85: AT N'KASIT'S

To cross the upper city to the western walls took about twenty minutes. By now Occula's words—and Occula's fear—had sunk in to such an extent that she was afraid to go by the main thoroughfare leading past the barracks towards the Leopard Hill. The byways nearer the Peacock Wall would take her closer to the queen's house, yet nevertheless she felt that this would involve less chance of being molested or recognized.

The confusion and clamor throughout the city had increased and at the gates of many houses armed servants were standing on guard; yet none challenged or tried to stop her. Once she hid behind a clump of trees while six or seven ruffian-looking men with cudgels approached and passed, talking together in some language unknown to her. Yet otherwise she met with no adventures, and went so quickly that she was surprised when at length she saw the western walls looming in front of her, a dark, level line in the moonlight.

Nor, surprisingly, did anyone try to stop her climbing the stone stairs where the road ended below the walls. She stepped out onto the height of the ramparts and looked about her. To her right, the lower city fell away to the Gate of Lilies and the open square of the Slave Market. There, too, she could hear tumult and see an unusual number of lights—both lamps in the houses and torches in the streets. There was a light in the high, square crow's nest of the Tower of Sel-Dolad, not three hundred yards away. She wondered who could be up there at this hour: watchmen, no doubt, looking out for the approach of For-nis's army from the west.

Turning in the direction of the tower, she began walking along the ramparts. She was obliged to go slowly, for the paving was uneven and once or twice she stumbled over projecting stones. Ahead, where the Peacock Wall joined the ramparts, she could see a sentry gazing out over the plain below. As she approached he turned, levelled his spear and challenged her.

She stood still, looking at his face under the leather helmet. Just as Occula had said, this was an oldish man for a soldier—forty-five at least—with a grizzled beard, bushy eyebrows and lips sunk in upon a toothless mouth above a sharp-nosed, canny face. He did not look like a Beklan. She smiled at him, throwing back her hood.

"Can you let me pass?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No one's to pass. You didn't ought to be up here at all: you must know that."

This man, if she was any judge, was from Kabin. Probably Eud-Ecachlon had held a few back from the draft. Anyway, he had not recognized her and clearly didn't know who she was.

"No one's seen me; only you. You can't get into trouble letting me pass." She paused. "I've got money."

He shook his head again. "You shouldn't offer money: you just go back, now, go on."

"Ah, but all depends how much, doesn't it? I've no time to bargain, dad. I'll give you all I've got—a thousand meld."

In the moonlight she saw the surprise on his cunning, peasant face. That had got to him all right.

"A thousand meld? Don't try it on, my girl: you haven't got that much."

"Oh, yes, I have. Only you be straight with me, just I'm in danger: I've got enemies and I've got to get out quick. You know as well as I do everything's upside-down. No one'll ever get to hear."

Far away, on the other side of the city, a sudden clamor broke out. They both started, turning to stare in the direction of the Blue Gate a full mile away below.

"What's that?" said the man. "That's never the Palteshis, comin' that way!"

"No," answered Maia. "The Lapanese have got here first."

"The Lapanese?" He stared at her.

"Those will be Lord Randronoth's men. Anything can happen now. If I were you, I'd take this thousand meld and make myself scarce. Either that or go and join them, dad."

He paused, his crafty eyes sizing her up—her good clothes, her beautiful face, her soft, well-kept hands.

Even at such a time as this he must be bargaining: to the likes of him it was second nature.

"Well, but it's a big risk, now, missie, isn't it?" He shook his head. "Couldn't take a risk like that for less than fifteen hundred."

"All right," she said. "Only for Cran's sake leave it at that. Here comes your tryzatt, I reckon, to see what that noise is about."

Indeed, they could both see the silhouetted figure of the tryzatt, about two hundred yards off along the rampart, staring eastwards. Maia offered the money, which the man at once grabbed and stuffed into his jerkin.

"Go on, then, missie, quick, 'fore he sees you."

Maia darted past him and was gone.

She had run hardly any distance, however, before she saw below her what could only be the warehouse of which Occula had spoken: a flat-roofed, sprawling place, too big for any private dwelling. There was a dim-light in one window, but no other sign that anyone was there.

She looked round for a way down, but as far ahead as she could see there were no steps. The drop from the walls to the abutting roof was all of nineteen or twenty feet: she could never hang and let go without risking injury.

She hurried back. The sentry was still where she had left him and the tryzatt had come no nearer.

She called in a low voice, "Sentry!"

Agonizingly slowly, he came up to her. "What you want now, then?"

