64: THE MORROW MORN

Maia, who had slept again for an hour, woke soon after first light to see Randronoth, at her dressing-table, wetting his fingers to quench the smoking lamp-wick he had just blown out. As soon as she spoke he crossed the room, knelt at the foot of the bed, took one of her feet between his hands and began kissing it. She stroked his cheek with the other. "You're up early."

"I'm happy," he answered.

How early, she was wondering, could she practicably expect to gain access to Fornis to ask for Tharrin's order of release? Well, she would simply go to the house as soon as she could, and if that was too early, she'd sit and wait.

He looked up at her, smiling, "I can't do any more— more's the pity. Once I could have."

"Forty-one's no age, Randro." Then, fearing that he might suppose that she had known men of his age more virile, she added, "You've shown me that already. It's silly to try and force yourself, after we've had such a nice time." She patted the still-warm place beside her. "Come back and lie down. There's something I want to ask you; something that's very important to a great friend of mine."

"Which friend?"

"Nennaunir. You knew her very well at one time, didn't you? You saw her yesterday and talked about me?"

"Oh, she told you, did she?" For the first time he seemed displeased. "You've only to tell a girl something, and it goes buzzing about the city like a bluebottle."

"But darling, don't be silly; of course she told me. It was to help you! She told me you'd said you wanted me terribly, and would she speak to me about it? That was why I arranged for the auction at the barrarz, so that you could have me." (He'd believe this, she felt sure; and anyway it was near enough true.) "I'm not touching a meld of the money, you know."

Lying down once more beside her, he made no reply, only looking at her with an expression of disbelief.

"It's true, Randro. The money, that's between you and the Leopards—or the army—or the temple. One of them, anyway: how should I know? But it's not for me at all."

"Well, I heard Elvair said that, but I didn't believe him."

"Well, you can. All I'm asking for, on my own account, is the same as Nan asked you for—to get poor Sednil exchanged out of the temple: to take him down to Lapan and see if you can't discharge him early."

He frowned. "Sednil? What's Sednil to you? Why do you so particularly want me to take all this trouble over Sednil?"

At this she burst out at him. "Cran and Airtha, Randro, it's easy enough to see you've never been in trouble, let alone a slave! Can you imagine what it's like to be someone else's property? To possess nothing of your own, to have no rights at all, no say in where you go or what you do or even whether you live or die? That boy's as innocent as you and me" (and a damned sight more than you, she thought) "and if it hadn't been for that stupid ring of yours, as you gave to Nan, he'd be free today. He's Nan's friend and he's my friend. People like us, who've been down on our luck and seen bad times, we try to help each other. Is that so very hard to understand?"

"Oh, I love to see you get angry!" he said. "You really drive me crazy, Maia! All right, I'll get the boy exchanged, I promise you, and I'll have him discharged within three months. I was wrong: put your arms round,me. No, you stay on top. Oh, gods! Ah!"

Later he said, "You know I have to go back to Lapan today? Why don't you come with me? I'll make you—"

Gravely, she shook her head. "No, dear, that's impossible. Don't press me."

"I don't know how I'm going to live without you, Maia. It could easily drive me to desperation, d'you know that?"

"You say that now, Randro; but there's others. You can pretend otherwise."

"Not like you. I've never known anyone like you, Maia. I'll find some reason to come back soon. But if I do get Sednil released—and you can give Nennaunir my word for that—will you spend another night with me as soon as I can get back to Bekla? I shall be eating my heart out until then."

In spite of all she knew of him, she could not help feeling touched. The truth was that Maia had never quite been able to accept the effect of her beauty as something for which she bore no responsibility. (This was why she had behaved so generously and warmly to Selperron in the Caravan Market.) She knew that when Randronoth said that his longing made him feel desperate, he was speaking no more than the truth, and she felt not only sorry for him, but sorry also to have been the cause of it. In a way, she felt that she had wounded him for her own ends and ought perhaps to make some restitution. After all, she had quite deliberately set out to exploit his infatuation, and it had cost him enough.

"Well—"

He gripped her hand. "Yes?"

A promise with no date for fulfillment is always perilously easy to grant, especially for the young. Maia's mind was running with excitement and pleasure on the release of Tharrin. She felt full of the elation of success.

