Flood Tide

Just as Karle and three of his friends stepped from a doorway ahead, blocking his path.

  He whirled—to find his escape route blocked by four more.

  The sound of a slow footstep on the walk made him turn to face Karle again, jaw clenched tight.

  "Nice night, hey, Doctor?" Karle had fencing mask and foil tucked under one arm, and his hair was damp with sweat, clinging limply to his forehead. "You know, we never got to finish our little discussion this afternoon."

  "That's—true, Karle," Raj managed to get out. Suddenly it was very hard to breathe.

  "And you never did tell me when I was gonna see you on the strip. Now I don't suppose you were on the way to take me up on that invitation, were you?"

  "I—" Raj rasped. "I—"

  "I think maybe he was, Karle," one of the others said gleefully.

  "What a pity. The salle is absolutely full of seniors tonight. They even booted us out, didn't they?" Karle made a sad face as he looked from one to another of his friends. "I guess we'll just have to postpone our little meeting."

  The rest made noises of disappointment. Raj waited, heart falling to his boots. There was no way Karle was going to let him off that easy, and he knew it.

  "Wait! I know!" Karle snapped his fingers and beamed. "We can have our little match right here! There's plenty of light, plenty of room—how would that be?"

  Grins met this announcement, grins and exclamations of glee.

  "What a perfect solution! Come on, Takahashi, you wouldn't want to disappoint everybody now, would you?"

  "No," Raj croaked unhappily. "Of course not."

  At a signal from their leader, the rest spread out and back; Karle smirked, pulled his mask on over his head, and saluted Raj mockingly. Trying to keep his hands from shaking, Raj did the same.

  The feet scuffled on the worn surface of the walkway as they danced around each other for a bit. Raj could feel sweat running down his back, but he wasn't hot—he was cold, cold.

  This isn't the swamp. He isn't gonna kill me.

  He's only gonna humiliate me. . . .

  Like hell he is.

  They feinted, made a pass; blades hissed against each other, but both parried successfully, and Raj danced back, curiously short of breath.

  The first exchange was inconclusive; the second was not. Karle came in with a low-line attack that was illegal as all hell; if Raj had twisted desperately aside at the last minute it would have hit somewhere very personal and left him gasping on the walkway. As it was, he'd have a bruise in a very tender area.

  Karle disengaged and came in again, like a hunting shark. This time he backed Raj right up into the line of his friends; one of them shoved him and sent him sprawling at Karle's feet; both knees hit the walkway with a crack.

  And Karle "accidentally" kicked him in the stomach as he got out of the way.

  "So sorry," Karle mocked, backing up enough to give him room to get to his feet again.

  Raj coughed, and did his best to pretend that nothing had happened. But he could feel Karle's grin behind the mask, he could feel it. And he wanted to smash that grin—

  Karle made another rush; this time Raj stood his ground. Blades twined around each other; bells met with a clang, and they wound up staring at each other through wire-mesh; corps-a-corps, blades locked at the hilts.

  Which was precisely the beginning of one of the bridge-fighting tricks Mondragon had just gotten through drilling into his brain.

  Sucker-punch his gut, pommel to the chin, kick his knee in, and finish him with pommel to the back of the neck as he goes down.

  It all flashed through Raj's mind in a split second.

  I can do it. Now. I can beat him, I can hurt him and there's no way any of his friends can get here fast enough to stop me—

  Time froze—

  And he heard other voices in his head.

  "And what would that prove? He'd never forget. And he'd make sure nobody else did, either. There's a canaler saying for situations like that. 'Don't look back. There might be something gaining on you.'

  "What goes around, comes around."

  Raj stared into the mesh, into the faint shadows that were Karle's eyes behind the mesh—and deliberately did nothing.

  That was the beginning of the end. Less than five minutes later he was beaten; exhausted, bruised, and disarmed at least twice. Karle was moving in for a third time when an angry voice froze him where he stood.

  "What is going on here?"

  Raj stumbled back and leaned up against the support of the wall to his right as Father Abdi pushed his way through the huddle of Karle's friends to stand between Raj and the fencing captain, face flushed with anger.

