36: A SIGN FOR OCCULA

"When are you going to take the field, then?" asked Durakkon. With any luck, he thought, and if Melekril were really ending (for sometimes the rainy season would ap-pear to be over, only to resume for as long as two weeks), Kembri might leave Bekla within the next few days and remain several months with the army.

He wondered, not for the first time, what good he had ever done anyone throughout the empire by seizing the lordship of Bekla. As for himself, fear and anxiety never left him. He was surrounded by and dependent upon men whom he disliked and despised—men who had corrupted the city and alienated many parts of the provinces. Day in and day out, simply to maintain power, he lent his name to a regime of intrigue, double-dealing and subterfuge. He had accomplished nothing of what he had first intended: this bore no resemblance—none—to the benevolent rule with which he had planned to replace Senda-na-Say's.

"Give the roads a few days to dry," answered Kembri, "and I'll take the Tonildan and Beklan regiments to the Valderra to join Sendekar."

"Has Sencho found out anything yet about Karnat's whereabouts and plans?"

"The truth is," said Kembri, "that Sencho's becoming less and less useful. It was only to be expected, I suppose. Lately, apparently, he hasn't even been capable of seeing his own men or hearing their reports. Anything could be brewing and we might not hear about it until too late, simply because he's sick or dying."

"I she dying?" asked Durakkon.

"His säiyett won't say a word one way or the other. One of his girls—a Tonildan—is reporting to me, and she thinks not; but she's only a child and she could be wrong—she admits it herself. As far as I can make out, he seems to have become completely dependent on the black girl—you know, the one all the younger men are talking about."

"The sorceress?" asked Durakkon. "Didn't she do some extraordinary sort of act with a knife—someone told me—"

"I don't know," replied Kembri shortly. "I wasn't there. She certainly seems to have acquired some extraordinary sort of influence over Sencho. The Tonildan's been with Bayub-Otal a couple of times. He seems to fancy her in some way of his own. I've told her to do everything she can to win his confidence. If only he'll talk freely to her, we might learn a great deal about Urtah—and Suba too; more than Sencho's likely to find out for us in his present condition. She's here now, without Sencho's knowledge. That's one advantage of him being sick, at least."

"Well, we'd better have her in then, I suppose," said Durakkon, with an air of distaste.

"I think not," replied Kembri. "If we do, at least one person—my säiyett—is going to know that you and I talked to her together, and possibly draw conclusions. No, I'll have her taken into a bedroom: nobody's going to wonder about that. There's one with a concealed screen, so you can easily come and hear what she's got to say."

A few minutes later Durakkon, seated in darkness be-hind the screen and looking into the lamp-lit room, saw the girl come in. He remembered, now, having noticed her at the Rains banquet—a golden-haired lass, strikingly beautiful. Raising her palm to her forehead, she stood before the Lord General in an attitude of expectant submission.

"You won't be here long today," said Kembri, "and don't try to do what you did last time, or I shall be angry; do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You've been with Bayub-Otal again?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Were you alone with him?"

"Well, quite a while I was, my lord, yes."

"Did he say anything about Suba?"

"He said he'd not be able to take life easy, my lord, till Suba was free; on account of he had a sacred duty to his people."

"Nothing more?"

"No, my lord."

"You didn't think of asking him what he meant by that, or how he intended to go about it?"

"Well, I would have, my lord; only then he broke off the talk himself, see, and made me dance; and after that he said we'd go home, so I never had the chance to ask him any more, like."

"Well, that's useful information as far as it goes," said Kembri. "How is the High Counselor today?"

"About the same, my lord, I reckon: kind of sleepy, like. Not himself at all. It's like as if he was bewitched, sort of."

"What else did you talk about with Bayub-Otal?"

"He was on telling me about his father and mother."

"That old tale again," said Kembri.

"Well, I thought 'twas very sad, my lord, the way he told it to me."

"I'm sure it was," said Kembri drily. "You enjoyed listening to him, then?"

"Well, reckon I did, my lord, yes. He told me how he'd grown up in Suba and how he'd been promised the rule of it by his father; and then how it had been given to this King Karnat."

