Free A Bait of Dreams by Jo Clayton Page B

pressed against her palm. She moved a little away from him, then glanced back. His face was a pale mask, cool and indifferent. As he walked away, she turned to watch the Captain.
    Korl had appropriated the corner nearest the door, evicting the sleeping men already in possession. He and his crew were standing in a muttering huddle, their eyes repeatedly seeking her out. She shivered once more and looked about a little desperately for the Juggler. He was leaning casually against the wall near one of the last windows. The other men were negligible, most of them not even awake. Korl and Shounach. One at each end of the room. Two poles of power. Gleia moved her fingers along the hilt of the knife now hidden in the folds of her sleeve. You make your choice, she thought, and then you pay the price. She swallowed, feeling a little sick at losing the integrity of body that six years-standard of peace had given back to her. Keeping the knife hidden she turned her back on Korl and began moving toward Shounach.
    A meaty hand came down hard on her shoulder and swung her around. “You goin’ the wrong way,” Korl said.
    â€œTake your hand off.” She kept her voice calm, spoke with cool contempt.
    His fingers tightened on her shoulder. Chuckling, he pushed her toward his watching men. “That skinny nothing not for a nice little thief.”
    Gleia brought the knife up, slashed at his arm and whirled away as he howled with pain and slapped at her head, spraying drops of blood over several startled sleepers. Gleia held the knife ready and danced back, watching his hands.
    Korl’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the blood still dripping from his arm, then at her as she stood holding the knife in a street-fighter’s grip, close in to her body. He grinned and slipped off the leather shipmaster’s vest. “Little cat,” he said and flicked the end of the vest at her head.
    Gleia ducked and twisted past the vest, slashed at his arm, opening a deep cut, and was away before his hand could close on her. He looked down at the cut, amusement replaced by rage; he roared and charged at her, counting on his strength and reach to outmatch her knife. Gleia danced back then dived under his arms, opened a cut on his leg, ran full out away from him, leaped over a watcher and stopped in a small open space. Korl staggered, then jumped forward. He was between her and Shounach, the grin gone from his seamed face. He began moving toward her, far more cautiously now. Gleia retreated step by step, not daring to take her eyes from him. She began to sweat, wondered how close she was getting to the crew. Korl’s eyes shone with anticipation.
    He stopped suddenly. “Juggler.” His voice was hoarse; he was breathing heavily. “Where you stand in this?”
    â€œNowhere.” The deep voice was cool and disinterested.
    â€œDo I watch my back?”
    â€œI’m not moving. Read that how you want.”
    Korl grunted. He flicked the vest at Gleia’s head and came in low when she leaped back. He flicked it again. She stumbled over a watcher and nearly went down, scrambled frantically and managed to tear free when his hand closed on the sleeve of her cafta. She left the sleeve in his hand and glanced over her shoulder to see how much room she had left, forced down panic when she saw how little it was.
    The Captain was panting, sweat streaming down his face, and the cut on his leg was bothering him, slowing him down. She tried passing him again but misread the crouch. His hand closed on her ankle. Squealing in her fear and anger, she slashed repeatedly at his hand, wrenched her foot loose and rolled desperately away.
    The Captain shook the blood off his hand. He had trouble closing his fingers into a fist.
    Gleia got to her feet and pushed at hair plastered by sweat to her face. Eyes on the Captain, she edged along the wall toward the Juggler. She mopped at her face and let her shoulders sag. Before her eyes