The Pharoah Contract

He woke when the robocart sounded the tone for the evening meal. The phoenix was sitting on the edge of her cot, watching him, looking much improved.

Her cheeks were pink with well-being rather than fever. She’d fingercombed the worst of the tangles from her hair, so that it flowed smoothly down her back, a river of coppery black. A twisted scrap of blue cloth bound her tunic to her body in a more flattering shape. Ruiz was amazed and horrified that her movements hadn’t awakened him — a lucky thing that no enemies had come upon him.

“At last,” she said.

Ruiz rubbed at his eyes. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“It’s a miracle, isn’t it?”

There was a mocking undertone to her voice, and Ruiz stared at her for a moment. “Yes,” he agreed, “a miracle.”

Her brows drew down. “Don’t humor me, Wuhiya. This isn’t Pharaoh or the Land of Reward either, and I wonder if you’re a snake oil peddler.” Anger showed strongly on her face for a moment, but she controlled it and even attempted a smile. “Can you tell me? Do you know where we are?”

Ruiz got up and went to the door. He temporized. “It’s dinnertime. I’ll go fetch us some food; you’ll need it.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said, standing with remarkable ease, considering her recent condition. She went past him, and out the door.

He caught up to her just outside, where she stood looking across the square at the gray humanoid guard and the robocart, frozen in terrified amazement.

She clutched at his arm. “What is that?”

Ruiz took a deep breath. Sooner or later she would have to start learning about her new life. “They call themselves Pung. They operate this… this…” Ruiz stopped, at a loss for words that seemed kind enough. Then he decided that false kindness wouldn’t help her to survive, so he continued with the truth. “This is a slave pen, Noble Person.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide with shock, then outrage. “No!” she said. “No! Do you know me? Nisa, I am Nisa, daughter of Bhasrahmet, King of Kings.” Her face crumpled and she stumbled back inside the house of the casteless.

Ruiz sighed. He wished her an easy bondage. With her beauty and intelligence, she might find a place with an indulgent owner. It bothered him that he could formulate no better hope for her.

* * *

Nisa fell facedown on the filthy cot, heedless of the ancient stains. Her throat was full of panic, but she refused to cry. She pounded at her temples with her fists, as if she could drive this unacceptable reality from her. She seemed to be doomed to a greater Expiation than she’d bargained for, lost in an alien place, surrounded by contemptuous enemies and monsters, her only friend a casteless man whose opacity matched his strangeness. He spoke with the semblance of proper respect, but she was somehow sure he thought himself her superior — an almost incomprehensible idea to a favored daughter of the King. He treated her as she might have treated a sickly pet glistle. And the hideous way he’d disposed of the coercer, as if the destruction of Casmin had been a source of deep joy…. In that brief terrible dance, Wuhiya had seemed not quite human, a soulless beast, like one of her father’s hunting dirgos, set loose on some helpless quarry.

And yet with her he’d been gentle. And in unguarded moments, his eyes sometimes lost that flinty glitter, his mouth softened from its habitual tense line.

She grew less agitated, thinking about her protector. Who was he? More to the point, what was she to him?

* * *

The Pharaohans drew back when Ruiz approached the robocart, this time more in fear than in loathing, which was at least mildly satisfying. As he dipped up the pseudo-food, Ruiz felt Dolmaero’s eyes on his back — not in anger, as he might have expected, but in speculation.

Casmin was nowhere to be seen. The Pung guard watched Ruiz incuriously; it seemed no complaint had been made.

When Ruiz brought their dinner back, the phoenix was huddled on her cot, her face to the wall. Her shoulders quivered, but she made no sound. Ruiz put her plate on the floor.

* * *

That night Ruiz sat outside, watching the snapfields — sheets of pale green fire fluttering up from the walls. Suddenly he bent forward, rigid with interest. A section of the snapfield on the western perimeter had winked out, leaving a patch of darkness. He counted the seconds; shortly the field popped back on with a shower of off-phase sparks.

Over the following hours it failed several more times, always over the same section of wall.

He allowed himself to hope. It was a fine feeling, and soon he felt calm enough to go in to sleep. He settled on the cot next to the phoenix, who stirred but did not wake. “Pleasant dreams,” he whispered, just as though she were a real person, and not just a character in this dangerous play.

* * *

Ruiz woke refreshed from his short night’s sleep. Nisa still lay on her cot, but from the regular rise and fall of her breasts, Ruiz saw that her slumber was healthier.