84: MAIA GOES HOME

It did not matter where she went, she thought. It didn't matter what happened. The gods, who had done this to Milva, could now do whatever they liked with her. She would go home, and Randronoth could kill her if he wanted. Go home—yes, that would surprise the gods. The gods would not be expecting that.

Slowly she descended the road down the Leopard Hill into the upper city. Although many people passed her, hurrying in both directions, it did not really strike home to her that any upheaval was taking place. The barracks of the upper city—a square, gloomy building—lay about a quarter of a mile ahead, and here she could see torches and hear noise and commotion. But she merely walked on, stumbling once or twice in Lokris's sandals, which were not in fact a very good fit.

She thought of the handsome, dashing young man who had spoken so charmingly to Occula and herself in the Khalkoornil on that first afternoon in Bekla, when they were being taken to Lalloc's. She remembered the sound of Milvushina's weeping on the night when she and Occula had returned from Sarget's party—that same night when she had cursed Bayub-Otal and vowed to harm him if she could.

She thought of the good-natured, sympathetic El-vair-kaVirrion, who had made love with her and later had been so ready to help her with his notion of the auction at the barrarz; and again, of Milvushina smiling as she sat on the couch in the Sacred Queen's supper-room. Behind all sounded old Nasada's thin, dry voice, "Get out of Bekla. It's a devils' playground."

Once or twice, as she made her half-shuffling, ungainly way along the road in the elf-light of moonrise, men spoke to her; but she did not even hear them, passing on in a trance of wretchedness which communicated itself without the need for any reply on her part. It was a night, however, when few in the upper city were of a mind to be accosting girls. So far as property owners and their servants were concerned (and most dwellers in the upper city were either one or the other) all thoughts were centered upon Santil-kè-Erketlis and the defeated Leopard force in the south. If Erketlis and his heldril were indeed to take the city, as he had said he intended, what was the prospect for merchants—and especially for slave-traders? And beyond these material fears lay the deep, superstitious anxiety engendered by the news of Durakkon's death at the hands of Fornis. There was a general, intuitive feeling that that business was neither conclusive nor concluded; it must inevitably have some further outcome; and though no one could guess what that might be, the prospect gave rise to uncertainty and dread.

About the streets people were hastening hither and thither, nearly all, so it seemed, concerned in one way or another with the safety of their property. There were not many to take more than momentary notice of a distraught girl in tears, obviously intent on some destination. No doubt she had received bad news. Many had.

Yet all of a sudden Maia, now well past the barracks and less than three furlongs from her own house, found her way blocked by a man standing squarely in front of her. Moving to one side, she tried to walk past him; but he spread his arms, and rather than have him grab hold of her, as he seemed about to do, she stepped backward, looking down at the ground and ignoring him in the hope of being left alone.

"Ah!" he cried. "A shadow will cover the city! A shadow!"

She recognized him then, with the weary resentment of one who, though deep in affliction, understands that nevertheless there is to be no escape from the tedium and vexation of having to deal with an intrusive eccentric. Jejjereth, as he was commonly known (the name had a slightly obscene meaning in Beklan), was a familiar figure in the streets and markets of the lower city; one of those grotesque, half-crazy declaimers and self-styled prophets who always knock about large cities; fantastically clad, of no fixed abode, part laughing-stock and part accorded, by the common people, a kind of rough recognition for having shown themselves to possess at least a crude form of moral courage and sincerity; who stand in public places orating disjointed nonsense about imminent wrath and judgment to such as have nothing better to do than listen untU they weary of it, while wags shout ribald questions over their heads. "A shadow will cover the city" was notorious as one of Jejjereth's favorite utterances. Maia could recall having once seen him in the Caravan Market, his rags fluttering as he was dragged off the Scales and sent packing by two of the municipal slaves. Sometimes he would stand at one or other of the lower city gates, haranguing visiting pilgrims and other passers-by until the sentries, having decided that he had had his fair turn, moved him on. To come upon him in the upper city was all but incredible. At any other time she would have wondered how he could possibly have got in. Now, she merely hoped he would let her alone and go away.

"A shadow!" he cried. "A shadow to enshroud the evil— the gluttons and their trulls, the liars, the murderers and men of blood!" He made a wide, sweeping gesture, spreading his grimy cloak before her like the wing of some huge, tattered bird.

"The whores! The murderers' whores shall hang upside-down, with their legs apart to let in the blowflies!"

"Jejjereth," she said quietly, as he still blocked her way, "please let me pass. I've never done you any harm and I want to go home."

