Climate of Change (31 page)

“That's why you were assigned to us,” Craft said, catching on. “You need the labor.”

“Yes. I should clarify that not all of it is physical labor. We need supervisors—men who can make sense of awkward complications. And women to bring food and supplies out on a fairly constant basis, so the work can proceed apace. It's really a pretty ambitious project, because the chief doesn't want his grave to be inferior to those of prior kings. So we hope to do a really good job.”

“We can work well,” Craft said. “I have designed and built houses. I realize that's not the same—”

“But it's an excellent start,” Ned agreed. “You will understand the dynamics of buttresses and arches.”

“Yes. And of materials organization.”

“Now I know we'll get along,” Ned said enthusiastically. He looked up. “Ah, here are our sisters.”

Two young women were approaching. One was heavyset, the other slender but not pretty.

“Here is Flo,” Ned said, indicating the heavy one. “And Jes. I will leave you in their hands for now. But you must be ready to work at dawn tomorrow.”

“We will be,” Craft promised.

There were brief further introductions, as all the members of the family were identified. Both sisters turned out to speak fair Farmer language.

“You will need a fire,” Flo said, taking charge. “I'll show you where to get wood.”

“I'll help,” Rebel said. Crenelle nodded; she would watch the children, as she often did.

Flo led them to an open court where dry wood was piled high. “They bring their leavings here,” she explained, “and anyone who needs it can use it. This is a good meeting place for women.” Indeed, several other women were there, selecting sticks of wood, and Flo nodded to them.

“One thing to beware,” Flo murmured as she drew on a small log, not looking at the other two. “The officer who interviewed you, and summoned us, is named Bub. He's not bad unless he wants something, and usually what he wants is sex from prettier women. Stay clear of him if you can. Do not speak of this openly.”

Haven and Rebel nodded. They had already suspected as much. This was a vindication of Flo; not only did she know their language, she was truly helping them to get along.

They returned with three armfuls of wood, which should do for their immediate need. Crenelle and Rebel were cleaning out the filthy stall with Jes's help. “But at least you know the worst,” Jes said. “They start all newcomers here, so they will appreciate better quarters when they get them.”

Haven looked around as she set down her wood. “The other women—are they friendly?”

“They would be if they could afford it,” Flo replied. “Don't count on them.” She glanced briefly at Risk and Tour. “Keep one of your own with your children, always. Especially the girl.”

“Make her less pretty, if you can,” Jes added quietly. Crenelle, overhearing, nodded.

Fair warning, indeed.

“Tomorrow, after you work, you will be issued food,” Flo said. “Tonight you will have to cope on your own.”

Soon the two women left, and the family settled down to a meal from their scant supplies, and to sleep. There were fleas and mosquitoes, but they were used to them. The worst, perhaps, was over; they had been admitted, and would have lodging and work. Then in spring they could return to the farm for a better season.

Haven woke before dawn, as she normally did, and kneaded bread for the family. Minding Flo's warning, she conducted the children and the dogs to the slop trench for natural functions. They did not protest; they knew it could be dangerous among strangers.

Sam and Ned arrived at dawn to conduct the men to the working site. Not long after, Flo and Jes came to show the women their jobs.

Haven and the children, left alone, got to work cleaning the stall. They scraped away the layered dirt and scrubbed the posts. Women in the other stalls glanced across incuriously; they were evidently accustomed to dirt. Haven's impression was that these were not bright or sensitive females. That probably accounted for their presence in this dump.

A well-garbed man arrived, trailed by a humble woman. Haven recognized Bub, the admitting officer. He spoke in the Trader language, too rapidly for her to follow. She paused in her work, looking at him with calculated blankness.

“My lord Bub says that it is a shame to see an attractive woman like you confined to a lowly barracks like this,” the woman said in Farmer.

So she was the translator. But what was this about an attractive woman? Haven could be attractive when she chose, but she had not made an effort today, and indeed, was sweaty and grimy from her labors here. “I don't understand.”