  "Just what is all this? Brawling? On College property, no less? Karle Hendricks, this is going to cost you—"

  I can let this go on. I can even say Karle forced me into it. Father Abdi will believe me, especially after the way Karle came after me in the hall this afternoon in front of seniors.

  "And what would that prove?"

  While Father Abdi continued his strident lecture, Raj's mind explored a hundred pathways—and came up with something that just—might—work.

  From somewhere he found enough breath to speak. "Excuse me?" he interrupted humbly.

  Both Father Abdi and the sullen Karle flashed startled looks at him.

  "Excuse me, Father, but it wasn't—what you think. The salle was full, and Karle had promised to give me a lesson."

  Absolute truth, every word of it. Right down to Karle's own words.

  Karle had pulled off his mask, and Raj got a fleeting bit of satisfaction watching the conflicting emotions racing across his face.

  Didn't expect to eat your own words quite like this, did you?

  "There wasn't anybody out here, and there's lots of room. Karle didn't think anyone would be bothered."

  Father Abdi impaled each of Karle's friends in turn with his rapier-gaze. "Is this true?" he demanded. They nodded, confused.

  "I swear Father, every word of it is absolutely true. Why would Karle bother with me otherwise? Everybody knows how good a fencer he is, and how bad I am." From somewhere Raj found enough strength to push away from the wall, and advance on Karle, hand outstretched. Karle took it, face absolutely blank with astonishment.

  "Thanks, Karle," Raj said, with complete sincerity. "I learned a lot from this." Then added, forcefully. "There's some real karma owed here."

  And he saw Karle's face go from blank to pale, and smiled a thin little smile comprised of equal pain and satisfaction.

  Because I just saved your tail from a real twisting, didn't I, Karle? And you're a good little Revenantist. Best you would have gotten is thrown off the fencing team. If I'd really squealed, you could have gotten thrown out of the College. And you just realized that, didn't you?

  Father Abdi blinked. "Well, Raj Takahashi, if this is really what was going on, I guess I owe young Hendricks an apology for the dressing-down I just gave him. I'm sorry, Hendricks. I think it's very commendable, using your spare time to give some of the less experienced fencers a hand. I'll see to it that it goes in your record."

  Karle flushed.

  "He really gave me a good workout, Father," Raj said with just a faint touch of maliciousness. "He beat me three times, fair and square." Cheating and all. He shook his head. "I'm no match for you, Karle, and I'm afraid I never will be. You're really the best."

  "Good boy." Father Abdi clapped him on the back, making him stagger. "A real gentleman knows how to lose graciously; that's as important as winning. Keep that in mind, young m'sers."

  The boys shuffled their feet and muttered uneasily. Karle flushed a deeper red.

  Raj smiled. "Hey, Father, I know when I'm outmatched! Anyway, thanks, Karle. I need a bath. I'll see you in classes tomorrow. Goodnight, Father Abdi."

  "Goodnight to you, Raj." The priest turned his attention toward Karle again. "Now about that low-line attack you were starting—"

  Raj managed not to limp until he got out of si
ght—then he used the railings to help get himself home. Halfway there he ran into Justice and Sonja Keisel.

  "Ancestors! Raj, what happened to you?" Justice stared at him; Sonja bit her lip.

  "Nothin' much. Just a little—exercise. With Karle Hendricks."

  "Hendricks! But—"

  "Just bruises. Honest. And I think maybe this came out all right." Raj explained as well as he could while they accompanied him across the last bridge and into Hilda's.

  By then he wasn't limping quite so badly. They all crowded into the sitting room, and he eased himself down into the chair nearest the door. He rolled up the legs of his breeches, and prodded the bruised knees. They looked like hell, but they weren't swelling.

  "It'll be okay," he told them as they hovered over him anxiously. "Nothing broken. I'll be stiff in the morning, that's all—and I'll probably need a beer or two to get to sleep."

  "So—you let Hendricks beat you up. And then you pulled his fish out of the fire." Justice brought him the pair of scarves he asked for, and Raj began improvising a couple of knee-wraps.

  "I guess so." He looked up from his wrapping, feeling some of that smoldering resentment that had led him out into the city in the first place. "Well, how big a fool was I? I still want to beat his face in, Justice."

