"But what of?"
"But how can I stop now? It's what I came here for--"
Quickly, roughly, she wiped her face with a corner of the coverlet. "Pray for me, banzi! Pray for me as you never prayed for anyone in your life."
" 'Course I will, dear." Maia, bewildered, spoke as to a child. "But--well, it's not like you--can't you tell me the trouble?"
"No, you keep out of it!" retorted Occula immediately. She looked quickly round. "Where is she?"
"Terebinthia? With Sencho, Milvushina said. Shall I shut the door?"
"No; that'd be worse. She might come and listen outside and we'd never know she was there at all."
Sitting up on the edge of the bed, she buried her face in her hands. Maia sat beside her in silence. After what seemed a long time, Occula whispered, "Where have you been?"
"With Kembri. He was asking me--"
"With Kembri? Not with the governor of Lapan?"
"That's right. He--"
"Did he say when the spring festival would be held?"
"No; he was on about Bayub-Otal. He--"
"But he must know, banzi! He must know! Melekril's as good as over. They must have fixed a day by now!"
She gazed at Maia with a look of entreaty.
"Well, but he didn't say anything about the festival," answered Maia. "What's so important about the festival, anyway? Will it be soon?"
"Yes, of course it'll be soon, banzi! It's always held within a few days of the end of the rains. They must be goin' to announce the day--"
"Hush, dear! Try and take it easy, do! She may come along any minute. Why's it so important?"
"Because--oh, banzi, I can' keep it up any longer! It's like tryin' to keep holdin' somethin' heavy above your head. I'm exhausted! I'm finished!"
"No, that you're not!" cried Maia with all the confidence at her command; for though she had no notion what could so much have dismayed her friend, her whole spirit rejected the idea of her Occula being unequal to any turn of fate whatever. "You're not to talk like that! If it's someone that's trying to hurt you, tell me who it is. I'll go to Kembri--I'll do anything--"
"He was better today," whispered Occula. "He ate-- like he used to; and then he had Milvushina in by herself."
"Sencho?"
"When I saw the rain had stopped, I tried whether I could get him to tell them to carry him out onto the terrace; but I couldn' do it--it didn' work. I could feel it all tearin' up and breakin' to pieces inside me, like an old bit of cloth you can' patch anymore; like a blunt knife that woan' cut. I've lost the trick, banzi. Whatever am I goin' to do? If I can' get him to the right place when the time comes--"
Maia shook her head. "You're tired out, dear. Why don't you go to sleep? Come and sleep with me tonight, like we used to. I'll tell Milvushina."
"No: Terebinthia'd only wonder why. If only they'd announce the festival--"
"Old Drigga used to say 'Everything looks worse to tired eyes.' I'll make you some hot wine with honey. The fire's still in." Maia stood up.
"It mustn' go wrong now," whispered Occula, rocking backwards and forwards where she sat. "O Kantza-Mer-ada, remember thy faithful servants robbed and murdered! Give me thy power only a little longer! Kantza-Merada, give me thy power!"
She slipped to the floor and knelt there with bent head; the spread out her arms, palms downward on the floor on either side of her body; and so remained, as though waiting for some answer from the grim, black image above her on the bed. Maia, not knowing what more to say, folded her hands in her lap and waited.
At length Occula rose to her feet, blew out the lamp and stood motionless, facing the barred window.
As Maia's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see clearly the square of night sky, twinkling here and there with the faint points of stars. There was silence except for a gentle patting of wind.
Suddenly a wild shriek, savage and fierce, tore through the stillness. Hard upon it came the short, cut-off squeal of some small creature stricken and seized. Maia started back against the wall, but Occula made no least move. A few moments later the dark shape of the owl, clutching its prey, flew silently across the window-space and vanished.
Occula spoke in her normal voice. "Get me the wine, then, banzi: and after that I'll go to bed." Then, as Maia hesitated, "Go on, before the fire's out. Bread, too! I'm damn' hungry!"
When Maia came back, carrying the bread and wine in one hand and a newly-lighted lamp in the other, Occula had put the image away, but was still standing at the window. Turning, she smiled and took the wine-cup from Maia's hand.
