69: AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

Randronoth's letter—which bore the Canathron seal of Lapan—was short and so simple that Maia was able— though with effort and a certain amount of inference here and there—to read it for herself. That, she supposed, was probably what he had intended. 

"Beloved, beautiful Maia,

"I think of you always. I long to be with you again. I am sending you a present. Entertain and hear the messenger. He is my friend. He will tell you—" (The next bit was beyond her. Well, she thought rather impatiently, if he's going to tell me, don't matter, do it?) "He is to be trusted. Sednil is free, as you asked.

Your devoted lover, Randronoth." 

She put it aside without reflection. The memory of the Randronoth episode was most bitter to her, not through any fault of his, but on account of its horrible and humiliating outcome. She simply wanted to forget it, and to forget him too. She felt nothing for him, and his feeling for her both alarmed and vexed her. Like most outstandingly beautiful girls, Maia had no objection to being desired where she did not desire—it was unavoidable, any-way—provided the admirer's behavior remained within reasonable bounds. But for a man in a high position to be virtually unbalanced—what she herself called "touched"—on her account was worrying, simply because one never knew whether he might not do something embarrassing or even downright dangerous. The present, being from a provincial governor, would have to be accepted, of course. She only hoped it wouldn't prove to be one which would make it more difficult to refuse him what he wanted—for to refuse him she was determined.

Unless—she suddenly thought: unless—and try as she would, her sharp little peasant mind refused to drop it— unless Sednil were actually to find Zenka. Suppose Zenka were to say "Yes, come" (for she still did not believe that his love could have altered: I was there and Sednil wasn't, she thought), then she was going to need all the ready money she could lay her hands on.

Quite apart from that, however, she was in a fair old bit of money difficulty anyway. She was two thousand meld out of pocket to Sednil, to say nothing of the thousand she had lost along with Randronoth's nine thousand to Fbrnis. And then when Sednil got back (as of course he would) there would be another two thousand to find. No doubt about it, she was running short—or she was going to run short. If she were to accept Randronoth again but no one else, it would be certain to get out.

Everyone would assume that they were lovers. But suppose she were to accept three or four men—Randronoth among them, perhaps—just once apiece, just to get solvent once more? It went against the grain, certainly; it was clean contrary to her resolve that no one else should ever drink from that bright cup which she and Zenka had drained together. Yet what else could she do? And anyway she would be doing it only so that she could be ready at any moment to join him again—a swift and secret journey, involving instant down-payments and, no doubt, bribes. What sort of journey?

Whither? Ah! this she could not envisage. But when the time came, Lespa would surely point the way.

It was early one evening—getting on for supper-time and the air cooling pleasantly—when Ogma came smilingly upstairs to tell her that a stranger was below and asking to see her. "He says he's from Lord Randronoth, miss," she said with obvious approbation, "and to show you this." It was yet another imprint of Randronoth's Canathron seal.

After taking her time over changing into a fresh robe and having Ogma brush and arrange her hair, Maia came leisurely down the staircase, paused for a minute in the hall to give Jarvil a few unnecessary instructions and then strolled into the parlor.

The man, who was sitting near the window gazing out across the Barb, stood up as she entered. He was unexpectedly young—only a year or two older than herself; tall, with black hair falling below his shoulders, and eyes of so deep a brown as hardly to be distinguishable from the pupils. He was elegantly—almost foppishly—dressed in a slashed, crimson veltron and yellow silk breeches, and wore at his belt a pouch or scrip of fine, tooled leather embossed with the Canathron emblem.

"Good evening, säiyett," he said, crossing the room and taking her hands. "My name is Count Seekron, of Lapan, and I come from Lord Randronoth. He sends you this gift and begs that you will graciously permit me to talk with you for a short time."

The unsmiling intensity of his manner somewhat disconcerted her. He gave the impression of being taut— indeed, one might have said strung-up, nervous. His hands, she noticed, as he picked up the gift—which he had left on a near-by table—were trembling slightly. She felt no particular wish to put him at his ease, yet from mere wonted good nature she smiled as she motioned him to sit down again and took the gift from him.

It was a miniature cabinet, about three inches long and perhaps two inches wide and deep. The hinged doors, fastened together by a gold latchet, opened upon three tiny drawers, each lined with darkly-lustrous, gold-spec-kled lacquer. The top and sides, as well as the doors, consisted of panels of fine, white bone. Upon each the craftsman had carved in relief the likenesses of different fishes—twelve in all—and these, with their scales, fins, gills and eyes all perfectly represented, were stained and shaded in their natural colors. Eight tripartite comer-pieces of silver bound the seven panels together and the doors had flat, undulated hinges about an inch long. It was a miracle of skill and patient craftsmanship—and quite simply a rich woman's toy.