"I got to get down onto that roof; only it's too far to jump. I could just about do it holding onto your spear, though."

She had expected him to ask for more money, but to her surprise, after a moment he said, "All right, then; only quick," and went back with her along the wall. Above the warehouse roof he lay down, holding his spear vertically over the edge of the wall to the full extent of his arms.

"You'd best be quick, missie: only I can't hold your weight more 'n a few seconds, see?"

It was still a long enough drop to frighten her, but once she was at the end of the spear, arms outstretched, there was no help for it. She let go and fell about eight feet onto the roof.

She landed with a harsh jolt, and doubled up painfully on her knees. She had scratched one arm and torn her cloak. She looked upward, but the soldier had gone. Scrambling to her feet, she leant for a minute or two against the wall, then began to limp across the roof. Somewhere there must be a way down.

After searching in the dark for some minutes, during which she could hear the uproar on the other side of the city increasing, she came upon a flight of steps, ramshackle and with no outer handrail, and started nervously groping her way down, one foot and then the other, leaning inward against the wall. As she neared the bottom a man's voice from the shadows below said sharply, "Who's that? Stay where y'are!"

This pulled her together. Maia—with good reason—possessed confidence in her ability to conciliate strangers. Besides, Occula had told her whom to ask for.

"I'm looking for N'Kasit," she answered.

After a few moments the voice said, "A woman, eh? Are y'alone?"

"Yes."

"Who are you? What were you doing on the roof?"

"I've come along the ramparts from the upper city. I'll explain everything if only you'll take me to N'Kasit."

"He expecting you?"

"I was told to come here and ask for him," answered Maia.

At this moment there was the sound of a door opening, and a flicker of light revealed, just ahead of her, the black, vertical line of the corner of the building. Another voice said, "What is it, Malendik?"

"A woman, sir, asking for you."

"What's your name?" said the other voice.

"Maia Serrelinda."

There was a whistle of surprise. "The Serrelinda? Are you telling the truth?"

This annoyed Maia. It was months since anyone had spoken to her like this and she had become unused to it.

"Yes, I damn' well am; and what's more, I'm getting tired of standing up here. If you're N'Kasit—"

"You'd better come down."

Maia fumbled and clutched her way down the last of the steps. Two figures, one disconcertingly huge, the other— who was holding the lamp—small, compact and intent, stood outlined in an open doorway.

"Come on in quick!" said the smaller figure, himself turning to lead the way.

Maia, following them through the door, found herself in an immense, cavernous, echoing building, everywhere divided by walls and partitions. There was an all-pervading smell of leather and hides, together with a spur, acrid odor—perhaps some sort of fluid used in treating them.

The lamp, bobbing on ahead of her, threw great, jumping shadows into the invisible roof.

The men, without looking round to see whether she was following or not, were walking briskly along a sanded path-way running between the bays. She had almost to run to avoid losing them. At length they turned aside into a kind of shed constructed against one corner of the warehouse; a lean-to hut, with two wooden walls, two stone walls and a ceiling of sagging planks laid atop. There was a rickety table, on which were some tallies, a few papers and an abacus; two or three benches, some clay bowls and cups on a shelf and in one corner a narrow, untidy bed on which a big, square-headed tabby cat lay dozing.

This was evidently both the warehouse office and the cubby-hole of anyone who had to sleep on the premises.

As she followed them in, the two stood regarding Maia. The big man, she could now perceive, was obviously some sort of workman or hired hand of the other. He was not only tall but plainly immensely strong, with shoulders and arms that looked as though they could lift an ox. He was dressed in sacking and his hands were rough and dirt-ingrained—the hands of a laborer.

N'Kasit himself looked about thirty-five; quick-glancing, yet with a shrewd, prudent, unexcitable air; a typical merchant, she thought, both circumspect and enterpising. She could imagine everything in his life, including his marriage, his friends and his amusements, being subordinated to an over-riding ambition for gain: yet not only, perhaps, material gain; this was a man who might well be aspiring to social—even political—advancement as well. He seemed a younger, more mundane version of Sarget, and had no doubt a similar, though as yet unfulfilled, desire to reach the upper city. Could he, of all people, really be a secret agent of the heldril? If so, he had certainly contrived a most convincing front. Anyone would have thought him a mercantile Leopard of Leopards.

"You'd better sit down, säiyett," he said, pushing forward an old chair with two dirty cushions—the only one in the room. "I'm sure it's not what you're used to, but come to that, we don't often have visitors like you, either."

She sat down wearily and gratefully. And good cause she had to be weary, she thought. Yet for the first time that day she felt secure: these men, she felt intuitively, were not going to betray or harm her.