  "Uh-huh. But you didn't. Now he owes you. And even if he didn't—you made a big show of how much better he is than you are. So now if he tries bullying you again, everybody's going to know he's being a bully."

  "The story will be all over the College by noon," Sonja put in. "Enough people are going to read between the lines to know what you did to keep Karle out of trouble. And what did this cost you?"

  "Stiff knees," Raj admitted. "Not much, really. That—and people are gonna figure me for a wimp. A smart wimp, but a wimp."

  "So?" Justice raised an eyebrow. "No reason to pound on a wimp, is there?"

  "Not unless they get high or drunk and go out looking for somebody to beat up. And the day I can't outrun a drunk—" Raj snorted as Justice laughed.

  "Exactly." Sonja smiled. She had a lovely smile. Raj could very easily see why Justice was rather smitten with her—even if Justice wouldn't admit that he was.

  Like Kat, really. Bet they've got a lot in common.

  "I guess it doesn't matter what they think of me," Raj said reluctantly.

  Justice grinned. "Welcome to the club, Raj."

  "What club?" Raj asked, confused.

  "Smart people, who've figured out what does matter. There aren't a lot of us around." Justice headed toward the door with Sonja. They both stopped for a moment, when Raj spoke again.

  "I suppose. But Justice—" "Uh-huh?"

  "I still want to pound his face in."

  Sonja laughed, and Justice grinned as he replied. "There's no rules in the club about wanting, Raj. Good night to you. I'll bring you that beer after I walk m'sera Keisel home."

  Raj pushed himself up out of his chair and over to his own room, and began massaging the bruised knees so they wouldn't stiffen up too much. So it didn't cost me too much. And now Hendricks'll leave me alone, like Krishna leaves Justice alone. It was worth it.

  I guess.

  Ah, hell. Don't look back, Takahashi. There might be something gaining on you.

  FLOOD TIDE (REPRISED)

  by C. J. Cherryh

  Two sick fools was how it had turned out, both hung over, neither one of them wanting to move for several hours, and having not a shred of interest in the fancy breakfast Jep had set outside. Which meant neither one of them had exactly won: she never would say yes to Mondragon's stupid notion she was going to run, and Mondragon never would tell her what he was into, only swore that he was staying close about Kamat except as he had to be out about town, and insisted he wanted her there, too, with him.

  She'd said no, she'd explained to him all over again for the dozenth time at least how Moghi didn't hand out any damn charity, she had to haul his barrels and fetch his supplies, and the same for her other regulars, or figure they'd go to some other skip-freighter as could deliver—and Mondragon had said pay Del to do it, and looked upset, and they'd yelled at each other until he yelled, "Did you like it that much at Megarys, Jones?" and then shut up, because that was nothing she ever wanted to think about again, and it nearly made her throw up.

  That was how it ended—he held her, he said he was sorry he yelled, she kept her mouth shut, Mondragon went to Kamat and she went there till nightfall and said her work was waiting.

  So they yelled at each other quieter this time because they were in Kamat House, and he finally saw it was no good, unless he was going to lock her up—like Megarys, she'd said. I don't like roofs, Mondragon! I hate 'em! I can't breathe in here—

  And he'd let her go, the way he'd let her go the last time he'd taken this notion to take her off the water and wrap her in cottony-floss.

  But it was because he got the willies himself when she talked about roofs and walls, and that was why he gave it: that went straight to a sore spot—

  His own damn fault, she told herself glumly. He was the one that brought up Megarys.

  But she felt sorry she'd won that way, all the same, even if it was one crazed thing they both understood.

  So she made up her mind she was going to do something nice; and she got down in the first drop-box on the stern of her skip, and she got the key to the Petrescu place, which Mondragon still had time on, and she went before she made her rounds and slipped over to Hoh's and got Denny.

  "I want you to burgle," she said. At which Denny's eyes grew quite amazed. But they were old partners in misdeed.

  "Megarys?" Denny asked, standing in the well— he'd learned right smart about getting in her way when she was poling.

  "Ney," she said. "Want you to slip some stuff down to the skip."

  "Yey, well, if I do?"

  "Just I got this notion Mondragon'd like his stuff took care of. I got the key." "That ain't burglary."