It had been a desperate venture and she had pulled it off. But she owed this to Randronoth—to his obsession and his reckless extravagance. Besides, to refuse would only upset him—just when everything had gone off so well. Nennaunir was going to be delighted, and she herself—well, she felt more than rich enough in spirit to give him a kind answer.

"Yes, darling, of course I will: only you must keep quiet about it. This auction was one thing, but if it gets round that you're counting on going to bed with me next time you come to Bekla, that'll be—well, I mean—I'd be—"

He smiled. "Compromised?"

"Something o' that. Any road, I wouldn't want everyone knowing: so just you remember."

Suddenly she sat up in alarm, listening. "Whatever's that downstairs?"

What she had heard was heavy knocking at the outer door. There followed JarviFs voice and another male voice answering. Randronoth, also listening, nodded unperturbed.

"That'll be two of my men, bringing your money. I sent them orders last night, before we left the barrarz."

"You mean it's really down there? Nine thousand meld, in coin? Oh, Randro! Thank you! Thank you!"

She kissed him more warmly than she had throughout the entire night. "Oh, I must go down and see it!"

Jumping out of bed, she flung her robe round her. Then, turning back to him with shining eyes, "Of course it's not that I don't trust you! You know that. It's just that—oh, I'm so glad! I'm so happy about it!"

He frowned, puzzled. "But you just said you weren't going to get any of it for yourself. Maia, what's all this about? Has it got you out of a mess or something?"

She kissed him quickly. "I'll answer that if you'll answer me another. Nine thousand meld—in ready money. Where did it come from?"

That had stopped him in his tracks all right; she could see that. He paused.

"Never ask me, Maia; you leave that to me. I'm hopelessly in love with you: I had to have you. That's enough for you—and best for you, too, believe me. Come on, I'll go downstairs with you and make sure it's all there. Then we'll have breakfast—I need it—and after that I'll have to go. I wonder whether you'll ever realize how much you've given me!"

She had given him nothing, she thought. He had sought pleasure, he had found pleasure, but she had not bestowed it. How strange that he should be in no doubt that he had acquired something which she had not conferred; and more, that he should be so much dominated by this unreality! Just so, old Drigga had once told her, might two people be together and one see a ghost while the other could not.

The Sacred Queen's garden was no less fresh and morning-scented than on the day before. The peacock was busy among a handful of cornseed which a gardener's boy was scattering on the sunny lawn, while from somewhere out of sight, behind the purple lam bushes, sounded the clicking of a pair of shears.

Maia, without waiting to announce her arrival, made her way round to the stone doorway. Direct prayers were never offered to Frella-Tiltheh—the unknown and un-knowable—but for a full minute or more she stood silently, with bowed head and outstretched palms, beneath the niche containing the cowled figure of the goddess; so long, in-deed, that at length Brero, waiting behind her, put down the box containing the money and turned aside to watch a squirrel in a near-by tree.

When at length she knocked, Zuno opened the door almost immediately. Pausing only a moment to glance towards the soldier in attendance behind her, he led the way across the red-and-white tiled hall and up the staircase. Plainly, she thought, her arrival had been expected; no doubt the events of the night were already known to the Sacred Queen.

At the top of the stairs he turned and said, "You're to go straight in. She's due at the temple soon, you see, and she won't—" He hesitated. "She certainly doesn't mean to be late."

The bedroom door was standing open. Maia stopped in the entrance, looking in. Fornis was bustling about the room, moving hastily from one place to another, yet to all appearances doing nothing in particular. She seemed both excited and preoccupied. As Maia watched, she spread out her hands in front of her, examining first one side and then the other. Next moment she picked up her comb and looked in the mirror, but almost at once put it down, went across to the window and stood tapping her fingers on the sill. She was wearing a deep-purple robe embroidered with gold thread and her hair, piled high, was enclosed within the sacred crown of Airtha. Now, at close quarters, Maia recognized the great emerald which Occula, in the temple, had known for her father's. Of Ashaktis there was no sign: the Sacred Queen was alone.

Maia coughed and made a slight movement. Form's, turning, for an instant, looked slightly startled, actually seeming not to recall who she was. Next moment, however, smiling cordially and graciously, she had come forward and taken the hand which Maia had raised to her forehead. Her own hand felt hot and sweating, and before speaking she passed her tongue once or twice across her dry lips.