N'Kasit poured wine. It was rough, bitter stuff, but she was glad of it and drank off her cup almost at once. Having refilled it, he offered her bread and cheese, but this she declined. All she wanted now was to get on. How quickly could she reach the gaol? If she was to save Zenka and Anda-Nokomis every minute might be vital.

"I suppose you need quite a few cats in a place like this," she said, nodding towards the tabby on the bed. "I'm fond of cats myself; I've got a beauty at home. She's called Colonna, like the one in the old story, you know."

"I remember," answered N'Kasit, "but I always thought the one in the story was called Bakris."

"Will you help me to get out of Bekla, then?" she asked him, smiling.

He did not smile back, however, only continuing to re-gard her steadily and gravely, as he might when considering some business proposition and taking care to display no reaction. She glanced across at Malendik, but he, his wine-cup buried in his great hands, was gazing down impassively at the dusty floor.

"I think it's rather a case of whether you'll be of any help to us, isn't it?" said N'Kasit at length. "They're going to try tonight. With all this confusion, they'll never have a better opportunity. Where do you come in?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Didn't Occula tell you? It was Occula sent you, I suppose?"

"She hadn't time to tell me anything, U-N'Kasit, except as my life was in danger from Fornis and I must get out at once."

She went on to speak of Randronoth, of the death of Milvushina, the murders at her house and finally of Occula's frantic warning.

"Fornis is in Bekla now?" he asked, when she had finished.

"Yes. I couldn't hardly believe it myself."

He sat frowning. "I'm sorry for all you've been through," he said at length, though in a level, unemotional tone. "Poor young Milvushina! That's a great pity. I remember her father well; he came to see me once at Kabin. He was the one who suggested I should come here, and then Erketlis sent me the money to do it. I've never met him, though—not yet. It was one of his agents, a man called Tharrin, who brought the money. He's dead now; but he never told them anything. He must have been a brave man." He paused. "What do you mean to do, then—get to Santil in Yelda? Is that your idea?"

"I don't know yet," she said. "I haven't thought."

"Occula didn't tell you about the others?"

"Well, there wasn't time, see? She just said to come here and you'd help me." She looked up at him appeal-ingly. "You will, won't you?"

But the level-headed man of business still seemed concerned less with the beautiful Serrelinda than with the problem she presented.

"If things were normal and you'd been able to leave the city publicly—the Serrelinda on a trip to Tonilda or something like that—we might have been able to send them with you disguised as servants, but as it is I can't see that you're any use to us at all. In fact, with Fornis after your blood you're a liability, aren't you?"

"I don't reckon Occula was thinking that way. She just wanted to save me."

"Do you want to hide here for a day or two, then, to see which way things go? I'd risk that much; for Occula I would."

She shook her head decisively. "No, I must get out tonight, whatever happens. Soon as possible, too, U-N'Kasit. There's—well—important reasons why I can't af-ford to wait."

He shrugged. "Well, at that rate I can only leave it to them to say whether or not they'll take you along."

He turned to Malendik. "You'd better bring them in here: then they can see her for themselves and make up their own minds."

Malendik gone, they sat in silence. Maia was thinking. "Whoever they are, they're not going to stop me going to the gaol."

She began imagining what she would say to Pokada, what he might reply and how she would set about prevailing upon him.

The blanket across the entrance was drawn aside and two people sidled in; a woman followed by a man. In the lamplight, Maia looked blankly for a moment at their pinched, bedraggled forms: then she uttered a startled cry.

"Meris!"

"Maia!"

The two girls stared at each other. Behind Meris stood a gaunt figure—none other than the Tonildan pedlar, Zi-rek. He was pale as a plant kept long in the dark, hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed as any dungeon inmate, yet still with a faint touch of his old, vagabond swagger. Indeed, he was less changed than Meris, that one-time exquisite paragon of hard-bitten, worldly sensuality. She had all the look of a girl who, having endured months of anxiety, was now close to collapse. Her dark hair hung about her shoulders lank as rope. Her lips twitched continually and she could not keep her hands still. After a few moments, without another word, she sat down unsteadily on one of the benches.

Zirek stepped forward and took Maia's hands.

"There's no hard feelings as far as I'm concerned, Maia."

"Hard feelings, Zirek? Why should there be?"

"Well, you saved the damned Leopards all right, didn't you, swimming the river? But just speaking personally, I wouldn't have cared to see the empire fall to Karnat: I'd rather see it fall to Santil. Perhaps it will now, if only the gods are kind. Besides, you helped us kill Sencho, didn't you, even if you didn't know it at the time? So I say, no hard feelings."

