Deathwing (15 page)

None of the party looked especially flattered by that, chaperoning a blind girl not having been on their agenda for the evening. The shuttle fell ominously quiet. Shivania seemed oblivious of the response or else ignored it. She found her way to a seat, as nimbly as any sighted person, turning her head back at Graian. She was wearing an embroidered mask over the upper part of her face. The two thread-woven eyes stared at the captain owlishly. ‘You’re not going to deny the permission, are you, sir?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Well, we do have… business,’ Graian began, in the voice of someone who was wondering how he could eject the girl without offending her.

‘Oh, leave her be!’ Solonaetz said. ‘I’ll be glad to offer you my arm, Shivania.’ He smiled at the captain.

‘What about your neck?’ Graian asked. He looked disappointed, if not mortified.

Solonaetz shrugged. ‘It can wait. We’ve all been cooped up for weeks. I for one would not deny a person the chance to stretch their legs on solid ground if they desire it!’

‘I thank you, navigator, for your courtesy!’ Shivania said formally, but there was laughter in her voice, mocking laughter. She directed the needle of her attention at the priest. ‘Ministorum duties planetside, brother?’

Gabreus shifted uncomfortably. ‘Of a kind. Naturally, I would have offered to accompany you but…’ he began, but Graian silenced his apologies.

‘Come, come, the matter is settled. Let’s fly.’

A
SSYRION WAS A
remarkable confection of a place. Her streets were paved in pearled marble, her towers rose, tier upon tier, aflutter with the pennants advertising which services could be found within. Sulky eyes, painted on silk, gazed through laced fingers, the perfumed breezes causing them to ripple as if alive. Graian had already made up his mind: he wanted the navigator with him when he visited the Palama residence, so Shivania ended up joining them. Rather than use public transport, the captain insisted they walk on foot to admire the city sights. Solonaetz was disappointed. The main form of conveyance was provided by elegant open carriages drawn by beasts of burden native to the planet; creatures that seemed to be an absurd blend of camel and wild dog. He would have liked to ride in one. Perhaps later he and the astropath could hire one for a while.

Shivania, extending her heightened senses to encompass all they passed, kept up an awed commentary, which Solonaetz could tell soon began to get on Graian’s nerves.

Palama House was situated in the heart of the Aromatics district; a sweeping pale leviathan of a residence, with many low, sprawling workshops to the rear. The air was so filled with the reek of perfume-blending, Solonaetz’s and Graian’s eyes began to water profusely. Shivania, being blind, did not experience this discomfort.

Presenting themselves at the soaring main entrance, its elegance enhanced by its classical simplicity, Graian and his companions were shown by an imperious servant into an understated yet exquisitely furnished salon near the front of the house. Refreshment was brought: pale, fragranced wine and tender wafers perfumed with local flower essences. Shivania exclaimed that Salome Nigra must be a world created solely for the pleasure of astropaths. ‘The stimulus is for the nose, the nose!’ she enthused. ‘Who needs physical sight in such a place?’

Graian and Solonaetz, still wiping their eyes with kerchiefs, were inclined to agree with her.

G
UIDO
P
ALAMA MADE
a grand entrance after a suitable time had elapsed. He was a tall, well-built man, his handsome face set in a perpetual smile. After a short, polite enquiry as to his visitors’ journey, health and opinions of the city, he settled immediately to business.

‘So,’ he said, leaning back in his silk-cushioned chair, ‘you essay an entreaty to the Dark Lady of Nepenthe!’ He helped himself to a biscuit, nibbling thoughtfully. Graian and Solonaetz had both leaned forward expectantly. ‘My family have captured the essence of the mystic flower for centuries,’ he continued. ‘Mysteria Hypno Morta – a prayer, her name, a prayer!’ He sighed. ‘We call her the lacrymata, the moonskin, the last breath of a favoured concubine. Mysteria – dark maid of the hidden caves. Fragrant, fragile bloom, whose fleeting kiss is spiritual joy, whose bitter juice is oblivion!’ He smiled.

The speech was obviously a sales pitch, Solonaetz thought. However, the plain truth would be lacking in romance. The Palamas grew a rare flower in underground catacombs, whose perfume was highly narcotic and whose essential oil was a deadly poison if ingested. It could also be sold for ridiculous amounts throughout this corner of the Imperium. Naturally, such an honest description would not have excited Graian’s desire for purchase as much, but then, why bother anyway? The Palamas were rigidly discerning about who they dealt with in the world of commerce. The fact that Graian was here at all indicated the sale had already been finalized with the Fiddeus clan back on Terra. Graian was just a courier. Guido Palama obviously liked to romance his merchandise.

