"And you will resume your relationship with Chief—or some other worthy man."
"Granted. And if I win—"
"You have me, as convenient. No jealously of my other relationships, no open mistress status. But when I am alone, you may discreetly join me. An unofficial mistress."
"Done!"
She was agreeing too readily. She knew he had as much will as he required, and that she could not seduce him by trickery. “You have something in mind?"
"Only to wile away the time with an illusion show."
He waggled a finger at her. “No man-woman romance. No hot sex. No seductive implications."
"You are determined to make this difficult?"
"Yes."
She sighed. “A clean family style entertainment, no suggestive sexual element."
"Agreed."
"Then it must be ‘Dancer.’ The heartening story of an old man and a little girl. Absolutely nothing untoward."
Havoc nodded. He knew she was bound to try something, but if she cheated too overtly, he would deny her the reward. If she could seduce him without touching him, flashing him, or showing a suggestive illusion story, then she deserved her victory. And if she lost, she would be honor bound to desist her efforts, which otherwise were likely to be eventually successful. That was what he stood to gain by this contest.
There was a shimmer before him. At first he thought it was the illusion show, then realized that it was instead the succubus. “Swale,” he said.
Symbol picked right up on it. “If I let her invest me, and she seduces you, would it count for me?"
"No. She's supernatural."
"I know it.” Symbol sighed. “Hello, Swale. Come into me so we can talk, but don't seduce anyone."
Havoc watched as Symbol's face went blank. Then she spoke again. “Swale here, Havoc.” It was no longer Symbol's voice or mannerism.
"How is Gale doing?"
"I haven't checked her yet. How are you doing?"
"We're about to watch an illusion show. We are unable to proceed toward the coordinates at the moment, so this is spare time."
"Why bother? This is an ideal occasion for sex."
"I am in the process of withstanding her blandishments."
"The more fool you. I'm in her mind at the moment; her desire for you is a thing to behold. She resembles me in this respect: she craves sexual expression of love."
"Move on, Swale."
"Parting."
"Parting,” he echoed as Symbol's face went blank again.
In a moment her animation returned. “I like her."
"If the time comes when you wish to win some other resistant man, borrow her."
"I will. I have shared her action in the past. She's professional. Are we ready for the illusion?"
"Ready,” he agreed.
The show came on. Their surroundings were covered by the illusion setting. It was a view of the great pyramid of Triumph, then a view of its interior. It focused on an old man walking slowly toward the travelers’ exchange. He entered it and watched the participants assume the small stage and make their announcements of destinations and needs. At first it was all image and dialogue, but as it progressed there was a quiet thought-voice added to convey the main character's unspoken thoughts and concerns. That soon seemed to disappear, so that the thoughts came across as being heard directly; it was a standard technique to lend verisimilitude. When the old man's turn came, he mounted the steps and spoke:
"I am Beat, after my former trade as a drum musician. I wish to travel to Music Village to watch my son's troupe participate in the tournament. It is my hope that some younger musician is traveling there, who will be my companion."
Immediately there was an answer. “We have one such, for that destination,” a man said. “My daughter Eke, who goes to rejoin her mother, a leading dancer.” Beside him was a rather pretty little girl.
Beat was doubtful. “You are not going yourself, sir?"
"My business prevents. Eke must travel alone. She is nine years old, and I prefer that she have adult company."
"I am perhaps too adult. I am too feeble to protect her from harm, should it threaten. I had thought to travel with a younger man who might protect me, in the manner of a son, no fault."
"She can be a granddaughter, no fault."
"But at her age—should some unkind party seek to—I fear I would be inadequate.” Beat was clearly trying to avoid saying in the child's presence that a man might try to molest her.
"I have in mind safe travel. She can dance well enough to pay her way. You are a drummer?"
"I was, before I became too old. I have not drummed in years."
"But you could do it for her? Nothing arduous is required."
"Weak drumming, yes, I believe I could. I would need to practice to bring it back."
The man looked at his daughter. She nodded. Then he spoke. “There will be time. I accept you as her no fault grandfather."
"But—"
"Parting.” And the man was gone, leaving the child. She looked at Beat and smiled somewhat tremulously. What could he do? He smiled reassuringly back at her.
"It seems we must travel together,” he said. “I shall try to do right by you. I never had a daughter or a granddaughter, so this is new to me."
"I never had a grandfather,” she said. “He died before I came."
Beat looked at her with mock chagrin. “But I was depending on your experience to make this work, since I have none."
That made her laugh. “Just pretend I'm a boy."
"Negative. I always wanted a granddaughter. You look just like the one I never had."
"And you look like the grandfather I never imagined."
He sighed. “We just met, and we're already lying to each other."
She laughed again. “Maybe we'll get along."
"Maybe. Do you understand no fault?"
"It's when you have to pretend, so you can share a room or travel together."
