Traitors, p.12
Traitors, page 12
Some guest files, like Beltar’s, were kept in large books bound with ribbon. Others, like his, contained a single sheet of paper, and were kept loose in a box the size of a small desk, marked by year. This year’s box was already half full.
Tellen had come into the room long enough to show Diate where everything was, and to pull the file on the dead man. Diate waited until Tellen left before investigating the files. He wished he had more time. Tellen only wanted him in the room long enough to read the dead man’s files. Diate wanted to see what other patterns of guest behavior he could find in the resort.
He figured he had until early dinner before Tellen would kick him out. So he started with his file and Beltar’s. He wanted to get a sense of the kind of information Tellen put into his files. Diate’s merely noted the items he had told the registration clerk. Beltar’s contained everything from wine labels to bits of personal history written in a scrawl Diate later figured to be Tellen’s. Tellen was a gossip. He loved finding out personal information about his guests and recording it in their files. It didn’t appear to be in any particular order. It was as if the files were large personal scrapbooks instead of blackmail material.
From Beltar’s file, Diate learned that his old friend had been mated once, and that the woman had disappeared under what Beltar thought mysterious circumstances. Tellen’s scrawl added a supposition that the woman had left Beltar—no matter how wealthy and good-natured a man is, Tellen had written, a woman still wants him to look attractive.
A flash of anger flared through Diate. Beltar had always looked attractive. His clothing was expensive, he was well groomed, and he cared for himself with a fastidiousness Diate had seen in no one else. Tellen was a man with interesting prejudices, and not the host he thought himself to be.
A single notation was added later in the file. Beltar’s mate had left him to return home on a trip, and had died along the way. Poor Beltar. No wonder he understood sadness so well. No wonder he worked so hard at fighting loneliness. The notation made Diate wonder about Tellen’s original impression. Maybe Beltar hadn’t felt that his mate had left under mysterious circumstances at all.
Reluctantly, Diate set aside Beltar’s file, and pulled over the dead man’s. A cloud of dust so thick that Diate felt it as well as saw it rose from the stacks. He coughed, wondering how so much dust could form in so little time. Probably because the room had almost no ventilation, and documents had been stored here since the resort opened.
He opened the file. The dead man’s name had been Marcus Feledon, and he had been coming to the resort before Diate was born. Originally a travel scout for a small company in Golga, Feledon had moved to the Vorgel to learn the secrets behind their engineering prowess. Vorgellians were notoriously tight-lipped about such things, preferring to maintain the technology themselves. Feledon had to have another way to earn a living on Vorgel, or he was remarkably well accepted. He spent every holiday at the resort, and only missed one, after his mate had died.
Diate wiped a finger over his nose and then sneezed again. His hands were covered with dirt. He might have to break off so that he could clean up before he met Sheba for dinner.
He sighed, and thumbed through the file, noting nothing unusual. Feledon was an exemplary guest who left his room spotless and supported the resort financially as well as by word of mouth. Only on the last visit did anything odd happen.
Since his mate died, Feledon had traveled alone except for his last visit. He arrived with a woman half his age whom Tellen had originally thought Feledon’s daughter. It became clear, midway through their early supper, that Feledon did not treat the woman like a daughter at all.
Two nights into the visit, the neighboring cabin reported shouts and poundings coming from Feledon’s cabin. Tellen investigated personally. The cabin was quiet when he walked up, but all the lights were on. When he knocked on the door, he waited quite a while before it opened. Feledon stood there, looking flushed. He asked what he could do for Tellen. Tellen said he had heard reports of a disturbance. The young woman peeked her head around Feledon’s shoulder. She was naked. She assured Tellen that everything was all right. Her face was as flushed as Feledon’s.
Four days later, Feledon drowned. The young woman found him, her distress so great that she could barely hiccup the words. Tellen examined the body, saw no unusual marks or bruises, and assumed that Feledon had gotten caught in the undertow, as too many other guests had previously.
The file ended just after that. Feledon had no family, so no outside investigation occurred. The young woman accompanied the body home on the next air shuttle off the island. Tellen had the cabin cleaned carefully, but found nothing unusual.
Diate closed the file and held his hand on the cover for a moment. The cursory investigation made him uncomfortable. If he were planning a murder, this small corner of Rulanda would be the place to do it. Numerous murders could have occurred here, and no one would have conducted a real investigation. Nothing in the file made him think that this case was connected to the smuggling. Just an odd gut feeling, and a sense of timing.
He put the file back in the box, and dug through the pile until he found another thick one. He hadn’t known until he pulled the file out that he was looking for Sheba’s.
Hers was nearly as thick as Beltar’s. He coughed as another cloud of dust rose around him. For a moment, Diate clasped the file to his chest. What right did he have knowing things she was unwilling to tell him? Every right. She probably had as many secrets as he did.
He opened the cover and settled back to read.
A sound at the door startled him. He slammed the file shut and tossed it back in the box. Then he leaned over and piled more papers on top of it. He was still bending over when the door opened.
“Find what you were looking for?” Tellen asked.
