Sword-Maker(64)

Obsession is necessary. Obsession is required. Obsession is the master when compassion undermines.





Three




She sat herself down on my knee and traced out the scars on my cheek. “Soooo,” she purred, “you came.”

I opened one eye. “Was I supposed to?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone said you would. And now you are here.”

I opened the other eye. It didn’t change the view: black-haired, brown-eyed woman, perching her rump on my thigh. Leaning up against me to show off abundant charms, hardly hidden by loose, gauzy blouse.

“Kima,” she told me, smiling. “And you are the Sandtiger.”

I cleared my throat. “So I am.” I shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. Kima was no lightweight, and I was still a bit sore from my travail in Chosa’s mountain. “Who said I would come?”

Kima waved a hand. “Everyone,” she said. “All the other girls and I had a wager as to which of us would get you.”

Cantina girls are notorious for wagering, and for vulgarity. But then, when you’re a man in dire need of a woman after too long alone in the Punja, you don’t really care. It used to be I’d just nod at whatever they said, not being particularly interested in anything other than physical charms; now I frowned at Kima.

“Why was I coming?”

“Because all the sword-dancers are.” She snuggled up next to my chest, butting the top of her head against my chin. “I know your kind, Sandtiger … the lure of coin is powerful. It brings you all out of the desert.”

Yes, well, occasionally. Actually, more than occasionally; it’s sort of part of our lifestyle. Hard to live without coin.

I reached past Kima, managed to snag my cup, carried it carefully to my mouth. Downed three swallows, then lost the cup to Kima. “How much did you win because you managed to ‘get’ me?”

Her giggle was low and throaty. “Haven’t won yet. Have to take you to bed.”

I sat—and Kima sat—in a corner of the cantina, snugged into a little alcove. I’ve never been one for sitting plop out in the middle of the place, since it’s hard to keep an eye on everyone in the cantina. But give me a corner table, or one pushed into an alcove, and I’m a happy man.

I was not unhappy now, although I’ve been happier. I couldn’t help thinking of Del, gone off to reserve a room at an inn up the street. What would she think of Kima?

Kima traced scars again, sliding fingernails through my beard. The other hand slid lower, then lower still; I sat upright so suddenly I nearly dumped her on the floor. “Sorry,” I murmured as she spilled aqivi down her blouse.

She considered being affronted. Then took note of the fact the wet blouse displayed still more of half-hidden charms in a rather unique way. She leaned against me again. “First the son, and now the father. He might be younger, but you’re bigger.”

I grunted inattentively, trying to reach around her so I could pour more aqivi into the recovered cup. And then her words sank in. “What?”

She smiled, applied tongue tip to scars, pouted prettily as I pulled away. “Your son,” Kima said. “He was here, too.”

“I don’t have a son.”

Kima shrugged. “He said he was your son.”

“I don’t have a son.” I tipped her off my knee. “Are you sure he said my name?”

She stood over me, hands on hips. Breasts strained against wet gauze. “Do you mean to take me to bed or not?”

Del’s cool voice intruded. “Don’t keep her waiting, Tiger. She might get out of the mood.” She paused. “Then again, probably not; do cantina girls have moods?”

Kima swung around and came face to face—well, no, not exactly face to face; Del was a head taller—with the cold, hard truth: when Del is in the room, no other female exists. It’s height, coloring, sword. It’s also grace and danger. Plus a lot of their things.

Clearly, Kima knew it at once. She decided to fight her way, since she couldn’t compete with Del. “He’s taking me to bed! I’m going to win the wager!”

Del smiled coolly. “By all means.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, scenting trouble. “Right now I don’t much care about who’s taking who to bed—that can wait till later … what I want to know—”

Del interrupted. “You never could wait before.”

I smacked down the brimming cup. Aqivi ran over my hand. “Look, bascha—”

Kima looked Del up and down. “You don’t belong in here. What are you doing here? There’s no room for another girl. And you can’t have him.”