Solonaetz noticed Palama was looking at him keenly. ‘Naturally, you wish to see… for yourselves,’ their host said, with a wider smile.

T
HE CATACOMBS WERE
accessible via a single door in the heart of the Palama workshops. Violet glowstrips illumined the worn stone steps that led downwards into a damp murk. Shivania slipped her arm through Solonaetz’s as they descended. ‘Can you smell her?’ she whispered. The navigator could feel her trembling.

‘Is this what you came down here for?’ he asked in an undertone. It was possible. Astropaths, being psychic and therefore mystically inclined, would be bound to be interested in the lacrymata. Shivania squeezed his arm. She did not answer.

‘Here the beds of lesser maidens,’ Palama intoned when they reached the bottom. Terraces of peaty soil, black as grave-dirt, swept away into the dimness, micred with pale stars; the blooms themselves. ‘Mysteria Puella,’ Palama said. ‘She is destined for the warm throats of ladies of the grand houses of all the worlds. A decoration, merely mimicking the forbidden sensuality of her elder sister.’ He plucked a single bloom and presented it to Shivania. ‘For you, my dear. Press her well between the pages of your mea libra and she will greet you with a benediction whenever you go to inscribe your meditations.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ Shivania said. She sniffed the flower cautiously. ‘Mmm. Here, Solonaetz!’

He leaned over to sample the perfume. Its first note was bright and fruity, descending for a brief flirtation with the carnal bloom of musk before rising to a final crescendo of riotous spring flowers. ‘Excellent! You will look forward to your inscriptions from now on, I think!’

Palama led them further into the breathing dark. Solonaetz’s skin prickled with a weird excitement. He felt as if a thousand sighing creatures of the night were shifting restlessly on black satin couches around him; vampire beauty concealed from sight beneath a venomous mat of narcotic flower flesh.

‘And here,’ Palama whispered reverently ahead of them, ‘the boudoir of the lady herself. Have care, my friends, she sleeps and dreams.’

Solonaetz heard Graian gasp. He himself was holding his breath, but not for long. Ahead of them, a gloomy crypt spread into infinity, its tiers snaking between massive columns and arches. Each tier was overflowing, indeed gravid, cancerous and alive with convolutions of shimmering fleshy whorls. Bloom upon bloom crawled over their sisters, engulfing, tumbling, sending out whippy suckers festooned with tumescent buds and the perfume…

Solonaetz had to suppress a groan. The sorcerous elixir of it seethed and flexed upon the tongue, the throat, reaching down with limber fingers to the belly and groin. No simple cadence here, but a hectic symphony of aromatic notes. The first was fruity too, but this was the over-ripe, giddy eruption of autumn in full swell, sweeping lustily down to a dark woodland of musk and sandal spiced with civet and ambergris, rising orgasmically to the exuberant scream of spring; jasmin, asphodel and creamy rose. Flowers of the flesh. Solonaetz swallowed thickly, dizzy with the aroma that was playing havoc with his sense of reality, never mind his more carnal senses. At his side, Shivania was motionless. Her touch had become vague upon his arm.

Palama let them all sample the agonizing ecstasy of it for a few moments before clearing his throat and saying, ‘Well, I trust you are satisfied, Captain Fiddeus. Perhaps we can repair to the salon once more to arrange delivery of your consignment.’

R
ATHER OVERCOME, AND
silent because of it, Graian, Solonaetz and Shivania eventually emerged into the streets once more. Shivania toyed gently with the bloom Palama had given her, settling it safely behind a talismanic pin on her robes. They reached the tourist quarter, almost unaware of how they had got there. Cafes and bars lined streets that radiated out from quaint squares, discrete alleys limned with globes of deep red light leading to areas of more lascivious delights. The aroma of cooking food did something to dispel the enchantment of Palama’s crypt, and Solonaetz suggested the three of them choose one of the cafes to sample local cuisine. Shivania agreed enthusiastically, but Graian, looking sheepish, mumbled something about going to find the rest of their party. Solonaetz, fighting the urge to poke fun and discomfort the captain, merely smiled and told him he and Shivania would meet him back at the spaceport in three hours, ship’s time. Graian gratefully scuttled off down one of the alleys.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to go with him?’ Shivania asked, clearly aware of what Graian was looking for. ‘I don’t mind. I’ll be quite happy sitting here alone. Really.’

‘No!’ Solonaetz insisted, firmly tucking the girl’s hand through his elbow. ‘Come along. This looks an interesting place. Glazed fowl hanging everywhere! Take a sniff!’