"It's time you understood a little more about this matter now, Maia," said Kembri. "If Bayub-Otal wanted Suba badly enough, he might—mightn't he—offer to rule it as some sort of vassal of King Karnat? Offer to pay him tribute and so on, if only he'd let him rule the country his father promised him?"

"I s'pose he might, my lord." She frowned, plainly perplexed and out of her depth: then suddenly laughed, showing her white, even teeth in the lamplight. "More 'n I'd want, I know that! Strikes me 's nothin' but a peck of trouble—"

"Never mind," said Kembri brusquely. "King Karnat, if he were to give Bayub-Otal the rule of Suba, would want him to give something in return. And it might be something we wouldn't want Karnat to have, mightn't it?"

The girl frowned again. "Don't see what he's got to give him, my lord."

"He could order his Subans to fight for Karnat," said Kembri. "He could persuade them that it would be in their own best interests to help Karnat to conquer Paltesh or even Bekla itself, in return for giving them back their freedom. Now tell me, did Bayub-Otal tell you where he'd been since he was last in Bekla?"

"No, my lord. Nor I didn't see how I could ask him without him getting suspicious of me, like."

"He didn't tell you he'd been across the Valderra, or gone into Suba, or anything like that?"

"No, my lord."

"Now that you know what I've explained to you, can you remember him saying anything that makes you think he might be in touch with King Karnat?"

"No, my lord. But you see, he kept on saying he expected I was going to tell everything to the High Counselor, so he wasn't going to say anything as everyone didn't know already. He was very much on his guard, as you might say."

"Did he bed you?" asked Kembri.

"No, my lord. He told me—well, he kind of said as he didn't go in for such things, like, on account of his father and mother an' that—"

Kembri waved a hand. "All right. Now listen, Maia. I want you to get to know him still better. Tell him you go along with these ideas of his and that you think he's a sadly-wronged man. You must get still further into his confidence. Tell him you hate the Leopards, hate being a slave and so on. But don't overdo it, or he'll get suspicious. You're to go on being a simple, country girl. But above all, get him to talk about Suba. Tell him it sounds a wonderful place—that you'd love to go there—anything you like. He's up to something or other; of that we're certain. Find out what it is, Maia, and from that day you shall be a free woman. Do you understand?"

The girl's face lit up. "So soon, my lord?"

"So soon. But don't try making anything up for my benefit, or saying what you think I might want to hear: I should only find out in the end. Now there's your lygol. What are you going to say to your säiyett?"

"Why, as the governor of Lapan basted me, my lord."

She gave him a mischievous smile, but Kembri only nodded and turned away. The girl raised her palm and went out.

When the door had closed behind her Durakkon came forward into the room.

"I can't see that that poor girl's found out anything of importance to us about Bayub-Otal."

"What I suspect is this," said Kembri. "He's been secretly in touch with Karnat, who's promised him the rule of Suba in return for getting the Subans to fight on his side; helping him to cross the Valderra and attack us. From his point of view it's a case of half a loaf being better than no bread. But there could be more to it than that. For instance, suppose Sencho knows about it too, and Bayub-Otal's the go-between? Sencho agrees with Karnat to give us misleading information and so on. Karnat crosses the Valderra with Suban help, conquers Bekla, puts us out of the way and then gives Sencho all he wants to gorge and baste himself to death—pensions him off. Meanwhile Bayub-Otal retains the rule of Suba as a vassal of Karnat and everyone's happy." 

"Oh, this vile business of playing games with people's lives!" burst out Durakkon. "To think there was a time when I believed the Leopards were going to bring prosperity and happiness to the common people!"

To this Kembri did not trouble to answer. "Well, let's hope this girl can find out something more. We've nothing whatever to lose by letting her try."

"She seemed a nice little thing," said Durakkon. "You mean to free her, then, when she's done her job, and send her back to Tonilda?"