Bub glanced at the translator woman. “Take the children to the kitchen for some good food.”

“No you don't,” Haven protested. “The children stay with me.”

“They will not be harmed,” the woman said. “Believe me, it is better.”

Something was up. Reluctantly, Haven nodded. Risk and Tour straightened up and walked to the woman. She would have to hear what Bub wanted to say to her privately.

The man wasted no time, once the others were gone. “Want you,” he said in pidgin Farmer.

There could be no misunderstanding, but she made the effort. “Maid work?”

He reached forward and caught the hem of her skirt, lifting it up too high. “Sex.”

She pretended astonishment. “Me? I'm ugly.”

He caught her shoulder and drew her toward him. She did not resist strongly, wary of angering him. He clasped her breast with his other hand. Then he reached around her and clasped a buttock. “No. Good body.”

She drew back as far as she could. She had been raped once, and though that had worked out, she didn't care to repeat the experience. She knew she could not afford to provoke this man. So she tried to talk him out of it. “No. I'm married.”

“No tell.”

A private affair? That was hardly an improvement. “No.”

He nodded, undismayed. “Move good place.”

So he was bargaining. They could have better quarters if she acceded to his desire. But it was a bargain that repelled her. “No.”

“Men good jobs.”

That didn't move her. “They already have good jobs.”

“No.”

Too late, she realized her mistake. Bub was the one who assigned the jobs. He could send the men to bad jobs, or prevent them from getting employment entirely.

Bub saw she was coming to understand it. He upped the ante. “Women good jobs.”

And what was a bad job, for a woman? She hardly cared to know. But how could she accede to his awful demand?

“Children—” he began.

“No!” she said fiercely. “Don't threaten the children!”

But of course he had already done so. “Come.”

“No.” But she had the sinking feeling that she couldn't make it stick.

He spread his hands inoffensively. “To see. No more.”

“No more,” she agreed, hating even this partial acquiescence.

He took her possessively by the elbow and guided her through the barracks and outside. Of course everyone could see this, and would think she had agreed to be his mistress. But Harbinger would believe the reality, and that counted more. What would that reality be?

He brought her to the palace compound. Here rugs hung on the walls and fine stones made the floor. The residential chambers were closed off by wood and stone, with quiet passages leading between them.

He paused to draw aside a curtain. Beyond was a beautiful chamber with a solid stone hearth and separate chimney, wooden benches, and raised sleeping platforms piled with bright pillows. The room was huge, with a high ceiling, and it opened onto at least one other chamber beyond. This was surely the residence of a prince.

“For you,” Bub said. “Your family.”

She shook her head, unable to believe it. He was cruelly teasing her.

He understood her doubt. “Ask others,” he said. “Now go. Tomorrow, decide.”

She made her way back the way they had come, hardly aware of her surroundings. She knew she couldn't accept his offer, but the wonderful residential suite dazed her. For the family to live in that. . .

She found herself back in the stinking hole that was their present residence. The woman was returning with the children. Haven felt guilty for forgetting the children even briefly, but they seemed to be all right.

“The kitchen!” Tour said. “So much food!”

“We got sweetbread,” Risk said. “So good!”

Bub hadn't had the children harmed, but bribed. Showing her what he could do for them. How could she tell them that there would be no more of this?

“Don't oppose him,” the woman said in a low tone. “He will make it terrible for your family. Do what he wants, until he tires of you. Then he will let you go, if you are circumspect, and you won't suffer.”

“How do you know?” Haven asked, torn.

“I was his mistress, three years ago. I wore fine gowns and precious perfume. I was beautiful. As you will be; he has rare judgment in that respect. He likes lovely women, and he makes them so, in privacy. He recognized your potential when he saw you yesterday. Now my status is reduced, but my family is secure and I am not worked hard. I can leave if I want to, without suffering. So can the others, once he tires of them. Just be discreet, and you will prosper.”

