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He started the fire under the boiler and loaded aboard tools and the small supply of krenoj he had managed to set aside from their rations. All of this took time, but not time enough. It would soon be dawn and they would have to leave before then, and he could no longer avoid making up his mind. He could not leave Ijale here, and if he went to get her he could not refuse to take Mikah as well.
Ijale was still recovering from the traumatic effects of her bath, but she looked positively attractive with her skin cleaned and her hair washed and combed a bit. He would have to find some of the local cloth for her since it would be a shame to ruin the good work by letting her get back into the badly cured skins she was used to wearing.
The water was warm from the stove, yet Ijale still crouched against the wall and shuddered when he poured it over her. She screamed when he rubbed the slippery soap into her hair, and he continued with his hand over her mouth so that she wouldn't bring in the guards. He rubbed the soap into his own head, too, and it tingled delightfully as it soaked through to his scalp.
He could hear the complaints on when he broke the news to Ijale, but it was for her own survival. "I shall care for and lead her in the paths of righteousness," a remembered voice spoke from the doorway. Mikah stood there, clutching to the jamb, a turban of bandages on his head. "That's a wonderful idea," Jason agreed enthusiastically. He turned to Ijale and spoke in her own language.
"Take your clothes off, I have a surprise for you." "Yes, Jason," Ijale said, smiling happily. "You're going to get a bath. Do you know what a bath is?" "No," she said, and shuddered. "It sounds evil." "Over here and off with the clothes," he ordered, poking at a hole in the floor. "This should serve as a drain, at least the water went away when I poured some into it."
He stomped over and helped himself to some soup and waited for his anger to simmer down. "I cannot do it ... I cannot do it," Mikah brooded, staring into his rapidly cooling soup as into an oracular crystal ball, seeking guidance there. Jason turned his back in disgust. "Don't end up like him," he warned Ijale, pointing his spoon back over his shoulder.
While this long-faced clown can only think in abstractions of abstractions, and the more unreal they are the better. I bet he even worries about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin." "I do not worry about it," Mikah broke in, overhearing the remark. "But I do think about it once in a while, it is a problem that cannot be lightly dismissed." "You see?" Ijale nodded.
I could not judge an innocent man guilty and be a party to your unfair action. Therefore, I left him on guard." "You did, did you?" Jason grated with rage and pulled an unfelt handful of hair from his newgrown beard. "Then where is he? Do you see anyone on guard?" Mikah looked in a careful circle and saw only the two of them and the wakening Ijale. "He seems to have gone.
That evening they built a fire on the beach and Jason sat with his back to the safety of the sea. He took his helmet off, the thing was giving him a headache, and called Ijale over to him. "I hear Ch'aka. I obey." She ran hurriedly over to him and flopped onto the sand. "I want to talk to you," Jason said. "And my name is Jason, not Ch'aka."
Jason opened the valve a bit and they clattered forward on his trail as Mikah turned the tiller to follow. Ijale crawled over and settled herself against Jason's side, shivering with cold and fright. He patted her shoulder. "Relax," he said, "from now on this is just a pleasure trip." They were six days out of Putl'ko and their supplies were almost exhausted.
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