Diate stood up and wiped his hands. He found he liked towering over Tellen. “I found Feledon’s file, but the information in it was so slight as to be almost non-existent. You need some kind of security or special investigative team from somewhere else in Rulanda for these kinds of things.”
Tellen shut the door and leaned on it, looking up at Diate. “We don’t have security teams anywhere on Rulanda. Resorts don’t require them.”
“Every place requires protection,” Diate said.
Tellen smiled. “Again we’re at that mysterious crossroads in our backgrounds. In all my years here, I have never felt the need for ‘protection.’”
“Until your glass starts disappearing.”
“Even then. Your friend Beltar recommended you. I listened with some reluctance. I am feeling the same reluctance now.”
Diate crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Things are not as tranquil here as they seem. I suspect I could go through all of those files and find a number of cases as mysterious and questionable as Feledon’s.”
“I don’t like your insinuations, Detective.”
“You hired me to investigate the disappearance of some priceless objects. You’re paying me to insinuate.”
“Which reminds me.” Tellen’s hands clutched the doorknob. Diate could see them hunched behind him. “We have not discussed fees.”
Diate pushed the box back into its corner. “We will discuss my fee if I can help you. Until then, this is merely exercise for my mind.”
“I pay for services,” Tellen said.
“You will,” Diate said, “when I have results.” He smiled a little. “Nice change of subject, but I’m not done yet. Feledon dies two weeks ago, about the time that you discover the glass is missing. If this place weren’t so small, I would think it a coincidence. But it isn’t, is it, Tellen?”
Tellen’s mouth tightened. “Feledon drowned.”
“Yes he did,” Diate said. “The question is, who helped him drown? The woman he was with? Or someone else?”
“Are you accusing me?”
Diate wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m accusing no one and suspecting everyone right now. And I don’t like the way you’re withholding information from me. Now, tell me about the back entrance to the storage room.”
Color suffused Tellen’s face. “Who told you about that?”
“No one,” Diate said. “But I did figure that since the only entrance was through your office, and I presumed you owned the only key, no one could get in that way. Therefore there was another entrance. And it isn’t through the pond. No water has touched that room in a long time.”
Tellen ran a hand over his face. The dirt on his fingers smudged his skin. “There is an entrance off the kitchen that we sealed nearly a dozen years ago. I checked it after this whole thing began, and found it still sealed.”
“I would like to see it tomorrow,” Diate said.
Tellen nodded, and wouldn’t meet Diate’s gaze. Tellen wasn’t used to this kind of close scrutiny. He had owned the resort since his father died, and had never answered to anyone. No wonder he bristled when Diate questioned him.
“It is early supper,” Tellen said. “I’m going to have to lock the room. Will you need to see this again as well?”
Diate glanced at the box with Sheba’s file in it. The box nestled against a stack of others, half buried in dust. “No,” he said. “I’m done here for now.”
Tellen opened the door and backed out, then held it for Diate. Diate followed. A guest standing on the other side of the counter glared at him, as if his dirt-stained clothes and sweat-covered face disgraced the hotel. Tellen locked the door behind him. Diate made his way out of the back.
“I will contact you late morning,” he said.
“Fine.” Tellen’s fingers brushed at his hair, and Diate didn’t have the heart to tell him about the smudge running across his face.
Diate stepped out of the building and into the thin evening light. He sneezed twice. A breeze licked the sweat off his arms, and cooled him. If Golga kept records like that, the entire nation would be a fire hazard. He shook his head, and walked to his cabin.
The woods on the far side of the resort land were silent. Two sailboats graced the lake. Somewhere out there, small creatures with amazing vision etched glass so precious it could not travel off this spot. If he had more time, he would make Tellen or someone take him to the Hoste, and see if they were having problems. But dealing with natives would be difficult, and if he could wrap up the case without dealing with them, he would.
He unlocked the door to his cabin and stepped inside. Immediately the hair on the back of his neck rose. He closed the door quietly and eased into the room. A faint scent of flowers reached him, and he relaxed a little. The smell had alerted him. Someone—Sheba?—had been here.
He scouted the living room, then walked down the tunnel-like hallway. Sheba was sprawled across his bed, sound asleep, one hand tucked under her chin, the other across her belly. She was naked.
For a moment, he studied her, examined the play of light and shadow across her golden skin. She was slender and well muscled. Her breasts fit easily into his palms. The curves of her buttocks were tight where they slid into her well-formed legs. The chill air had made her nipples hard. Her lips were parted slightly. She looked radiant.
He went into the bathroom, took off his clothes, and scrubbed the dirt from his body. Then he crawled in bed, and pulled her against him. She stirred, wrapping one leg around him, leaning against his torso for warmth. He ran a hand along her back, warming her skin. With his other hand, he tilted her face toward his and tasted her mouth.
She sighed and moved against him, as sensual in sleep as she was awake. He kissed her slowly, gently, the hand on her back working its way between her legs. He waited until she was wet, then slipped inside her. She didn’t open her eyes until her first orgasm, and then only to cry his name. Her passion increased as her consciousness did, and together they rode the wave to the most delicious, shuddering climax he had ever felt.