"Maia! How delightful to see you again! I'm glad you've managed to come early: I should have been most disappointed to miss you; only I have to go out very soon, you see. Never mind: do sit down for a moment and make yourself comfortable. What a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Her completely unexpected air of geniality and warmth left Maia—for some moments, at all events—speechless. Faced with any other woman who might have had the effrontery to adopt such a manner, following upon what had passed between them the day before, she would have found sufficient self-confidence to answer her as she deserved. But this was the Sacred Queen: nor was it only consciousness of her power and authority which threw Maia into confusion. There emanated from this extraordinary woman an almost hypnotic dominance and self-possession, so that quite possibly, if she had pointed to the moon and said, "Oh, look at the sun!" a hearer's first reaction might well have been to wonder whether there was something wrong with his own eyes or even with his own mind. Just so Maia, for a fleeting instant, found herself wondering whether yesterday's encounter in the archery field had really taken place, and then—since it had—whether perhaps it might have been with someone else and not with the queen. Then, and only then, did it occur to her that the queen was entertaining herself. It amused her to treat people— particularly those who were helpless before her—with flagrant inconsistency, and to see how they responded while trying to keep themselves in countenance.

"Esta-säiyett," she began, "since you're in a hurry I won't keep you any longer'n what I need to. I've brought—"

"Oh, come now, there's not all that much of a rush, Maia," replied Fornis, motioning her towards one of the big, carved chairs and patting her forearm reassuringly. "Do you know, I feel quite full of curiosity about you? Do tell me—" and at this she leaned forward with every show of interest—"did you go to Elvair-ka-Virrion's barrarz for the Chalcon expedition?"

Did I—? But she must know every last thing about it, thought Maia.

"Yes, esta-säiyett, I was there for a time."

"And I suppose it was great fun, was it? Lots of young men from all over the empire? I expect you danced, didn't you? I've heard about your dancing."

"Yes, esta-säiyett: Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion asked me to dance."

"What did you dance?"

She wants to see me lose control. She wants to see me break off short and start in about Tharrin and the money before she does.

"I danced an old Tonildan tale, esta-säiyett, about Lake Serrelind."

"How charming! And the Ortelgan baron—er—what is his name, now?—he enjoyed it?"

"Lord Bel-ka-Trazet, esta-säiyett?" (That was one to her, she thought: obviously Fornis had meant Ged-la-Dan.) "He didn't actually say as much, but I believe he may have."

"But Randronoth did?"

"I'm sure he did, esta-säiyett."

"Yes." She smiled. "I'm sure he did. Well, of course, that's one of the delightful things about Randronoth. As Sencho once remarked to me, he's always extraordinarily easy to please. He's perfectly happy with almost anything. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, esta-säiyett." She might have replied more, but meeting the cold, green stare above the smiling mouth, fell silent for very dread. Fornis was like the Valderra: it had not occurred to her till now that she might not get out alive.

There followed a short silence. "Well," said Fornis suddenly, "I expect you'd like to talk about your stepfather and the money, wouldn't you?"

"Thank you, esta-säiyett. I've got the money outside: ten thousand meld. Shall I ask my man to bring it in to you here?"

Fornis, still gazing at her with every appearance of sympathetic concern, nodded. Then she stood up briskly.

"No, no, I'll see to it; don't trouble yourself, Maia."

She went out the open door and Maia heard her walk down the corridor and call to Zuno. Her own pulse, she now realized, was beating very fast and she felt breathless. She wondered whether this had been apparent to the queen. Together with her fear of Fornis there had come upon her a vague but none the less disquieting presentiment—sprung no doubt from Fornis's cat-and-mouse affability—that some trick was about to be played on her. She tried to think what it could be. Fornis might say the money was short: she might take the money and refuse her the reprieve: or she—she might give her the reprieve and then have her murdered before she left the house. In sudden panic, Maia stood up and ran to the window. Perhaps she could climb down and get away before Fornis returned.