Now he peered at her closely. "Maia! Maia swam the river!"

"Yes, yes," she replied soothingly (she was only humoring a zany by completing a catch-phrase), "Maia saved the city. Please let me go by."

"Saved the city!" he shouted. "Yes, Maia saved the city for the cruel to commit more murders, for the wicked to enjoy more lust and greed! But a shadow will cover the city—"

By this time several people had stopped—household slaves and the like, to whom the sight of him in the lower city was familiar enough.

"What in Cran's name are you doing up here, old fel-low?" said a night-watchman, taking him by the arm. "Who let you in, eh?"

Jejjereth, having turned to face him, spoke behind his hand in a voice which everyone could hear. "She let me in," he said. "She let me in—to call down vengeance on corruption! Yes, to go even to the Barons' Palace! Jejjereth's not afraid to strike, no, no—"

"What, this girl here? Don't tell me she let you in—"

"No! No! Not her! It was the Leopardess—the swift one, with the green—ah! She let me in, to bring judgement—"

"Which Leopardess, old boy?" asked someone else. "Come up here to baste a few expensive ones for a change, have you?"

"A shadow will cover the city—"

"Yeah, and a bull will cover a cow an' all. And you've been covering a Leopardess, is that it?"

"Perhaps that is it,"put in the night-watchman. "Some of these rich women in the upper city've got peculiar tastes y'know. Now come on, old lad," he said, gripping Jejjereth more firmly. "Never mind about Leopardesses an' that; you just hop it to the Peacock Gate, else you'll know all about it, see?"

Suddenly and frighteningly, Jejjereth drew a long, sharp-pointed knife from under his cloak. "She gave me this," he said, grinning round at them. "She gave me this: she said, 'Take this folda, go to the Barons' Palace and strike down the wicked—' "

"Here, you'd better just give that to me," said the watchman, startled. "That's dangerous, that is. Might hurt someone."

Maia, glad to have avoided further unwelcome attention, left them at it and continued on her way.

Ten minutes later she was walking up to the door of her own house. Although she could almost find it in her heart to hope that he might, she did not believe that Randronoth would kill her. It was more likely that he would still want to do what he had been tricked out of doing. Oh, she thought, if only her ashes were blowing over Serrelind, and Kelsi and old Drigga weeping for her! If only it could all be over!

Suddenly she saw that the door of her house was standing wide open. Lamplight shone from within.

She stopped— she was about forty yards away—but there was nothing to be heard. As she stared, puzzled, at the open doorway, she began to make out beyond it signs of confusion and disorder. A big, painted vase which had had its place in the porch was fallen and smashed to fragments, and a long, white splinter was projecting from the woodwork of the inner door. Near it, on the floor, she could glimpse something which looked like a bundle of old clothes tossed down all anyhow.

What could this mean? Robbers? Some violence between Randronoth and Eud-Ecachlon, informed of his presence in her house? She approached the door cautiously, but there was nothing more to be seen, and still she could not hear a sound.

Suddenly, at the very foot of the steps, she stopped short with a scream. What had looked like old clothes on the floor of the porch was in fact the dead body of Jarvil. His eyes were fixed, his teeth clenched and the hilt of a knife, which one of his hands was clutching, protruded from his chest.

To Maia's enormous credit her first thought was for Ogma. Sickened and terrified though she was, she did not run away, and hesitated for no more than a moment as she listened once more for any sound from within the house. There was none. As quietly as she could she entered the porch, stepped over the body and opened the inner door into the entrance hall.

Here, as was customary of an evening, three or four lamps were burning. She looked about her in the silence, wondering whether or not to call out to Ogma. Jarvil, she remembered, used to keep a club in his lodge by the door. She went and got it, and with this in one hand stole up to the open door of the parlor.

The room was frighteningly devastated. One of the silken wall-hangings had been ripped down .Both the small tables lay overturned and broken, and the ornaments and artifacts from them were scattered over the floor. A jug and two goblets were lying in a pool of spilt wine. The silver mirror, too, had fallen from the wall: as she moved, it caught the lamplight, flashing a moment in her eyes. Two of the cushions on the big couch had burst open, and their flock stuffing was strewn across the room.

Maia, however, noticed little or nothing of this in detail, for there was worse to be seen. On the far side of the room, in the shadow beyond the lamplight, were stretched the bodies of Randronoth's two soldiers. A dark, glistening expanse of blood, half-dried, covered the tiles around them. One had had time to draw his sword, which lay beside him—a typical Gelt short-sword, the broad blade tapering to a point. The other must simply have been trying to escape: he was stretched prone, one arm extended, the hand apparently dragged or fallen from the latch of the door leading into the garden. His dead face was turned towards her.

