Shadowspeer by Jo Clayton

Author:Jo Clayton [Clayton, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780886774417
Publisher: DAW Books
Published: 1990-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

Page 84

they were all around her now, standing there ... almost touching her ... drooling yellowface jiccamels ... Luck stay sweet, I’ll make it ten quims

...

“Singer.”

Ai yi, it’s the hot-iron man hisself, Mommajogga Emkakkaei! Ai ai aaaah, what am I doing ...

diving headfirst down a mine?

“I am the Emkakkaei Rossoldur, Servant of Guintayo the Light and of Dirin Mashudokana

Hido’imuth dan Sorizakredam. The Shudokan desires to speak with you. I am come to take you to the audience chamber.”

The Singer got slowly to her feet. She was tiny before the Goyo’s three meters plus, but she stood with a regal assurance that made nonsense of that difference in size. She bowed her head a thumb’s width as a matter of cour-tesy, but she said nothing.

“Send them away.”

“No.”

Vlees the jinsbek moved up beside the Singer, un-clipped his holster flap and rested a meaty hand on the grip of his pellet gun, a casual reminder that he belonged to the Sirshak-kai whose love for Goyo monks was some-what less than microscopic. “We stay.”

Singer and monk stared at each for several tense mo-ments, then the Emkakkaei muttered a shidduah he didn’t mean and turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Come, then.

All of you.”

7

Dirin Mashudokana glittered and glimmered in silk and velvet, diamonds in a sunburst pectoral

(gold), diamonds on gold armbands clasped over heavy white silk sleeves, diamonds in heavy gold rings on every finger and both thumbs, diamonds in a gold headband holding in place a velvet cloth embroidered with gold thread, gold sandals with diamonds on the straps. He shimmered with every breath he took. Unfortunately, in the middle of all that sheen and show was his long wrinkled yellow

Goyo face, juiceless and charmless as a squeezed out lemon. He crouched up on his dais in his gold chair with its white silk cushions and peered down at the Singer and her com-panions, visibly annoyed she wasn’t alone. His eyes flick-ered to the jinsbek, skittered away, came back to the Singer. He scowled at the veil. “Take it off,” he said.

She lifted the gray gauze, turned it back over the silver coronet so it fell in heavy folds that framed her

face, still covering all but a narrow strip of eyes, nose, mouth. A grudging obedience that Pikka

Machletta applauded si-lently.

“Sit down. The bench there. Rest of you stand where you are. Keep your mouths shut. You weren’t asked. What are you doing here?”

Pikka flared her nostrils.

Typical. Goo says don’ talk and then he ask y’ what y’ doin here.

Shadow bowed her head, smiled sweetly; she was modest and deferential and Pikka wriggled inside her boots, biting her lip to keep from grinning. This was how the Singer played the game when she conned the Sirshaka who wasn’t any genius except when you compared him to this stinkworm. “They came with me because I wished it, Mashudokana Seffyo,” the Singer said.

It was as if she sang the words rather than spoke them; her soft, clear voice filled the vast chamber and came whispering back as echoes.

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