"That's good enough for me, banzi! I would be a fool, wouldn' I, not to trust in--" She broke off.
"Not to trust?" asked Maia hesitantly. She was feeling somewhat shaken.
"A sign--an omen--as plain as that."
Maia shook her head in bewilderment. Occula laughed and kissed her.
"You doan' understand? So much the better for you!" Then, with a complete return to her normal manner, "Never mind! Just forget every bit of it! Listen; I'll tell you somethin' else--nothin' to do with owls. D'you remember Zuno and his white pussy-cat?"
"Yes, 'course."
"And how I said I'd do him a bit of good if ever I got the chance, all along of those robbers on the road between Hirdo and Khasik? Well, I reckon I've done it, like as not."
"Get away?" replied Maia, surprised. "I never thought you really meant it."
Occula, munching, sipped the hot wine.
"Elvair-ka-Virrion--t'other night--I never told you. He was sayin' that apparently the Sacred Queen's lookin' for a new household steward. The last man--she was angry with him. Lucky to get off with his life, Elvair-ka-Virrion said."
"What had he done, then?"
"Playin' around with one her girls. So I upped and said that Lalloc had this very superior young man in his employ, natural gift of authority, well-spoken and all that, who'd never want to touch the girls. And Elvair-ka-Virrion said that as it happened he was goin' down to see Lalloc about buyin' a lad to look after his hounds, so while he was there he'd just have a look at Master Zuno and possibly recommend him to Fornis."
"I wonder you was at the trouble," said Maia, recalling how they had trudged beside the jekzha in the burning sun.
"Oh, banzi," answered Occula, gulping down the last of the wine and climbing into bed, "it's not a question of likin' him; though I must admit I doan' altogether dislike him. But that's the sort of fellow who'll be able to keep his head, even in a household like the Sacred Queen's. And if he's pleased and she's pleased, you never know when he might not be able to do us a bit of good." She paused. "That's if anythin's goin' to be able to do me good. But I doan' mind now. Where Kantza-Merada went, I can go." She laughed. "Huntin' in the dark, I mean. 'Do not question the laws of the nether world.' Did old Kembri baste you again, then?"
Maia smiled. "No, but I got a lygol all the same. O great Cran, and I've just remembered--I never told Terebinthia I'd got back. I must go and find Ogma--"
"How long have you been back, Maia?" Terebinthia was standing in the doorway.
Maia raised her palm to her forehead. "A little while, I'm afraid, saiyett: I'm ever s' sorry! Only I found Occula taken bad, see, and that put it out of my head. But here's the governor's lygol."
Terebinthia, taking it from her, put it into her sleeve unopened. "What's the matter with you, then, Occula?"
"Nothin', saiyett. I've just been sick, that's all. Somethin' at dinner, I s'pose. I was just goin' to bed--unless there's anythin' you want."
"No," replied Terebinthia rather absently. "Maia, have you ever mentioned Milvushina to Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion?"
"No, saiyett: I haven't seen Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion at all since the night Milvushina was brought here."
"Well," said Terebinthia, "you'd better understand this, Maia. The High Counselor doesn't wish anything to be said outside about how Milvushina came to be here. If I learn that you've been gossiping, I shall be extremely angry, do you see?"
"Yes, saiyett. I won't say nothing."
"I've just been telling Milvushina herself the same thing. She's to say nothing to anyone of how she came here, on pain of the most severe punishment. Now listen to me. Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion has asked for you to go to a party at the Barons' Palace tomorrow night, and he wants Milvushina to go with you. I wasn't aware that he even knew of her existence. In the normal way I certainly wouldn't permit it, but the fact is that Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion was-- er--well, very generous and very pressing. So I've decided to let you both go. No doubt there'll be generous lygols if you do well."
"Thank you, saiyett."
"Now it's time both of you were asleep. Milvushina's in bed already."
"Is Dyphna back yet, saiyett?" asked Occula innocently.
"Dyphna? Tomorrow," replied Terebinthia; and was gone.
"Cran and Airtha! She's goin' to slip up one of these days, banzi; she's bound to," whispered Occula.
"Piggy'll find out she's featherin' her nest on the quiet and have her hangin' upside-down as sure as a cow can fart."