Maia had never before seen anything at all like this, and for some time kept turning it over in her hands, examining it with the same kind of incredulity and delight that the early Victorians must have felt upon first seeing photo-graphs. She opened the perfectly-hung doors, pulled out the drawers and rubbed her forefinger Wonderingly over the slightly raised simulacra of the fishes, for she could not at first believe that they were not fixed or applied, but actually formed part of the surfaces of the panels themselves.

Artistry of this order was something entirely new to her. She could never have imagined it and needed a little time to take it in.

Randronoth was shrewd, she thought. No one—no one, that was to say, with the least spark of sensitivity—could resist such a present. It was not a question of courtesy to the giver, or even of money value (although the piece must be worth at least two thousand meld and very likely more). It was the thing itself. Simply to see it would be enough to make anyone want to possess it. It was the very exemplar of a rarity and of exquisite, gratuitous luxury: and it was hers.

How cunningly it had been chosen to appeal to her! Oh, that did not escape her! Gold, jewels, robes—any ordinary kind of opulence—she could have declined. But this marvelous, unique plaything—whatever could you keep in it, she wondered; pins, rings, spools of silk?—how perfectly it was calculated to suit and to be irresistible to her in particular! Occula, perhaps, might just possibly have been proof against it: no one else that she knew. Any obligation involved in acceptance appeared negligible as she turned it this way and that, continually perceiving fresh details of skill and beauty. The piece was not only faultless; it was almost immoderate in the delicacy and quality of its workmanship.

"This—this is very kind of Lord Randronoth," she murmured at last, latching the doors and placing the cabinet back on the table. "Will you please thank him very much and tell him that I'm grateful and delighted?"

"Then he will be, säiyett," replied the young man, smiling for the first time; yet rather formally and a little unnaturally, she thought—as though he were not really interested in the cabinet, but had something else on his mind.

"I've never seen work like this," she went on, herself growing more relaxed in her pleasure over the gift.

"Do you happen to know where it came from?"

"That I can't tell you, säiyett," he answered. "It's old, I know that much, and I rather believe Lord Randronoth's family's possessed it for some time; possibly it may have been his grandfather who acquired it, for I know he once traveled a long way to the south, beyond Ikat Yeldashay. He—"

But with this he suddenly and rather oddly broke off, once more getting up and walking over to her where she still stood beside the table.

"Säiyett," he said quietly, "I would like to—that is— er—Lord Randronoth wishes me to talk to you privately."

She frowned, startled. "Well, isn't this private enough for you?"

"I would prefer it if we could walk in the garden, säiyett."

She was on the point of refusing, for his peculiar, tense manner and lack of warmth (Maia was unaccustomed to detachment from men, particularly young ones) had not made her particularly like or want to oblige him. However, it would hardly do to accept Randronoth's present and then send his messenger packing unheard.

"I'll have some wine brought out on the terrace," she said.

"Or we might, perhaps, walk down as far as the edge of the lake, säiyett."

She stared at him, as though at an impertinent servant; but he only stared back at her unwaveringly, his pupils expanded, like a cat's, in the fading light. "This is a serious matter, not primarily one of courtesy," those eyes seemed to be saying. "Surely you realize that?"

Still intent on showing that she and not he was in control, she called Ogma to bring her light cloak and a jug of wine. She filled a goblet for herself and one for him. He sipped it, again with his blank smile; but when they had descended the steps and begun strolling side by side between the shrubs and flowerbeds towards the shore, she noticed that he had left it behind in the parlor.

He seemed hesitant to begin, and this annoyed her still more.

"Well, I s'pose no one's going to hear us here," she remarked at length, "without it's an owl."

"Säiyett," he said, still speaking very quietly, "Lord Randronoth says that you will recall that at the end of this year the present Sacred Queen's reign comes to an end."

Instantly she felt afraid. All that Milvushina had said came flooding back into her mind. Yet now she realized that she had taken Milvushina's warning only partly seriously. That is, she had believed her, but had not envisaged the dangerous thing actually happening or how she was going to meet it if and when it did happen. She had certainly not expected it to come from this quarter.

"Well, what of it?" she answered sharply.

"Her successor will be chosen by acclamation of the people."

"But I suppose—" she turned aside for a moment, stooped and pulled off a dead head from a clump of flowering pinks—"that What'll really happen is that the Council will decide."

"The Council may be divided, säiyett, but the people are not: that is what Lord Randronoth asked me to stress to you."

Her knees were trembling and her bowels felt loose. There was a marble seat near-by, half-enclosed by trailing boughs, and here she sat down, laying one arm along the cool arm-rest. After a moment he also sat down, turning his head so that he was almost whispering in her ear.