Magnanimity sat strangely on him, she thought. In his rags and pallor he looked squalid as any beggar.

But he was clean-—life in the upper city had made her sensitive and fastidious on this score—and there was something about him which suggested that in spite of everything he had retained both humor and self-respect.

"I knew all along as it must 'a been you and Meris," she said. " 'Cos d'you know, I saw you, that same morning in the crowd at the Peacock Gate? But what beats me is, however did you get away? I reckoned you must be dead for sure."

"It was the tryzatt on the western wall that night," he answered. "He was a Tonildan, you see, who'd been a servant of Senda-na-Say. It was all arranged beforehand: he got us out along the rampart. He was never suspected, and for all I know he's still in the service."

"And you've been hiding here ever since? All these months?"

"Yes, and I'm basting near mad with it!" broke in Meris. "I wish to Cran I'd never said I'd do it! Oh, Maia, you can't imagine—"

"Steady, love," said Zirek. "It's over now, good as. We're going to get out tonight, remember? We owe everything to N'Kasit here," he went on, turning back to Maia. "He's hidden us all this time, and he didn't stand to get anything out of it. Once we'd done the job, you see, we were no further use to the heldril."

"Well, even I'm not quite as canny as that," said N'Kasit, with the trace of a smile. "All the same," he said to Maia, 'it was touch and go more than once. It's not easy to search a place like this, of course—full of holes and corners piled up with stuff—but Kembri's lot were very thorough and they came back more than once. Luckily, I've got a good reputation. The Leopards think I'm a loyal, reliable army contractor."

"And what the hell are you doing here, Maia?" asked Meris, in none too friendly a tone.

"I want to get out of Bekla with you," replied Maia.

Meris stared, bunking and twitching. N'Kasit broke in, "She's got good reason. Fornis reached Bekla this afternoon; her and Han-Glat—"

"Fornis?" cried Zirek. "Never!"

"Yes; so the Serrelinda's just told me. I know it seems incredible, but isn't everything about that woman incredible? She" (he pointed to Maia) "got home this evening to find Randronoth of Lapan and her own porter murdered and her house turned upside-down. And she was lucky, at that: they missed her. Occula sent her here to us."

"Occula? That girl's got more courage than all the rest of us put together," said Zirek. "But you say you want to come with us, Maia? That's a shade awkward, is that."

"But I can't go on my own, Zirek. Please—"

"Well, the trouble is, everyone knows you by sight, don't they? And Fornis is sure to have left orders at the gates. They'll obey her all right, you can be sure of that. Eud-Ecachlon'll be no match for her; he may even be dead already."

"Seekron might be a match for her, though."

"Seekron? Who's he?"

Maia told them of Randronoth's plan to seize the city and what she had already seen from the western ramparts.

"Cran alive! That alters things!" said Zirek. "Couldn't be better for us, N'Kasit, could it? Eud-Ecachlon, Fornis and Seekron all at each other's throats. The whole place'll be—"

"There's another thing, Zirek," broke in Maia. "I've got money with me—a fair old bit, too—reckon you'll find it come in useful." She smiled. "I suppose you could have it off me and then go by yourselves, but I hope you won't."

"Cran and Airtha, what d'you take me for?" he replied with a touch of asperity. Then he grinned, recalling the jaunty lad who had come to sell his gew-gaws to Sencho's concubines. "The money'll come in handy, I dare say, but it's the pleasure of your company that makes such a delightful prospect, m'dear. You never know, we might even need a swimmer, too, 'fore we're done. How soon do we start, N'Kasit?"

"Soon as you like," replied N'Kasit. ''But remember, Zirek, it was your own decision to take the Serrelinda. I didn't force it on you, and I don't want anyone saying later that I did."

"You must be the only man in Bekla who's ever thought of her company as being forced on anyone," replied Zirek. "You cold old fish! I hope you make your fortune! You deserve to. When Santil gets here, he'll cart you off to the upper city and make you a baron, I expect." He took the merchant's hands in his own. "Thanks for all you've done. May the gods bless you! What more can I say? I hope we meet again one of these days. Can you give us some good, stout shoes, and perhaps a bite of food to take along with us?"

"Shoes—you're in the right place for those, and cloaks too," said N'Kasit. "They can come out of stock. The food'll have to be bread and cheese—what there is of it."

Twenty minutes later, Malendik having been sent out to look up and down the street, Maia, Meris and Zirek slipped unobtrusively out of a side door and set off down-hill towards the alleys of the Shilth.