At this moment Brero came into the room—burly, familiar, smiling, the very embodiment of reassurance. In her unreasoning fear—the kind of fear Fomis so readily engendered—she had not considered what his presence here implied. Even Fornis could not hope to get away with the murder of a veteran of the Beklan regiment—or with cheating her before his eyes. True, he did not know the ins and outs of the business, but nevertheless he was—he could be—a witness.

"Brero," she said quickly, leaving the window and crossing the room to where he was standing, "I want you to stay close beside me, please, until we go. Don't leave me on any account, do you see?"

He looked surprised, aggrieved: probably he took it for a reproach. "Well, of course, säiyett; if that's what you say. I only stayed outside 'cause it was the Sacred Queen's bedroom, like. I mean to say—"

He broke off, but then resumed, "Reason I come in now, säiyett, she told me to say would you please just step outside and join her?"

She nodded and smiled, and he followed her into the corridor.

Fornis was seated at a narrow table beneath one of the windows overlooking the garden, while Zuno, kneeling at her feet beside the open box, was counting the money. As Maia approached he closed the box and stood up, nodding corroboratively.

The Sacred Queen, who had beside her sealing-wax and a lighted candle, forthwith set about affixing her seal to a small sheet of parchment lying on the table. Maia, who had never seen this done before, watched intently as For-nis, with practiced ease, melted the wax at the flame, dropped a round patch at the foot of the written parchment, wetted the seal with her tongue and pressed it down. The impress, precisely formed, depicted Airtha leaning over the sleeping Cran.

Forms picked up the parchment, shook it back and forth a few times to cool the wax and then handed it to Maia with a smile and a benign inclination of her head.

"There you are, my dear: and now I expect you'll want to be off, won't you? I certainly must be: you'll excuse me, I'm sure."

Getting up, she faced Maia for a moment, graceful, elegant and majestic. Though not an exceptionally tall woman, to Maia she seemed to rise above her like a tree, multifold, instinct with a quality of pliant, tense motion. She felt the Sacred Queen kiss her cheek and then saw her walking away with quick, agitated steps towards the stairhead.

The parchment felt cool, smooth and slightly greasy. Its very unfamiliarity seemed to confer upon it a magical, talismanic quality. Nevertheless she looked at it doubtfully, for not one word—not a brush-stroke—of what was on it could she read. Yet this alone—this thing of power— comprised all that she had sought and gained from her long night's work. Unless there was some trick, this was the actual instrument that would save Tharrin's life.

The queen was gone. Maia turned to Zuno, still standing beside her.

"Zuno, please tell me: is this really and truly an order of release for Tharrin, and is it—well, is it all right?"

He took it from her and read it through deliberately. There were no more than five or six lines in all.

"What is the prison governor's name, do you know?"

"Pokada."

"Then it's entirely correct. It's addressed to him, it says Tharrin' and the seal's her own and no one else's. You've only to take it down there."

"Oh, Zuno, I can't believe it! Somehow or other I thought she'd—oh, I'm so glad! Oh, thank you, Zuno, thank you! Give my fondest love to Occula, won't you, and say I'm sorry I didn't see her?"

With this she turned and, closely followed by Brero, hurried down the corridor, down the stairs, across the hall and out into the garden, the parchment still clutched in her hand.

At the Peacock Gate she dismissed Brero and his mate, put on her veil and took the first jekzha she saw. To be sure, there would not be a great many idlers about the streets of the lower city this morning.

Almost everyone who could would have gathered at or near the Blue Gate to watch Elvair-ka-Virrion and his men set out for Chalcon, but nevertheless she did not want to run any risk of being hindered on her way to the prison.

What would it be best to do, she wondered, once Tharrin had been handed over to her? Presumably he would simply be released to walk out through the prison gate: then she would have him entirely on her own hands. She couldn't take him back to her house in the upper city; that would never do. On the other hand, if she were to put him up at "The Green Grove" or "The Serpent" while she arranged for his return to Serrelind, there was always the risk—and no use pretending there wasn't—that he might skedaddle.

Thinking it over, she decided the best thing would be to pay Lalloc to look after him for a day or two. He wouldn't be able to bunk from Lalloc's. Not very dignified, certainly, but really and truly he had no claim to expect more.