"Fornis may make some desperate attempt to remain Sacred Queen, but this is bound to fail, because the people will not accept her. Already she has tried the patience of the gods too long."

Seekron paused, but Maia said nothing, only staring ahead across the darkening Barb.

"One might have expected the Lord General to choose as Sacred Queen some lady commanding universal fame and approval. He has said nothing publicly, but it is known that in fact he favors the lady Milvushina, the daughter of the murdered Chalcon lord, Enka-Mordet; she who is now the consort of his son. He thinks that her election would do much to reconcile Chalcon to Bekla and diminish heldro opposition to the Leopards; and that when Elvair-ka-Virrion returns victorious from Chalcon, his popularity with the city will be so great that they will be ready to acclaim Milvushina as Sacred Queen."

"She is with child," said Maia shortly.

She meant no more than that Milvushina should be spared the stress, but Seekron evidently misunderstood her. "Exactly, säiyett: most inappropriate. But even setting that aside, the lady Milvushina, while she is liked well enough by the people, is not the lady whom they love and honor most. It was not she who swam the Valderra and saved the empire."

"Count Seekron," said Maia with a quick gasp, "I don't want to hear n' more of this. You just go home now and tell Lord Randronoth as I won't have anything to do—"

"Säiyett," he interrupted quickly, "have you reflected? They say—that is, I know that you have more than once said—that you swam the Valderra not to advance yourself, but to prevent bloodshed and save lives."

"Well, what of it?" she said. "What's that got to do with this?"

"Säiyett, there is only one lady in all the empire so famous, so beautiful and so much loved and honored by the people that they would be unanimous in acclaiming her as Sacred Queen. If you refuse, inevitably there will be civil strife and butchery. Before all's done, there will be six Sacred Queens and a thousand corpses for each. But if you accept, there will be unanimity and concord. Everyone believes that you, more than any woman in Bekla, possess the luck and favor of the gods."

Here was a new slant on the business and no mistake! Maia sat silent, trying to take it in. Her immediate feeling was of being assailed. The quiet evening garden, with the moths flitting over the planella; her own, pretty little house, from whose windows Ogma's lamps were beginning to shine—something menacing, ghostly, a tall, vaporous fig-ure, seemed stalking near-by, half-glimpsed among the dusky trees. So vivid was this fancy that she gave a quick, cut-short whimper, drawing her cloak closer about her and peering this way and that. Again Seekron misunderstood her. Plainly nervous, he stood up and also looked about them.

"Did you see someone, säiyett? Where?"

"No," she said. "You needn't worry. There's no one here 'ceptin' us." Then, "I don't want to be Sacred Queen. I want to stay 's I am."

"But the gods want it, säiyett! You must recall that in the past there have been many whom the gods have called to perform their work on earth, who at first could not credit the vocation, because they felt themselves to be nothing but the most ordinary people; because in their humility they knew themselves to be but flesh-and-blood. Remember Deparioth, an orphan and a slave, who—"

"Oh, give over!" she cried. "Let me be!" She sprang up and began pacing rapidly back and forth across the grass. "U-Seekron, leave me! Go back to the house and wait! I need to think: I'll join you in a few minutes."

She walked down to the lakeside. The stars were out now, brighter moment by moment as the last of the daylight ebbed away in the west beyond the Barons' Palace. As she turned her back on the lapping water and looked up the garden, she suddenly noticed something strange in the northern sky. Low down it was, an unusual patch of brightness, a kind of misty glow on the horizon; but whether man-made or natural she could not tell. Either seemed equally questionable. Yet there it was, a subdued lumi-nosity, something like that preceding moonrise, though affecting a rather smaller area of the sky. For perhaps half a minute she stared at it, but was too much preoccupied with her own thoughts to concentrate upon it for longer. Whatever it might be, it was nothing to do with what had come upon her.

After a little it occurred to her that as yet she could not have heard the main part of whatever it was that Seekron had come to tell. Occula would undoubtedly have shown more self-possession. Occula would have heard him out and then either given him an answer or else—or else— (and here Maia grinned, feeling a little better) or else told him to damn' well baste off to Lapan without one. The least she could do was to hear the young man out, but on her own terms and—if only she could rise to it—with some air of authority.

Stooping, she wetted her hands in the lake and cooled her burning cheeks. Then she walked back to the parlor, taking care, as before, to enter unhurriedly.

"You must forgive me, U-Seekron," she said, "for not being quite myself just now. I'm sure you'll understand it came as a bit of a shock, like." He was about to reply, but she went on quickly, "Now, listen. I've taken in what you said, and I don't want to hear n'more by the way of persuasion, d'you understand? You just tell me straight out and plain, now, what Lord Randronoth's message is, and then I'll see what I reckon to it."

