His Imperial Worship frowned, his chin on his palm, one little finger between his lips. “It might be amusing to send you out next,” he said, his eyes steady on the monitor, “He might kill you out of general principle.”
Nubry formed a large letter Y, head down and with her feet far enough apart to suggest His Imperial Worship was thinking of making her into a T, but hadn’t made up his mind yet. It was not a comfortable position, but she could, at least, see the second monitor, the one that printed out as text what was being said by the contestants on the silent screen above it.
The Emperor knew this. “It is a pity you’re literate,” he said. “There’s so much more suspense if the prisoner doesn’t know what the group is deciding. But even the Imperial Power can’t have everything.”
She could read upside-down, though it was not a skill she’d ever expected to use much. The real pity was that the one thing she had never learned to read was lips.
YOU UNDERSTAND, CAPTAIN, SIR: FREQENTLY THEY DO MAKE THE PRISONER WATCH THE MONITORS.
I HOPE IT WAS THE REAL ONE, MY BLUE BEAUTY. SHE TALKS ABOUT NOTHING BUT HER BILSTIM BOOKS.
“You’ll like this,” the Emperor told her, still not looking back. “Where they open the door and see they’re not out yet. This gets better with each door.”
A bulging iron porthole sprang open at a touch to reveal a vast, undulating blue web. The Blue Klamathan took a step onto the sticky fibers and turned to Bott.
THAT LITTLE LIBRARIAN WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN ABLE TO COPE EFFICIENTLY WITH THIS SOR T OF ROOM, WOULD SHE, CAPTAIN SIR?
OH, NEVER. SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN A GREAT OBSTACLE TO OUR PROGRESS.
Nubry frowned. “Will they really be able to reach the Dragonshelf?”
His Imperial Worship reached into a tall glass column at his elbow./ Nubry had read about these. Filled with dirt, they eld vast cities of the tiny Pitchopki, a highly developed if minuscule race of sentients. A steeple and two legs dribbled onto his chin as he chewed.
“Of course,” he said, around the mouthful. “That’s why they have so many rooms to go through. Any less, and I would be untrue to my own empire. Besides, they’d probably blow up the ship, thinking it was a trap, if they got there too soon.”
The Imperial head came around to take in her expression at the thought of the ship being destroyed. “And what do you suppose you will do when you see them fly away without you?”
The idea had not previously occurred to Nubry. She gave it some thought. “I believe I’d cry. Would I? Yes, I would.”
Something about this answer brought a crease to the Imperial forehead. A thumb landed on the chair controls, and he came over to study his prisoner. A long fingernail came out to stroke the line of her chin. “I wonder if your pirate would recognize a copy that was missing just one toe.”
Nubry would have pulled back if she could; the Imperial breath was not enhanced by being flavored with the deaths of intelligent beings. His Imperial Worship smiled, and fingered the controls of the chair again. It moved around to the back of the prisoner, where she couldn’t see him.
Nubry felt herself being lowered, slowly enough that she could pull her head to the side and rest on her chest when she reached the square below. She rested for one second and then was jerked stark upright in moments, nearly dislocating both shoulders. Knowing there was no position she could move to to ease the tension, she looked up to the screen.
The green Klamathan was kicking spiders as big as her head left and right. Bott was removing the Gold Klamathan from a tangle of webs.
YOU COULD NEVER HAVE DONE THIS WITH THAT USELESS LIBRARIAN, EH, CAPTAIN SIR?
LET US FIND A ROOM WITH A GOOD SOFT FLOOR, MY ORANGE CONFECTION, AND I SHALL DEMONSTRATE SEVERAL THINGS I COULD NOT HAVE DONE WITH THAT BOOK-WORSHIPPER.
Her midsection jerked forward. The second kick twisted her to the left, grinding that wrist against its manacle. The third kick landed as a new kind of pain proved that her ankle cuff was being moved to make her kick herself. Silly of her to think His Imperial Worship would have gone to the trouble. She wondered if he even had feet, or was permanently attached to his chair.
She bit her lower lip. Each kick bounced her joints further into difficult positions: a few more and either hers arms or that eg would be completely disjointed. She’d never seen this before, and swung her head left and right to find out what it looked like.
“I should make copies of you for my own collection; you’re an interesting houseguest.” The chair slid around her again. “But enough pleasure before business.”
Nubry snorted as she felt the copier start up again. As the first pains rippled through her, she twisted to the left. His Imperial Worship had thoughtfully left enough give in the manacles to allow for withing. A pop at each shoulder told her she had missed the spectacle of seeing her shoulder come apart.
She pulled to her right; this did not ease any of the pain. Perhaps she should think about something else, as her mother had suggested every year during the annual inoculations. She considered the screen. What did she know about Bott Garton?
He was not tall. At the moment he was punching spiders taller than he was. But he wished to be as big a man as his father, in deeds if not in inches.
He was musical. They had not had the leisure for him to demonstrate his harmonica repertoire, but she was certain he would be the best harmonica player she’d ever listened to.
She blinked away some of the sweat pouring down her face. He was interested in reading. Even now, he was looking through her book, apparently seeking the conversation between Bunny Bunk and Spider Stringer as he and his party paused between a strand of web leading to a red door and one leading to a yellow door.
Why didn’t her teeth snap? Her jaws were doing their best to accomplish this. Back to the list: the pirate was a good shot, and probably a good pilot, too, even if he was a little pushy when it came to other people’s ships. Maybe that was because he was a pirate. She breathed in and found her nostrils also flooded with sweat. She didn’t dare sneeze or cough; apparently a large blade was forcing its way up inside her throat.
On the screen Bott was saying something into his card as the four moved through the yellow door. At this angle she could not read what he was saying. That was a pity; it was probably something funny. It had been fun to listen to him make jokes to the Drover. A pilot needed a sense of humor.
And he was one of the good guys. Was he? Yes, he was! The way he talked to the Klamathans was only…a way to mislead them. Yes. He didn’t know them very well, and was afraid they might be Imperial spies. He was lulling them, leading them on until he was sure. You could tell from the way his jaw stuck out that he was holding something back.
“Ohoo!”
That spasm twisted her whole bod y up toward her wrists. Nubry was afraid her spine would snap in four places, but she couldn’t stop. Every muscle in her body was trying to rip free of bone and skin.
The she dangled against her manacles. A new Nubry landed on the floor. For a second, the original watched the copy try to rise on overextended arms. Then the newcomer dropped out of sight.
Her eyes went up to the screen. What had His Imperial Wortship programmed this imitation to do?
Her eyes rested there only a moment. A whirring sound announced the arrival of long multi-jointed arms. Eight-fingered hands jutted from these arms, tiny toothed blades buzzing at the end of each finger. Her eyes—al she could move at the moment without Imperial permission—followed them in. “Enough business,” the emperor declared. “Back to pleasure.”
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