And she'd see him right. She'd see them all right; even Morca! Only, Tharrin was damned well going to do his fair share of getting the family back on an even keel again. She'd send a reasonable amount of money every month— ah! paid through Some reliable person in Meerzat an' all— always provided he remained with the family, stayed out of trouble and did his fair share of keeping the place up together.

Yes, that was the sort of thing to arrange. She might, perhaps, be able to manage something through the father of that poor lad Sphelthon killed at the ford. She'd done right by him even before she'd returned to Bekla, borrowing from Sendekar enough to pay a messenger to go to Meerzat and tell his parents; and in reply had received an unexpectedly dignified and touching letter from the father (Sendekar had read it to her) who had turned out to be a clerk in the provincial government and obviously a most respectable man.

There did not seem to be many butchers or meat-mer-chants at work as her jekzha came up through the Shilth; though she had to wait some minutes—her jekzha-man taking care to keep well back—while a herd of bullocks were driven past on their way to the shambles. Getting down at the gate of the jail, she gave the man ten meld and told him to wait, saying that she did not expect to be more than a few minutes.

The mucous-eyed gatekeeper looked her over as listlessly as before.

"The governor, säiyett? Can't say, I'm sure. Only it's an execution morning, see? and that always means extras—"

She felt too light-hearted to be angry. Smiling, she gave him five meld.

"We've had all this before, haven't we? Just take me to U-Pokada's room, and then go and tell him as I want to see him very urgently."

In the little, bare room she sat down and waited, impatient for nothing, fretting for nothing, as content with the present moment as someone who has just completed a long journey or finished reaping a field.

She held the parchment in her hands, turning it this way and that and admiring the clear impress of the seal. Well, Cran and Airtha had been good to her, she thought. Perhaps, after all, even the Sacred Queen might not be without her good side. Nine thousand meld! Had any girl ever gone for as much, she wondered, in all the yesterdays of Bekla?

When Pokada came in she almost ran forward to take his hands before recalling the proper dignity of the Serrelinda. He had halted just inside the doorway, staring at her unsmilingty, his mouth drawn down in a startled, grotesque expression of dismay. He was roughly dressed—as roughly as any laborer—in an old, stained leather jerkin, sacking breeches and a torn woolen cap. His arms were bare to the elbow and down one forearm ran a long scratch, still bleeding, which he kept wiping with a dirty cloth.

"Säiyett—you must understand—I can't—not now—"

She held up one hand to silence him. Then, bowing triumphantly—making a little pantomime of it—she gave him the sheet of parchment.

"Read that, U-Pokada, please. Oblige me, U-Pokada, by reading that!"

Peering, he held it up to the light, saw the seal and started. Maia watched as his eyes traveled back and forth, slowly making out the few lines. Like enough, she thought, he wasn't much more used to reading than what she was. When he had finished he said nothing, only laying the parchment down on the table and staring at the floor without moving.

"Well, come on, U-Pokada," said Maia at length. "It's plain enough, surely? Only I got a jekzha waiting, see?"

"Säiyett," said Pokada, still avoiding her eyes, "the man is dead."

" Whan" cried Maia. "What the hell do you mean, dead?"

"He hanged himself in his cell this morning."

"I don't believe you! This is some trick to try to get money out of me or something! You just take me to him, now, and hurry up about it!"

As he said no more, she ran to him and beat her fists on his chest. "It's not true! Not true! Come on, say it!"

"I think you'd better come and see for yourself, säiyett. I'm sorry."

Bewildered, still disbelieving him because she was un-able to take it in rather than because she thought he was lying, Maia followed the governor out of the room and then walked beside him down a stone-walled passage of which she noticed little or nothing. They came to a heavy, iron-bound door, and this he opened with a key at his belt. Beyond was a dimmer light, doors with grilles and an all-pervading, foul smell. A man appeared and spoke to Po-kada, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"U-Pokada, this Urtan woman—"

"Not now," answered Pokada, brushing him aside. "Ask Tortil or someone; I'm busy."

At the end of the passage they reached a row of eight or nine doors, all standing open. An old man was sweeping with a broom. As Pokada came up he moved aside and stood respectfully against the wall.

"Have they all gone?" asked Pokada.