"Well, if she finds out anything of real importance, of course, she'll probably have to be done away with," answered Kembri. "These people outlive their usefulness, you know, once they're known to have been agents; and once they know more than we want to risk them talking about elsewhere." He shrugged.

"There are always plenty more where she came from, after all. But now, another thing, sir. I beg you, please, while I'm absent from Bekla, and as long as the High Counselor's still not himself, to make sure of obtaining frequent reports about the state of affairs in Chalcon: and particularly as regards Santil-kè-Erketlis. There's not a doubt that in spite of our killing Enka-Mordet, he's still a very real danger. Here's a report I received only this morning, for instance, about a man named Tharrin—"

Upon her return Maia, pushing open the door that led to the women's quarters, was startled to see Milvushina standing in the passage immediately behind it. Before she could speak the Chalcon girl took her by the wrist.

"Maia, listen—"

"What's up, then?" Maia, alarmed, replied sharply.

"It's Occula. I've been waiting for you—"

"What about Occula?" Then, in sudden panic, "He hasn't sold her?" Her voice rose, and Milvushina hastily motioned her to silence.

"No, no! We'd better whisper—"

"Where's Terebinthia?" asked Maia.

"With—" Milvushina, who never referred directly to the High Counselor unless it was quite unavoidable, made a movement with her head. "Is that door quite shut?"

"Yes, yes! Come on, what about Occula, then?"

"She's—well, she seems frightened and upset—not like herself. She's in her room—"

"Occula frightened? I don't believe it! What on earth of?"

"I don't know, Maia. But either that or else she's ill. She came back from—" again the movement—"about an hour ago and she seemed—well, as I say—upset. I've never seen her like that before. I asked her whether I could help, but I'm not sure whether she even took in what I was saying."

Maia, entirely forgetting that her first duty was to send Ogma to tell the säiyett that she herself had returned, hurried through the pool room and down the short corridor beyond.

Occula, dressed only in her shift, was lying face down on the bed, her arms stretched in front of her.

Between her hands was the black image of Kantza-Merada. She was breathing heavily and slowly, as though struggling to endure some inward pain. Each time her shoulders rose, the muscles contracted as she clutched the goddess more tightly.

Maia, who had never once seen her friend unnerved since the night at Khasik when she herself had stolen the Ortelgan merchant's golden bear, stood perplexed, anxious to help but at a loss to know how.

After some moments she sat down on the bed and laid a hand on Occula's arm. At once the black girl looked up quickly, revealing tear-stained eyes and a face covered with sweat.

"What day is it? Have I been asleep?"

Maia stared in fear, for Occula seemed scarcely to recognize her. She had heard tell of people being driven out of their minds by sorcery and curses. The dreadful thought occurred to her that her friend might perhaps have been bewitched or poisoned.

"Asleep?" she faltered. "I—I don't know. I only just got back, Occula. Are you sick? What's the matter?"

"Ah, nothin', my pretty banzi," said Occula. "Nothin', nothin' in the world! Oh, if only I could get out of here somehow! Out of Bekla! Out of this whole bastin' empire! Get me out, banzi—if you love me, only get me out! I can' go on with it! I've lost my nerve!"

Drawing Maia to her, she kissed her passionately. Maia felt her tears against her cheek.

"I don't understand! What is it? You're frightening me, Occula!"

"I'm not frightenin' you, banzi," whispered Occula, releasing her and stroking her shoulder. "I'm more frightened myself than ever I've been since the Govig."

"But what of?"

"But how can I stop now? It's what I came here for—"

Quickly, roughly, she wiped her face with a corner of the coverlet. "Pray for me, banzi! Pray for me as you never prayed for anyone in your life."

" 'Course I will, dear." Maia, bewildered, spoke as to a child. "But—well, it's not like you—can't you tell me the trouble?"

"No, you keep out of it!" retorted Occula immediately. She looked quickly round. "Where is she?"

"Terebinthia? With Sencho, Milvushina said. Shall I shut the door?"

"No; that'd be worse. She might come and listen outside and we'd never know she was there at all."

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, she buried her face in her hands. Maia sat beside her in silence. After what seemed a long time, Occula whispered, "Where have you been?"