When they were done, she stretched. “I could be awakened like that every day of my life.”
He cradled her head against his chest. “I didn’t expect to see you until late dinner.”
“I couldn’t wait,” she said.
“I’m glad you didn’t.” He kissed the crown of her head, feeling desire war with the tiredness he felt.
“I ordered dinner to be brought here,” she said. “It should be waiting outside.”
It was. She had ordered the same food they had missed the night before. They ate together on the bed, sitting cross-legged, naked, knees touching. The food had an odd, bittersweet taste to it that Diate associated with the iced coffee. When they were finished, he set the plates on the floor, and kissed Sheba. He found that he liked the bittersweet taste best on her.
They made slow, passionate love long into the evening, neither of them wanting to give up sensation for sleep.
The second floor of the Recovery Center was quiet. Diate slipped past the plants and up the stairs, flashing his identification four times before he was free to go into Martina’s room.
The heavy security pleased him.
As he pushed open the heavy door, she stirred. Her hands were still elevated, but she wore thinner bandages on her face. He couldn’t tell if she was awake or not.
“Martina?”
She turned her head toward his voice. Her eyes were no longer bandaged. They were the only signs of life on her body. “Emilio?”
The name sounded strange coming from her. He let the door close, then took a chair beside her bed. “How’re you feeling?”
“Is Beltar with you?”
“No.” He had wanted to come alone that morning. He didn’t want to see Beltar’s disapproving gaze as he spoke with Martina. He also didn’t want the distraction so soon after he had left Sheba. He had never experienced a night like that in his entire life. His body still tingled with the memory of it.
“You think I’m lying to you,” she said.
He glanced at his hands, then at her bandaged ones. A piano player. With the damage the Kingdom had done to her fingers, she might never play again. “Your story makes no sense,” he said. “They had you in custody, and then they let you go. A few days after you’re home, they try to kill you. Why do it in the open? Why not do it when you’re in custody, when there will be no witnesses and no reason to justify it?”
Her body stiffened. “You can believe what you want to, but that’s what happened.”
He sighed. “I’m not your enemy, Martina. I’m really not. I think we have more of a kinship than you’re willing to acknowledge. I survived the label of traitor, and you will too.”
“You weren’t captured. You weren’t burned.”
“That’s right. I wasn’t injured much, physically. By the time I got to Golga I was starving, and my feet were covered with sores upon sores, but I never had to go through the kind of physical pain that you did.”
She closed her eyes and turned away, her movements sending the sharp scent of liniment through the room. “Then you can’t understand.”
“Do you have family?” The question came out before he could stop it.
She didn’t open her eyes, but tilted her head to catch his words better. “They weren’t home when the guard came.”
“I grew up in a family of five,” Diate said. “We were close. My sister and I even danced together, until they determined that she was barely a C and would have to prove herself. She got assigned to a cruise ship, but never got to serve.”
“I know the story. They were murdered.” Martina’s voice was vaguely mocking, as if a dead family couldn’t compare to her physical wounds. And it probably couldn’t, but Diate didn’t want to abandon the topic—not yet.
“No.” The words eased out of him like an involuntary breath. “They were slaughtered. I found them when I came home from my lesson. My instructor wanted to send me to the Queen that day. I would never have seen all that blood if I had stayed. I would never have gone home. I would still be dancing somewhere, making money for them—”
His voice broke and he stopped, a flush creeping up his cheeks. He rarely spoke of that, and never spoke of it in such detail. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
Somewhere during his speech, Martina had started watching him. Her eyes glittered through her bandages. “Surgery doesn’t remove those scars,” she said. The sarcasm was gone.
“Any more than it will touch the memory of the abuse you suffered.” He made himself meet her gaze, his face hot.
“It’s not the same,” she said.
“No, it’s not.”
She pushed back in the bed, the movement making her hands swing. She closed her eyes, tears forming around the lids. Tears of pain. Diate wondered how badly she hurt.
“I refused,” she whispered, as if saying the words would bring someone into her room, someone who wanted to kill her. “I knew about you years ago, Detective. It’s odd that you’re the one who is protecting me.”
Diate leaned forward. He frowned. “What did you refuse?”
She blinked a few times, then turned toward him. “I was a Diate Rebel.”
The term made Diate start. He had never heard it spoken before.
“People who follow the teachings of your father. They’re called Diate Rebels. The state tries to control them—and sometimes it kills them. Many of the rebels have moved away from the island, but some stay and study underground. I stayed.”
Diate felt giddy. He had trouble drawing breath. He had known about the rebels, but all the reports he had gotten dismissed them as a rag-tag, disorganized band of kooks. He hadn’t realized the extent nor the seriousness of their organization.
The Golgoth’s voice echoed down the years. And so you come here, to continue your father’s rebellion? The Golgoth had suspected, even then. Odd that during the years, they had never discussed the rebels.
“What did you refuse?” Diate asked.
He could sense rather than see the tension in her body. She didn’t want to discuss this. “I refused to play along with their plans for rebellion,” she said. “I left. That’s when I applied for my Talent position. The Minister of Culture was kind enough to give me an off-season audience with the Queen.”