"Yes, U-Pokada. Oh, yes, some time ago now: I'm just getting straight. That one who went for you, we had to break his—"

"All right, never mind," replied Pokada. "Go and get on with something else: I'll tell you when to come back. Well, go on!" he said, as the old man hesitated. He pointed to one of the open doors. "He's still there, is he?"

"Well, that's it, U-Pokada, yes. Only there hasn't been time, you see—"

"Never mind. Do as I say: go on up the other end."

In the doorway of the cell Pokada faced about, momentarily preventing Maia from entering.

"Säiyett, this isn't a pretty sight. All my men have had their hands full this morning, getting the queen's prisoners out to the temple. There's been no time to do more than take him down and lay him on the bed."

She answered nothing. She believed him now; her mouth was dry; she felt sick. A moment later he had stepped inside the cell and she followed him.

Tharrin's body was lying on a narrow plank bed in the further corner. The clothes were those she had seen the day before and he still looked, as he had then, tidy and clean. Yet in the horror of recognition she noticed nothing of this. His head was twisted to one side, the neck distorted and encircled by a livid ring of bruised flesh. In places blood, now darkly clotted, had oozed from the chafed skin. The tongue protruded and the eyes were wide and fixed. One or two flies were walking on the face, which had already assumed a rigid, waxen quality. One arm hung down, the backs of the clenched fingers touching the floor. As she looked away, moaning and holding her hands to her mouth, Maia noticed a length of rope, one end of which was knotted round a bar of the high window. The lower end was still tied in a running noose.

Half-fainting, she fell on her knees beside the bed, took the cold hand in her own and tried to lay it across the body; but the arm was stiff and resistant.

She began to cry, stroking his other hand and kissing the mutilated neck and bared shoulders. He was cool and smooth as the parchment and stiff as a frosted branch. As the reality came flooding more deeply into her she wept passionately, on and on because it was easier than stopping, because she was afraid to think what would happen when she stopped. She felt consumed with pity for poor, shiftless Tharnn and the ugly squalor of his end. As she remembered his arms around her in pleasure, his easy laughter and the game of the golden fish in the net, her grief burst out yet more intensely, prostrating her so that she laid her head on his chest, grasping his shoulders and crying as though to sob the breath out of her body.

At last Pokada, putting his hands under her armpits, pulled her, still weeping, to her feet. As he made to wipe her face with the cloth at his belt she flung away from him, setting her back against the wall of the cell and glaring at him from reddened eyes that still poured tears.

"You killed him! You killed him! I'll see you hang up-side-down for this!"

She was shouting hysterically, and he took a step towards her.

"Don't think you can kill me too! There's them as knows I'm here!"

"Säiyett, I give you my word I didn't kill him and nor did any of my men. He killed himself."

"But he knew I was coming! He knew I was coming today to get him out! He couldn't have killed himself!"

Pokada hesitated. After a few moments he said, "Säiyett, you'd better come back to my room. This is no place for us to talk."

"Talk? You think I want to talk to you? I want to see you dead and damned, you bastard, and I will, if it's the last thing I do!"

Now he suddenly assumed a kind of stilted, homespun dignity and authority, like that of a gate-porter or a domestic steward. Perhaps, after all, he had not been made governor of the prison for nothing.

"Säiyett, little as you may wish it, I must request you to come back to my room, for I have something to say to you of a private nature. I regret to inform you that you have no choice, for the gates are locked and I can't let you leave until you've heard me. I've no wish to hurry you, however. You can either come with me now or stay here and come as soon as you feel ready."

"Very well," she said, "I'll come. But before I do—" She pointed to Tharrin. "Bring someone now—now! —to close his eyes and lay him out properly. And then see that he's treated decently and burned as he should be. I'll pay for everything. Will you promise me that?"

"Yes, säiyett: in fact I'll go and see to it at once." He went out, and she heard him call a name: there were footsteps and muttered instructions, too low for her to catch the words.

They walked back together in silence. Once Maia stopped short, clutching the governor's arm as from somewhere not far off sounded a scream. He only grasped her wrist and led her on, through the iron-bound door and back down the passage to his room. Here she was overcome by a fresh seizure of grief; but now, from very exhaustion, she wept almost silently, sitting at the table, her head on her arms.