She ran out quickly into the hall but then, turning faint, stood leaning dizzily against the newel-post at the foot of the staircase.

Now, after some moments, she could indeed hear a noise—a kind of low, suppressed whimpering and moaning from upstairs. The voice was Ogma's. She listened intently, but could hear no one else. She called out, "Ogma! It's Maia!"

The whimpering stopped on the instant, but there was no reply. She called again, "Can you hear me?"

This time, after a pause, Ogma's voice answered faintly, "Miss Maia?"

"I'm in the hall: can you come down?"

"I'm—I'm hurt, miss," replied Ogma in a weak, tremulous voice.

Maia ran upstairs. Lamplight was shining from her bedroom and she went in. The first thing she saw was the body of Randronoth, dressed in nothing but a pair of breeches, lying across her bed. It was the most appalling sight imaginable. His throat had been cut—the head, indeed, almost severed—while across his chest and stomach were three or more ragged, gaping stab-wounds. Coverlet, sheets, pillows—all were drenched in blood.

Ogma was half-lying near the door, her back against the wall. She was bleeding from eight or nine cuts, each about two inches long, in her shoulders and upper arms. In one hand she held a blood-stained towel, with which she was weakly dabbing at these wounds.

"Oh, Miss Maia," she cried faintly, "I'm that bad!"

Maia knelt, raised the girl to her feet and then, herself desperate to get out of the room and away from the horror on the bed, supported her to the bathroom. Here she set about washing her cuts and binding them up. Although she was scarcely capable of coherent thought, the wounds nonetheless struck her as odd; all were of more or less the same length and depth—almost like surgical incisions—as though inflicted deliberately and, as it were, at leisure. Little as she knew about wounds, these seemed hardly of a kind likely to be inflicted by violent men in an attack.

The cold water made Ogma flinch and cry out, but after a while, when Maia had bandaged her as best she could, she began to recover herself a little.

"There isn't—there isn't anyone else in the house now, miss, is there?" she faltered.

"Poor JarviFs dead," replied Maia. "And so are the two soldiers."

"Then they must have gone, miss." Ogma stood up hesitantly, clutching Maia's arm.

"You'd be the better for some djebbah," said Maia. "Come downstairs with me." It was clear to her now that Ogma, though badly shocked, was able to walk and in no danger of bleeding to death.

Together they went down to the kitchen. The fire was still in: Mai put on more wood. It did not occur to either of them to leave the house or run away. Maia, indeed, was beyond all deliberation and hardly knew what she was doing. She searched through two or three cupboards for the djebbah before catching sight of it in full view on an open shelf. The bite of the liquor cleared her head and partly pulled her round.

She poured some for Ogma and made her sip it until it was all gone. The girl still sobbed and whimpered, fingering her bound-up cuts. Once, when a wood-knot exploded in the fire, she leapt up with a cry of fear.

Maia fetched a stool, sat down facing her and took her hands.

"Now; tell me what happened, Ogma." There was no pause in the girl's weeping and Maia shook her gently. "Come on, dear, pull yourself together! You must tell me!"

"Oh, Miss Maia—Lord Randronoth—" She stopped.

"What about him? Come on, Ogma, tell me!"

"Well, I'd just lit the lamps, miss, and put them round the house like I always do, when he came in from the garden, dressed just in his breeches. He seemed—oh, ever so angry and put out, like. So I asked him were you coming in to supper now, but he never answered me: he just went up to your bedroom and shut the door. So then I didn't know what to do, miss, and I went down the garden to look for you, but I couldn't find you: just your clothes, like, laying on the ground. I didn't know what to think. I was frightened."

Ogma stopped as though she had no more to say. She was clearly still in a state of shock, ready to retreat into stupor from her own recollections. Maia shook her again.

"Ogma! You can't go to sleep now? Go on!"

Ogma rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. "When I came back—when I came back into the house, miss, the soldiers—the soldiers asked where you were and I said I didn't know. So then they said Lord Randronoth had told them to watch from the roof and wake him when the soldiers came—"

"The Lapanese soldiers, you mean? Count Seekron?"

"I don't know, miss. They didn't say—just 'the soldiers'. But then they said, 'We'll have a drink first. Bring us some wine in the parlor,' they said. Well, I knew that was wrong, Miss Maia, but I was frightened of them, you see, and I didn't know where you were or when you was coming back, like, so I did what they told me. I'm sorry, miss—"

"That doesn't matter now. Just go on."