“And if I am not. . . discreet?”

“Then you had better escape to the hills, before he kills your children.”

A cold hand clenched Haven's gut. This was a Farmer woman; she had no reason to deceive another of her kind. Yet the situation was intolerable.

“The chief—does he know of this?”

“Oh, yes. Sometimes Bub brings him an especially appealing girl. He doesn't care, as long as order is kept.”

Haven felt another chill. “Girl?”

“The chief likes them young. Beware.” Her eyes flicked toward Tour. “That one is pretty enough. Believe me, it is better to keep Bub happy. Then he will protect you.”

“You–you are married?”

“Yes. My husband knows. He hates it, but he knows the penalty for balking. So he pretends not to know. That is the way it must be.”

This was even worse than Haven had feared. Probably Bub had told the woman to tell her this, but that didn't make it any less real. The family could prosper, or suffer horribly, depending on Haven's decision. What was she to do?

The woman touched her arm. “I know your pain. But it must be. Unless you flee immediately.”

“We can't go back. There's a drought.”

“So it was with us. Bub makes sure his prey is secure before he strikes.”

“The others here in this barracks—they would all know. They saw me go with him.”

“None of them will tell. They know they would be tortured to death as traitors.”

So it was a conspiracy of silence, governed by fear. Haven had not much liked the idea of coming here, but had thought her fear of the unknown was probably exaggerated. Now she knew the opposite was the case.

“This is awful,” Haven said.

“I am sorry. Your children are very nice.” The woman turned and walked quickly away.

Haven wrestled with the problem all day, but could come to no decision. She was torn between intolerable evils. What was she to do?

Late in the day the woman returned. “Your people have worked well,” she said. “You will be fed well. But remember why.” She departed.

It proved to be so. Hero and Craft were tired but satisfied; they could handle the work. Crenelle and Rebel were pleased; they had helped carry food to the crew working on the grave during the day, including their three men, and it had actually been pleasant. They had seen women toiling in far more menial chores, and were glad to have avoided that.

But Haven knew they would not avoid that, and worse, if she did not do Bub's bidding. Did she have any choice?

The food from the kitchen was excellent; it really needed no additional preparation. Everyone was pleased, except Haven, who knew its price.

She saw Tour go to her mother and whisper in her ear. Crenelle looked sharply at Haven. Oh, no—the child had told about the meeting with Bub! Haven hadn't thought to warn her not to. But maybe it would be possible to conceal the larger portion of it; the child had no inkling of that.

But Crenelle did. She signaled her brother, who nodded. Then he spoke. “The crisis is upon us,” he said. “We must have a family meeting.”

“No!” Haven cried. “The children—”

“They belong to the family too,” Harbinger said. “They must know.”

“But this—”

Crenelle looked at her. “Bub wants you for his mistress,” she said.

Hero and Craft jerked upright. “What?” Hero asked.

In this dreadful revelation, Haven could think of only one thing to say. “How could you know?”

“We are of this culture,” Crenelle said. “We recognize the signs. We thought we had escaped the penalty, but now we know better. Tell us what he said.”

It was almost a relief to let it out. “He wants me to be his mistress. If I am, the family will prosper and have a wonderful chamber in the palace. If I balk, it will be terrible.” She looked up through tear-blurred eyes. “But how could I ever do it?”

“You can't,” Crenelle said. “And neither can I. But Rebel can.”

“I couldn't ask her to—”

“I can do what the family needs me to do,” Rebel said. “We can prosper, or we can suffer.”

“But I'm the one he approached,” Haven said.

“But I can take him from you, sister,” Rebel said.

She surely could. Haven knew herself to be a handsome woman, but Crenelle was prettier, and Rebel prettier yet. “But I'm the one he has access to. I can't leave the children.”

“I think you will have to join me as a serving maid,” Crenelle said. “Rebel will care for the children.”