to conform to the lie that they had spun to hide the dishonour she had brought upon them. And then, perhaps, she would be quietly killed.
Her nobility was a sham, a bluff. And she suspected that Chien knew that. She had hoped that a merchant trader would not have access to the kind of information that would expose her, but there was something odd about the way he was acting, and she did not trust him an inch. Her father would be a powerful friend, and he would be greatly indebted to anyone who delivered his daughter back to him.
‘How soon do you have to leave?’ Chien said eventually.
‘Tomorrow,’ she replied. In truth, she did not know how urgent their departure really was, but it was best to appear definite when bargaining.
‘Tomorrow,’ he repeated, unfazed.
‘Can it be done?’ she asked.
‘Possibly,’ Chien told her. He was buying himself time to think. He looked out over the lagoon, the sun casting shadows in the hollows of his broad features. Weighing the implications. ‘It will cost me considerably,’ he said at length. ‘There will be substantial unused cargo space. No, three days from now is the absolute earliest we can be outfitted and under sail.’
‘Good enough,’ she said. ‘You will be reimbursed. And you will have my deepest gratitude.’ How convenient that a phrase like that, implying that he would be owed a favour by a powerful maritime family, could still be true when it meant literally what it said and nothing more. She did have money – the Libera Dramach would spare no expense to get their spy home – but as far as favours went, she had only what she could give, which was not much to a man like Chien. She almost felt bad about cheating him.
‘I’ve a different proposition,’ he said. ‘Your offer of reimbursement is kind, but I confess I have matters to deal with in our homeland anyway, and money is not an issue here. I’d rather not hold a family as eminent as yours in my debt. Instead, I’ve a somewhat presumptuous request to make of you.’
Mishani waited, and her heart sank as she listened, knowing that she could not refuse and that she was playing right into his hands.
Later, it rained.
The clouds had rolled in with startling speed as the humidity ascended, and in the early afternoon the skies opened in a torrent. Out in the jungle, thick leaves nodded violently as they were battered by fat droplets; mud sluiced into streams that snaked away between the tree roots; slender waterfalls plunged through the air as rain ramped off the canopy and fell to earth, spattering boughs and rocks. The loud hiss of the downpour drowned the sound of nearby animals hooting from their shelters.
Saran, Tsata and Kaiku trudged through the undergrowth, soaked to the skin. They walked hunched under gwattha, hooded green ponchos woven of a native fabric that offered some protection against light rain, but not enough to keep them dry in such an onslaught. Kaiku had been given one by her guide before they set out, and had kept it rolled in a bundle and tied to her small pack; the other two had their own. Setting foot in the jungle without one was idiocy.
The rain slowed an already slow pace. Kaiku stumbled along with barely the strength to pick up her feet. None of them had slept, and they had been travelling through the night. Under ordinary conditions, Kaiku would have found this endurable; however, the long month of inactivity aboard the Heart of Assantua, the wound in her side and the detrimental effects of unleashing her kana had combined to severely curtail her stamina. But rest was out of the question, and pride forbade her from complaining. The others had trimmed their pace somewhat, but not by much. She kept up miserably, leaving it to Saran and Tsata to look out for any pursuers. Without sleep, her kana had not regenerated and her senses had dulled. She told herself that her companions were alert enough for the three of them.
She brooded on the fate of her guide as they made their way back to Kisanth. It saddened her that the Tkiurathi woman had never told Kaiku her name. Saramyr ritual dictated that the dead must be named to Noctu, wife of Omecha, so that she could record them in her book and advise her husband of their great deeds – or lack of them – when they came hoping for