"Either that or she'll make her fortune," said Maia. "Elvair-ka-Virrion must have slipped her a hell of a lot to let Milvushina go out. Old Sencho'd never dream of allowing that if he knew."
"She must be better off than ever Domris was, right now this minute. Just think, every time one of us gets basted-- oh, well. Why doan' I stop talkin' and go to sleep?"
"Think you will now?"
"Sounder than a tree in winter. Good-night, pretty banzi."
37: THE SENGUELA
The early afternoon sun, slanting through the trees, shone on the bushes, the long, wet grass and patches of red-brown soil, drawing up a fresh-smelling warmth from the floor of the Tonildan glade. Close by, in a thicket, a greenbreast, with many pauses, was letting fall one slow, clear phrase after another; its song, in the silence, as joyous and untroubled as though there were no harm or danger in all the world. Winged flies, survivors of the previous summer, roused from the bark crevices or subterranean cells where they had sheltered through the rains, glittered in the soft air; many, in their first, unwary flutterings, snapped up by the pouncing sparrows. High above, in the newly-revealed, blue sky, a buzzard hovered, waiting to drop upon any small creature decrepit or injured, slow-witted, or simply deceived into momentary inattention by the benediction of returning spring.
Brown and spare, the young pedlar Zirek, stripped to the waist in the sunshine, stood leaning against a tree-trunk, one knee bent and foot raised as he scraped with a pointed stick at the mud caked on his boot.
His pack lay in the grass near-by and across it he had thrown his white-striped jacket and scarlet leather hat.
"So now you know--well, all there is to know," said he, looking smilingly down at his companion.
Meris, sprawled on his cloak, did not return the smile.
"But you did work for Sencho, all the same? As well as for Santil?"
"Well, I had to," answered the pedlar. "Else it wouldn't have been convincing. Some of the information was useful to him, too, I'm afraid--it had to be. Some of it was misleading, but some of it wasn't. It was a question of how little I could get away with. I've managed to avoid suspicion, anyway."
"And are there many, then, like you? Playing it double, I mean?"
"I don't know," said he. "I don't know anything except what I'm told. Those who don't know can't tell, can they?"
"Is that why you became a pedlar--to do this work for Erketlis?"
"No; I was a pedlar first; it was the Leopards--well, one of Sencho's agents--who first got hold of me, at Khasik, and said Sencho would pay me to work for him. A pedlar, going all over two or three provinces--I'm licensed from Kabin down to Ikat, you see--there's plenty of opportunities to pick up information. I accepted; but then I managed to let Erketlis know what had happened. He's made good use of it since." He broke off suddenly. "Listen! What's that?"
The glade was only a bowshot from the road by which they had come from Thettit-Tonilda. Zirek, following Sencho's instructions of a few weeks before, had called at Lily Pool early that morning and taken charge of Meris, whom Domris had woken and handed over to him before anyone else was about.
Since then they had walked some eight miles, first among fields and hamlets surrounding the city and then through the open forest-land east of Hirdo. Meris had at first supposed that they must be on the Ikat road and going south, for she had been told that the pedlar would be taking her to Chalcon. It was only gradually that she realized by the sun that this could not be their direction.
At last she had asked him directly what his plans were; and at this he suggested that they should turn aside into the trees for a bite and a rest. Meris had supposed that his reason would prove to be the one she was accustomed to; nor did she feel unwilling. She had not in the least been expecting what he had just disclosed to her and it had come as a considerable shock.
They both listened intently. From the direction of the road sounded voices and laughter, followed by crackling sticks and a rustling of the bushes.
"It doesn't matter, does it?" said Meris. "After ail-- you and me here--why not?"
The pedlar, without answering, stole away through the trees. He returned a minute later.
"Four or five young fellows with a couple of bullock-carts--no one I've ever seen before on this road. They've gone now, anyway."
"What were you afraid of?"
He sat down on the cloak beside her. "Well, in this game, you see, you never know who might have been put on to watch you; or who by. Sencho doesn't really trust anybody. But I believe Erketlis trusts me, even though I've never seen him in my life."
Meris frowned. "You've never seen him?"