  She shot Denny a look. "It ain't my apartment, it ain't yours, ol' Petrescu's got th' door locked. Even if it's Mondragon's property. Wasn't any time to move anythin' but clothes. But I just got the notion it'd be nice if that nice bureau got t' Kamat."

  "Lord! 'At thing weighs a damn—"

  "Ye bring the drawers down the steps one at a time, an' I'll help ye with the main piece. Easy. She's dark, ain't nobody goin't' see us."

  Denny scratched his head, looking doubtful. "Want I get some help?"

  "Might do. We get that bureau, then I leave ye the key, a'right, and you and the lads just go get the light stuff. —An' no pilferage! I give a dece f the job. Ye do it right!"

  "Ney," Denny said meekly. "What d' we do wi' 'at stuff?"

  "Ye just filch it right in t' Kamat. Right in t' Mondragon's sittin' room. Can ye do 'er?"

  "Yey," Denny said. " 'Oo pays th' lads?"

  "I paid you, ye connivin' sherk, you pays th' lads!"

  " 'Ey, 'ey, I got t' give 'em a share."

  She paused in mid-course across the half deck, held up four fingers. "A whole damn lune good sil'er, and ye doesn't filch anythin' off o' Kamat when ye takes it up!"

  "Deal," Denny said.

  Thump! in the hall, and Mondragon sat right up in bed. "Ney," Jones said, and put her arms around his neck, and pulled him down again on that soft brass bed. " 'At's nothin', I just asked th' man t' bring me personals up from the skip. I had m' hands full." "That damn bureau—"

  "She's pretty, Mondragon, all them carvin's up and down, don't care if they are naked, she's a pretty piece."

  "I don't want you around Petrescu! I don't want you near that place!"

  "Well, she's 'ere, ain't she? All that shiny wood, ain't goin't' let ol' sera Petrescu have 'er. . . . 'Ere, now—"

  There were, thank the Lord, no more thumps. But Mondragon wasn't listening anyway.

  A little upset in the morning, he was, with a whole pile of pretty stuff from Petrescu in the middle of the sitting room floor.

  He looked at h
er, a quick mad look, hands on hips.

  She shrugged. "Guess it was burglars." "Hell, Jones!"

  She lifted a hand. "Hey, I didn't do 'er! Guess Denny just thought it'd be nice."

  "Nice, God help me. Denny?"

  "Ye shouldn't waste things, Mondragon, ye buy all this nice stuff, just leave it lyin'—" She shook her head, bent and picked up a pretty enameled box. Lord, money was still in it. "Good on him. —Done a turn at honest hire last night, him an' his lads."

  "Denny?"

  "Fair rates, too."

  THE TESTING (REPRISED)

  by Nancy Asire

  "It's out," Alexiev said, leaning closer to Rhajmurti in the all but deserted hallway of the priests' private floor. "The testing's to begin tomorrow morning."

  Rhajmurti took Alexiev's elbow and steered him closer to the wall.

  "And?"

  Alexiev darted a look around. "I tried, Alfonso . . . I truly tried. ..."

  "What do you mean, you tried? Are you telling me that I'm not to be one of the testers?"

  "No . . . no. There was never any doubt about that. It's the students you're worried about. ..."

  Rhajmurti's heart lurched.

  "What about them? I'm not going to be one who questions them, is that it?"

  The look on Alexiev's face was enough to tell the story.

  "Why not?"

  "I couldn't change Tremaine's mind. He's got you set up to test the day following." Alexiev met Rhajmurti's eyes. "Believe me, I pushed until I knew if I pushed any harder, Tremaine would notice."

  "O gods." Rhajmurti leaned back against the wall. Now, not only was the testing to begin sooner than anyone would have guessed, but he had only given one catechism class, hardly enough to fully prepare his students for the questions they would face.

  "I did get you named as a backup," Alexiev said. "That's the best I could do." "A backup?"

  "Each priest has another priest named to take his place if he should fall ill, or—" Rhajmurti stared. "And who's testing my students?" "Father Jonsson."

  "Gods, Pytor . . . he's nearly as bad as—" He bit his lip. "He's as reactionary as some other people I don't need name."