The scraping stopped. I smelled the tang of sweat and fear. Something was afraid.
“Now,” said a quiet voice.
Hands. They touched me, grasped me, dragged me.
Hoolies, don’t drag me—my head will fall off my neck—
“Here,” someone said, and they put me down again.
“Is he alive?”
Hoolies, yes. I wouldn’t be anything else.
Something pressed my chest. “Yes.” Relief. “Yes,”
I tried to open my eyes. This time I succeeded.
Not that it did much good. What I saw wouldn’t stay still.
“Bascha?” My voice was weak. “Del—what happened?”
“The stud tried to kick your head off.”
“He wouldn’t—”
“He almost did.”
Memory snapped back. “Hoolies—” I blurted. “The dance—”
“Tiger—Tiger no—”
I lurched into a sitting position, thrusting away the hands. “I have to go—the dance—” And then clutched my head.
Del sounded exasperated. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Through the pain, I gritted it out. “Abbu will be waiting. All of them will be waiting—”
“You can’t even stand up.”
It even hurt to blink. “Too much depends on the dance … they agreed, all the tanzeers … if I don’t dance, Hadjib and his followers win—there’ll be war—oh, hoolies …”
Everything went gray around me. I lingered on the edges, wondering which way I would fall.
“Tiger?”
I yanked my senses back. “—have to get up,” I mumbled. “Someone help me up.”
“Postpone the dance,” Del said. “Do you want me to see to it?”
“They won’t—there’s no—I don’t think—” Hoolies, it was hard to think. Harder yet to talk. “I won’t forfeit this dance.”
Del’s face was tight. “They won’t expect you to dance when you’re in this kind of shape.”
“Doesn’t matter … Abbu will claim victory, and there’ll be no chance for peace—”
She took her hand from my arm. Her tone was very cold. “Then if you must do this, get up and walk out of here. Now. Waste no more time on weakness.”
I rocked forward, slopped over onto an elbow, tried to gather legs. It took me two tries. Then I staggered to my feet.
Only to fall again. This time to my knees. And eventually to a hip, levered up on an elbow. I shut my eyes, shut my teeth, tried to wait it out. Begging the pain and sickness to wane.
“I’ll postpone it,” she said.
I was sweating. “You can’t … bascha, you can’t … they’ll claim forfeit—they have the right … Abbu would win, and Hadjib would win … we can’t afford to lose—”
“We can’t afford to lose you.”
“—sick—” I muttered tightly.
“You’ve been kicked in the head,” she said curtly. “What do you expect?”
Maybe a bit more sympathy—no, not from Del. Too much to hope for.
And then another voice intruded. A husky, male voice, asking after me. Mentioning the dance.
He came through the doorway. I blinked up at him dazedly, trying not to vomit. It was very hard to think clearly.
“Ah,” Abbu remarked, “one way of avoiding the truth.” He glanced at the others, then looked back at me. “I came over to see what was keeping you. Everyone is gathered. Everyone is waiting.” He smiled. “Your lord Esnat came close to forfeiting, but I said I would come here myself. It’s very irregular, of course … but I want this dance too badly. I’ve waited too many years.”
It was all I could do to lift my head high enough to see the sun without spewing my belly across the floor. “I’ll be there,” I mumbled; the sun glared balefully down from directly overhead.
Abbu Bensir laughed.
Del’s tone was deadly. “Will you accept another dancer in his place?”
“Oh, bascha—”
Del ignored me. “Will you?”
“—South,” I slurred. “Do you think Abbu or anyone else will accept a woman in my place?”
Del only looked at Abbu.
He was, above all, a Southroner: old habits die very hard. But every man can change, given reason enough to do so.
Abbu Bensir smiled. “It’s the Sandtiger I want—but that can wait a little. You are no disgrace to the circle.”
Del nodded once.
Abbu glanced at me. “Another time, Sandtiger … first I will beat your bascha.”
“Go,” Del said coolly.
Abbu Bensir went.