"With Kembri. He was asking me—"

"With Kembri? Not with the governor of Lapan?"

"That's right. He—"

"Did he say when the spring festival would be held?"

"No; he was on about Bayub-Otal. He—"

"But he must know, banzi! He must know! Melekril's as good as over. They must have fixed a day by now!"

She gazed at Maia with a look of entreaty.

"Well, but he didn't say anything about the festival," answered Maia. "What's so important about the festival, anyway? Will it be soon?"

"Yes, of course it'll be soon, banzi! It's always held within a few days of the end of the rains. They must be goin' to announce the day—"

"Hush, dear! Try and take it easy, do! She may come along any minute. Why's it so important?"

"Because—oh, banzi, I can' keep it up any longer! It's like tryin' to keep holdin' somethin' heavy above your head. I'm exhausted! I'm finished!"

"No, that you're not!" cried Maia with all the confidence at her command; for though she had no notion what could so much have dismayed her friend, her whole spirit rejected the idea of her Occula being unequal to any turn of fate whatever. "You're not to talk like that! If it's someone that's trying to hurt you, tell me who it is. I'll go to Kembri—I'll do anything—"

"He was better today," whispered Occula. "He ate— like he used to; and then he had Milvushina in by herself."

"Sencho?"

"When I saw the rain had stopped, I tried whether I could get him to tell them to carry him out onto the terrace; but I couldn' do it—it didn' work. I could feel it all tearin' up and breakin' to pieces inside me, like an old bit of cloth you can' patch anymore; like a blunt knife that woan' cut. I've lost the trick, banzi. Whatever am I goin' to do? If I can' get him to the right place when the time comes—"

Maia shook her head. "You're tired out, dear. Why don't you go to sleep? Come and sleep with me tonight, like we used to. I'll tell Milvushina."

"No: Terebinthia'd only wonder why. If only they'd announce the festival—"

"Old Drigga used to say 'Everything looks worse to tired eyes.' I'll make you some hot wine with honey. The fire's still in." Maia stood up.

"It mustn' go wrong now," whispered Occula, rocking backwards and forwards where she sat. "O Kantza-Mer-ada, remember thy faithful servants robbed and murdered! Give me thy power only a little longer! Kantza-Merada, give me thy power!"

She slipped to the floor and knelt there with bent head; the spread out her arms, palms downward on the floor on either side of her body; and so remained, as though waiting for some answer from the grim, black image above her on the bed. Maia, not knowing what more to say, folded her hands in her lap and waited.

At length Occula rose to her feet, blew out the lamp and stood motionless, facing the barred window.

As Maia's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see clearly the square of night sky, twinkling here and there with the faint points of stars. There was silence except for a gentle patting of wind.

Suddenly a wild shriek, savage and fierce, tore through the stillness. Hard upon it came the short, cut-off squeal of some small creature stricken and seized. Maia started back against the wall, but Occula made no least move. A few moments later the dark shape of the owl, clutching its prey, flew silently across the window-space and vanished.

Occula spoke in her normal voice. "Get me the wine, then, banzi: and after that I'll go to bed." Then, as Maia hesitated, "Go on, before the fire's out. Bread, too! I'm damn' hungry!"

When Maia came back, carrying the bread and wine in one hand and a newly-lighted lamp in the other, Occula had put the image away, but was still standing at the window. Turning, she smiled and took the wine-cup from Maia's hand.

"That's good enough for me, banzi! I would be a fool, wouldn' I, not to trust in—" She broke off.

"Not to trust?" asked Maia hesitantly. She was feeling somewhat shaken.

"A sign—an omen—as plain as that."

Maia shook her head in bewilderment. Occula laughed and kissed her.

"You doan' understand? So much the better for you!" Then, with a complete return to her normal manner, "Never mind! Just forget every bit of it! Listen; I'll tell you somethin' else—nothin' to do with owls. D'you remember Zuno and his white pussy-cat?"

"Yes, 'course."