Shivania laughed delightedly and they went inside.

‘I
WISH
I could see you,’ Shivania said wistfully as they sat drinking a dessert beverage after the meal. ‘I mean, really see you. Your aura is handsome, navigator, and yet…’ She shrugged. ‘Silly of me. It must be the effect of this little lady here!’ She touched the bloom in her robes. ‘I suppose I must be ugly to you, blind as a cave bat as I am!’

‘Shivania, stop that,’ Solonaetz said. ‘You are a very pretty girl, as you well know, and I am a rather haggard spectre of a man. Drink your dessert!’

‘You haven’t seen me without this,’ she said mournfully, indicating her mask.

‘So show me then!’

‘You won’t scream?’

Solonaetz laughed. She was joking, of course. ‘Only behind my hand. I’m not squeamish, Shivania, really.’

Impulsively, she reached up and untied the strings of her mask, lowering it swiftly, with an air of challenge. Her eyelids drooped over blind milky orbs sunk deep into her skull, as if shrunken. Thin, almost pencil-drawn, brows shadowed the sockets. It was not gruesome, however, which Solonaetz knew the girl must be aware of. A test then? Was she inviting a physical response from him?

‘Disgusting,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘Dress yourself at once!’

She smiled and replaced the mask. ‘I could ask you to remove yours, navigator, but there’d be little point. Doesn’t it itch having to keep the eye under a band all the time?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Would you be able to see into the warp now, from here, if you removed it and opened the eye?’

‘What I would see is the otherworld of our reality. In a place like this, it might be educational, but rather upsetting, I feel.’

‘Strange. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so squeamish.’

‘I’m not, just careful. So, tell me, what was your interest in coming down here? You intended to accompany Fiddeus to his client all along, of course.’

‘Your warp sight lends you a sharp perception, navigator,’ Shivania replied. She was enjoying herself immensely, he could see. She sipped her drink daintily. ‘Lacrymata is a legend. I was curious. Also, if the fables surrounding it are true, it possesses innumerable properties which haven’t even been guessed at yet.’

‘Really. And which of these legends concerns you?’

Shivania laughed. ‘You sound like an inquisitor, navigator. Aren’t I allowed a girlish curiosity?’

‘Allowed it, certainly, but I doubt that is your motivation.’

She shrugged. ‘The interest was casual, really. It was only a rumour. I heard the lacrymata stimulates psychic sight – far beyond what a humble astropath can imagine,’ She shrugged again, jerkily. ‘However, I’ve smelled the stuff now, and my inner sight has not improved significantly.’

‘I should hope not!’ Solonaetz exclaimed. ‘Whatever properties the perfume has, it is also very dangerous, and possibly attractive to hostile forces.’

‘And that, dear navigator, is probably just as much a fable as any other connected with the lacrymata. Palama has to sell the stuff, doesn’t he? It was all just talk.’

Solonaetz remembered the effect the lacrymata flowers had had on him and suppressed a shudder. He did not share Shivania’s apparent scepticism.

‘Anyway, I’m bored with the subject,’ she said. ‘I’m more interested in you. How old are your injuries?’

‘What?!’

Shivania smiled slyly. ‘Oh come now, navigator, you should know I see more than others, lacrymata or not. Your aura has scars. How did you get them, and where?’

Solonaetz was impressed. ‘It happened what seems a long time ago, and my name is Solonaetz – remember?’

She shrugged. ‘Well?’

By the time he’d finished pouring out his life history to the girl, they had scant minutes to return to the rendezvous point with the others from the Brava. Solonaetz felt as giddy as an excited boy as they hurried through the streets; purged and renewed.

He’d been waiting for someone with whom he could exorcise the past to come into his life, someone free from the drippings of cloying pity. Whoever would have thought this young, quirky girl would be the one? So much for the pleasure-vaults of Assyrion. Solonaetz had no doubt that what he’d experienced by simply talking in the dim-lit cafe far superseded any delights of the flesh Graian and the others had experienced.

O
F COURSE, SHE
came tapping on his cabin door while he lay restless in his sleep cell, weary to the bone, yet unable to rest. Of course, she came with words of reassurance. ‘Rest easy, Solonaetz. I ask no more than this of you.’ Of course, it was a lie. And she, lithe avatar of release, cast a shawl of tawny hair across his breast and stroked his brow, saying, ‘Look upon me, navigator, with the eye that sees my soul!’ She removed his bandana and kissed the closed lid, bringing a fragrant memory of the lacrymata to his throat. She was so beautiful and skilled with such dark voluptuousness that, in the midst of their love-making, he did open his eye.