A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [57]
Marka felt suddenly sick to her stomach.
“But if he shorts them, they’ll leave. They’re good enough to travel on their own.”
“I know. I thought maybe you might have a word with your father. You’ve still got a lot of influence with him.”
“If I say something, the cow will say the opposite, just to be mooing.”
“Marka!” But Keeta hesitated, her mouth twisting in a bitter recognition of the truth. “Maybe I’ll talk to him, then. I was stranded once, with another troupe, years ago now, but I remember it awfully well. Too well. I don’t—” She hesitated again. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that the barbarian?”
His face shaded by a floppy leather hat, the juggler was riding up to the camp on a beautiful—and expensive-looking—gray gelding. He dismounted just outside the circle of tents, stood looking round for a moment, then led his horse over to the fire pit while everyone else in camp strolled over to meet him. Marka felt her heart start pounding when he made them all a lazy bow, just because he was so lithe and graceful.
“Good morning, all,” he announced with a grin. “My name’s Salamander, and I was wondering if I could have a word with the head of your troupe. I might have a business proposition to lay before him.”
“Um, well, he’s still in his tent,” Keeta said. “Should be up anytime now.”
Salamander glanced at the sky as if to check the position of the sun. Vinto and Keeta exchanged significant looks and went on surreptitiously judging the cost of his beautiful clothes and horse gear.
“Well, I’m his daughter,” Marka said. “Maybe you could tell me what you want.”
“Perhaps you can help me, indeed. I was wondering where you were all heading to next, since it would seem that this town no longer provides a fresh and profitable field for your talents to cultivate.”
Again Keeta and Vinto glanced at each other, this time with a hint of agony.
“Er, we haven’t exactly decided. Going back to Main Island, maybe, but I’m not sure.”
“I see. Well, my companion and I are less than sure of our next destination, too, you see, and I thought that…” He let his words trail away.
Hamil was crawling out of his tent, and when he stood up, he lurched and swayed so badly that Marka at first thought he was ill. She bolted and ran to steady him, shocked at the inert force of his weight upon her shoulder as he leaned sideways. Dimly she was aware of the camp breaking out into a buzz of talk.
“Papa, what’s wrong?”
For an answer he merely smiled, a slow, secretive smile, and his eyes turned her way slowly, too, all heavy lids and droop. Around him hung a smoky scent, like incense, Marka grunted as the ice-knowledge chilled her to the spine. For a moment she felt the earth turn beneath her.
“It’s the white smoke again. Well, isn’t it! Oh, Papa, you promised!” With a howl she thrust him away.
“Hey.” He staggered and sat down heavily. “Little beast.”
“Not again! Why … it was her, wasn’t it? She’s been getting, it for you! Curse her guts!”
By then the rest of the troupe was hurrying over. Marka dodged away and ducked into her father’s tent. Naked, on her hands and knees, Rimi was desperately scraping earth over a hole in the dirt floor. The stem of a pipe stuck up through it. Marka grabbed her by the hair, pulled her up, and slapped her across the face. She squealed like a pig and slapped back, ail feeble and limp-wristed.
“Filth! You piece of gutter filth!” Marka hit her again. “You’ve been giving my father opium. I should turn you over to the archon. I should kill you.”
Squealing and swearing, Rimi tried to writhe away. Marka went for her throat just as Keeta grabbed her from behind. There was no use struggling in those massive hands.
“Delya, get the little whore dressed and out here!” Keeta dragged Marka back. “You, young lady, are coming with me.”
Outside, the acrobats were mobbing round Hamil, clamoring questions. Keeta marched Marka over to the fire pit, where Salamander was standing and studying the dead coals as if they interested him very much indeed. One