"And how I said I'd do him a bit of good if ever I got the chance, all along of those robbers on the road between Hirdo and Khasik? Well, I reckon I've done it, like as not."

"Get away?" replied Maia, surprised. "I never thought you really meant it."

Occula, munching, sipped the hot wine.

"Elvair-ka-Virrion—t'other night—I never told you. He was sayin' that apparently the Sacred Queen's lookin' for a new household steward. The last man—she was angry with him. Lucky to get off with his life, Elvair-ka-Virrion said."

"What had he done, then?"

"Playin' around with one her girls. So I upped and said that Lalloc had this very superior young man in his employ, natural gift of authority, well-spoken and all that, who'd never want to touch the girls. And Elvair-ka-Virrion said that as it happened he was goin' down to see Lalloc about buyin' a lad to look after his hounds, so while he was there he'd just have a look at Master Zuno and possibly recommend him to Fornis."

"I wonder you was at the trouble," said Maia, recalling how they had trudged beside the jekzha in the burning sun.

"Oh, banzi," answered Occula, gulping down the last of the wine and climbing into bed, "it's not a question of likin' him; though I must admit I doan' altogether dislike him. But that's the sort of fellow who'll be able to keep his head, even in a household like the Sacred Queen's. And if he's pleased and she's pleased, you never know when he might not be able to do us a bit of good." She paused. "That's if anythin's goin' to be able to do me good. But I doan' mind now. Where Kantza-Merada went, I can go." She laughed. "Huntin' in the dark, I mean. 'Do not question the laws of the nether world.' Did old Kembri baste you again, then?"

Maia smiled. "No, but I got a lygol all the same. O great Cran, and I've just remembered—I never told Terebinthia I'd got back. I must go and find Ogma—"

"How long have you been back, Maia?" Terebinthia was standing in the doorway.

Maia raised her palm to her forehead. "A little while, I'm afraid, säiyett: I'm ever s' sorry! Only I found Occula taken bad, see, and that put it out of my head. But here's the governor's lygol."

Terebinthia, taking it from her, put it into her sleeve unopened. "What's the matter with you, then, Occula?"

"Nothin', säiyett. I've just been sick, that's all. Somethin' at dinner, I s'pose. I was just goin' to bed—unless there's anythin' you want."

"No," replied Terebinthia rather absently. "Maia, have you ever mentioned Milvushina to Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion?"

"No, säiyett: I haven't seen Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion at all since the night Milvushina was brought here."

"Well," said Terebinthia, "you'd better understand this, Maia. The High Counselor doesn't wish anything to be said outside about how Milvushina came to be here. If I learn that you've been gossiping, I shall be extremely angry, do you see?"

"Yes, säiyett. I won't say nothing."

"I've just been telling Milvushina herself the same thing. She's to say nothing to anyone of how she came here, on pain of the most severe punishment. Now listen to me. Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion has asked for you to go to a party at the Barons' Palace tomorrow night, and he wants Milvushina to go with you. I wasn't aware that he even knew of her existence. In the normal way I certainly wouldn't permit it, but the fact is that Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion was— er—well, very generous and very pressing. So I've decided to let you both go. No doubt there'll be generous lygols if you do well."

"Thank you, säiyett."

"Now it's time both of you were asleep. Milvushina's in bed already."

"Is Dyphna back yet, säiyett?" asked Occula innocently.

"Dyphna? Tomorrow," replied Terebinthia; and was gone.

"Cran and Airtha! She's goin' to slip up one of these days, banzi; she's bound to," whispered Occula.

"Piggy'll find out she's featherin' her nest on the quiet and have her hangin' upside-down as sure as a cow can fart."

"Either that or she'll make her fortune," said Maia. "Elvair-ka-Virrion must have slipped her a hell of a lot to let Milvushina go out. Old Sencho'd never dream of allowing that if he knew."

"She must be better off than ever Domris was, right now this minute. Just think, every time one of us gets basted— oh, well. Why doan' I stop talkin' and go to sleep?"

"Think you will now?"

"Sounder than a tree in winter. Good-night, pretty banzi."