"Oh, great Cran, no; that'd be much too risky! If you're-- well, what I am--you don't meet heldro leaders in person. You meet carters along the roads--old women in sweet-shops in the lower city--wood-cutters--whoever you're told to meet. You don't know them; you exchange a password. "Colonna"--"Bakris"; that sort of thing. You may never see them again. No, I've never met Erketlis, but I get his orders all the same."
"D'you think there may be people like you the other way round--working for Sencho?"
"I'm certain of it."
"Enka-Mordet--who gave him away?"
"I don't know," said Zirek, "but it only goes to show you can't trust anyone. Sencho had someone among Enka-Mordet's people; he must have. Or more likely Sencho just had some personal reason to want him dead."
Meris stretched lazily in the sunshine.
"You know what I was told I was going to have to do?"
He laughed. "What you're good at, by all I've heard. Had some practice, haven't you?"
"Plenty: I was looking forward to it. Be like old times, taking men into the long grass again. They said they'd free me if only I could find out what Erketlis is up to."
The pedlar put one arm round her and kissed her bare shoulder.
"Well, you won't be able to do that now, will you? What it comes to is this: you've got a choice. I can leave you with a friend of mine at Hirdo: but of course you realize, don't you, that whether I succeed or fail, they're bound to look for you? All the same, you may think it's your best chance. Kalton--my friend--he'd do all he could for you, I know that."
"And the other?" asked Meris.
"The other's to come along with me and help me. If it fails, I promise I'll kill you quick--this dagger here, see? But I believe myself that if only Occula can pull it off, we'll succeed. It's afterwards is going to be the hardest part." He paused. "Well, how d'you feel? Do you hate them enough to try it?"
"Hate them?" answered Meris. "Hate the Leopards? O Shakkarn, if only you'd seen Latto .hanging upside-down by the road! You couldn't even see his wounds for the flies!" She clenched her fists. "And Yunsaymis--she was in Sencho's household, you know. He had her whipped, like me--he sold her--he--"
"All right, I've got it: you don't like them," said Zirek. "Well, now's your chance; and a better one than working for
Sencho in Chalcon, I'd say. Him? When you weren't useful any more, he'd simply get rid of you. He certainly wouldn't free you, whatever he may have promised."
"But how's it to be done?" asked Meris. "If only I thought there was a chance--"
"Why, there's a fair enough chance," answered he. "In a day or two it'll be the New Year festival. There'll be crowds coming into Bekla from all over the provinces, and if only you can walk the distance in two days, we can be in the thick of them. I've got my pedlar's pass into the upper city. Durakkon'll be giving a feast by the Barb that night."
"Well?" said Meris tensely.
"I'm not saying any more," replied the pedlar. "Those who don't know can't tell. But I work to Santil's orders and I trust him. He wouldn't send me there without we had a fair chance."
"But how can we expect to get out of the upper city? There isn't any way out, except through the Peacock Gate."
"And that I'm not telling, either. But you can believe me when I say I believe we shall get out. Else I wouldn't be going." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. "If you don't fancy it--and I shan't blame you if you don't--say so now. It'll certainly be safer for you at Hirdo, with my friend."
Rising to her feet, Meris stood looking down at him. At length she said, "You mean I could really help to kill him, myself? I could actually see the bastard die--see the shit pouring out all over his filthy belly? Hear him choking in his blood--"
She stopped, panting and biting on her fingers.
"Steady, now, steady!" said Zirek, grinning. "Well, perhaps there might not be quite enough time for all that. Once it's done we'll have to be off sharp, you know--no fond farewells like you seem to have in mind. But since you're feeling so enthusiastic--"
"Do you remember," cried Meris, "do you remember what I offered you in Sencho's house, the day you gave that pottery cat to the black girl?"
"I wouldn't be likely to forget it," answered Zirek.
"Well, you needn't give me a flask of kepris today," said Meris. "Arid we don't have to be all that quick about it, either."
As he took her in his arms, she felt for the fastening at the neck of her robe, but his hand had reached it before hers.
"I'll come with you," she whispered, as they sank down together on the cloak. "Oh, yes, I'll come with you! Ah! Ah! Ready, weren't you?"