"But, säiyett," he replied, "you must swear to say nothing to anyone."

"I won't say nothing to anyone," she answered. "There you are: that's plain enough; never mind 'bout swearing. And you can tell me in here, too." And thereupon she refilled her goblet and sat down.

He had either to accept this or reject it. After a moment he decided to accept it.

"Säiyett," he said, again almost whispering, "Lord Randronoth has the whole of Lapan ready to declare for you as Sacred Queen. He believes that Bekla will acclaim you too. It may very well never come to conflict at all. Our immediate difficulty, however, is the Lord General's preference for the Lady Milvushina. As you know, many, though not all, of the Leopard Council support the Lord General, and besides, when Elvair-ka-Virrion returns victorious from Chalcon—" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, go on," she said.

"Lord Randronoth thinks we ought to prepare while Elvair-ka-Virrion is still away. He himself has already made sure of General Sendekar. You won't be surprised to hear that General Sendekar has told Lord Randronoth that he would be ready to go through fire and water for your sake. Without him, perhaps, we could not have hoped for so much. But as you know, a large part of the army will follow Sendekar."

Again he stopped and waited. Maia only trusted that she did not show the agitation she felt. Randronoth was one thing. Sendekar—unexcitable, rugged, kindly, decent Sendekar—was quite another. O Cran! she thought, don't say he's in love with me, too! That'd be a right old—

"Will you please go on, U-Seekron?" she said coldly.

"Säiyett, here are the names of seven men, either councilors or senior officers in Bekla now, whom Lord Randronoth either knows or has strong reason to believe will support him and support you. I am to ask you to—well, to make friends with these men—some you may know already, I dare say—entertain them, invite them to your house and so forth, but separately and at all costs without exciting the Lord General's suspicion. You need not yourself say anything to them about Lord Randronoth's scheme: in fact, better not. They will tell you what is afoot, when the time is ripe and according to the way in which matters develop."

Suddenly she could contain herself no longer. She broke out, "I want to know whether all this is because Lord Randronoth believes himself in love with me? Because if it is—"

"Oh, no, säiyett." He smiled condescendingly and indulgently, evidently feeling this to be a naive, over-youth-ful reaction. Why on earth, she thought, couldn't Randronoth have sent some older, more considerate man; someone a bit more relaxed and sympathetic?

"Lord Randronoth thinks that when you are acclaimed Sacred Queen, both the city and the empire will fall at your feet, and that those of your friends who have helped you, among whom he is proud to count himself one, will benefit accordingly."

"Well, you tell him from me—"

"One thing more, säiyett. Lord Randronoth is well aware that to entertain well, to give presents and to make reliable friends costs money. He's sent you some, to use as you think fit for the advancement of your cause—our cause."

"Money?" she said. "What do you mean, money? How much?"

"Forty thousand meld; later, of course, there can be more, if it's needed."

"Forty thousand meld, U-Seekron? You can't be serious!"

"Säiyett, I have it here." He touched the Canathron scrip at his belt.

"Oh, great Shakkarn!"

Forty thousand meld! she thought: and apparently, from what Seekron had said, this represented only part of Randronoth's total efforts so far in various quarters. He must be throwing virtually the entire resources of the Lapan treasury into the plot. She had no idea how provincial governors settled accounts with the Beklan Council, but obviously there must be some sort of day of reckoning, and Randronoth would not be able to meet it.

So unless there was something she did not know about, he was at this very moment past recall as a rebel against Kembri.

Well, but it might not come to rebellion. After all, merely to support a girl as a candidate to become Sacred Queen did not in itself constitute rebellion—though pretty obviously there was more at the back of this lot than just her becoming Sacred Queen. But anything could happen. Meanwhile, and immediately, a fraction of the huge sum she was being offered—a mere eight or nine thousand meld—would be enough to put her straight and get her out of her money difficulties. Yes, and to send a nice little bit to Morca and the family, too; for they had been much on her conscience since Tharrin died. Anyway, girls who had grown up in hovels on the Tonildan Waste didn't refuse enormous sums of ready money.

Trouble next month? Next month's a long time off, she thought.

"Would Lord Randronoth expect me to render him accounts?" she asked.

"He said nothing to that effect, säiyett, but I hardly think so. After all—" he smiled again—"the expenditure might be rather difficult to itemize, don't you think?"

Forty thousand meld! Once she had learned from Sednil where Zen-Kurel was, she would be able to go to him like an arrow; go to him, too, with a dowry more than fit for a baron's daughter. And once out of the empire—

"I see," she said. "Well, you'd best come with me, U-Seekron. I've got a strong-box under the floor in the cellar. Give me the names: and you may tell Lord Randronoth that I'll do all I can to help him."