"It is more than that. It is an assumed temporary relationship, and it is real while it exists. I must protect you as I would my own grandchild, and you must obey me when I tell you to do something for your own good. Others will accept us as we claim to be. But when we get where we are going—"
"It ends,” she said. “And we never see each other again. With no regrets."
"None we might mention,” he agreed.
"What won't we mention?"
"Well, suppose we got to really like each other. But I have real sons and grandsons, and you have real parents and siblings. We must not intrude on each other's real lives. So we would have to pretend to forget each other. That's the painful part of no fault. We must pretend it is real while we travel, and that it isn't real when it's over."
"Understanding. Mom and Dad traveled to Triumph City no fault. They had nothing in common. He was a builder and she was a dancer. But they fell in love, so they married anyway, but they still have to live mostly apart, at least while she's on tour."
"That's a danger,” he agreed. “They were no fault man and wife, then couldn't give it up. But at least they could marry. They could have traveled no fault had they been married elsewhere, but then they could not have married. No fault accounts for some wonderful forbidden love."
"I heard a story about two married people who traveled together no fault a lot."
"And their spouses may not have been pleased. Such mischief is best avoided."
"But if you don't have a granddaughter—"
"It is not just that we are unrelated. It is that our lives go in different directions. After this journey, you will be with your mother, and I will be with my son. They will travel to different villages, and we will go with them. We know that before we start. We know better than to let our emotions tangle."
"We know better,” she agreed wistfully.
"Now we must arrange to travel. We must enlist with a convoy or caravan, and pay our way. It was been some time since I drummed, but perhaps I can recover enough skil
l to help you dance. How good are you?"
"Mom says I will be champion, some day. But I'm not nearly as good as she is."
"Let's go somewhere and see what we can do."
"Sure, Grandpa."
He took her to a trading site he knew of, where there was musical equipment, and they looked at a number of pairs of dancing slippers, and at drums. There was only one set of shoes that fit Eke, and only one old drum of the type he used. Neither were very good, but that was all that offered. “We will take them,” Beat said to the proprietor.
"What do you have in trade?"
Beat brought out two clever little carved wooden figurines. One was a blue man, the other a red woman. They were so designed that they could be fitted together, face to face, as if in sexual embrace. There was generally a market for that sort of thing, especially with young folk who wished to make a certain muted suggestion couched as a gift of art.
The proprietor nodded. “It will do."
"Those were very nice carvings,” Eke said. “They remind me of my parents, when they meet after long separation."
Exactly. “One of my sons, Beta, carves them. He is very good, and can make them quickly. He could make one that looked like you, if you wish."
"Yes! And one that looks like you."
He smiled. “We shall see. He may not be with my son Beau, the drummer, so it may not be possible."
They went next to a public room where assorted performers could practice. Eke put on her dancing shoes, and Beat set up the battered drum. Then he patted it with his gnarled old fingers, establishing a simple cadence, and she stood before him and did a simple tap dance.
It worked reasonably well. “I could do better with a good drum,” he said. “But this one will do."
"I could dance better with my real shoes, but they are with Mom,” she said. “But these will do."
They tried several small routines, and discovered that they worked well together. The joy of drumming was returning, infusing his hands, and the child did show real promise. What she lacked in experience she made up in balance, reflex, and enthusiasm. She would indeed be excellent, when she matured.
"I think this is feasible,” Beat said.
"I wish I had my good shoes. Mom keeps them for me, because I have no one to dance with in the city. They have been in the family for generations; Mom used them when she was young. They can really dance.” Then she caught herself. “But I don't mean I don't like these. Thank you for them."
Beat smiled. Eke was young, and tended to speak before she thought, but she had the right motives. “I understand. This drum is satisfactory, but not in the class with mine. That one is called Thunder."
"Thunder?"
"In my prime, I could beat so fast and strong that the overtones assumed the sound of thunder. When I could no longer make it thunder, I retired. No one has made it thunder since; my son may, in time, when he achieves his prime."
"I'm hungry,” Eke announced.
Beat pondered. He had thought to use the figurines to trade for food, but could no longer do that. “Let's see if we can trade a dance for a good meal."
"Gee! Do you think we can? I never danced for anything but learning."
"Let's find out."
"This will be fun!"
He was not sure of that, but did not express his private reservations. This was a gamble.
They went to a section where an open air cook was working. “My granddaughter and I are hungry,” Beat said. “Can we trade a dance for food?"
"You can make the attempt,” the cook said cynically. He was evidently accustomed to people trying to cadge food. This happened to be a slack hour, so he was amenable to a lesser deal than otherwise.
So they did a demonstration dance for the cook, and it was better than their practice had been; they were already getting into it together. The girl was well formed for her age, and very quick on her feet, and Beat was drumming better than he had a right to expect. Soon several others had gathered to listen and watch. The cook nodded. “Do another number while I serve, and the food is yours."
They didn't have another number, so they consulted, and decided to try free-form. Beat tried a new rhythm, with a syncopation, and Eke danced to it, then added a new step. When Beat saw that, he amended his pattern. So it went through several variations, and the group of spectators grew. A number of them decided to trade for food themselves.
