The Pharoah Contract

Ruiz could think of no discreet way to point out to Nisa that although they also were only slaves, he had high hopes of being harmful. The cell was certainly monitored. So he would say, patiently, “Nisa, Ayam may be a perfectly gentle being, but it springs from a race that bred itself for treachery. Dilvermooners are in demand for all sorts of nasty jobs — extfam tapeworming, dynastic subversion, pseudopols — you name it, a herman can be found to do it.”

Nisa, puzzled by these unfamiliar crimes, would glance at Ayam, who would shrug and look hurt. And Nisa would shake her glossy head and give Ruiz a reassuring pat, the sort that frightened children receive from indulgent parents.

Eventually he persuaded her to completely enclose Ayam’s cot with a sturdy shell, locked externally. Now at least it was possible to banish the helot from sight. Ayam went cheerfully enough, to Nisa’s relaxed perceptions, but Ruiz caught poisonous glances, whenever the herman was ordered away.

The privacy yielded benefits, as soon as Ruiz was sufficiently recovered to take an interest in lovemaking. Thereafter Nisa was no longer bored. The hours passed pleasantly under the colored silks of Nisa’s bed. Ruiz was as happy as he could be under the circumstances, though he wondered continually what Corean planned.

There was time for Ruiz to learn a little more about Nisa. She seemed to enjoy telling Ruiz about her life as the daughter of the King, though she avoided the subject of her Expiation, and whatever crimes had led to it. Her stories involved parties and Rain Carnivals and midnight swimming in the cisterns, and Ruiz’s eyes occasionally glazed over as she spoke. It saddened him to think that the soft pleasant life she had led as a princess might have cheated her of the toughness she would need to survive as a slave.

But then he would remember the stage, and the path she would walk on it, and he would fall into a silent mood.

She asked him about his own past life, but he laughed and teased and evaded her questions. He did admit to being a tradesman, in a business beyond the stars. When she pressed him, he said that he was a sort of talent scout. He fended off her few questions about life in the far worlds, and, in fact, she showed remarkably little curiosity. He surmised that she found the subject distressing, that she preferred not to think about the universe beyond Pharaoh. He felt no inclination to upset her; let her take comfort where she could.

He told her his real name, since Corean would peel that out of him whenever she got around to it.

“Ruiz Aw. A curious name,” she said, rolling the unfamiliar syllables on her tongue.

Ayam was locked away, and Ruiz and Nisa naked in her bed, when Flomel arrived. The door gasped open at the most indelicate moment possible, and Flomel bustled in, accompanied by the giantess.

“Nisa,” Flomel called. “Where are you?”

He stood puzzled for a moment, his greyhound head questing about the cell. Then he noticed the quiver of the canopied bed. He stepped briskly across the floor and parted the silks with his wand. By that time Ruiz and Nisa had separated somewhat and had pulled a coverlet over themselves. Flomel’s eyes widened, and he gasped, much louder than the door.

“What is this?” Flomel’s lean features were purpling, and he shook with rage.

“Get away from my bed,” Nisa snapped, as outraged as the magician. Ruiz remained silent, gathering himself.

No one moved for a moment, until the giantess said, “Where’s the herman?”

She stepped into the cell with a heavy confident tread, her tiny features drawn together with suspicion. “Where is it?” she asked again. She looked in the bathroom, then she looked in the bed. She took hold of Ruiz’s arm with a massive band and drew him from the bed effortlessly. She pulled him close and spoke again. “Where is it? The Lady will be very unhappy if you’ve damaged her property.”

Her breath was foul, and the dead devotion in her tiny eyes was unnerving. Ruiz pointed with his free arm. “There,” he said. “Ayam has its own little room. Isn’t that nice?”

She gave him a casual shake, rattling his teeth, and released him. He caught up a sheet and wound it around himself. The giantess went to the alcove and unlocked it.

The herman fell into the room, floundering. Ayam had apparently been listening at the door seals. But it recovered its balance and dignity almost immediately. “At last,” Ayam gushed. “Mighty Banessa, you come to the rescue of this poor oppressed servant. One casts oneself at your awesome feet in abject gratitude.”

“Shut up,” the giantess said impassively.

She turned to Flomel. “Proceed,” she ordered.

Flomel drew a deep breath. He seemed to have regained his self-control, though a glitter of strong emotion still showed in his eyes. “Nisa,” he said. “How is it you cheapen yourself by dallying with this casteless one? Please, remember who you are. I appeal to your sense of propriety.”