SPIRIT WALKER

Chapter 9: Under the Cover of Darkness (part 2 of 2)

Well past midnight, dazed and hungry and not sure what to do, Wisteria found herself beside the Smilodon River. It flowed softly in the late summer, with barely a gurgle, and no sound of waves lapping the shore. The scent of night air and redwoods had crept down from the hills.

Her stomach cramped from hunger, and a chill had taken her. She'd never felt so desolate, so alone.

She was trying to make plans. She was completely destitute. She had an education, knew how to invest and make money, but she'd never had her father's keen mind for numbers, and now she didn't have so much as one silver penny.

That left manual labor. She'd never done a day's work in her life. The family's cook had bought their food and prepared it. A butler had attended the house. Pwi laborers did everything else.

Wisteria hardly knew how to sew a button.

Who would hire her?

She cast her mind about. There were logging and mining camps nearby. There were fishing boats. A few of the locals produced things—clay mugs, glasswares.

But most of the hard work was done by the Pwi, with their stout backs and strong arms.

She kept thinking of Scandal's inn. He might want a human serving girl to take care of his human customers. With some diligent work, she might even learn how to cook.

But she didn't dare kid herself. She had no talent for cooking, at least none that she knew of. And most of Scandal's women worked upstairs, in the "bridal chambers."

I wouldn't be the first woman to make her living on her back, Wisteria thought. But she doubted that she had a talent even for that. Certainly she had no experience.

Still, there were wealthy people in town who might hire a human girl as a house servant. She glanced uphill, where the big stone houses sat, brooding and monolithic.

At the door of Mayor Garamon Goodman, she was startled to see movement. A candle sputtered in the window to the front room, and a shadowy figure knocked at the door. It cracked, a man entered halfway, spoke quickly, and then crept out.

The mayor himself stepped out afterward, breathed the fresh air, and gazed up at the moons thoughtfully. Thor had risen. She could see the mayor well, the gold chain to his watch gleaming. Then he stepped back into the house.

It was far too late to be keeping company. There had been protectiveness in the mayor's voice when he'd stopped her from trying to save her father, a hint that they were allies fighting a common foe.

Garamon had helped her father arrange Javan's sale. He was in this slavery business as deep as anyone.

Suddenly, Wisteria realized that there was another way to make a living—a darker way, one that she had never considered.

She felt angry, hurt, alone. More than anything, she felt helpless right now. She wanted to strike back at the world, hurt someone.

Almost without thinking, Wisteria ran to Garamon's door and rapped softly.

The mayor jerked the door open. "Again? What—?" he whispered savagely. His beard and breath smelled wet with beer, and he wore a dark cotton robe.

He stood a moment, studying her, and his eyes slowly focused. His sudden silence made it obvious he had not expected her. "What do you want?" Garamon asked softly, as if unwilling to wake his wife and children.

Wisteria did not know how to answer, and then she did, "Vengeance."

The mayor watched her for a long moment, gauging her. Then he licked his lips. "Vengeance," he breathed, "can be had in many ways."

"I want the blue man dead," Wisteria said evenly "I want to watch the Tech family—all of them—stuffed in the hold of a Craal slave ship, and I want to laugh as I watch."

The mayor chuckled. "Ayaah, you've more spunk than your father ever had, but I'm afraid you've lost the family coins. Aren't you afraid of me? You with nothing to offer, no one to care for you? If I were a slaver, I'd say, 'She's worth piss in this town. If she got knocked in the head and took a piggyback ride in a sack tonight, who'd miss her?'"

Wisteria studied him. She had nothing to give. She was a beggar. Yet . . . a week before she'd noticed that Garamon could not conceal the lust in his eyes as he watched the young Pwi women down by the river, as they bent to do their washing. He's like a dog that way, she thought, always sniffing at the source of joy. So little self control.

Hadn't her father told her that her body could be a great asset? She opened a button on her blouse, revealing the curve of her breasts, and asked, "A little vengeance. What could it cost?"

The mayor's jaw dropped, and he wetted his lips with his tongue. She met his eyes, challenging him. He stepped out the door, and closed it quietly behind him.

"This way," he hissed, taking her by the hand and leading her behind the house to a narrow path. There were rosebushes and trees here, dark vines.

The path was filled with shadows, and here they would be invisible to prying eyes.

Wisteria did not care if they were caught. The path wended its way several hundred yards among grape arbors and trees, always only a few feet behind the nearest house, until Garamon stopped at his family's cloth shop, then fumbled in a bush by the back door as he looked for a key.

When they were in, he tossed a bolt of cotton on the floor and stood panting a moment, just watching Wisteria.

"Well?" he said, waiting for her to move

"Then you will do it?" she asked. "You will kill Phylomon? You will sell the Techs into slavery?"

"Ayaah," Garamon said, "I've been thinking on it all night."

"And what guarantee do I have?"

"My word of honor," Garamon answered.

"And what is the price?" she asked.

"You'll be mine," Garamon answered, his voice husky with lust. "Whenever I want you."

"I'll be yours, for one year after the deed," Wisteria offered. "After that, my life is mine."

Garamon watched her. "Agreed," he said. "But I'll have you now, to see what I'm getting."

Wisteria pulled off her sandals, wiggled out of her skirt. Garamon watched her. When she stood naked, he reached for her, and his breathing came deep and slow.