The cook brought two excellent platters of assorted vegetables and breads for them, with a mug of ale for Beat and berry juice for Eke. There was even sweet pudding for dessert. He set it all on a small table. Eke's eyes went round; this was far more of a meal than they had anticipated. “If you two care to stay a few days, you can have all you want. You are attracting customers."
"I regret we must travel,” Beat said. “But we appreciate your generosity."
"Dance again before you leave, and I will give you food to take along.” Then the cook went to deal with the others.
"I'll be too full to move my feet!” the girl said as she grabbed for the pudding.
"Use the trencher,” he cautioned her. “And eat the vegetables first."
"Awww.” But she obeyed. “Can I try your ale?"
"That's not necessarily good for a child."
"But grandparents are supposed to be soft touches."
So they were. “One sip.” He looked around, making sure than no one was observing; as he did, others averted their faces, officially not seeing this transgression.
Eke took the mug and took a huge swallow. Then she almost choked on it. “It's sour!"
There was a murmur of laughter around the chamber. “Ale is not sweet like berry juice. I thought you knew."
She made a face. “I know now.” Then she laughed, appreciating the joke on herself.
In due course, well stuffed, they got up and performed again, doing another free-form routine. It worked amazingly well; they seemed to be attuned to each other. The girl was cute when she stood, and downright pretty when she danced; her legs moved precisely, and when she high kicked she almost had sex appeal; obviously her mother had been training her well. Watching her encouraged Beat, and his hands limbered and moved better than he expected, so that his drumming had more authority. He felt good; he realized he had missed drumming.
More people gathered to watch, and more sought the cook's food. As they finished, the cook brought a fair sized bag. “This will hold you a while."
"Appreciation,” Beat said.
"Appreciation for you. I never saw a girl that young dance that well. You brought me my best day in a month."
Indeed, there were now a number of people eating. When Beat and Eke took the bag and departed, the others applauded.
"They liked us!” Eke said, startled.
"You didn't notice before?"
"I was dancing. My eyes were closed."
Beat realized that was true; he had seen it without noting it. She had tuned out all else but the floor and his drumbeat, and danced beautifully. “You did very well. You made many people come to watch."
She looked surprised again. “I never danced in public before! I thought it was just you and me. I mean, I knew there were people, but it wasn't an audience."
"It became one. You made it one."
"No, Mom makes an audience. She's beautiful. I just copy her."
Beat decided not to argue the case. “Let's see if we can catch a floating caravan."
"That'll be fun!"
"We are likely to be jammed into a tiny cubbyhole for most of it, and we'll have to perform for our passage. Float travel can be pretty dull."
"When I came to Triumph we went around by the fringes, giving a show at every village. That got dull. Floating must be fun."
So she hadn't floated across a Chroma zone before. “Maybe you will enjoy the sights.” He considered, then brought up something else. “You're a girl. You'll have to use the women's section of the rest stops. I will wait for you outside."
"Why?"
&nbs
p; That was the question he did not like answering. “Because some men want to get hold of girls and treat them unkindly. We must prevent that from happening."
"Okay,” she said, humoring him.
He hoped there would be no problem. In his prime he could have handled such a situation, but as it was, he wanted to make sure it never arose. That meant being unusually careful. The girl might chafe, not understanding, and he did not want to explain in any more detail. It was partly her youth and partly her prettiness; she could be a magnet for the wrong kind of man.
They came to the sign-up area for caravans going north. Their foremen were present, dickering with merchants and travelers. Beat waited his turn, then talked with the foreman of one that seemed to be going their way. “We two wish to travel to Music Village."
"We do pass there. What's your trade?"
"Entertainment. Drum and dance. We aren't expert, but perhaps will suffice."
"Demonstrate."
Beat unlimbered his drum, and Eke donned her shoes. He beat the cadence and she stepped out, tapping the floor. Immediately others turned to watch. Beat knew why: she was good, with perfect cadence. But there was another effect. When Eke danced, her girl's body emulated a woman's body, especially when she flirted with her hips and kicked high under her skirt. It was legitimate, but it was also suggestive. This effect had never bothered him before—not until he had a granddaughter to look out for.
"It will do,” the foreman said. “One show each rest stop. One nook on one wagon. Food provided."
"Goody!” Eke exclaimed.
But Beat was more cautious. “A female wagon."
The foreman looked again at the girl, who was animated from the recent effort of the dance, and nodded. “Agreed. Departure at dawn tomorrow."
"May we go to the wagon now?"
"Dance now, you can have it now.” The foreman gave Beat a bit of green string with several knots in it. “Give this to the wagon master."
"Appreciation."
"Keep her close."
"Understanding."
"Parting.” The foreman turned to the next applicant.
They walked to the staging area. “Why the female wagon?” the girl asked. “There's nothing but maids and washwomen there."
"And no rough-hewn men,” he agreed.