"Well, I brought the wine, miss—only not the best, it wasn't: I thought for the likes of them—"

"Oh, never mind that! What happened, for Cran's sake?"

"Well, miss, they got to drinking, see, in the parlor, and then there come a knock, and I don't know why, I reckoned it might be you, though why you'd be knocking on your own door, but I wasn't really thinking, see—"

"So then?"

"Well, then I went to the door, miss, and Jarvil had opened the panel, see, to look who it was, and then he shut it and he turns round to me and he says, 'I don't know what to do,' he says. 'It's the Sacred Queen.' "

"The Sacred Queen!" cried Maia incredulously. "That's not possible! She's miles away, out on the plain, this very minute."

"No, miss: I looked out and it was the Sacred Queen there; her and a big, rough-looking man dressed like an officer, miss, and the queen was sort of dressed up like a soldier, too, and they was all covered with dust, like they'd come a long way; and the queen, she calls out, very angry-like, 'How much longer am I to be kept waiting?' she says. 'Are you going to open this door or do you want to hang upside-down?' she says. Oh, and when I looked out through the panel, the way she looked back at me, miss, it frightened me that much, you can't imagine—"

"Oh, yes, I can! Well, so what happened then?"

"I opened the door, miss, and—"

"You opened the door?"

"Yes, miss. Well, you weren't there to ask, see, and she was that angry, I didn't know what else to do—"

"Ogma, did you know that she hates me and wants to kill me? That she has done for weeks?"

"No, I didn't know, miss: I'd no idea. Leastways, not then I hadn't—"

Maia could scarcely believe her ears. Bitterly, she recalled the advice of Nennaunir and her other friends about engaging a shrewd, quick-witted woman to run her household.

"Well, go on."

"Well, the moment I opened the door, miss, they both pushed past me and the big man put his hand over JarviPs mouth and stabbed him with his knife. And then the queen, she grabbed me and pulled my head back and she had a knife, too, and she says, 'You make a sound,' she says, 'and I'll cut your throat.' But then after a moment she said, 'Now, you tell me where Randronoth and Maia are,' and she was holding this knife against my throat, miss, and she said, 'Are they upstairs?' and I said, 'Yes! Yes!' Only I was that frightened I hardly knew what I was saying, you see, "So then she said, 'You come with me and show me,' she said. She twisted my arm up behind me, miss, and she put her hand over my mouth and we went upstairs like that. And the big man, he'd drawn his sword and he went into the parlor. But I never heard no more of that, see, because when we got upstairs she never asked me which door nor nothing, she just threw open your bedroom door and there was Lord Randronoth laying on the bed, kind of half-awake, like. So then she gave me a great push against the wall as fair winded me, and she ran straight across and began stabbing at Lord Randronoth—oh, it was that dreadful, miss, I can't tell you no more, really I can't—"

"If I can hear it, you can tell it. Go on, Ogma!"

"Oh, the blood! The blood everywhere, miss, and the queen, she was—she was shouting and laughing, and she kept stabbing him again and again, and then she sort of rubbed all her hands and her arms and face, miss, with the blood, and then she sat down beside him on the bed and she very near cut his head off—I never seen—I never dreamt—laughing all the time—"

Ogma became hysterical. When at length Maia had been able to restore her to something faintly resembling self-possession she went on, "So then the queen come back to me, miss; only I was standing against the wall, you see, and I was screaming. And she says, 'Stop that,' she says, 'or I'll stop it for you.' And then the big man, he come up the stairs and his sword all covered with blood, and he says to her, 'I've finished; have you?' And she says, 'No, not yet. I'm only half-done,' she says.

"She was holding me by the hair, miss, and she says, 'Where's Maia?' And I said, 'I don't know.' So then she cut me with her knife and she says again, "Where's Maia?' and I says, 'I don't know!' So she was cutting me, and every time I said, 'I don't know! I don't know!' she cut me, miss, and she—well, it was like she'd been drinking or something o' that; she was—she was kind of staring and excited and—oh, I can't rightly tell. So then at last she said, 'Would you like me to put your nasty little eyes out?' she said: and I screamed out, 'I don't know, säiyett; I swear I don't know! I only know she's not here.'

"So then the big man, he says, 'Oh, come on, Fornis. It's obvious she doesn't know: we're only wasting time. You can kill Maia later: we've got to be going.'

"So then the queen said to me, 'Shall I kill youf No, you're not worth killing, are you? You'll be able to tell dear Maia all about it, won't you?' Or—or 'twas something like that, miss, as she said, but tell you the truth I don't just rightly remember. So then they went away—I remember that—but I don't remember anything else until I heard you downstairs. I must 'a just gone off, like."

