened it again. “Damn it, who’s going to keep me neat, anyway? Hauling crates and turning Summer fish-eaters into queens — all in a day’s work for you, isn’t it? Don’t you ever wonder about yourself, Pollux? Can you really do all that and not ask yourself how, or why?” She trailed him back across the room. “Or whether the kid’s going to save her lover from the Queen, or whether she’s crazy to want a crud like Sparks Dawntreader at all?”
His faceless head regarded her with imitation attention, but he said nothing.
“Aagh—” She shook a hand at him. “I really must be sold out of brains. You don’t even know I’m here; how’re you going to give a damn when I’m not? So why should I worry?” She kicked an empty carton spitefully out of their path. “When you finish with this, come back and get the last barrel of that fermented sap, and hook it up for Herne.” For Starbuck. Old Starbuck, and New Starbuck; I know them both. And the Queen’s twin. Thank the gods I’m leaving Carbuncle soon — before I meet myself walking backwards.
She reached the doorway, heard voices drifting out of the room across the hall, the one with a door that was unobtrusively as secure as the vault of the Bank of Newhaven; the one she had never seen unlocked before. But just — now its seals were green, it stood unguarded and ever so slightly ajar, and she recognized one of the voices from behind it as Oyarzabal’s. Pollux clanked away down the hall toward the casino, oblivious, but she crossed to the door impulsively and pushed it open.
Half a dozen heads turned to look at her, all male, all off worlders Three she recognized immediately as the Source’s lieutenants; Oyarzabal came toward her, annoyance and subtle panic showing in every move.
“I told you to secure that door!” one of the strangers said murderously.
“It’s all right — she runs the place, she knows everything,” Oyarzabal called back. “What the hell are you doing here?” whispered.
She threw her arms around his neck, smothered his protests under a wet kiss. “I’m hungry for my man, that’s all.” And if it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a locked door.
“Hell, Persipone!” He pulled away. “Not now! We got a big job to take care of for the Source here in the city. Later I—”
“Something for the Queen?”