At length, regaining some degree of composure, she said in a voice of cold accusation, "U-Pokada, when I first came here, the day before yesterday.'you asked me whether I'd brought poison, and told me as you had to make sure prisoners didn't kill themselves."

He nodded, looking at her with pursed lips, like a man with something on his mind and unsure whether to tell it or not.

"Tharrin had no reason to hang himself. So if one of your men didn't hang him, who did, and why? And how did he get a rope?"

Still he said nothing, and she burst out, "I warn you, U-Pokada, I'm going to make a public matter of it. I'm going to see you ruined for this." She snatched up the parchment, which was still lying where he had left it on the table. "Here's a pardon, sealed by the Sacred Queen herself, for a man who was in your charge—"

He was trembling now, the big, fleshy hulk of a man, fear written all over him, even his silver earrings shaking in his head.

"Säiyett—säiyett—"

"Yes?" But he said no more. "Well, what?"

"Säiyett, I tell you—what I'm going to tell you—it—it puts my life in your hands. I tell you, and perhaps you get me hanged upside-down—if I tell you—"

"You mean you did murder him?"

"No, säiyett, no? I didn't murder him, no! I'll tell you the truth, I'll trust my life to you because I believe what everybody says, that you're a kind-hearted, good lady. Once you know the truth, then you're not going to be angry any more, you're not going to ruin me, because you're just and fair—"

She stamped her foot. "Stop this stupid nonsense! Say what you have to say and get on with it!"

Pokada, having shut and locked the door, went over to the window, which he closed after peering outside. Then he sat down on the bench beside the table.

"Säiyett," he whispered, "do you know a Palteshi woman in the upper city? A woman close to the Sacred Queen?"

"Ashaktis, do you mean? A dark, middle-aged woman, with a Palteshi accent?"

"Sh! Säiyett, sh! We've got to whisper—"

Still angry, but nevertheless affected by his fear, she lowered her voice. "Well? What about Ashaktis, then?"

"Säiyett, it was very early this morning: it was only just light. I was up, with two of my men, preparing for the executions. Only there are things we navesto see to—the priests come—well, I don't need to tell you about that. But then Elindir, the man on the gate, he comes and beckons me to one side, so no one else can hear, and he says there's a woman come; and then he gives me a note with the queen's seal which says I'm to see her at once. But Elindir says she won't come further than the gate."

He stopped, as though expecting Maia to reply. She said nothing and after a few moments he resumed.

"I went to the gate-house and there was the woman all muffled up—her face, too—nothing I could know her by again except her voice, her Palteshi accent. She said no one was to know that she'd gone into the prison. She hid behind a curtain while I called Elindir and told him she'd left. She told me to do that, and then to send him away again on some errand.

"Then she showed me another note from the queen, saying that I was to take her to the prisoner Tharrin in his cell. No one was to see her on the way. So I sent away the two men who were waiting for the priests, and took her to Tharrin myself. He was sleeping, säiyett, and when I woke him he smiled and said 'Is it Maia come?'

"The woman told me to go away and wait up the passage, by the far door. And then after—oh, not very long, säiyett—five minutes, I suppose—she came back up the passage and she said 'Now give me back both those notes.' So then she had both the notes herself, you see, and I took her back to the gate and let her out. And the last thing she said, säiyett, she said 'If the queen gets to hear one word from any living soul about my coming here, you'll hang upside-down, do you understand?'

"And then, not ten minutes later, we found Tharrin dead, just like you saw. Seven years, säiyett, seven years I've been governor here and not one condemned man has ever been able to kill himself before."

Still Maia said nothing. "Säiyett, I've told you because you said you'd see me ruined. But now you know the truth, you won't want to do that, will you? If the Sacred Queen gets to hear—"

"No, I won't say anything, U-Pokada," replied Maia listlessly. She stood up. "I'll go now. Come to the gate with me, please."

"Säiyett," he said, "there's one thing you can comfort yourself with. At least you saved him from worse: he didn't have to go to the temple. And you and I, We're no worse off, are we, as long as we both say nothing?"

Her jekzha was gone, and rather than wait while another was fetched she put up her veil and walked away, down through the reeking lanes of the Shilth towards the Sheldad. Whether anyone spoke to her or tried to accost her she had no idea. In the Sheldad she found a jekzha and returned to the upper city.