While Ogma was speaking, Maia's sense of unreality and nightmare had intensified. She sat staring before her, trying to get her thoughts into frame. How could Fornis be in Bekla? Obviously she must be, yet it seemed impossible. Did Eud-Ecachlon know? And she herself—what was she to do now? Where could she go for safety?

At this moment she heard light, hurried footsteps com-ing through the porch and into the hall. For a few moments she sat petrified. Then Occula's voice called, "Banzi! Banzi, are you here?"

Maia jumped up and ran out into the hall. Occula, dressed in a leather tunic and breeches, with a knife at her belt, was standing in the parlor doorway, staring at what lay within. Hearing Maia, she drew the knife and spun round quickly, then ran forward and took her in her arms.

"Oh, banzi,thank the gods! I thought—oh, never mind—"

"What is it, Occula? What's happened?"

"Never mind that, either! There's no time to talk! Banzi, you've got to get out fast! Get out now! Understand? Now!"

"But where to, Occula?"

"There are people who'll help you. Listen to me carefully."

"But Occula—"

Ogma had come into the hall; a pitiful sight, crying and wringing her hands, her arms bound with strips of bloody toweling. Occula stamped her foot with impatience.

"I've no time, banzi, for Cran's bastin' sake! Your life's in deadly danger! Shut up and listen! Have you got any money?"

"Yes, plenty. But—"

"Then take it all with you. Now understand this. You're not to go by the Peacock Gate or you'll be killed, d'you see? Fornis has got men there. Go across, quick as you can, to the western walls. If you meet a sentry, bribe him. They're all old watchmen, anyway: there's very few soldiers left in the place, except Fornis's—"

"But is Fornis really here, Occula? Ogma said, but I can't hardly believe it—"

"Yes, banzi! Yes, she is, she's lookin' for you to kill you! After she'd killed Durakkon and beaten Kerith-a-Thrain, that woman and Han-Glat got here two hours ago, with five hundred men. They were goin' all last night and all today. And to see her you'd think she'd jus' got out of bed. I believe she could do it again if she wanted to."

"But—they let her through the gates?"

"Of course they did: who'd stop her? They'd let her through the gates of hell, wouldn' they? And they will one day, too, if I've got anythin' to do with it."

"But what's happened to the hostages, Occula? Has she killed them?"

"Bayub-Otal and the other officers she brought with her. They're down in the gaol. Now banzi, will you do as I say and get out, damn you?"

"Yes, I will. The western wall, you said. Then what?"

"Go along the wall and then scramble down onto the roof of a big stone warehouse you'll see below you, just this side of the Tower of Sel-Dolad. Ask for a man called N'Kasit and say Cat Colonna and all that—you know. He'll help you to get out of Bekla. And now I'm goin' myself— fast! Bless you, my dearest banzi! Thanks for everything Kantza-Merada, what a bastin' farewell after all you and I've been through together! But we'll meet again one day, you see if we doan'!"

"But what about Ogma here? I can't leave her, Occula."

"O Cran! I'll take her with me and get her to Nennaunir or someone. Doan' worry, Fornis woan' bother lookin' for her, once she finds you're gone."

And with this Occula grabbed Ogma by the wrist and dragged her out of the house.

Left alone, Maia was overcome by a terrible seizure of horror—the mental paralysis of extreme fear and distress. Crouching in the privy as her bowels emptied in an agonizing flux, she gasped and retched, while the sweat poured off her. At length her head cleared, and as she began to recover herself the full force of Occula's warning came to her. She had to fly for her life—now, instantly.

But there could be no avoiding what had to be done by way of preparation. Trembling, she returned to the bedroom and there, averting her eyes from the bed, put on those same traveling clothes in which she had returned from Rallur. The jerkin had capacious inside pockets, and into these she stuffed not only all that was left of the money Seekron had given her—a good twenty thousand meld and more—but also her diamonds. Over the jerkin she buckled a belt with a sheathed knife. Halfway down the stairs, it occurred to her that she ought to take a cloak. Although to return to the bedroom yet again was almost more than she could bring herself to do, once there she not only took care to pick out her stoutest and most serviceable cloak, but before leaving spread another over poor Randronoth's face and chest. Back downstairs, on a final impulse she went quickly into the parlor, snatched up the cabinet of fishes and thrust it into one of her pockets. Then she ran through the hall, past Jarvil's body and out into the darkness.